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spencersawkward · 3 years

Note

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted!

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.

#spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #dr. reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #professor reid

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chrisevansjellybeans · 3 years

Text

Undercover- Mob! Steve Rogers Part 2

Okay here is the highly requested part two to my Mob! Steve post! I had some technical difficulties posting it but hopefully you guys see it in the tags now :)

Warnings: swearing and smut

Word count: 2.8k

“When I said go undercover, I didn’t mean under his covers, Agent.” Director Fury slammed his hand down on his desk. It had now officially been twenty-four hours since your encounter with the mob boss and you had been waiting anxiously all day to talk with Nick Fury. The rumor around the office all day was that he wasn’t too pleased with how things went down.

“I did what I had to do, sir.” You stated boldly.

Fury scoffed but didn’t respond.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye scanning over the piece of paper in his hand. You fidgeted uncomfortably as your legs were still sore from your romp last night and you tried to hold it together as Fury gave you a weird look.

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You muttered a thank you as you took a seat.

“Listen, this is all good and fine but I want more. This,” He waved the note in his hand. “Is just a drug felony. I want this bastard put away for life.”

“But what about Stark?”

“A slippery politician, nothing more. I want insight on just more than this. I want it all.”

You sat back in the chair. You understood where he was coming from, but he was also acting like you hadn’t just uncovered a huge piece of information.

“Sir-”

“Which is why you’re going to continue...seeing Rogers. Your undercover assignment has just been extended until further notice.”

“But, sir!” You stood up in protest.

“But nothing, Agent. You’ve made your bed and you’ve already lied in it. Now do it again.” He snapped.

“Are you pimping me out, sir?”

“You did that yourself, Y/N.” Fury snarked. “Anyway, as we speak I have other agents creating an entire new identity for you on the internet so when Roger’s does eventually look you up he’ll find everything we want him to find.”

You felt yourself sinking back down into the chair. He was being completely serious. You suddenly felt very hot as you processed all the information coming at you.

“And what exactly is it going to say?”

“That you are Y/N Monroe. You are the same age as you are now and a barista at the coffee shop just below your apartment. You went to the University of Minnesota and graduated with a business degree, but currently can’t find any jobs. Pity. Your parents died when you were young and you have no siblings-no need to wrap anyone else up in this. We’ve made an Instagram account since that seems to be the most popular app among adults your age. I pushed for no socials but apparently it’s weirder if you don’t have one.”

“Okay...but I don’t have a coffee shop below my apartment.”

“You do now. Your stuff is being moved into a safe house apartment on the other side of town. That’s where you’ll be staying for now. Don’t worry, I have Parker holed up in the apartment two doors down.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down. There was nothing else you could do. Fury was right, you had made your bed. You reached over and grabbed the file that Fury had pushed towards the front of the desk. Your new life all put together in a Manila folder.

Damn you, Ma and your slutty advice.

“You can go now.” Fury waved you away, now totally focused on whatever file he had in front of him. You hesitated, wanting to say something but nothing came so you left.

“Y/N!” Peter ran up beside you as you stormed down the hallway. “Heard we’re gonna be neighbors.”

You smiled at how excited he was. “It’s only temporary, Parker. Don’t wet your pants.”

Peter blushed and gently shoved you to the side as you both continued walking. “I know that. But doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. We could have movie nights or something.”

“I suppose we could find some time.” You nudged him back.

“Oh here, before I forget.” Peter shoved a brand new iPhone into your hand. “Fury had me add some tweaks to the geo location so it’s more precise than what Apple has. My burner number is already programmed in there too.”

You studied the burner phone, impressed that they didn’t just give you another shitty tracfone like you were used to.

“Thanks, kid.”

“I’m not that much younger than you.” Peter grumbled as the two of you finally made it to the parking structure.

You smirked over your shoulder as you walked up to your Jeep Wrangler. “Young enough. ‘Night, kid!”

Peter flipped you off but was smiling the whole time as you drove off.

You punched in your new address in the GPS and followed along as it brought you to the older part of town. You had always loved this part of the city but never thought to move out here. Even though it wasn’t the new upcoming neighborhood, the rent prices had been driven up by the young kids moving in who just “adored the old time aesthetic” and the lofted buildings.

Your building was one of those you noted as you parked your car outside of your new address. The old brick building was tall, maybe six stories and had fire escapes littered across the front of it. The front door was a rusted green that you had to yank to budge to get open.

Extra security, I suppose. You laughed to yourself.

Your apartment was on the third floor and right off the freight elevator. You weren’t expecting much when you opened the door but you made a noise of pleasant surprise when you did.

The inside was warm and inviting. A plush gray sofa that resembled a cloud was center in your living room that you saw right away from the small entry hallway. As you stepped in further you saw a decent size tv mounted against the wall and two bookshelves on either side of it, filled with books and records that went along with the record player that was right underneath the television. To the left the living room was the kitchen. Nothing big, which you didn’t mind-you weren’t the best cook in the world. There was a small bar-like counter that had two barstools perched underneath. Down the small hallway you found your bedroom. A king sized bed covered in an off white comforter set with matching sheets. Small potted plants hung from the corner near the window and an array of makeup and perfumes littered the top of the wooden dresser.

Tentatively you opened the dressers to find a whole new wardrobe waiting for you. There were basics: such as t-shirts, jeans, bras and panties but there was also a whole drawer dedicated to skimpy lingerie that you knew was expensive. The walk-in closet was filled with dresses, some formal and some you wouldn’t let your grandmother even see hanging off the rack.

“Well done, Fury.” You mumbled to yourself as your fingers ran down the silk fabric of a long evening gown.

You were settling on to your couch, sweats on and a glass of wine in your hand when you heard a knock on the door. Slowly you got up, grabbing your gun from the plant next to the door. You looked through the peephole and let out a curse when you saw none other than Steve Rogers standing outside your apartment.

You shoved the gun back into the plant and ran your fingers through your hair before opening the door, but leaving the chain attached.

“Mr. Rogers, how can I help you?” Your eyes twinkled as the man in front of you rested his arm on the top of the door frame and leaned close to the opening you had created.

“You said I would see you soon, princess. Looks like soon is now.” The nickname again caused your stomach to flutter.

“I was just getting ready for bed. You’ll have to come by another time.” You feigned a yawn. Steve’s eyes blared as he stood up straight.

“It’s rude to keep your guests waiting, Miss Monroe.” Your heart jumped at the use of your alias. Thank god your team worked fast.

“And it’s rude to show up to people’s apartments unannounced, Mr. Rogers.”

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He hissed, but his eyes held anything but anger. He was intrigued. He never found a woman before who wasn’t afraid to dish back his sass. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Say please.” You teased through the opening.

“Please.” He said through gritted teeth.

Chuckling you closed the door gently and undid the chain. Before you could reopen it though, Steve pushed his way through scooping you up in his arms as he did. You naturally wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms held tight around him as you squealed against his neck.

He walked you back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, holding you so you were still straddling him.

You pulled away but kept your arms hanging loosely around him. He smirked up at you as his fingers toyed with the hem of the tank top you had on. His eyes fell to the wine that was only half drank on your coffee table.

“Heading off to bed soon, huh?”

“My bedtime snack.”

There was a part of your brain that recognized him for who he was: evil. But another part of your brain saw him as the man who made your body feel things that it had never felt before and that had your heart racing like a schoolgirl with a crush. The part that recognized that he was so easy to talk and joke with. The great sex wasn’t a bummer either.

His smirk was replaced by a genuine smile as he pulled you down and gave you a kiss that had your toes curling. He moaned into your mouth as you slowly ground your hips against his, your fingers tugging at the hair by his neck. His tongue massaged yours, letting you know exactly who was in charge at this moment. His hands ran underneath your tank top, fingers tracing up your spine before reaching the front and giving your nipples a slight twist.

He moved his mouth from yours and peppered kisses along the side of your neck as he lifted the tank top over your head. He threw it to the side as his mouth attached to your protruding bud while his fingers pinched and toyed with the other one. Skillfully, and with his mouth still attached to you, Steve flipped you over so your back was on the couch and he was on top of you. He lifted his head, his blue eyes clouded with lust as he started kissing down from the center of your chest, down your stomach and down your legs as he pulled your sweats along with him.

He hummed as he spread your bottom lips apart with his fingers, licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. You wiggled your hips against his face but he responded with a smack against your core.

“Honey, you gotta learn who’s in charge here and who’s-“ he kissed your clit ever so slightly, teasing you. “Just a little cock slut.”

His tongue circled over your bundle of nerves while fingers toyed with your slick. Gently he pushed two fingers into your pussy. Your eyes fluttered closed as his steady rhythm and flick of his tongue brought your orgasm to the forefront.

“Shit, Steve…” you whimpered, gripping his hair and pulling him close. “Oh fuck, I’m close!”

“Let me taste you, princess.” Steve growled. You nearly lost it at the sigh of your juices dripping from his chin. “Give it to me like the good girl you are.”

“Oh god!” You called out as he hit that spongy spot that caused your thighs to tighten around his head. Your body spasmed as it rode out your orgasm. Your chest heaving and your legs shaking as he slowly pulled his fingers from you. A moan was caught in your throat as you watched him put his soaked fingers between his lips, a look of pure satisfaction covering his perfect face.

Steve leaned his body over yours but careful not to let his full weight fall on you. He ran his nose up the side of your neck, along your cheek before letting it rub against your own. You grabbed his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. There was something so erotic about tasting yourself when your tongues met.

“Show me your bedroom?” Steve pulled away. You gave a weak nod. Steve stood up and hoisted you up, your legs weak beneath you.

“Poor baby.” He cooed in your ear. “Only one orgasm down and already can’t walk. I can’t imagine how you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

With that he lifted you and walked down your short hallway to the bedroom. In your hazy, post orgasm mind you hoped the mattress was comfy. You hadn’t even tested out beforehand.

Steve threw you on the bed and you sighed as you fell into the cloud. You leaned back on your elbows and watched as Steve unbuttoned the new shirt and trousers he had on. You stifled your laughter thinking about the wine stained ones back at his house.

“Something amusing to you, sweetheart?” He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed. He lifted your foot up, setting it over his shoulder as he kissed the inside of your calf.

“No, sir.” You teased.

“You’re a bad liar.” He nipped at your knee.

Not as bad as you might think.

Steve made you come at least four more times that night. Your body completely spent when he finally rolled over and laid next to you, yours and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You rolled over and threw your leg and arm over his body, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. Steve’s fingers toyed with yours as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Spend the night?” You asked into the darkness. It was nearly three in the morning and your eyes were slowly closing no matter how much you willed them to stay open.

“I have some business things that I have to take care of early in the morning.” He answered, his fingers running up and down your arm.

“Oh, okay.” You said sadly. Steve’s chest rumbled with light laughter as he brought your hand that was in his up to his lips and gave it a kiss. You were soon realizing that he was actually a very affectionate person.

“But I want you to come back to the house tomorrow. I’ll send one of my guys for you in the afternoon.”

“Really?” You sat up. Steve blindly reached for your nightstand and turned on the lamp that was on it. His hair was tousled from the numerous times you had run your fingers through it and his lips were red and swollen. He looked like the epitome of sex and it was fucking hot.

“Yes, really.” He chuckled. He grabbed your phone that was on the nightstand and held it out for you to unlock. You did quickly and he took it back and started typing. “I don’t give out my personal number to a lot of people.”

“So I’m special.” You wiggled in your spot, a grin covering your face.

“Yes. You are.” Steve looked back at you and you were taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. He handed your phone back to you and you laughed at the name he had for his contact: Steve Rogers and an eggplant emoji.

“You’re a child.” You giggled.

Steve rolled his eyes and got out of bed and you took the time to appreciate his bum as he walked over to get his pants.

You gathered the soft sheets in your hand and brought them up to your chest. Although you weren’t sure what you were trying to hide, he had seen it all.

Once he was dressed and you slipped on a robe that you found hanging behind the door, you walked him out. He stood in your doorframe, his large figure making the space seem very small. He smiled as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your head and leaned down and gave you a kiss.

“Make sure to lock all the doors behind me. And text me when you wake up tomorrow.” He demanded softly.

“Mmmkay, I will.” You said hazily.

“Go get some sleep, princess.” He laughed as he pushed away from the door and walked to the elevator. You watched as he got in and gave you a quick wave before whipping out his phone to make a call.

Once he was out of sight you closed the door softly, making sure to bolt everything before heading back to your bed. You were too tired to even clean up before you passed out.

#chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #mob steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #mob! steve x reader

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jadequeen88 · 3 years

Text

A Waitress’ Worst Nightmare

A/N: Written for the BNHA Degeneracy 9-5 collab! THIS IS 18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: TW.sexual harassment, TW.oral(recieving), TW.degredation TW.nipple play, TW.Mommy kink

Pairing: busboy!Keigo, linecook!Dabi, f!waitress!Reader

You’re a college student just trying to get by. The biggest worry you should have right now is if you had enough time to finish that psych paper or when you were going to meet up with your calculus study group. Instead, you’ve got a much larger problem facing you...A problem that has permeated through every aspect of your life. Your coworkers were Grade-A-Assholes who decided making your life miserable was on the top of their to do lists.

You thought waitressing at the 24/7 diner downtown would be a breeze. Money was tight and since you were 21 and almost done with your undergrad, you wanted a little more financial independence. Little did you know when the owner hired you that you’d have to work alongside the two biggest shitheads in the city.

First there’s Keigo. To the untrained eye, he could almost seem charming. But you found out pretty quickly what a dick he was. He was working as a “busboy”, but in reality he didn’t do anything but flirt with every woman within his field of vision. Keigo would leave the tables a mess until there wasn’t a clean one left in your station and you’d be forced to do his job for him.

“What, babe? Stop getting your panties in a twist. I’m real busy these days. You know I’m practically running this place now.”

Oh yeah. How could you forget? He took every opportunity to remind you of that fact. Keigo’s dad happened to be buddies with the owner, garnering a sense of trust with the old man. He slowly weaseled his way into running day-to-day operations while the elderly owner stayed home most days.

Although the diner needed another busboy to pick up his slack, Keigo refused to tell the boss to hire another. You overheard a phone conversation between Keigo and your boss just last night:

“Nah, boss. We’ve got it covered here. No need to hire another busboy. The waitresses are just finding reasons to nag. Women, am I right?”

You were fuming.

***

As bad as Keigo was, his friend Dabi was exponentially worse. The line cook was, without a doubt, a drug dealer. The only motive he could possibly have for working there is having a place to do business with his “customers”(and of course, to help Keigo make your life a living hell). It clearly wasn’t because he needed the money since you’d seen his “friends” slip him generous wads of cash when they stopped by the restaurant. If cleaning up Keigo’s messes sucked, trying to put in customer’s orders with Dabi was pure torture.

“Eggs over easy instead of scrambled? I dunno, Princess. Sounds like it’ll be a pain in my ass. Whatcha gonna give me if I do it?”

Then he’d lick his lips with his long pierced tongue, leering at you over the counter. Gag... You wondered if that ever actually worked in his favor.

One semi-decent thing you can say about Keigo is that he’d never actually laid a finger on you. The same can’t be said for Dabi. You learned after your first day to wear shorts under the skirt of your uniform. You were behind the counter slicing lemons when he took his spatula and lifted the hem of your skirt. Before you realized what he was doing, he was calling out to his partner in crime.

“Fuuuuuck, Kei! Look at the ass on the new girl!”

You wondered what was going on until you felt a breeze and realized it was your ass that was on display. You’d slapped the spatula away and straightened your skirt, but not before they both got an eyeful of your black, lace panties. You cried for ten minutes in the bathroom after your shift that day.

***

The day you’d been dreading was finally upon you. No, it wasn’t a big test or project due... You had to ask off work for your cousin’s wedding. That meant dealing with Keigo (who was now in charge of making the schedule each week).

You squared your shoulders and went over what you would say over, and over in your head so you wouldn’t stumble over your words when you had to face him.

“I need to have Saturday off for my cousin’s wedding. I can work the Sunday morning shift instead.”

This was repeated on a loop in your brain as you walked down the darkened corridor towards the office. You let out a long sigh and gently rapped your knuckles against the wooden frame. The sound of shuffling and muffled voices seeped through the thin faux wood and a moment later, the door swung inward. The thick cloud of smoke and strong, skunky smell almost knocked you flat on your ass. Instead of seeing Keigo alone working on the schedule, you saw that he and Dabi were hotboxing in the small office.

Knowing they were back here getting high while you closed the diner by yourself was the last straw. You slam the door behind you and stomp forward to lean over the desk Keigo was propped up behind.

“Listen you shit heads!” you slammed you fists on the desk knocking over a jar of pens. “I am so fucking sick of slaving away in this shit hole while you two get high and fuck off back here. You’re going to let me have Saturday off or I swear to Christ, I’m calling the boss and spilling my guts! About the weed, the drug deals, the snarky remarks, the groping, EVERYTHING! I’ve had enough!”

There was a moment of silence then the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. In a blind fit of rage, you leap across the desk and grab Keigo by the throat. When you made contact and squeezed as hard as your small hand would allow, a whimper escaped his throat and his eyes rolled back.

Now it was your turn to laugh.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you gripped your fingers tightly again to see if you could pull any more sounds from him. He didn’t disappoint. This time it was a whimper followed by him nervously mumbling.

“Heh, Kid... Seriously, knock it off. This shit isn’t funny.”

Your eyes traveled down the front of his body and when they landed on the crotch of his baggy khakis, your suspicions were confirmed. This loser who acted like a certified pussy-slayer popped a boner just from you choking him.

You leaned in close to his face, using this as your chance to get revenge for all the hell he had put you through. “Aww little Keigo... Not used to being roughed up?” you cooed. “Dumb little baby Keigo...I bet if I kept this up, you’d come in your pants like a dirty slut, wouldn’t you?”

You felt movement over your shoulder and heard a deep chuckle. “Dude you’re so pathe-”

Dabi gasped as you grabbed him by the crotch with your free hand and squeezed. He was already hard. You met his eyes and see panic etched across his features. A sadistic grin spread across your mouth as you tightened your grip. His head fell back and let out a whimper almost as needy as Keigo’s.

“You’re both going to do exactly what I say or I swear, I will tell every girl you ever try to speak to what a couple of pathetic virgins you two are...”

***

“Ungh! Plea-please... Harder! I... I need more!”

*SMACK*

Your hand lands hard across the blonde’s face, drawing a pathetic whimper from his throat. He thrust his weeping cock along your shin whimpering, craving more pressure to relieve his suffering.

“You don’t get to tell me what you need, Keigo. Shut your fucking mouth and be grateful you get this much.”

You throw your head back against the office chair and hum as Dabi eats your cunt like it’s his last meal.

“Mmm... See Keigo? See what a good boy Dabi is being? He knows his stupid mouth is only meant for one thing... Making Mommy’s pussy feel good.”

The praise causes the dark haired man between your thighs to moan into your clit sending a pulse of pleasure through your lower body. The ball of his piercing circles your clit and you feel the familiar ache of an impending orgasm begin to tighten in your belly.

Keigo starts shoving Dabi away from you with a growl. “This is bullshit! I haven’t even had a chance yet!”

Dabi elbows him, ”Fuck off Kei! I almost had her finished off!”

Furious from being jerked back from the edge of your orgasm, you grab a fist full of blonde hair in one hand and black in the other. You pull their flushed faces up to look you in the eye.

“If you want to come at all, you will shut...the fuck...up... and get me off. Now”

Dabi wasted no time in diving back into your dripping slit, panting heavily while he ran his pierced tongue in and out of your swollen entrance. Keigo attacked your neck, whimpering as he planted sloppy kisses down your collarbone until his tongue was licking long stripes up you clothed nipple.

“I think you can do a little better than that, baby,’ you cooed into Keigo’s messy blonde tresses, sweetly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He took that as his cue to remove the clothing between your hardening bud and his hot, wet tongue.

Keigo latched onto your nipple, nursing it with vigor while he gently grazed his fingertips over the other. You heard him mumble something into the soft swell of your breast.

“Speak up,” you pull him away from your nipple with a pop, “I didn’t catch that...”

“I-I said... I...”

Your attention was drawn to the man between your legs as he began to suck down hard on your clit. The hand you had wrapped in Keigo’s hair tightened causing him to cry out.

“Mommy! Please! Wanna be your good boy! Wanna make Mommy come...” He sobs as he starts frantically licking and sucking your neglected nipple. This pushes you over the edge and your long awaited orgasm rushes over you.

After you come down from your high, you push them off and begin getting dressed while the two men you left on the floor look up at you with wide eyes.

Dabi, still panting from eating you so vigorously, chokes out a little half sob.

“But.. where are you goin? We did what you asked!”

“Yeah babe! what the fuck!”

You eyed both men and let the tension hang in the air before turning and walking to the door.

“Give me the whole weekend off. Then we’ll arrange something Monday,” you look over your shoulder, “As long as you don’t piss me off before then..”

You walk out of the office with the biggest grin you’ve had in a long time and feeling a lot more relaxed. Maybe this job was going to turn out better than you expected.

#bnha dabi #bnha smut #dabi x you #hawks x y/n #tw mommy kink #bnha eijiro kirishima #mha hawks #mha x reader #bnha reader insert #jade writes smut

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lxngbottom · 3 years

Note

pothead!nev, literally anything with him. Ooo maybe something with like some steamy kissing👀

This is definitely not bratty-longbottom

First Time? | N.L.

in which the reader buys weed from neville for the first time.

warnings: swearing, weed, fluff!

OOO MY FAV PERSON ON THIS WHOLE APP REQUESTED THIS AND I LOVE POTHEAD!NEV

—

“why can’t you just do it, ginny?!”

“because, ron will find out and he’ll get mad and he’ll definitely write my mum! and besides, i’m always the one who has to get the weed! why can’t you this time?”

you sighed as you moved settled the palm of your hand onto your forehead, “you know neville! i don’t!”

neville. neville longbottom. the provider for the infamous muggle drug that lately seemed to make its way throughout the students of hogwarts. and surely it was no surprise that the top herbology student had been growing some, and had been selling it to everyone.

and it seems easy, going to pick up from neville. he never gave you a reason to think he was anything but decent, but, the concept of talking to a person who sold weed was quite... intimidating? plus, you may or may not have had a minor crush on the boy. being friends with ginny weasley meant you had multiple different run ins with him, so, of course you had developed some sort of feelings for him. he was fit, smart, and smelt good.

“neville is pretty much an open book! well... sorta? it doesn’t matter! just go to his dorm tonight, and get the stuff, alright? i have a huge test on monday and the only way i’ll study is if i’m high!” ginny explained as she began to scurry off from your figure,

“you don’t really need weed to study? there’s no real wizarding science that says any sort of plant makes you focus better!” you yelled to her down the hall. she turned her head and sent a grin,

“it does for me!”

you rolled your eyes as she continued to walk away once more,

“why can’t we just take tonics like normal people?!”

—

it was absolutely nerve wracking. every part of you that could feel anxiety was all at this moment. just walking up the steps to his dorm made you break out in a sweat and made your legs wobble.

you had no idea if neville was even in his dorm right now. and plus, all of his dorm mates could’ve been there. and you weren’t too keen on being alone with a room filled with boys. but, you really had no choice.

when the door appeared in your vision, it suddenly hit you what you were doing. your raised your hand to knock, and you did so shakily. you gulped as you waited for an answer, even some part of you begging to just walk away.

finally, the door swung open.

“ah! ginny’s friend!” the ginger exclaimed with a smile, “wait! don’t tell me! um—cass—no? ang—no...”

“y/n.” you answered for him with a nervous look on your face,

“oh, right! sorry, i’m not too good with names...” he awkwardly laughed, leaning against the door, obviously trying to remain laid back due to the girl that was standing in front of him.

“you’ve known me since i first became friends with ginny...”

that’s when ron’s face fell flat, and he awkwardly chuckled. “yeah, yeah! totally! but, uh—what are you here for, anyways?”

you thought for a moment, trying to think of a good enough explanation. one that wasn’t too blunt, but one that ron would understand.

“um—neville?”

ron nodded without another word, and he pulled you into the dorm. he glanced around the outside of the door before closing it, trapping you in the dorm with... all of them.

the slam of the door caught everyone’s attention, and all of ron’s friends looked over to see you standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, which worsened your anxious state.

“she’s here to see you, longbottom. did you finish rolling the joint by the way?”

neville nodded his head as he was already sparking the infamous joint, and he took a perfect hit of it as he studied your figure. he sent you a small smile before walking up to you,

“was wondering when you would come and see me, y/l/n...” he took another hit as he stared at your face, “you look stressed... hit this.”

he attempted to hand you the joint, but you shook your head.

“i don’t—well... i smoke but... not—you know...” you were trying to explain yourself, but having all eyes on you did not help. “never mind... thank you, i’m all good.”

neville furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, but just shook his head with a smile as he passed the joint to ron. neville went to open his mouth, but the door swung open, and small cheers from the boys erupted.

levi.

“longbottom! you know what i need!” levi laughed as he shook hands with dean. neville nodded as levi continued to socialize with the other four boys. you continued to stand awkwardly, mentally cursing yourself out for not being as simple and to the point like big man on campus levi was.

“ah... who’s the lovely girl?” levi asked with a smirk on his face as he began to pull out money. your face went warm as seamus laughed,

“that’s y/n! she’s friends with ginny.”

levi nodded and walked over to you, a curious look in his eyes. neville looked at him out of the corner of his eye, some sort of protectiveness coming out of him.

neville was aware that levi had thing with using girls, and he wasn’t necessarily levi’s friend, but he kept the peace for the sake of making money.

levi began to flirt with you, earning questionable looks from everyone in the room. he was way too cocky, plus, that shit eating grin was going to be the thing that made you snap. you were visibly uncomfortable, especially when he rubbed your arm for a few moments.

“hey! no touching, levi. that’s my girl, here’s your stuff.”

you looked at neville with raised eyebrows, the boys present in the room following. ron started whispering multiple questions to harry, which harry responded with a small shrug.

“is that so?” levi laughed, taking the bag of weed from neville’s hands, “i think i might need some proof.”

neville shrugged his shoulders and looked down at you, a comforting look in his eyes as he sent you a small, but genuine smile. and then... he kissed you. his tongue entered your mouth with no warning, leaving you gasping into his. he stroked the side of your neck with one hand as he bit down on your bottom lip gently, and he pulled away, you a breathless mess with wide eyes.

“enough proof for you, levi?”

levi laughed awkwardly and left with no more questions. you looked at everyone in the room with a embarrassed look on your face, even looking down at the ground to face their intense glances.

“hey, y/n...” neville started as he walked over to his bedside desk. you walked over to him, trying your best to keep a safe distance, the thought of his lips being pressed up against yours still not fully processing. “i feel really bad about levi being so creepy, so why don’t you just take this for free?”

he held out a bag of weed, very nice looking weed in the middle of his palm. you observed it for a moment, seeing small purple specks glowing from the light.

“this is some of my best stuff. and, i honestly don’t even really sell it because it’s so good. one hit of this from a bong and you’ll probably be frozen in place!” he joked. you let out a small giggle at his words, earning an adoring smile from him.

“i—i can’t take that for free. i’ll feel bad...”

“oh, please! it’s the least i could do!”

your first thought of course was:

“you could kiss me again.”

that’s when you heard neville let out a laugh, his cheeks turning a small shade of pink. he put the weed in the palm of your hand, and closed your fingers over it for you. he leaned into your ear, glancing over at his friends who were too busy passing the joint around and talking.

“well... if that’s what you want... then i guess i have no choice but to give it to you, isn’t that right, angel?”

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom imagines #neville x reader #neville x y/n #neville x you #neville longbottom smut #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x y/n #neville longbottom x you

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writemywaytoyourheart · 3 years

Text

Aim For The Heart | Chapter 5: Crimson Pages

Pairing: hitman!jungkook x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, angst, drama

WC: 6k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, mentions of murder, blood, alcohol consumption, kook is an ass, tae is hot af, I think that’s it let me know if I need to add anything else

Tag list: @moonchild1 @hopekookies @barbellastyles98 @teresaisla @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @jaebeomsblackgf @sugaslittlekookies @moon-asia @armyhollander @yoonchrisgullwrites @njkbangtan @higashikatasgf

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn’t sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn’t his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

Previous → Next

The sound of pans clanging around in the kitchen brings Jungkook out of the deep slumber he was in. It was the first time in more than a week that he actually got a decent amount of sleep.

Jungkook groans and rubs his eyes tiredly.

When he is finally able to orient himself and remember where he is, he squints in the direction of the kitchen to see a shirtless Taehyung digging around in his pantry.

"The hell are you doing?" Jungkook slurs.

Taehyung turns around when he hears the younger's voice, "Oh, morning Kook."

Then he turns and continues to rummage around noisily. Jungkook sighs and drops his head back down onto his pillow. He flings one of his arms over his eyes to block the sunlight streaming in and reminding him of the precious sleep he just lost.

After a minute, Taehyung walks over and slaps Jungkook on the stomach.

Jungkook flinches, then groans in annoyance, "What the hell?" He snaps at Tae.

The older boy just smirks down at him, "Do you even eat? There's literally nothing to eat here but ramen and a few mushy apples."

Jungkook rubs his eyes, "What?"

"Food. Sustenance. You have none." Tae speaks up louder making Jungkook flinch again.

"If you're gonna complain then get the fuck out," Jungkook mumbles sleepily, turning away from his idiotic friend and closing his eyes again.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, then slaps Jungkook's ass, hard.

The sleepy boy jerks up and turns to grab at Taehyung angrily, "Leave me alone, asshole! Go find your own food!" He shouts, slapping at Tae's chest.

"Come with me."

"No."

"Please."

"Fuck off." Jungkook snarls then lies down again.

Tae sighs and sits on the edge of Jungkook's bed, "Grumpy butt." He mutters.

Jungkook turns his head to peek at Tae, then he sighs, "Fine. Get dressed."

"Yippee!" Tae gets up and runs over to where his bag is, pulling out his clothes as fast as he can. Jungkook sighs tiredly and forces himself to get up and dress too. _

"So, when are you supposed to be finished?" Tae asks around a mouthful of food. He and Jungkook are in a small cafe, eating the breakfast that he so graciously offered to pay for.

Jungkook finishes chewing and swallows before answering him, "They wanted it done within a month."

"A month? That's a big window. Most hits are a few days to a week." Tae muses as he takes another bite of his pancakes.

"I know," Jungkook mutters, confused himself. They had assured him that a month was expected, even when he told them, again and again, he could get it done within a week at the most.

Turns out he was wrong.

There must be something they know that he doesn't.

Jungkook still can't shake the feeling that the target is playing with him somehow. She must be putting on an act to catch him off guard when he least expects it.

"Sooo," Tae drawls, "Are you going to take a month to get it done?"

Jungkook sends him a glare, "Of course not, why would I waste time on one target?"

Tae shrugs, looking at Jungkook closely as he takes another bite of his food.

"How long has it been?"

"That's none of your business-"

"Why are you being so secretive all of the sudden?" Tae snaps, making Jungkook glance around to see if anyone is listening to their conversation.

There are only two other tables with people at the moment and none of them seem interested in anything going on around them outside of their little bubbles.

Good.

He turns back to his older friend and whispers fiercely, "Stop being so loud for fuck's sake. Are you trying to let the entire restaurant know what we're talking about?"

Tae just sneers at him before continuing to devour his breakfast, "I bet you a thousand bucks I'll be done with my hit before you're done with yours."

"Fuck off."

"No, I'm serious," Taehyung swallows the chewed-up pancake in his mouth, "I bet you one thousand that I'll be done first."

"No." Jungkook takes another bite, trying to ignore the young man sitting on the other side of the table.

"What? You scared you'll lose?" Taehyung taunts with a smirk on his face, "Why should someone as good at what he does as you be afraid of a tiny school teacher?"

Jungkook glances up at Taehyung, his eyes burning with anger, "Fine, you know what? I'll take your bet."

Tae drops his fork onto his plate and reaches across the table. When Jungkook takes his hand, he shakes it once, "Deal," Tae says triumphantly.

Jungkook just shakes his head and goes back to eating. He rolls his eyes when Tae speaks up again, "So, what's your plan?"

"You think I'd tell you?" Jungkook scoffs.

Taehyung shrugs, stuffing his mouth again. ______________

"Miss ___?"

You look up from the worksheets you were going through at your desk. The kids have been working quietly at their seats with whatever they wanted to do at this time.

A tiny girl named Minju is looking at you with big brown eyes, her long black hair is in two ponytails, one on each side of her head. You smile at her and set your pen down.

"How c-can I help you, M-Minju?"

She hands you a picture that she drew, "This is for you."

You look at it and see a few stick-figure kids smiling and holding hands in a line, at the end of the line is you, smiling and holding onto Minju's hand. You're even wearing your favorite white skirt and peach blouse, along with your chunky tennis shoes.

A few tears spring to your eyes and you look back at the small girl, "It's b-beautiful Minju. This m-must have taken you s-so long to do!"

She shakes her head and smiles shyly, "It only took me maybe a little bit of time?"

You laugh and hold the picture to your chest, "I l-love it. Thank y-you so much."

She nods again, then she leans in closer to whisper softly, "You know we love you, right Miss ___?"

You try your best to hold in your tears as you nod, "I love you little d-ducklings too."

"Oh yes, we know!" She whispers enthusiastically before turning and hurrying back to her seat. You smile at her as she sits down and gets to work on another picture.

You place the picture as carefully as you can into your bag, wanting to frame it when you get home later. You're sure you have a frame somewhere that will fit it.

The rest of the school day goes by smoothly, nothing much happening besides the kids getting a lot of their school work done. You always give them time to do their homework on Fridays so they don't have to worry about it over the weekend.

You haven't seen Jungkook for a few days now, ever since you two hung out that day earlier this week. You were starting to wonder if there was something about you that he found annoying, then you reminded yourself of Mina's words to you a few years ago.

"If someone doesn't like you for who you are, please don't waste your precious time on them, ___. You're worth more than that."

It isn't your problem if someone doesn't like you, you're just going to keep on doing what you do best. And that's being a friend to anyone who wants it.

With that in mind, you pack up your stuff after seeing the kids off and wishing them a good weekend.

You look up when someone suddenly opens your classroom door, not even bothering to knock.

When Mr. Baek walks in, you feel your stomach drop.

"How c-can I help you?" You ask politely.

He chuckles darkly and you feel a shiver go down your spine when he walks over and sits on the edge of your desk, pushing his glasses up his long nose.

"Next week is the last week of school," He says casually.

You nod, "Y-Yes, it is."

He looks at you pointedly, "Are you coming back next year?"

You swallow thickly, "U-Um, I th-think so."

His demeanor changes suddenly and he glares at you before standing up, knocking some of the papers off your desk as he does.

Then he leaves without another word, practically slamming the door shut behind him.

You stare at the door in confusion, wondering what he has always had against you. He hasn't been very pleasant to you ever since you started working here back in August of last year.

You shake it off and finish packing your things.

When you're all packed up, you peek outside of your door, checking both ways down the halls to see if he's lingering around anywhere. When you don't see him, you slip out of your classroom and hurry down the hall towards the front.

You peek your head out the front too, glancing both ways before coming out and cautiously walking down the front steps.

Fixing your bag on your shoulder, you hurry down the sidewalk, just wanting to go home and not stop anywhere today.

"Hey, wait up."

You jump out of your skin at the sound of a voice right behind you. Then you turn and see Jungkook walking closer to you, a look in his eyes that you can't decipher.

"Heading home?" He asks casually.

You nod, a smile slowly spreading on your face at the sight of someone who you think might be your friend after all.

Jungkook smiles at you, but you notice something flash in his eyes before he smothers it and comes closer, "Can I walk you home?" He asks.

You look at him closely, trying to figure him out. When you can't, you nod once again, "Yes, tha-that would be ni-nice. Thank y-you."

Jungkook walks next to you as you continue on your way home. You try your best to think of something to say, but you aren't sure what to ask to make the awkward tension between you two break.

You glance over at Jungkook and see him watching his feet as he walks. That brings a smile to your face again.

You look down at your feet and notice how much bigger Jungkook's feet are than yours. Even with your tennis shoes, his feet look huge.

A tiny giggle escapes your lips and Jungkook lifts his head to look at you.

"What's so funny?" He asks in confusion.

"Oh, n-nothing." You assure him before biting your lip and looking down at your feet again. Jungkook squints at you suspiciously but lets it go.

When he looks back down he notices that your walking pace has matched with his.

He looks to the side at you and feels a tiny pinch in his chest when he notices how concentrated you are on trying to make sure your pace matches his. Jungkook forces himself to look away, not liking the feeling that's coming over him all of the sudden.

Remember why you started this, Jungko-

"Where h-have you been, J-Jungkook?"

He starts at the sudden sound of your voice, then when he regains his composure he laughs sheepishly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"I've been busy with work."

"Oh."

"And an old friend of mine came to town." He explains further, not sure why he feels the need to.

"Ah, r-really?" You ask enthusiastically, clearly excited for him, "That m-must be so n-nice."

"Meh, he can be a pain." Jungkook chuckles and you smile at that, then you frown.

"If your f-friend is visiting, you ought t-to be h-home with him."

"Nah, he's fine," Jungkook reassures you quickly, "He's probably just eating my food and watching TV."

You laugh at that, a bright sound that makes Jungkook genuinely smile for the first time since meeting you. You can see the smile in his eyes.

Then it's like it vanishes into thin air as he clears his throat.

"Anyway," He mutters, "Want to hang out this weekend?"

You look at your fingers that you are fiddling with, it's a habit you've had for years. Then you nod, "S-Sure, we c-can invite your friend-"

"No, it's fine," Jungkook cuts off your suggestion. For some reason, he doesn't want you to meet Taehyung.

Or maybe he doesn't want Taehyung to meet you.

Either way, he doesn't like it.

"I mean," He continues when he sees the look of confusion on your face, "He has something with work this weekend. He's on a business trip right now. So, he doesn't have a ton of time to hang out." Jungkook explains in a rush.

Now he's just rambling.

He clears his throat and nods, shutting up.

"Oh, ok." You say simply.

Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief when you don't push it any further.

You make it back to your house a little while later, Jungkook walking you up the stairs and right to your door.

"Thank you, f-for walking me h-home." You say sweetly, smiling at him. Jungkook just nods, then after a moment of silence he speaks up, "So, what time did you want to hang out tomorrow?"

"Um, maybe w-we can meet for l-lunch?" You suggest.

Jungkook agrees quickly, "Alright, then I'll meet you downstairs at noon." Then he turns and hurries away, just like he always does.

You laugh at his behavior, wondering why he always seems to be in some kind of rush. Then you go inside, setting your things down before heading to your closet to find that frame you know you have that will fit the picture from Minju perfectly.

"Where were you?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes at the words Tae speaks right as he comes into his apartment, "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was bored all day long." Taehyung pouts.

Jungkook makes a face at him, "Entertain yourself then, idiot. I wasn't even gone for longer than an hour."

Tae watches Jungkook as he pulls his shoes off, "Were you working?" He asks with a lilt to his voice.

"If you must know, I needed to take a walk alone, without you talking my fucking ear off." Jungkook snaps.

Taehyung's eyebrows raise to his hairline, "Fuck, someone's grouchy. You on your period, Jeon?"

Jungkook looks up at Tae, dropping his shoes on the ground, an unamused expression painting his features.

He sees Tae's mouth twitching as he fights the urge to laugh. That just pisses Jungkook off even more. He bends to grab his shoes to put them back on, but Tae jumps up from the couch and hurries over to knock the shoes out of his hand.

"I was kidding, JK. Jeez."

"Why are you even here?" Jungkook asks in exasperation, "Aren't you supposed to be getting a hit done or something?"

"Don't pretend you don't like having me here," Tae smirks and punches Jungkook lightly on the arm.

"I don't."

Tae frowns, "You used to be a lot more fun."

"Well, I'm not anymore, so leave me alone." Jungkook brushes past Taehyung to get to the kitchen. But he gets stopped once more when Tae grabs his arm.

He looks at Tae in annoyance, "What is it?"

"I should be asking you that. The last time I saw you was a year ago and you were my same old Kook. What happened-"

"I grew up, okay?" Jungkook yanks his arm back and continues his trek to the kitchen to scrounge through the fridge.

"Growing up doesn't equal being an asshole to your best friend," Tae mutters before moving to the couch and plopping down onto it, now in just as much of a funk as Jungkook is.

The younger boy pulls a bottle of soju out of the fridge and glances at his friend sitting on the couch, his brows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest.

Jungkook purses his mouth before moving over to the couch and holding the bottle out to Tae.

The older boy looks away in a huff.

Jungkook sighs, "Look, Tae. I'm sorry, okay?"

Taehyung glances at him, "Sorry for what?"

Jungkook fights the urge to roll his eyes, "For being an asshole."

Taehyung snatches the bottle and opens it with ease, taking a quick sip before grinning at Jungkook, "Ok. I forgive you, you little shit."

Jungkook's nose twitches in irritation but he doesn't say another word.

"Well, I'm hungry," Tae says simply, taking another swig.

"Me too." Jungkook sighs, sitting on the couch.

"We need to go grocery shopping." Tae looks pointedly at his young friend.

They sit there in silence for a minute before Jungkook heaves a huge sigh, "We can go on Sunday."

"Why not today?"

"Because they have a lot more deals on Sunday," Jungkook says, making Tae choke on his next drink.

"The fuck, Jeon? What are you, an old woman?" He wipes his lips, smiling at the glare Jungkook gives him.

"No, I just prefer not to spend a fortune on things like food."

Tae shakes his head in disbelief, "Who the fuck are you these days?"

Jungkook just stands up to head to the bathroom, "I'm taking a shower. There's some ramen in the pantry."

"I'm sick of ramen," Tae moans.

"Good." ______________

You swipe the lip gloss over your lips gently, not wanting too much.

You never really wear make-up but you decided you wanted to try it out today and ask Jungkook how it looks. Mina is usually the one to tell you all the things you can do to improve it or tell you how good it looks. Since your best friend won't be back for another three weeks, you suppose Jungkook will have to do.

You look at the simple look you did, with just a little coverage, some mascara, gloss, and a tiny bit of blush. You think it looks okay, it's definitely a subtle difference.

Then you hurry to your closet to get out your favorite white skirt. You decide to wear your peach blouse today as well since it always lifts your mood and you could definitely use a mood-lifter.

When you're finished pulling your clothes on, you look at your phone and notice that it's a little after noon.

"Oh!" You run out to grab your purse, tripping a little on your own feet before you get on the ground and pull your shoes on.

By the time you're running down your steps, Jungkook is wondering if you've forgotten your plans as he stands downstairs and looks at the time on his phone.

Then he looks up to see you bounding down the steps, your hair flying around and your skirt hiked up as you hold it so you don't trip.

His eyebrows shoot up as you stumble in front of him.

"So-Sorry I'm late." You huff out as you struggle to get your hair out of your lip gloss where it decided to stick.

Jungkook shakes his head, "You're not late. I just got here." He isn't sure why he lies to make you feel better, but he does.

Then he notices that you're wearing make-up. It's not a lot, a very light look. But, it doesn't look that bad-

He shakes his head again to clear it.

No. No, no, no.

Jungkook clears his throat as you watch him curiously, "Y-You okay, Jungkook?"

He nods, "Fine. Let's go."

Then he turns and starts to walk briskly.

You hurry to catch up with him.

"You p-pick the food thi-this time." You say with a smile when he asks you what you want for lunch.

Jungkook looks around, then he points to a little restaurant, "How about that place?"

Well, that was easy.

You nod, "Sure! I've n-never been there."

"Me neither," Jungkook admits as you two make your way there.

You laugh at that and Jungkook finds himself fighting a smile.

Stop it.

Stupid.

Jungkook opens the door and walks in, once again leaving you to grab the door before it hits you. You brush it off and follow him in.

"Table for two?"

You see a girl in a black and white dress holding two menus and smiling at the two of you. Jungkook nods uncertainly and you two follow her to a table in the middle of the room.

After you sit, you look around and see a few couples eating at different tables around the restaurant. You look at Jungkook to see he's already looking through the menu.

"This place is fancier than it looked from the outside," Jungkook says with a frown as he looks over the options. He hadn't meant to take you to a nice place.

You grab your menu and open it up, almost gasping at the prices.

Then you look at Jungkook again. He glances up to see your huge eyes peeking at him from over your menu.

"L-let's get out of h-here." You whisper suddenly.

"What?" He whispers back.

You glance behind you to see the waitress coming over with some water for you both. She sets it down and smiles graciously.

"Would you like to order some other drinks?" She asks politely.

You look at Jungkook in a panic.

He gulps and looks back at the waitress cluelessly. You realize he is just out of his element as you are, so you speak up.

"C-Could we have another m-minute p-please?"

Her whole face changes when she hears your voice. Her eyebrow twitches and she bites back a laugh as she bows and moves away.

You have no idea why she did that so you just brush it off, but Jungkook has a feeling it had to do with your stutter. He looks at you as you glance around the fancy room cluelessly, that same feeling coming over him that he got the other day. He pushes it down again.

Then he jumps a little when you take his menu away from his face and whisper, "C-Come on, let-let's escape while she isn't l-looking."

Jungkook stares at you like you're crazy when you watch her walk away into the kitchen before jumping out of your chair.

"We haven't even b-bought anything yet. Co-Come on!" Then you reach over and grab his hand, dragging a very confused Jungkook out of his chair and practically running out of the restaurant.

You're giggling like a little school girl as you run down the sidewalk, still holding onto Jungkook's hand tightly. He doesn't fight it, just follows you until you run into a small dress shop.

When you finally let go of his hand, you turn and the smile on your face is bright as you reach a hand up to cover your mouth. You can't seem to stop laughing at the situation.

Jungkook is frozen in his place, still trying to figure out what just happened.

"W-We should find somewhere else to eat f-food." You say, still giggling a little.

Finally, Jungkook seems to come out of his shock and nods, "Uh, yeah...where should we go?"

You shrug, "It's s-still your tu-turn to pick."

Jungkook can't help staring as you blink a few times, looking around the shop, then your head cocks to the side for a second.

It's almost like you can't control it.

Then you look back at him and notice him staring at you, making your already pink cheeks turn even pinker.

"Uh, y-you okay Jungkook?"

You snap in front of his face and he blinks back into reality, "Oh. Oh yeah, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward that you caught him staring at you.

You just send him a bright smile and shake your head, blinking hard a few times, "It's okay, I-I b-blank out sometimes t-too."

Jungkook takes a deep breath and looks out the window, watching people walking by on the sidewalk.

"Let's just find some food. I'm starving." He mumbles, then he hurries out of the shop, you hot on his heels.

You two find a small cafe that isn't nearly as fancy as the other place and go inside.

Jungkook leads you to a table for two and you take a seat. There are already menus on the table and you reach for one.

Jungkook reaches at the same time and your hand brushes his. He pulls back like you burned him and you look at him apologetically, "S-Sorry."

He just swallows and gestures for you to take one, so you do.

"Ohh, this looks m-much better." You say happily when you glance over the menu.

Jungkook mumbles an agreement, relieved you two aren't at the other place anymore. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, he's glad you got both of you out of that.

You end up ordering a few different dishes that you agree to share so you can try more things. There isn't much talk until the food comes, then you're both too busy stuffing your faces to speak.

When you've had your fill, you sit back and sigh, rubbing your tummy with your hand. "Ohh, I'm so f-full," You moan, "Lo-Look, I've got a food b-baby!" You exclaim, laughing.

Jungkook snickers for a second before smothering it and continuing to eat the rest of the food that you can't stomach.

You frown, wondering why he won't just let himself laugh. Then you decide right then and there that you'll get him to laugh someday, whatever it takes.

Jungkook ends up asking for a box for the leftovers because apparently, he isn't a bottomless pit like you initially thought. He explains when he sees the confused look on your face, "I was going to bring some back for my friend if that's alright?"

"Oh! Of c-course." You say with a smile. Jungkook wonders again how you can smile so much all the time and not have sore cheeks.

You and Jungkook bicker for a moment over who pays the bill, then you end up deciding to split it up. Jungkook pays for more than half of it, insisting that he ate more anyway. When the bill is paid and the rest of the food is packed up, you two head out.

Jungkook looks up at the clouds for a minute before speaking, "So, what should we do now?"

You're quiet for a minute, then you hold up a hand, "I h-have an idea!"

Jungkook nods, "What is it?"

"F-Follow me." Then you scurry away.

Jungkook looks at you in confusion.

You had him sit down on a big rock in the nearby park as you dug through your bag. Now, you're finally pulling out a sketch pad and some pencils.

"Want t-to draw?" You ask happily.

Jungkook feels a pinch in his chest at the sight of blank paper and colored pencils. He hasn't picked up a colored pencil since he was fifteen years old.

Since right before this all started...

He snaps out of it when you gently place a blank piece of paper on his lap. Then you pick out all the colors of the rainbow and reach out to grab his hand. You open his hand and place the pencils in his waiting palm.

Jungkook feels his palms get sweaty when he closes his fingers around the pencils.

"Th-There you go. Now, d-draw whatever you'd l-like." You say, the teacher in you coming out.

You see a small smile on his face before he again hides it and adjusts himself on the rock. He hands the pencils back to you, pushing them into your hands roughly.

"I don't want to, thanks though."

You frown at that, wondering why he's upset all of a sudden.

"Did I d-do something wro-wrong?" You ask anxiously, aware of his change in behavior.

"I'm tired is all," Jungkook says as he stands up suddenly, the piece of paper you gave to him floating down next to you on the ground. You take it carefully and place it in your bag along with the pencils.

"Ok. I'll j-just go home then." You say, picking yourself up off the ground, "You sh-should go get some r-rest, Jungkook." You say kindly, putting your purse over your shoulder. Jungkook doesn't meet your eyes as he nods.

"See you later," Jungkook says stiffly before turning and walking away.

You bite your lip, waving goodbye to him even though he can't see you.

Jungkook runs up the stairs to his apartment, bursting through the door and tugging his shoes off. He notices that Tae isn't here as he walks over and sits on his bed.

What the hell is the matter with him?

Why does he feel like this?

Suddenly the door opens and Taehyung struts in, pulling his shoes off and dropping them by the door. Jungkook looks up and does a double-take when he sees his friend.

Taehyung is in a black and white suit, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, the tie loosened and his black hair a bit messed up. He looks rumpled like he was just in a fight. But that isn't what takes Jungkook by surprise.

His friend is covered in bright red blood.

And he's smiling brightly, his white teeth a shining contrast against the dark stains on his clothes.

Jungkook swallows, "What the fuck, Tae?"

Taehyung just grins wider, "I win."

Jungkook hangs his head, "You came up the damn stairs like that? You fucking dumbass. What if someone saw you?"

"No one saw me, chill JK!" Taehyung walks over and holds his hand out, "I believe you owe me something."

Jungkook fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out the amount they promised before shoving it into Tae's bloody chest.

Then he walks to the kitchen and grabs the to-go box he brought back. He holds it up for Tae to see, "This is for you. Wash up before you eat it though."

Taehyung walks over and touches Jungkook lightly on the chin, "Thanks, sweetie." Jungkook pulls away, feeling something on his face that was on Tae's finger. He reaches up to wipe the blood off of his chin, "Go wash up," He snaps.

Tae just nods and saunters off into the bathroom.

A few hours later, Jungkook is in bed and listening to Taehyung rant about how fucking satisfying it was to rid this world of that rapist bastard and how Jungkook should've seen the look on his hit's face when he realized who he was and why he was there.

"So, how is your hit coming along? How is ___ doing?" Tae asks suddenly.

Jungkook tenses at the sound of your name, then he remembers that Taehyung saw the file and that's how he knows your name.

"I'll be done soon," Jungkook assures him quietly.

"Mm." Tae responds, then he yawns, "What does she look like anyway? I didn't get to see since you tore up the picture."

Jungkook swallows thickly, "Why does it matter?"

"Is she hot?"

"No."

"Come on, I bet she's a fucking cutie. That's why you're so down in the dumps."

"She's just a fucking idiot. She's annoying, stupid, ugly, and can't even speak correctly." Jungkook huffs out in a single breath before turning on his side and slamming his head down on his pillow again.

The silence after that is deafening.

"The fuck you mean she can't speak correctly?" Taehyung guffaws suddenly.

"It means exactly how it sounds. She's just a worthless nobody." Jungkook spits.

Tae laughs quietly, "Damn, that's harsh, Kook. Even for you."

"Shut the hell up and go to sleep."

"As you wish. Night, JK."

"Goodnight." Jungkook grits out.

When he's finally able to drift off to sleep, Jungkook finds himself in an apartment that he's never been in before. His brain tells him that it's his target's place.

He looks around, wondering why it's so quiet. He walks to the back, looking at all of the childish pictures decorating the walls of the hallway.

"Hello?" He calls out cautiously.

When he gets no answer, he walks into the room at the end of the hall. There's a big bed with a giant octopus stuffie on it. Next to the bed is a pair of pink slippers.

Jungkook turns and walks into the bathroom inside the room, there's no one. When he moves to leave, he sees his reflection in the mirror and freezes.

He's covered in blood.

A dark crimson color decorating every inch of him.

Jungkook turns and sees the bed again, but this time, there's someone in it. He walks out of the bathroom and sees a body lying motionless on the mattress. It's also covered in blood.

His heart rate picks up as he sees sudden flashing images of the target, holding his hand and dragging him out of a restaurant, laughing giddily. Then you're kneeling in front of him on the grass and offering him a blank piece of paper, "You can d-draw anything, Jungkook." You stand up and swing your arms out, "Draw m-me!"

Then the images are gone and he once again sees the lifeless body on the bed. It's wearing a long white skirt and a peach-colored shirt, their socks are bright pink with frills. He can't stop seeing all of the little details.

Jungkook stops breathing as he inches closer to see the face.

A feeling of dread washes over him as he steps closer and closer.

"J-Jungkook?" A small voice whispers somewhere near him, but he doesn't stop walking closer. He needs to see it. He needs to see their face.

"Jungkook, I th-thought you were m-my friend-"

He swallows thickly his throat suddenly dry as he is about to see the face of the person he just killed. Then someone walks through the bedroom door, he looks up and sees Taehyung smirking, covered in blood as well.

"Nice, JK. I guess you really had it in you."

The small voice doesn't stop as Jungkook turns back to see hair covering the girl's face. He reaches over and moves the hair gently-

"J-Jungkook-"

"Jungkook..."

"Jungkook!"

"JUNGKOOK!"

Jungkook shoots straight up, his eyes wide open as he grabs at his chest. He starts to cough while he feels himself, trying to make sure he isn't covered in blood.

He's in his own bed.

Fucking hell he's in his own bed.

"Shit, the hell kind of dream were you having?" Taehyung's voice rings out next to him. Jungkook flinches and looks to the side to see Tae sitting on the edge of his bed.

"You're sweating like a turkey the day before Thanksgiving." Tae laughs.

Jungkook ignores him and stumbles out of bed, trying to get to the bathroom.

Taehyung watches in confusion as Jungkook fumbles his way into the bathroom and then he hears his younger friend fall on the ground before he starts to gag.

"Hey, whoa. You okay, Jeon?" Tae gets up and moves to the bathroom to see Jungkook hunched over the toilet and throwing up whatever was in his stomach.

The older boy plugs his nose and gags at the sight, "Shit, Kook. Fuck."

By the time Jungkook's stomach is emptied of its contents, Tae has all the young man's clothes off apart from his boxers and has tossed him into the shower to rinse him clean. Tae gags again at the smell as he rinses Jungkook off before putting some shampoo in his hair and rinsing him again.

"Fucking pain in my ass," Tae mutters angrily.

Once Jungkook is all cleaned off, Taehyung grabs him some fresh boxers and a pair of sweats to put on. He tosses them on the closed toilet seat and closes the door behind him so Jungkook can get dressed in private.

A few minutes later, Jungkook comes out of the bathroom, his hair wet but he's clean and in nice new clothes. His cheeks are pink from embarrassment, but Tae just waves it off when he tries to speak.

"Ah shut up. I know, ya ate something bad. Blah blah blah. We never speak of this again, understood?"

Jungkook just nods at Tae's words, then he speaks up quietly, "Want to go shopping now?"

The older boy stands up and claps his hands, "Finally! We'll have something to eat around here."

Jungkook is relieved that it's all in the past by the time they get to the grocery store, but that relief is short-lived when he sees a girl in a long pink skirt and light yellow shirt carrying a basket down the candy aisle right in front of them.

She trips a little on thin air but catches herself, her usual bright smile gracing her features still.

Then she looks up and sees him, her smile getting wider as she raises her hand to get his attention.

Fucking hell.

____________________

a/n: so sorry its late my loves, but i hope you liked it!

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noctumbra · 4 years

Text

peaches: vi ─ two

summary ─ her voice was low and soft; she was talking to bucky like she would speak with a wild animal. she was expecting him to be mad at her, bucky realized. bucky wanted to laugh at her face while crying.

pairing ─ dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ mentions of depression, crying, angst, jealousy, smut, +18, wall sex , what comes around goes around aka karma bitch

a/n ─ don’t be mad at me for the ending :))))) i’m just here to post this part, and i’ll be gone again. you guys have waited enough. i finished it just now and didn’t want to make you wait even more. please leave a feedback! thank you <3 i don’t own the gif. (ps: bucky now looks exactly like seb does in the gif)

series masterlist ─ part one

It had been… Bucky didn’t know how long, he stopped counting a while ago. He had been living in his bed for a while. The last time he left home was… the night he got his heart broken cruelly. He haven’t left his house ever since; he was getting the groceries delivered once in a week ─on Wednesdays─, forcing himself to eat at least half a sandwich or a bowl of oatmeal, also forcing himself to take care of his hygiene once in three days.

If he stopped doing even one of them, he knew he would crash very badly. Bucky was trying not to crash. His latest crush had been bad, and he really didn’t want to repeat that.

Bucky sighed as he closed his laptop. He had to go to the company for a meeting that couldn’t be done on Skype, but his delivery was about to come. He stood from his home-office desk and went to his bedroom. He could get ready while waiting the delivery, right?

“Gotta shave first, though,” Bucky murmured to himself as he saw his reflection on the mirror. His hair was longer, fluffier and somewhat curly. He now had a full-grown beard going on; it was dark brown and thick and looked unkempt. He ignored the very dark circles under his eyes. He ran his fingers through the beard. It looked unkempt, yes, but it wasn’t so bad, Bucky thought as his eyes assessed the situation. He could fix the fuzzy look and then have a proper haircut on his way to company.

Yeah, that would make him look decent.

Bucky nodded to himself and threw himself in the shower to wash away the day’s sweat. In ten minutes he was out, with a scissors in his hand, he was fixing his beard. It only took him three minutes and his beard already looked better than it did five minutes ago. Bucky dried his hair and brushed his teeth, finishing up the bathroom. As he stepped back into his bedroom, he heard the doorbell ring. He swore lightly and grabbed his sweatpants that he threw on his bed hastily.

“Coming!” Bucky yelled while trying to find his wallet. Letting out a small sound of triumph, Bucky ran towards the door. “There you go─” He lifted his head as he extended his cash filled hand.

But it wasn’t the delivery guy.

“Hello,” she murmured. Bucky looked at her, frozen. “I, um, wanted to check up on you because, uh, we haven’t heard from you for a while and… Papa got worried because he said that you looked upset while you were leaving, so, um.” She stopped talking.Bucky didn’t say anything but blinked. A part of him couldn’t believe that she was here, worried about him, but the other part of him was suspicious because it wasn’t her, Sam was the real worried one. Bucky knew that she didn’t care about him enough to worry just because she didn’t see him for a month.

“Dad said to leave you alone, said that if you wanted to see or talk to people, you would, but Papa didn’t buy it,” she continued. Her voice was low and soft; she was talking to Bucky like she would speak with a wild animal. She was expecting him to be mad at her, Bucky realized. Bucky wanted to laugh at her face while crying.

“So?” Bucky finally spoke, his voice was cold. “You’ve seen me, checked up on me. You can go back.” He made a move to close the door, but she stopped him before he could close it fully.

“Bucky─”

“I can’t,” Bucky said. “I gotta be at the company in two hours.” He tried to close the door again, but she wasn’t letting him fucking close it. “Step back,” Bucky snarled.

“I wanna talk,” she said, looking at his eyes. Bucky clenched his jaw.

“There isn’t anything to talk, now step back,” Bucky murmured through his clenched teeth. She wasn’t giving up, though, Bucky realized. “Y/N.” He warned.

“No, I wanna talk. Quit being stubborn,” she hissed at him, and Bucky ─ just snapped. With a growl, Bucky opened the door and pulled her inside. Her back slammed against the wall even before the door was closed.

“Stubborn?” He hissed. His face was so close to hers, the tips of their noses were brushing against each other. “I said I don’t want to talk, and you’re calling me stubborn? You got a fucking nerve, kid,” Bucky continued to hiss at her angrily. He was so angry, so sad, he just couldn’t help himself. “You’re tellin’ me that I don’t worth your time, that I’m not good enough for you─” Bucky felt himself choke on the words, but swallowing harshly, he continued.

“I ain’t stubborn, Y/N. I’m just heartbroken. I’m just ─ hurt,” Bucky finished with a snarl and pulled himself off of her. “When I said I don’t want to talk, I said it because I don’t want to be reminded of my heartbreak. I don’t want to recall that time again so that I can be sad after you leave. I’ve been hurt enough in this lifetime, I don’t want to be hurt anymore. Enough.” Bucky’s voice cracked as his eyes filled with tears slowly, he hated how his eyes got teary whenever he was angry. His chest was moving up and down with the adrenaline that was running through his bloodstream. She wasn’t so different: Her eyes were huge, lips parted, and she was panting. Bucky saw tears in his eyes and barely held his scoff back. Bucky turned around and opened the door. “Leave.” She stood on shaky legs and took a couple steps forward.

What Bucky didn’t expect was for her to slam the door shut and wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Bucky let out a shocked little noise and tried to push her away, but he missed this so much. He missed her so much. It was maybe a bit masochist of him, but he wanted this. He wanted her back, wanted her beautiful presence and gorgeous body in his life back.

Fuck the heartbreak, Bucky thought, and he pushed her against the wall again, a growl escaping from his half-parted lips.

Caging her body between his and the wall, Bucky placed his left hand on her jaw. His right hand sneaked into her hair, grabbing a fistful, as he deepened the kiss. He was swallowing every single little moan, or whimper she was letting out.

It was only him who could hear those delicious sounds.

It was only him who could draw out those moans out of her.

It was only him who could treat her right, Bucky knew it goddammit, she was his.

Snarling possessively, both of his hands moved south on her body. Bucky grabbed her thighs in his palms so that he could hike her body higher. She let out a little gasp when Bucky lifted her easily and helped her wrap her legs around his waist. Her hands grabbed his hair and pulled painfully when she felt his mouth latch on the exposed skin of her neck. Bucky groaned at the delicious sting on his skull.

“Bucky, oh!” She moaned, “Please!” Bucky chuckled against the soft skin beneath his lips. Her body was trying to move, grind, between his and the wall. Bucky tsked teasingly.

“You don’t deserve my kindness, Y/N,” Bucky murmured. His eyes were closed. His left hand that was on her jaw was now around her throat, loose. Bucky felt his fingers twitched with the almost unstoppable want of curling around that throat and maybe squeezing just a little. Growling under his breath, Bucky sniffed, filling his lungs with her soft, peach scent. The tears stung in his eyes: He missed smelling peaches on you so much.

“Bucky?” Her voice called out to him softly, worry hiding in that soft tone. “Are you okay?” Bucky knew that if he tried to speak, he’d probably just let out a sob, so he just nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you like this. I’m sorry.” Bucky shook her head.

“Shut up,” he grunted, and his lips were onto her again.

She whimpered into his kiss. Her hands were now on both sides of his face rather than pulling his hair. She was holding his face so gently, Bucky’s sobs started to threaten him to let out even more. Bucky ignored them. He tilted his head and let his lips stroke her swollen and slick ones. Her tongue traced an innocent line over his bottom lip, and Bucky groaned gently.

“I need you,” she whispered against his lips. Her hands were trailing south slowly. Her fingertips were dancing on his naked torso, sending hot lick of arousal down Bucky’s spine. “I missed you. Bucky─ Sir, I need you,” she sobbed. “Please…”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “You do not deserve my kindness, Y/N,” Bucky repeated his words, his head hanging low. He should have pulled back and told to go home, but instead of doing that, Bucky let his fingertips graze over her clothed core. He needed her, too. He needed to feel her skin against his.

Taking a hold of her sweatpants, Bucky lowered and let go of her enough to pull them off. Then, she was up against the wall again with Bucky’s sweatpants pooling around his ankles. “He’s not me. He can never be me, you understand, Y/N?” Bucky asked, his voice was cold and demanding. She whimpered.

“Yes, Sir,” she murmured. Her eyes were black, tears were dry on her cheeks, lips were swollen and her hair was a mess. She looked so good and all Bucky’s. Bucky couldn’t help but moan at his own thoughts, and he grabbed her jaw to tilt her head back. He wanted eye contact.

“If you do this to me again, Y/N, I’ll lose it,” he whispered, “You hear me? I’ll fucking lose it. You’re mine, peaches.”

She whimpered, hips grinding against his slowly. “Will always be yours, sir, Bucky. Yes, I hear you, sir.” Bucky smiled darkly, satisfied with the answer he got. His free hand slipped under her t-shirt, his fingers stroking the line of her breast. She came here prepared, he thought. Rumbling deep in his chest, his hand closed over the swell of her breast and he squeezed. She moaned, head tilting back even more. Bucky nosed the line of her jaw and took a deep breath.

Bucky pushed his hips forward and helped her grind right on his cock. Moaning, Bucky pinched her nipple. “The sounds you make…” He murmured. “Mmm.”

“Sir─” She choked over her own moan when the tip of his cock brushed against her clit. Bucky grunted and ground her harder on his cock. It felt too good to feel her juices coating him in the filthiest way possible. It felt too good to have her under him back.

“Fuck,” Bucky moaned and let go of her breast to grab his cock. He squeezed the base for couple seconds before he lined up. “No one will make you feel things that I can, Y/N,” he said, voice hard as steel and cold as ice. “You can’t find me in different men.”

She just whined. The words were failing her ever since she stepped inside, so she just whined and continued to grind. Bucky smirked and lined his cock. With one thrust, he was inside of her scorching heat. Her soft walls were clenching down on him, and Bucky thought he could come any second.

“Oh, fuuck─” Bucky choked on his moan. Resting his head on her shoulder, Bucky put his now free hand on the wall. His hips started to thrust: Slow at first, but the pace got faster as his desperation increased. His cock hitting her sweet spot with every single thrust, she cried out. Her nails were digging in and creating angry lines on Bucky’s back, but the physical pain was spurring Bucky faster.

His thrusts got deeper, harder and faster, and soon enough she was crying and screaming with pleasure. “Fuck, sir! Yes, right there, yes please, please!” She whined, sobbed and choked on her moans. Bucky was going delirious with the sounds she was letting out. He growled and brought his hand to grab her breast through her t-shirt.

“God,” he grunted. “Shit, peaches, so fucking good. So tight, wet. You hear that sounds? It’s your slick, baby,” Bucky moaned this time. “You’re so fucking wet, you’re drenching my thighs, honey, fuck.”

She molded her body against his and started to respond his thrusts with her own. Bucky snarled and pulled her off from the wall and shed her from her t-shirt. Now with the easy access to her breasts, Bucky plastered her back against the wall and leaned forward. Bucky took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked harshly.

“Ah!” She exclaimed with the sudden extra sensation. Her hands found Bucky’s hair and pulled. Bucky just grunted, hips driving even deeper now, he continued to suck on her nipple. Sometimes his teeth would graze the areola, bite down softly, Bucky made her lose it.

She screamed, back arching and pushing her chest to his mouth even more, she clamped down around him and came. Bucky groaned with the tightness around his cock. He forgot how tight her pussy got whenever she came. Bucky felt his balls tighten, too, his stomach was cramping softly. He was close, oh, he was so close.

“Fuck, fuck, ah!” With one last thrust, Bucky came inside of her.

He didn’t know how long they stood like that against the wall, but Bucky blinked and pulled out slowly. He still needed to go to the company. Delivery guy would be here any minute, too, he thought, and pulled on his sweatpants.

Bucky watched her collect herself. She put her panties and sweatpants on and grabbed the t-shirt that Bucky discarded on the floor. When she lifted her head, she got a hopeful look in her eyes. Bucky frowned slightly.

“Bucky…” She started, her lips curled up with a soft smile.

“I don’t forgive you,” he cut her off. “I don’t know when will I do that, or ever to be honest.” Her face fell and she suddenly got angry.

“You─ used me? If you didn’t forgive me, then why did you fuck me, huh?” Bucky looked at her with his eyebrows raised and an amused smirk on his lips. “I can’t fucking believe you!” She hissed at him. Bucky let out a dark laugh.

“This,” Bucky said. “This is how I felt when you said those things to me in your kitchen. That’s what you did to me. You used me and discarded me like I’m trash, Y/N. That’s exactly how I felt that night.” She looked like she had been slapped, and Bucky enjoyed that look a little too much. She needed to understand how she made him feel that night. She had to. “Now you know,” Bucky finished his words and opened the door. “I’ll call your parents and let them know I’m still alive. Thank you for coming by.”

She looked at him like she wanted to say something, but the look on his face made her decide against it. She put her hair into a bun and walked out. “I’m sorry,” she murmured before Bucky closed the door on her face.

I deserved it, she thought. It does hurt like motherfucker. She chuckled to herself bitterly and went back to her house.

She needed to earn his forgiveness, she knew that much, and she was going to do right by him. Whatever it takes, she was going to do it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #dadsbestfriend!bucky #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes x reader #peaches

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messrmoonyy · 3 years

Note

The fluff 49 with Remadora!!

I literally used to always just write from Doras thoughts yet here I am now obsessed with writing outta Remus’ head. Jealous Remus. We love to see it. Prompt from this list.

Prompt: ‘ is somebody jealous? ‘

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: mild language

You can find all my other writing on my masterlist and remember my ask box is always open, so drop me a request! Check my masterlist for who I write for!

Remus didn’t think he was a particularly jealous person. And he had plenty to be jealous of when he thought about it. But it just… never crossed his mind to be jealous. He was too far past having an emotion so useless, jealousy would never get him anyway. Being jealous of a man with more money than he had wouldn’t magically make a hundred galleons appear in his pocket. Being jealous of other people his age who were settled down with families wouldnt make his family return from the dead. Yet…. There he was, sat at his desk in the Grimmauld place library, practically seething.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Completely. But watching Sirius and Nymphadora laughing on the other side of the room was making his blood boil. He felt a little stupid in fact, they were related after all. But. The Blacks did have a bit of reputation for that didn’t they. And there was the matter that he’d heard Harry talking to Hermione about how he thought Nymphadora and Sirius were secretly a couple. And of course to top it all off Sirius had, and probably always would be, an absolute ladies man.

He didn’t really have a right to be jealous. Yes he and Tonks had been getting very… close, if that was even the best choice of words. He didn’t think close did justice right the several bouts of snogging he had found himself in a multitude of places around Grimmauld place. Only the previous night on the exact sofa she was pratting around on with Sirius now. Not to mention the nights Tonks snook into his room, or cornered him in the back of the library. And there was that one time he’d practically jumped her in the drawing room after a meeting. But there hadnt been any real discussion on what they were.

The only vague discussion being after their first kiss, when Remus has avoided her for a good four days after. Wracked with guilt that he’d let his self control slip. But she’d cornered him in the kitchen and forced him to confront the situation head on. He’d tried to tell her it was probably a mistake. That he wasn’t exactly the best of choices for her. But she’d told him he was ridiculous, that she didn’t care about his age. His condition. But there hadn’t been a talk on their situation since. He didn’t like to bring it up. Maybe it was simply casual for her. A late night hook up when she had stress form work to blow off. So he couldn’t be jealous could he.

But he was. Insanely so. His grip tightening on his quill as Sirius flung another awful joke at her and she threw her head back with laughter. Remus didn’t get it but she clearly did. He tried to distract his jealousy away by focusing on just how beautiful she was when she was laughing, how her eyes crinkled at the corners and her cheeks flushed pink. But it didn’t work as well as he hoped. Because if he noticed those things. Sirius must too.

“ if you two are going to continue being so noisy then would you just leave. Some of us are trying to work “ he snapped, slamming his fist to the desk for good measure. Sirius made some grumbled remark about Remus being a bore. But he didn’t care enough to pay attention.

“ ooo Tonksie that’s his professor tone “ Sirius said in a loud whisper before laughing again and nudging Tonks with his elbow “ sorry sir. Detention for talking in class? “ they both burst into laughter, Tonks steadying herself with a hand to Sirius’ shoulder. Remus sighed and tried to ignore them, his knuckles turning white around his quill. “ oh come on Re. Have a drink, lighten up “

“ I’m not in the mood. I’m trying to work “ he grumbled, purposely not looking over at she’d Sirius now had his arm slung around Tonks shoulders. He was being ridiculous. Though Tonks seemed to pick up on it.

There was then some hushed talking between the two of them, that his heightened senses would’ve allowed him to hear if he cared enough. But instead He huffed and looked back down at his mission report. There was the creek of the library door as Sirius left with another remark about how boring Remus was and then quiet. Assuming that Tonks had followed Sirius out of the room he debated on going to find her. But a few moments later her arms looped around his neck from behind him, her nose brushing against his cheek.

“ is somebody jealous? “ she said quietly, mischief evident in her tone. He’d hoped he hadn’t been so obvious. Clearly he had. Of course he had. He wasn’t exactly well practiced in the art of hiding his affections for someone. And besides, Tonks could read him like a book.

“ I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about “ he felt her smile against his cheek and she tightened her hold on him, bringing her chin down to rest on his shoulder.

“ he’s my cousin Remus. I might technically be a Black by name, but not by nature. Not really into the whole ‘ fuck your family members ‘ thing you know? Especially not Sirius. Merlin. It’d be like shacking up with a brother or something. Nasty. Ugh now you’ve put that imagine in my head “ she shivered at the thought and he couldn’t help but smile.

“ you said yourself he’s handsome “ he pointed out, remembering the conversation that had actually lead to their first kiss, in a much similar situation to the one they were currently in. His so thought non existent jealousy coming out to bite.

“ doesn’t mean I wanna shag him Remus “

“ you always have such a way with words “ she laughed lightly and moved around in front of him, hopping up onto the desk and folding her arms.

“ I’m quite offended actually “ Remus sat back in his chair and watched her intently. Her cheeks were flushed slightly from drinking “ I mean come. On. Remus. You’ll be saying I’m shacking up with Arthur next because I laugh at his dad jokes “ when she put it like that he guessed he had been a bit irrational with his thoughts.

“ I heard Harry talking about it with Ron and Hermione. I think most of the kids believe you and Sirius are up to something “ she scoffed at that and quirked an eyebrow.

“ so you’re listening to the theories of the most unobservant boy in the entire country? I mean I love the boy I do, but I think he needs a new pair of glasses. His clearly aren’t working well “ a small smile tugged at his face then, Harry was a bright boy but he did have a tendency to be quite…. Oblivious. To everything. Tonks was quiet for a few more moments before tilting her head to the side inquisitively, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. She looked deep in thought “ so what’s this really about then? “ Remus frowned and raised his hands as if in mock surrender.

“ nothing. I told you I heard Harry and the way you were with Sirius.. it’s nothing “ she rolled her eyes and hopped off the desk, stepping either side of his legs and wiggling to get comfortable in his lap. His hands flew to her waist, unable to stop himself as she placed her hands to his shoulders and titled her head again.

“ Remus “ her voice was slightly sterner but she was smiling at him “ you can talk to me. You know you can “ he debated telling her the truth. That he was just getting jealous because she could do far better than him. She could have whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. And he was scared to lose her. What they had, whatever it really was, was great. Remus hadn’t been so happy in a long. Long. Time. He didn’t want to push too far and send her packing. But he didn’t want to hang too far back and have her run off to someone else. It was a constant dilemma in his head.

“ you and I “ he started, not really even sure where he was going with his speech “ it’s good. It’s. It’s marvellous “ she laughed a little and nodded with a tight lipped smile.

“ it is. Though I sense a ‘ but ‘ incoming “ he sighed and fiddled nervously with one of the beads on her shirt. They were haphazardly sewn all over it and he wondered if she’d added them herself.

“ I’m just waiting for the inevitable “ he said after another short moment of silence. Deciding now was a better time as any to tell her. She was stubborn and she had him right where she wanted him. So it was going to come out there and then whether he liked it or not really.

“ ‘ the inevitable’ being?…. “

“ finding someone better- no now before you make that face let me finish. Please “ she had sighed as soon as the words left his mouth, sitting back slightly with an eye roll.

“ Remus we’ve talked about this. Can you just get it into your head, that I fancy you. Not Sirius. Not some random ‘ someone better ‘. You “ he couldn’t lie that the words made his heart pound just that bit faster. The confirmation being all he’d really needed. But there was always going to be that worry in the back of his mind. It would never go away.

“ I know. And maybe I’m a fool to keep bringing it up. But you have to admit that I’m not exactly at the top of most peoples most eligible list “ she took his face in her hands then, making him look her in the eyes. He’d noticed she didn’t change their colour very often anymore after he’d made an offhand remark about how beautiful her natural brown eyes were. They were captivating.

“ no one else bloody matters though. You’re at the top of my list. That’s all that matters. Maybe I’m mental. Maybe I’m not. All I know, is you’re one of the only truly decent man I’ve ever met. You don’t make me morph. You’re so respectful it’s practically dripping off of you. And you’re proper fit too which is totally just a bonus “ he hoped she couldn’t feel his cheeks heating up under her hands. But her smile told him she probably could.

It was odd for him to look at her and think that some one could ever even have the nerve to make her morph for them. To fit their idea of what was perfect. He thought she was marvellous in whatever form she thought was best fitting for her each day. He’d never dream of making her change. In his eyes, there had never been a more perfect specimen of a person to walk the earth. She made him laugh. Made him feel normal. Cared for. He couldn’t believe she would ever have eyes for him. But she did. And he guessed that miracles must truly be real.

“ I’m sorry for being so jealous “ her face softened again and the backs of her fingers brushed over his cheek.

“ it’s fine. I mean. At least it shows you care? “ she laughed a little and he felt his tension melting away a little.

“ I do “ her hand crept towards the back of his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair and she shuffled a little closer again.

“ good. Now stop being a mope and realise we’re on own again “ she whispered the last part, her face inching closer so he felt her breath on his lips. And with a smirk she caught his lips in hers.

#messrmoonyy writes #I don’t really like this one ngl #but hope you do #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remadora #harry potter #remus x tonks #ronks #the marauders #lupin #tonks x lupin #tonks #remus x nymphadora #remadora one shot

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

Okay hi I’m back with an IDEA☄️

So. I’ve been thinking about how stubborn javi would be with his feelings. Like maybe he’s being messing around with this girl and he knows he has feelings for her and she knows it too but both of them are so stubborn so they go out of their way just getting under each other’s skin.

Like imagine they’re at a bar with steve and she’s just flirting around and dancing with guys all the while shooting him bedroom eyes and he’s just there BROODING AND ANGRY n Steve is just like “you guys are so insufferable” UGH

aaaaaaa i love this so much!! here we are:

Always Been Yours (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: Javier doesn’t take kindly to having his dance partner stolen from him.

W/C: 2.7k

Warnings: language, lots of bad flirting, mentions of sex and sexual topics but nothing too explicit, Javier is his own warning. alcohol and cigarettes.

A/N: ☄️ anon you have done it again!! this was so much fun to write I hope it’s what you were thinking!!

Restraint is one of Javier’s best qualities. He can hold back when he needs to, save his emotions until they’re all too much then channel them out by fucking or drinking them away. He does it often, in fact. Sometimes, that restraint is too strict. Javier never allows himself to relax, never allows himself the luxury of feeling the powerful emotions his mind creates.

This restraint can sometimes transfer over even when Javier doesn’t mean to. He wants to let loose, he really does, but he physically can’t most of the time. Contrary to the men at work who tell him he’s too impulsive, he’s an overthinker. He mentally runs every possible outcome of any situation he’s in. He just picks the more dangerous options sometimes.

Javier holds back his emotions even more when it comes to romance. He sleeps around quite a bit, does what he pleases with whomever he chooses. It’s not because he lacks feelings or attachment, it’s because he fears them both. He knows what he did to Lorraine hurt her immensely. He never wants to hurt someone again, and so he avoids romantic relationships.

He fell for you when he met you. It was as plain and simple as that. When you moved your cardboard box into the desk in the corner of his and Murphy’s bullpen, his eyes were drawn to you. You had such an elegant and beautiful walk, he noticed. Your head was held high, your hips swayed like you were dancing. When you shook his hand, when he felt your soft fingers in his calloused palm, he was fucked.

He flirted with you. Of course he did. That’s how Javier does things. The flirting was subtle and quiet, not loud and brash like he normally was. He told you he loved those earrings, that that blouse was really beautiful. It always tied back to how beautiful you were.

It escalated when he realized you were into him too. You’d flirt back shamelessly, telling him that you wished you were involved with the narcos so that he'd pay more attention to you. He’d shoot back that you weren’t looking right, because his eyes were always trained on you. Steve made a vomiting noise at that and left for more coffee. “You’re just jealous he’s flirting with me and not you, Murphy,” you called out after him. You looked back at Javi with a devilish grin, and he shot one back in return.

That’s how your relationship has been going this time. You’re down hard for Javier, completely entranced by him. When he talks about cases, you have a hard time listening. Your eyes trace his biceps, the way they bulge against the sleeves of his shirt. You make snarky comments just to see the fire in his eyes ignite again.

Javier really wants to ask you out, he does. But he fears it’s unprofessional. He fears that you just want to hook up with him, and he likes you too much to do something like that. He wants you fully, in an all-consuming way.

You really like him, but you fear the same from him. His reputation precedes him, and you know all about Javier’s habits. You know he sleeps with informants to get information in those quiet moments after the work is done. You know he flirts with anything in a skirt around the office, and has slept with a decent number of those women too. Javier is a tornado, tearing through women faster than they can recover. If that’s not enough for him, you know he loves to frequent certain brothels in the area. You notice the sneaking way some of the girls there will grab his arm and murmur something as he walks past, the way he’s far too into it for being on the job. They know him by name sometimes. He knows them too.

As much as you want to be with Javier, you don’t want to be with the womanizer. You want to be with him in the early hours of the morning, want to tighten his tie for him before you walk into work together. You want to make him laugh and want him to stay with you and hold you after the events of the night.

You’re practical though. That’s not really who Javier is. You know that as well as you know the man. You want him in any way you can get him, really. That means you’re willing to just sleep with him. You’d take a night with him over never touching him at all.

Drinks after work are a common occurrence for you, Steve, and Javier. All three of you need the assistance of alcohol to relax after the chaos that is working for the DEA. The two men order beers, and you order a strong cocktail the bar you frequent is known for.

Tonight is a rare night where Connie is out of town. You and Javier, the two single ones, demanded that the three of you absolutely must go to the club. It’s a Friday night, you got off work early for once, and you want to let loose. Steve reluctantly agreed, and now you’re sitting in the backseat while Steve drives you and Javier.

As you enter the club, the music is loud and the bass pounds. You whoop excitedly and wander into the dance floor. Steve and Javier find barstools and sit.

You return after that initial song ends, resting one arm on Javier’s shoulder. They ordered a drink for you, the one they know you love. “Aw, thank you guys,” you coo and rest your head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, kid. You haven’t even had anything to drink yet and you’re acting like this?” The blonde scoffs and looks down at you.

You frown. “Steve, come on. It’s a Friday night, I’m with my favorite guy, and Javier is here too. How couldn’t I be this happy?”

Javier rolls his eyes at you. “Thanks for that, princesa,” he murmurs as he sips at his whiskey.

The three of you remain at the bar for a while, chatting and laughing. Eventually, a song comes on that you know Javier loves. “Alright, you big buzzkill,” you laugh and grab Javier’s strong bicep. “Come dance with me.”

Javi groans as he stands and sets down his glass. “Fine. Only because you look so good tonight,” he mumbles to you.

Once you reach the floor, his arms wrap around your waist and yours encircle his neck. His hips start moving against yours to the music and you shudder, bare arms prickling in the humid air of the club. You rest your face in the curve of his neck as you dance, both of you moving your feet in perfect time with the other.

He’s a wonderful dancer, you already knew, but something about it is extremely intimate. Your bodies, which have long desired the other’s, are flush against each other. He can feel your tits pressing into his chest and one of your hands slides up into his hair, toying with the waves it finds there. He uses all of the power he physically has to stop the blood from flowing straight to his dick.

“You’re good at this,” you mumble into his ear.

“Only because it’s you I’m dancing with.”

Your time in Javier’s arms doesn’t last long. You dance more separately now, one hand of his still on your waist. It all shifts when another man puts a hand on your hip and turns you his way. “Can I steal you away?” He asks. He’s handsome, dark hair and dark eyes. He’s tall, taller than Javi. You don’t want anyone but your DEA agent, but this presents a wonderful opportunity.

“Of course,” you nod and he twirls you into his arms, wrapping one arm around you and taking one of your hands in his.

Javier watches in disbelief at the ease the man had in taking you from him. You’re now pressed to this random man’s chest, one hand resting over his heart. You giggle at something he murmurs to you and your body is pressed tight against his.

Javier stalks off back to the bar, sitting back down next to Murphy and slamming his whiskey. “Another one,” he calls from the bartender, who has another glass tumbler sitting in front of the man in a matter of seconds.

He watched you from the bar with a growing fire in his eyes. The way your hips moved was like the spinning of a hypnotist’s wheel, drawing him in until he couldn’t look away. You were passed around from man to man, grinning and laughing the entire time. You were having fun, that much was clear, and it almost made Javier feel bad for the jealousy that burned a pit in his stomach. He lights a cigarette to dull the want he feels for you.

Your partner spins you around and you lock eyes with Javier. They’re trained on you, they have been the whole night. You smirk a little before continuing the turn, wrapping yourself into your partner’s chest as he pulls you along across the floor.

Steve rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his beer. “For the love of fuckin’ Christ, Peña. Either quit staring at her like that or go fuckin’ get her from that man.”

Javier glares back at Steve. “Shut the fuck up. You’re supposed to be my wingman, not to fucking yell at me.”

“You need to be yelled at. I am being your wingman. In my professional opinion, as a man who’s fucking married to a woman who played the hard-to-get deal, you need to go show her that you actually do like her or she’s gonna end up going home with that fucker.”

Steve always gives Javier the tough love he needs. He groans as he realizes that Steve is probably right. He needs to go do something now. You lock eyes with him and give him your best teasing smile, your eyes showing everything. You’re having fun, but if Javier comes and stops you, you’d let him do whatever the fuck he wants. “Come get me,” you mouth to the man before resting your head against your partner’s chest, laughing and swaying along with him.

Javier downs his second whiskey and stands. “Fuck it.”

“Atta boy,” Steve laughs and claps him on the back. “I’m telling you now, I’m not driving the two of you home if you’re gonna be making out in the backseat.”

Javier smirks and stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. “I live close enough to walk.” He cracks his neck and makes his way out into the rainbow-colored chaos that is the crowded dance floor.

You’re hard to find in a sea of people, all of them twirling and moving. Some women have their heads on their partner’s chest, making it even harder to find you. Javier finds the last man who held you in his arms, the one wearing a green shirt. He’s got someone else now.

Javier is caught by surprise when two arms wrap around his neck and his naturally find their way to rest on the hips of the person: you. “Hey, Peña,” you grin at him, one hand resting on his chest. “Sorry I got pulled away.”

“No you’re fucking not,” the man laughs, moving you along to the music.

“I am,” you refute him, frowning a little. “I wanted to dance with you, but I figured I’d give the other guys a shot. Especially since you’re taking your sweet ass time with me.”

Javier’s eyes darken slightly. “They should’ve realized you’re mine.”

You look up at him, tilting your head and eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m yours?”

He shakes his head. “We both can tell. You know that, know what’s between us.”

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Can I show you, then?” He offers.

You nod, scrunching your nose. “Do your worst, Javi.”

He cups the side of your face with one large hand and kisses you deeply. You gasp in surprise, even though you knew it was coming. It’s warm and perfect, Javier’s strong arms holding you in place.

The rest of the dance floor twirls and moves along, but you and Javier have stopped moving. Your feet are planted firmly to the ground, arms wrapped around him like an anchor point in a sea of people. He kisses you harder and you allow it, kissing him back just as deeply. He tastes like whiskey and you taste like the fruity cocktail you drank earlier. Normally, the two would taste awful combined, but it doesn’t matter because now it tastes like you and Javier and anything with him included is the most delicious thing you’ve ever had the pleasure of gracing your tastebuds.

He breaks away a moment later. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asks teasingly.

“Not if you want me in your bed tonight,” you flirt right back. You can feel the apples of your cheeks warming with a rush of blood from the kiss, from what you’re insinuating, from the alcohol and from the movement on the floor.

“I don’t. I just want you in my arms and maybe on my lips some more.”

You look up at him, truly astounded. “I thought you’d just want to fuck me and be done,” you admit honestly as you push back a strand of dark brown hair that fell into his face while the two of you moved.

“I don’t want that,” he shakes his head still breathless from the kiss. “I want you to be mine. I wanna take my time with you, and yeah I wanna fuck you, but I wanna date you properly and bring you flowers and walk you home late at night, and then I wanna rail you into the mattress so hard all you can feel is me. But that can wait. For now, I just wanna dance with you and tell you that I really like you. Have for a while now.”

You’re grinning ear to ear at his words. “Really?” You ask.

“No,” he deadpans. “I just said all that shit for fun.”

“Your sarcasm is really annoying when I’m trying to be sweet and sincere with you.”

He sighs. “Yes, really, princesa. I just want you to be mine.”

The grin on your face only widens, your heart in your eyes as you look at him. “You don’t need to want it. I’m already yours. Didn’t you say that?” The music changes into a new song, something slower and sultry. “Ooh, I love this one,” you sing to Javi, forcing him along so that the two of you are once again dancing. “I’ve always been yours, Javi,” you admit, your thumb softly tracing the side of his neck from where your hand rests on his shoulder. “Since the moment we met. I really like you.”

“I really like you too, dulzura,” he murmurs and kisses you again. It’s not all-consuming or hot and sloppy like the last one. It’s warm and chaste with only the purest of intentions, Javier’s hands gripping your waist a little softer.

He gets carried away by the way your lips meet his. One of his feet steps on your toes, exposed by the heels you’re wearing. “Fuck,” you cry and wince.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, instinctually taking a step back from you so that he can’t possibly do it again.

You smile up at him softly as the pain subsides. “It’s alright. Maybe we’ll just need to get you some dancing lessons,” you tease and pull him close again.

You spend the rest of the song like that, slowly swaying along. Javier’s arms wrap around your waist, and he softly kisses the side of your head a few times. Eventually, your head finds its way to his shoulder, where it rests as Javier quietly mumbles the lyrics of the song to you.

He’s not very good at it, and he’d be the first to admit it, but it’s beautiful when he’s soft and quiet. He’s doing it just for you, this quiet act of intimacy. You press a kiss to the skin of his neck when the song ends and he hums a chuckle. “My girl,” he murmurs and kisses you one last time. “Let’s go home.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javi peña x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #☄️ anon

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

who's the boss | jhs

pairing: jung hoseok x oc

genre: fluff, slight enemies to lovers, boss!hobi, pa!oc

warnings: like one moment of suggestive content, confessing but no real confessions, jimin is your annoying best friend

words: 4, 663

summary: valentine's day with your stupid (hot) boss

“You look miserable.”

Jimin snickers when he walks past your slouched body across your desk, ensuring that you saw the mocking look he gives you when you glare at him.

“Please tell our boss that.” You mutter under your breath, attempting to avoid the mountains of work that sat in front of you.

“You’re his assistant—you out of all people should know that he’s a force to be reckoned with.” Jimin points out, slamming a new pile of folders on your desk.

You gape at him, observing the unforgiving amount of work that now occupies both your desk and time; and Jimin only offers you a half-hearted shrug before patting you on the shoulder.

“Mr Jung wants it by tonight,” Jimin lets you know as he begins to walk off.

The deadline has you snapping your head rapidly to his retreating figure as you quickly stand up to call for him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You exasperate, “Jimin—there’s no way I can get this done by tonight let alone this week!”

Jimin doesn’t even turn around when he shrugs, as if to tell you that it was your problem to deal with.

You growl, helplessly staring at the work that scatters your desk before your eyes narrow to the office next to yours, doors shut tight.

Before you can think twice, blinded by pure anger, you storm towards the secluded room; ignoring the stares from your co-workers, and a few sighs that you can tell is coming from Jungkook knowing that you were going to piss your boss off yet again.

You don’t knock, long past that level of formality with your boss as you slam the door open, eyes narrowed intimidatingly at the unsuspecting victim of your rage, who just looks up from his laptop with a raised brow.

“____, are you already done with—”

“Jung Hoseok.” You hiss, interrupting him as you shut the door behind you, rolling up your sleeves as if that would intimidate the man; fully aware that he towered over you, even in heels.

He slowly brings his laptop to a semi-closed position and leans back into his seat, arms carefully folded across his chest in a way that makes him look intimidating yet commanding.

It was a pity that your boss was such a douche because he was truly one of the most beautiful men that you’ve had the pleasure (or displeasure) of meeting in your entire life. Hoseok had the charm of a man that held himself with confidence and assurance, knowing that he was likely the hotshot of every room he walked into.

However, that also meant that he had a justifiable inflated ego that you were on the receiving end off, purely because you were hired as his personal assistant and not some other poor soul.

“That is my name, yes.”

You stomp towards his desk and slam your hands down onto the expensive wood, making sure your eyes are locked onto his stoic expression.

Momentarily, you see his eyes glance down to your chest where a decent amount of cleavage is likely being displayed to your boss, but it goes as quickly as it comes when he returns his gaze onto your blazing one.

“Are you fucking crazy?” You snap.

He blinks at you, hands clutched together as he leans forward on his elbows, face getting impossibly closer to your own that you have half the mind to put some distance between the two of you to preserve the beating of your heart.

“Is that any way to speak to your boss?” He cocks his head to a side, a teasing smirk dawning on his face.

“Cut the shit,” You hiss, “In what goddamn universe did you think it was justifiable for you to give me a month’s worth of work and expect it to be done by tonight?!”

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and man spreads in a way that you usually would hate, but of course, Hoseok made it look undeniably hot, and inviting.

“Didn’t I hire you because of your work ethic?”

You scoff in disbelief, arms folding across your chest.

“This is not about work ethic, and you know it. You have some secret vendetta against me and I see through your shit.” You accuse.

“Do I, Ms ____?” He says in a voice so low that it makes you stutter in your response.

“You tell me, Mr Jung.” You retort.

He observes your expression for a moment, taking in the way that you were breathing heavily and how your cheeks were a little flushed from your rant. Hoseok smirks at you because even though you were a lot to deal with, and had a tongue sharper than anyone he’s known, you were adorable.

Just like a kitten that was waiting to be tamed.

“Very well then,” He claps his hands together and opens his laptop again.

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for his next set of words. You recognise the slight gleam in your eyes and that causes an unsettling feeling to develop in your stomach.

“Work overtime.” He says simply as if it was the most obvious solution.

You gape at him, baffled at his blunt suggestion.

“What? That’s your solution? To work overtime?” You snap.

“I don’t see a better option knocking at our door’s here.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

You grit your jaw and feel your eye twitch at his indifference, and you think about risking getting reported to HR, or even getting fired just so you could reach over and strangle the hell out of your insufferable boss.

“Give me an extension.” You all but demand.

“No.”

You’re about to leave with your dues until he answers you, and you snap your head to look at him incredulously.

“What do you mean no?” You hiss.

“It’s exactly what it means, Ms ____. I want the documents sorted through and filed by tonight. Even I’m working overtime and I’m the boss.” He smirks, eyes still not straying away from his laptop.

“Hoseok you don’t understand. I can’t.” His name slips out involuntarily, and you almost miss the way a smile teases his lips when you opt for his actual name than the nicknames you’ve resorted to.

“Oh? Did you have plans tonight?” He pries, eyes twinkling with mischief.

He knew. He knew what today was and gave you a shit ton of work.

You clench your jaw and give him a curt nod.

“Yes. I do.”

He hums under his breath, glancing down to type something onto his laptop before shutting it completely.

“Well—cancel them. You have plans with me now.” He says.

You choke on your spit at his calm declaration as you splutter to find a response.

“I can’t just cancel a date—!”

You snap your mouth shut when his eyebrows shoot to his hairline in a mischievous manner as if seeing you flustered was his favourite sight to behold.

“As your boss, I think I call the shots here, don’t I?” He pushes himself off his chair to walk towards you, height and presence imposing on your retreating figure.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” You spit when he engulfs your space with his presence.

The navy grey suit he chose to wear today flattered his physique wonderfully, showcasing his lean and long limbs as well as his built. It didn’t help that he styled his hair with it parted by the side, his forehead on full display—as if to mark his territory as the most intimidating (and handsome) person at the office.

“Call me what you wish,” He shrugs, a smirk on his face, “We’ll have a lot of fun tonight, won’t we?”

You’d be lying if you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach.

“Mina—tell the blind date you set me up on that I can’t make it tonight,” You sigh, phone between your shoulder and your ear as you type away at your computer.

You hear Mina whine on the other end about how she thought the guy she set you up with was a perfect match for you. Truthfully, you didn’t even want to go on the date in the first place; but Mina said that you needed to get over the hots you felt for your boss even if he was the most infuriating person in every room he’s in.

“You’re not lying to get out of this, right? Do you really need to work overtime?” She whines.

You sigh.

“Do you remember who I work for? Of course I need to work overtime.” You mutter.

“How am I going to tell Jae?” She complains, and you briefly hear a thud on her end; probably signalling the fact that she flopped onto a surface in despair.

You snort and narrow your eyes to get a better view of the details on your spreadsheet, ensuring all facts and figures were aligned before saving it and proceeding to the next set of work you needed to finish.

“You’ll find a way,” You tell her, “I need to go. I have ten more documents to sort through and they’re all due tonight.”

Mina blows a virtual kiss for you and bids you goodbye, saying to kick your boss in the ass for her.

The moment you hang up, you see Jimin and Jungkook walk pass your desk with their bags over their shoulders, stopping by you to offer a sympathetic smile.

“Have fun working overtime ____,” Jungkook says, and it’s sincere enough to make you give him a half-hearted smile.

“Work on sucking your boss’ dick too.” Jimin snickers, mimicking the action inside of his cheek as you glare at him, chuckling a piece of crumpled paper in his direction.

“Jungkook—tell Taehyung I said hi,” You smile sweetly at him, then narrowing your eyes into slits at Jimin, “Jimin, I hope you puke out all the chocolates you’re going to binge on tonight.”

He gasps, hands resting on his chest in mock offence as he waves you goodbye, heading out as you return the gesture with your longest finger.

There the last bit of your co-workers that left the office, and now it was just you—and Hoseok—but he was cooped up in his office, for whatever reason it may be.

You sigh, cracking your knuckles forward as you attempt to race through all the documents that needed to be sorted through as fast as you can so you could go home and binge-watch all the romantic comedies in your watchlist.

The quote time flies sits prettily on the tip of your tongue when you glance at the clock on your table to tell you that it was half an hour till midnight, meaning that you slaved away to work for an additional 6 hours.

You huff, at least thankful that you were finally done.

Even with Hoseok’s words saying that he’d work overtime as well, you were sure he was just in his office relaxing while you did his hefty work. The thought makes you frown as you clean up your workspace, ensuring that it’s in a pristine condition before you head back.

“_____?”

Hoseok’s voice peeks out from his office and you stop your ministrations to turn your head to look at him, a few stray strands of hair falling by the side of your face as you do so.

Hoseok can’t help but appreciate how relaxed you look, a juxtaposition from the usual prim and proper persona you took on during work. Your hair was tied in a messy bun, and a few buttons of your blouse were undone to give yourself some room to breathe.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow, beginning to get irritated with the way his eyes unabashedly observe you.

You have the words on your tongue already, preparing to cuss him out with your mouth and your fist if he gave you any more work to do.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks.

You raise an eyebrow, watching his figure lean against the frame of the door.

“No, I haven’t. I was too busy finishing up the documents for you, remember?” You bite, can’t be helping the snark that your tongue releases.

A small twinge of a grin appears on his face as he cocks his head to his office, gesturing you to enter.

“I have some food. Do, join me.” He asks.

You blink at him, hands still clutching the last bit of your belongings as you mull over his proposition. While you and Hoseok worked close and hand in hand in business operations, you managed to have professional boundaries with him (which didn’t include the fact you cussed him out every five minutes). So, for him, the poster image of uptight and professionalism; with the occasional blunder, to invite you for a small meal outside of business?

You try to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster.

“Ah … it’s fine—I’ll probably heat some leftovers up—” You shake your head to deny.

But as you were caught up in a daze, Hoseok had seemed to have made his way to your desk, body positioned in a way that locks you in so that you had no other way to escape.

“Nonsense.” He tuts, grinning at you with his award-winning smile and you find it very hard to find him distasteful when he has the ability to reduce you to mush.

You notice that he mirrors your appearance in the sense that he looks far more casual than he usually does during work hours. He’s abandoned his blazer, and all he’s left in is his dress-shirt that does absolutely nothing in hiding his figure and slacks that just accentuates his waist even more. The fact that he also has his sleeves rolled up makes you more flustered than you’d like.

“It’s late—” You try to make an excuse, but he’s tugging you by your wrist to follow him and you have no objection on your tongue when you’re in his office.

Somehow, you've been in the room a million times, the second person that spends the most time in here besides Hoseok himself, yet tonight feels different.

The context of sharing a small meal with him seems almost illegal as if you were committing a crime.

“When did you even order this?” You mutter, when you realise his desk was already cleaned of all work-related stuff and only left with the brown packaged bags of food.

“Of course you didn’t notice,” He teases, gesturing for you to take a seat on the chair next to him.

You roll your eyes, bowing your head slightly to thank him when he passes you a sandwich, and you’re pleasantly surprised to know that it was your favourite order from a place you frequented during your lunch breaks.

“How did you—?”

“I’m not that much of an asshole to not know your likes and dislikes ____.” He jokes.

You purse your lips, flustered because while you and Hoseok bantered back and forth, and you were definitely tougher on your own boss than you were to your colleagues, you knew deep down it was an act of self-preservation to convince your own heart that keeping him away was safer for you.

“I didn't mean it like that …” You mumble, munching on your food.

Your eyes are too focused on the sandwich that you miss the fond expression Hoseok gives you, opting to just observe small bites that you were taking.

Eventually, you do notice that Hoseok isn’t eating but paying full attention to you, chin resting on his palm as he blatantly stares at you. When your eyes look up to meet his own, you flush and look away immediately, ears burning red under the dim light as you attempt to cover it up with a cough.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He shrugs.

“I had my dinner hours ago. This is for you.” He gestures to the food, “You know I despise these things. They’re so pretentious.”

You gape at him with an open mouth.

“Then why are you still—” It seems like Hoseok is dead-set on not allowing you to finish most of your sentences tonight when he responds before you can finish.

“I was waiting for you.” The confession knocks the wind out of your chest as you look at him with wide eyes, heart beating faster when he nonchalantly admits that he was cooped up in his office—waiting for you?

“You didn’t have to do that Hoseok …” You mumble, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear bashfully—a habit you only do when you’re embarrassed.

He snorts.

“A thank you would be nice, sweets.” He leans forward, face inches closer to yours as you yelp and leans back into your chair.

The term of endearment doesn’t fall deaf on your ears as you blush even harder. You want to curse at yourself because you’re much stronger than this, you’ve trained for years to not let your feelings show in front of Hoseok because well … he was the CEO and you were his personal assistant.

While there was no strict ban on dating your boss, you had ethics and principles of your own that somehow convinced you that it would’ve been messy. And messy it would be because you worked with him on every single project, communicated information to him and basically was his confidant—purely transactional—so you wouldn’t risk your career just to be with him.

Especially when you didn’t know if he felt the same way.

Even when he looks at you like that.

“I’m waiting …” He sing-songs, grinning at you.

You roll your eyes, looking away when you mumble:

“Thank you.”

He seems satisfied as he leans back into his chair, gesturing you to finish your meal.

The sandwich was delicious, as always, but once you took the last bite you were starting to wonder if Hoseok had really just waited hours, and now to just have you eat in front of him.

“Thank you for the meal, Hoseok.” You say politely.

He eyes you for a second, until his eyes glance to the side of your head—then back at you.

“It’s five minutes before midnight.” He points out.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“… okay?”

“So … aren’t you going to wish me?” He pries.

The cue falls over your head, until you see and feel Hoseok, cage you in your chair.

You let out an eep at the sudden proximity, flushed at the way Hoseok grins at you all suave-like.

“Wish you?” You squeak, “W-What do you mean?”

He sighs, resting his palms on the side of your chair, looking at you with a fond expression that you were sure your eyes were deceiving you with.

“I dunno. Isn’t today a special day?” He teases, and he revels in the fact that you’re turning into a tomato under his scrutiny.

“I-Is it? I didn’t—I didn’t know that …” You gulp.

Hoseok takes the leap of faith and reaches out to pat your head, as you freeze under the touch.

“There were flyaways.” He smirks.

You feel like dying because of how close he is to you, and you know that he won’t let you go unless you say the words he’s tried to pull out from you. So, you swallow your pride, and honestly, gather all the courage you have in you to wish him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hoseok.” You mumble, eyes avoiding his.

He doesn’t do anything for a split second, and you feel like a fool. You’re about to push him away until he moves—shuffling between his drawers to pull out—

“Flowers?” You cock your head to the side when he hands them over to you.

They were a beautiful arrangement, meticulously curated with the hands of someone that wanted perfection. It was very like Hoseok, but also included all of your favourite flowers and colours that you can’t help but imagine how cohesive the two of you would be.

You try to shake out of your delusions because you’re still processing the fact that Hoseok had handed you a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen and received.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, _____.” He smiles, and it lacks the usual mirth that he carries when he’s out to poke at you. This time, his smile is kind, warm—and longing.

“W-What is this for …?” You admire the arrangement, and it feels heavy in your palms. A testament to the effort put in, as well as how expensive it must’ve been.

“For being a great personal assistant,” He says.

It’s like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you when he says those words. You blink up at him, then you scowl—shoving him away from you as you abandon the flowers on the table. Your heart was so hopeful as if you had managed to understand what was going on in Hoseok’s heart—but he reminded you of who you were and the world between the two of you shattered.

“Hey—hey. Where are you going?” Hoseok seems panicked but you don’t pick up on much as you hastily try to leave.

“Home, Hoseok.” You say curtly.

He’s faster than you when he grabs your elbow to spin you around to face him.

“Do you not like it?” He furrows his eyebrows.

You glare at him, and all the irritation in you returns when he genuinely looks clueless.

“No, Hoseok. I fucking love it.” You try to pull away, but he’s stronger than you.

“Then what’s the problem?” He huffs.

You narrow your eyes at him and even though he both makes you want to rip your hair out and makes your heart feel funny—he genuinely looks confused.

“You!” You yell, shoving at his chest as he just looks at you quizzically.

“You’re my problem Jung Hoseok,” You point a firm finger into his chest, “You’re always making me do your work for you and teasing me until I want to rip your hair out—then you do this … whatever this is, with the flowers and the stares you’re giving me and you—and you expect me to be okay?”

He blinks at you.

“You’re so confusing Hoseok! Like God—first, you look at me with those eyes of yours and expect my heart not to flutter? Is that it? Do you just like embarrassing me like this? You stupid son of a motherfucking bitch—!”

He really needed to shut you up, and granted, it wasn’t the best way to do it. But there was something oddly endearing about the way you were yelling his ear off that he needed to just close the distance.

Hoseok grabs you by the waist with a firm hand on your cheek when he leans down to kiss you.

The kiss is explosive, both in pent up frustrations and longing all at once and you’re both confused and relieved when you feel the plush of his lips against your own. You forget what you were saying when he holds you like this—close.

Hoseok looked like a magnificent kisser—you theorised—and your hypothesis was proven with the way he’s gentle yet assertive with the way his body moulds against your own.

You whine when he pulls away, your hands clutching at the front of his dress shirt. Only when you see his flushed cheeks, and swollen lips do you remember what was happening.

“_____—”

You punch him in the stomach.

Hard.

He grunts, doubling over as you glare at him.

“Are you insane?” You shriek.

He wheezes, clutching at his abdomen.

“You could’ve just told me you didn’t like me!” He snaps, shooting you a venomous glare.

Your mouth falls open as you give him one of your own venomous stares.

“Are you stupid?” You throw your hands into the air, “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“I was trying to be romantic!” He grits out.

You huff, and you soften for a moment to see him still holding onto his stomach.

You quietly reach out to him, holding him by the elbow like you did something wrong (punching him in the stomach) and look up at him with apologetic eyes.

“Does it really hurt?” You meekly ask.

"No. I'm on the floor because it's comfortable," He deadpans.

You pout as you flush a pretty shade of red.

He’s about to retort when he sees how guilty you look, then he sighs; reaching an arm around your shoulder to bring you into an embrace against his chest.

“It’d hurt a lot more if you were rejecting me.”

You scoff, leaning your cheek against his chest when you feel the movement of his chest with his deep breaths.

“Why couldn’t you ask me out like a normal person?” You complain.

He rolls his eyes.

“You’re not a conventional person to ask out.”

You narrow your eyes at him, and he wants to kiss you again because you’re the cutest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

So he does.

This time, you’re not as shocked, but it’s still as pleasant as when he first kissed you. You lean into his embrace, taking the initiative to run your hands across his shoulders and into his hair.

“We could’ve been doing this way longer if you weren’t such an annoying brat.” He mumbles against your lips.

The moment is broken when he returns to his normal self, but your heart still remains.

“Me? Annoying? You know what’s annoying—the fact that I spent six hours on Valentine’s Day sorting through your stupid documents because you wanted to hold me, hostage, here—”

Hoseok purses his lips as you progress through your rant, but in all honesty, you looked like a little rabbit that was frustrated than anything else, and all he feels in endearment.

He lets you have your moment, though—because he likes you like this—honest, unforgiving and so irrevocably yourself.

“—like, romantic? Please, Hoseok—you have zero romantic bones in your body and I’m pretty sure you’re 100% annoying than human—”

He pouts when you resort to insulting him, and he reaches for your cheeks to squeeze them in his palms so you’d stop.

“Okay enough of that, my feelings are hurt.” He pouts, “But … I’ll let you off the hook cause you’re so cute.”

You glare at him, cheeks still squished together like a chipmunk.

“I hathe eberything avout you.” You say through a muffled breath.

He sighs.

He releases your cheeks and begins packing up the trash, and you’re confused at the way his touch suddenly disappears and disappointed because you weren’t close to him anymore.

“Hobi?” You meekly call out, and he swears his heart stutters at the nickname.

“Can you stop being cute for one second and let me clean up?” He groans, shoving the stray paper bags away into the dustbin below his desk.

You blush even harder, keening under the praise.

You twiddle with your thumbs, awkwardly hovering by his desk as you watch him. You’d try to help, but there was something so utterly domestic and … homey about the way that Hoseok tuts you off when you reach out to pick something up.

Once he’s satisfied (because as annoying as he was, you applauded him for his neatness), he throws his blazer over his shoulder effortlessly, and shuts all the lights off, saying nothing more besides walking to the door.

You eye him curiously, wondering why he hasn’t uttered a single word yet, but as you’re about to open your mouth, he turns around to look at you over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Are you coming?”

You tilt your head to the side.

“W-Where?”

“With me,” He shrugs his shoulders, leaning against the wooden frame of his door as you feel your heartbeat grow faster at how effortlessly good he looks under the dim light.

“I think I owe you a belated Valentine’s Day celebration, no?”

Oh.

#bts fic #bts fics #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts jhope #bts hobi #bts hoseok #hoseok x reader #JHOPE x reader #hobi x reader #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok imagine #hoseok fic #hobi fluff #hobi imagine #jhope fluff #jhope imagine

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wh0re-4-techno · 3 years

Text

5. PRESENTATION ((PROFESSOR TECHNO))

Description: You and the guys present your project, you stay after class.

Warning(s): This does include the reader(you) having stage fright.

Words: 4456

Last part :: Next part

You awake to the same loud and obnoxious alarm that went off every morning. Today wasn't the best day to wake up either. But adding to the not so good morning was Minx. Whom decided to grab one of her pillows and throw it towards you.

Letting out a little help as the pillow hit you in the face, following with Minx angrily yelling. "Will you please turn it off!" Yo grunt while slamming your side table, trying to shut if off, soon enough you hit it perfectly and the beeping stops.

As your eyes adjusted to the brightly lit room. You softly grunt, burying your head back into the pillows.

Minx stands from her bed, as it was Monday and she had class before you did. You lay back in bed and begin to close your eyes once again. She wasn't playing round at this time of the morning so she wasn't going to let you get off so easily. "Time to get your ass up!" She quickly grabbed a hold of your blankets, before you could protect, she yanked them away from you. You shiver as your warm body meets the coldness of the room. "What the fuck Minx." You curse her out, whining while scrunching up your body into a ball.

Minx laughs at your misery and walks to her closet, picking out a simple outfit for the day. Looking over at her side. Her bookbag and notebooks scatter across her bed.

She begins to change and put on makeup, while to pull your sheets back to your now cold body. She looks over her shoulder, watching you. "Get up or I'm throwing your sheets out the window!" She yells at you, which this time it really wakes you up. You know she wouldn't actually do it, but in the back of your head it was telling you she would and you listened.

"Com'on you got fucken class in an hour." You stand from your bed, legs still a little wiggly from waking up. Sending her a side glance while doing so, you wish you could go back into the warmth you called a bed.

Minx finishes her makeup and packs her bookbag, turning to you. "Don't you have a project to present today?" She questions while sliding her phone in her pocket. She was ready to leave for class.

Your mind started drifting, thinking back to Friday when you went to his office...

"Yeah, it's going to suck ass though." Grunting while walking towards your dresser. Pushing away your thoughts about your Professor, but it was becoming harder to do so.

Focusing more on what you had to wear today seems more important than daydreaming about your teacher.

You had to find something that was decent, but also something that had layers as it was getting colder by the day. Opening the dresser she asks, "Why is that? The guys seemed cool and that tall one was smart?" She questions, sitting down for a moment to hear you out. "It's not because of them, it's other reasons..." You start gripping the handle on the dresser. "And why are you nervous?" Minx grabs her set of keys from her desk. She could tell that you were starting to get anxious. "Because I have to present." You fastly say, throwing your head down.

The real reason was that you did have some stage fright, but that was just a part of it. The other reason was because you didn't want to see your Professor as you started to form a crush on him. It was cilché to say the least but everytime he talked or even glance at you, it was like a trance you couldn't break out of.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help you more." Minx says, taking you out of your thoughts. It wasn't the best thing to think about him, especially this early in the morning. She gives you a smile, trying to lighten the mood, even though you know she didn't understand. "It's okay, I just hope I can be calm up there." She nods while standing back up.

She heads to the door with her bag, but before she leaves she adds, "If you want I can get us lunch when your done with that class." You nod, that would help you after doing that project and a good way to to distance yourself from your Professor.

"Have a good day and get ready for your class in less than an hour." She warns with a smile while closing the door. "Okay mom!" You shout, hoping she'll hear you when she walks off.

Going back to your dresser, you pull out a Cordray coat, a collared argyle sweater, and a black mini skirt. Perfect for today. Pulling everything on you, you check yourself out in your mirror. You definitely were feeling this outfit and yourself (cuz you a bad bitch).

You take your phone and backpack, grabbing all your books and notes for your class and most definitely your laptop. Walking out the door, ready to go to class.

When you're out of the dorm building the autumn breeze from earlier in the week started to get colder, turning the cool air for wearing a Tee shirt to wearing coats and slight layers.

You always thought this time of the year was the best.

Putting your earbuds in and playing your playlist. Passing random students you've seen day in and out. Seeing the few people who already set up in the grass feild as you pass. It was quite lovely.

Pulling out your phone while stepping and checking the time, "7:21 am" You still had a tad bit over half an hour till your class actually started. Nothing wrong about showing up earlier.

-----

Walking up to his door to the classroom, hoping he wasn't there. It wasn't that you didn't want to face him, but at the same time you didn't.

Your hand stays on the handle for a second, thinking of everything that's happened. Back to his office, nothing happened between the two of you, but how you wanted something to happen between the both of you. Just being in his presence made you feel dizzy.

Standing there with your eyes fixated on it, slowly pulling open the door, you peak your head in to see if anyone was there.

And, of course he was there.

Technoblade was seated at his desk, he stared down at paper while holding a red pen. Presumingly he was grading. You were quite sure that there wasn't anyone else in there, of course no one was there, why are you there?

Deciding quickly that this probably wasn't the best idea if you wanted to stop thinking about him. You needed time away from him. You slowly step away, almost closing the door until you hear him.

"Who's there?" His voice was loud and low. Your body tenses, hand grips on the door handle tightly. Fuck. Freezing up, he asks again to you.

You had to relax yourself, this was worse then that stupid damn project.

Mentally calming yourself, all you had to do was apologize for interrupting and leave. Opening back the door, you look at him. Hands to the side of yourself as you step in. He lifts his head up to see who was intruding his work time, but when he sees that it's you a slight smirk curled on his lips. He was glad it was you. "So it seems we meet again Miss Y/l/n. Is there anything you need help with the project?" He asks while pulling himself away from his grading. The pen dropping in his desk was loud in the empty classroom.

You start walking into the class, making your way to his desk. "And if so, I will be criticizing you for asking so late." He chuckles at his own joke, his cheeks redden lightly. It was charming to say the least. You giggle at him, which seems to make him smile slightly more.

You flash him a smile, "No it's not about that Sir." You say but you were interrupted by him, "There's no need for formalities darling. Remember?" He stands from his chair, immediately intimidating you. Making you catch your breath.

He wore a black suit with a dark maroon best under it. His tie matching the black of his suit.

Swallowing down hard while checking him out. "I'm just showing up earlier than normal." You fix your coat, trying desperately to distract yourself from Techno. You look away from him, mentally yelling at the fact he kept calling you 'darling' and how it made you want him to keep calling you that. "Around 20 minutes earlier?" He glances at his watch. He slowly walks to the front of his desk, he leaned against it, his feet still touching the ground. Now he was only a few steps away. "Sorry. If I'm interrupting you from your work, I can leave you be." You plead, taking a step back away from him and the desk, he quickly stands up once again.

His hands fidget before speaking, "No, No, Could- Would you like to help me with grading after class?" He tripped over his words. He reaches behind his neck with his hand, letting out a huff. Scratching the back of his neck nervously.

You look back to him. How could you say no to this opportunity. "I would gladly." Once saying it you knew you shouldn't have but you couldn't help yourself from him. That devilishly handsome smile came upon his face along with a wink, "Great, I need someone with a brain." You blush at his complement and his wink, he heads back to his chair. Getting back to his grading.

You stand there for a moment before taking a seat, rushing to your normal seat.

"If I do help could I get an A on this project?" You ask while shaking your shoulders. You knew he would or have to say no, but it was fun to play around with him. "No I can't just give you an A, you have to earn it darling." His eyes never left the paper below him as he marked it with red ink. But he did like your snarky comments and it put a smile on his face.

Soon after the 20 passed, the class began to pour in the students, seeing Wilbur, Toby, and Tommy come in as a group. They quickly find you and sit next to you.

"Hey guys, you ready?" You ask while pulling out your laptop. "Hell yeah, I'm going to talk the shit out of this!" Tommy excitedly says while nodding to himself. You weren't going to question what he exactly meant by that, but Wilbur gives you the same look of questioning to Tommy.

Talking to them about how your weekend went for a few minutes before Techno took the attention of his class. "Alrightty class! I'll give you around 30 minutes before I call your groups to present! Okay?" He long-gates on the "around" to think about time. His eyes landing on yours for a mere of a second. But that's all that you need to be taken by your whole sense. "Okay! Get to talkin'!" He stood up, deciding to walk around the class.

And of course, he had to stop at your group first.

The four of you looked up at him as he approaches you and he bent over and began to talk you and the guys, "How's the project going for you all?" He asked nicely, Tommy took initiative first. "Really good Sir, th- thanks again for helping us with it." He shoulder bumps you, hitting your arm. You quitely 'Ow.' him before speaking to your Professor. "Yes, thank you Techno- Sir." You quickly fix on to call him Sir. You mentally slap yourself, the guys seemed to pass on what you said. Wilbur questioned in his head, but didn't want to say anything. "Yeah! We weren't able to figure anything out till we made Y/n go talk to you." Toby adds, a bright toothy smile with him.

Wilbur thanked the teacher as well. Techno nodded off to your group, a little hesitant with you calling him his name in front of your classmates. But he still walks up to the next group.

Fixing yourself in your chair as it was becoming more uncomfortable. Wilbur takes notice of you moving around in your seat and becoming less in the conversation. "You okay there?" He whispers to you, making sure not to pull Tommy or Toby's attention. "Yeah-Yeah, I'm just not going to present." You stutter out, cringing at how he would overreact. But he didn't. "Oh, well. Okay." He was slightly confused as to why you weren't. "You don't mind if I ask why?" He looks down, seeing you shake your leg up and down quickly. "I'm just not that... Comfortable with it. I have some stage fright." You chuckle out, trying to calm yourself. He seemed to somewhat understand.

Toby seems to take notice of your little conversation, choosing to step in. "Whatcha guys chatting about?" Now taking Tommy in as well. Great. "I was just tell Wilbur I will showing the slides and not talking." You have to explain, you were still on the stage, but at least you didn't have to look at the crowd or speak. "I thought that's what I'm doing?" Toby asks while quirking an eyebrow. Wilbur answers for you, "Well, Y/n is going to be doing that. Are you good with that?" You look back and forth between the two boys.

Toby shakes his head in agreement, you silently thank them.

But before you could say anything else Techno speaks. "Okay the first group is going up..." He holds a paper, looking down at it. "...And that will be Alice!" He points to the group behind you.

You look over to the guys, they all seem to relax as your group wasn't the first up. You have to calm yourself down.

Techno grabs a long hook from the back of the room. He stands in the middle and reaches the hook up at the ceiling, seeing it was a pull down projector. Which seemed to make more sense as you wondered where the projector was in the first place.

The first or Alice's group does their presentation. Along with a few others before your group was called.

"And the second to last group is going to be... Y/n's group!" Your heart was pounding as you stood up from your seat. Grabbing your laptop and walking down to his desk to pug it in. As you pass your Professor he quickly whispers to you, "Just breath, in and out." You slightly nod to him, continuing to his desk.

As you connect everything in you pull up the project and Wilbur starts it off.

-----

Finishing the project with Tommy saying the last words, his charisma never died. It was really impressive, Toby was more on the quiet side, Wilbur was the most calm and a bit more explainive then the other two. And you just keep the slides moving and you were fine with it. Going back to our seats, you had to sit through one more project and then class would end.

Remembering you had to help Techno with grading after class. Pulling out your phone from your pocket, knowing you had to message Minx that you were going to show up later.

Y/n to Minx:

Heyyyy I'm not going not going to have enough time to show up for lunch

You sent it, looking up as you wait for her to text you back. Watching the presentation of the last group in the meanwhile. Then shifting to see Techno really focusing on what they were saying. It was strange to say, but it was really attractive. His stern face as he marked down on his paper for the group, it just made him look very professional. And you all for it.

But seeing that Minx tested you back you had to look away from him.

Minx to Y/n:

Wat?!!!!! But I wanna eat

Y/n to Minx:

Then just get food?????

Looking back up from your phone to see if anyone was looking at you. But as you turn to the guys they were also on there phone.

Minx to Y/n:

It's not the same :(

You scroff softly at her message, making sure no one could hear you

Y/n to Minx:

How bout we get coffee later, I'll pay again

Minx to Y/n:

Fineeeeeeeeeeee but why are you not showing for lunch????

Staring down at the message, it made you slightly embarrassed to say. Which confused you, all you were doing was helping your incredible handsome teacher that you had a crush on grade papers. Fuck.

Y/n to Minx:

I'm helping out my Professor with grading

Minx to Y/n:

Lame

You turn you phone off as the group was done with their presentation. The guys turn their phones off too.

Techno pulls the projector up and faces the class.

"I just wanna tell everyone that they did a good job with these projects!" You could see his toothy smile from where you sat. "But unfortunately I do have homework to give out." His smile drops, some students groan at him. Including Tommy, which the three of us turn towards him. Which makes Tommy cringe at what he just did. Toby slamming his arm at how rude that was.

Techno leans on his desk front before saying, "Come get these papers and then leave cause class just ended." His phone timer went off right on time as he said that class ended.

Everyone started to stand while grabbing all their stuff. Letting the boys out first, waving off to them as they leave in their small group. You let a couple of people behind you leave first before you head down to Techno. Walking up to him and grab a piece of paper, but staying behind.

Both of you watch as the last person leaves.

"Now, do you want to grade here?" He asks while going to the back of his desk, you just stand there, unsure. "Or if you like we could go to my office for more privacy." His office. Just the two of you. Alone. This man was making it very difficult for you.

Your mind is taken out completely, just picturing him spreading you across his desk, bending you over, begging for him...

Your perverted thoughts were quickly erased, which you were glad that happened. Techno's hand was waving in front of you, trying to get your attention. "You alright there?" He has a stack of papers in his other hand.

He softly chuckles as you blush. Thinking for a moment, "When I mentioned my office you seem to space out... I can see why." The cockiness in his voice was too much for you.

The final puzzle piece was now connected, he figured it out. Now it wasn't hard for him to know that you were into him, but how he made it so embarrassing for you. How each time he was near you it made you all flustered.

"I could help you carry those papers." You offer your help which he simply declines. "I got it darling." He starts heading towards the door.

He walked past you, "Come along now." He gestures to the door and for you to follow him. You tightly grab on your bookbag and head to the doors. Opening them for him, but he let pass him first, but while doing so you glimpse up at him, how his hair was so beautiful in the light.

You have to open his office doors as well.

You sit in the same chair as you always do when you come to his office. Which now seems like you are doing quite often. He walked in slowly, you felt like prey to a hawk in the moment. .

He's behind his desk, putting down the papers. He takes off his suit coat and tucks it behind his chair. Along with his maroon best, "Sorry, its hot in here." At this point he was teasing you and it was fucking working.

Handing you a pen from the multiple pen he had in his can. You gladly take from him as well as your first paper. He also gives you the cheat sheet to grade with.

Both of you grade more a few moments, some small talk about what you learned in class and what classes you had after this one.

"I said you were smart when I first met you, that's why I'm asking you to help me with grading these papers." His grin was distracting you at a point that his words were fading in the background. Just how his lips curve so perfectly.

"Is that the only reason why?" You simply ask while you started marking the paper, you didn't think of what you were saying till it was too late to take back. Realizing what you said and how he could take it, it made you want to stand up and rush out of the room.

He places down his pen, "Is there a another reason you think of?" He quirked an eyebrow up at you, which you just stare down at the paper. How could you just say that?

You couldn't think of something to say, "No Sir- I don't know why I said that. I am so sorry-." He sits up straight, catching you mid sentence. "Because I can think of something." He says while pushing himself away from his desk, standing up. "And again, you don't have to call me Sir." His tone was low and deep.

He slowly steps closer to you, making you have to look up at him, making you face up to what you said and what you meant. He knew what he was doing, knowing how you felt about him. But your mind just melted into nothing. Just staring at the man caused you to forget everything around you.

He thought the same, slightly more amusing that he had this type of affect over you. But nonetheless you did the same to him. Making him forget the lessons he was supposed to teach when he catches your eye during his sessions.

There were no words to explain what was happening between the two of you. In the simplest form, the two of you couldn't stop thinking about each other.

As you stand from the chair he still towers over you. Your eyes look into each other, the both of you slowly reach out for each other. You were still unsure what was happening, it was happening all too fast for you to process.

Once meeting, the both of you pull each other close. Lips mer of an inch away from each other. The only room you had was to stare at his lips or his eyes, which he was doing the same.

"May I kiss you?" He softly spoke in a whisper, only for you to hear. His eyes flickered back to your eyes, searching for an answer, slight worry in his eyes. "Yes..." In the same tone and whisper as him.

Slowly you leaned into him, his hands went towards your cheek and side. Yours went to his neck. There was no time to think, you just felt as if this was right. Your lips connect, it was intoxicating. His thumb on your cheek caresses you.

Your hands pull him down a you push yourself closer to him while on your tippy-toes. Your hands wonder up to his hair, how fluffy and soft it felt as you imagined. Letting your hands sink into his hair.

While doing so his hand from your side holds you close, pulling you towards him. Your chest pushes up against his. The kiss became more passionate by the seconds.

He slightly turns the both of you so your back was touching his desk. Getting his message, you hop your butt on his desk. You let go of his hair, which was looking like a mess. He comes closer, filling in the gap that was in-between the two of you.

He breaks off the kiss, leaning down to kiss your cheek to your jaw line and to your neck. Peppering small ones that would scatter your neck. Your hands connect onto his shirt. Soft airy moan escape from your lips. "This is a bad idea for me and you." You huff out, holding on to his buttoned shirt. He stops kissing your neck. Lifting his head up, almost in shame. The two of you staring into each other's eyes. "I know and I totally agree." He shakes his head, his heavy breaths the only thing you could hear other than your own heart pounding in your chest.

"Your my Professor." You bite the inside of your cheek, it was becoming difficult to contain yourself from kissing him as he looked flushed with pink cheeks and hair a wreck. "Your my student." He looked away, it was hitting him that this wasn't exactly planned out. Questioning how this would even work.

Seeing that he starting to regret this decision. You quickly pull his attention back to you by harshly grabbing at his shirt. "Let's just keep kissing, it's just me and you." He didn't think for another second, cupping your face back into a kiss.

-----

"How'd grading go?" Minx asks with an attitude, you knew she was upset that you didn't have your normal lunch hangout with her. But what just happened, it didn't really affect you.

You shortly left after that little conversation, but before 10 more minutes of just making out with him.

You take a sip of your coffee, "It went fine, I couldn't stay long." You slight choke on your drink, she questions as to why. "He had a meeting to go to." She looks at your demeanor, how quickly you wanted to pull the attention away from your Professor. "How was the presentation then?" She asks, taking out her phone. "Good. The guys let me do the slides so I didn't talk." She scrolls down on her phone. "Awe that's sweet of them." She looks up at you, which you smile at her.

But your mind just kept going back to his office. What happened in there, how much you craved to be back there.

tag list:

@sadassflatass

#mcyt #mcyt fic #mcyt fanfiction #technoblade #technoblade x reader #professor technoblade x reader #techno #techno x reader #professor #x reader

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luluwquidprocrow · 3 years

Text

(the three-part folding mirror)

the denouements & the snickets, olaf, r, olivia

teen

15,985 words

The year the schism gets worse is the year one of the quarterly information costume parties is held in the grand ballroom on the third floor of the Hotel Denouement.

@lyeekha won my commission in the @asoue-network fandom against hate raffle and asked for the denouements, so i put together some shenanigans with the denouements and the snickets, with slight ernest/lemony kit/dewey frank/jacques, and a few other associates hanging around ~

some minor warnings – language; smoking; brief mention of murder; referenced parental death; identity anxiety about being seen physically and personally

title from i am alone by they might be giants

10:59 PM—The Ballroom—East Drink Table

Kit skirted the perimeter of the crowded ballroom, stopping at the side wall by the drinks, one eye on the table and the other on the dance floor. She couldn’t put her back to it. Not now. There was a tall, potted boxwood nearby, unreasonably lush, almost slouching against the decorative golden pillar beside it. She picked up one of the wineglasses, the only signal she could think of to properly get his attention. She’d have to find Lemony as well; where was he?

The plant coughed.

“J,” Kit whispered, “listen to me.”

A few of the branches parted, and Jacques’s blue eyes appeared out of the green. “What happened?”

Kit breathed slowly. Her free hand curled into a fist, crinkling up the fabric of her dress. She swallowed. It did not help. She gripped the glass. Beneath her feet, the floor gave a slight shudder as the clock out in the lobby readied itself to chime the hour.

“Someone in this very room has—”

WRONG!

7:25 PM—Above The Lobby

It was Saturday night, and Saturday night always meant one thing—Guess The Guest.

Ernest stood in the small alcove situated around the gears of the hotel clock, far above the lobby, and looked down. Like any other night, the sleek gold and red lobby was filled with people, loitering around the front desks and the fountain and each other before they made their way up to the grand ballroom on the third floor. Well, the ballroom was different. This was a work event, as Frank had so brilliantly labeled it on their schedule, so no one was a regular guest tonight. Frank, who had never appreciated the joy in making up grandiose lies or exaggerated half-truths about the strangers who came in and out of the hotel, certainly wouldn’t appreciate the thrill in watching all of his associates in costume and trying to guess who was who, either. Dewey thought the game was slightly mean, because Dewey was just too kind for this sort of thing.

It was good that Ernest was not Frank or Dewey. Not right now, anyway. Ernest knew how to get joy out of the little things.

He watched a flash of green scales move erratically through the lobby, a cheerful voice calling enthusiastic greetings that echoed all the way up to the ceiling—Montgomery. There was a reason he did undercover work so sparingly. Two women in nearly identical butterfly costumes by the door, one purple and one white, hand in hand, standing close together—Ramona and Olivia. It was nice to see them together. A woman with a deep blue dress that swept around her like a wave—Josephine, here alone. Ernest had it on good authority that the Anwhistle brothers weren’t coming. Another loud voice, but deeper, following the confident swath a tall figure in black cut through the crowd—Olaf. Ernest turned away, in time to catch a glimpse of a long red cape shifting from behind one pillar to another around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding Olaf—aha. Kit. Which meant another one was nearby. Not that the Snickets had arrived together, because none of them ever did, but where there was one there was always at least one other, ready to make a decent amount of trouble. (Ernest liked trouble. The little things, of course.) And there, near Ramona and Olivia, Lemony Snicket, a figure shaped in grey shadows.

The alcove door opened. Ernest knew exactly who it was, so he didn’t give him the courtesy of turning around, keeping his eyes on Lemony. Grey was a fitting color on him, on the long line of his shoulders, his legs. Ernest’s stomach flipped over, once.

“It looks like a full house tonight,” Frank said, standing beside Ernest. He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and folded his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t sure.”

Ernest leaned a hand on the alcove railing. “Takes more than a murder to stop a party, I suppose,” he said.

Frank didn’t reply, but Ernest knew that for once he agreed. The double murder in Winnipeg two months ago had, like any other sudden, suspicious death they’d dealt with over the years—Ernest shuddered and flexed his fingers—barely made a ripple in VFD, except that after the funeral, everyone had closed ranks significantly tighter.

This worried Frank; this did not worry Ernest. Very little truly worried Ernest, at the end of the day. That, of course, only made Frank worry more, but Ernest couldn’t help that. Frank would find something to worry about if Ernest was still on “his side”. Ernest had much more pressing commitments than the heavy, idle worry that everyone else shuffled between themselves without any results, and it wasn’t that he’d be found out. It was change. The real kind of change, not the noble one, not the fragmentary one. Change Ernest could see.

He shifted his hand on the railing once more. If he kept thinking about it, he was going to argue with Frank, and they’d rehashed the argument so many times the past few months without any resolution that it was better, Dewey had eventually insisted, if they just didn’t talk about it at all. So they wouldn’t. Ernest stood next to his brother, and the silence dragged out between them, punctuated by the soft ticking of the clock gears, and they wouldn’t talk about it. Not at all.

“Ernest.”

Almost.

“Frank,” Ernest said back, in the same critical tone, tilting his head to the side and giving his brother a look.

Frank shot him a flat and unimpressed stare in return. At least he still did that. “Promise me you won’t do anything—” he paused, his face pinching in an aggrieved sort of way before he settled on a word. “—rash tonight,” he finished.

Ernest laughed. “I don’t intend to do anything rash, Frank.” Of course not. You couldn’t carry out a pre-established plan rashly.

“I should hope not. I—”

The door opened, again. Dewey burst into the alcove, all smiles as always, and stopped on Frank’s other side and leaned over the railing, gazing into the lobby. Like Ernest and Frank, he wore the muted red manager uniform, because somebody had said it was the “host prerogative” to not dress up for a costume party. Somebody had felt bad about it when Dewey was disappointed, but somebody had still not relented, and there they were, a matched trio, everything outwardly perfect.

“Everyone’s costumes are so beautiful,” Dewey said. “Who’s that, in the big blue dress?”

“Josephine,” Ernest and Frank said at the same time.

Ernest raised his eyebrows. Frank, stooping so low as to actually guess the guest? Even Dewey blinked at him in surprise. The tips of Frank’s ears went slightly pink, but he didn’t say a word.

“Oh, Frank, you left your name tag downstairs again,” Dewey said. He pulled the name tag from his pocket, the slim gold rectangle glinting briefly in the soft light of the alcove, and pressed it into Frank’s hand.

“Thank you,” Frank murmured. But when Dewey turned away, Ernest saw the tag disappear from Frank’s fingers, most likely slipped up into his sleeve. None of them wore their name tags with regularity—the black ‘manager’ embroidery on their jackets was really enough—but Frank’s kept showing up places, and Ernest and Dewey kept giving it back to him, every time. Ernest didn’t quite know what to make of it. He wondered about asking Frank about it, but he didn’t want Frank to take it as another argument. Ernest didn’t actually enjoy arguing with Frank. About small things, sure, like Dewey’s stupid poetry and Frank’s inane hotel schedules, the sorts of things brothers argued about. But Ernest was sure Frank would make it into another one about VFD.

Dewey was studying the lobby, one hand on his chin. Ernest watched him go from one friend to another, then stop when he got to Kit’s red cape sweeping towards the stairs. It was an unusual color for her, but Dewey, whether he thought it was nice or not, knew how to identify someone from the pieces they let slip through too. Kit was straightforward about everything, and the way she walked, determined and with an endpoint in sight, was no different.

Ernest and Frank exchanged a quick glance.

“So,” Frank drawled, “when’s the wedding?”

“I look best in black,” Ernest put in. “Take that into account, Dewey.”

“I look best in blue,” Frank said. “Take that into account.”

Dewey’s face went its typical six shades of red, flushing through to his ears as well as he jumped back from the railing and sputtered, “What—we’re not—we haven’t even—I don’t—Kit’s not—you two are impossible.” He stormed out of the alcove, shutting the door with a slight snap behind him, because Dewey had never slammed a door in his life.

Ernest enjoyed a brief chuckle with Frank before his brother fell silent again. The lobby crowd was thinning as everyone made their way to the elevators or the stairs, or to the bathroom, or, perhaps, to some clandestine hallway somewhere else. Ernest could see the ring of neatly-trimmed boxwoods lining the lobby now. He wasn’t sure, but he thought there was one more than usual, sitting right inside the door.

He leaned forward, squinting. “Did we always have a boxwood there?” he asked.

Frank moved his head down a fraction of an inch and considered the lobby. “Of course,” he said. Then he straightened his sleeves one more time, and left the alcove.

7:35 PM—The Lobby

Among the Snicket siblings, there was an ongoing discussion about the best hiding place. Kit preferred the quiet, professional approach. She stood behind newspaper stands, put her face into books and brochure racks, stayed in the shadows of a store awning. Lemony was difficult about it. He thought the best place to hide was the least likely place someone would look for you; the place you wouldn’t look for yourself. He took dangerous perches in train station windows, seats in restaurants he vocally hated, or sophisticated and cramped corner cafes that had never heard of a root beer float.

Jacques, meanwhile, with a lifetime of hiding experience, always liked to hide in plain sight. People barely ever remembered what was right in front of them as long as it appeared relatively normal. And there were a number of options—a large potted plant could be overlooked among a dozen other potted plants, people received packages every day and wouldn’t notice if there was one more oversized box, every city park lost track of how many statues were supposed to be there, even a regular man in a fine suit crossing the street or driving a taxi was expected and forgettable. Another boxwood was just another boxwood sitting in a free space in the empty Hotel Denouement lobby, slowly making its way to the ballroom for optimal eavesdropping. Another volunteer in costume was just another volunteer in a lion costume borrowed from Bertrand, for the moments tonight when Jacques had to communicate information to an associate.

That was the point of the party, after all. Jacques couldn’t deny that everyone liked dressing up—he liked dressing up, a little—but the main objective for most of them tonight was the passing of relevant information that had happened in the three months since the last official gathering (not counting the funeral). It should have been at Winnipeg, as they usually were, the organization taking over the Duke and Duchess’s sprawling, sparkling mansion, the couple’s easy laughter flowing from room to room. Jacques didn’t blame Ramona for not wanting to do it after what happened there. He doubted she’d actually been in the mansion since, although it was entirely hers. But the Hotel Denouement was a suitable replacement. It was too public to ever lose its neutral position among both sides. No one was going to get killed here, Jacques was certain. But he was mildly worried something else would happen. He didn’t know what. But something.

Especially considering Lemony was here. Not that his brother was a troublemaker—Jacques would never say it out loud, at least—but because Lemony wasn’t supposed to be at the hotel tonight. He had told Jacques that he was going to be with Beatrice and Bertrand, who were working on plans for an upcoming assignment. This meant two things—one, that Lemony had lied to Jacques. But Jacques had counted on that. He had assumed, however, that Lemony meant the three of them were finally going on a date and hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Two, that if Lemony never did anything idly, without a specific purpose, then he was here for an unknown reason. Something else was going to happen, Jacques was certain. Something Lemony wanted to be here for.

First, though, he had to get the boxwood he was hiding in from the lobby to the ballroom upstairs. The pot was significantly heavier than Jacques had counted on.

8:05 PM—The Ballroom—Main Doors

Every time they all got together, Frank was so amazed at how many of them there were. Despite some noticeable gaps—Beatrice’s overbearing presence, for one, which Frank was happy to do without for an evening—the grand ballroom had barely any free space. Every available and noble associate was here, and it filled Frank with a sense that everything was going to be alright. All these people, including himself, doing what was necessary to keep the world quiet. Tonight would be fine. Ernest wouldn’t do anything regrettable; Dewey would forgive him about the costumes and the gentle ribbing; the meeting would pass without incident. Tomorrow would come. Sometimes Frank almost thought that it wouldn’t. Typically when Ernest was being difficult, but tonight even he seemed to agree that the organization—their organization—was impressive.

He spotted a potted plant by one of the drink tables, a boxwood that matched the ones lined around the room and back in the lobby. One branch was bent out of place. Frank would have to have a word with the person responsible later. But he should fix the branch now.

Everyone he passed on his way across the room gave him a quick nod, a brief smile. Frank returned it as that familiar buzzing started under his skin, like it tended to in groups. He shrugged it aside. He gave the controlled smile of a manager with everything in place, and no one said a word.

All of a sudden, his view of the boxwood was blocked. Through the mass of associates came Olaf, head to toe in a suit and mask of black, spiky fur, smiling with all his teeth, unceremoniously pushing a woman in a silver dress painted like a large, rocky moon aside on his way towards Frank. Frank steeled himself. You never knew what you were going to get with Olaf, if he would try and charm you with a reckless humor or annoy you with a joking cruelty. It was one of the many reasons Frank had never particularly cared for him.

“Ernest!” Olaf exclaimed when he got close. He hooked an arm through Frank’s. “Lovely to see you, wonderful party.”

The cold, dark hand twisted its way along Frank’s insides. It gripped down through his chest, put a film over his eyes that made the room seem distant and wrong. The party continued around him, Olaf was still talking into his ear, and Frank couldn’t hear any of it. The name tag pressing into his wrist up his left sleeve didn’t help. Just because it was his didn’t mean it was him. His name meant nothing if no one was going to care about who it was, about what made Frank instead of Ernest or Dewey. No one should need evidence to tell the difference. No one should make a mistake between the three of them. How many times would it happen?

Time was still passing. Frank blinked once, twice, until Olaf’s voice filtered back in and the noise of the ballroom swelled up once more.

“—incredibly delicious, I have to say, but, to be frank with you—ha! This champagne has seen better days, which one of you is responsible for this travesty?”

Frank smiled, a little turn of the corner of his mouth, the professional smile of all three of them. If Olaf wanted Ernest, alright. Frank would be Ernest. “Frank,” he said. The word sounded like it couldn’t possibly have come out right, but Olaf didn’t break his stride, so it must have.

“That does not surprise me in the least,” Olaf said. “Meanwhile, allow me to take up one single minute of your time,” he continued, and pulled Frank into the shadows by the door. Frank’s stomach gave a terrible lurch as the stark terror he woke up with every morning came back, riding over the dissonant gap he still felt between his body and his brain. What did Olaf want with Ernest? Had Olaf found out about him? Frank had covered up for Ernest before, but would he be able to keep doing it if more people knew?

“Have you thought about it any more?” Olaf asked, leaning close.

The sheer relief that Olaf didn’t know battled with the swooping fear that Ernest was doing something new Frank didn’t know about, and with Olaf. He remembered, with startling clarity, the last time he talked to Kit, when she told him that Olaf had been spouting dangerous ideas about the organization and trying to rope in as many people as possible. It was one of the reasons, according to the rumors Frank had heard elsewhere, why he and Kit had ended their relationship. What was he trying to get Ernest into? Ernest needed absolutely no encouragement, and neither did Olaf. He had to say something.

“I have,” Frank said. It was the safe answer when you were pretending to be someone else.

Olaf grinned again, big and excited, which was a terrible sign. “And?”

“No,” he said, because it was also the safe answer, and the faster Frank could untangle Ernest from whatever trouble he was into this time, the better. “Sorry to disappoint,” he added, with the cool tone Ernest used.

Olaf frowned. “Really? I must admit, I am a little surprised. I mean, I know you weren’t entirely on board, but you’d given it a shot before, and I was hoping you’d come around again.”

Before? They’d talked before? Frank thought a series of incredibly inappropriate words Beatrice was always using that he would never say out loud.

“But!” Olaf pivoted quickly, in his speech and his actions, spinning on his heel away from Frank and shrugging broadly. “Who am I to bend your arm about it! I’ll keep you in mind, though, in case.” He showed all his teeth, his eyes glittering. “And keep me in mind, next time you have anything else worth sharing, will you?” He flounced off again, tearing through the crowd.

It took a few minutes for Frank’s heart to go back to where it was supposed to be from where it was thundering in his throat. He put his hands in his pockets and gripped the fabric, something real and his to hold onto.

Anything else worth sharing. Since their apprenticeships, Frank and Dewey and Ernest had been tasked with organizing a great deal of information, mostly about the history of the organization, but sometimes, and especially as they got older, the very information that was passed along between volunteers. It was part of the reason Dewey had started building his personal archives in the basement. He liked the business of collecting facts. Of course all three of them were still being given that information. Of course Ernest still had access to every single piece of that information. Ernest, collaborating with Olaf, Ernest, sneaking around behind Frank’s back, Ernest, who had promised, at the beginning of all this, that he wasn’t going to jeopardize their positions by doing something stupid.

Ernest, what are you doing?

8:40 PM—The Archives, In Progress

Dewey was not hiding. He liked parties a great deal, and he loved people, but like his brothers and everyone else, he too had his own appointment to keep tonight.

His just happened to be in the basement.

He still sort of felt like he was hiding, especially the further he went into the archives. But things always needed organizing, and while he waited, he had to do something to keep his hands busy. He searched for a set of organization accounting records for five minutes before realizing he’d already shelved it, last week.

So Dewey was nervous. Plenty of people were nervous. Olivia went around all the time being nervous and no one gave her any grief for it. But Olivia didn’t have a sister to give her any grief for it. And Dewey didn’t mind, not really. He loved it when his brothers teased, because it meant they were getting along. But this time it was slightly personal. Because he was meeting Kit, and he was nervous.

Kit was—well, normal. Like Dewey was normal. He loved his brothers, but Frank was high-strung and made it everyone else’s problem, Ernest was often disagreeable for the sake of it, and with the Snickets, Jacques was always hiding in furniture and Dewey didn’t think he’d ever seen more of him than one hand and possibly an eye at a time, and Lemony was wonderful but sometimes too cryptic and morbid for Dewey’s taste. He liked things a little more sensible, comfortable, pleasant. And Kit was organized, reasonable, quiet when other people were reading, cool under pressure. She let herself get lost in books and people she cared about, underneath all the professionalism. Her smile was a careful, slow thing, something private she only showed you if she genuinely liked you. And it meant a lot to be on the receiving end of that smile.

His brothers didn’t get it. He wasn’t involved with Kit, and he wasn’t going to ask her out, because you didn’t do that with Kit. If Kit wanted to spend time with you, that was her own choice. She never did anything she didn’t want or she hadn’t thought through first. That she wanted to spend time with Dewey, specifically, to see him, and no one else, was nice. It made the whole of him feel all tingly and weightless. He wanted their meeting in the archives to be as nice as that feeling.

Dewey grabbed a set of Agatha Christie translations he kept on hand for when things got boring (rarely, but Beatrice got bored easily, and if you gave her a translation she sat down for a while to prove she could read it) and walked to the next aisle to shelve them. His foot snagged on something in the middle of the floor and he stumbled, hugging the books close to his chest so they didn’t fall. He turned around to see what it was, and found Kit blinking up at him with wide eyes from where she sat on the floor, a thick book open in her lap, her long red dress pooled around her on the floor. Her dress had an off-the-shoulder neckline, but most of her shoulders were covered by the matching red cape pulled around her. In the wide diamond of skin left between the cape and the top of the dress, he could see the sharp edge of something black around her collarbone, a point of the nearly-finished tattoo she’d been getting done. The red sleeves disappeared into short white gloves, with her hands folded together at the bottom of the book pages. Oh. Dewey’s heart pounded for a horrible, exhilarating moment, his mouth going dry. He swallowed once, twice, a third time.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling wryly, closing the book and sliding it gently back in the middle shelf. “I got distracted.”

“Oh, no, that’s completely understandable,” Dewey said. He folded himself down beside her, crossing his legs, still clutching the books to him. “Happens to me all the time. What were you reading?”

Kit smiled again, and it was that slow, beautiful smile, her eyes lighting up. “Have you heard,” she said, “about the cookiecutter shark?”

Dewey had absolutely heard about the cookiecutter shark. “Isistius brasiliensis,” he said. “It can travel in schools, and it bites little circular sections out of fish, like a cookie cutter. Have you heard about the brownsnout spookfish?”

“Barreleye fish, has mirrors in its eyes. Toothless upper jaw,” Kit replied easily. “Anostraca.”

“Fairy shrimp, they swim upside down,” Dewey said. He leaned forward, grinning. “Sometimes even found in deserts. Frilled shark?”

This was his favorite game, with his favorite person, in his favorite place. Both of them were librarians, or librarian-adjacent, so he and Kit dealt in information, not only about nobility but about the rest of the world around them. And the whole world was so fascinating, and there was so much to know and share, so how could you not try and see who could stump the other first?

“An eel-like living fossil, with six pairs of gill slits. Chaunacidae.”

Dewey scrunched up his face, thinking. “I think you got me there,” he admitted.

“Sea toad,” Kit said, looking pleased, “and coffinfish. Deep-sea anglerfishes. The sea toad has fins that can be used as leg flippers.”

“Really? Wow.” Dewey made a mental note to check that out later. He hoped, on the scale of unsettling sea creature to pleasantly spooky sea creature, that it was somewhere in the middle. “So besides oceanic intrigue,” he said, “what else is going on with you?”

“I’m supposed to get something from Frank tonight,” Kit said. “But, I also came to give you this. From Bertrand,” she clarified, and then picked through the seams of her dress, which revealed themselves as hiding at least ten different pockets.

When he had the time, Dewey wanted to study clothing design. Kit and Beatrice always found the place for so many pockets that you could never see from the outside, and Dewey wished he had the same capacity in his slim manager’s jacket and trousers for all the things he wanted to carry around. Poetry; chocolate-covered pretzels; the pencils Kit always left behind; spare buttons; sturdy rope, in case he needed it; maybe a mini chess set. He’d have to work on it. Maybe he could hide them in shoulder pads, or his shoes.

Kit pulled out a book from a side pocket. Dewey finally put the Agatha Christie down, piling it in a neat stack between them, and took the book. It was the one Bertrand had spoken to him about last week—Undercover Underwater: Diving For The Truth, a truly terrible murder mystery novel he said Dewey had to read to believe. He was greatly looking forward to it.

“That was awfully sweet of him,” Dewey said, running his thumb over the cover. He looked for a place to put it, and then just put it on top of his book stack. It felt a little sacrilegious, if it was as bad as Bertrand said, to put it on top of Christie, but he didn’t want to misplace it. “Thank you very much.”

Kit shifted on the floor and put her back to the bookshelf. “Did you hear the Anwhistle brothers finished building that marine research and rhetorical advice center?”

“Yes,” Dewey said. “I guess that’s why they aren’t here tonight? Josephine was all alone when I saw her earlier.”

“They should’ve celebrated with the rest of us,” Kit said. “What a massive architectural achievement—and I wanted to hear about the leeches, too.”

“Yes!” Dewey exclaimed. “Have you seen them yet? I haven’t.”

“No,” Kit said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not in person. Ike gave Lemony one of the earlier ones as a paperweight some time ago but I haven’t been able to see their recent work yet. I hear the teeth are impressive.”

“Cookiecutter shark impressive?”

Kit grinned. “Potentially.”

Dewey laughed. He wished he and Kit could go see them, together. For the scientific curiosity. For spending time with someone who really, really wanted to see him. No, for the oceanic intrigue, of course. “You know—” Oh no. He hadn’t intended to actually start the sentence, but it was out, and Kit was looking at him expectantly, and Dewey was rapidly losing all handles on the conversation. His face was heating up. Everyone else made talking to people whose company they enjoyed look so easy, but the words jumbled together in his mouth. “We should—go? I mean—not right now, but, soon, we could—to the research center—for the leeches, for, for science.”

Pink colored Kit’s face under the freckles along her nose. “For science,” she said. Then—“Not a date,” she added firmly.

“Definitely for science,” Dewey insisted. “Oceanic intrigue, and everything.”

“Yes,” she said, blinking quite a few times. “That would be fine.”

They stared at each other for the longest minute of Dewey’s life.

“We should probably get back up to the party,” he said. The archives were feeling much, much too close, all the books and shelves pressed up against him, the point of Kit’s tattoo still peeking out from under the edge of her cape.

Kit nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

8:55 PM—The Ballroom—Near The Piano

Next—Jacques had to find Olivia.

He abandoned the boxwood by the east wall, for the time being, out of sight near the piano, where a man with a white half-mask played a pleasant Beethoven sonata while a woman in a sharp, pointed gold suit argued with a man dressed as an octopus with a hat. They did not notice Jacques, even in his own costume, but he noticed them. He noticed everyone in the room so singularly. He’d almost forgotten so many people could be in one place at the same time. You spent a lot of time alone, hiding in small spaces, you got used to yourself.

Olivia was easily identifiable. Nothing she did could ever disguise the tightly-wound nervous energy coiled inside her, not the shimmery white butterfly wings curled over her shoulders or the mask of purple flowers on her face. Something always gave her away. Tonight, it was her hands, twisting together as she talked to someone in a large, leafy tree costume, so consuming Jacques couldn’t make out the face. He scanned the crowd, trying to locate Ramona in her reversed purple wings and white mask. He saw her making her way towards one of the drink tables. Ramona wouldn’t leave Olivia alone for long.

The tree left soon after, and Jacques made his way over to her, getting a decent amount of elbows into the side along the way. “Olivia,” he said, when he stopped in front of her.

Her eyes passed over him and onto the rest of the room, like she was staring straight through him. Jacques frowned. He’d certainly said something. He’d certainly moved, Olivia was right in front of him. People moved around them without sparing him a second glance; someone said a cheerful hello to Olivia and she returned it. His voice dried up in his throat, like if he tried to speak he’d never make a sound. When was the last time before this he’d spoken out loud? No one expected him to talk, in his line of work. When had he done it? No, perhaps she simply hadn’t heard him.

He cleared his throat a few times. That was a sound. That was undeniably a sound. Jacques existed here.

He touched his hand to her wrist. “Olivia?”

Olivia jumped nearly a foot. She turned her head from side to side frantically, and Jacques gave her a short wave.

“Oh!” Olivia pressed her hands against her chest and laughed, breathless. “Oh, Jacques, you startled me. How are you?” she asked, as unfailingly kind as always, as if he hadn’t just frightened her. She looked like she wanted nothing more than for Jacques to tell her the long, substantial answer, instead of the polite one. He almost did. But Jacques was here for business.

“Fine,” he said. “And you?”

“Alright,” she said, still smiling. “Ramona’s gone to get some champagne, would you like to join us?”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I have a message for you.”

Her bright smile faltered, her hands seizing together again. “I see,” she said quietly. “What is it?”

“We’d like you to take up the outpost at Caligari Carnival.”

Olivia blanched. “The—the hinterlands?” she repeated. Her voice trembled. “That’s, ah, terribly far away, isn’t it?”

“It is a distance from the city,” Jacques conceded, “but not far.” It was far from Winnipeg, though. It was very far. Eventually, Ramona would be back there, at least in some capacity. Things would be different, especially if Olivia was wanted in the hinterlands permanently.

“Jacques, I really—I don’t—I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

An assignment from headquarters was not exactly optional. Her eyes darted somewhere behind him, and Jacques knew who she was looking at. She and Ramona had just gotten together only recently, before the Duke and Duchess’ deaths. Any kind of love was difficult within the confines of their organization, but the solace here, Jacques thought, was that she and Ramona were both there. They would never be that far away. They might see each other a good deal less, but they would see each other.

“You can take your time to leave, if you wanted,” he said.

“I’ll think about it.” Her voice was firm. “But, thank you for letting me know, Jacques.” She gave him her soft, breezy smile again, and slipped off through the dance floor.

Jacques watched her go. They would see each other. That was an invaluable thing, in their line of work. Being seen. Sometimes even the best person you loved with your whole being couldn’t see the part of you that mattered. To be seen when you disappeared from the rest of the world—that was worth holding on to. It would be difficult. But he had no doubt Olivia and Ramona would do it.

The floor rumbled, like it always did before the lobby clock chimed.

9:00 PM—Room 687

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Does the clock always sound like that? Like it’s saying wrong?”

“Incessantly,” Esmé sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I think Frank’s responsible. Heaven forbid he goes an hour without reminding everyone else how little he thinks of their decisions, you know.”

9:00 PM—The Ballroom—North Drink Table

The hotel was not Winnipeg. But right now, that was exactly what Ramona wanted. The modern angles, the warm, well-lit ballroom, the dark corners and firm rigidity of it all currently felt homier than the soft, open pinks and whites of the Winnipeg mansion. She was glad to have another excuse to avoid it and the constant questions. Tonight, she was going to see her friends, and dance with Olivia, and drink champagne, because Olivia said every occasion was cause for celebration and champagne, and Ramona was going to have a good time. She picked up two champagne flutes from the table and took a sip of one in the careful way her mother taught her, so she didn’t leave lipstick on the glass. Her heart stuttered as she saw the press of plum purple streaks on the glass when she pulled it away. The hotel clock was chiming, sounding like a heavy, distorted vibration of a word. It was right. The lipstick was wrong.

Who had done it? Everyone wanted to know. The firestarters? Likely, but they had been quiet for some time, and Ramona wasn’t going to point fingers without evidence. Some older enemy? Ramona didn’t know enough about whoever that was to consider them. Someone new?

She didn’t want to think about it. Her parents were dead, and she’d found them, and she didn’t want to think about who could have done it or why they did. It wasn’t going to change that it had happened. Ramona wasn’t looking for answers. She was looking for—

An arm slung around her shoulders, jostling her and the champagne, which sloshed around in the flutes as she lurched forward. Scratchy fur and outrageous cologne bore down on her, and she knew exactly who it was.

“My dear duchess,” Olaf said, squeezing her tight. “How have you been?”

Ramona found it in her to roll her eyes. Some people didn’t like Olaf, which she completely understood. There was something about him though, as brash and outlandish and obnoxiously tactile as he was, that had to make you laugh sometimes. She felt comfortable, close to a friend. “Just peachy,” she said. She offered him the other champagne glass; she could get another for Olivia. “Champagne?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Olaf said. He hooked his free hand around both glasses and set them back on the drink table. “Look, I wanted to give you my sincerest condolences—” And he did look sincere, sliding around in front of her, his hand still on her shoulder, the joy immediately gone from his face and replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. She was struck by it, by how glassy and shiny his eyes were under the dark of his mask. “I’m sorry about your parents, Ramona.”

Her mouth wobbled at the edges. She knew Olaf could understand. They’d had similar positions in the organization their whole lives—their parents their chaperones, their time split between assignments and society, the safety that existed in his manor as well, its own controlled pocket of the world, like Winnipeg had been, like the Hotel Denouement was, too. She thought of the Count and Countess, still alive. She hoped they’d stay alive.

It wouldn’t do to cry at a party. Ramona picked up her flute again and took another small sip. “Thank you,” she said.

And just like that, he straightened up and pulled away from her. Some of the mirth found its way back into the shape of his mouth and his arm found its way back around her, this time a tight grip at her waist as he steered her back into the crowd. Ramona felt slightly less consoled than ten seconds ago. Easy come, easy go, with Olaf. “I hate thinking about you all alone in that big house,” he said with a sigh. “All that room, all those things—remember when I knocked into that vase in the hallway?”

“Very vividly,” Ramona said.

“A glorious time!” he crowed. “Well! At least you’ve got all of us, haven’t you. What are your friends if not your family, et cetera, et cetera.”

But he still understood. That was what made it so important to be here tonight. What were all the people in the room, the friends she’d grown up with, people she knew and loved, if not her family as well, just as much as her parents had been? They were more than associates or volunteers, stepping in around her not to fill a void, but to offer back some little part of what had been taken from her. Her throat tightened up as she thought about it. Everything they did was hard, but it was also so special. Ramona wanted to hold it close to her and never let it go.

“And what wouldn’t one do for one’s family, am I right?” Olaf continued. “So, if you ever need me for anything—a shoulder to cry on, although certainly not in this jacket, or, say, a partner in crime, or a willing participant in any daring assignment you might come across otherwise—do not hesitate to let me know, okay?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it.”

Ramona stumbled to a halt as Olaf stopped abruptly. He looked down at her with a gash of a grin. “People like you and me, we’ve got to stick together, duchess.” He gave her a squeeze one more time and then finally let go, dashing away.

Goodness, but he was rough about things. Ramona gave herself a shake, trying to collect herself back into order. She stood up on her toes to try and see where he’d gone. She didn’t get much more height, already being in heels, but she did manage to see him already making grandiose hand gestures across the room to those white-faced triplets Ramona had seen once or twice. They were younger than she was, still in their training. The three of them stared at Olaf with three immaculately raised eyebrows. Ramona chuckled a little, dropped back down, and went back for Olivia’s champagne glass.

9:40 PM—The Ballroom—Center

Over an hour had passed, and Frank hadn’t seen any sign of Ernest. He had better things to be doing than keeping track of Ernest, and yet here he was. He couldn’t have gone far—the hotel was enormous, but it was a hotel. The whole world contained on nine floors. You couldn’t disappear from it.

Frank edged his way through the dance floor, searching for him through three separate groups of associates doing three slightly different versions of a circle dance. A snake and a tree frog whirled past, a phantom with them, a tangled shape of dark greens and blacks and bright blues and exuberant laughter. When they’d gone, Frank found himself in the center of the floor and face to face with Dewey, coming towards him from the other direction, his cheeks pink.

“Are you alright?” Frank asked immediately.

Dewey blinked. “Of course,” he said. “Just dancing. Is everything okay?”

He should have known, but Ernest had him on an edge he hadn’t expected to be tonight. He tried to look apologetic but wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. “Have you seen Ernest?”

“Not since earlier,” Dewey said. “Oh, and Kit was—”

“When you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

Dewey’s shoulders drooped down. “If I see him,” he said. “Then I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you,” Frank said, and he meant it. He smiled at Dewey until he smiled back, and then Frank moved past him, pushing back into the crowd.

He hadn’t meant to be short about it, but Frank’s worry never came out like he wanted it to. It became biting irritation instead, or a slow-simmering temper he never let boil, or professional, distant orders about hotel business, or a refusal to talk at all in case he said the wrong thing. More often than not, he still wound up arguing with Ernest. He didn’t argue with Dewey, but their conversations were so much more stilted than they should have been lately.

But it was because he feared Ernest was going to slip away from him one day and never come back. Realistically, it was unlikely. After all, Ernest was still here. Indecision entering their home hadn’t taken him away from it. But what if that changed, one day, and it was Frank’s fault, because he reacted too quickly or too slowly? And Dewey—Dewey was so sweet and so kind Frank thought the world might crush him. He had to keep them close, and he had to keep them safe. It would’ve been so much easier, though, if Ernest wasn’t so difficult about it, if Dewey understood that Frank didn’t want anything to happen to him, if they would listen.

Frank glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He’d look for Ernest on the way, but for one small hour, Ernest was going to have to wait.

9:59 PM—The Floor Behind The South Drink Table

Through typical party events, The Herpetology Squad (Plus Hector) found themselves on the floor behind one of the drink tables.

“So how do you tell them apart?” Gustav asked, stirring his drink with a spoon. “Because, and I do feel terrible about this, but I can’t do it. We’ve known them for ages, and I can’t do it.”

“Frank is taller,” Monty said immediately, and very confidently.

“What, no, he can’t be taller, they’re triplets,” Hector said. “Do genetics work like that?”

“Hey Haruki,” Monty called around Gustav and Hector, “do genetics work like that?”

Haruki leaned into Hector’s shoulder and considered it. “I’m really not sure,” they said. “But, I always figured, Ernest was kind of quiet, and Frank was kind of stern, and Dewey was kind of, well, kind.”

“But that seems so reductive,” Gustav pointed out. “You can’t just identify a person down to one base trait and leave it at that. And I say this as a screenwriter and director. You need to be creative.”

“All your characters sound exactly the same, though,” Hector said, frowning. “Or, like, so different, I don’t think you’re keeping track of them between scenes.”

“Oh, that’s awfully rude,” Haruki said.

“No, he’s right,” Gustav said. He hung his head into his hands, his glass tipping sideways through his fingers. Haruki reached over and grabbed it, twisting their arm around and up to slide it back onto the drink table where it’d be safer. “I always thought they did, and now I know for sure. I’ll have to renounce film making and go back to herpetology. Or, submarines. I can’t disparage your honor too, Monty.”

“Oh, Hector, you hurt his feelings,” Monty said. He patted Gustav on the back consolingly. “Gustav, you write wonderful scripts. I loved the, the Werewolves In The Rain.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I can’t handle a drunk Gustav,” Hector said, closing his eyes. “Gustav, I’m sorry. To be fair, I only watched—what was it—” He waved his hands around. “—the one with the—you know—”

“Vampires In The Retirement Community,” Haruki said.

“And it was once. And—hey, weren’t we talking about something else?”

10:10 PM—The Short Hallway Between Rooms 40-45 and 46-49

Unassigned numbers within the Dewey Decimal System were not the trouble they appeared to be to a hotel based on it. They still existed in the hotel, no matter how much Ernest had protested that it made no sense to have rooms that had no theme or purpose in a hotel whose very purpose was theme—Frank and Dewey’s rebuttal was that it made no sense to nonchalantly remove numbers out of their sequential existence because they didn’t fit in neatly otherwise. They existed. They didn’t have themes, even this stretch of ten, which had been previously designated but was now just a blank space between encyclopedias and magazine publications, which left the rooms relatively blank and boring, typically unnoticed and unused, but they still existed.

In the brief, dark hallway between the two sets of unassigned rooms, Frank could sit on the bench against the wall, and he didn’t have to think about family or the hotel. Frank sat featureless in the shadows and thought about himself. Usually, it meant he felt better about everything. But tonight, with the worry set aside once more for now, all he felt was that chill through his insides again, when Olaf mistook him for Ernest.

He took the name tag out of his sleeve and turned it over in his hands. Frank was a man in a manager’s jacket, with a face that looked like two other faces, someone who could be anyone. The name tag did nothing but identify him without caring who he was. What was it that made Frank himself, the imperceptible, innate existence of him that mattered? His love for Ernest and Dewey? Visible. His organization? Trivial. The fear he was going to lose everything? Meaningless and a weakness, in the face of everything else. It was hard to say for sure. He had gone his whole life getting mixed up with Ernest and Dewey and it was exhausting to keep trying to prove he was real when it felt like the world was rubbing him out. He leaned his back against the wall.

He heard Jacques before he saw him, like always. Exact, economical footsteps, nothing extraneous, the tap of his expensive shoes on the rugs, the swish of his jacket. Everything measured, as it had to be.

Jacques appeared around the corner, that bent piece of the boxwood plant stuck in his hair. He seemed to brighten when he saw Frank, like Frank’s presence set something off inside him. Frank watched him. What did Jacques see, when he looked at Frank? What was it that made Jacques notice, over and over again, over other people? How was Jacques so certain that when he looked at Frank right now, at that moment, that Jacques was looking at him?

Jacques sat down next to him on the bench. Frank had seen him in a mask earlier, something terrible and orange, but it was gone now, and he faced Frank fully. He was inches away from Frank, and Frank could see every part of him, even in the dark—the calm, if tired, resolution in the set of his jaw, the way he waited, still and patient, as if he could do nothing else. He had the darkest eyes of his siblings, a steady and unchanging deep blue.

“That which is essential is invisible to the eye,” Jacques whispered.

Frank let out the breath he’d been holding. How long ago had he said that to Jacques? “I initially said that to insult you,” he said.

“It was deserved,” Jacques said. “And I never forgot. Do you know how I always know it’s you now?”

“Enlighten me.”

He put his hand against Frank’s jacket, resting his fingers against the fabric to the left of the buttons. Jacques kept it there, and he didn’t take his eyes off of Frank for anything, not even when the heartbeat under his hand sped up. Frank felt almost split open to the core. He always did, every time. Jacques saw whatever it was. The man who was always hiding knew exactly who he was, because he looked.

“How very sentimental of you,” Frank managed. His breath hung between them. He traced the side of his thumb over the collar of Jacques’s shirt, just below the skin. If he moved his hand just a centimeter he’d be able to feel his heartbeat as well.

“It’s the truth,” Jacques murmured. “Sentiment is—dangerous. Truth is immutable.”

“Do you know how I know it’s you?” Frank said against his mouth.

“How?” Jacques asked.

Frank finally pulled the branch out of Jacques’s hair. “You do terribly stupid things.”

Jacques laughed, and the sound vibrated all the way down through Frank’s throat.

10:19 PM—Room 366

Frank had to be somewhere. Kit was not overly concerned with finding him, but she would rather do it sooner than later. She worked from the ground floor up, combing through the hallways but finding no sight of the Denouement, until she was on the third floor again. The faster she found Frank, the faster she could, maybe, go back to talking to Dewey. About completely professional things, of course. The fact that she felt different when she was with Dewey was simply because he was pleasant, welcome company. He wanted to look at leeches with her, for the delight of science. They expected nothing from each other but a nice time.

She immediately pictured Beatrice waggling her eyebrows at her, if Kit had said that out loud. Not that kind of nice time, she thought, but the mental Beatrice kept laughing joyously at her.

“He’s a nice person,” she grumbled to the empty hallway. He was calm. Regular. Okay. The exact opposite of everyone else, Beatrice. Could she go five minutes without them all picking apart her romantic life? This was why she wasn’t interested. This was why it was strictly nice. There were other, more important things that needed her attention.

The door to Room 366 was ajar, and Kit, who had naturally been trained to investigate the suspicious, investigated the suspicious. She slid herself carefully through the gap in the door and into the dark room. She’d been in there a few times to know it was an absurdly comfortable meeting room, with plush chairs and a bookcase that spanned the length of the far wall. A figure sat against the side wall, reaching up and tapping ash from a cigarette out the open window. For a moment, they looked like a blank, featureless shadow, until a light outside the window shifted and Frank—no, Ernest’s face resolved itself in front of her. The tip of the cigarette burned bright orange against his fingers.

“I heard about you and Olaf,” he said. “Would you like an apology, since I’m sure you’ve been getting enough I told you so’s?”

Kit sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” But she shut the door and walked over, sitting down on the floor beside him. She took her own pack of cigarettes out of one of her dress pockets and accepted Ernest’s lighter to light one. She never carried her own.

“He did,” she muttered, giving the lighter back. She brought her legs up and wrapped an arm around them. “Tell me, I told you so. Not in so many words, of course, but I knew he was thinking it.”

“Ah,” Ernest said. “The disappointed look of, I’m not going to say it, but I’m going to think it, in your general direction. Which is worse.”

“Exactly,” Kit said. “At least argue with me so I can tell him he’s wrong.”

Ernest breathed out a long line of smoke. “Yes.” She thought he was going to say something else, but when he didn’t, Kit pressed on.

“He acts like it was my fault,” she said. “Should I have known better? I—” It was a harsh thing to admit, but she and Ernest didn’t do this to lie to each other. “Yes. Fine. But he acts like I can’t be left alone now to make my own decisions. He keeps following me, hanging around.” She slouched against the wall. “My own brother thinks so little of me.”

Ernest hmmed. “Well—”

“Do not. Do not say I’m short. I’m not short. Jacques has one inch on me, Ernest. Esmé is short. I’m not short.”

“Sorry,” Ernest said, laughing.

“Say it,” she said, and pushed her elbow into his side.

“Ow—Kit, you are anything but short.”

“Thank you.” She took her elbow back. The two of them sat in silence, blowing out small circles of smoke as the cigarettes smoldered down. “What’s Frank disappointed about?”

Ernest waved his hand with the cigarette dismissively. “Frank’s disappointed he can’t find a tie that matches the custom paint in the lobby,” he said. “It doesn’t take much for him. I was five minutes late, I didn’t give him the mail on time, I missed a meeting, and he just—” He did an obviously perfect impression of Frank’s unimpressed stare.

Kit snorted. She had to admit, Frank did look like that a lot, even if you caught him in a good mood.

“If he wasn’t so difficult,” Ernest muttered, “he’d be almost bearable.”

“Wouldn’t they all,” Kit sighed. “Brothers.”

“Brothers,” Ernest agreed.

10:25 PM—The Ballroom—West Hors d’oeuvres Table

Dewey stood at the hors d’oeuvres table, away from the crowd of his friends, surveying the food. At least, with everything going on, there was always good food to look forward to. It was awful to glare at it like he was. He’d felt so good after talking to Kit, and now he was glowering at little rows of canapes like they were the source of his problems.

He wasn’t usually upset with his brothers. No matter what they did, he knew they had their reasons, and Dewey loved them regardless. But sometimes they really were impossible. Frank’s quiet temper and Ernest’s secrecy and indifference had driven such a wedge between the two of them that when Dewey suggested they didn’t talk about it, it had seemed like the best idea at the time to get them to go forward. Otherwise, he’d been worried that Frank was going to say something he’d regret, because he wasn’t going to change Ernest’s mind, and Ernest might’ve done something terrible. Dewey didn’t think he was capable of something truly terrible, because Ernest was his brother, and he knew Ernest. They both believed in a right way to live, just in different ways, so Dewey respected him. You couldn’t let anything change that. But he was still as worried about Ernest as Frank was, and he had just wanted the arguments to stop.

But it had led to Frank and Ernest almost refusing to talk to each other, ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was pleasantries or conversations that skirted the edge of an argument, which was worse. Dewey particularly hated it lately, when he was asked to pass messages between them, typically from Frank. He wasn’t a messenger system, he was their brother, and he was, in fact, if either of them cared to remember, the oldest. But they treated him like someone to protect because he wasn’t as forceful as them. He frowned down at a section of tiny shot glasses of—he picked one up. Gazpacho. It looked so charming and Dewey couldn’t even appreciate it.

What it came down to was, the schism couldn’t come between him and his brothers if they didn’t let it. Just like his current irritation couldn’t come between him and his brothers if he didn’t let it. He considered it, because he was angry, but he didn’t let it change anything.

He found a narrow, palm-sized spoon from one of the other hors d’oeuvres and poked at the gazpacho with it. He thought, for a moment, about the Anwhistle brothers, sitting in their brand new marine research and rhetorical help center, probably having a lot of fun together talking about fungi and grammar. Gregor and Ike were two of the most different but most companionable people Dewey knew. Nothing got between them. They probably didn’t forget who was the oldest. Who was the oldest out of them, anyway? They probably didn’t let it matter.

Oh, Dewey was letting it get to him. He piled some of the gazpacho onto the spoon and took a bite. He wished Bertrand had been able to come. Bertrand would’ve loved the appeal of the gazpacho as well. Bertrand didn’t have a single sibling to complain about and he would’ve enjoyed the gazpacho wholesale. He could’ve stood around with Dewey at the table, and maybe they’d have brought in Lemony, too, and talked about flavor profiles. Lemony, who was legitimately the youngest of his siblings, commiserating over cold soup about how they never stopped trying to protect him either. Who could possibly think Lemony of all people needed protecting, too? There was always that quiet, competent energy around him.

Dewey finished the gazpacho and put the jar on a passing hotel attendant’s silver tray. Where was Lemony, actually? He was sure he’d seen him earlier. Dewey remembered, because it was the first time he’d seen Lemony in a long while. Wherever he was, Dewey was sure it was probably more enjoyable than here.

10:32 PM—The Ballroom—Dance Floor

“Josephine,” Olaf said, sidling up behind her, “Jo, angel of my eye—”

“The correct word for that expression is apple,” Josephine interrupted. She did not take her eyes off of her plate of puff pastry. “We’ve been over this.”

He continued, persistent as ever, his smile stretched like candy. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, angel of my apple?”

“No.”

10:45 PM—The Elevator

The night was passing by, and Kit still hadn’t found Frank. She’d made it all the way up to the ninth floor with no sign of him. Was he the type to be on the rooftop sunbathing salon? Unlikely. But she should check, just in case.

She had her hand against the rooftop door when the elevator dinged behind her. Kit turned to look. The elevator doors parted, revealing the gold-walled interior with rather harsh lighting, and there was Frank, standing with his hands folded behind his back. He caught Kit’s eye and gave her a slight nod. “Kit.”

“Frank.” She stepped into the elevator beside him and pushed the button for the third floor. As the doors closed, she smelled smoke for a moment, and her heart leapt before she realized the cigarette smoke must’ve clung to her gloves. She tugged them off and stuffed them into one of her pockets.

“I heard the Anwhistles finished the research center,” Frank said, as the elevator started to move down.

“Yes.”

“And the mycelium—are they still working on it?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Frank sighed. “Do you have any concerns?”

“Some,” Kit admitted. There was no denying it was dangerous. Necessary, but catastrophic if it ever got out of hand. “If anything happens, it can be dealt with.”

“Good,” Frank said, decisively. Silence dropped through the elevator, the hand counting down the floors moving slowly from eight, to seven, to six. Frank raised an eyebrow; Kit realized she’d been staring at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I was under the impression that there was—” More, or something else entirely. It was Kit’s understanding that Frank was to give her a list. There was usually only one kind of list that mattered in their organization, and unless she had radically misjudged the ages of the Anwhistle brothers after personally knowing them for years, they wouldn’t be on that list. “—something more specific,” she wound up finishing.

Frank looked at her with his impassive, unimpressed mask. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

The hand moved again, six to five to four. Kit had the strangest sensation that she was missing something. She should’ve been given that list, not subjected to a brief interrogation, especially about something she was already aware of. The smell of smoke flitted in front of her again.

Disbelief shot through Kit like an arrow, pushing the air from her lungs. She felt like the floor was dropping out from under her. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t. She stared at the man in the elevator, and he stared back, cool and collected. It couldn’t be. Because that would mean—but the longer she looked, the more certain she was.

“Frank quit smoking,” she said quietly, “but you didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth turned down. “I—”

Kit slammed her hand against the stop button on the button panel, and kept her hand there, boxing him in against the wall even after the elevator had halted, the counting hand stuck between four and three.

“Don’t lie to me, Ernest.”

One Month Ago—City Headquarters

It wasn’t like there was, say, an initiation ceremony or anything. They’d been through that already, there was no need to do one again. You knew what you were getting into this time, you were just, “changing sides”. And it was so subtle that it barely mattered. Nothing about Ernest’s life really changed otherwise. He ran a hotel with his brothers. He ranked tea brands with Dewey during lunch. He played loud music in Room 784. He carried a lighter in his pocket that he used for other things. He went to headquarters, sometimes as himself, sometimes as Frank, never as Dewey. He acquired messages, and took his sweet time delivering them or delaying them, spaces of time where nothing changed, either. He almost wondered what the point had been, until he overheard Frank spout off some noble patter again. At least he wasn’t like that. At least Ernest knew better.

And since nothing had changed, no one knew. Not even the “firestarters” knew there was another one, namely because Ernest hated the name and disliked a great deal of them, but also because Frank made him be so careful about it. He thought a few people in VFD suspected, or at least suspected someone of switching, because everyone could feel something was happening and they were trying to pinpoint a source, and it was only a matter of time before someone suspected a Denouement. Triplets were naturally suspicious. But it wasn’t like they could do anything, even if they ever had proof—how often did anyone know which Denouement they were talking to, anyway? It was likely Ernest could exist like this for the rest of his life.

The thought almost stopped him on his way into the city headquarters. Day after day of calculated, performative nonsense without an end in sight. Age sagged through him. His bones were too heavy and to move them another step was impossible. He kept walking.

What had made Ernest change? That, exactly that. Change. He’d lived in VFD for practically his entire life, and nothing was different there, either. There had been no great strides made towards the nobility they all talked about, only tiny little steps that were easily set back. Ernest watched his friends and his family get sucked in by this big, dramatic fight that never ended, a fight none of them had ever initially had a part in. He’d learned that you couldn’t achieve “nobility”, whatever that even was, by a bunch of absurd spy behavior and kidnapping, or by coded messages and age-old discussions that went nowhere, or by acting like information weighed more than your life, by pretending any of that was normal. None of it did anything. Ernest was going to find some way to make something happen, to make what they’d lost worth it, and if it meant Frank thought he was a traitor, fine. He’d do it even if Frank didn’t appreciate that Ernest was doing it for him.

The note for Frank that he’d intercepted said that there was a file under the fifth floorboard of the back staircase in the city headquarters. Frank was supposed to give it to Kit.

He made his way to the back staircase. It went up to the observatory, which no one had used since Esmé burned that spot into the rug with her telescope out of protest. The corridor and the staircase were, predictably, deserted. Ernest slowly lifted the fifth board, but it came away without resistance, so he pulled it up all the way and saw the slim folder waiting inside. He took it out, replaced the floorboard, and sat down at the bottom of the stairs. He opened it.

He wanted to crumple the folder in his hands but he made himself breathe and look at it. It was the upcoming recruitment list. There were some he recognized faintly, distant associates, long-lived families in VFD, but a majority of the names he’d never seen before. New families to carve apart. He flipped through the pages—addresses, dates, times. A few photographs. Ernest closed his eyes and held them shut tight. When he opened them, he was still looking at the folder.

Of course none of it mattered, he thought bitterly, shoving the folder into his jacket. He could intercept or stop a thousand messages and there would still always be more. There would always be more children, more fires, more lies, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop it.

Ernest leaned the side of his head against the banister. He thought about Olaf, suddenly. He’d been trying to corner everyone lately, Ernest among them, talking his ear off about big ideas that Ernest agreed with, but Olaf had a habit of taking an age to follow through with them. Ernest did not have the time to wait an age. He’d shared some information with Olaf a few times, on the off chance that it would spur him into action, but Olaf had hidden it away, for “later”, and it obviously had not helped.

Maybe the only way you could fight a long game was to play the long game back. Maybe that was what Olaf was doing. He was on to something, at least, with his words. Maybe Ernest could try again. Maybe he could learn to wait. Maybe the payoff would be worth it. Maybe.

Ernest stood up. He didn’t at all feel like going home, but he wasn’t going to stay at headquarters any longer.

The staircase creaked. When he looked up, he saw Lemony Snicket at the top by the observatory door, standing like he’d always been there.

“What are you doing up there?” Ernest asked.

Lemony watched him carefully. Ernest got the distinct feeling that he was being appraised. He shivered. When they were younger, you could look at Lemony and see the gears working in his head, like watching—yes, like watching change take shape and form and meaning before your eyes. Lemony Snicket was going to do anything, lead them all anywhere. Ernest hadn’t been foolish enough to believe a twelve-year-old in a brown hat was going to demolish VFD from the ground up. Then Lemony had disappeared, and in the years after resurfacing at sixteen, he looked less and less like that powerful, mythical figure everyone had worshiped and more like he’d seen too much. Ernest sympathized.

But here, Ernest finally saw it, that hunger they’d all talked about. In his eyes, bright blue in the shadows. Physical change, a juggernaut of determination. Ernest’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Lemony said softly. “Do you think we could talk?”

10:50 PM—The Elevator

Damn.

The disbelief on Kit’s face was gone, replaced by a blazing, dangerous fury, the threatening and exacting professionalism she hid inside her on full display. She wasn’t all that short, Ernest thought, inanely. He wasn’t going to be able to bluff out of this one. She knew. It was significantly more terrifying than Ernest had imagined it would be. How stupid could he have been, to forget about the way that cigarette smoke would cling, to think Kit Snicket wouldn’t notice. “Kit—”

“How long?” Kit demanded.

“Does it matter?”

He could see that it very, very much did. Kit was already disgusted over dating Olaf; that she’d spent so much time with Ernest when he wasn’t on her side was going to eat her alive, Ernest knew. He winced.

“It wasn’t personal,” he tried.

She glared at him. “What were the names Frank was supposed to give me?”

That, he was going to hold on to. They’d already burned the papers, anyway, up in the observatory. No one was going to get that list now. “I guess you’ll never know,” Ernest said.

Her hand clenched on the button panel. She stepped closer. For a wild and uncontrollable second that seemed to spin out into eternity, Ernest imagined she was going to kill him.

“The elevator is going to start again,” she said lowly. “We’re going to walk out into the lobby. You’re not going to make a sound. We’re going to go to headquarters.”

Ernest didn’t like what he was going to do next. But he was always going to have the upper hand for one distinct reason.

He swallowed and straightened the edge of his sleeve. “Who’s going to believe you, Kit?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Regrettably for you, I am at a distinct advantage,” Ernest said. “You and I are the only two people in this elevator. You did think I was Frank. Who will be able to figure out who was who when you try and tell on me? Who can really know for sure?” He hesitated, but it was true. “Why, I could be Dewey, even.”

Kit slapped him across the face, her cheeks flushed a fierce red. The force of it stung hard, knocking Ernest’s head to the side. She removed her hand from the wall and stepped back.

“Does it help if I’m sorry?” he asked, gingerly rubbing the side of his face.

“You aren’t,” Kit said.

Ultimately, it was true. He wasn’t. He was sorry he’d been caught more than that he’d done it. Ernest regretted nothing about what he’d decided to do. Not in his line of work; and Kit was the same, too. But he was sorry he was going to lose a friend.

Kit didn’t have friends, though. You were with or against Kit Snicket, and she always made that abundantly clear. Ernest touched his cheek again, and then lowered his hand.

“I’m not,” he said. He took the elevator key out of his pocket and put it into the lock on the button panel, watching Kit the whole time. She watched him back. The elevator slid into motion, settling down on the third floor.

The doors opened.

11:00 PM—The Ballroom—East Drink Table

“Who?” Jacques asked.

Kit turned slowly back to the dance floor. Was one of them still here? Had she been followed out of the elevator? She locked eyes with a Denouement across the room. Which one? Was it Frank? Was it Ernest, again? Was it Dewey? The clock was still rumbling under her feet. The glass trembled in her hand and she felt almost sick, anger and shame and fear churning through her. She was in a nightmare and she couldn’t shake it off. The triplet held her eyes for a long moment and then walked away.

“Kit.” Jacques had a hand on her arm; he must’ve gotten out of the boxwood. “Who?”

But she couldn’t get the words out, not here. Ernest was right. She was at a disadvantage when she couldn’t prove it. If she pointed the finger now, what would be done? What could be done? How could he do that to Dewey and Frank? To put them in the position where they’d unknowingly cover for him merely by existing? Did they know at all?

What would she do if her own brothers—no. She couldn’t even think it. Kit couldn’t fathom the idea of her brothers doing anything like this.

“We have to find Lemony,” Kit said.

11:02 PM—The Ballroom—Main Doors

Frank still couldn’t find Ernest. He did not have the time for him to be hiding like a child; where was he? Frank had looked everywhere over and over and was back in the same ballroom again, scanning through the associates for what had to be the hundredth time. He caught Kit’s eye—and stopped.

There was cold and intense fear looking back at him. It was unbearable to have it directed at him, and Frank turned away after a few seconds.

Ernest. A thousand possibilities ran through Frank’s head, each of them worse than the last. He had had enough. Frank strode towards the main doors, just as he saw Ernest making his way out of them as fast as possible. Finally. Frank followed him out into the hallway and grabbed onto Ernest’s arm, whirling him around.

“I asked one thing of you tonight,” Frank said.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Ernest repeated. He wrenched his arm out of Frank’s grasp and put his hands in his pockets. “And I didn’t, thank you.”

“Apparently I wasn’t specific enough,” Frank said. “When I said that, I clearly meant, don’t do anything stupid that’s going to compromise the family and our position in it. What information have you been giving Olaf?”

“Who said I was?”

“Olaf.”

“You know, that hurts a little, that you’d believe Olaf over me.”

Frank’s jaw clenched. Fine. Olaf was less important, anyway. “Then what did you do to Kit?”

Ernest raised an eyebrow. “Did I do anything?”

It was agonizing, seeing such a carefully blank mask on your own face staring back at you. Frank didn’t hate him, but he came close. “What have you done, Ernest? Do not lie to me.”

Something fractured through Ernest’s expression. “I just—miscalculated,” he muttered. “She found out.”

“She found out?” Frank echoed, his heart skittering in his chest. It had finally happened, and Frank couldn’t protect Ernest this time. Kit wouldn’t keep this a secret, not by a long shot. By morning—by midnight, because nearly the whole organization was already here—everyone would know. And Ernest didn’t seem the least bit concerned about it. “Ernest—”

“It’s fine,” Ernest said coolly. “Considering she can’t prove it.”

The world detached from Frank’s consciousness. Kit’s fear made a sudden, terrible sense. Ernest had used him as a shield between himself and the organization, on purpose, he’d positioned Frank and Dewey as pawns whose only use was whatever Ernest wanted. Frank could feel his hands shaking. They didn’t feel like his hands.

Ernest sighed. “Don’t look like that,” he said. “You’ve pretended to be me, that’s the only way you would’ve found out about Olaf. Don’t act like you didn’t use our face as an advantage too. That’s what we do. That’s what this family does.”

Anger burned through Frank, hot behind his eyes. That had been different. A sharp fury that had been building somewhere inside him all night snapped apart. “You are not a part of this family.”

He regretted saying it the second the words were out. Of course Ernest was still his brother. That was an immutable fact. But Frank was so tired of trying to hold onto Ernest when Ernest so blatantly didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at family, he was looking at a stranger, who stole his face, who used his name, who threw it around like it meant nothing, who denied everything noble and proper and real. It wasn’t how a brother was supposed to act. But it was how Ernest acted, and now Ernest was staring at him with an open, wounded expression, something Frank hadn’t seen since they were children.

Frank ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Ernest’s jaw trembled for a second, his mouth pressing into a thin, flat line. “I don’t think I am.” He took one step back, a hard glare in his eyes, and then walked away from Frank.

11:20 PM—The Rooftop Sunbathing Salon

Ernest hadn’t figured on Frank being angry, because, primarily, he hadn’t figured on Frank finding out at all. He hadn’t figured on Kit realizing what he was doing, either. Well, that was on him, but Frank didn’t need to be so—he didn’t have to say—

Shit, Ernest thought, breathing hard. He came to a stop in the dark, empty hallway some floors up from the ballroom and let himself think it, pressing his palms into his eyes. Shit, shit, shit. He’d have a brother after this, sure, a family member who stood by him and ran a hotel with him and played nice, but he didn’t know if he’d have his brother. He would have an associate, like everyone else, a found family of people who loved on conditions, not a family. Not his family.

He had to find Lemony. Just because he’d been hiding all night didn’t mean he was exempt from this.

Lemony disliked heights, open spaces, and decently-sized bodies of water, which was why Ernest found him on the roof, sitting on one of the pool chairs, his mask discarded beside him. He was studiously avoiding looking at the pool or the ocean or the night sky, dark and enormous above him. The rooftop salon was never used at night, but there were small lights along the edge of the pool and the railing, giving off slivers of stark white light. The brief anger Ernest felt downstairs evaporated the longer he watched Lemony not-watching the world around him. He wanted to say a million and one things to him, but the one that came out was, “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“What do you know about exposure therapy?” Lemony offered as a response.

“Enough to know you probably shouldn’t use it for heights,” Ernest said. “Among other things.”

“Point taken,” Lemony said. “What would you say if I told you I was now too frightened to move?”

“That you brought it on yourself,” Ernest said, but he didn’t mean it. He walked over and sat next to Lemony on the pool chair. Ernest stole a quick glance at him again, brief and fleeting. To look consistently was dangerous; Ernest always had to make a distinct effort not to touch.

“Your sister found out,” he said. “Not about you, but about me. She also hit me.”

Lemony’s head shot up. “What?” He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing Ernest’s jaw as he turned his face towards him. They trailed warm over his right cheek, where his skin still smarted from Kit’s hand. Here in the dark, Lemony’s eyes were so bright again, full of concern, directed right at him. Ernest held himself so still, barely breathing.

Falling in love, if you could call it that, with Lemony was what Ernest personally considered the most ill-advised thing he’d ever done, even after lying to Kit. Lemony loved other people, and it was clear in everything he did, in the way he looked when they weren’t there. But Lemony understood what Ernest wanted, and Ernest craved that with a destructive ache.

Really, who else were they supposed to fall in love with but each other? They didn’t know anyone else. No one was going to get this life but them. It was probably why half of VFD had a crush on Beatrice, honestly. It was terrible, but none of them seemed to be able to stop doing it. Ernest included.

“You—” Lemony’s hand jerked back, shrinking down between them onto the chair. “What happened?”

“She knew I lied,” Ernest said. “About the information and about being Frank. I got out of it, but—she won’t trust us again, I think. And Frank—probably won’t trust me either.”

“I’m sorry,” Lemony said. “I didn’t mean for—”

Ernest shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. It wasn’t. He and Lemony had both just wanted something, desperately. Ultimately, they’d still succeeded, in the end. They had. Change he could hold in his hands had happened. He still felt hollow about it all, everything drained out of him, but he didn’t regret doing it. Not at all. The hurt would go away and he’d do it again. “What we did—that mattered.”

“It did,” Lemony whispered. “But I never like the cost.”

“Why did you do it?” Ernest asked softly.

Lemony smiled ruefully. “I guess I didn’t want to stop trying.”

The real, noble answer, Ernest thought. Why the “firestarters” and Ernest would never get him. He raised his hand. Slowly, without looking, he put it on top of Lemony’s. Lemony turned his hand over and gripped Ernest’s tightly. He knew that the way Lemony would try from this moment forward would be different than the way Ernest would, and he wanted to have this moment while it lasted.

Ernest stood, tugging Lemony up with him, and let go of his hand. “You should go back downstairs,” he said.

11:30 PM—The Ballroom—South Drink Table

The party would be over soon, but you’d never know it, the ballroom still thronging with people. But most of the dancing had died down, and Dewey was taking mental stock of how clean up would start. He found one of the attendant’s silver trays and picked it up, estimating how many glasses he could fit on it.

Frank came back into the ballroom and made a beeline for him, pale. Dewey’s shoulders tensed up yet again. What had happened now?

“I can’t believe it,” Frank muttered, grabbing a wineglass.

“Whoa, hey, hold on.” Dewey took the wineglass back and set it off to the side. “What happened?”

“He—” Which meant it was Ernest. Again. Dewey’s patience with both his brothers tonight was wearing extraordinarily thin. “He’s been passing information to Olaf this whole time.”

“To Olaf?” That was not what Dewey had been expecting. A flare of worry burned through him and curled his hands around the tray. “But—”

“No,” Frank said. “This time, I’ve had enough. I’m tired of covering up for him, and he’s going to have to deal with this mess himself.”

Olaf was certainly a threat in one way or another, but it seemed a disproportionately vicious answer for Frank. Dewey frowned. “Did something else happen?”

Frank looked so—frantic, was maybe the word, a terrifying energy breaking out of him in quick bursts of anger on his face. He looked at Dewey, and the emotion seemed to cage itself back in.

“He was found out,” Frank said quietly. “About being a firestarter.”

Dewey had counted on it happening. It seemed unlikely that it would be able to remain a secret forever. It still hurt to hear. Things wouldn’t be the same as they had been, if people knew about Ernest. Dewey imagined the division between the three of them only growing larger, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to do anything about it if it got too wide.

Something broke in Frank’s expression again, and Dewey startled—it looked like guilt. “Don’t defend him,” Frank hissed. “Dewey, he’s going to get away with it. He’s going to ruin what we’ve worked for, what you’ve worked for in the archives—do you want all of that information in the hands of the enemy?”

Dewey clutched the tray. “Ernest isn’t the enemy,” he said, darkly. The agitation from earlier at the hors d’oeuvres table shot back into him.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Frank said. “I—”

Dewey slammed the silver plate down on the drink table. A real, genuine slam, like he’d never done before, the glasses around it rattling. Frank stared at him, gaping a little.

“He’s still here,” Dewey said. “That’s enough.”

“Dewey—”

“That is enough.”

12:00 AM—The Lobby

Jacques had never seen Kit so unsettled. Even when she’d been arrested she’d kept her composure. But she stood beside him in the empty lobby, tapping her foot against the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. He still couldn’t get out of her what had happened, but it was obvious from her face in the ballroom that whoever betrayed them had to be one of the Denouements. It was a sobering realization, the worst possible outcome of the schism that had been building for too long. One of three identical triplets being a traitor complicated matters, although it was easy to figure out which one it was that had done it. Things were going to change after tonight.

He took a small, brief moment to appreciate that Kit actually wanted to stand next to him and acknowledge him as her brother. Lately, he’d gotten the impression that she couldn’t stand him. But now she needed him, and it was a relief to Jacques to still be needed by his siblings. He never thought he did that successful a job of managing to keep them all together.

The elevator dinged, and Lemony stepped out, adjusting his jacket. The only evidence he’d been at the costume party was the mask tucked under his arm, because his suit was as plain as ever.

“Finally,” Kit muttered, and she ran over to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly, something none of the siblings had done since they were children.

Lemony froze, and then hugged her back. He met Jacques’s eyes across the lobby.

Jacques knew it, immediately. Lemony had played a part in what had happened tonight with Ernest. It shouldn’t have surprised Jacques as much as it did. Lemony had held a perilous position in the organization for years now, and this wasn’t the first time he had wound up disagreeing with Kit about recruitment. But it was the first time it had involved other people. That made it dangerous.

Lemony shook his head a fraction of an inch. Part of Jacques relaxed. The three of them might still be okay. He wondered, with a slight jolt, how the Denouements would fare.

Kit pulled away from Lemony. “Where were you?”

“Did you know the rooftop sunbathing salon has night lights?” Lemony said. Jacques couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked over to his siblings. “Very pleasant. I recommend it.”

Kit rolled her eyes, and she led Jacques and Lemony through the lobby and out of the hotel.

“I’ll drive you both back,” Jacques said. “It’s on my way.”

“You brought the taxi?” Lemony asked.

“Regrettably,” Jacques sighed. “I still seem to have it.” Headquarters refused to take it back for some reason, even after Jacques insisted he didn’t need it. It had been six months since the initial assignment with it and he was still driving it, and probably would be, for the foreseeable future. He took his keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll drive,” Kit said.

“You will not drive,” Jacques said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Kit said, snatching the keys out of his hand and walking briskly out of his reach. “Jacques, did you say something about hives? There aren’t any bees nearby.”

“Trees?” Lemony said. He jogged ahead a little and caught up with Kit’s pace. “They do look particularly lush this time of year, now that you mention it.”

“No one is in a rush, and Kit, give me my keys you are not going to drive—” His siblings raced ahead of him down the front drive, and Jacques ran after them into the night.

1:55 AM—The Ballroom

Olivia and Ramona stayed on to help the Denouements clean up. Ramona had insisted, saying that it was no trouble at all, and she owed them for being so kind to host the party. She was very good at insisting; Olivia had never seen anyone able to resist the charm of Ramona cheerfully demanding she was going to help and they were going to have to deal with it. She hid her smile in the champagne flutes she was stacking on a tray as Ramona talked with one of the triplets on the other side of the ballroom. She picked up the one rimmed with half-rings of Ramona’s deep plum lipstick and giggled.

She’d have to tell Ramona about what Jacques told her, of course. But for once, Olivia wasn’t all that worried about dealing with it. It had been an extraordinarily pleasant night otherwise. Ramona was happy, some of the glow back in her face, so Olivia was happy too.

All the glasses were stacked, the plates piled together, the tablecloths folded up, the lights finally dimmed. There was only one Denouement left in the room, and he stopped Olivia and Ramona on their way out. “Olivia, could I speak with you?”

“Of course,” Olivia said.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Ramona said, squeezing her hand, and she disappeared down the hallway, the hem of her dress sweeping the floor behind her.

Some people expected Olivia to be able to tell the Denouements apart, and some people expected her to be as clueless as most others as to who she was talking to. It wasn’t terribly hard to tell them apart, because Olivia liked to pay attention, but what she could never remember what when she was supposed to know and when she wasn’t. Here, she knew the one in front of her was Frank, most definitely. There was a weight to the way Frank carried himself, not like he assumed he was in control, but like he assumed he had to be.

“What is it, Frank?” Olivia asked.

He hesitated, which was rare for Frank. “When was the last time you saw Miranda?”

Olivia blinked. Had she misheard him? “What?”

“Miranda,” Frank said again. She hadn’t misheard. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Miranda?

“I—I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I—” When was the last time she saw Miranda? Years and years ago, wasn’t it? Shortly after they’d been taken. Olivia hadn’t minded. Miranda was older than her, not by much but by enough, and enough that they weren’t kept together. Miranda had thought it a chore to look after her, and Olivia hadn’t liked being seen as a chore. She wanted a sister, not a babysitter. So she’d been okay when Miranda was gone. They went to different classes, made different friends, passed each other in the hall without saying a word until their apprenticeships, where Olivia was shuffled around from chaperone to chaperone and Miranda—went where? What had become of her?

The questions spun through her head, dizzying, but they kept coming. What did Miranda look like, now that she thought of it? Had she looked like Olivia at all? Would she recognize her own sibling, like she could easily identify the Denouements? Would she know Miranda if she saw her in a meeting, on the street, at one of these parties, if she was an enemy? But what made a person wasn’t appearance—how did Miranda act? What made Miranda, in the way Frank’s quiet made him? How could she not know what made her sister? Miranda was her sister and it hit Olivia, squarely in the chest, that she didn’t know a single thing about her.

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her gaze darting across the floor. How had she gone all this time without thinking about her? How could she not know? How much had she forgotten?

“I’m sorry I asked,” Frank was saying. “Olivia. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Olivia whispered. She took one step back, then another, almost hitting the edge of her dress with the point of her heel, and another, then made herself turn around and leave, back downstairs, through the lobby, anywhere else but there.

Olivia hurried out into the night with the front doors banging open after her; the humid air was sticky on her skin, sitting heavy in her lungs as she tried to inhale. She saw Ramona past the front archway, leaned back against her car a way down the front drive, her shoes beside her and her feet in the grass, the shape of her soft and fuzzy in the heat. Olivia tore off her mask and scrubbed her hand over her eyes, wiping the tears on the side of her dress.

There was a weight on her shoulders, more than just the heat. She had the horrible sense that she was going to turn around and see Miranda. Olivia wanted to leave. She wanted to leave the city, she wanted to go somewhere she’d be away from this. She wanted to take Ramona—would Ramona go with her? She had her own things to care about besides the violent anxiety shaking Olivia from the inside out. She had a duchy to take care of. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with Olivia.

We’d like you to take up the outpost at Caligari Carnival. The carnival was miles from the city, out in the hinterlands, flat and desolate blankness. Maybe she should go. Maybe that would be better. She would be away from the city and be one place where no one had to bother her and she couldn’t bother anyone else. Maybe.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut again, and when she opened them the tears were gone and Ramona came into focus, all of her slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Olivia ached to look at her.

She went over to Ramona and slid her hand into hers, tucking her face into the smooth skin of Ramona’s shoulder. “I want to go somewhere else,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Ramona said, her other arm coming up and folding around Olivia, drawing her close. “We can go anywhere you want.”

Behind her, through the open front doors, Olivia heard the hotel clock starting to chime again.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #lemony snicket #jacques snicket #kit snicket #frank denouement #dewey denouement #ernest denouement

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