#they did SUCH a bad job that the entire community just... vanished.

[inkskinned]

i. about 2 weeks ago, i was told there's a good chance that in 5 or so years, i'll need a wheelchair.

ii. okay. i loved harry potter as a kid. i have a hypothesis about this to be honest - why people still kind of like it. it's that she got very lucky. she managed to make a cross-generational hit. it was something shared for both parents and kids. it was right at the start of a huge cultural shift from pre to post-internet. i genuinely think many people were just seeking community; not her writing. it was a nice shorthand to create connection. which is a long way of saying - she didn't build this legacy, we built it for her. she got lucky, just once. that's all.

iii. to be real with you, i still struggle with identifying as someone with a disability, which is wild, especially given the ways my life has changed. i always come up against internalized ableism and shame - convinced even right now that i'm faking it for attention. i passed out in a grocery store recently. i hit my head on the shelves while i went down.

iv. he raises his eyebrows while he sends me a look. her most recent new book has POTS featured in it. okay, i say. i already don't like where this is going. we both take another bite of ramen. it is a trait of the villain, he says. we both roll our eyes about it.

v. so one of the things about being nonbinary but previously super into harry potter is that i super hate jk rowling. but it is also not good for my mental health to regret any form of joy i engaged with as a kid. i can't punish my young self for being so into the books - it was a passion, and it was how i made most of my friends. everyone knew about it. i felt like everyone had my same joy, my same fixation. as a "weird kid", this sense of belonging resonated with me so loudly that i would have done anything to protect it.

vi. as a present, my parents once took me out of school to go see the second movie. it is an incredibly precious memory: my mom straight-up lying about a dentist appointment. us snickering and sneaking into the weekday matinee. within seven years of this experience, the internet would be a necessity to get my homework finished. the world had permanently changed. harry potter was a relic, a way any of us could hold onto something of the analog.

vii. by sheer luck, the year that i started figuring out the whole gender fluid thing was also the first year people started to point out that she might have some internalized biases. i remember tumblr before that; how often her name was treated as godhood. how harry potter was kind of a word synonymous for "nerdy but cool." i would walk out of that year tasting he/him and they/them; she would walk out snarling and snapping about it.

viii. when i teach older kids creative writing, i usually tell them - so, she did change the face of young adult fiction, there's no denying that. she had a lot more opportunities than many of us will - there were more publishing houses, less push for "virally" popular content creators. but beyond reading another book, we need to write more books. we need to uplift the voices of those who remain unrepresented. we need to push for an exposure to the bigotry baked into the publishing system. and i promise you: you can write better than she ever did. nothing she did was what was magical - it was the way that the community responded to it.

ix. i get home from ramen. three other people have screenshotted the POTS thing and sent it to me. can you fucking believe we're still hearing this shit from her when it's almost twenty-fucking-twenty-three. the villain is notably also popular on tumblr. i just think that's funny. this woman is a billionaire and she's mad that she can't control the opinions of some people on a dying blue site that makes no money. lady, and i mean this - get a fucking life.

x. i am sorry to the kid i was. maybe the kid you were too. none of us deserved to see something like this ruined. that thing used to be precious to me. and now - all those good times; measured into dust.

/// 9.6.2022 // FUCKING AGAIN, JK? Are you fucking kidding me?

#witches and wizards #kids need to be able to play games without knowing the extended universe #playing was easy #i knew i wasn't gonna be able to explain chronicles of christomancy #but we could pick up a stick and run around #nd say we were magic that would be enough backstory #and i think the last time i felt that sense of community #was the summer of pokemon go #it's about cross-generational connectivity bro #yes there are insular communtities but EVERYONE had fucking read harry potter #which is me saying - i think maybe people don't miss HER or the ACTUAL BOOK tbh #they miss... feeling connected #think about how so many people felt so weirdly ashamed and lost after Game of Thrones ended - #they did SUCH a bad job that the entire community just... vanished. #where beforehand people would have GoT weddings #we are just animals who love stories and love feeling like we speak the same language #btw i am not on twitter so i hadn't seen some of the shit she was doing #and then when i was 19 she published the ''american school'' hogwarts stuff #and was reading it casually bc again a huge nerd #and in it shes like ''the british taught the natives their more civilized magics'' #and that was like..................... oh okay. okay. so.....

[mdhwrites]

If Marcy met Andrias again in the timeskip, how do you think their interaction would go?

Honestly, that's very much so a dealer's choice sort of thing. That's not even a bad thing. Part of why I think the Amphibia fandom has felt like it's stayed alive better post its finale than TOH's, especially without resorting to mostly writing about OCs in one way or another, is that the cast is dynamic enough by the end for a plethora of options. Sasha will always have her manipulative lessons of old but how does that mix with her as a therapist? Does she fear them? Use them when not on the job? How do those experiences dictate how she helps her clients? Or maybe even use those manipulative tactics on her clients to force them into corners that require them to be honest with themselves in order to grow. And those are only all of the positive sides of ONE element of Sasha growing into a more mature version of herself.

Marcy is similar, despite how little we get of her in the show. She already had so much promise and such complicated feelings about relationships that it's a good question how she sees others now. Is she happy about her community around her webcomic, freely interacting with them and sharing their love? Does she think they see her as a commodity and lives in fear of the day she presents an idea they dislike and they vanish? Much like she probably feared her friends would do if she ever pushed too hard with her interests? Or does she keep them at arm's length, just focusing on the creation of her comic and interacting with her community as she needs to but keeping them out of her mind mostly?

And this is all preamble to the point that how she reunites with Andrias is kind of dealer's choice. Not just with Marcy but also with Andrias. After all, while he obviously should feel guilty and remorseful, those are painful emotions that manifest in a lot of different ways. Does he try to seek forgiveness from her? Does he believe forgiveness is possible? Does he avoid her, even if assured that she holds no ill will towards him, because he believes himself to truly hurt Marcy too much? After all, what he did was reprehensible and he knew how terrible it was the entire time. Not only that but time obviously eroded Andrias to the point where much of the evil he'd committed was almost easy for him. If not as simple as breathing at times. Do you ever trust yourself with that again, let alone if Marcy IS willing to forgive?

(Petty sidenote: THAT is how you write a character who has the right to believe they shouldn't get involved no matter what. By having them have actively chosen wrong in the past and done so all too easily and so they don't know if they can trust themselves. That they themselves don't know if they won't fall into temptation again because they have shown themselves to be weak before.)

And again: IF Marcy is willing to forgive. Marcy never went through the same arcs that Anne and Sasha did. While she has a kind enough heart to be forgiving by her base nature, she might not be willing to do so for this. That might even be what Andrias would prefer. He practically comforted himself through believing Lief had given up on him after all because it made his evil easier to do. If Marcy hates him, his self imposed exile and hermitage that the end hints he's gone on to do will feel all the more justified and correct to him.

Or maybe they're not on the same wavelength and Marcy is furious at him and that catches him off guard. That Marcy has grown up so independent and better equipped to defend herself makes her all the angrier at him when he was still expecting young Master Marcy who might accept his apology and want to hear about what he's learned in her absence. Maybe she is willing to forgive him but he actually gets enraged at that? Instead of avoiding her, in fact playing the bad guy briefly again to explicitly see about trying to make the lesson he thinks she should have learned stick. That not everyone can be good. Let alone him.

The way Amphibia ends is ripe with questions like this that a series post time skip could easily draw upon. Hell, if they were okay with retconning the ending, we only see Amphibia couple years after the events of the show, not the full ten so we could pull in the girls as older teenagers or just barely 18 for a second visit. It would still be different than the full ten years version of them and seeing them inbetween their fully mature adult counterparts and them at 13 trying to handle what the lessons they learned mean for themselves could be neat.

I do want to make something clear though: I consider all this open space, all this stuff they could do in the future a STRENGTH of the ending. The ending itself is still very powerful and great for the series itself and I wouldn't want them to have tried to touch on these complexities and muddy the water or the like. Not only that but having these questions less highlights flaws with the ending and more to me highlights the strength of the character writing. That we can ask such large questions about how a scene like that would go down, the fact that a definitive answer is close to impossible without more details on the older selves, is GREAT for fanfic writers, comic creators, etc.

It also will continue to make my eye twitch since even with me wanting to do monster themed stories for Amphibia and knowing all this potential space exists, my brain STILL won't let me just dive in. *sigh*

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#amphibia #marcy wu #king andrias

[vampyrsutton]

Hate Fuck

Summary:

Spinner walks in on Dabi fucking Shigaraki, but instead of anyone talking about their emotions, more fucking ensues.

Ao3 Tags:

Hate Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Jealousy, Lack of Communication, Iguchi Shuuichi | Spinner Has Two Penises, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Bottom Dabi | Todoroki Touya, Dabi | Todoroki Touya is a Little Shit, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko is a Little Shit, Dabi | Todoroki Touya is Bad at Feelings, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko is Bad at Feelings, Dabi | Todoroki Touya Has Genital Piercings, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko Needs a Hug, Banter, Light Bondage, Handcuffs, Hair-pulling, Feathers & Featherplay

“Hey, hot stuff. What’s up?” Hawks grins lazily as he flies towards the base.

“Come collect your menace before I get out the staple remover.” Spinner all by growls through the phone, making Hawks stutter in flight a bit, not used to Spinner sounding like that outside of battle or video games.

“Whoa, hey, Spin. Why do you have Dabi’s phone?” Hawks chuckles nervously, picking up speed from the leisurely glide he had been at previously.

“Snatched it from his coat he left on the chair.” Spinner huffs, a clacking sound coming through that is probably his claws tapping the back of the phone before there’s an eye roll obvious in his voice. “Apparently, we haven’t been paying enough attention to them or something cause Compress, Toga, and Twice have vanished and your boy toy or boyfriend or mate or whatever you two are is currently hate fucking Shigaraki into the couch.” 

Hawks makes some strangled squawking noise and sputters a bit as his inner bird, personal feelings, and carefully trained hero persona fight each other over how to respond to the other mutant. “I- we- um-”

“Don’t care. You can figure your shit out later, just come get him before I take care of it. My instincts are losing their shit, and you’re one that actually mates for life so probably not any better.” Spinner tsks.

Hawks lets out a strained laugh as he beats his wings to go just a little faster, grateful to the other for understanding this stuff better. “Definitely a few things battling right now. I’m five minutes away. Try not to kill Dabi before I get to.”

There’s a snort and Hawks can picture Spinner shaking his head. “Guess we know which part is winning.”

“Definitely some ruffled feathers.” Hawks huffs before humming in thought. “Any idea who initiated it?”

“Knowing these dumbasses, it could have been either or a joint effort.” Spinner sighs. “Why?”

“Try to find out. I might have an idea.” Hawks smirks.

He can picture the other tilting his head as he hums in consideration. “One sec. Dabi’s doing his usual dirty talk so I’m sure I can piece it together.” There’s silence for a second then a sigh. “For as much as they claim to hate each other, they sure can read each other. Joint effort. What’s your idea?”

“So, what are your thoughts on putting Dabi in his place?” Hawks hums as the hideout comes into view.

“...I’m listening.”

~~~

“Hawks! Let me out you, jackass!” Dabi roars from where quirk suppressant cuffs have him trapped to the headboard of his and Hawks' overly big bed.

“Spinner!” Shigaraki whines from the other side with a pout. “I said I was sorry!”

“And yet you did it.” Spinner shrugs as from where Hawks and he are watching them struggle. “And here I thought we fucked that out of you.”

Dabi snorts, shaking his head as he laughs. “I don’t think it’s possible to fuck that out of him He’s a needy little brat through and through.” A taunting smirk. “I would know.”

Hawks and Spinner glance at each other with smirks that spell danger for the two. 

“What about you?” Spinner smirks, tilting his head innocently as Hawks hands him the lube. “Think we can fuck it out of you?”

Dabi blinks, not entirely processing Spinner’s words before his eyes suddenly shoot wide and dart down to the scaled man’s pants. “What?” He growls in an attempt to wrap his head around what was just said and how he even wants to respond to it. 

He and Shigaraki had talked shit before sure. He knew what Spinner was packing. Now the real question was if he thought he could handle it if they were actually suggesting what he thought they were.

“You two weren’t getting enough attention, right?” Hawks pouts as though it’s a great pity despite Dabi being able to see the scheming in his eyes. “We’re gonna give it to you.” 

And there’s the smirk as Hawks continues. “Just not the kind you were hoping for. You were both little shits after all so we decided a trade was in order.”

Dabi bares his teeth like the feral alley cat he is, but they hadn’t had a chance to put clothes on when Hawks arrived before they were cuffed and carted off by feathers so Dabi’s cock is on full display as it twitches. He glares down at it in betrayal. 

Well, that answers his question at least.

“You can’t be serious?” Shigaraki scoffs, squirming again to try and escape. “No way is the hero going to be able to get me off.”

Hawks chuckles in a way that has Dabi smirking as his birdie circles around to Shigaraki. “I wouldn’t be so sure, boss. Dabi’s certainly never had any complaints.”

Shigaraki’s face does something complicated as his brain catches up before his eyes widen and he seems like he’s trying to sink into the bed. “I don’t top. Too risky.”

Hawks tilts his head in confusion as the two villains in the room look at him sadly.

“You’re cuffed, Shiggy.” Dabi is the one to sigh, knowing Spinner will just get sappy if he’s the one to speak. “You physically can’t dust him. ...The reason he still brings them is because of mine.” 

He was still a big brother at one point, sue him.

Shigaraki still looks unsure so Spinner does speak now. “Your hands are also cuffed to the headboard.”

Shigaraki seems to consider it but shakes his head. “No, absolutely not.” Sighing in relief when Hawks immediately uncuffs him from the bed. “I’ll take anything else, but leave me out of that one.”

“That’s fine.” Spinner nods, tapping a claw against his chin in thought. “Put him in the chair with his hands cuffed to the back so he can’t touch himself or lean forward.”

Hawks obeys but gives Spinner a funny look as he does. “Why not lean forward?” 

“He can suck his own dick.” Spinner shrugs as he pulls a glove over his claws and teases a lubed finger around Dabi’s hole.

Hawks' eyes widen as they shoot to meet a very smug red. “No fucking way.

“You have the power to decay shit and tell me if you’re going to risk touching your dick?” Shigaraki shrugs or, well, tries to. A bit hard to do so when your hands might as well be cuffed to your ass with how tight your arms pulled to prevent misbehaving, but the intention was still there as he smirks. 

Hawks blinks, head swiveling to Spinner. “How long do you actually last in his mouth?”

Spinner chuckles as he starts working a second finger into the cursing fire user still chained to the bed. “Hawks, I have two. They don’t fit properly.” A smirk as pink eyes trail down to Dabi. “Ask him.”

There’s an annoyed chirp that makes Dabi crack open his eyes to glare at Spinner. “Fuck you.”

“Other way around.” Spinner smirks as he hooks his fingers for emphasis and Dabi arches with a curse. “Come on, Dabi. Answer him.”

Dabi bares his teeth in annoyance but throws his head back when Spinner just rubs his prostate in punishment. “Fuck~! Fine! Like a minute, probably less. He knows what he’s doing at this point.”

Shigaraki looks beyond smug as Dabi curses at a third finger being added and red eyes meet gold. 

Hawks tilts his head in thought before nodding. “Spinner, I’m fucking his mouth.”

Spinner snorts, waving him off as Shigaraki gives a feral grin like he’s won a boss fight. “If you think you’ll last,hero .”

Pupils pinpoint, leaving nothing but gold behind and Shigaraki moans when talons dig into white hair to pull his head back which Hawks takes full advantage of to start sliding his cock in his mouth. Shigaraki moans around it just to be a little shit and his lip attempts to quirk up at the corner when Hawks curses. 

He was going to be too easy.

Meanwhile, on the bed, Spinner had Dabi withering around three, soon to be four, fingers, but the scarred villain still refused to do anything but curse even if half of them are moans.

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Spinner hums as he curls his fingers against the other’s prostate once more to watch him arch off the bed. “Let's see how long that lasts when I’m doing what you were doing to Shigs.” He smirks slightly.

Dabi’s eyes open blearily as he glares before turquoise eyes drop down and widen fully. “What the fuck? There’s no way those will fit.” 

“It’s definitely going to be tight.” Spinner nods, working the fourth finger in and feeling Dabi clench around him. 

“You’ll break me if you do what I was doing to Shiggy,” Dabi whispers distantly, and for a moment Spinner is worried that he’s going to tap out, but then he sees the excitement in turquoise eyes and realizes the fun has only begun. Dabi has the same look in his eyes as when an enemy actually manages to challenge him. 

This was going to be fun.

By the time Spinner is pulling his fingers out, he’s managed to get Dabi shaking slightly in an effort to hold back his orgasm and there is a steady stream of broken chirps coming from the other side of the room. 

“Condoms or no?” Spinner asks, at least allowing him that choice. “There’s usually a lot.”

Dabi thinks for a second, trying to estimate if possible cum in his seams is worth it before he just shrugs. “Whatever.”

Spinner tilts his head, the attitude setting him off in a way he's not really used to. He could tell Dabi was going to be a brat about it, but definitely, in the infuriating absolute menace kind of way rather than the needy 'I will throw a tantrum until I get my way' kind of way that he's used to with Shigaraki. 

That was easy to tame. 

This was going to be a pain in the ass and the smirk tugging at staples told him Dabi was well aware of this. 

Dabi was always so fucking smug and apparently being handcuffed naked to the bed and unable to use his quirk was no exception. 

Spinner tilts his head the other way. 

He wants to fuck that smirk right off his face.

He wants Dabi tobeg for it. 

Spinner finally nods. 

"Hawks, I'm getting a cock ring. I apparently want to break your- well that's convenient." Spinner blinks, letting out a laugh at the look of offended betrayal Dabi casts at Hawks when a feather wraps firmly around the base of his cock right below the last barbell. 

"Traitor!" Dabi scoffs. 

Hawks just whines as Shigaraki does something and Dabi is left to huff. 

Spinner can't help but snicker as he lubes up his cocks and lines up the heads with Dabi's stretched hole. "Should've just fucking asked if you wanted attention that bad."

Near glowing blue eyes glare at him one more. "Fuck yoU! FUCK!" 

Dabi's eyes screw shut as Spinner trusts in, being not nearly as gentle as he would with Shigaraki as he bottoms out in three quick thrusts and he feels toes curl against his back while Dabi breathes to adjust. 

"Fuck." He eventually breathes out, blood pooling at a staple that was apparently caught in the crossfire of Dabi trying to stay quiet. "I knew Shigaraki was insane, but how is he not dead?" 

Spinner can't help but snort as he plants a hand on either of Dabi's thighs, claws digging into the mismatched skin slightly as he pushes them up to sink in further. "Guess you're gonna find out. 

Dabi's grin turns slightly feral as he opens his mouth to say something else before having to clamp it shut when Spinner starts pulling out and threatens to pull a moan with him. "Fuck…" 

"Getting there." Spinner snickers, smirking when turquoise eyes glare at him in response.

"Fuck o-AH-FUCK!" Dabi groans, a few staples scratching against cuffs as he jolts when Spinner suddenly slams back in, and fuck it was just constant stimulationeverywhere wasn't it?

"If you insist." Spinner hums, a smirk pulling at his lips when Dabi just turns his wrist enough to flip him off, obviously not trusting to open his mouth. "Well, that's not going to work." 

Dabi narrows his eyes in suspicion before his head is thrown back with a choked-off, strangled moan ripping its way from his throat when Spinner starts thrusting.

Hard. 

Spinner hadn’t been kidding when he said he was going to do the same thing to Dabi he had walked in on him doing to Shiggy. 

When he had walked through the living room earlier, he had found them doing that weird bickering that they do that makes you question if they’re fighting or flirting that, after watching Dabi with Hawks, seems to be the only way Dabi knows how to talk to those he tolerates. Whatever the case, by the time Spinner had come back through from the kitchen, Dabi had Shigaraki withering on his fingers ad by the time he had finished his sandwich, Dabi had turned Shigaraki so Spinner was forced to see how the barbells caught on Shigaraki’s rim as Dabi fucked up into him with no regards for their leader’s own pleasure.  

Not that Shigaraki seemed to mind. 

Spinner hadn’t necessarily minded at first. He and Shigaraki hadn’t exactly discussed exclusivity and living in society’s underground, there had actually been a League-wide discussion of what to do if someone got hit with some sort of sex quirk after finding out that a goon in Meta had one. 

Then the dirty talk started, and it had taken Spinner mere minutes to get pissed enough to snatch Dabi’s phone to call for feathered backup.  

These two were going to be the death of them. 

Spinner made a sort of clicking-growling noise before coming back to the present enough to realize that Dabi sounded muffled and glanced down to see Dabi biting his bicep while glaring at him defiantly.  

Well, that wouldn’t do. 

Spinner used his broader frame to keep Dabi’s legs where he wanted them as he reached down to grip black locks with his claws hard enough to make Dabi groan before his head was yanked away from his arm. 

“There we go.” Spinner smirks as he picks up speed to knock a moan out of Dabi when he opens his mouth to undoubtedly say something snarky. 

“Fu-AHHH-Fuck~!” Dabi moans, eyes screwing shut to at least pretend to have some dignity left as his insides are fucked into his throat.  

“Makes some nice sounds, doesn’t he?” Spinner chuckles to Hawks only to get a chirping moan in response and glances over to see his wings puffed up and trembling as he leans over Shigaraki who he just knows is smirking like the Cheshire cat. “We warned you, Hawks.” He hums, laughing when he just gets flipped off by a shaky talon.  

“I think your gremlin just sucked my soul out through my dick, shut the fuck up.” Hawks eventually pants as he sinks to the floor and yep Shigaraki looks smug as hell. 

“And I’ll do it again.” Shigaraki snickers before his eyes widen slightly when Spinner actually manages to get what almost sounds like a whine out of Dabi. “Holy shit.” 

“I didn’t know he made those sounds.” Hawks blinks. 

Dabi tries to hide his face back in his arm now that all eyes are on him, but Spinner still has claws in his hair and pulls harder, making him gasp. 

“Shut u-AHHH~! Fuck~!” Dabi tries to snap, only for Spinner to change the angle and make turquoise eyes roll back in his head as he moans. “Spinner~!” 

There’s another clicking growl as Spinner now plants his hands on either side of Dabi and absolutely pounds into him. “There we go. That’s better.” 

Dabi makes a choked, moaning sound as his back arches, only to curse when he remembers the feather around the base of his dick preventing him from cumming. 

“Fuck! Let me cum, you assholes!” Dabi roars, momentarily grateful for the cuffs as he feels his quirk fight to lash out under his skin.  

Hawks and Spinner share an amused look as Hawks joins them on the bed to run his talons through fluffy black hair.  

“Come on, babe. You'd stop altogether if I tried asking like that." Hawks coos, smirking slightly when turquoise eyes look at him blurrily and oh that's a look on him. "You know how to ask." 

"Fuck you," Dabi growls before letting out a proper whine now. "I- ngnn~I don't beg."

"Then I guess you don't cum." Spinner practically snarls, smirking when he hears Shigaraki whine from his chair. "Only brats that know how to behave get to cum." 

Dabi's eyebrows shoot up, having never actually heard this side of Spinner before he glares at his traitorously twitching cock. 

Instead, Dabi just sneers, a fire in his eyes as he borrows a line from Shigaraki’s book. “Make. Me.”

Hawks and Spinner smirk at each other before Dabi moans loudly as Hawks moves and Spinner starts fucking into him like he plans to actually break him now and he might actually succeed if Dabi doesn’t get tofucking cum .

Dabi moans, hurling curses as he’s treated like a fuck toy before he finds taloned fingers dancing across his tongue, making him unable to hide his moans and whimpers, and fuck that was way hotter than it should be. No wonder Hawks melts whenever he does that. 

Soon enough he starts rambling about cumming, but it never comes and he ends up screaming in frustration as he strains against the cuffs.

“God dammit!” He tries to curse around the fingers in his mouth, hissing when a talon knicks his tongue and makes his cock throb with the taste. 

“Come on, Dabs. You know how to make it end.” Hawks coos so softly it makes the villain’s head spin. 

Dabi actually whines at this, trying to say a snottier version of what they want to hear, but it comes out slurred and mumbled with the fingers in his mouth and he curses in protest.

“You know that wasn’t right either.” Hawks chuckles.  “Come on, babe. You can do it.”

Dabi looks at Hawks needily before his head falls back again on another loud moan when Spinner’s thrusts start getting sloppy. 

“Fuck! Fine!” Dabi mumbles around the fingers in his mouth. Normally he would glare at Hawks and say something snarky once his mouth is free, but right now, his cock is so painfully hard he thinks he’d be crying if he could. 

These thoughts are quickly wiped from his head, however, when there’s another hard thrust that grinds against his prostate just right and makes his toes curl before he’s rambling. 

“Fuck~! Spinner! Fuck, let me cum! Plea-Fuck~!” Dabi moans, choking on the plea as though it actually pains him before screaming when he feels Hawks’ hand on his cock. “Fuck! Please! There! I said it! Now let me cum!”

Spinner just tsks, taking advantage of his long tongue to wrap it around the head of Dabi’s cock and let it flick against Dabi’s Prince Albert and make him buck his hips.

That apparently did the trick. 

“Fuck~! Please~! Pleasepleaseplease~ Spinner~ Let me cum. Please let me cUM~!” 

Dabi screams as Spinner nods and suddenly his cock is free and he’s pretty sure he blacks out with how hard he cums across his chest. As he comes back to himself, he realizes he’s actually shaking a bit, but that had apparently been enough to tip Spinner over the edge and he actually whimpers as he’s filled with more cum than he’s probably ever been in his life and he wasnothaving a good time trying to stay alive before the League.

Emphasis onbefore .

Right now, he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this content bottoming and feels happily floaty as he catches his breath.

“Remind-mmm~” Dabi groans as Spinner starts pulling out and oh cleanup is going to be a pain. “Remind me to piss you off more.”

Spinner snorts, shaking his head as Hawks gets Dabi uncuffed to carry him to the bathroom and clean his seams ASAP.

“Why are you like this?” Hawks sighs fondly as he tosses Spinner the key for Shigaraki’s cuffs.

“It’s a gift.” Dabi snickers as they enter the bathroom, a happy hum following what Spinner assumes is a kiss.

Spinner just shakes his head again before turning to his own gremlin to find him panting and covered in his own cum as a feather follows after Hawks.

“Guess Hawks returned the favor?” Spinner chuckles as he crouches behind Shigaraki to undo the cuffs. 

“Mhmm.” Shigaraki hums, slumping back against the chair. 

“...So, any reason you decided to act out instead of just talking to me?” Spinner eventually asks as he rubs out the muscles in Shigaraki’s arms. 

Shigaraki pouts at being asked but sighs, deciding to use the post-orgasm high to have this conversation. “You know I’m not good at emotions. I’d get the shit beaten out of me if I wanted attention when I was little and All For One wasn’t exactly a loving Father. Kurogiri tried, but I was already too fucked up so didn’t know how to ask and you didn’t seem to be interested in affection so I acted out.”

Spinner blinks before sighing. “I was trying not to be annoying. We hadn’t talked about actually being together and I didn’t want to seem clingy and fuck shit up if you weren’t interested.”

Shigaraki scoffs, glaring over his shoulder. “Well, I do. Someone actually wants my crusty ass and you think I’m not going to want to be clingy?! I told you during your mating season, you’re stuck with me.”

Spinner ducks his head, wishing he had his scarf as he fidgets. “I wasn’t sure if that was just heat of the moment stuff or not.”

“It wasn’t.” Shigaraki huffs, shakily turning around so he can pull Spinner into a kiss. “You talk, too. I don’t bite.” A smirk. “Unless you want me to.”

A clicking noise escapes Spinner which seems to surprise him as he tries to hide his face once more. “Noted.”

Shigaraki laughs as he finally stands up to start pulling Spinner away as they hear moaning coming from the bathroom. “Come on. Sounds like Hawks has already started marking his territory. I think it’s your turn now.”

This time when there’s a low, croaking growl, Spinner fully expects it as hungry eyes rake up Shigaraki’s pale form. “Gladly.”

#spinneraki #spinner x shigaraki #bnha spinner #bnha shigaraki #shuichi iguchi #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #bnha #mha smut #twitter event #villains week #dabihawks #bnha dabi #bnha hawks #dabi x hawks #touya todoroki #takami keigo #shigaraki x hawks #spinner x dabi #spinner x dabi x hawks

[arabellaflynn]

Holiday Housekeeping!

Hello all! The year is drawing to a close. FINALLY. I have good news and bad news, as usual.

The bad news is that my last steady gig sent me an email this morning telling me they won't be needing me after Thanksgiving. I am beyond pissed. Not at the lack of work; they essentially provide support services for ongoing events, so if there are no events, there's nothing to give me, and they have no control over that. What I'm pissed about is that these clients are supposed to be signing contracts for a fixed period of time/number of events, but they're letting people alter or cancel their contracts with basically no notice, and no penalty. They book me for a thing, I block off those dates and budget accordingly, then whoops! Event vanishes halfway through.

I was already looking for another job, but I guess now I have more free time to do it in. 

The good news is that I have some grant applications in process right now, and will almost certainly get one of them. The Mass Cultural Council offered recovery grants, with no strings attached -- the entire application was pretty much, "Are you an artist? Do you live in MA? Would you like some money?" Everything else is more merit-based and has to go through panels and committees first, but there is no Earthly reason that MCC would not award me that grant, so there is a good chance I will be getting $5000 somewhere in January. I realize this is not a huge amount of money to most people, but that's about six months' living expenses for me.

Unfortunately, January is still a ways away, so my Christmas list, for the third year in a row, is basically just "survival". Money is most useful and goes here or here. I do realize that you guys are here for entertainment, and "blogger pays rent!" is not very fun to read, but my Amazon Wish List is not much better. Mostly I wish someone would magically mail me shampoo and socks so that I don't have to worry about buying them. I did turn on the option that lets you ship other things along with Wish List items, so if anyone is dying to send me candy, have at.

If you wish to send the rats some holiday gifts... well, I don't blame you, they are almost criminally cute. Their Wish List is here. I put the kibosh on the 50 lb wheel of parmesan cheese, but it does include a lot of snacks, cuddly cage blankets, and the little hanging baskets they have so much fun with. You can also ship them random things, but please bear in mind that cage furnishings have to be either disposable, or made of something that is bleachable/boilable. Wood and other porous material will quickly become suffused with, shall we say, 'essence of rat' and will never be clean again. Rats, like dogs, are adorably disgusting.

Ratsgiving and Ratmas are not being canceled; they go up on Patreon, and are therefore work expenses. Plus it will force me to eat something other than beans and rice for a bit. I already bought most of the decorations before the bad news hit, anyway. I'm also running a promotion where anyone signed up to either this Patreon or my art/dance one by December 15th for $5 or more will get a Ratmas e-card, and $20 or more will be getting a physical Ratmas card, so keep an eye out for that.

I've tried to make the past few Advent Calendars more community-minded but this year I'm saying fuck it, I'm just going to spend a month writing about something I enjoy contemplating. Probably history of media/video games. I might also take another stab at streaming. I won't be on camera this time; the only private space I'd have to stream is in my bedroom, which is nowhere near big enough for a set, and unfortunately the gaming setup and the facecam setup in here are mutually exclusive. A Let's Play style stream with me on headset is the best I can do.

I'm just really tired, you guys. I want 2023 to be better.

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#IFTTT #Blogger #Unsolicited Advice

[kyungwonrp]

+ ... // STUDENT PROFILE ... LOADING

JORELLE SON is 22 YEARS OLD and currently enrolled in kyungwon university. she is in her 4TH YEAR of the UNDERGRADUATE PROGRAM, majoring in FINE ARTS. she is part of the FREE SPIRITS club. she works OFF-CAMPUS as a WAITRESS at CLUB FLORA and as a TATTOO APPRENTICE. you may find her in the HWAN RESIDENCE (ROOM #3).

                  + ... // LOAD STUDENT BACKGROUND . . .

TRIGGER WARNING. THIS BIO INCLUDES MENTIONS AND LIGHT DESCRIPTIONS OF: TOXIC PARENT/CHILD RELATIONSHIP, DRUG & ALCOHOL MENTIONS, AND DOMESTIC ABUSE. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Born in New York City to immigrant parents, Jory grew up in a working class family in one of the rougher neighborhoods in Manhattan. Her childhood was neither happy nor unhappy, instead hanging in an eternal purgatory where the good times were really good and the bad times were really bad. The truth was, as a very young child, she didn’t know that life could be any different; both her mother and her father worked tirelessly to support their small family, their minimal English language skills and education forcing them into lower-income jobs within their own community. Absent parents meant that Jory often got passed along to family members of co-workers, and was placed into daycare and preschools when there was no one available to watch her. She eventually learned, by being both the first kid at preschool and the last one to get picked up, that things for her family were a little different. Despite all of this, she was an outwardly happy child, if a bit quiet and withdrawn from the other children.

Inside of her, however, a hurricane raged on. As she started elementary school, intense feelings of anger, sorrow, and neglect formed. For a small child, putting those feelings into words was difficult. She made friends, but was detached—often lost in groups and preferring the comfort of a quiet corner. That was when she turned to art. Cheap crayons and watercolor paints became her best friends, and every opportunity for a gift to be given would be met with a request for more art supplies. Her parents did the best that they could, their family members from South Korea assisting by sending presents for birthdays and holidays. Regardless of what she had, Jory made it work, and mixed-media pieces were her bread and butter. She knew by middle school that she wanted to pursue art as a profession, and thus placed all of her focus on creative pursuits and little attention on anything else.

All it took was one bad teacher too many telling her she would never make it before her aspirations and drive completely changed. Add that to a pair of disapproving parents who longed to see their child thrive after years of financial struggle, and Jorelle felt utterly lost. Now an adolescent, she faced a crisis that most teens didn’t endure until their junior and senior years in high school. Would she get it together and force herself to enjoy math or science in the hopes she could have a successful career in a high-paying field? She was smart enough to do it if she wanted to; she just never got the highest marks because she chose not to. Or would she ignore what everyone else said and shoot for her dreams and passions, even if it resulted in an unstable income and hustling to make ends meet?

She chose the latter. Her passion and calling were more important than someone else's dreams for her. And ... a degree could help. Proper training and exploration would build her skillset and aid her along her path to become a professional artist.

High school was rough, but Jory got her act together. She was by no means a perfect student, but she kept her head down and worked hard—often without the support of her parents, who still managed to find displeasure with her aspirations and were too busy to help even if they wanted to. The resentment that had built over the course of her entire lifetime was finally coming to a head, and any remaining care she had for her mother and father’s opinions vanished. Independent from her family out of necessity, it made little difference to Jory. Four more years, and she could be out of her parents’ home, away from their constant disappointments and criticisms. How did they even feel entitled to such things?

College applications came and went, and to her great shock one day, Jory found an acceptance letter from Kyungwon University waiting on her desk with an offer for a substantial scholarship. The application had been a long-shot, and really, she'd only submitted it as the ultimate middle finger to her parents. But this was it. Her ticket to freedom. Along with the financial aid she qualified for, she was set. Without so much as a goodbye, she moved to Seoul to start a new chapter. She never looked back, and hasn’t seen her parents since.

University life was made for Jory. Late night parties, alcohol, and sex—she found her vices quickly and reveled in them. Every experience became an act of rebellion against her parents, and she got her first tattoo after attending classes for just one week: the constellation of Taurus behind her left ear. Her artist was an up-and-coming name in the community, 12 years her senior, and the exact opposite of everything her parents would have wanted for her in a romantic partner, Jory began an intense romantic and sexual relationship with him that lasted for two years. The good times were good; he encouraged her to push her artistry to the next level, and it was through him that she began her own journey to become a tattoo artist. The bad times were worse, however; intense late night arguments, insults and cutting words, emotional manipulation, and thrown hands. She doesn’t remember much about the day she left him—only that she’d finally had enough, worked up the nerve to pack up all of her things while he was at work, and moved into an apartment with her dear friend Hikaru. She found a new tattoo artist to apprentice under—a middle-aged woman named Nari, who ensured that Jory's reputation in the community remained intact after her ex's attempts to ruin it.

Now a senior, Jory waits tables part-time at Club Flora to pull extra money while she aims to finish her degree in the next year and successfully complete her apprenticeship.

#kw: accepted #son chaeyoung #twice

[johnsamericano]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 18:

иα נαємιи

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @whathamelon @curieouscapt @silent-potato @gjheaaa @ajhdr @mrcarbonatedmilk @unknown5tar

warnings: Jaemin not knowing what an erection is 😭, fluff, fluff, fluff and angst, not proofread forgive me 😞

“There she is.” Doyoung pointed out, looking directly at you, gracefully walking down the hall. “Her name is y/n, she’s 12.”

“How long will I have to stay with her?” Jaemin stared at you with curiosity.

“If everything goes right, until her soul is ready to abandon her body.”

“What do you mean if everything goes right?”

“There have been some angels who have given into this world’s temptations.” He shut his eyelids, his frown growing deeper as he spoke. “You shall never give into them, Jaemin. I heard loosing your wings causes a great pain, physical and mental.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Never reveal your true identity to her.” His hand gripped Jaemin’s shoulder. “You’ll be able to observe her in your real form, but she’ll never be able to see you, unless you allow her to.” Jaemin nodded, mentally taking notes of all the rules he had to follow. “If you wish to communicate something directly to her, you can disguise yourself as one of her relatives.”

“I have one more question.” Doyoung patiently waited for him to keep talking. “Aren’t guardian angels assigned to humans when they’re born?”

Doyoung remained silent, deciding wether to tell him or not the truth.

“Her former guardian angel fell in love with her.” Jaemin’s eyes went wide, how could an angel fall for a human? “He tried to show himself before her, but we stopped him on time.” Doyoung sighed, a glint of sadness in his voice as he resumed the story. “Unfortunately, he was vanished from heaven. The pain of losing his wings was greater than his love for y/n, greater than his will to live apparently.”

“Well that’s sad.” He pursed his lips. “I promise to do a good job protecting her.”

“I’m sure you will, Jaemin. You’re a good angel.”

“Jaemin, watch out!” His string of thoughts was cut off by your hand around his wrist, tugging on it aggressively to stop him from running into a bike. “Pay attention while walking, you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Worried about me?” He smiled at your concerned features.

“Shut up before I kick your ass.” Despite your sometimes aggressive behavior, Jaemin knew you were a softie. How could he not know when he literally spent every moment with you, even if you were not aware of his presence sometimes. “Will you come help me unpack after classes?” Your fingers suddenly laced with his, a habit he’d discovered a few months into your friendship and never failed to make his heart race.

“Sure.”

You didn’t expect him to appear at your front door with a bunch of house supplies.

“What’s all this?” You helped him get everything inside your messy apartment. “This is really too much, but thank you.” You pulled him into a hug, your palms stroking his back tenderly.

Jaemin wanted to push you away, he wanted to stop his heartbeat from increasing, but you were intoxicating. It was useless to deny he felt something for you, but as long as nor you or another angel knew, everything would be fine.

“Are you wearing something under your shirt?” You frowned, feeling something shift below your palms.

Jaemin pulled away, internally scolding his wings for trying to show themselves.

“Let’s unpack.” You didn’t mention the topic again, but he knew you weren’t gonna forget about it.

He helped you move some furniture, hang up a few posters and fold your clothes to fit them inside your new closet.

“Wait!” You tried snatching the box of your underwear out of his hands, but it was already too late. He held your red, lacy thong right in front of his face, examining it before realizing what it was.

“Sorry.” His face was flushed as he put the piece of clothing back into the box, a bulge growing inside his jeans. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Truth to be told, he’d never experienced pleasure, therefore, he wasn’t aware of the reaction your thong had provoked in his weak human body.

You didn’t make a comment on it, deciding not to humiliate him. After an hour of folding clothes, you decided to take a break, ordering some takeout food and letting Jaemin pick a movie to watch.

“It’s getting late, you should stay over.” You picked up the remains of your food and saved them in the fridge for later. “You can take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“Why don’t we sleep together?” The words slipped past his lips before his brain could register. “I-I mean-”

“It’s okay, as long as you don’t kick me I think we’ll be fine.” You smiled so naturally at him, as if your heart wasn’t rapidly drumming against your rib cage. “I have a few of my brother’s shirts, you can grab one of those.”

He tried calming himself down inside the bathroom. It was the first time he’d sleep with you in flesh and bone, not like he usually did, in his true form with his wings around your body, keeping you warm.

He was expecting for you to crawl into his arms like you usually did in your sleep, but you didn’t even bother to spare him a glance, too concentrated on your phone. A burning feeling started growing inside his chest, definitely not something an angel should feel. He snatched your phone away.

“Hey!” You tried getting it back, accidentally hugging him on the process. “Give it back.” Your nose was almost touching his.

His deep, brown orbs stared into yours, his pupils growing slightly bigger at the sight of your.

“Jaemin...” You whispered, his erratic breath fanning against your cheeks.

None of you moved, afraid to do something you’d later regret. But his lips looked so tempting, so kissable, you couldn’t resist leaning in, your lips almost brushing before you spoke.

“Is this okay?” You were so painfully close. He knew the right thing was to push you away, but how could he when you were looking at him with pleading eyes? Those eyes that made him want to lay the entire word at your feet.

“Yes.” He was the one to pull your face closer to his, bringing his hand to the back of your head to hold you in place, just like the main characters of the corny movies you loved did.

He wanted to cry right there, the thing he’d been fantasizing about all those years was finally happening. For a moment, he stopped thinking about his wings, stopped worrying about the fact that he’d probably be punished for his sinful actions.

“Your lips are so soft.” He whispered, cupping your cheeks with delicacy pulling away only to leave random pecks on your lips, enjoying the warmth of them. “Like small, pink clouds.”

You giggled at the comparison.

“I like you, Jaemin.”

“I like you too, y/n. So much.” He wanted to say ‘I love you’ but he figured out it might be a bit to early for you.

He continued savoring your lips, pecking them as if he was trying to memorize every little texture of your plump skin. Your hands went to his sensitive back, unknowingly caressing the spot were his wings were hidden.

It all happened too fast, his large wings ripping through the borrowed shirts and showing themselves to you. The look on your face was of pure shock, your arms falling limp to your sides as Jaemin’s stomach stirred with fear.

“Y/n...” He called you at least five times, your eyes fixated on the silky, white feathers.

It was all too much to process. Was he pranking you? No, fake wings wouldn’t move the way his did.

“Say something, please.” You noticed how his wings fell slightly, as if mimicking his emotions.

Drops of salty tears falling into your cheeks awakened you from your trance, your best friend crying on top of you as his hands held your face dearly.

“How?” Was the only thing you could pronounce, your mind still trying to work through the situation.

“I know this looks bad, but I swear, I never meant to deceive you. I wanted to protect you from afar, but I couldn’t resist meeting you. You’re the brightest human I’ve ever seen, and I don’t deserve to be with you. I am a liar, a cheater who used his powers to get into your life.” He began rambling, your mind slowly connecting the dots until you finally had an idea of what he was.

“An angel?” You asked, voicing your inner doubts.

“I don’t deserve to be your guardian...” He ignored your previous question, tucking his face in your neck.

His wings timidly pressed against his back, moving the slightest as your fingers danced over them, mesmerized at the soft texture.

“I feel like I’m dreaming.” Your voice didn’t sound angry, in fact, he could almost see your smile as you spoke. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?” Your hands forced his face up, making him face You. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Nana.”

“They might’ve found by now, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I am willing to lose my wings as a punishment for those amazing moments I’ve spent by your side.”

He was about to incorporate, about to leave you and never come back, but the sudden crash of your lips against his had him frozen at the spot.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble...” You whispered against his lips. “But neither do I want you to leave me. I'm a selfish human that wants her angel to give up everything for her, I'm sorry.”

He smiled, euphoric at the words he'd only heard in his wildest dreams.

“Then I guess I'll have to oblige.”

Jaemin spent the night curled up with his loved human, wings protecting her from any danger while Doyoung watched everything with confusion. He knew it was the right thing to punish the young angel for his sinful actions, but there was nothing sinful at the unfolding scene. If anything, it was the purest thing he'd seen from his vast years on earth.

“Good luck, Jaemin.” The black-haired left unnoticed, letting his friend fulfill his duties as your guardian angel until the last breath of life left your body.

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios

[happyreid187]

Privilege - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.1 K

A/N: Sad Spencer post nightmare comfort. Discovering and sharing feelings about each other. Mild angst then fluff. I wrote this after my season 8 rewatch but it’s not explicitly situated in any particular season. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of Spence’s various trauma; case issues, mom issues, drug use, generalized dark and twistiness. Insecurity. Swearing. Single sentence implying reader grew up religious. References to sex but not actual smut. 

____

With both of us working insane hours, we agreed early on to be casual, and then completely and entirely ignored that agreement in every way except verbiage. Avoiding labels and verbal expressions of affection, I pretended that it wasn’t emotional self destruction to spend every waking hour with this man who was notably not my boyfriend. With the amount of affection between us, it was easy to pretend it was something more. When we weren’t working, I essentially lived in his bed.

____

I was deep asleep when I heard him whimpering, waking to find him tossing and turning, breathing quickly. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did, I woke him as gently as I could

“Spencer! Spence.” His eyes shot open, and he immediately jumped, looked to me with his eyes welling up, and started shaking.

“Hey,” my voice was desperate as I wrapped my arms around him, “Baby, what’s the matter?” The pet name was generally reserved for other activities in this bed, but it felt appropriate now. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. “Was it about a case?”

“It was about...” he started. “No, I don’t want to freak you out!” He sort of tossed and turned again, now in my lap. “This isn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He sounded angry; with himself, and the situation. I tried to ignore the feeling that’s he might be angry with me.

“Why would it freak me out? Your job is depressing as shit, Spence. This is kind of predictable. Talking through it with you? None of this is work for me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can.” I said, waiting for him to decide how to proceed.

He fiddled with his hands in that nervous way of his. “It was about you. First, you were breaking? Like glass on a windshield? Cracking but not falling apart. And everything around us was breaking; the phones and then the walls and then your face,” his voice broke then, “and then my own chest.”

Where the tears were only threatening to overflow before, he was really crying now, in a way I’d never seen him do before. In a way grown men rarely do in our terrible society if they can avoid it. In a way that made it hard for either of us to breathe. “But then it sort of mixed with work, and there was an unsub and he had you, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you, and then...” he paused there, and I inferred the rest by his pained silence.

“You don’t have to keep going, I get it. And I’m not freaked out. I’m right here, Spencer. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you too. You are okay. You’re okay.” he didn’t say anything for a minute, and I rethought my words. “I’m not trying to belittle or silence you. I know you don’t feel okay. But you’re here with me, and no one’s broken, and you’re breathing, and I’m breathing, and you’re okay.”

“I’m not worried about me...” he grumbled, like it was obvious. Like I was wasting our time, worrying about him.

“Well I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He looked up at me doubtfully. “How can you be happy to be woken up at 4:02 am?”

Too sleepy to veil my feelings entirely, with words like adoration and devotion drifting through my head, I settled on saying, “It’s a privilege to have the chance to be here for you, and support you, and help you feel better. I have you, and you have me; okay? I’m here.”

“I’ve got you...” he softly echoed my words from earlier.

“You’ve got me.” I answered easily. It was a simple, honest fact to share.

There was a shift in him then. He pushed himself up with one arm, leaning back and staring at me, looking exasperated and vaguely frantic, like he just realized something was wrong. He looked almost angry as he asked “What the fuck are we doing?

I didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m having nightmares about losing you, you’re like, taking over my subconscious, and renting all this space in my head, and then I wake up to find you here, in my bed, drying my tears and calling it a privilege! Like do you have to be so... I don’t know. Warm?” Well, that was a new one. I had never known that to be a bad thing, particularly with him. He flocked to my sentimentality like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done though. “I never intended to care about someone this much. It’s confusing for me. I know you have your catholic guilt, but you don’t have to martyr yourself for me. Dealing with my shit is emphatically not a blessing.” He took a deep breath and braced himself. He half smiled, half sobbed, and to be frank, he was freaking me the fuck out. “Unless you..” he trailed off. IQ of 187; an epic communicator, this one. I gave him a look that begged him to continue, holding my tongue as if he would break, like the dream, if I spoke. He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. I reached over hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to be touched, terrified of making it worse. Slowly, I wiped away the tears on both cheeks, willing him to look at me. He didn’t, choosing his lap instead.

I waited for him to continue. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fuck buddies,” he spit the last two words like they repulsed him, like they didn’t fit right on his tongue. Foreign words with uncertain and unsettling definitions. “...but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this.”

“Feel like what?” Despite the tears and the heavy air that threatened to suffocate me, I felt a new feeling. Like I would maybe feel better soon. I silently begged him to speak faster, hoping he could somehow telepathically pick up on my anxiety as I hung on every word.

“A privilege. That’s just...” he paused again, shaking his head. I could feel my anxiety coursing through my veins in a bizarrely literal sense. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, and I waited in suspense as he chose every word carefully. He then looked with me with the warmth I’d come to know, to expect, and to crave. “I know you’re a really tender person but why would you do this if we're just sleeping together?”

IQ of 187, this one.

After his lengthy monologue with its intensely painful pauses I cut straight to the point. “Are we?”

The sadness vanished from his face, leaving nothing in its place but wheels turning. No more damned pauses; I have to be brave now. “I’m not.”

“What?” I couldn’t figure out what to make of his expression. It wasn’t relief. Concern, maybe? Or disbelief? “Just sleeping with you that is. Does that make you upset?”

“No, no, y/n/n, it doesn’t make me upset.” his eyes meeting my face. I could feel that he was about to ramble, finally, and I was intensely grateful. “It depends on what you really want. It’s hard for me to believe that you actually want this.” he points at himself, like that explained his insecure thinking. Honestly, how dare he speak about my person in such a way, but now wasn’t the time to critique his criticism.

“You want to be woken up by nightmares after cases? To sleep alone while I’m gone? and when I’m around deal with my neurosis and awkwardness and rambling? and family drama? and drug cravings?” He dropped his eyes and his voice, “You could do so much better.”

We didn’t have time to even begin to unpack all of that. Not in the middle of the night, on the edge of everything we both want. I could write a novel explaining how he is in fact the very best I can imagine, but that would take time to convince him of. Time like years. Time like marriage.

Again trying to move this conversation to the conclusion I ached for just a bit faster, I answered directly, “Yes. I want that. I want you.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I searched his face for some sort of happiness or disgust but received a blank stare and a look of bewilderment.

“I just want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time. I thought you would figure it out.” I laughed, and he smiled, a real smile that touched his hazel eyes that somehow sparkled in the dimly lit room, finally. “With fuck buddies, I don’t typically snuggle and go on museum dates or stop seeing other people or stick around for months.”

“You want me?” he smiled, but doubt loomed, and his smile fell as his long fingers traced my jaw.

“You say that now, but I think you’re going to find that I am a difficult person to love.” He said, as if I didn’t already know him. As if I didn’t already see him in all of his brilliance and darkness, all of his complexity and baggage. As if knowing him hadn’t been a precursor to loving him.

“Spencer, everyone thinks that about themselves.” I replied, greeted with still more disbelief. I continued in spite of him. “Besides,” I shrugged with a small smile, like my conclusion was entirely self evident, “It’s too late now.”

“What, you think that about yourself? First of all, you are unbelievably easy to love. The easiest in the whole world, probably. I know that that sounds hyperbolic, but I really mean it - I sincerely think that you are the single most lovable woman on the planet.” he rambled, talking with his hands and earning a tearful chuckle from me. “In my world at least. You are in fact, despite my best efforts, impossible not to...” he paused to physically shove the thought away, moving forward with a grimace.

“Second of all, what do you mean too late? I have a feeling I might know what you’re going to say. Please say it, y/n,” he whispered like that would make it less scary. “Or do you want me to say it? I don’t want to spook you but... it’s too late for what?”

“Too late to stop myself from loving you.”

 Finally, finally a look of understanding graced his face. A look like he believed me. He smiled that stunning, whole face smile of his that was reserved for special occasions.

 “Can you say the whole thing?”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you, too.”

He was only half sitting up anyways, so when I kissed him he fell to the bed, and protested immediately. “No! I’m so gross and snotty, stop.” I settled on peppering kisses on his neck and damp cheeks instead.

I laid my head on his chest, murmuring, “You can go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll still be loving you, and I won’t be broken because of it, and I certainly won’t be gone.”

“Okay,” he responded, voice still broken, but no matter. He’ll heal. He’ll believe me more with time. Eyes heavy and stinging, my adrenaline eventually waned, and I was about to fall back asleep, when his voice pulled me back.

“Just to be completely clear, this is no longer a fuck buddy situation. Like, I'm your boyfriend. Right?”

“Was it ever really a fuck buddy situation?” I laughed “But if it was, it’s over. You are mine, Spencer Reid. If that wasn’t obvious.”

I could hear his smile in his voice “Sorry, it’s so late, and my brain isn’t really working and I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

He paused for a few minutes.

“I’ll check back again in the morning.”

“I’ll still be here.”

~~~

In my half asleep state, his soft words barely registered. “Good morning, sweet girl. I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you too.” I mumbled, smiling without opening my eyes. There’s his confirmation. He’s always been one for collecting good data, I suppose.

“Please keep doing that.”

#spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst to comfort #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #bau #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #dr spencer reid #fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #reid x reader #my fics #spencer reid blurb #mgg imagine #matthew gray gubler #mgg

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Succumb to Your Urges

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: fluff, implied smut?

Summary: Every thought you have is of Natasha, and it’s starting to interfere with your missions and your job. How can you get her out of your head? More importantly, does she know?

sharing a bed for @blackwidowbingo

secret romance (2020) for @avengersbingo

free space (2021) for @ladiesofmarvelbingo

Author’s Note: This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

You’re supposed to be focusing on the mission at hand. Loki had manipulated a bunch of people into doing his bidding, scattering them all over town to gather supplies for something he’s cooking up. Thor can’t be reached, you have no clue where he is, but you do know that Loki is up to something. After all, he is the God of Mischief.

Loki ordered his men to scour the city looking for supplies, but all the men seemed to gather at the same place: the downtown mall. You’re not sure why they are here or what they want, or if Loki is here with them. He has magical powers that will turn him into anything and anyone. He could be right next to you, and you wouldn’t know it.

You and your entire team are wearing normal clothes so as to not attract attention. If people know that the Avengers were at the mall, then you wouldn’t be able to get anything done. They would surround you and ask for pictures and stuff, exposing you directly to Loki. You’re supposed to keep an eye on the man Steve assigned you with, but you haven’t been paying attention to him at all. In fact, you haven’t looked at him in the past ten minutes.

The only person who you’ve been staring at is Natasha.

She’s assigned to the same man like you because there are fewer men on Loki’s team than there are Avengers. Steve and Tony are in charge of one, Wanda and Vision are with another, Bucky and Sam are a team, and Bruce and Peter are together. Who knows where the other teams are in the mall since it has two stories, but you're communicating through the earpieces with the assistance of Friday.

“We’re all good here,” Natasha mutters.

“Yeah nothing is happening on our end,” Steve responds.

“Guys, are we supposed to move in or just watch them? Our guy is just eating in the food court,” Peter asks.

“If nothing happens, then we do nothing. We don’t want to give Loki the advantage of knowing we’re here. Stay put and wait for our signal,” Tony instructs.

Natasha crosses her arms, causing her breasts to push up and spill over her shirt. Damn, she looks so good right now. You mean, she looks good all the time especially in that tight little uniform she wears on almost every mission. It shapes her ass very well that has you daydreaming about slapping it. However, it’s a rarity to see her in normal clothing.

She’s wearing skinny blue jeans that hug every curve, heeled ankle boots, a black tank top with a brown leather jacket. Her hair is down in soft curls, and her makeup is done just right. Man, if you had things your way, you would have already gotten her in bed. She is oblivious to your feelings about her, but everyone on the team knows how much you like her. Maybe that’s why you two are on the same team.

Natasha feels your eyes on her, burning a hole in the side of her head. She looks over at you, and you quickly look away as to not give away you’ve been staring at her. You looked away so quickly that you didn’t see the smirk forming on her face. The man you’ve been watching is now on the move, and you’re back in action, your focus on the mission—eighty/twenty.

The man leaves and you two begin the chase. You need to be at a safe enough distance to not get spotted, but you need to be close enough so that if he makes an abrupt turn somewhere, you are able to see where he goes and what he is doing. The man heads to an electronic store--the biggest store in the entire mall.

Why is he here? What does he hope to gain? More importantly, what is he getting? If you can see what he’s buying, then you can try and determine what exactly Loki is up to. The man maneuvers through the aisles slowly, looking at things as if he is interested in buying them. He moves on seconds later, never staying in one place for too long. You and Natasha have split up so that it doesn’t look like two women are following this man. One of you is in one aisle and the other is in an aisle two rows back.

The man looks around as if he is stretching his neck before making a beeline to the back room. You and Natasha follow him until he disappears into the room.

“I’ll wait here, you go find him,” she whispers.

She stands guard and makes sure that no one goes in and that no one but you two come out. If you really need her help, then you’re going to ask for it over the earpiece. You push open the door and quickly head inside, wanting to get this over with. The man is nowhere to be seen, so you head in further until you hit the very back wall. The room isn’t that big, to begin with, so you can only assume that this isn’t the big warehouse where they keep all their merchandise. There is nowhere to go once you enter the room except for the door you came through, and the man is nowhere to be found.

He just… disappeared which either means it was Loki in disguise or that Loki popped him out of the room. Either way, Loki knows you’re here. You rush back to Natasha and sigh angrily.

“I think we may have been made. We need to go now. Loki isn’t going to be here anymore.”

You two leave the store and head back to the rendezvous point that Tony set up for cases like these. If no one gathered anything or if something bad happened, then everyone should meet up back in this spot. Tony, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Wanda, and Vision are already at the meetup. When you and Natasha join, Peter and Bruce jog to the area.

“Our guy just vanished,” Peter pants.

“Yeah, same here,” Bucky nods.

“I think Loki knows we’re here. We’re not going to get anywhere now that he knows. Either we wait until tomorrow or we have to figure something else out,” you groan.

“We’ll come back tomorrow. I can get some facial scans done of our faces, and have virtual masks made for us so that we can stay undetected,” Tony reveals.

“Why didn’t we do that in the first place?” Natasha asks.

“Because I didn’t think of it until now,” he says quickly before moving on. “Okay! Everyone, get some shut-eye if you can because we meet here first thing in the morning.”

The entire group disbands to the hotel Tony bought for everyone to stay in for the night. It’s better than going back to the tower and possibly expose yourself to onlookers. People really have nothing better to do than to stare at Tony’s tower all day and wait for one of the Avengers to walk through the front door.

Because the hotel had almost all of their rooms booked, Tony was able to get rooms for two people each, and that means you and Natasha would be sharing a room. The room you got stuck with only has one King bed, so to her, it’s no problem, but all you’re going to be thinking about the entire night is her sleeping right next to you. You enter the hotel room tiredly, tossing your jacket onto the nearest chair.

“I’m going to take a shower first if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll take mine in the morning.”

Natasha heads to the bathroom with her pajamas, and you plop down on the bed in exhaustion. The only two things that can be heard is the soft hum of the air conditioning and the shower. You look over at the bathroom door to see it open a crack. Did she forget to shut it? Is it opened on purpose? Does she know you’re ten feet from the door and can practically see in it?

No, Y/N, bad girl. You can’t just look into the bathroom when someone is showering. That’s creepy and wrong.

Still, you can’t seem to stop yourself from quietly approaching the bathroom door. Natasha takes crazy short showers since she claims that she knows where everything is, so why spend twenty minutes in there just staring at the wall? It’s very hot and steamy inside the bathroom, but you can clearly see the shower door open and Natasha steps out.

If you thought she looked good with clothes on, then she looks breathtaking naked. Besides the fact that she is wet, you can see the curve of her breasts with her nipples hard and puckered out. Her skin looks silky smooth, almost as if you could lick every inch and feel how smooth it is. Her ass is plump and round, and you imagine tapping her ass and watching it jiggle.

No, stop this! This is wrong! Look away!

But you can’t seem to look away. Not now. Natasha dries herself with the towel before grabbing her clothes. She is going to come out soon, so you force yourself to peel your eyes away and head back to the bed. You can’t seem to get the image out of your brain, even if you were to go to sleep now. You scramble to get under the covers, turning your back so that when she walks out, all she is going to see is your back.

You don’t hear anything for a few minutes, but then you feel her slide into bed. Thank God you have a King bed instead of a Queen. You won’t be able to feel her when she is on her side of the bed, and it provides you with extra space as if you were in a separate bed.

“Goodnight,” she drawls.

“Night,” you say quickly.

She turns off the light, sending the room into darkness. All you can what is your heart pounding, scared that she can hear it from her side of the bed. You can’t bear to turn over and face her, scared that she will say she caught you looking at her. Even if sleep wanted to come earlier, it can’t now. Every time you close your eyes, all you see is Natasha… naked. What the hell were you thinking peeking in on her while she was changing?

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t hear or feel Natasha move until she is practically right behind you. She touches your waist and slowly slides it south, keeping her hand on your leg.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, not turning to face her.

“I know you like me.”

“What? No, I don’t,” you shake your head, denying the obvious.

“I left the door open on purpose.”

You turn around for this. She’s so close that you can see the color in her eyes and the freckles on her face.

“You did?”

“I know you were watching me.”

“I’m sorry, Nat--”

“Don’t be,” she whispers, cutting you off. “I like you too.”

She takes this moment to lean in, giving you time to think about this and to pull away if you wanted to. If you really wanted to, you could say no to this and she would let it go just like that. Or you could enjoy the moment and just be with her. You can worry about the details and the feelings tomorrow morning.

You opted for the latter.

She presses her lips to yours gently at first to test the waters before giving in harder. Her hand slides over your ass to grip at it, and you scoot closer just to feel her next to you. You can’t believe this is happening right now. You’ll get shit for it later from the rest of the team, but nothing else seems to matter.

It’s you and Natasha, and you may not go further than just kissing for a bit, but you know your relationship is about to take a hard right onto a one-way lane with no way back… and you’re okay with that.

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[transsergio]

i’m THINKING about butch!JJ like??

a JJ who got out of her small town and into college on sports scholarships, terrified to present masc and face the backlash/small town homophobia and potentially make her teammates uncomfortable? a jj who was probably already known as the weird girl with the dead sister, doing whatever she can to fit in and be normal and go w the status quo. a jj who was “nice to everyone, even nerds”, surviving by internalizing clique groupings and social hierarchy.

a jj who gets to her freshman year of college where none of that matters and having a crisis she didn’t see coming. she doesn’t know who she really is outside of the popular soccer girl, or who she even wants to be. a jj who doesn’t know how to make friends when she hasn’t already known everyone’s names and families her entire life. a jj whose good at the superficial things, like going to frat parties and being friendly w the other girls on the soccer team. probably more than a little judgmental of the girls who do have short hair, who don’t really care about shaving or being fem. a jj who’s fixated on one of the more masc, older girls in particular and can’t figure out why. a jj who’s scared to talk to her, a jj who looks at herself in the mirror after a shower in her dorm and doesn’t know what to do with herself, a jj who doesn’t know if she likes this girl, if she’s disgusted, if she wants to cut all her hair off and see exactly what it feels like. a jj who’s overanalyzing herself until she’s paralyzed. a jj who can’t see a way out, except...making an appointment.

the salon won’t give her anything more than a pixie cut. she’s so pretty, why would she want to ruin it? whatever. she’ll take it for now. she thinks she looks like a middle aged mom. the girls on the soccer team love it. jj doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, but she likes the attention. she likes not having to wear a ponytail or really fuss with it. a jj who feels more in control, like she can be her own person. a jj who starts kissing girls in private and tries not to think about what it means. a jj who keeps getting her hair trimmed but tries different stylists until she finds one who’s not afraid to go SHORT short. a jj who has a hard time reconciling her love of being soft, of caring, with her new masc exploration. a jj who realizes being masc doesn’t mean being hard. a jj who realizes being masc isn’t about fitting into a new box, or a box at all. a jj who’s dressing in cuffed cotton t shirts and boyfriend cut jeans until she realizes she can just buy from the men’s section too. a jj who doesn’t come home that first summer and instead takes on a paid internship at a local press pub and rents a room off campus. a jj who’s not ready to come home and merge her new world with her old. a jj who starts kissing one girl in particular more than the others.

a jj who doesn’t know what it means that the girl she’s kissing wears skirts and hair clips and makeup (jj has downgraded to concealer and chapstick to be “presentable” for her job by now.). the last time she thought she was interested in a girl, she cut all her hair off. what now, will she grow it out? no. a jj who’s more comfortable with herself, who doesn’t need to blend in to be okay. a jj who feels strong with this girl, who feels like loving this girl makes her stronger. a jj who’s realizing she’s a protector, and she wants to find more people like her. a jj who starts attending feminist book clubs and seeking out a community at the bar scene. a jj who brings her girlfriend home at the end of the summer.

a jj who’s single her senior year, who’s no longer wearing makeup for any occasion, who never had a loud coming out but simply showed up in her hometown a couple of times a year and felt the eyes on her, who walked with her head up and never gave the eyes the satisfaction of looking back. a jj who’s taken with rossi’s talk when he visits her class and knows how she wants to help people. a jj who joins the bau as their media liaison in tailored suits with a men’s wristwatch fastened tightly to her, a graduation present from her parents. a jj who finds friendship with femme lesbian penelope garcia, who she spends time coordinating at work with and time comfortably lounging with off-duty. a jj who seeks out elle. a jj who is surprised when elle kisses her first. a jj who thinks about building a life with her, of having elle in her home on lazy saturdays when she’s in her sweats and her old college t shirts, of elle in her kitchen and their guards down. a jj who’s the first to notice that derek is definitely hitting on spencer, right there in the open. a jj who, up to now, has kept her relationships quiet - no one asked, and she never told. a jj who now gets a bitter taste in her mouth. did no one ask, or did she not want to tell?

a jj who asks elle if she’s happy. if she wants to love in silence. a jj who gets her answer, tells hotch, and marches down those stairs to kiss elle in the bullpen. derek whoops. about damn time. a jj who’s going to ask elle to move in with her when elle is just gone. when elle vanishes from her life. a jj who doesn’t know what to do with the sympathetic looks from her colleagues, or with the vacuum that elle’s empty desk creates. but, jj will figure it out. she’s not a lost eighteen year old fresh out of the salon doors anymore. she knows herself, and she knows she will be happy again.

#criminal minds #jennifer jareau #jj criminal minds #jelle #text #I DID NOT MEAN TO WRITE THIS MUCH #i am not even a jj fan....what is wrong w me.....chemical disruption in my brain..... #cm #mine #butch jj

[asleepinawell]

How has poi changed your life? Genuinely curious, I love this show

I got this ask in May '20 and am only now answering it. :')

part of the problem with answering it is that half of the answer would be to the question of 'how has fandom changed your life' where poi is the fandom I've been the most active in and where fandom made the most difference. and that's a long story

my first draft of this was over 2k words long, and went back much further in time explaining how i had and hadn’t fit into queer spaces and fandom throughout my life. I edited it way back but it’s still long-ish, so you can read it below the break

many years ago, when I got my first full time job in my chosen industry my senior year of college I was so busy that I couldn't function. massive unhealthy amounts of overtime and a toxic work environment. (don't work at tech start-ups, kids!!!) my social life vanished. strikethrough on livejournal happened right then too and fandom, which i’d only been a silent participant in at that point, kind of went quiet for a while and by the time it started regrouping I was so busy that I didn't know about it. several awful years later I quit my job, spent several months in my room in my parents' house trying to recover from massive burn out (see my comment about tech start-ups), and then got a job on the opposite coast and left behind my whole circle of friends some of whom made up my entire connection to the queer community at that time.

making friends after college is very hard when you're an introvert and just generally don't like socializing that much. making queer friends can be even harder since there's fewer places to meet them and there's often an underlying question of dating/sex that hovers around awkwardly when sometimes what you want is just an absolutely no romo/no sex friendship. so while I did make a few queer friends eventually, I didn't have that same sort of community I did before I'd moved and I missed it

(I would be remiss in not saying that the queer friends i made in this time are all amazing and wonderful and some are still my close friends and very important to me. The thing I’m highlighting here was the lack of feeling like I was part of a larger queer community).

fast forward a bit. I get sick. like really really sick. I'm in and out of the ER, I'm missing tons of work, I'm mostly bed-ridden. I think after the last few years people can more easily appreciate how intensely lonely and surreal being stuck at home by yourself non stop can be when you're not used to it. sometime right before that I'd joined tumblr for the sole purpose of looking at cat pictures on my phone during boring meetings. I wasn't really aware that this was where fandom had migrated to (it was in fact possible to use tumblr without intersecting with fandom). but stuck home alone with time to kill I started looking for art and gifs of the tv and games I was consuming and stumbled into fandom tumblr and specifically queer femslash fandom.

I kind of poked around the territory and eventually fell into the carmilla fandom which became the first fandom I actually created content for. a few of my fics had a decent audience and while I was never part of the central core of the fandom I made some good friends there. some of y'all probably followed me back then. I eventually drifted away from carmilla for a lot of reasons I won't get into and stumbled right into poi. this would have been between seasons 4 and 5, late 2015-early 2016.

my health problems get more exciting and I end up in the hospital. I have vague memories of watching poi on my laptop in my hospital bed (vague because I was on a lot of morphine). I actually posted some fic while I was in the hospital (would have been the end of my carmilla run still).

and I get out of the hospital (early 2016) and am somewhat better but it's pretty clear that I'm going to have chronic health issues probably for the rest of my life. my social life, such as it was, was mostly dead, a lot of stuff I used to do for fun was much harder to manage. I'm still spending a ton of time at home (not even counting covid) and I have bad days where I feel terrible and can't do much. but I'll come back to that

I think most of us remember 2016. the year tv show runners fully embraced the bury your gays trope (and sometimes the fridging trope at the same time as a bonus!) and, by autostraddle's tally, 30 queer female characters in tv shows died. and then on top of that we had the actual real world tragedy of the pulse nightclub shootings. it was a massively depressing time all around for queer people

s5 of poi aired that year. I know people have different opinions on s5 of poi, and that's valid. I hated it. and I really intensely hated how it treated root and shaw. there aren't enough words to express how fucking angry I was after s5. or rather, there are 319,678 words.

I wrote a fic many of you may have read called sliding towards chaos that rewrote the entirety of poi from mid-s3 onwards. it got pretty popular lol. I put so much into writing it, too. it was basically a second full time job for me and a great way to take my mind off the fact I was still having health problems and all the crazy shit going on in the world (we had a presidential election in the US in 2016 :)))) it did not go well!)

i'm very proud of writing stc, and even if I think it isn't my strongest writing (which is good! improving over time is good!), it was what really connected me to a lot of other people in the fandom. I felt part of the fandom community in a way I hadn't with carmilla and it was an intensely queer community built around shared interests

one of the problems with finding queer friend groups out in the 'real world' is you're often gathering to meet based on the uniting factor of being queer, and your interests may vary greatly. fandom is amazing because it lets you find queer people who you share all these interests with and who you can bond with over them and collaborate with and that's just so so important. does fandom have a ton of issues and toxicity and bigotry? yes, absolutely. but it also has so much good to offer

through stc and later fics I became close friends with some really really cool people in the fandom (including my favorite writer and my favorite artist). these are people I'm still very close friends with. some of them I've hung out with offline and the ones I haven't are mostly because they live too far away. after years of not having my own queer circle of friends I have found one again and one I can usually participate in even with my health problems and that is such an important thing to me

on a creative front, the fic writing and the gif making I've done have both taught me an enormous amount and been a very positive part of my life. working collaboratively on comics has been one of the coolest things I've done. there is just so much good that came out of me seeing one shoot gif on tumblr dot com years ago and being like hmm looks gay I'm in

and in terms of the actual content of the show, I think a lot of the reason I was drawn to it (other than my lingering crush on fred from angel) was that root and shaw felt so uniquely and wonderfully queer in a way few f/f ships I'd seen had before. shaw being bi and reading as aro to me (I've talked about that here) and root being a chaotic computer nerd just felt so relatable to me and their relationship with each other made sense to me in a way that few others had. and the specific draw that they had for some fans probably has a lot to do with why I found friends in this fandom who I really clicked with

so yeah. I don't know how to sum this up. fandom can be a great way to find your people and engage your creativity and I think that's very sexy

#mp #asks #I added the read more line on mobile so I hope it actually works #personal

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden Booklet 1

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

Index || Next →

That day was a special one for me, but to the rest of the world, this was not the case.

   Ann Magnolia and Her Nineteenth Birthday

   There was a number of things I had to do on the special day called today.

I would wake up in the morning and check the weather. As if a tale were beginning, I would turn the curtains over and look outside the window.

The radiant daylight shone on my eyes. Today was sunny. Knowing that made me happy. That I had woken up enveloped in sunshine. That I didn’t have to worry about my letter getting drenched in rain. It was almost as if the truth of these facts was blessing the day.

——I’m happy.

Very happy.

I didn’t usually say this, but I felt like saying it today, so I whispered as I laid back down, “Good morning.”

Husky with wake, my voice echoed through the quiet bedroom. I wandered around in search for someone to have a conversation with from the words “good morning”. However, I couldn’t find anyone to hear them, so they pointlessly vanished somewhere.

If you were just by yourself, words would die as soon as they were born. I knew that as the truth of this world. Like flowers that withered without changing colors, like small birds that couldn’t endure the coldness of midwinter, my words would promptly die. After all, words were tools for people to communicate their intentions. So if there was no other party, they would all but die. That was evident.

There was no one who would reply to me with a “good morning”. There was no one in this house that would do a morning greeting, so if anyone were to say that this much was obvious, it sure was. But in my memories, someone whose voice I had already forgotten would return my words. In a warm and soft voice that was probably how my mother sounded, they would be returned to me.

“Good morning, Ann.”

——Good morning.

“Today is a special day, huh.”

——I know; I’d been counting them with my fingers.

“Your long-awaited birthday.”

With a nod, I stood up.

Today, I was turning nineteen. Twelve years had passed since I had been left all by myself when I was seven years old. I reflected thoroughly upon that reality alone and proudly.

I left my bedroom still wearing a negligee, heading to the spiral staircase. There were portraits hanging in rows from the staircase’s wall.

“My, you’re going outside dressed like this just because you’re at home?”

Decorated with pictures of family members, the wall used to be terrifying for me when I was a child, but it became less so after my mother was added to them. I would go up and down those stairs countless times every day, but the only spot that I would end up directing my gaze to for a few seconds was the portrait of my mother and my childhood self.

If, by any chance, there was strength to the thing called “love”, I thought, if there was a force residing within love, wouldn’t this image start moving one day, since it was the only one I looked at as if I were yearning for something?

I would end up embracing such fantasies.

“I won’t change, no matter how much you stare at me. By the way, doesn’t my complexion look a little bad in this portrait? I should have had more paint put over it.”

Of course, it was just a fabrication.

Having come down the stairs, I went to the front entrance, its door a little worn-out. I should call a repairer. The house was a living being just like me, and since it was already quite old, it was always broken somewhere.

“I also want you to tend to the garden. When was the last time you held a broom?”

As I came outside, I could see this place’s whole scenery. There was nothing but lush grassland and tree-lined roads. The idyllic sight was awfully boring, but above that, it was beautiful, so if you made a frame with your fingers, you would immediately have a scenic picture. In this entire area, there were no other houses in sight. Of course. This territory was under the control of the Magnolias, hence this view belonged to me, the family head.

As long as I didn’t sell or give it away, this landscape would never change. And, same as the previous family heads, I didn’t wish for it to change. Neither did I wish to leave this place. Even if I was all by myself.

“Ann, let’s take a look inside the mailbox.”

I took a look inside the mailbox. Perhaps because it was still early in the morning, there was nothing in it yet.

“It’ll surely be coming soon.”

Today was the day when I, Ann Magnolia, was born. Every year on my birthday, I would get letters from my late mother. Letters from my mother, who by now had become a portrait, would be delivered to me.

“There is no such thing as a letter that needn’t be delivered, Milady.”

To be precise, letters with my mother’s feelings blown into them and ghostwritten by an Auto-Memories Doll would be delivered to me. It was a strange story, but a true one.

“Auto-Memories Doll”. Long had passed ever since this name caused a stir.

The creator was an authority in the field of mechanical dolls, Professor Orlando. His wife, Molly, was a novelist, and all had begun with the posterior loss of her eyesight. He then invented a machine to perform ghostwriting for his beloved wife and named it Auto-Memories Doll. Nowadays, people who worked as ghostwriters were also called Auto-Memories Dolls.

When I was seven, my mother, who was plagued with a serious illness, summoned a beautiful blue-eyed Auto-Memories Doll to our manor. She made her write several letters and hired a postal company to deliver them to me even after her death. She had been secretly planning out a few decades worth of birthday messages for her beloved daughter.

The person who had made this request was an oddball, but the ones who had accepted the job were quite odd themselves. Had they not imagined that someone would abandon it at some point? Had they sealed the contract for such a heavy, troublesome work without any refusal because they were horribly bad at their business, or was it because they were too nice? Having grown into a creditable lady and come to understand the world to a certain extent, I would ponder about such things. Surely, it was because they were nice. Thanks to them, even though I didn’t have a single relative now, at least on my birthday I could recall what being loved by someone felt like.

Just like that, I stood fidgety in front of the mailbox. Closing my eyes, I cleared off the dust on the box of my memories.

——I remember. That she had come around. That she would be over there, quietly writing letters. I remember the figure of that person and of my smiling mother. Surely, until I died...

That few-days’ time had been seared into my mind. Back then, my... Back then, Ann Magnolia’s frizzy hair was still short, and she was selfish and pretended to be taller. She was a helpless child. A very young one. How old she was? Seven years old. An age where one would still long for their mother. Her mother was the center of the world. If her mother died, she wouldn’t even be able to breathe. She was that kind of child. She was aware that her emotions were unstable and that she tended to act a little rashly.

Most people would treat someone like me nicely, and that was it. People who had their eyes on my fortune attempted to get close to me, but once they noticed that I had no intention to let them do so, they never showed their faces to me again.

That person—that person... Violet Evergarden. That Auto-Memories Doll was a bit different from other people, I thought...

Whenever I wondered what was so different about her, I would find myself thinking.

Back then, Ann Magnolia had fallen in love with a mysterious girl who had come around all of a sudden. It was a little girl’s romantic love out of adoration. She both hated and liked the Auto-Memories Doll who had come around out of the blue and stolen her time with her mother.

——What was it that I liked about her?

She was a taciturn and unsociable. A silent porcelain doll. She seemed extremely adult-like. But looking back, she often reacted like a child who knew nothing. Even when I gave her dolls, she didn’t know how to play. Neither did she have any knowledge of how to solve riddles. Even when I made her touch bugs, she never ran away like my mother or our maid. Whenever I invited her to join hands and spin around, we would do it to no end.

“Fufu...”

She was a weird person. Yes, a weird one.

Children would look at adults and measure them by whether they were scary or foolish, would be their allies or enemies, would give them candy or not, and other such things. They would stare very, very fixatedly and judge the grown-ups.

She... that beautiful Auto-Memories Doll... Violet Evergarden was not an adult.

——Yes, she was... how should I put it? She was Violet Evergarden.

Which was why I had snuggled up to her, the same type of person as myself, just like two cats nestling close to each other, I thought.

She was a beautiful child. A beautiful beast. I found her eccentric self to be cool, so I liked her.

Where was she now and what was she doing, I wondered.

I was turning nineteen, but back in the day, she must have been younger than I am now. For her to have prosthetic arms, it wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened to her at the time, when the war had just ended. But surely, there was no doubt that her life had been full of many more ups and downs than the story I had in mind.

Did she not express her emotions enough because she was carrying some sort of wound in her heart? She was such a beautiful person, so she must have won over the heart of some wonderful person by now...

I shook my head left and right. I mustn’t have unjust suspicions of her. I shouldn’t prod into how I was back then – into the Ann Magnolia of back then – and taint it. Even if it was just me with myself, I mustn’t do that. Because all of the joys and sorrows from that time belonged to the old me, who had endured those days. Having become an adult, I shouldn’t have any say over the mental landscape of my old self, as a third party.

Having grown up, I observed my own land, which spread out endlessly. The scent of gently swaying grass and flowers, the chattering of birds, the clouds that moved slowly in the blue sky. It felt like they would be here just like that for a hundred more years.

“It’s not coming, huh. Let’s go eat breakfast.”

Since the postman wasn’t showing up, I had no choice but go back into the manor.

I had been working at home lately. I used to go outside and enjoy the world when I was a student, but I realized that, in the end, I liked being in my house. Maybe this was a Magnolia bloodline thing.

As for my from-home job, I worked with legal counseling. When I was little, I had experienced disputes amongst my own relatives over me and my assets. That was the reason why, if I had to give any.

My mother had left me with a talented legal advisor. A person of outstanding character, who still concerned himself with me even now. As a young child, I excelled at catching insects that I had never seen before, but I didn’t have the means to oppose to the people who wanted to steal this land from me one way or another.

I had started off working at the city’s legal information center, introduced to me by the legal advisor, who had taken me in, and only recently had I become independent. Living in the city had made me realize many things. That there were many people in this world who weren’t protected like me. And that this wasn’t something those people themselves wanted, but things had turned out in such a way due to the environment they were in.

The ascension of the ghostwriting business had a similar background. Children would be made to work like adults, unable to go to school, so when they grew up and had to sign any documents, they couldn’t even write their own names.

People like that, who had been raised in environments where no one helped them, weren’t a rarity. I had heard that the literacy rate was currently rising, but it would still take a long time for this to become something unusual.

Just like with ghostwriting, one could become somebody’s ally through the law. It was especially necessary for children who had been thrown out like me and younglings who were about to enter the world of adults, I believed. Because they could earn completely different futures as a result if they acquired knowledge.

“The law is a weapon,” my legal advisor would say. I agreed with that. My property had been protected by this weapon many times. Some people would say that education was the weapon, but the situations for putting it to use were too limited. Weapons exerted their true value exactly when you had to protect yourself from falling victim to unjust acts or insults.

If possible, I wanted to be someone who could protect others. I wanted to tell people who didn’t know what to do and had become incapable of even walking on their own, “It’s all right; I’ll be your ally”. Because I wanted someone to do that for me back when I was alone.

My reason for choosing law was rooted in this kind of self-righteous way of thinking.

Since I worked from home, I didn’t earn much. To be honest, people would think that being a professional was a pastime for a landowning wealthy lady. I was fine with that.

The people who came to visit me in this remote place were generally in critical situations and had nothing. Those who had something would go to the city. They would go to the city, bow their heads to some famous person, be served a fine brand of tea... and have a graceful conversation while drinking it.

If I could, I wanted to get close to people, just like her. Just like the Auto-Memories Doll who had told me on that day that it was okay to cry. Even if for self-satisfaction.

Speaking of which, I thought as I checked the calendar. Today was my birthday, so I intended to wait for the postman the whole day and hadn’t scheduled any appointments, but a client was coming tomorrow. I should clean up the reception room at least a little.

“Hey, Ann. It is your birthday, so how about going outside with your friends and having a meal with them?”

I had to sweep the floor, take the garbage off the carpet and dust the dirt on the furniture.

“Even just eating something tasty is enough, Ann.”

Right, I should bake some sweets to serve to the costumer tomorrow. It could also be used as celebration for my birthday.

“Ann, aren’t you lonely all by yourself?”

If I was certain, that person had eaten the sweets I baked when we first met with relish. He had a sweet tooth.

As I recalled the figure of that young entrepreneur eating, looking embarrassed and delighted, a smile surfaced naturally. Out of the people that I was currently engaging with, he might be the one whose visit I looked forward to the most. I did think that men were frowny and sullen creatures, but he was adorable.

I rolled up my sleeves with an “all right” and headed to the kitchen.

   “Delivery.”

As the front door’s bell rang and the voice of a visitor ensued, I frantically flung away my bowl and whisk and ran. This is what happens when you distractedly make sweets for about an hour. I was covered in flour and looking unbecoming, but there was no helping it.

“Yes, I’m coming.”

I opened the door in high spirits, and standing there was a postman wearing the uniform of the city’s post office, which I was familiar with. I was disappointed enough that even I myself would think it was a bit childish of me. The other didn’t see my facial expression as he requested my signature for the express delivery without looking at me, but I wound up having an impolite attitude.

——It wasn’t the CH Postal Company.

My mother’s birthday messages were being kept by the CH Postal Company, a mail company that had its main office located in Leiden – the capital of Leidenschaftlich, a southernmost military nation. Therefore, if a different company had come, then the mail wasn’t from my mother.

“Thank you very much.”

I had received three packages. One was a table clock from my legal advisor. The others were accessories and a shawl that were trending in the city from my friends.

There were people getting married and having children upon turning nineteen. All of my closest friends had been quick to marry. Both my opinion that secluding themselves in their homes was a waste in this era of professional women and my envy at the fact that they had found themselves a partner in an early stage of their lives coexisted in the depths of my mind.

“You don’t have to hurry; if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.”

Having lost my mother, with this vast land and this manor of excessively elegant exterior in my possession... I couldn’t think that having a family wouldn’t be a good thing.

——Family... family... family, huh?

Did I want a family? Did I really? Those genuine questions surfaced in my mind first-thing.

Welcoming a family would mean welcoming that person’s life. It was an extremely heavy choice. “In health and sickness,” people would lightheartedly say. I believed there were actually few people who properly understood it.

My friends who had married. The people who walked around the city. Lovers and family members from all over the world – everyone. Did they all truly understand? They only looked on the happy side, so could they endure it when a sad scenario arrived upon them? Wouldn’t they end up thinking that not loving the other person would have been better?

“Human beings are creatures that love others in pursuit of happiness, Ann.”

In my experience, since I had seen off the person who was most important to me, the truth was that I didn’t want to go through it ever again. Being told to do it one more time was too hard. Even twenty years later, painful things would be painful.

I brought my consciousness back to reality.

Colorful ribbons, extravagant wrappings and wonderful gifts. As my social disposition was coming to a slight halt, those people were irreplaceable to me. I had to write thank-you notes right away. For these kinds of things, the faster, the better. Because it conveyed sincerity.

I should go back to my bedroom and look for the stationery and envelopes. They were surely somewhere there.

“Ann.”

——Aah, but was it a pretty stationery?

Maybe I should choose a different one, fitting of these wonderful presents.

“Ann, listen.”

They were surely items that took a while to be picked, so I should respond to the other party’s feelings the same way. There were many things to be watchful of here. I had to do it quick. I had to do it soon.

“Please listen.”

Nobody else was going to do it; I was the one who had to. No matter what, I had to do it. I had to taste joy and sadness all by myself and end it fast. Because I was alone. Hurry. I had to hurry and do it.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t move.

“Ann.”

I was in the middle of making sweets, and writing thank-you notes required some preparation. Above all, I couldn’t calm down until my mother’s letter arrived.

Giving several reasons, I made up several excuses not to move.

“Ann... it’s okay.”

I suddenly felt exhausted. Everything became a bother. Even though hands were covered in flour and I was still wearing an apron, I lay on the couch, rolled into fetal position and scrunched down.

Although I had received such marvelous gifts, the feeling of happiness didn’t last. Even though it was something to be grateful for to the point I could be in a good mood the whole day, the feeling of happiness didn’t last. It didn’t last.

“Ann, it’s okay.”

Today was that kind of day.

“Ann, don’t force yourself; I’m sorry.”

——I’m sorry.

“Sorry...”

——I’m sorry.

“Ann, I’m sorry...”

To me, my birthday was...

“...for leaving you behind when you were so small.”

...not my day. It was my mother’s.

——Mom. Why? Just why? Why, Mom? Why did you die sooner than the mothers of the other kids? What is it that went wrong? Did the fact that I was born itself become a burden to you? If so, then I shouldn’t have been born.

I loved you, Mom. Did you know that? I liked you a whole, whole lot. Tired of hearing this? But you didn’t know it, right? Even if you knew, you probably didn’t understand how much I liked you. I’m sure you had no idea how much.

When I realized it, I had more time seeing you in a grave than otherwise. But you’re everywhere in our house. On the sofa that you often sat on. In the music that you enjoyed. On the bed that still smells like you. In myself, who resembles you more and more with each day.

Mom, Mom, Mom – you keep reminding me of how much I loved you. When I was little, you were the world itself.

Mom. You loved me. I know that. But I loved you too. I was the one who... I was... I was... I was the one who...

Aah, Mom. Mom, there are so many things I want to tell you. But if I can say it, there’s just one thing.

Mom, you died without knowing how much I loved you, right?

I loved you much more than you could’ve imagined. I really, really suffered when you died. Enough that I couldn’t breathe.

People often say that time heals all wounds. But I really hate that saying. Rather than things being solved, we forget about them, don’t we? People’s voices, facial expressions, gestures – we forget these kinds of things. Yet I remember them in unexpected times. Like, “Oh, yeah, Mom used to like this”. “Oh, yeah, Mom used to hate that”. And then I blame myself vehemently for forgetting them. Like, “How could you have forgotten? She was your whole world”. Like, “How could you have forgotten? She was your only family”. The loop of agony has no end.

I adored you, Mom. I loved you. I loved you, so for just as much love as I had for you, it feels like my heart will break. It feels like my heart will break every time my birthday comes around. Feels like it will break. It’s painful and there’s no helping it.

Tears slip down my cheeks as I laid on my side. I was looking forward to today so much that I didn’t know what to do with myself, and yet I wound up crying again this year. I would’ve been great if I could welcome it with a smile.

A birthday was a special day.

It was nothing to the rest of the world, just an ordinary day, but it was a special one for me. Because... Because it was a day when I could feel Mom coming back to me. I looked forward to it so much that I couldn’t help myself, but at the same time, I was also helplessly sad. Because I felt my mother’s absence more than anything. Because the truth that she wasn’t here was thrust onto me.

Destiny spoke to me. Either that or God did. “Hey, your mother’s already dead. How long you gonna be crying? Stand up. If you’re alive, stand up.”

Since the world was so merciless, all I could do was nod at those words and say, “Yes, yes, true.”

By entrusting my body to hecticness, I was able to remain as someone who could stand on her own feet, just like Destiny and God wanted. I normally didn’t feel loneliness. I didn’t cry. After all, twelve years had already passed. It was weird to cry like this on and on forever. It was weird, right? I wasn’t a kid anymore. I shouldn’t cry too much. That would make me a bad girl. A girl wasn’t suitable to be the family head of the Magnolia household. I had to become a person who my mother could be proud of from within that portrait.

Wasn’t that right? I couldn’t prove the worth of my existence by doing anything else.

But on this day when I was aware that my mother loved me, I was no good. No good. I’d turn into a mess. The seven-year-old Ann Magnolia would come back to me. She’d say it all. She’d end up saying it. Always, always, always. She’d say what I was holding back from saying.

“I’m lonely”, that is.

I had as many ways of spending my birthday as I had birthdays. Surely, there were millions of people in the world whose birthday was today. How were all of them spending it? Were they spending it in a fulfilling way? There definitely were also people who lived their lives either not knowing when their birthday was or forgetting about it.

So I wasn’t miserable. Nor was I comparing myself with them. That wasn’t it. Because there were certainly people somewhere around the world who were feeling as lonely as me.

There was another thing that I had learned during the time I worked in the city. That loneliness wasn’t something only I had. Many people would come to the law firm and ask for advice regarding their troubles. Everyone was burdened with problems of their own. And everyone was a bit lonely in some aspect. It wasn’t just me, so I didn’t feel lonely.

That person too, and that one, and that other one. Everybody was sad in one way or another.

“I have to get up.”

I had stopped doing what I would do by accident – stopped throwing myself into a sea of sadness. The sea of sadness in my head was a real nuisance, yet it was also comfortable as it enveloped my body in gentle waves of self-pity. But I shouldn’t go too far. Or else I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. It wasn’t like food and sweets would materialize from my sadness.

I counted the things I had to do. Bake sweets. Clean up. I had a number of torn aprons, which I would remake into rags. And then... And then...

“Madam Magnolia, are you home?”

A real-life happening immediately pulled me out of my reverie. I ran toward the front door, from where the voice had come. As I opened the door with much vigor while making extremely improper heavy-feet noises, I found two visitors.

“Hum?”

One of them was... Aah, I was waiting for you. It was a postman wearing the CH Postal Company uniform. He was holding under his arm a letter and a package with what was most likely the gift that my mother had arranged for today.

“Aah, excuse me. Please go first.”

The other was the customer who had made an appointment reservation for tomorrow. A stray young entrepreneur. His finely tailored clothes were easy to recognize as something not order-made and that he didn’t like but was wearing regardless.

Had he mistaken the appointment day?

“Erm, then...”

The two had bumped onto each other at the front gate and both had some business with me, so they were probably conceding the turn to one another. Having been granted it, the CH Postal Company’s postman stood before me, politely giving me the letter and present with a slightly tensed-up countenance.

“This is the CH Postal Company. I have come to bring your delivery... You might be already tired of hearing this vocal message so many times, but happy birthday this year too, Madam Magnolia.”

That was a postman I had never seen before. It was a different person from last year.

“T-Tired, you say... There’s no way I would ever be.”

Still, the fact he was saying these lines meant that the demands commissioned by my mother were being properly kept and protected by that company. That was it.

“Thank you very much. For every year, truly... truly. Please tell this to your chairman too.”

“Y-Yes! Our president is the kind of person that gets very happy at inputs from the clients, so I’ll make sure to tell him!”

I had never met the president of the CH Postal Company, but for someone so young to be talking about him in such a familiar-sounding way, he had to be a wonderful person.

“I’m taking it.”

I signed the acceptance document. The postman laughed as if relieved. Also relieved, I finally looked seriously at him. He was a very young postman. Perhaps from about the same generation as me. The freckled boy looked even younger when laughing.

“I became in charge of it this year. It’s a big area, so I ended up getting a bit lost... I made you wait a lot, didn’t I?”

“Eh, no, no.”

“But you came running as if you were eagerly waiting for it.”

“Yes.”

Recalling the surprised faces of the two young men the moment I had opened the door, I trembled with shame. I was supposed to behave elegant and beautifully as the head of the Magnolia family. Yet I was covered in flour, my hair was disheveled because I had been lying down and I had showed up with footsteps that sounded like the ones of a large man.

Touching my cheeks, which were most likely growing red, I said, “I apologize for showing you an embarrassing sight... No matter what, I always wind up restless on this day.”

“Absolutely not. I’m the one who is sorry for coming late. I have already perfectly memorized the way, so please treat me well next year too.” The postman bowed with a “well, then” and ran toward a parked motorcycle.

After seeing him off, I directed my gaze at the other visitor that had been waiting for me. He, too, slowly looked my way.

“Hello.”

The morning sunshine had disappeared, a dazzling midday light filling up for it. It seemed that quite some time had passed while I was sulking on the couch. With a season of fresh green colors as the background, he was supposed to be a foreign body for me... and for this world of mine, yet he blended appallingly well into it.

“Hello.” My voice sounded a little shrill. “Isn’t there any flour on my face?” As I said this while rubbing my cheeks with the sleeve of my dress, he took a handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to me.

Not minding me as I stiffened up in shock, he said with an earnest attitude, “There is, right here.”

“Ah, all right.”

“And here too.”

“I’m sorry. I was making sweets...”

Wiping myself with the neatly folded handkerchief, it almost seemed like I had gone back to being a child. It was the second time today that my cheeks were dyed red.

“Well, what is your matter...?”

“Aah, that’s right. I was nearby and... hum, I heard from Mr. Robert, the one who introduced you to me, that it was your birthday today, so... though it’s presumptuous of me, I was thinking about celebrating it...”

Robert was the law advisor who had been protecting me since my childhood. Now that he had mentioned it, I remembered that he was introduced to me by Robert. The budget wasn’t compatible with the case, so it had been passed over to me.

——“Nearby”?

Finding a strange point in a part of his story, I said timidly, “This whole area... is my land... You had business near here?”

Silence.

“You’re also seeing Mr. Robert even though you’re working with me...?”

He raised a hand my way as if to ask me to wait and averted his face, looking embarrassed. Had I said anything bad?

“I take it back.”

“All right.”

“I lied... I wanted, hum, to spend time with you somehow...”

“Haah...”

Perhaps having become unable to look at me in the eyes, he kept his face turned away and continued speaking to the direction of the day after tomorrow, “Mr. Robert is a teatime friend from a café that I already frequented... He introduced you to me as a favor... And I heard from him the other day that today was your birthday. Also, I did not just happen to come nearby. It’s impossible to come here without a car or carriage. I do not have much money, so I ended up walking the way here. But it was no coincidence; I came here because I had an objective.”

As I asked, “What’s the objective”, he turned over the palm that had been telling me to wait and showed it to me. That “it’s you”.

I was perplexed. This kind of thing hadn’t happened in my life very often. When it did, it was usually people aiming for my fortune, so I vaguely wondered if he was the same as them.

“Want to come in? If it’s just drinking tea together, then...”

In any case, as the head of the Magnolia family, I had to entertain the guest. After this thought worked its way to me, an alarm sounded in my head that he might deem this as an invitation. That wasn’t my intention, so what should I do if he believed it was?

——What’s up with me? I don’t know if I’m happy or scared.

Aah, my heartbeats were so loud. My cheeks were so hot it felt like they were burning.

——Anyway, I have to say something.

“Hum.”

As I hesitated to speak, he shook his head. “Ah, no. I will have to come again tomorrow, so I’m going home. I have already accomplished my objective.”

“Is that so?” I was a tad out of tune. A little – very relieved.

I observed him while he didn’t try to look at me even a bit. His hands were trembling. Even though he gave off an easygoing impression, he was the type of person who couldn’t hide what was inside.

“I really just came here because I wanted to wish you happy birthday. Just before coming, I hesitated a lot on whether to go today or not... I also don’t have... any presents worthy of a lady like you, so I wanted to at least say these words.”

That sentence surprised my already stunned self even more. “At least these words”, he said. Were there any words that could make his goodwill more obvious?

“I’m sorry. I should have at least arranged something for you, right? Really, a broke man like me showing up out of nowhere... I’m sorry...”

“No, I don’t want material things that much... I prefer this feeling of... wanting to celebrate because it’s my birthday... much more...”

The words cut off midway. What happened to me? Right now, pain and joy were squeezing my chest tightly. It was suffocating.

The easily perceivable love of this person in front of me, as well as his kindness, his sincerity and all these other soft and warm things were appearing in the lonely parts of me and causing me to feel dizzy.

“Ann, can you hear me?”

I had to regain my sanity; I would surely be sober again tomorrow. I shouldn’t open my heart so easily now.

“Ann, please, listen.”

Because the world was cruel. Even if I fell in love with him, sad things were bound to happen.

“Okay? If you’re listening...”

It might be a calculated love; he could just be pretending and was actually a horrible person.

No, I had to wonder about that. It was indeed true that he came the way here on foot. After all, his shoes were dirty with mud. There was grass sticking to it as if he gone through an animal trail.

“If you’re listening, grab onto it.”

Aah, Mom. From now on, I would surely keep questioning you over and over during times like these. Asking you questions in my mind. “Mom, is this correct? Is this the right path,” I would ask. Because you were the only one who had given me love without second intentions. So please, give me an answer.

“Believe in yourself, Ann. Don’t be afraid of love.”

I was sure that the vision of my mother had whispered this to me.

I reached out with my hand. I reached out and grabbed the hem of his jacket.

“I’m going to bake sweets now. Today is my birthday, but I don’t have any plans, so if you’d like, why don’t we eat the baked sweets together outside? I don’t need anything. If you’re going to give me something, then I want just a bit of time for us to celebrate my birthday together,” I told him.

“Thanks.” He was not unkind to my wheat flour-covered hand, grasping it while his face went bright red. “That’d be great,” he said three or so times. The phrase “I like sweet foods” was probably said five times.

I... I found it so funny that I laughed.

That day was a special one for me, but to the rest of the world, this was not the case. But I put in a little effort. I tried making it special on my own. From this point onward, I would definitely keep doing that. I would. I was all alone in this manor. But I was the most special girl in the world to a certain person. It was okay to indulge myself at least on my birthday. I thought this once again reading my mother’s letter later.

Ann, congratulations on your nineteenth birthday. I can’t imagine how you’re doing at nineteen years of age. I really wonder how you’re doing. Are you well? Aren’t you going hungry? I wonder if you became a wonderful lady. Aah, I want to see it. I truly wanted to see it. You have no idea how much I love you, do you? You see, Mom loves the nineteen-year-old you. I’ll love you even as you turn a hundred years old. I can’t tell you face-to-face, so I’m properly writing it here. I love you. No matter what anyone says, I love you. You have the right to be loved. My Ann, be free. My Ann, laugh with joy. My Ann, be happy. My Ann. Don’t be afraid of love.

—From Mom

   “There’s no such thing as a letter that needn’t be delivered, Milady.”

#violet evergarden #veedit #fyeahvioletevergarden #kyoani #kyoto animation #ann magnolia #clara magnolia #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #novel #my translation #violet evergarden booklet

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Enemies by Association {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 7.6k

Summary: Sometimes you don’t really know what you and Draco are meant to be. 

Genre: angst (?)

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - what the FUCK is this, Aticus?! 

----

  “What the bloody hell are you doing here? 

   The voice strikes you almost immediately like a blow to the back of the skull. Already in a gruesome mood, the shrill tones of Draco Malfoy does nothing to make this night any better.

    Slowly, you turn to face the pale-haired boy now standing before you. It was only seconds before the forest was completely empty, nothing more than you and it’s usual spooky atmosphere, and where once you craved the comfort of another human being suffering alongside you, you now wish for nothing more than a tree to scoop you up and devour you.

    Draco, as per usual, stands tall and bold, even in the most embarrassing of circumstances. He’s wearing his Hogwarts robes, the Slytherin crest unavoidable upon his chest alongside his very undeserved Prefect badge. His basically-white hair still manages to glisten even in the pitch black of night, and that stupid scowl of his is, of course, still very prominent on his features.

    “What does it look like?” is your response to his dumb question. “I got a detention.”

    Draco raises a brow, visible only beneath the torchlight cast upon his lower jaw. “Y/N Weasley getting a detention? Colour me surprised.”

   You scowl and swivel back to face the path you had previously been staring into; still dark, still scary, still very unappealing, but it’s better than dealing with Draco’s sarcasm.

    He steps up beside you, folding wiry arms over a flat chest. “Are you not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

  “I can genuinely say I don’t give a shit.”

   “Watch your mouth, Weasley, or I’ll give you another detention.”

    You roll your eyes. “Fine then. What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

    He’s quiet for only a moment, and during that moment, you can feel his ice-like eyes burning into the side of your head; you want to punch him, desperately and with the force of a thousand waves, you want to punch that smirk off his stupid face.

    “Apparently part of the job of being a Prefect is overlooking detentions.”

    You gasp over dramatically, clapping your hands to your face. “You’re a Prefect? Why didn’t you say?!”

   “Oh, ha ha.” He nudges your arm, nods into the darkness ahead. “Get walking, then. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

   “An hour,” you correct, walking forward with him following close behind; you have to admit, he’s grown an awful lot since the last time you had been cursed with a shared detention with him. That was way back in first year after the two of you had been too loud during an argument in the hallways - hallways you were not supposed to be in that late at night. Filch had come sprinting down the corridors, and it was an instant sentence to the forest. Back then, Draco had basically been trembling in fear as Hagrid led the two of you through the trees, giving his usual promises that everything would be okay. You love Hagrid, would trust him with your life, but you’ve never been able to take his word on what he deems as okay.

    Now, however, Draco walks with his spine straight and his eyes narrowed, looking for the dangers you suspect he thinks he can fend away. 

    “You haven’t even got your fucking wand in your hand,” you point out.

   “Language, Weasley. I won’t tell you again. Even that twin brother of yours doesn’t use such foul language.”

   “Such foul language. Alright, Umbridge, I don’t remember asking.”

    Draco purses his lips. “It’s like you want a second detention.”

  “If it means having to walk through this bleeding forest with you again, I’ll pass.”

    The conversation dips after that. Draco keeps his wand in his hand, seems utterly concentrated on the path ahead; neither of you know where you’re going, but that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing when the tension is so high. 

     And the thing is, you don’t even think you dislike him.

   Draco just has the kind of personality you’re meant to clash with. He’s Slytherin, you’re Gryffindor. You’re a Weasley, he’s a Malfoy. You’re best friends with Harry Potter, and he’s got some kind of vendetta against him, so hating him is just kind of expected.

    But you talk to him a lot more than the others do.

    It’s mainly arguing, yes, but you’re still communicating, and you still go out of your way to sneer at him, and he goes out of his way to sneer right back. You insult him, but you spend ages coming up with those insults and you get excited when you see him and can finally hurl them at him from across the hallway, and you get excited when he throws his own set of insults right back at you. It’s been like that from day one, and you’re not sure what your day would look like without it.

     These thoughts never settle well with you, of course. You take one look at Ron and immediately feel like a traitor, because if he was to hear what was running through your head, he would be most incredibly displeased - and rightly so. The way him and Malfoy get on, it wouldn’t surprise you if Ron turned and ripped your head off for ever expressing even a single hint of fondness for the blonde boy currently strolling alongside you.

     “What are you in detention for this time, then, Weasley?”

   His voice breaks you from your reverie. You glance at him; he’s still looking dead ahead, tracing those ice blue eyes along the ground in search of danger. Part of you is surprised; the fact that Malfoy even showed up tonight is a big deal, considering you wouldn’t be surprised if he simply left you for dead in the Forbidden Forest.

    “McGonagall got mad at me,” you mumble in response. 

   Draco raises a brow. “For what?”

    “For nothing.” You fold your arms over your chest, letting your wand peek from your sleeve to keep the light illuminated on the track ahead. “In my defense, it was entirely Ron’s fault - if he had just let me get on with the Vanishing spell, that table would still be in her classroom and I wouldn’t be here.”

    Draco nods like he understands. “I always said two Weasleys in the same classroom would be dangerous.”

    “Ha.”

    “So why didn’t Ronald get a detention?”

   You scowl. “I bloody covered for him.”

   Draco almost seems to stumble. Your head snaps round to look at him at the exact same time he whirls around to look at you, eyes wide beneath his wand light, his footsteps a little heavier.

   “What’s wrong with you?” you demand, struggling to hide your laughter.

    “You covered for him?” 

   You raise a brow, grin spreading slow across your face. “Of course I did. He covered for me during Snape’s last class, and Snape is ten times worse than McGonagall - I owed him one.”

    Draco continues to stare at you in puzzlement.

   “Malfoy, close your mouth before you attract flies.” You glance into the darkness and shudder. “Or something worse.”

     Draco shakes his head, fumbling to return to his previous pristine posture. “You’re an idiot.”

   “Would you rather be walking through this hell-hole with Ron? Because I’m sure he’d be flattered to hear it.”

   “Absolutely not,” Draco snaps. “I just. . . I don’t understand why you’d get yourself in trouble for the sake of somebody else. Surely you have better things to be doing than a late-night detention with me.”

    “Aw, give yourself more credit, Malfoy.”

   He raises a brow.

   You grin. “Although, to be fair, I would much rather be chewing on leather shoes than walking beside you right now.”

    Draco rolls his eyes, nudges your arm in his attempts to make you speed up. “Say that again and you’ll be back here tomorrow night.”

    And that is enough to shut you up immediately.

   ----

    Professor Dolores Umbridge.

    The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a small woman doused in pink, ruffled with feathers and other fluffy accessories. A woman with a smile and a sweet voice. A woman hiding behind a mask that almost everybody has seen past at this point.

    She’s only been at Hogwarts a handful of months, and already she’s decided she owns the place. You, Ron and Harry scowl when you walk into her classroom to see she has yet to fall into the Hippogriff dens. As per usual, written upon the board in white chalk is the next chapter the class will be forced to read in utter silence whilst their wands are stowed away in their backpacks.

    “I hate her,” you whisper to Ron as the two of you take your seats at the back of the classroom. “Hate. Her.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Hermoine hisses, leaning back so she can talk to you. “You’ve seen what she did to Harry when he spoke out of turn - she won’t let you away with it either, Y/N.”

    You scowl, glaring at the back of her head. “She’s just got something against Harry.”

  “Exactly,” Harry whispers. “And you guys are my best mates, so she has something against you lot, too. By association.”

   “To hell with that. McGonagall surely won’t let her give us a detention just for being your friend.”

   Harry raises a brow; he’s already been through this once with you, but you were too busy arguing with Fred and George about their Nosebleed Nougat to really listen. Nonetheless, you’re aware that Harry went to McGonagall in his attempts to weasel out of his last week of detentions with Umbridge and was told - plain and simple - that she could and would do absolutely nothing to help him out.

    The lesson starts as per usual - with Umbridge reminding the class which chapter they left off at, ordering everyone to open up to the page beginning the next one, and reading everyone that they did not - under any circumstances - need to talk.

    You lower your head to your textbook, skimming the same sentence over and over again. It’s so easy to lose concentration when even just sitting in this room - in silence or not - makes you angry. You don’t want to read, don’t want to learn, don’t want to listen to her stupid, squeaky little voice. You just want to-

     The seat beside you is pulled from beneath the desk. Your head shoots up, eyes widening when you see Draco Malfoy sitting down, pulling his textbook from his bag without so much as a glance in your direction.

   You look up; Umbridge has spotted the latecomer, but merely gives Malfoy a smile that tells you she is in close cahoots with the blonde demons father. You look back up at Malfoy and narrow your eyes.

    “You don’t sit there,” you whisper.

   Draco glances at your textbook, nudging his arm with your own. “What page are we looking at?”

  “Not my problem you were late, Malfoy.”

  He tugs your textbook closer, leans a little further forward to read the page number, and it’s when he does that that you can feel his breath on your lower arm, can feel the warmth of his skin as he gets so close. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second - you never once believed Malfoy would have warmth. The boy looks too much like a corpse for you to think he has any kind of body heat whatsoever.

   But it’s nice, and he’s very close to you, and you don’t think you like it that much.

   You don’t move away.

    “Half these bleeding chapters don’t even make sense,” Draco mumbles, eyes still scanning the glossy page of your textbook. “I’ve learned nothing since she got the teaching job.”

    You raise a brow. “I could have sworn Umbridge was one of those teachers your head was shoved up.”

    “What made you think that?”

  “Well, she’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she?” you reply, motioning to the woman sat at her desk, too busy humming away to herself to hear you and Malfoy conversing in the back of her classroom. “I just assumed you liked all the bitchy teachers.”

    “You really do have a foul mouth, don’t you?”

   “You’re avoiding the subject.”

   Malfoy purses his lips and glances at you through the corner of his eye; you, on the other hand, shamelessly stare right back at him, tracing your eyes along his sharp side profile. He really is a pretty boy to look at; the sharp jawline and pointed nose. You always thought he was fairly attractive, despite the amount of times you called him a weasel in your lifetime.

     “I think she’s a lousy teacher,” Draco concludes. “Her policies aren’t too bad-”

  You grunt.

    Draco rolls his eyes. “You only don’t like her because she yells at you all the time.”

   “All teachers yell at me all the time - but at least I deserve it in their classes. She just yells at me because I’m friends with Harry.”

    Draco shifts. “Don’t really blame her.”

  You yank your textbook back to your side of the table, fury suddenly building in your chest. “Oh, go to hell, Malfoy.” 

    This is how it always goes with him - things will be going so well, so smoothly. For a short period of time, you convince yourself he’s a good guy and maybe - just maybe - you’ll be able to get on with him. But then he goes and says something like that, so unnecessary and unjustified that it reminds you how much of a rat he really is. 

     Draco is quiet for the remainder of the lesson, one hand tucked against his cheek as he scans the pages of his own textbook - one he miraculously found just a few minutes after you downright refused to share yours. Although the whole class is silent, it feels a bit more tense where you and Malfoy are sat. He shifts every now and then, and the constant glances shared between you are enough to drive you insane.

    Sometimes you just want him to speak to you, which is weird considering you were the one who shut down the conversation in the first place. Arguing with him, throwing insults back and forth is better than sitting here in this anger-infused silence.

    Class finishes with no slip-up’s between you and Umbridge. She tries to claim you were too noisy when standing up, but whatever punishment she was about to fish out to you is washed away by the crowd of students happily making their way out of her classroom.

     “What did Malfoy want?” is the first thing Ron asks when you finally find each other in the crowded hallways. 

    “Nothing,” you reply. “He was just late and needed a seat.”

   Ron scowls, shooting a glance over his shoulder to where Malfoy and his cronies are standing. “He better not have been causing you any trouble.”

    “No trouble at all.”

   “He wasn’t insulting our parents or anything, was he?”

  “I said he was no trouble at all.” You aren’t sure why you’re snapping; you’re mad at Malfoy, for crying out loud. 

    Ron hauls his bag a little further up his back, still scowling even as he turns away from them. “He winds me up. He’s constantly staring at you. Makes me want to punch him right in his ugly little-”

    “Okay, Ron. I get it. You and Malfoy are sworn enemies.”

    Ron glances at you. “You better be on my side or I swear to god-”

   “Of course I am.” But you’re talking so fast, and Ron knows you better than anybody else. His steps falter, letting you know immediately that he’s picked up on the rush of your tone, the heat in your cheeks, the uncertain lilt to your statement.

    You glance at him through the corner of your eye and quickly mumble, “I’m on your side, Ron.”

    Ron pauses. And then, “Wait till I tell Harry about this. He’s gonna crack up.”

   You grab Ron’s arm when he quickens his pace. “What are you talking about? Ron, stop. Stop right now or I swear to-”

   “You fancy Malfoy!”

    You wince, heart dropping. You nearly stumble over your own two feet in your attempts to slap your hand over Ron’s big mouth, his grin widening beneath your hand. “Shut the hell up, Ronald Weasley!”

    He pries your hand away. “How long has this been happening? And why him? Of all bloody people!”

  “I don’t - I don’t fancy Malfoy!” you hiss, trying your hardest to keep your voice down - Fred and George have a habit of appearing out of nowhere, and this is the absolute last thing you want them to overhear.

    Ron raises a brow, still grinning manically. “Your face right now tells me differently.”

   “He’s a rat. I’ve hated him since first year. Just because I can’t be bothered listening to you rant about him every few minutes doesn’t mean I have a bleeding crush on him!”

    “And here I was thinking you didn’t have feelings.”

    You close your eyes, running your hands through your hair. “Oh, please be quiet, Ron. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. If he tries anything-”

  “He won’t.”

  Ron pauses, clearly unconvinced but too smart to continue his teasing. You open your eyes, shoot him a pleading look to which he simply rolls his eyes and continues walking down the corridor towards his next class. You take a moment to recompose yourself before jogging to keep up with him.

   “I’d rather you didn’t tell Harry or Hermoine,” you mutter.

   “Of course not.”

  “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

   Ron shrugs. “I won’t for a while, but if anything happens between you two, they deserve to know.”

   “Deserve?”

    “They both hate him as much as I do. Just because I’m supporting you doesn’t mean they will.”

    You purse your lips; he has a point, whether you want to openly admit it or not. Your feelings for Draco Malfoy have never been crystal clear to you, and even now as you refuse to deny them in front of Ron, they’re still not crystal clear. He’s attractive, and you enjoy talking to him, teasing him, but saying you have genuine feelings for him does nothing but make you anxious.

    But at the end of the day, nothing can happen anyway. Draco Malfoy is one person who is completely out of bounds to you, too different from you to even think about anything beyond a friendship.

     --- 

   That night, you can’t sleep.

   Your head hurts. Attempts to tackle your mountain of homework failed immensely, giving you nothing but a migraine and a sense of frustration that teachers are still insisting on giving you piles upon piles of work to do after class hours.

    So you do as you always do, and break the rules by getting out of bed and parading the hallways.

    You’ve gotten good at hiding from Filch throughout the years; with the help of the Marauders Map, it’s not difficult to keep tabs on where the little man is. With the help of your older brothers, you’ve also been able to pinpoint all the decent hiding places, one for each corridor, so you’re safe for now.

     You walk, clutching the map in one hand and your wand in the other. In the distance, you can hear Peeves singing to himself, but you don’t worry too much about him - he likes you, says you’re more like Fred and George than Ron is, so he’ll let you off with a lot more things.

     The corridors are always a little spooky at night; already spooky enough during the day, the cloak of darkness and the eerie silence that comes during the night makes it even worse, but you’ve found yourself enjoying it. The feeling of the unknown has always intrigued you; you get it from your father, you think. He’s forever looking into random little things, things he knows nothing about it, risking it all just to gain a little extra knowledge on a topic nobody else cares about.

    You saunter through the halls tonight, running your fingertips along the bumpy wallpaper. You sigh when you turn the corner, eyes nearly closed with the migraine pumping through your skull, hands gripping-

    “Lower your wand right now.”

   You nearly scream. If not for the shock that takes over your body in an instant, you would have bellowed out for help. But you’re left frozen, mouth open in shock, knuckles turning white with your suddenly enhanced grip on your wand.

   Standing in front of you is Professor Dolores Umbridge, a pink dressing gown wrapped round her shoulders, a beady glare on her face. All that is left to top the ensemble is a set of curlers upon her head.

    “What are you doing out of bed?”

  It seems like the most obvious question, but you struggle to find a response. All you can do is stare at the short woman with your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She raises a brow, tilts her head and motions to your wand.

    “Do you plan on using that against me, Weasley, or will you put it down before I’m forced to take lethal measures?”

    You quickly stow your wand beneath your bed robes, giving her an uneasy smile. “Sorry, Professor.”

   “No, I don’t think you are.” She shakes her head, tutting as she looks to the ground for a reason you cannot pinpoint. “Again, Weasley, with the misbehaviour. Has my message not gotten through to you a thousand times by now?”

    “I have a migraine,” you reply. “I was going to the infirmary-”

    “You should have a note,” she says quickly, not giving you a chance to properly explain your situation; and yes, your explanation would be sprinkled with little lies, but she wouldn’t need to know that. “I’ve gone so easy on you since the start of term, Y/N, and it seems like you’re taking it for granted now. Being out past curfew is just a step too far.”

     You blink. “Uhhhh…”

    “A week of detentions with me it is,” she says, and your heart drops. “I’ll see you-”

    “There you are! Did you get that thing I asked you to get?”

    You spin around. Approaching is no other than Draco Malfoy, and you silently curse whatever deity is looking over you right now.

    He’s got a grin on his face unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him. Usually adorned with a grimace or a scowl, seeing Draco genuinely smile is like seeing light for the first time. Although unusual, it fits his face perfectly and you very nearly have to grab Umbridge’s fluffy arm to stop your knees from giving out beneath you.

    “Malfoy!” Umbridge gasps. “And what are you-”

  “Oh, you got caught,” says Malfoy, sidling up to your side. “Bloody hell, Y/N - I give you one job.”

  Umbridge blinks. “What are you talking about, Mr Malfoy? Y/N here was parading round the hallways of their own-”

  “I asked her to get me something from the Ravenclaw common room,” Draco says. Your eye twitches, mouth opening, but Draco oh-so-subtly pinches your palm before you can speak up and ruin whatever little deception he’s got going on right now. “You’re not giving Y/N the detention, are you? I asked them to get it for me, and I’ll gladly do the detention with you, Professor.” He beams even brighter. You bite your lip, glancing at Umbridge who seems to be growing more and more shocked as the conversation progresses. 

    “This behaviour is - is - it’s ludicrous!” Umbridge exclaims, stamping her foot on the last word to really drive her point home. “Mr Malfoy, what on earth possessed you to think doing such a thing would be wise? You’re usually such a well-behaved student!”

  You snicker. Again, Draco pinches your palm.

    He looks down in faux shame. “I know, Professor. I deserve a detention.”

    You subtly raise a brow, glancing at Malfoy through the corner of your eye; he’s not even looking at you. He’s got his eyes to the floor, a little frown on his face. He’s being awfully convincing.

    Umbridge sniffs, clearly torn at the idea of giving a Slytherin a detention - not her precious Slytherin. You want to draw back and punch her.

     “Very well, Mr Malfoy,” she says. “I’m afraid that’s a week of detention for you. I’ll see you in my room at ten o clock tomorrow night.”

    Malfoy just nods, the two of you watching as Umbridge turns on her heel and starts marching back up the hallway, too flustered to even bother telling the two of you to head back to your dormitories.

    You whirl on Draco as soon as Umbridge is out of ear shot. He’s already grinning at you, putting his hands up in mock surrender as you slap his arm.

    “A thank you, Draco would do the bloody trick,” he hisses, stumbling back at the force of your abuse.

    “What the hell did you do that for?” you bark. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

    “Again, a simple thank you, Draco would do-”

    You groan, whirling on your heel. A noise escapes the back of Draco’s throat as he leaps forward and grabs your hand, forcing you to turn back and look at him. His blue eyes bore into yours, a stampede of butterflies erupting in your stomach; you try your hardest to ignore those, but it’s difficult. Getting more and more difficult with each passing day.

    “So you’re not even gonna tell me what you’re doing out of bed at this time of night?” he asks, raising a brow. 

    “How did you even know I was awake?”

  “It’s my job as Prefect-”

  “You’re a Prefect?”

   “Shut up! It’s my job as Prefect to make sure nobody is out of bed past hours - technically I should be giving you a detention right now.”

  “Oh, look how that’s turned out.”

    “You owe me one.”

  “I owe you fuck all.” You pry your arm from his grip, but instead of walking away, you fold your arms over your chest. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

     Draco rolls his eyes. “You’ve always been such a stubborn one, haven’t you?”

    “And I’ve also always been able to hold my own.” 

    “I never said you couldn’t.”

  You narrow your eyes. Draco narrows his right back at you; there’s so much going unspoken right now, and it makes you uneasy. There’s a tension that you both clearly feel but neither of you want to address because neither of you are completely sure why it’s there in the first place. 

    Draco breaks first. With a huff of air through his nose, he turns on his heel, though he doesn’t start walking until he says, “Get back to bed, Weasley, or else you will get a detention off me.” Then he’s gone, and you’re too tired and too flustered to call after him, to give back some kind of insult.

    So instead you do as he said, heading back to the girls dormitories. Hermoine is still awake in the common room, hunched over a desk with her homework spread out before her; she looks content, smiling down at a book on Hippogriffs with multiple quills laid beside her. You give her a tiny smile as you walk past,  but her bleary eyes and lack of acknowledgement tells you she isn’t really paying too much attention to the fact you’ve just walked in from the hallways past hours.

    You tuck yourself up into bed and sigh into the air; Draco Malfoy will truly, utterly be the death of you.

     ----

    The next time you see him is at lunch three days later.

   He’d disappeared. You tried to keep yourself calm. You pretended you didn’t even notice his absense, laughing along to jokes at the Gryffindor table, joining Fred and George in even more michief just to get your mind off the fact that Draco wasn’t sitting at the Slytherin table, and he wasn’t insulting you, and he wasn’t making you feel special.

    But three days pass, and you finally corner him.

    He’s got his back turned when you approach, but Ron, Harry and Hermoine went down to visit Hagrid, leaving you on your own; if there’s any time to talk to Draco, it’s now. So you take your chance, moving across the hallway with swift steps before you reach out, tap his shoulder, and-

    He whirls around, eyes wild. His hair is sticking up on end, and as soon as he sees you, he stumbles back into the wall and tries to make a break for it.

    Panic erupts in your system for a reason you can’t pinpoint. Your hands snap out, wrap around his arm and tug him back before he can escape.

   He groans, throwing his head back. “Weasley.”

   “Let’s not do this today,” you hiss under your breath. “Where have you been, Malfoy?”

   “Why do you care?”

  “Because-” You falter; you hadn’t planned a response to that question. You shake your head instead, tightening your grip on his arm. “Just tell me where you were. Have you been going to Umbridge’s detentions?”

    Draco’s arm tenses. You glance down, raise a brow. He tugs his arm back. “Yes, I’ve been going to Umbridge’s detentions. No thanks to you.”

   “I never asked you-”

  “You’ve said.” He turns, grabbing his bag as he does so. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in Professor Snape’s office in regards to-”

    Your eyes drift down. You’re not sure why; maybe the mention of Professor Snape immediately switched your attention span off and the sight of Draco’s hands curling round the strap of his bag was more exciting. But it’s this simple action that helps you see what Draco is clearly trying to hide.

    A small gasp escapes your lips, and he freezes because he knows. He knows you’ve seen them, knows there’s no way to hide it any more. His eyes squeeze closed, his teeth biting together as he whispers, “Please don’t make a fuss.”     Scribed on the back of Draco’s hand are the words I must not break rules. 

   Your mouth runs dry in an instant. Anger claws at your throat. You slowly reach down and grab his wrist, bringing his hand up to your eyes, and he doesn’t even try fighting you off because he knows there’s no point, it’s too late now, you’ve seen the damage.

    “Draco.” Your voice is a whisper, hoarse and clogged with emotion. “Draco, what did she do?”

  He looks to the floor and says nothing. For the first time in the five years you have known Draco Malfoy, he does not have words. No insult, no snide remark, no cocky little statement to make himself feel better in times when the world is ganging up on him - he’s completely silent, mouth open as if the response is hovering on the brink but not quite reaching the surface just yet.

     You flick your eyes up to his face. “Draco, tell me what she did. Please.”

   “It’s my punishment,” he mumbles. “That’s all.”

  My punishment. His. Like he was the one roaming the hallways when he wasn’t supposed to be, like he’s the one who always thinks he can get away with things, like he’s the one who genuinely deserved the punishment. 

    You drop his wrist and spin on your heel. “I’ll kill her.”

    Draco grabs you round the waist and drags you backwards. You grunt, anger flooding your system, released after months of torment from Professor Umbridge. “Let go of me, Draco. Let go!”

     “Stop,” he hisses in your ear. “Look, the damage has been done, alright? There’s nothing either of us can do now-”

    “I’m telling Dumbledore,” you exclaim. “He can’t just let this continue. Malfoy, let go of me!”

    He tugs you even closer to his chest. “You’re acting out.”

    “Oh, I’ll show you what acting out looks like-”

    “Please.”

  It’s that word coming from his mouth that floors you. Your body goes limp. You collapse against his chest, your head dropping, like all the energy you once possessed has been sapped from your bones all because of Draco’s voice whispering that oh-so-fragile word in your ear.

    He gently spins you around to look at him, taking you by surprise when he cups your face and tilts your head back and forth, giving you a little smile that does not reach his eyes but makes your heart clench nonetheless. 

   “Don’t ask me to ignore this,” you mumble. “This is . . . This is just. . . “

    His thumb traces your lower lip; it’s no longer just a casual gesture between friends. Even you - in all your denial - are able to notice this; the way he’s looking at you, the affectionate way he trails his circular nail against your lower lip. There’s no way it’s friendly.

    “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replies softly. “I know what kind of temper you’ve got on you, Weasley. It’s much better if I take Umbridge’s punishment than you, or else god knows what’ll end up happening to that poor woman.”

    “Poor woman.” You reach down, winding your fingers through his. “How many more detentions have you got with her?”

    “One,” he replies, running his thumb along the back of your hand. At the raise of your brow, he rolls his eyes and says, “It’s not too bad, Y/N, honestly. I’m braver than you seem to think I am.”

  “You’re a wimp, Malfoy. You probably go back to your dorm and cry after every single one.”

    He scowls. “I’m always so close to giving you a detention.” He leans forward, lowers his voice. “Detention in the library, Weasley.”

    His tone of voice startles you. It’s reflex when you jump back, taking your hand from his and stuffing it inside the deep pockets of your robe, awkwardly coughing into your shoulder. Draco continues to stare, one eyebrow raised, a tiny hint of a smile playing on his face. It’s that same smile that, once upon a time, would have made you want to draw back and punch him, but now does nothing more than make your stomach erupt into butterflies.

     “I have to go,” you say hastily. “I was meant to call Bill a few minutes ago to let him know about all that family drama - you know the stuff with Percy? What a git. Still very mad at him.” You glance over your shoulder. “Uh, so I’ll see you around, yeah? Nice talking.”

    Draco simply nods. You spin on your heel and dart in the opposite direction, heart hammering at a million miles per hour.

   And you’re not bloody stupid - you can recognise flirting when it’s shoved in your face like that. The hand-holding was innocent at first - at least, you thought it was. Yes, it gave you butterflies to feel his skin pressed against your own, and yes, his eyes make your heart melt every time you look into them, but none of that truly means anything at the end of the day.

    However, his tone of voice when giving you a detention was - quite simply - past the point of dishing out a simple punishment, and those are boundaries breached that have been up between you and Malfoy for as long as you can remember.

    You’re not sure whether you want them breached or not.

    ---- 

     Once again, you can’t sleep that night.

   It’s not a migraine keeping you awake this time. It’s not the stress of homework, the dread of seeing an disliked teacher the next day; tonight, sleep evades you because you can’t stop thinking of Draco Malfoy sitting gloomily in Umbridge’s classroom right this very moment, being tormented with a pain he does not deserve, a pain inflicted upon him because he took the fall for a rule you broke.

     You tell yourself that’s the reason you’re getting out of bed; you want to make things right. You’ll go down to Umbridge’s classroom and you’ll tell her the truth, and then you and Malfoy can pretend none of this ever happened. You can go back to insulting each other. You can go back to disliking each other.

     You pull your dressing gown on, quickly check the Marauders Map and head out, ignoring Hermione’s exhausted grunt of “Goodnight” when you pass her in the common room. You double check for Filch or Umbridge herself before heading straight to her classroom, not caring about the noise, or Peeves souring about you, crying out, “Where’s the fire? Where’s the fire?” 

     You reach Umbridge’s door and wrack your knuckles against it. It only takes seconds for the door to swing open and for Umbridge herself to be stood in front of you, her eyes widening.

    “Weasley,” she says, voice high with surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

    Malfoy’s own voice drifts from behind Umbridge. “Weasley? Please tell me it’s one of the twins, o-or-”

    “You shouldn’t be out of bed at this time, Y/N,” Umbridge exclaims. “I’m holding a detention right now. Whatever you want to inquire about can surely wait until-”

    “You are one evil little toad, aren’t you?”

    You don’t even know where it came from.

     That wasn’t what you planned on saying at all. You’d approached her door tonight with the intention of telling her it was you roaming the hallways of your own accord the other night; Malfoy had nothing to do with that decision and he has no reason to be sat in her grubby little classroom right now.

    But looking down at her, hearing Malfoy’s voice, knowing what she was doing to him behind closed doors - something just erupts, and you can’t hold it back, and suddenly you’re pushing past her into the classroom where Malfoy sits, straight backed and gaping.

     “Y/N-”

  You march towards him. “Let me see your hand.”

   “What do you-” 

   You snatch his hand up and gaze at the fresh cut scored into the back of it. A fresh surge of anger spears itself through your chest, and suddenly you don’t care about expulsion, or Umbridge’s wrath, or prison - you just want her to pay. You want her to feel pain like the kind she is inflicting upon Malfoy right now. You want her to feel shame for what she’s-

    Draco flips his hand around in your own, grabbing your fingers before you can whirl around and jinx the teacher standing dumbfounded behind you. Your eyes snap to his own, breath leaving you in one clean swoop when you see that foggy essence covering his irises; a silent warning for you to not do anything stupid right now.

    “Draco…,” you whisper.

   He just nods. You don’t know what he’s nodding at, what he means by it, don’t even know if he really knows why he’s doing it, but it creates a sense of calm in your system. You bite your lower lip, trembling slightly as you turn back to Umbridge and say, “Draco didn’t make me leave the Gryffindor dorms the other night.”

  His grip tightens on your hand. “Professor, they’re lying. I told them-”

    “I had a migraine,” you reply. “I leave the dorms all the time to go roaming the hallway - Draco just came across me that night and took the blame. Why, I have no idea.” You shoot him a glare. He glares right back. “But it should be me in here getting them words carved into the back of my hand. Not him.”

    Umbridge’s nostrils flare, truly angry right now, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Draco is running his thumb along the inside of your wrist, this small reminder of his presence being enough to keep you from pulling your wand out and pointing it at Umbridge right this second.

    She flicks her eyes between you and Draco, clearly trying to calm her breathing. You’ve never seen her so angry; part of Umbridge’s “charm” is her ability to say the most hurtful, terrible things in a completely sweet and innocent tone. It’s one of the reasons you hate her so deeply.

    “This is. . . This is . . . unbelievable.” She pulls her wand out. Draco freezes. You closely follow her movements. “Never in my thirteen years of teaching have I come across a Prefect who would lie to clearly to my face.”

    “He was lying for me,” you bark, stepping in front of Draco. “I’m the one who deserves the punishment, okay? Keep him out of this.”

    “DON’T talk to me like that, Weasley, do you understand me?” She thrusts her wand towards you, gritting her teeth. “This is unacceptable. You must think you can get away with everything, do you? Well, not whilst I’m here.”

     She marches past you, snatches the pen from Draco’s hand and flicks her wand; she says nothing, but you can clearly see something shift within the pen. It sparkles a little differently, and when she presses it against the page and starts writing, it’s not her own hand that feels the effects of the spell - it’s yours.

    A sharp pain suddenly sinks into the back of your hand. You gasp, more from surprise than the pain, but the pain sinks in shortly after. Draco stands up immediately, head flicking back and forth as he tries to figure out what’s happening.

     And then he growls, pulls his wand out and yells, “Expellirmus!”

    “Draco, no!”

    Umbridge’s hand snaps backwards so fast you’re almost certain her shoulder has dislocated. She cries out, stumbling back as the pen goes flying through the air, crashes into the wall behind her and splits right down the middle. Ink dribbles down the wall, burning a trail in the paint.

     Draco pants. “Touch Weasley again, Professor, and I’ll have my father in here quicker than you can blink.”

    Umbridge stares. No words. No retort. No decree to pass. She simply stares, and as if the mention of Lucius Malfoy has paralysed her, she does not make a single move. You stand behind Draco, watching the unusual scene unfold until Draco finally snaps, stows his wand back beneath his cloak and grabs your hand instead. He drags you from the classroom, still breathing heavily, cheeks still flushed with adrenaline.

    As soon as you’re both far enough away from Umbridge’s classroom, he pushes you into a side alley and lifts your hand to his face. “Does it hurt?”     “What just happened?”

   “Y/N, does it hurt?”

  “It’s okay.” You glance down at the words carved there: Blood traitor. “She could have been a bit more original.”

    Draco groans, and before you can register what he’s going to do, he’s leaned forward and is pressing his lips to yours. 

    You’re confused and your hand hurts and you still have no idea what you have just witnessed, but there’s something in the way Draco’s mouth fits perfectly against your own that stops you caring for a second. You melt into him, wanting to cry and scream at the same time as the exhaustion and the nights events overtake you, but Draco’s arms around you keep you from completely buckling.

     He pulls away and presses his forehead against your own. “You are the stupidest git I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with, Y/N Weasley.”

    You close your eyes. “Go to hell, Malfoy.” And then you kiss him again, because you can.

   ----

    “I am in love with Y/N.”

    Ron blinks. You keep a close eye on him, one hand placed in Draco’s, the other gripping your wand in case you have to zap Ron backwards last minute.

    Despite Draco’s previous insistance that he doesn’t care what Ron thinks, his palm is sweaty and his cheeks are bright red. He stands straight backed, as if he’s addressing some member of the Ministry, and he’s talking with a formal little lilt that makes you want to laugh.

    Ron’s eyes flick between you and Draco, waiting for a punchline he will not be receiving.

    Carefully, you say, “And I am in love with Draco.”

   Ron’s shoulders slump forward. “So that’s it then? I owe Ginny a fiver?”   It takes a minute for his words to settle. When they do, you reel back like you’ve been slapped. “What?”

   “You two couldn’t have held it off for a little bit longer, could you? At least till after Christmas, for Christs sake.” He shakes his head, stands up and fishes five galleons from his back pocket. “That’s my lunch completely ruined. I’ve only got enough for three chocolate frogs out of the vending machine, and they won’t keep me full through Divination, will they?”

   Draco tilts his head. “Is this serious?”

    Ron points a finger in Draco’s direction. “Whilst we’re on the topic, yeah, you don’t mess about with Y/N, alright? I don’t want to have to comfort another one of my family members; Mum’s enough as it is.”

    “So you’re alright with it?” you say, stepping a little closer to Malfoy; despite having claimed that nothing between you and Draco will change if Ron has a sour attitude, you still stood a little bit away from him just to give Ron the chance to ease into the news. 

     Ron shrugs. “Obviously I’d prefer someone else for you, but I’ve seen how happy this git makes you.” He points in Draco’s direction. “I don’t get it, personally, but that’s none of my business.”

     “You’re right there,” you say, before softening your voice and giving Ron a smile. “Thanks, Ron. I appreciate it.”

    Ron scoffs. “If you really appreciated it, you’d buy me lunch.”

   “No. Get some sweets off Fred and George.”

  Ron looks at you like you have two heads. “And risk suffocating? I don’t think so. I’ll starve, thank you very much.”

#harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfic #draco fanfiction #draco fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #harry potter x reader

[7wanderingpaws]

Captain Bucheon 01

(gif is not mine)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader (Lee Nari)

Genre: policeman AU; enemies to lovers AU 

Warnings:  langauge

A/N: First chapter! Yay! Super excited! Also, the feedback I got for the prologue - THANK YOU SO MUCH. Im super excited and happy and grateful. Hope you will enjoy this one! ^^

story masterlist masterlist

: prologue

>>>First<<<

Loud screeching was what woke you up. Thundering of footsteps down the corridor made you groan and turn in bed because for god's sake, it was Saturday morning and they just had to be loud at 10am!

Your roommate, lying in the bed just four feet next to yours, stirred awake too, though considering her eyes were fully open, she must have been up for a while now. “I’m glad it’s them waking you up and not me.”

You sighed and managed to smile but you were tired. Life in dormitories sucked, but yours even more so since you were assigned probably the worst dorms in the campus. Having to share bathroom and shower rooms made you leave your comfort zone. But finding toilets in the terrible state you did just purely horrified you. Why weren’t some girls flushing the toilets?!

“You know very well I won’t kill you if you wake me up, Yuyeon-ah,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse. Having Yuyeon as your roommate was the only positive aspect of the dorm life. Some would argue it’s the most important one but you were selfish and you wished you had a private bathroom like the other, more advanced, dorms had. There wasn’t even a kitchen where you could cook your ramyeon deliciously!

“Doubtful,” muttered Yuyeon, amused, and she moved to sit up and start her morning routine while you decided to lie around for just a little bit longer.

Working tirelessly many evenings made you tired and the exhaustion always caught up with you during weekends, where, frankly, you didn't have work. Also, it being the beginning of your second semester, the tension and stress were on but you decided you wouldn't let it affect you too much. You have had enough stress in your entire life and you swore you would become your usual cheerful self.

And you had been, indeed, working on it. But that meant getting over, and hopefully, forgetting everything that happened almost one year ago. Your brother was still in prison and your family, terribly disappointed and in pure shock at what had become of your brother (plus your underage drinking fiasco), you all decided it would be better for you to move to the dorms for the time being. Another story was forgetting about the person who was behind the entire turn-over of your life.

Byun Baekhyun.

You never saw him after that one time he came to your high school. In that moment, you were numb, paralyzed and it hurt to see him. He dared to act like he cared. But over the time, you grew hate towards him. A hate that was weirdly combined with some emotions you really didn't want to pay too much attention to, because they were all based on a fake relationship. A relationship, that was something so beautiful, just for it to end up becoming a complete nightmare. A trauma. A terrible trust issue that you might never be able to get rid of.

It was safe to say that you, Lee Nari, would rather spit at Byun Baekhyun than ever start a conversation with him let alone acknowledge his presence were you to meet him. Not that you were expecting to meet him. After all, you had been incredibly careful - especially around Oh Sehun - in avoiding him by never-ever-ever-ever even coming as much as close to the street where the main Bucheon Police Station was located (but too bad for you; it was literally in downtown Bucheon) and even if you had to cross it, you whined and had to be dragged by your wrist (by Yuyeon). On the good side, there was never a chance for you to cross his apartment building as he lived in a different neighborhood. So that was, thankfully, out of the possible trouble inducing locations’s list.

But still, you couldn't help feeling anxious about spotting him somewhere. The first few months, you might have been looking around with too much hope, wanting to see his real self instead of the ogling at the few photos you had together stored in your phone. Just one glance of his eyes, nose, lips was what you wanted; it was maddening.

Then the flashes of that day came back, ruining every sweet memory, every sweet touch of his engraved into your skin, every stroke of his lips - it all vanished, instead morphing into his stern, burning gaze of which you were on the receiving side. The way he blamed you, the way he wanted to arrest you, and then the way he wouldn't let even your own mother hit you yet he gave you the harshest of punches… The moment of you overhearing his conversation with his tall colleague (you already forgot his name) until your entire world crashed on you. He lied. He never liked you. He never wanted a real relationship with you. He used you to get to you. Byun Baekhyun wanted to arrest you and then he arrested your brother and smashed your heart into tiny pieces. How could you ever recover?

“What, you're not getting up?” shrieked Yuyeon when she came back from the bathrooms, towel hanging around her neck. “The results of the votes are today so you better get up and prepare. You're the school's star, missy,” she grumbled and went over to her table, continuing her complex skin-care routine.

Right.

The way to get over Byun Baekhyun was to live and you could do that thanks to your friends.

Pfft, you had places to be. Forget about Byun Baekhyun.

><

Because of your communications major, you somehow ended up in the university’s student council. You were representing your school year but it was still unclear how the hell you managed to win over more than half of your classmates when all you ever did was hide or be with Yuyeon.

You entered Bucheon University with pretty damaged self-esteem, your cheerful self still recovering from the scandal. However, despite always doing something mischievous with Yuyeon neither of you had a huge circle of friends. It was only natural that the two of you did everything together. Even now, it was mostly you and her, plus Sehun and some other friends.  Unfortunately to you, many males voted because of the nature of your chest. The quiet girl with huuuge boobs, they were saying with hushed voices.

“Don’t pay attention to them, it’s you winning at the end of the day,” advised Yuyeon at the time.

So when the both of you waltzed into the seminar room with a round table in the middle and took seats (Yuyeon was there for your moral support), you could only glare at one senior who was sitting opposite you, his eyebrows wiggling as he  shamelessly drunk in your chest which was, as per usual, hidden under an L-sized hoodie. It seemed you could never escape.

When the president of the student council, Chul, appeared you all stood up and bowed to him respectfully even though he was a student just like you. He was the oldest though.

To your surprise, he walked straight over to your chair, throwing a charming smile at Yuyeon, who let out a quiet scoff in return, before leaning down to whisper in your ear, not forgetting to touch your shoulder gently: “May I have a chat with you? It’s rather private.”

When he leaned away, you blinked twice but nodded and followed him outside for a moment. You could hear whispers erupting after you left though you paid no attention to them.

“What is it, Chul?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Chul was one of the very few who never got distracted by it and you were thankful. He helped you a lot in your first semester, like finding you a job and teaching you how to drive a scooter so that you could easily do the deliveries while introducing you to some other interesting people on the campus.

“So about the spring festival - I have two things,” he started, his gaze set on your eyes, always making sure he reciprocated the eye contact. “First, you are taking part in the relay running for our team with representatives. Second, you have been requested as the MC-“

Before he could finish, you sighed holding out your hand to stop him, feeling the nerves kick in, not even paying attention to the first news. “Those votes aren’t even valid. They are all mocking me, Chul. Besides, I don’t wanna do it.”

Chul let you finish, patiently nodding. “Well, hence me stealing you from the meeting.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been requested,” he repeated, emphasizing the last word, “by our main star.”

“I thought we haven’t heard back from the agencies yet?” you asked. You’d written countless emails to various agencies, asking for special famous idols of theirs. To your utter distaste, it also included Siamsa but you couldn’t tell anyone you knew what an annoying, fake bitch she was.

He shrugged. “Well, we heard back from a couple. Siamsa agreed to be the main star of the festival under one condition,” he murmured, lowering his voice. He pointed his index finger at you. “If you’ll do the MCing for her.”

That left you speechless. That delusional woman wanted what now?! “I don’t want to, Chul,” you shook your head, frowning.

It made you wonder why you were getting nervous in the first place. Was it because of her status and having to stand in front of your entire school or was it because of the connection you both shared and that was Byun Baekhyun? Just the idea of having to face her and having to be reminded that she dated your ex made you weirdly sick in your stomach.

He sighed, scratching his neck. “I’m sorry, Nari, but I’m afraid I’m gonna want you to accept it. She is the hottest idol out there and everyone wants her the most. Imagine the attention our university - and especially us, the school council, could bring in. Don’t let us down,” he added gently, though you could sense authority in his voice. Chul was always fair, you had to admit. He never asked you to do anything that made you uncomfortable, never asked you the reason for your reluctance in the past but now he insisted and it showed in his intense gaze.

“I’ll help you with the preparations,” he added, smiling encouragingly. “You’re much more outspoken and talented than you give yourself credit for, so I’m sure you’ll be a star just like Siamsa.”

Well, he really didn’t have to say that last sentence. If there was someone you wanted to be like, it was your good old self. Of course you had more talent, after all you were the big-mouthed one.

Chul patiently waited, seeing that you were mulling over the options. When you looked up at him, you slowly nodded while hating yourself. “Fine. I’ll do it. But-” you stopped him from smiling widely, “what happened with the original voting? Who won?”

“Obviously, you.”

You shook your head quickly. “But I mean who is the actual winner?”

“Not important,” he muttered, brushing past you. “Let's head back inside. Not everyone has the time to sit around waiting on a Saturday.”

><

Once the meeting was over, you couldn't wait to spill the news to Yuyeon but needed to wait until lunch time, when you would meet Oh Sehun. You had sent him a text earlier asking if he was still grabbing lunch with you and Yuyeon (secretly you were writing these messages for obvious reasons - you couldn't risk he would be with Baekhyun). Since he had agreed, you and Yuyeon were speed-walking to the cafeteria, both of you hungry.

Once sat down and joined by the tall friend, you looked around varily just to make sure he really came alone. 

Sehun sighed, tired with your dramatics. “I'm alone, Nari,” he rolled his eyes as he was mixing his tuna bibimbap. “And now spill. The both of you have been acting like rabbits on energy drinks.”

Shooting him a frown, you still rambled away for ten minutes, telling them what had happened. Yuyeon knew about Siamsa and your past experience with her and Sehun also knew the vital triangle connection of Siamsa, Baekhyun and you. He still seemed shocked and even uncomfortable when he heard your entire story.

“What made her request you?” he asked after he swallowed a big chunk of food. “I mean - does she even know your name? Your university?”

“And you literally met her a year ago,” added fervently Yuyeon, deep frown wrinkling her forehead.

Just like your friends, you also had many questions but no answers. Mulling over various possibilities, Sehun finally spoke up: “Should I ask Baek-”

“No.” Your answer was abrupt, but cold, empty and harsh to which Sehun winced the slightest bit. Even hearing his name made your heart race fast and hence the sudden cold behavior. Sehun knew you as a cheerful, kind girl so seeing you being affected by his friend to this extent made him quite perplexed but nothing he wasn’t used to by now. It was his fault; he should have known better than to bring him up.

Yuyeon shot you an unsure look but this time, you ignored it, focusing on shoving around the rice in the steel bowl with the spoon.

“You should have declined,” tried Yuyeon.

“I did decline,” you answered eagerly. “I feel like that bitch might have something up her sleeve. If she does, I should be ready.”

Sehun was flicking his gaze between you and Yuyeon, thinking over your words. Surely, things you didn't know about could hardly hurt you, right?

After lunch, Sehun bid his goodbyes to you.

“Where are you off to?” you pouted, looking up at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Saturday, let’s do something fun!”

“I’m going to the running tracks today with my friend,” answered Sehun and ruffled your hair in amusement to which you pulled back and away from his sneaky hand. “Maybe later, hm? I bet you’re gonna do something with the student council anyway.”

“You and your running, aish!” grumbled Yuyeon. “Go, go, we don’t need you anyway.”

“Don’t get into trouble!” Shouted Sehun as he turned to walk towards the gymnasium and the track field. He waved one more time before he had his broad back on you.

You scoffed and grabbed Yuyeon’s hand, yanking her towards the dorms. “Well, making trouble has been more challenging since we are old enough to do trouble,” you exclaimed, jumping a few times to make Yuyeon walk faster. She whined and tried to pull away but your grip tightened and you snickered. “But that doesn’t mean we still can’t go and have fun tonight!”

><

“Let’s do one more round.”

“Hyung,” groaned Sehun tiredly, feeling the sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “Enough.”

“One more.” Byun Baekhyun shook his head once before he took off for another round. “Losers will keep losing!” he shouted with a cheeky, handsome smile, running backwards for a bit to check on Sehun and when he saw the tall male run after him in challenge, he snickered and turned back, dashing off into a sprint.

It’d been like this for almost a year. Baekhyun was always a gym buddy with Sehun but in the past eleven months, Sehun became a small, indirect punching back. Whether it was because he suddenly became a mutual friend with a certain someone or whether it was a punishment for being there that night with her, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

One thing he surely did know was that running helped him ease his mind and relax, maybe make him feel a little bit more numb like he so wished to be.

Getting rid of any intruding thoughts of Lee Nari was difficult. He felt sorry for her, the victim of his job. Fooling around with a young girl was not his plan but he knew he did it for the better good. He tried to persuade himself that he did it for the better good while pushing back the need to search for her and make sure she was doing alright. 

As he was nearing the finish line, Sehun caught up with him and they both jogged towards their bags nearby the tracks to freshen up. Sehun was heaving like a parched horse which made Baekhyun chuckle as he reached for two bottles, throwing one to his friend.

“Cheers,” exhaled Sehun harshly and quickly opened the bottle, gulping down the needed liquid.

Baekhyun hummed in reply and waited for his heartbeat to calm down before he would have a sip. “How’s everything?” he decided to ask. “The new semester just started.”

Sehun swallowed and closed the bottle. “It’s just the first week. You know the drill - introductions and boring stuff.”

“Nothing interesting happened then?” Baekhyun was very subtle in hints. Sehun was, thankfully, quick-witted.

“We will have the university festival in May,” he replied with the slightest of smirks on his face. “Siamsa is confirmed to perform.”

Baekhyun wasn’t looking at Sehun and even the information he just heard wasn’t worthy enough to make him pay attention. “Cool. She is an artist after all.” He noticed some girls approaching the track and he felt a small tinge of dissatisfaction. He really liked when the track was only his.

“One of my friends will be the MC. Actually, guess what! Siamsa made a special request. Funny, right? In what universe does a singer of her caliber ask for a mere first year student?”

Baekhyun snapped his head to Sehun. “Why?”

Sehun shrugged. “We don’t know why she wanted her out of everyone... though-“ Sehun pulled a thinking face. “It might have something to do with you.”

Baekhyun sighed, already feeling tired. “I don’t like that one bit. Siamsa is sneaky.”

Sehun nodded. “She didn’t want to do it but her senior kind of ordered her. So I guess she doesn’t have another choice.”

“What kind of senior is that if he makes her do stuff against her will?” huffed Baekhyun, his hands on his hips. “Isn’t he supposed to be there to support her?”

“Well, yeah. He did a lot for her so she feels like she has to do it.” Sehun decided to not share any more than that despite sensing Baekhyun’s questioning stare. He knew Baekhyun wanted to know what that “a lot” meant.

When Baekhyun knew he wouldn’t be getting more out of Sehun, he sighed and tapped his shoulder. “Thanks for telling me.” He moved to grab his bag from the floor when Sehun stopped him.

“Hyung.”

Baekhyun raised his eyebrows in question, waiting.

Sehun opened his mouth but then ended up closing it. Baekhyun was a tough nut to crack. It was obvious he was always interested in Nari’s well-being but him pretending not to do so was frustrating.

“I think-“ he re-started, remembering Nari’s emotionless face when he mentioned Baekhyun earlier that day. He opened his mouth to talk but Baekhyun was faster:

“I think it is better to leave everything up to her, Sehun. She is a smart young woman. If anyone can do well, it is Lee Nari. After all, she is finally able to do everything she was pretending to be doing.”

Sehun snorted a laugh, mockingly rolling his eyes. “And since when did you become so-ugh, respectful about that? Nari is stubborn and doesn't know anything about life.”

“It is none of my concern, Sehun,” replied quietly Baekhyun, looking somewhere off in the distance. “But I know she is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“She might hate you and she might not be over what happened between you two-”

“I locked up her brother,” gritted Baekhyun, “and before that, I wanted to lock her up. What makes you think there is any way for both of us to function normally even if we do meet?”

Sehun sighed. It was difficult to communicate with the both of them. Yes, they were both hurt but goddamn it. Anyone could know they cared for each other.

Baekhyun sensed Sehun's dilemma and so he stepped to the taller male and gave him a curt smile. “Don't push it, Sehun. She will be fine.”

><

Sweat was gradually collecting around your hairline until it turned into one huge tear drop travelling down the side of your face. The text message was as clear as the night sky.

Unknown number

drop it at the 1047 unit

top floor

“It's impossible,” you muttered, feeling yourself becoming nervous. You were standing in front of 1047 and it was definitely not the top floor. It was the first floor, just like the first  number indicated. 

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you raked your head about possible connections you could contact when you couldn't deliver the boxes as you were supposed to. There was never a responsible person, only an unknown number sending you messages with the quest and a requirement to always be careful (you supposed the carefulness was concerning the boxes). You would receive a confirmation message when the box was in safe hands. That was it. No unnecessary contracts; just you and the job at hand.

You tried calling Chul, you senior. After all, he was the one who fetched you the job but even he wasn't available at that moment.

When you were just about to lose your mind, your phone rang making you almost drop the box. Thank god for your reflexes. “H-hello? Chul?”

“Hey, what's up?” he chirped.

You told him quickly your problem but you weren't expecting his light voice to become more serious. “You can't find the place? Are you sure you are in the right building- shit, the time is almost up. I'll be there right now:”

Heaving out a breath, you checked your wrist watch. The box was supposed to be delivered within fifteen minutes. How would Chul make it in time for you, you weren't sure but you soon found out when you heard his rushing steps, his phone's screen lit up with the exact information you were provided with.

“Hey,” he breathed, taking in your worried gaze as you gave him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the fuss.”

He shook his head once, muttering a single “no need” before he took the box out of your arms and put it down in front of the door. Grabbing your hand he started pulling you downstairs. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Huh?” you looked back at the box helplessly, before you couldn't look anymore, instead watching out for your step on the stairs. “Wait - Chul, I need to fulfill the task.”

He shushed you and before you knew it, you were outside in the chilly air. Dragging you a few more metres, he heard an approaching car's engine and he was fast to push you into a small alley that was barely lit by any street lamps.

“Chul-” you started, frowning. You didn't like him manhandling you like that.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered as he made you press your back against the wall.

“Yeah,” you breathed, eager to hear any information he could provide you with to explain what the hell was going on.

To your utter horror, a police car drove by, but you weren't terrified about why the police car was there. You were terrified about a certain someone sitting in that car and you possibly having to face that certain someone. Just the thought of having to see his shocked or disappointed face yet again made you inwardly whimper.

When the car was far enough, Chul turned to you. “You are doing a great job, you really are. But you mustn't, by any means, get caught by the police while doing deliveries. Got it?”

Feeling your heart thumping loudly from the adrenaline, you nodded. “What about the box then?”

Chul cursed when he looked at his phone. “Three minutes left. Go in and check the box. If it's still there, take it to the top floor as per request. Sometimes they give misleading information to you in case your phone gets stolen. Next time, make sure to double-check all the information they give you, okay?”

You were nodding eagerly and already started walking back to the small apartment building.

“I have to go but write to me if the mission is successful. Now go, quickly,” he said and without waiting, took off into the opposite direction.

Due to the stress, you didn't even stop to think about the weirdness of the situation. Rushing back in, you went to the first floor where you left the box. You were rendered motionless when the box was no longer there.

Someone took it.

Feeling fear creeping into your system, you took out your phone to call Chul just when you received a confirmation message.

Unknown number

the box has been successfully delivered

#exowritersnet #baekhyun #policeman au #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun angst #baekhyun fic #baekhyun scenario #kpop au #kpop fanfiction #exo fanfiction #superm fanfiction #CB #mywritings

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 17 - Big Brother

Title: Irreverent Pt. 17 - Big Brother Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: T (Teen) Words: 2050

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Things had gone back to normal - or as normal as they ever got when you caught serial killers for a living. Cases at work had picked up with Hotch back in the driver's seat, and you were all starting to heal.

The team had successfully wrapped up a case in Kansas City involving missing children, so needless to say spirits were high. You drove back to the airport with Hotch, Spencer, and Garcia, with the others in another car behind you. Garcia had tagged along since the Unsub had been known to hack into home alarm systems and it would be good to have her on the ground with the rest of the team.

"What does everyone have going on for the weekend?" Penelope had obviously bored of listening to Spencer's lecture on quantum physics he'd been telling her about for the past 20 minutes. You and Hotch had conveniently tuned out, choosing instead to argue over your taste in music. You had been doing your best to introduce him to new artists instead of listening to The Beatles for the millionth time, and currently you were making a good case for Hozier.

"Jack's away at the lake with his cousins, so I have a free weekend for once," Hotch revealed. You were happy for him to be getting a break - he'd been working himself ragged trying to be Super Agent and Super Dad - a break was definitely a good call.

Before you could answer Penelope, your phone rang, distracting you and leaving Spencer to tell Penelope about his upcoming weekend of hustling with Emily in Atlantic City. The two of them made a dynamite duo in scheming drunk guys out of their money and had turned it into an annual tradition.

You quickly pulled your phone out of your pocket and saw - for possibly the fiftieth time that week - the name Dominic flash on your caller ID. Your brother had been pestering you for a few weeks now, trying to get in touch. No doubt he was doing your father's bidding. Being rid of him entirely had been too much to ask for.

You quickly dismissed the call, catching Hotch's glance in your direction. You shook your head at him, mouthing, "Later." He nodded in understanding, before tuning in to the conversation in the back once again.

"What about you, sugar?" Penelope asked, looking at you eagerly, awaiting your answer.

You thought for a second - what did you have planned for the weekend? With Jack away and Emily and Spencer off to Sin City, you didn't really have much to do. I should really get friends besides people I work with and their children. "Nothing planned," you said, turning in your seat to look at Penelope.

"Oh come on, Y/N! You're young! Vibrant! You should have plans. Men courting you." Penelope had been the most disappointed when you'd ended things with Cedric during the peak of the Foyet case. You had had more important things to worry about and between both of your busy schedules, actually seeing one another was becoming impossible. That was when you'd started to understand how hard it must have been for Hotch with Haley. He loved the job and he loved her, but she'd asked for him to leave it and in the end he hadn't been able to. While you sympathized with Haley, you got why Hotch had chosen the job. It would have killed him not to.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes good naturedly. "When would I meet men, Pen? The only men I meet are serial killers."

"Actually, statistically speaking, you run into at least fourteen eligible mates every time you step outside," Spencer rattled off in his all knowing voice. "Plus, you're a female of above average attractiveness, so it is actually closer to twenty for you."

"And yet, somehow, I'm single," you retorted. "I must be chasing them away with my attitude." You heard Hotch chuckle from next to you. He should laugh more. It makes him look younger.

*------------*

Penelope had talked everyone into going out once again, using the excuse that Hotch was free and didn't have Jack. You could tell he wasn't thrilled about being used as the excuse - he was so bad about enjoying bar type settings. However, he'd agreed under the agreement that everyone turned in their report to him before they left for their weekend activities. Spencer, Penelope, JJ, and Rossi had gone ahead, having quickly rushed through their reports. Hotch wouldn't leave until everyone had turned theirs in, and you didn't want him to be waiting alone, so you were sitting in his office keeping him company while waiting for Emily and Derek to wrap up as well.

When you'd brought your report up and then turned and sat on his couch instead of leaving, Hotch had quirked an eyebrow at you in question. "Can I help you?"

"Nope!" you said flouncing down on his couch. "I'm just waiting up here to make sure you can't just bail."

He rolled his eyes at you, but then fixed you with a contemplative look.

"What?"

"It's later now."

You looked at him, confused. "Yes…"

"The phone calls. You got them all week. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Right." Nothing ever really got past Hotch. "Dominic has been calling me, incessantly," you admitted.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah. I think my father put him up to it, and as he and I are no longer on speaking terms, I don't want to open any doors to communication."

"You know," he said quietly, as he walked up from his desk to come sit on the couch by you. "You don't ever talk about your mother."

"Well," you began slowly, focusing on a spot on the opposite wall as you spoke, "she wasn't really much of a mother, I suppose. My parents were that couple that should've separated a long time ago. Pretty sure I was the save-the-marriage-baby." You expected to see some pity on his face, but he simply sat and nodded, so you continued. "But, when it didn't work my mom sort of went away, always in her own world. Say what you will about my dad, but at least he was around, as much as he could be. She could've been there all the time - she just chose not to be."

Hotch had a way of making you want to talk to him. You'd tell him something awful, and sometimes he'd try to help. More often he'd just listen.

This time, he chose to speak, in his deep comforting voice. "You know, you should be proud. It's kind of amazing that you came out the way you did, given everything."  

You felt a warm glow surround you as you looked up at him, sincerity radiating off of him. "Thanks, I think," you laughed.

Derek's voice cut through the moment, "Hey, let's go you two! I've got mine and Prentiss's report here," he said, striding in and placing two files on Hotch's desk.

You saw Hotch get up, undoubtedly to check their work, but you were done waiting. "Nope, that's for Monday. Come on!" And against his protests, you grabbed his jacket and led him out the door.

The four of you drove over to the bar and found a spot a couple of blocks down. As you started walking towards the bar together, you heard a voice calling you from behind, causing you to tense up immediately.

"Y/N! Y/N, wait!"

You turned to see a large dark figure moving towards the four of you, and as it got closer you recognized your brother's face. Hotch and Derek were both instantly on alert as well, ready to come between you and the man hurrying towards you.

He looked much the same as he had the last time you saw him. He stood as tall and broad as Derek, looking even more intimidatingly large in his dark suit. "Dominic! What're you doing? Following me?" You were pissed.

"I need to speak with you," your brother said, moving as if to usher you away from the others.

You took a step backwards to avoid him and instead bumped into Hotch. "Anything you want to say to me, you can say it in front of them. But remember, they're federal agents, so I'd watch my words if I were you."

He glowered at you for a moment, before accepting that he wouldn't be able to catch you by yourself. "Father has a message for you," he announced.

"Oh yeah? Still playing dad's lapdog, are you?"

"You need to go man," Derek came to stand by your side, intimidatingly.

"You're being ridiculous!" Dominic seethed ignoring him, "You're disgracing yourself and everything we've been taught."

"What's the message?" You tried to remain calm, knowing it would rile him up more to see you unaffected by his old bullying tactics. Maybe then he'd just leave.

"Come home. The family needs you." He repeated what were obviously words fed to him by your father.  

"Tell father to leave me alone, Dom. I won't be his pawn anymore." You tried to do an about face and move the others along with you, grabbing Derek's arm with you.

"You're Emily Prentiss, aren't you?" You'd thought he was done, but his words towards Emily gave you all pause. "I've got a message for you as well…Valhalla says hello."

As you watched Emily's face lose all color, your brother turned around and vanished back into the shadows from where he'd come.

The mood sufficiently ruined, you all ended up back at the office so that Emily could fill you in on whatever or whoever Valhalla was.

As Emily explained her undercover role playing the IRA terrorist's girlfriend - Ian Doyle, codename Valhalla - you started to realize that you never truly know a person. Not that it changed how you looked at Emily per se, but that there are parts to people and their histories that you might never know, despite feeling as close as sisters to them.

"So, if Dominic L/N has a message from Valhalla, then that means that L/N Sr. knows Valhalla too, right?"

"Yes, most likely. I'm going to have my contacts at Interpol look into this," Emily said, in response to Derek's question.

Hotch had been pretty quiet, so the three of you turned to him to see what he was thinking. Noticing all eyes on himself, he looked at the three of you and then more specifically at just you, before sighing and pushing up from the table. Hotch spoke, carefully choosing his words, not quite meeting your eyes. "For some time now I've suspected that the CIA has a case open on Mr. L/N, and I think this pretty much confirms those suspicions."

"Wait, what? Why would you think that?" you asked, unsure of why this was the first time you were hearing about this.

Hotch sighed again, unsure of how to tell you. Slowly, he explained, "To be honest Y/N, I've suspected it since you told us about your dad. Your rejection from the CIA  never sat right with me. After your dad was here the last time and the case with Dawson, it made sense that your rejection was tied to some conflict of interest they would have with you being part of the agency and not anything to do with you personally."

You swallowed, trying to process what Hotch had said. If you were honest with yourself, a small part of you knew he was right. It had never sat right with you either, but at the time you hadn't been feeling confident and had assumed your year of partying had somehow been to blame.

"You really believe that, don't you?" You looked up at him as he stood with one hand tucked into his pocket and a furrowed brow.

"Yes, I do."

"Well then, I think a visit to the CIA is also part of knowledge gathering before we can more forward and assess the full threat." Emily's past as a rogue was definitely showing here as she drew herself into commanding position. The rest of you agreed to defer to her experience, deciding that she would get in touch with Interpol and visit the CIA alongside Hotch.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotch x you #hotchner x you #irreverentseries #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotchner imagine #hotch x y/n

[bangtanlalaland]

falcon | jjk 01 (m.)

synopsis ⇣ Jungkook Jeon, known as “Falcon,” unites with his best friend to rebel against the twisted, dominant system of the city, Python, until everything changes when he crosses paths with one of many enemies.

— dystopia au; enemies to lovers au

⇢pairing: free runner!jeon jungkook x detective!female reader    ⇢featuring: free runner!park jimin, free runner!kim namjoon, free runner!min yoongi & police captain!jung hoseok

⇢genre: angst, fluff, smut

⇢word count: 12.2k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: (this fic is totally inspired by mirror’s edge), there’s isn’t any smut in this chapter (but there will be in future chapters), slow burn, some fluff in there, so much dialogue (it’s literally a MOVIE), some violence, some blood, some death, swearing lots of action (oops), fighting, free-running, lots & lots of drama (srsly get your popcorn ready), mentions of premonitions, major plot twists, infidelity (sorta?), mentions of sex, some sope action (yes i said it), namgi is also a thing (oop), basically jungkook is a rebel & proud, jimin is very clever (like woah), namjoon is a leader & sweetheart (as always), yoongi is a bad guy (¿woahhh did we expect that?) hoseok is a fuckboi (i’m sorry ugh :(((), also viper in this story is actually taehyung (oop), police stuff (duh), lots of bi stuff going on here, (much love for the lgbtq community)

artwork poster by: @hellenys​​

song rec: “falcon” by jaden smith

a/n: woah! so this is yet another wip that I’ve had for so long. I’ve made the decision to make this a series! (or maybe a two-shot) still not 100% sure yet, but I am honestly beyond relieved to finally release this. also a huge thank you to @hellenys​ for the artwork! I was actually inspired to start writing falcon after seeing her work. (specifically the photo above^) so you guys go check her out, her artwork is amazing!

Smack.

The sound of your boss dropping a chunky stack full of vanilla colored folders onto your desk, in your cubicle, startles your attention from sipping your now third afternoon dose of coffee. You swear he has been on your ass ever since you stepped foot into the clouded atmosphere of the police department. You were convinced you’re in Hell. Literally.

He eagerly spills, “These missing persons reports aren’t going to solve themselves. I can’t even step out for a $5 burger at that fast food shit place down the street without the press breathing down my neck about the citizens’ missing loved ones.”

You sigh for what has been the one thousandth time today so far. Going on one thousand-one. This city has been getting worse as the days go by, missing persons reports dating as far as 10 years back, maybe more if you really dig deep in there. Runners scatter the rooftops of the city, yet you and your entire team were left with zero leads. And your boss was right; the press was constantly nagging like a toddler at the age of two. Yet you and your tiny team were responsible for getting hands dirty and finding answers. And here he goes yet again…

“Contact the victims families. See if there’s any new information they could give us. Just in case. Over time, victims may remember details they happened to leave out- ” The phone for the department rings on your desk, and you hold your index finger up as if to politely ask your boss to shut his damn mouth so you can answer the phone.

“Python Police Department.” Your face grows concerned, mouthing to your boss: “Missing Person.” He throws his hands up and shakes his head in response, waiting for your departure from the phone. The elderly woman seemed borderline upset, but mostly depressed. As if all the life that was once in her was drained completely. After reassuring you will find answers, you hang up and turn to face your boss.

“It was a lady named Mrs. Jeon. She wants to follow up on the case for her son. Jungkook?” You say, more so as a question rather than a statement, in hopes that you pronounced his name correctly. Your boss nods in approval, clearly knowledgeable of who you’re talking about.

“Yeah she calls here at least one or twice a week saying the same thing over and over again,” he pauses momentarily then starts, “I remember that kid. He was in high school when his mother reported him missing,” he continues while shaking his head.

“I’ll never forget the day dispatch called me out there to see what was going on. This was back in my rookie detective days. At first I thought maybe he’s just playing hooky. Happens all the time, right?” You nod in agreement. You’d heard of his name before but never looked into it, considering you’d just been promoted 4 months ago. And for the first month, you’d only been sent to canvas witnesses. Although sadly, Jungkook is simply one among hundreds if not thousands of cases that have gone cold.

He continues, “But then, we checked the grid and his chip was gone. We didn’t get any alerts about its removal, so it was definitely shocking.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What do you mean it was gone?” You ask with crossed arms.

“Well, more like the grid showed that the chips’ location was his home. Obviously, he isn’t home and we searched the house. No chip.” He pauses for a moment as if processing what he’s about to say, “Someway, somehow, he removed himself from the grid. But, he wasn’t the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I reassured Mrs. Jeon that if he didn’t show up in two days then we could file a missing persons report. She insisted that something was wrong and didn’t want to wait two days. But she had no other choice, and so she filed the report and days turned into weeks, months, and years.”

“How long?” You question.

With a sigh he replies, “Five.”

“No wonder she’s calling.”

“I know. But that’s the weirdest thing about it. As I mentioned, Jungkook wasn’t the only one with a missing chip.” He reassures with a sigh of what you assume is exhaustion.

“And?”

Your boss squints his eyes, as if he’s thinking.

“Follow me.”

He leads you to the “Cold Cases” room. It looks almost like a library, but instead of children books it’s several cases from murders to runaways — where endless amounts of evidence, files, reports, and other tangible items are stored. He scrambles through a pull out drawer of folders labeled and sectioned off in alphabetical order. He then pulls out a vanilla folder, and opens the file, revealing a photo of a young teen with dark, brown hair and plump, pink lips.

“Mrs. Park. Mother of Jimin Park. She filed a missing persons report the same day Mrs. Jeon did. They actually came together. And apparently they live on the same street.” He states while exiting the room and striding you into his office.

You inquire, trying to catch up to his quick pace. “So what are you implying?”

“I think…” he trails off, placing the folder on top of his desk and flopping into his office seat. “Jungkook and Jimin decided to drop out of school and run away in the sunset together.”

“And why would you assume that?”

“Well, let’s talk about the runners that run the rooftops. I know you’re still trying to get the hang of things, but there’s a pattern with this.”

“Okay?” You more-so question, rather than stating.

“First things first. Their chips. Runners always remove them, except we get alerts when done so.” He pauses. Of course you’re aware of the misdemeanor charge for that, right?” You nod in a “yes” gesture.

“Good. So, first they remove the chips. Second, they completely vanish. No one sees them for good and has no knowledge of where they are. It’s like they never existed, right? Families, friends, co-workers or whoever they know don’t see them anymore.”

You nod again, catching along. “Mmhmm.”

“Then, a missing persons report is filed. Either by a relative or a close friend. With that being said, it only makes sense that Jungkook and Jimin would be close together at least. I mean surely if Mrs. Park filed a report with Mrs. Jeon then couldn’t they both have known each other? Or at least had some knowledge of the relationship their sons had with one another? And again, the chips. Surely, they were in this together, and there’s not one part of me that doubts it.”

You take a deep sigh, soaking this information in, “Makes sense.”

“Look,” he says, while moving closer to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You gaze upon him, admiring the beauty mark on the left side of his top lip. His chocolate waves crown his face.

“What I’m trying to say is- If you find one of them, chances are you’ll find the other. Just… please be careful, ____. If these guys can suddenly vanish off the grid without a trace, who knows what else they’re capable of?”

Meanwhile, Jimin barges into a hideout on a rooftop (now part of an abandoned building) far into the city, but enough distance from prying eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, sweating and bent over as he removes his earpiece, swiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He runs his fingers through his jet, black strands. The sun slightly scorched his once pale cheeks, resulting in a rosy, pink shade.

“Fuck!”

Namjoon removes his headset and arises from his seat in the area that he and his mates have labelled as “coms,” having hacked into the city’s surveillance system.

“Good job, Phoenix. Water?” He asks, while offering Jimin a sip of his bottled water, before downing it completely.

“Fuck, no. I almost fucking died!” Jimin replies, still panting.

“Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Namjoon retorts nonchalantly.

He crushes his plastic bottle and lunges it toward Jungkooks slumped figure over the couch nearby. He grunts in response, jerking up in his sleep. Being on the run for the past 5 years has only caused him to be as alert as a hawk.

“You’re up next, Falcon.” Jungkook shakes his head, gaining consciousness of his surroundings again. His black tank top and white nylon sweats having stuck to his form. His milk, chocolate strands blanket his face as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. The faint sunlight helps to awaken him from his slumber, as he covers his eyes to adjust to the sunrays. Jimin, who now has gained his breath back, flings his earpiece at Jungkook.

“Blue lights are heavy today. Watch your ass, huh?” With that, Jungkook stretches upward while placing the earpiece on. On his way towards the tiny kitchen area, Namjoon keys into the channel.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook gulps his banana milk and returns the carton to its place in the fridge. Wiping his mouth to rid the milk residue, he responds, “Go for Falcon.”

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear this. But it’s time for a test run.”

Jungkook is silent, yet internally screaming. He hates test runs. Who doesn’t though?

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve told you before that one time won’t count. But, I need to calculate your momentum, and it helps tremendously to compare to your previous test runs.” Jungkook wasn’t worried about speed, but more so about his body. The last time he’d done a test run, he had completely passed out from overworking his body. Namjoon couldn’t leave the hideout, given that blue lights were everywhere and he didn’t want to risk not having anyone watching over the place. Luckily Jimin was already out for a run, and decided to take a detour to rescue his best friend. But, Jungkook does not like to fail. In fact, he despises it. He’s afraid that he’d fail. Again. He takes a deep breath.

“I know you can do it. The advantage now is that you actually got rest.” Jungkook couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He knew the last time he was going non-stop and being the stubborn bunny he is, Namjoon warned him more than once that he’d burnout sooner or later. But that’s the conflict with Jungkook. He grew complacent of being on the run constantly. It’s his life now; he hates the society he lives in and refuses to live according to the systems’ standards.

“Copy that, Thunderbird.” Jungkook responds, his arms and hands flexing, veins popping, as he slips on his neon red fingerless gloves. He pulls the straps of his black mask over and behind his ears — completely concealing most of his face.

Namjoon smiles in response, “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s bring that energy to the test, Falcon.”

Back at the station, you step out of your formal addression towards your boss and slip, “Hobi, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, I just can’t see myself losing you. You know how much you mean to me, right?” He asks, while reaching his hand towards your cheek with the intent to caress you but your reflexes immediately catch on, and you turn the opposite direction while muttering under your breath, “You know that we can’t-”

“I know. Sorry.”

A brief moment of silence shares the space between you both. Hoseok Jung, or as your recent pet name for him: Hobi, is not only the police captain of the Python Police Department, but currently your main squeeze as well. At least, that’s what you’d like to think. You can’t quite pinpoint what “this” with him is, given that neither of you made it official yet or set any boundaries. Which resulted in this continuous cycle of confusion on where you stand in this said “situationship.” But you don’t probe him, instead you just go with the flow and see where things lead. The only major conflict is that no one at the station should know about your doings. Or else there would be major consequences to face. You suppose that’s why Hoseok is the way he is with you. Maybe you’re nothing but a fling to him. Although some of the things he says deem otherwise.

“Last I heard, his street name is Falcon.” Hoseok skims through a folder on his desk that contains numerous papers, all to what you assumed held important information, then he pulls one out.

“I have a list of coordinates for locations where security cameras are installed and picked up high runner activity. Check those out and see if there are any leads. If no luck, go out and canvas witnesses on the street.” You nod in agreement, gathering your belongings to head on your way when suddenly you feel Hoseok’s grasp on your wrist. You immediately turn your gaze towards him, eyes blown wide as saucers.

“Please, be careful. Call me when you make it to the first and last location.” You eye his grip on you and snatch away quickly, regaining your composure.

“I will,” you respond, while slipping out of his office to leave the building.

On the rooftops, Jungkook gets into position. Staring ahead of himself, he takes a deep breath, awaiting Namjoon’s marker. A tiny droplet of sweat drips down the right side of his face, trailing down to his neck.

“On your mark. Ready.” Jungkook takes another deep breath. The sun suddenly becomes beyond its warm state, at this point, it’s scorching. His palms are damp. The black of his tee absorbs the city’s heat.

“Set.”

His mind goes racing in a million different ways. It was strange that at this moment, his mother crosses his mind. He wondered if she was okay. But, he couldn’t risk seeing her. Exposing himself. Then blue lights would find out, and   he’d be done. For good.

No, can’t risk it. No matter how much it hurts.

Since the age of 18, Jungkook called the rooftops his home. Some part of him felt selfish for only thinking of himself and leaving his mother behind. But he knew she would only scold him for rebelling against the system. Therefore, it was imperative that he left. For months, he and Jimin elaborated an escape — consistently backtracking and fixing any errors in their plan.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always go as planned and being just a couple of high school kids, Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t fully thought out the whole “where would we bunk” deal. But, all changed when they reached the rooftops. Although the first two years were literal Hell. Probably part of the reason Jungkook had become too exhausted at the end of it all. It was horrid to run non-stop, stability not being an option. Jungkook and Jimin had several quarrels with other runners. It became a cycle that Jungkook grew weary of:

Getting accepted into a hideout → Developing trust with other runners → Everything feels comfortable now →  Someone does something to show their true colors (Runners are out to get each other, despite the consequences. Whether the reward is for money, power, or maybe even freedom) → Jungkook and Jimin realize they can’t trust other runners → In conclusion, they flee → The process repeats

That is, until they met Namjoon. At first, he resisted. He previously had one roommate before that betrayed him, just as other runners betrayed Jimin and Jungkook. He thinks of him sometimes, and he’ll never forget his name. Yoongi Min, who goes by Firebird. Blue lights offered Yoongi a deal: to persuade Namjoon into a trap, at a disclosed location, in return for clearing his own name of all criminal records — freedom. Yoongi had been Namjoon’s roommate for four years, eventually growing close and becoming trustworthy of one another. Even coining each other’s names together, as a team. He always thought he’d take over the city of Python with Yoongi. Thus, that’s why Namjoon took Jungkook and Jimin in; because he saw them as himself and Yoongi, knowing that he would have wanted someone else to do the same for him and his once good friend.

“Go.” And with that, Jungkook powers forward leading with one goal in mind: Fast.

“I want you to head straight as far as you can. Got it?”

“Copy,” Jungkook slips. He starts at a steady pace, sliding under pipes connected to cooling fan systems, and vaulting over fences being sure to avoid high voltage ones. However, his velocity decreases when doing so. Namjoon takes note of that.

“Try to keep a linear direction as much as possible. Jump to the next building, using the metal pipe as a pole.”

Jungkook makes an estimate on how fast he should run to land onto the pole that’s adjacent to the rooftop of the building he’s currently on. He backs away about two meters and plants his feet on the ground, getting into position. His body exerts force and within seconds, Jungkook leaps from the rooftop. His heart dropping to his stomach, silently praying that his calculations were correct; and within seconds he lands onto the metal pole, his toned biceps clinging on for life. The leather gloves he wears grant a better grip on the surface, as he pulls himself upward, finally reaching the rooftop.

“Good job, Falcon. Keep pushing!”

Jungkook heaves, but knows he can’t stop now. He continues to scan his surroundings, taking in the view of the city from his vantage point. The sun still beams within the distance. Glass buildings towering the city, camera drones and lightweight super-jets scattering the sky.

No time for distractions.

Jungkook continues on his path as instructed by Namjoon. Lightly jogging, he rapidly picks up his pace until he takes a quick glance to his right and something catches his eye: a security camera, hanging below a billboard on the current building he stands on. He treads forward, and notices a blue light on the camera that blinks rapidly. He sticks his middle finger up towards the object and makes a swift turn to walk away when suddenly he stops dead in his tracks.

You push open the door to the rooftop access, finally having reached the top of the corporate office building of Cobra Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in the city. To your surprise, on your left, there stands a man with doe-like eyes and lengthy, coffee-colored strands concealing his face. Your mouth flew agape, realizing that this is your first encounter ever with a runner — his neon red gloves serving as evidence.

“Falcon, what’s going on? I’m picking up a blue light within your perimeter,” Namjoon keys in. Jungkook says nothing, simply eyeing your form. He’d never been in love, and it wasn’t as if he’d recognize love even if it were standing right in front of his face with a big sign that said: “Hey! It’s me. I am love.” It was your essence that gave him an odd feeling. A feeling that intrigued him for some strange reason. But then you flashed that shiny PPD badge, which glistened in the sun, and it caught his attention — instantly sending a wave of discouragement throughout his heart.

“I’m Detective ____ with PPD,” you slip.

“Abort the test run! Get the hell out of there!” Namjoon commands on the other end of Jungkook’s earpiece. You attempt to step closer to the man, but he raises his hand up.

“Don’t come any closer.”

You shake your head, “It’s okay. I-I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk, okay?” You reassure while gradually lifting your hands up in the air, as if surrendering to him. He scoffs, obviously not impressed by your coy tactic.

“A blue light wanting to talk? Nah, don’t think so,” he spits while clenching his fists and backing away.

“No, please! I-I-” You suddenly become tongue-tied, as the man evidently runs away out of your sight, leaving you behind. Frozen in place.

That asshole.

Your cell rings conveniently at the right moment.

— Hobi ❤️ [Incoming Call]

You swipe to answer, and can’t even get a “hello” out before Hoseok starts on his shit again.

“Goddammit, ____! I told you to call me when you got to your first location.” He sounds furious, as if you’re his pet on a leash.

“Okay, dad!” You retort, clearly annoyed with him in this moment as you make your way down the exhausting flight of stairs inside the building.

“You know what-” Hoseok runs his fingers through his waves. “My place. 30 minutes.” The sound of a click on the line indicates that he hung up, leaving you with a frustrated temper.

Jungkook storms into the hideout, snatching his mask off of his face. Namjoon rips his headset off, visibly pissed.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Jungkook scoffs, currently not up for anyone’s shit, as he trails to the fridge to grab his carton of banana milk yet again. Namjoon rolls his eyes while shaking his head. Jungkook releases his lips from the carton and slips, “Nothing.”

The sound of Namjoon’s tongue clicking echoes through the space, “Bullshit! You know our code, and you did NOT follow!”

With his back, turned Jungkook takes a deep huff, cheeks on fire. Jimin silently creeps nearby and coyly chimes in,

“See a blue light, call it a night. Don’t take flight, and you’ll put up a fight.”

“That’s right, Phoenix. We do NOT stick around once a blue light is within our sight. We take flight. Is that understood?” Namjoon probes with a stern tone, directing towards Jungkook.

The youngest turns face forward, with a clenched jaw and jutted chest. He says nothing, clearly testing the eldest. Namjoon steps forward and closes the gap between one another, so close that their noses nearly touch.

“Is that understood?” He inquires, his voice a few octaves lower. Jungkook pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before breaking.

“Copy.”

“Get your shit together, Falcon. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.” Namjoon pulls away and brushes past Jimin, heading out of the kitchen. Infuriated, Jungkook lunges the now empty carton toward the wall ahead of him and also brushes past Jimin, who grasps his wrist in time to halt him. A look of worry spreads across Jimin’s face.

“Come on, Kook. You know Thunderbird. He’s just trying to protect us. It’s like… his job.”

Jungkook stays silent, thinking if he would ever get to see your innocent face again. Jimin nudges his arm to grasp his attention.

“You do know that you can talk to me, right?” He reassures with a promising expression. Jungkook simply nods and walks away, leaving Jimin worried. He knows when something is wrong with his best friend. He can feel it. But he also knows that Jungkook is a tough cookie, and it will take time for him to finally crack.

Meanwhile, Jungkook locks himself in his room — having confined himself completely from the world even if it was just for a few hours. How could he be so stupid? Why couldn’t he just talk to you like you wanted? Maybe you were a good person. At least that’s what he assumed, considering your beautiful face.

No. Snap out of it!

He can’t trust anyone. It’s for his own good. As the sun sets, he peeks through the glass window in his room to soak in the view of the city. Streams of pink, yellow, and blue paint the evening sky. If only he’d introduced himself to you, maybe he would feel a slight less pain in his chest. It was something Jungkook craved that he’d never gotten yet.

Intimacy.

Hoseok is frustrated; he runs his fingers through his hair for what has felt like the millionth time today.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?” He asks with a dark, lustful feel in his eyes. You gaze at him in complete silence.

“Can’t obey me anymore or what?” He lets out a frustrated sigh while gripping your hips.

“Oh you’re asking for it, huh?” He coos while mustering up the idea to tickle his way into getting a response from you. You break the silence, the sound of your laughter filling up his penthouse. Giggles and gasps for breaths emit from you, a sound that Hoseok thinks he could hear for the rest of his life and never grow tired.

“Oh my-! S-stop!”

And like a light-switch, he abruptly stops. His hands falling down to your sides, gripping your hips again. He gazes into your stare for what feels like an eternity. That familiar beauty mark on his lip is your favorite sight. He notes your eyes landing on his lips for too long, and he takes the opportunity to inch forward and meet yours.

He tastes like coffee — the kind you have in the morning before heading out to the station. The kind you’re used to sipping while reading emails at work or making phone calls. Or even the kind you order from your favorite coffee shop where you first met him and continue to meet up with him there to discuss anything work related.

Your lips soften against his, as his softens against yours. You’re not even sure how that is possible. Physics? Maybe.

However, the thought of your relationship with Hoseok crosses your mind. And  before you could even think twice about what to do, with his tongue literally down your throat, you unexpectedly shove him lightly. His eyebrows furrow in response, concerned if he’d done something wrong (when he could swear you like french kissing, considering you both do it all the time, and he remembered you mentioned one moment how much you like to do so).

“What are we? What is this?” You blurt out. Hoseok’s expression makes you instantly regret asking him. He pulls himself away from you completely to pace back and forth with his hand on his hip, shaking his head. Your gaze drops to the floor, feeling like such shit for bringing it up. But you’d be damned if he made you feel bad, because you have to know. For your own sake. Your own sanity.

“Are we really doing this right now?” He asks while sitting down on the leather loveseat.

That’s it. Something in you snaps.

“Hoseok!” You screech, gaining a wide-eyed stare from him.

“We’ve been fucking for over 2 years! What did you think? That I was just going to keep floating around, letting you stuff me every fucking week and not say anything about it?”

You are a panting, hot, and frustrated mess on the verge of tears from how upset you are. Hoseok watches your riled up figure, and he can’t seem to bring words together. He’s had a long day and wants nothing more than to release his stress into you either on his bed, or this loveseat, or maybe the kitchen counter if you can’t make it to his bedroom. But your emotions are clouding the atmosphere, and it’s something he can’t handle.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he states dryly.

You felt like someone just hammered a nail into your heart. Your mouth flies agape, sucking in a breath to contain yourself from crying in front of his eyes.

“Why can’t we just fuck and not go through all of this? What do we need a label for anyway? It’s not like anyone at the  station is going to find out.” He shrugs, emitting a chuckle paired  with a nonchalant vibe.

Drip.

And then a tear fell down your cheek, prompting yourself to march out the front door and never look back. Clutching your crossbody, your leather chelsea boots click against the hardwood floor. Before Hoseok had the chance to grab you by the wrist, you were gone. You continued strutting down the hall, better yet lightly jogging to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Your fingers find placement on the ↓ button for the elevator.

Ding.

The moment the elevator doors shut is when the tears came streaming down   your cheeks, like a waterfall. You knew all along it was a bad idea to get involved with Hoseok. You’re sentimental and have always been so. “Catching feelings” while having weekly sex with him was bound to happen eventually. All in all, you could say that you saw the end coming, but at least 70% of you wanted things to be different than what they were. As your mother would call it, “living in la la land.” For the remainder of  the night, you comfort yourself on your couch, stuffing your face with leftover chocolate-covered strawberries and sipping champagne. All while venting on the phone to your childhood friend and updating him on the current situation with Hoseok.

“Ah. I’m sorry, noona. Hobi is a real ass sometimes, you know?”

You take another sip from your wine glass, “Ugh. That’s the thing!” You pause, popping a strawberry in your mouth, “I knew it. And yet, I still fell for him. I’m just horrible, a mess.”

“Don’t say that,” he replies with a yawn following his response.

“It’s true, Yoongi! I’ve literally been letting him in this whole time and not standing my ground. It’s so pathetic of me,” You sigh with a frown upon your face that Yoongi obviously cannot see.

“Wow. He was that good, huh?” You roll your eyes just thinking about it, “Ugh, yes! Don’t even remind me!”

“Well-” yet another yawn cutting him off again, “Just take your time, you   know? I’m sure it won’t be that easy to get over him. But eventually, it’ll happen.” Your eyes begin to tear up again, “You really think so?”

Yoongi hesitates for a brief moment, “No, I’m just trying to get you off the phone so I can go to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Yoongi Min.” His cute giggle lifts your mood in a contagious way — making you laugh out loud along with him.

“You’ll  be fine, ____. Really.” A tear finally drops down your face. This is why you love Yoongi, and why you’d been friends with him almost your entire life. He’s someone you can trust, always having been there for you. It didn’t matter the distance you were from each other, or how long it had been since you contacted one another, you both would pick up right where you left off.

“Goodnight, Yoongs. Love you.” His gummy smile appears as he replies, “Love you too, ____. Goodnight.”

After hanging up with Yoongi and having your belly full enough of strawberries and wine, your thoughts continuously play over the events of today, making you realize how drained you are. Then the image of the runner from earlier crosses your mind. God, was he the hottest man you’ve seen in awhile, at least from what you could see due to his mask covering most of his face. But his lengthy strands paired with his toned biceps and tall, lean figure are what got you. The sun bounced perfectly on his tanned, body, displaying a gorgeous shimmer of sweat he was drenched in, kind of reminded you of your fave Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts.

His eyes were bright and beautiful, and you’ll never forget the way he was startled when you approached him — like a deer in headlights. You wonder what else was “hot” about him that you didn’t get a chance to see. Okay, maybe it’s just the wine talking. Some part of you wished you could have at least asked what his name was, but he wasted no time in evading you. Even though you felt a slight sting  in your heart, you couldn’t blame him for leaving. After all, you’re a cop and he’s a runner. Of course he’d “run” from you.

Hoseok is sound asleep until an alarming tone from his cell phone startles him from his slumber.

— Yoongi Hyung [Incoming Call]

“Shit.” Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh before answering. His tired, raspy voice is heard from the other side of the line. “Hyung, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know you tell me.” Yoongi deadpans.

Hoseok sighs in response. Pulling away from his phone to read the time: 12:42 AM. He clenches his fist and runs his fingers through his messy mane.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I need you to look into someone for me. Get ____ on the case,” Yoongi demands with a slight hint of desperation.

Seething, Hoseok retorts, “Fucking hell. Why couldn’t you wait until the morning to tell me?”

“It is morning, and before you step into the station I need to make sure it’s the first thing on your agenda. I need this done asap.”

Hoseok remains his composure on the outside but is internally screaming.

“I don’t know, Hyung. I can’t guarantee it. I have ____ on the Jungkook Jeon case, and I may have her finally close it. Hopefully-” Yoongi scoffs, on the other side, clearly not happy.

Hoseok adds, “What’s this all about anyway? And what do I get for it?”

“Did you forget who’s the eldest here?” A moment of silence falls into the phone.

“Didn’t think so,” Yoongi continues. Hoseok feels small. He always does when being confronted by Yoongi.

“I’ve cut a deal with Cobra Enterprises. The company will have a meeting tomorrow with PPD about a new project to take place. I want you to look into a guy. I’m sure you remember him. Namjoon Kim.” The youngest sighs yet again. He remembered Namjoon from his rookie days, and he also recalled Yoongi had failed to go through with the set-up.

“Press ____ to look into his file and continue there. Drop her from the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok’s mouth flies open in shock at Yoongi’s request.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to-”

“Do not try me! Now, you’ll do as I say without giving me any shit, understand?” Yoongi retorts, his voice now at a higher volume than before. His deep violet-haired, skinny stature dressed in a purple v-neck, paired with a black leather jacket and leather jeans. He paces back and forth, flipping a pen between his slender fingers. The visible ink of his black, circuit board tattoo trails from his neck down to his right shoulder and ends at his wrist.

“Yes, Hyung,” Hoseok states, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“Get her on the case for Namjoon and find out where he is! Tell her he goes by the name Thunderbird. These rooftops are massive. Viper and I cannot find him alone. Having her would help tremendously. Besides… she’s smart, and I’m sure she’d be able to get to him before I do,” he continues while staring at the view of the city from his hideout.

Hoseok lets out with a tinge of annoyance in his reply, “Fine, fine. Alright!”

“Don’t do this, and I will tell ____ about our little secret. I’m sure she wouldn’t be too happy about that either. Especially not now.”

“You better not say shit to her, you hear me?” Hoseok works up.

“Get the job done, Hobi.” Yoongi ends the call.

No, you could not find out. At least not like that. Hoseok doesn’t want you to know about the little fling with his hyung. He knows Yoongi would do anything to destroy the side thing Hoseok has with you, since he’s jealous. He wants Hoseok all to himself.

The ringing of your cell frightens you out of your sleep. Your eyes land onto your clock placed beside you on your nightstand. You silently curse whoever dares to awaken you at this ungodly hour of 3:18 AM. Surely it was none other than Hoseok Jung. You dared to not answer, but part of you needed to if you wanted to keep your job. You were slightly worried his calling may be job-related anyway. At least you hope it is, because you can’t think about how he’d hurt you the previous day. Your exhausted form answers the call with a swipe.

“Hello?”

“I’m here.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scan your bedroom in the moonlight. Your right hand finds it’s way to rub your eyes.

“What?”

“Just open the door. I’m here.”

You stay on the line, and groggily drag yourself out of bed to head beeline for the front door of your apartment. Through the peephole, there stands Hoseok with his iPhone to his ear and his head hanging low. You unlock the door and tiredly pull it open to finally meet eyes with the bastard. Yesterday’s events flash through your memory, and you’re drawn back into the mood you were in before you knocked out for what seemed like only ten minutes.

With furrowed brows you question, “Hoseok what do y-”

His lips crash with yours, cutting you off completely. Your hand that once held your phone, now wraps around his neck, easing him closer to you. His firm hands now grip your hips, flushing you to his body entirely. His plushy lips play with yours, naturally gliding and smoothing against their own accord. The bitter taste of coffee lingers on his lips, to what you assumed he more than likely had a cup of Joe before arriving to your apartment. He breaks the kiss to stare into your eyes, caressing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he pauses for a beat, “It was wrong. I was wrong.”

A low sigh escapes your lips. Hoseok cups your cheeks, and gives you a small peck. You pull away to take hold of his hand and lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind the two of you. You find yourself sitting on the side of your bed, with Hoseok joining you. He rests his cool palm on your warm, exposed thigh, courtesy of your pajama shorts. Your fingers find placement on top of his hand. He stares into your gaze, guilt settling deep within his gut. Part of the reason he’d always treated you like nothing is due to his feelings for Yoongi. He likes this thing with you: being able to have you whenever he wants, do whatever he wants to you, and treat you how he wants.

It’s almost like he owns you, except he doesn’t. But he likes the complacency of the situation, knowing that you’ll always be there when he needs you. Yet he knows it’s selfish and such a narcissistic quality about himself, but he wants what he wants and cannot stop his actions. It’s this never-ending dilemma he’s stuck in of leading you on or admitting his feelings for you. Because all in all, Hoseok wants to “have his cake and eat it too.” On the other hand, Yoongi stands on the sidelines — waiting for the day he & Hoseok could be together. And now it’s worse since you’ve poured your feelings out to him. Although for Yoongi, it’s everything he’s ever wished for.

The luminance from the moonlight glows throughout the space that’s your room. Hoseok shivers slightly from your touch, the warmth of your fingers encases his cold, slender ones. You both sit in silence for a moment, just taking in each others presence. You attempt to gather your own thoughts of why Hoseok couldn’t wait to apologize until the next day you both work.

“Hoseok.” You let out, a yawn following afterwards.

“Hm?” He responds while glancing into your eyes with those gorgeous brown   eyes, his strands gracefully dressing his forehead in that familiar middle-part style.

“Cuddle?” You ask sheepishly why reaching your arms out towards him, offering your warmest embrace. His lips curl up into that stunning smile, making his eyes shut instinctively. He removes his bomber jacket and shoes, then climbs into the opposite side of your bed. You follow suit and pull your duvet over the two of you. Your arms naturally wrap around his abdomen, and  you curl up into his chest. Admiring the familiar scent of Hoseok’s  fresh, linen garments with a hint of some expensive cologne. He smells so clean, as a man should. It sends you into a trance. Your ear rests on top of his chest, growing familiar with the rhythm of his heartbeat. And it’s just enough to put you to rest.

—

The sun peaks from the skyline, beginning its journey to  rise. Deep orange and yellow hues paint the sky. A gleaming ray of light shoots throughout the hideout the three men share together. Namjoon is the first to awaken, his beach-sand colored hair ruffled in a slight mess. With a bare upper body and boxer briefs, he slips from his mattress on the ground to head for the washroom — his disheveled state still working to fully awaken. After finishing up his morning routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and grooming his hair, he slips on black nylon sweatpants and a red fitted tank, displaying his black, circuit board ink on his left forearm snaking up to his left shoulder and neck. He stares at his own figure in the mirror, silently hating himself for letting Yoongi talk him into getting a matching tattoo.

If only he’d knew where Yoongi’s loyalty really lied, he’d  never would have given in to him. A slight pang in Namjoon’s chest  resurfaces. He missed Yoongi, a lot more than he wanted to. Because it was more than “friendship” with him. He loved Yoongi and wanted to confess his feelings for him, but he was afraid his confession would lead to corruption of their friendship. He was also afraid of Yoongi’s “distant” personality. He was for sure it would have ruined them, even if their friendship blossomed into something more. Unfortunately, after Yoongi became a traitor in Namjoon’s eyes, he couldn’t stop the feelings he had for him and continues to have. It was  ever since that one night they’d both had a little too much soju that things led from one thing to another. He relishes in the memory of Yoongi’s lips pressed against his.

The lingering, sweet taste of alcohol on his lips is the fondest moment Namjoon has of Yoongi. He had never been more aroused by anyone else ever, and Yoongi had just that effect on him. One thing led to another, and before he could process what had happened, the next morning he’d awaken to the sight of Yoongi naked and wrapped around his chest. Ever since, the entire dynamic of their friendship had changed. Yoongi hadn’t spoken of the previous night, and neither had Namjoon. He’d never thought that a week later, he would have had no other choice but to kick out the one person he had grown to trust for so long. He never forgets the look in Yoongi’s eyes. Puffy, red, and swollen from the tears he’d cried.

Namjoon  had never seen him this shaken up before, considering his inability to show his feelings. But he believed Yoongi had done all of this to  silently punish him for sleeping with him. Liquid forms in Namjoon’s  eyes as his mind goes in circles consistently, playing the events over and over in his mind — reminiscing on the presence of who he thought would have eventually been his lover. While brewing a cup of coffee, Namjoon readies himself for the day. Upon arrival to the coms room, he seats himself at his desk, an arrange of five monitors on display. The longer one in the middle is the portal to log into Thunder, a tracking software he’d created, with Yoongi, that’s designed specifically to pinpoint a runners’ location. Of course, he had re-programmed said software to track Jungkook and Jimin’s location whenever they’d go out on a run, which is why they use an earpiece that has a tracker installed.

For safety purposes, he’d also designed it to detect when other runners are nearby while also detecting blue lights in the surrounding area. Each runner is part of a team that is represented by a color on the “rainbow spectrum,” and each color has a leader. Namjoon being the leader of Red, and along with Jimin and Jungkook representing the color. Although, the only colors from the spectrum that have been confirmed are: Orange, Yellow, and Green — while Blue and Violet have yet to be discovered. In the meantime, Jimin tosses in his sleep as though he’s experiencing a nightmare. Something within his slumber startling enough to jerk him awake, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted dramatically. His chest rising up and down as he trails his fingers through his onyx strands that fall back  onto his forehead. His arms find their way up to block the sunlight from his window that forces to blind his eyes.

His body is warm, and after sitting up completely, he realizes his white tank is soaked in perspiration. Jimin snarks at the cold sweat clinging to his upper body. Rolling out of bed, the cool tile below him makes his body shiver. He pulls his top over his head and off, flinging it to the corner of his room. His toned upper body glistens with sweat, covered with the tattoo “Nevermind” on the left side of his abdomen. Jimin rushes to the washroom to start up the glass shower.

He hops in immediately; cool streams of water race down his fit figure, drenching his black strands and gradually decreasing his body temperature. He runs his index finger across the inside of his wrist where another tattoo is displayed: 13. A small grin crosses his face, thinking of the  time he’d met Jungkook when he was 13, how they’d instantly bonded, and how far they’ve come in their lives. The number also resembling the day of his own birth. But Jimin’s smile fades, after realizing the dream he had. He knew something was wrong, because for weeks now he’d been having these nightmares that something bad would happen; everything would change, yet he wasn’t 100% sure how. Even though things were okay now, but he couldn’t help the thought that maybe his gut instinct was trying to warn him.

Knock x2.

Jimin jumps slightly at the sudden knock, and his gaze snaps up to the bathroom door, “Dude… Gotta pee,” Jungkook’s tired form slips. Outside the door, he can barely keep his eyes open — having almost pulled an all-nighter, listening to music and lifting weights in his room. Jimin swings the door open, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Scared the shit out of me, you know?” Namjoon arrives in the hallway.

“Morning, boys! We’ve got a long day ahead of us. So, get some breakfast and meet me in the coms room when you’re done.” Jimin nods and adds coyly, “Ay ay, captain!” Jungkook groans in response. On the other side of the city, the smell of eggs and bacon sizzling in a pan acts as a cue for Hoseok’s awakening. His arms stretch out, releasing  the tension that’s settled in them. He checks his phone for the time  only to find missed calls and texts, from none other than his hyung.

— Yoongi Hyung [5:02 AM] just wait till u come home. u will fucking get it!!!

— Yoongi Hyung [4:59 AM] are u fucking kidding me… i come here for dick and this is what i get? where tf are u???

— Yoongi Hyung [4:57 AM] whatever. coming in with the spare key u gave me.

— Yoongi Hyung [4:56 AM] u ass. i’ve rung the doorbell a thousand times already. are u that asleep?

— Yoongi Hyung [4:54 AM] Missed Call (x2)

Shit.

“Good morning sleepy head!” Hoseok jumps slightly at your cheeky greeting of you standing at the doorway of your room.

“I made breakfast if you’re hungry. I’ll be heading out in a few to   follow  up on any leads I can get with the Jungkook Jeon case.” Hoseok takes a huge gulp before spilling, “Yeah… About that.” He drags, while slipping out of bed. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer.

“I uh-” He pauses for a moment, remembering the threat Yoongi had given him. You stand there, all eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m dropping you from the Jungkook Jeon case,” he states rapidly. Your eyebrows furrow, “Why would you do that?” Hoseok sighs, thinking of anything off the top of his head to lie.

“Just-  Leave it to me. I did some digging when you left the station yesterday,”  He continues while slipping his shoes on.

“I want you to look into something else,” You nod for him continue.

“Namjoon Kim. Known as Thunderbird. He’s got a record, but he’s also  been reported as missing just like Jungkook.” Hoseok breaks away from  your gaze for a moment, internally hating himself for doing this to you. He knows he’s no good for you.

“Do you still have that list of coordinates I gave you?” He inquires, while simultaneously looking up at you and tying his shoes.

“Mmmhmm,” you simply mutter, watching his form in silence. It is clear that he’s about to leave but you waited  for him to say so. Hoseok grabs his jacket and notices you’re still standing in the doorway. He pauses to slip, “I should get going. I have some errands to run-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, the tone in your voice clearly revealing that  no it is not “fine.” You’re slightly upset really, but part of you expected Hoseok to not stay around since you’re convinced that the only reason he’d came to apologize to you was to clear his conscious. And  because, well, he was alone and wanted some form of companionship. Typical, right? Another part of you cringed at the thought you assumed  he’d treat you as if you’re both together, even though you’re not. So, it isn’t abnormal for him to just leave. It’s not like he’s committed to you. Except your heart tells you it’s just not fair. Hoseok doesn’t miss the look of disarray that spreads across your face, due to  his departure. He looks to you before leaving your apartment.

“Maybe I can come by later?” You internally cringe at his request whilst trying to not get your hopes up.

“It’s not a big deal, only if you can! Don’t go out of your way for me. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.” He hesitates for a brief moment, then awkwardly nods as if slowly trying to process what you said. A feeling deep inside tells him that you know he’s full of shit. Maybe it’s his guilty conscious, but that makes him feel even worse for leaving you on his off day, just to be with Yoongi. The instant you shut the door behind Hoseok, your heart broke. You want to regret getting into this thing with him, but you know it was something you wanted at one point.

Jungkook attired himself in his usual pieces. Black ink tattoos of an  “X” covers just below both of his elbows. His signature three, silver hoops dangle within both of his ears, as he deliberately munches on a protein bar, while standing in the coms room.

“I specifically asked you both to come once you were DONE with breakfast,” Namjoon retorts indirectly towards Jungkook, who is undoubtedly dropping crumbs on the ground.

“Hey, don’t look at me.” Jimin throws his hands up and shakes his head as if to surrender, his jet-black strands swaying about in front of his eyes.

“As I was saying…” Namjoon continues, “I have different tasks for you both.” Jungkook’s eyes stay glued on the eldest. Jimin’s toned arms are crossed, tilting his head to the side.

“Phoenix,” Namjoon tosses a wireless earpiece to Jimin. “I want you to head over to the docks. I’ve been picking up high blue light activity lately in that area.” Namjoon gropes his chin, as if in deep thought. “Check it out and see if there’s anything you could find that’ll tell us why they’ve been so trigger happy lately.”

Jungkook abruptly stops chewing and tunes out after hearing Namjoon’s request. That is why he felt different about you. You didn’t hurt him like most blue lights would hurt runners if they’d ever been caught. That’s the difference.

“Falcon!”

The slight ringing in Jungkook’s ears immensely fades away after he realizes Namjoon is talking to him. His eyebrows rise up, as if silently asking him What? Namjoon removes a black messenger bag he has around himself and tosses it to Jungkook, who almost didn’t catch it due to the crumpled granola wrapper still in his hand and Namjoon’s sudden reflexes.

“Since your little encounter” Namjoon makes the quotation marks gesture with his fingers. “I’m sending you on a fast cash mission. You know the rules.”

Namjoon quirks his eyebrows, as if to emphasize his point. “I’ll be guiding you, but keep your eyes peeled. Your name isn’t Falcon for nothing.” Jungkook shrugs at the audacity.

“When you reach the location, there will be a runner by the name of  Viper waiting there for you. Give him the bag, and safely return back to the hideout without being detected by any blue lights.”

“Copy that.”

Namjoon nods in response, “Oh. Before I forget.” Namjoon reaches toward his glass desk to pull out a black, wireless earpiece.

“I know you’ve been borrowing Jimin’s earpiece since yours broke. So, I made a new one.” Namjoon extends his hand out to Jungkook then snaps away.

“Try not to break it this time, huh? Materials are kind of… limited.”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and obtains the piece to delicately place in his ear. He places the bag over his head and lets the strap rest on his shoulder, adjusting it to his liking — making sure it’s tight around his torso. Jimin follows and pushes his earpiece in.

Namjoon makes an overly-dramatic clap noise with his hands. “Alright, boys. Let’s get to work!” On their way from the hideout, Jimin stops Jungkook before they proceed to go on their separate ways.

“Hey,” Jimin spills, his eyes now crescent, moon-shaped due to the sizzling sun displayed brightly in the sky. Jungkook replies, “Yeah?”

“Just, uh…” Jimin lingers on for a moment, observing the ambience as if he’s searching  for something. His eyes land back on the youngest, admiring how innocent he is. Jimin loved Jungkook as his own brother, and he’d do anything to protect him. He’s convinced he’d do more than Namjoon.

“Be  careful. Okay?” A tinge of worry oozes from Jimin’s command. He wishes he could just tell Jungkook the dreams he’d been having lately, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to upset him, yet he knows he’d have to tell him sooner or later. Because recurring nightmares that Jimin has are always to some extent: true. It’s been that way for as long as he could remember. The first time he’d experienced it was when he was seven years old. He dreamt the same dream during that time, that his father was caught in a rainstorm and passed away due to a car collision.

The first night he experienced the nightmare, he was afraid; and although he’d warn his parents, all else failed. They thought it was just another bad dream that would pass. A few weeks later, his father passed away due to a DUI car accident. Jimin was devastated, and although he was right all along, he hated when the same dreams occurred because he knew eventually it would no longer be a nightmare — instead a reality.

“Always,” Jungkook answers, while turning around to jog in the opposite direction. Completely unaware of Jimin who’s still left behind and laying eyes on him. An ounce of worry overtakes him, that he misses Namjoon’s calling of his name.

“Phoenix, do you copy?” Jimin snaps back from his daydream,

“Y-yeah. I mean- Copy that. I’m here.” Namjoon keeps track of Jungkook’s location and notices Jimin’s stillness.

“Alright, let’s head west and take it from there. It’s a straight shot.” Jimin starts his run, climbing over fences, sliding under pipes, and running on walls. Namjoon uses the digital map to pinpoint the intended location.

“Looks like the docks will be on the west side of the Cobra Enterprises building.

“Copy that.” Namjoon takes a sip of his now lukewarm, medium, roast coffee.

“Switching to channel two, be right back.” Jungkook sits on the edge of a building, looking below his feet where the grand city of Python seems so tiny. Pedestrians look like ants from his perspective. Moving vehicles give the appearance of toy cars kids play with. The sound of a deep voice keys into Jungkook’s earpiece.

“Thunderbird for Falcon.” Jungkook swings his feet playfully, enjoying the summer weather, “Go for Falcon.”

“You’ll be heading east to The Echidna. Viper will be there waiting for you. Deliver the package to him, and make it back safely. Remember, no blue lights.”

Hoseok turns the key to open the door of his apartment. The sound of the front door closing startles a naked Yoongi, who steps foot into Hoseok’s room with a towel wrapped around him. His soaked, purple strands dripping with water. Hoseok shuffles his jacket and shoes off, yet notices the penthouse is filled with silence. He’d hoped Yoongi had just given up for now and left, but he knew him. He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted.

His fingers glide through his own soft waves, and he treads upstairs to his room. His heart suddenly pumps faster when his eyes land on the back side of Yoongi, who has removed his towel to dry his hair. His pale, porcelain skin glowing and glistening with water and sunshine. Hoseok takes a thick gulp and clears his throat. Yoongi finds Hoseok behind him and gives his signature smirk, “Good morning.” Yoongi drops his towel on the ground and gestures a “come here” motion with his finger, and Hoseok follows.

“Missed me? I know I missed you,” Yoongi caresses Hoseok’s cheek, gazing into his brown irises, his bed-hair adding a nice final touch.

“I’m sorry, I-” Hoseok is cut off by Yoongi’s index finger placed on his lips. He commands, “Just shut up and fucking kiss me already. You owe me. Big time.” Hoseok chuckles before leaning in to wrap his arms around Yoongi, placing his hands along his back, pulling Yoongi flush to his body.

Before heading out to investigate the supposed “Namjoon Kim” case Hoseok urged you earlier to begin, you chose to pay a visit to your favorite chocolatier in the mall, the one that sells your favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. The fresh, cool breeze of the air conditioner blows through your hair as you strut through the front entrance of The Echidna. The chocolate shop wasn’t far from the main entrance, on the entry level so you decided to take your time, casually strolling through the mall. The smell of pretzels, pizza, and other delicious foods filled your senses as you passed by the food court. After a minute more of walking, you reach the shop and realize they are running a promotion: Buy one dozen of chocolate-covered strawberries, get another half off.

Just in time.

On the rooftops, Jungkook blasts over buildings and latches onto pipes, ladders, and other obstacles that help him navigate throughout the environment.

“Thunderbird for Phoenix.” Jimin keys back into Namjoon while taking a break from running.

“Go for Phoenix.” Namjoon tracks Jimin’s location, and notes how far he is from the intended location.

“Good job. You’re on the right path. You should be able to see the front side of the Cobra Enterprises building from where you are.” Jimin scans his surroundings on the east side, and notes the building with a golden, cobra snake symbol. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Good. Continue your normal path and you’ll notice the building will then be on the east side of you.” Jimin nods in approval, “Copy that.”

Yoongi and Hoseok lie in bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Hoseok rests on Yoongi’s chest, drawing circles on his chest with Yoongi’s fingers laced in his strands.

“So,” Yoongi breaks the silence. “So?” Hoseok questions, admiring the soft supple skin under his fingertips.

“Gonna tell me where you were last night?” Just as Hoseok gathered up the courage to respond, Yoongi cuts him off.

“No, wait! Let me guess. With ____,” he states with a dry tone. A tinge of jealousy behind his words. Hoseok turns his head around, facing Yoongi.

“Are we really doing this again?” Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing Hoseok off of his chest. Hoseok’s eyebrows naturally crease in response.

“Yoongi, seriously?” The eldest says nothing, his back now turned to the youngest, having flipped over on his side.

“What fucking more do you want?!” Hoseok runs his fingers through his hair, his strands falling back onto his forehead. Yoongi keys in on him, with a furious gaze. “Us!” He exclaims, sitting up and easing his way out of bed to slip on his jeans.

“I fucking want us,” He continues, more-so demanding rather than stating. Hoseok takes a deep breath. “You know that I’m working on that-”

Yoongi seethes. “Yeah, and for how long?!” His voice raising with fists clenched on his jeans, zipping them up. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He adds, slipping on his signature, purple v-neck.

“____ is in love with you. How do you just “work on that?” He emphasizes with air quotation marks. Hoseok struggles to answer, leaving his lips parted slightly. A moment of silence falls between the two. Yoongi takes this as a cue of defeat — slipping on his leather jacket.

“Exactly.” He exits the bedroom, leaving Hoseok to ponder in his thoughts, while left in bed naked, regret filling him completely.

Yoongi saunters downstairs and slips on his boots, departing from Hoseok’s loft. He runs his fingers through his hair, while marching down the hallway of the complex. His mind continues to race many miles per hour. His finger presses the button to signal the elevator, and to his surprise, the doors open quicker than he’d expected. He takes a deep breath while stepping in and recounting the moment he’d had with Hoseok.

He hates himself for getting caught up in this situation with him, and now with you involved made matters worse. His heart aches at the thought of what things would be like if he hadn’t traded Namjoon out. Yoongi misses him, but he knows he’d never accept him for who he is and he wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done. A pang in his chest approaches, knowing that he and Namjoon’s future was now long gone, and merely nothing but a dream now. It hurts, and he’s hurt. Which is why he’d pressed Hoseok to get you to look into his case in the first place. He needed this. Needed closure. He misses Namjoon, and there isn’t a day that passes when he doesn’t think of him. He needs him.

You’d chosen the dozen of half milk-chocolate strawberries and half white-chocolate covered strawberries. For both sets. The cashier carefully hands you the paper bag, with two gorgeous arrangements of twelve strawberries in each box. You gracefully exit the chocolatier with the brightest smile on your face, strutting toward the entrance of The Echidna to make your departure from the mall. Jungkook awaits on the rooftops, peering at his surroundings to ensure no one is in sight. And by no one, he specifically means blue lights. His tired being squats down, seating himself on the ground, nearby one of many dome-shaped, skylights that sit behind him. The sun toasting his skin causes him to wipe away the perspiration from his forehead, for what feels like the hundredth time.

Namjoon scans the time on the Thunder portal, noting that the runner should have arrived by now.

“Viper should be within your perimeter. Do you see him?” Jungkook scans his peripheral, but there is no sight of said runner. “No, he’s not here.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, as he doesn’t see any hint of a runner nearby the mall. The only indicator visible is Jungkook’s location. A red, blinking dot on the map.

“Something’s not right,” He says to himself, shaking his head.

Jungkook feels a presence behind him and just before he could turn around to say something, a deep, baritone voice speaks out.

“Thanks for meeting me here, this was a great spot.” But when Jungkook’s eyes landed on the tall, slender form, his mouth flew agape.

Violet. One of the colors on the spectrum that hadn’t been discovered yet.

There was no way, he thought. No way it was possible. And then the eldest spoke again, realizing Jungkook’s expression.

“Hey. Red, huh? Wait-” He pauses, Jungkook clenches the bag’s strap tightly. “That’s the color where- What’s that leaders name?” His finger taps his chin as if thinking. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue�� Sounds like a month?”

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. How did he know Thunderbird’s real name?

“How do you know his name?” Kook questions, gripping onto the bag tighter.

“It’s Joon, right? Namjoon! There it is.” Namjoon keys in to double-check on the youngest.

“Falcon, has he arrived yet? I’m still not able to see him.” Namjoon grows hesitant from not receiving a response.

Jungkook abruptly throws the bag at the man standing in front of him and darts in the opposite direction. Viper sprints behind him and tackles the youngest down onto one of the skylights, their figures thumping and sliding against the glass. Viper bangs Jungkook’s head into the glass. Jungkook throws a harsh punch straight to Viper’s nose and tackles him down, his body now caging him in.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jungkook seethes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Viper grins with a mischievous expression. Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow at his coy remark. His hands grip around his neck, applying pressure with much force.

“Falcon?” Namjoon keys in yet again. Growing suspicious, he continues to scan the area and notes a blinking, blue light that appears to be moving. His assumption is that whoever it is may be inside the mall. “Fuck.”

A tinge of venom seeps from Viper’s words, “Tell that leader of yours, that Firebird is looking for him-” He chokes, Jungkook applying more pressure.

“He better- get ready.. for him too.” He adds with a menacing laugh. Jungkook releases his neck and throws another punch to his face, his knuckles aching as a result. Viper continues to laugh, and manhandles Jungkook. His back falls back onto the delicate material below them. He drives his foot against the side of Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly.

“Ahhh, fuck!” Jungkook groans, his fists clenching from the pain.

Jungkook forces a kick straight to Viper’s face, grazing his nose with his shoe, causing drips of blood to spill. Jungkook clenches his teeth and tackles Viper down again, and then suddenly.

Crack.

The two men gaze down below them, and witness cracks scattering along the glass of the skylight.

“Shit,” Jungkook slips.

“Falcon!” Namjoon yells into his earpiece.

Viper watches Jungkook’s expression with wide eyes, his lips parting in shock. Jungkook slowly stands on his two feet, removing himself from on top of the eldest and attempts to escape, but with the added weight of being on his feet, the glass shatters into pieces, Viper’s form falls through the skylight, en route to the interior of the mall. Jungkook trips, losing his grip on the edge, his veins popping out as he forces his body back up onto the rooftop.

You fumble in the pockets of your leather jacket to obtain your car keys. Until the sudden sound of shattering glass startles you and out of the blue, an intense cracking, thud-like sound follows by a body falling splat onto the ground level of the mall. The contents in your hands drop in response, and the only melody filling your ears is the screams throughout the entire atmosphere, civilians pushing their way to the nearest exit. A thumping beat resides in your chest, and it’s as if your heart pounds so loud you that the noise suffocates your hearing above everything else. Your mouth falls open, and your instincts tell you to examine from above, where the body initially came from. And then your eyes meet a familiar face; to say you were shocked was an understatement.

There he was. Again. The man you’d seen yesterday. You knew it was him because you remember those eyes, his hair, and that black mask. After locking eyes with you, he immediately vanishes. You glare at the body that lies on the ground, slowly inching toward the male. With shaky hands, you kneel down to feel his pulse under his neck and there’s nothing.

Jungkook charges off the rooftops of The Echidna, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. The last thing he needed was for blue lights on his tail. And he saw you. He fucked up again. You saw him, and now there’s nothing he can do to un-do what happened. The sound of Namjoon’s voice resonates within Jungkook’s earpiece. “Falcon! What the hell happened? Did you deliver the package?” Jungkook says nothing, instead, he runs.

Namjoon sighs in frustration.

“I’m here,” Jimin keys in. Namjoon locates Jimin’s location.

“Fuck,” Namjoon replies.

Jimin asks with a hint of confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon sighs.

“No, Phoenix. You’ve made it to the destination. I haven’t heard from Jungkook since he arrived at The Echidna, and he isn’t responding.” Jimin’s eyes widen. Oh no, had something happened to him? What if… the dream?

“Wait what? Do you need me to head over there?” Namjoon shakes his head, as if he could see him.

“No! Stay where you are. Just find out what you can find, and I’ll be here. I’ll handle it. Over and out.”

Jimin’s heart drops. He hoped Jungkook was okay, for his own sake. He couldn’t lose another person close to his heart.

Namjoon locates Jungkook’s location, and he’s storming like a lightning bolt. He removes his headset to meet with the youngest. Jungkook pants, his chest rising and falling.

“Falcon, what the hell? How many times do I-” Namjoon is cut off by the expression on Jungkook’s face. He stops in his tracks and notices his mask is already off, with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His hands are shaking, and his heart is beating rapidly.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook begins rambling, “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck just happened!” Tears stream down his cheeks, he feels like he’s on fire, his chest continues to gasp for air. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“I-It all j-just happened s-so fast, I don’t know what to do.” Namjoon notes his trembling hands; he’d never seen him so worked up before.

“He- he came. And then I saw his purple shirt a-and I panicked, I didn’t know what the fuck to do! I-” Jungkook sobs with an aching pain on his side. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“Okay, Kook just calm down. Follow me into the coms room.” Upon arrival, Namjoon processes what had been said and his eyebrows furrow in reply. “Wait… His shirt? It was what?”

Jungkook makes an attempt to calm himself down, his rosy-tinted cheeks stained with wet tears. “Violet. It’s the last color on the spectrum.”

Namjoon shakes his head, now pacing back and forth. “This could only mean one thing…” He trails off, pondering the fact he discovered a new color on the spectrum. He scrolls through the portal and peers at the map, finding the different colors of the spectrum scattered across the city of Python. Every color except Violet.

“That’s why Thunder couldn’t pinpoint his location. Violet isn’t yet programmed into the software. Which means-”

“Firebird.” Jungkook slips.

Namjoon’s gaze snaps toward him with wide eyes, “Where did you get that name?”

“Viper said it. Firebird is looking for you.” He pauses, to let in a deep breath, “And you’d better get ready.” Jungkook groans in discomfort, a sharp shock of pain shooting through his side. He watches Namjoon’s figure, noticing the startled expression on his face.

No, it can’t be. There’s no way he was looking for him. Even if he was, why? After all this time, why now? And what was it that Namjoon had to prepare for?

And then everything came crashing down. “Shit,” Namjoon spills.

“Who is Firebird, anyway?” Jungkook questions with curiosity. A distinct chattering sound can be heard from Namjoon’s headset.

“Phoenix for Thunderbird! Do you copy?” Jimin chimes in with a slight tinge of frustration and worry clouding his being.

Ignoring Jungkook’s question, Namjoon places his headset back on.

“Go for Thunderbird.”

Jimin sighs in relief, “Oh, fuck. I thought I lost you for a sec.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “What’s going on?”

With a heaving, sweaty chest Jimin states, “We have a problem. A really, fucking, big one.” — his eyes keyed in and widening at the sight of what’s happening at the docks.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #hyunglinenetwork #btsguild #btsgoldnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #houseofddaeng #btswritingcafe #mikrogalaxynet #ficswithluv #minthlynet #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #bts fluff #jungkook fluff

[sometipsygnostalgic]

wanna see you keep talking about AT: what's your biggest criticism with each character in the series (as in a writing failure/something you didn't like about them, things of that sort)

Aww fuck! Now you’re asking. 

Everyone: Sometimes they went a bit too far with making the characters act dumb, sociopathic, etc. The show would usually be pretty consistent with having them react humanely. It was season 5, when the show had started taking itself seriously, that the characters acting sociopathic felt like a bit too much. 

Finn:  In his “jerk arc” he went too far. He had no empathy for the lemon people, he had even less than PB, who was already acting pretty sociopathic. He legitimately harrassed both FP and PB. He touched FP’s shoulder and made her uncomfortable. He stroked PB’s hand after the high five in Too Old, which by the way has actually been cut in many countries due to how gross it was. He got super weird in Rattleballs where he was a total simp and told PB about the robot even though he knew she’d kill him, just because he wanted to impress her.  Then in The Tower, he had tunnel vision and legitimately KILLED like a dozen candy people with his tower, which was hilariously referenced in Hot Diggety Doom when he said the candy people don’t trust him anymore.  I didn’t like that they made his arm grow back. Or that he kissed a million princesses in Breezy, which is a poor reflection on the crew’s treatment of girl characters in the show :P I know we ended up with the awesome Fern arc, and Finn got over his romantic hangups in a satisfying way, but the amount of people the episode alienated is unreal. It did a lot of damage to the fandom.  

PB: I hate the entire way they baited her having feelings for Finn. If you remove that kiss in Too Young, her character makes much more sense. Reading her around it makes the ep seem like a massive inconsistency. I don’t like they waited four seasons to work on her as an actual character.  I feel like they went a bit too far in making her cold and pragmatic or sociopathic. Just a smidgen. This is because some of her actions verge on irredeemable. I’m mostly thinking about her relationship with Flame Princess. It doesn’t seem right she’d have no feelings about ruining the life of a fairly innocent child. Also she totally got a bunch of flame people killed in The Cooler. At least in The Cooler, she demonstrated a modicum of doubt before taking apart the sacred Fire Giants. She’s certainly not like the Diamonds, but FP was right to say she was a bad person, and I’m glad she was horrified by what she was becoming, but couldn’t immediately turn off her paranoia or bad instincts - it’s something she works on for the rest of the show and post-canon. (It’s also why shes a million times better than the Diamonds) I think her character in season 10 could have been better handled. For start we got no followup to Elements. It’s pretty significant she became a giant candy monster and brainwashed all of Ooo, no???? It did take them two seasons but they eventually showed she was impacted by having been possessed by the Lich. I was hoping we’d get exploration with Elements too, especially because of how much she unintentionally hurt everyone, like Marceline. They tied her actions in the series far too much to her character for it to feel like something that could be brushed off.    But what was weirdest was that she wanted to go to war with one of her creations. That didn’t seem right. Pb has a complicated relationship with Lemongrab, shown right up through to the same finale (even exploring how they would currently interact in Diamonds & Lemons), and she didn’t want to go to war with him, but she did want to get him usurped by Lemonhope. If she is willing to stoop to war now, why didn’t she just... yknow.... have Gumbald executed? Stealth plan? It seems far more up her alley, and he even tried the same thing. The season finale tried to say she felt under pressure to go to war, but I don’t think it does a good job at communicating why. Why wouldn’t a secret mission work? Would it count as a war crime? If it did, who would sanction her? Gumbald in general sucks. There are better “dark reflections” of Bubblegum in the series, and Patience was a much better villain. I wonder how things would have been different if the season could conclude at its intended pace? 

Marceline: My criticism with Marceline is a lot easier to summarise, because I’ve thought about her less and she’s less involved with the show.... which is the WHOLE PROBLEM!   

1. Put Marceline in the show more. She was barely in the first six seasons at all! She’s such an awesome and fun character when they let her be. More eps like Go With Me would have been awesome.  Even more eps like Princess Day or Be Sweet, where she was LSP’s bestie. 

2. Her character’s personality, for a long time, revolved around being a source of angst. She wasn’t demonstrating her fun side at all. I guess they didn’t want to write her continuing to be a big jerk, but it meant she paled when pitched against the rest of the cast - especially PB and Ice King, who were always great, and if they were in an ep with Marceline, their characters always outshone her. This could have been repaired by having her go on more adventures with Finn and Jake, and developing Marceline’s reactions to various situations. Give her more complexity.     I really love Obsidian because Marceline demonstrates her wild side in this ep and goes on an adventure which is very personal to her. She has some cool action scenes near the start, and this episode connects her more serious personality with the comedic representation at the start of the series. I think this is the best Marceline episode, followed by Varmints (she was so fun but mature in this ep). I like how she was during and after Stakes too. She had far more personality when they were putting her in eps with multiple other characters.   

Ice King: I have no massive thoughts here. I think some of the things he did were a bit too messed up. He killed a bunch of cloud people and furniture in season 6. His actions before that point were far more innocuous, though he did accidentally kill PB those two times, and he did threaten to kill princesses after kidnapping them in season 1. I LOVE Ice King season 7 and up though. He’s so good. I was shocked at the finale when they “killed” him, had him revert into Simon with very few consequences, like all those years as Ice King had vanished. I was so glad to see Simon struggling with his past identity in Obsidian. “This is how I cope!” 

Jake: Like the others barring Marceline, I thought that Jake occasionally did stuff that was too messed up. But because he’s a less serious character, who is already verging on chaotic good/neutral, it isn’t as impactful. I don’t have any major issues with Jake. Maybe I’ll change my mind on rewatch? But I love how he can be so self-contradictory. 

Flame Princess: Last one I want to bring up. This character is a mess. Rebecca intended her to be this very innocent person, having new experiences. This was how she was characterised right through to Earth and Water, but after that episode, her character got... an unfortunate reset. Suddenly a mature and BORING ruler who barely appeared anymore in the show. I felt a lot more could have been done with Flame Princess, and they shouldn’t have made her so dull later on. They played her as a virtuous character who got over her breakup with maturity, and led her kingdom with honesty, to further the development of two entirely different characters rather than to make FP interesting in herself.