#yes I look at the dirty surface of the stove and think about cleaning

[neurotraum]

Last year also started with a pencil ghost boy and where am I now

#I hope I'll be wild and finish what I started a year ago *looks at the animatic* #Oh shit I forgot I started sketching a comic #be sure tomorrow I will forget about it again #it's just what happens #as with the thought that I need to wash the stove #yes I look at the dirty surface of the stove and think about cleaning #oh no! the stove is all my field of vision anymore and I will remember that I need to wash it only when I encounter the stove again #don't worry today I finally did it for the first time in half a year #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanart #sketch #traditional art #my art

[declinlalune]

Like a Good Neighbor || Andy & Wynne

TIMING: a few weeks ago when andy was staying at emilio's and before ariadne was kidnapped. LOCATION: emilio’s apartment. PARTIES: @ohwynne & @declinlalune SUMMARY: wynne comes over to bring emilio food while andy is there. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

Andy already felt like she was overstaying her welcome. Emilio had told her she could stay as long as she needed to, but even one night felt too long. She knew how to earn her keep; had turned in cleaning services for nightly stays in motels when on the run with Alex. It was normal for her to exchange almost anything she was good at for something else, and so that’s what she did, even though she hadn’t been asked. She didn’t dare touch Emilio’s personal belongings, but anything that looked like it didn’t hold sentimental value was free game. 

She started from the living room to the kitchen, filling trash bags with garbage and dirty rags after wiping every surface clean. She hoped he would appreciate her efforts. Andy only stopped after hearing a knock on the door– the very one she had fixed last night. At least it seemed to hold its ground against whoevers knuckles were banging against the wood. She opened the door, surprised to see a familiar face. “Wynne, right?” 

—

The cooking had become almost compulsive at this point. Wynne would grow restless, bike to the store, get the ingredients they needed and put a large pot on the fire. There was a rhythm to it. A purpose, even, something that felt realer than the job they still did, day in and out. Besides, they continued to feel like they owed Emilio. They knew that some people had come to rely on their steady supply of food, even. So naturally they showed up again, with a freshly cooked pot of food. This time naively hoping that maybe they could sit with Emilio to eat some of it.

Which was why they knocked, rather than leaving a few containers out with a post-it note stuck to it. The footsteps sounded not quite like Emilio, but they didn’t overthink it until the door opened and someone who looked not at all like the slayer opened the door. Wynne blinked, then nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Andy, right?” They swayed back and forth. “I um, came by to drop off some food. I sometimes do that. Is Emilio home? If not, I can just … put it on his stove to cool off? That’s usually okay.” It wasn’t like the door was ever locked, anyway.

—

“Andy, yeah.” She smiled, gaze sliding from Wynne’s face to the tupperware in their hands. “Oh. Yeah, I think he mentioned something like that.” She looked over her shoulder, the smell of cleaning supplies evident, even by the door. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead and the overalls she wore were a little rattier than usual with a bleach stain on the thigh from where she’d overcorrected a stain. “Hm? Emilio isn’t, but come on in.” She figured that Wynne was somebody who could be trusted, by both herself and Emilio considering he had told her about the food they’d make him. She hadn’t taken Emilio for the type to let just anyone cook for him, mostly out of suspicion that it’d be poisoned or something. 

Then again, looking at his diet didn’t really support her argument. Even she ate better than him, and Chef Boyardee was her favorite food. “I’m just cleaning while he’s out.” She wasn’t sure where he was, and she wasn’t going to ask. She knew he liked his privacy. She was overstaying her welcome, anyway. “How often do you bring him food?”

—

A strange smell came from the apartment. Not strange in and of itself, but because it was coming from Emilio’s place, which admittedly never seemed to smell this fresh. Wynne wondered if someone had been cleaning. If that person was Andy. “Okay, thank you!” They moved into the dingy apartment, which looked cleaner than they had ever seen it. “Are you … his cleaning lady?” That was something people did, right? Hire people to clean things? An outlandish concept to Wynne, who knew to clean up after themself even if it was hard during days like these, where they felt sad and lonely.

“Or just his friend?” That would be a little bit cool, they figured. Andy seemed nice, and Emilio was one of their most trusted people, so Wynne enjoyed the idea of them getting along. “The place did need some cleaning. And um, well pretty often. He has a lot of people who seem to eat his food. And I cook when I’m stressed.” They flushed a little at the revelation. “Or when I feel like it!”

—

“You don’t need to thank me.” You shouldn’t be thanking anyone, Andy wanted to add. Maybe she’d slip that in later. She knew that some people became defensive when it came to show of gratitude. “Am I…” Andy snorted. It was the first time she’d laughed since leaving the cabin, and it was sorely needed. “He wouldn’t be able to pay me enough to be, no.” That wasn’t necessarily true, she wasn’t greedy, but the last thing she wanted to be known as was Emilio’s cleaning lady. At least Wynne hadn’t mistaken her for his girlfriend. That would have been gross. 

“Just his friend, though, yeah.” She smiled at them before grabbing the broom she had bought Emilio, continuing to sweep up a small pile of dust into the dustpan. “I’ve noticed that, the no food thing.” He always had whiskey though, there was never a shortage of that. Not that she was judging. Andy looked up at Wynne as they mentioned cooking while stressed. “At least it’s productive?” She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she held the broom with both her hands, pressing the handle into her chest as she watched Wynne put the tupperware on the stove. “You haven’t run into any more birds, have you?” That’d been ages ago now, but still, Andy thought she should ask. 

—

Andy was right, of course: Wynne should not be thanking people and they told themself off for it mentally. “I still appreciate it.” That was better. The habit was so hard to break, still, despite all the things they’d learned over the past months. They let their eyes widen at Andy’s laughter and ended up chuckling too, even if it was a little hesitantly. “Then that’s very of nice of you, to do that.” Things done for friends should be done for free, even if they were as gritty as cleaning someone’s messy apartment. “It smells very nice here.” For once.

“He needs to eat more fruits and vegetables. But I guess I can’t tell an adult man what to do.” Even if they could try. Emilio had said that he appreciated them caring though, hadn’t he? And besides, who else were they going to give all their food to? Arden’s stomach was only so big. “It is productive, yes. And it makes things smell nice too. You’re welcome to have a bite of it if you want, just leave him some.” Wynne thought back to the bird and shook their head. “Some other weird creatures though. None of them really have been too big of a problem.” They thought of the agropelter, dead at their knife. They thought of the vampires, with their red eyes. They moved their hand up to cover their neck. “What about you?”

—

Andy smiled at Wynne, and this time it came easy– less forced, less fixated on the act of being normal, and just … existing. “I know, right? He really should be paying me.” She wouldn’t ever ask that of Emilio, especially not after everything he’d done, and was continuing to do for her. She hadn’t ever had an older sibling, but if her relationship with Emilio was any indication of what it was like, she had to admit, she missed out. Was this what it was like for Alex? Sure, Emilio wasn’t taking care of her, but he helped her when she needed it. She thought she could have had that with Kaden, but after he turned his back on her, she wasn’t so sure. Andy forced herself to exist in the present that was Emilio’s kitchen with Wynne across from her instead of the things she couldn’t change by picking up the glass of water she poured herself, taking a drink while trying to focus on the task at hand. “For once, right?” She set the glass down and looked around, noticing a difference already. 

“Oh, no, it’s okay.” She shook her head and looked towards the containers of food. Even if she was hungry, Wynne had made it with Emilio in mind. The last thing Andy wanted to do was start to take the things his neighbors were giving him, whether it was out of pity or care, she couldn’t tell. As Wynne explained they were running into other strange creatures, Andy clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and nodded, sweeping up a few more remnants of her cleaning spree to later throw out after the dustpan became full. “Me? Uh…” She shrugged, “this town is full of things, right? So I probably have, either without knowing or…” Andy rolled her shoulders back, “knowing, I guess.” The last monster she’d encountered hadn’t been a beast at all, but a human with skin like hers and a heart that beat to the same rhythm. What would Wynne think of her? She wasn’t sure if it mattered. Maybe whoever loved them would do the same. “But as far as birds go, I’ve been in the clear. More like… pigeons, I guess.” 

—

They chuckled. “Yeah, he should be. But then you would be his cleaning lady after all. I mean, no shame in that!” Wynne had done a bit of cleaning work, before they had settled here. Motels were willing to offer large discounts if they cleaned a fair amount of rooms. They would really prefer not to do that kind of work again, though, as they had seen things that would stick with them forever. People could be really gross. Even more gross than Emilio, who was just negligent and sloppy. They nodded. “For once. I guess we’ll see how long he keeps this up?” They hoped the look they gave Andy was one of we both know that might not be long. It was nice to be in on the joke, even if they weren’t always sure how to make these jokes. 

“It’s fine! It’s way too much for just one person, anyway. I also make some food for the other people that come here. Many people raid his fridge. Not a lot clean, though.” Nora didn’t seem the type, and they had heard rumors about Rhett eating soap, so he probably wasn’t aware of its cleaning purposes. “I guess it’s full of a lot of things. Yes. Do you know a lot about these things?” They figured that Andy would, considering how prepared she’d been to handle the not-bird. Wynne didn’t want to just start talking about vampires though, just in case. “Pigeons are fun, though. They’re a little rude sometimes, but it gives them character, right? Unlike seagulls, they’re just rude. And loud! But, well, I hope that the odd things haven’t bothered you too much.”

—

“No, no shame at all. I used to clean motels when I was a little bit younger.” She’d come across some good people then. The kind that kept her and Alex’s bellies full. The kind that put a roof over their head before they moved onto the next place. She didn’t necessarily miss cleaning shower drains and washing others’ bedding, but it was good work for when she had it, and most people didn’t ask questions. Andy grinned at Wynne, the knowing look in their eye something between two people who clearly cared about the same person, but the kind that didn’t mind poking a little fun at them anyway. 

Andy looked around Emilio’s apartment. It felt a little empty without him in it, but he was off doing who knew what with Perro at his side. It was probably for the best, anyway. Perro would’ve been a distraction. “That’s really nice of you, Wynne.” It wasn’t hard to come by kindness in Wicked’s Rest– she had encountered a lot of it, but it was hard to figure out whether or not it felt genuine. She felt that from Wynne. “Mm, figured somebody should start. The cleaning thing, I mean.” She picked up the dustpan and took it to the trash can, dumping the dust and loose bread ties into the bin. At Wynne’s question, she hummed. What was the point in keeping any of it secret if it could keep people safe? “I know enough. Where it counts. Don’t think it’s all bad, though.” Just in case Wynne was something she couldn’t sense, she wanted to make sure that Wynne knew she didn’t think of them as some kind of monster. “Hey, we’re the ones who left them to fend for themselves, right? Maybe we deserve it.” She leaned the broom against the wall and looked around. “Can’t say I’ve met a seagull I’m a fan of, though, so you might have me there.” She grinned at them. “I’m glad you’re staying out of trouble, though. Kind of hard to do around here, but…” Andy shrugged, letting her sentence fall off. 

—

“Oh, I did that too, for a while! I think I would prefer to clean this place over some of those rooms, right?” They grimaced a little. “He’s got shorter hair, and all.” It was a nice fact, to know that Andy had done similar work to them, that she had also done that thankless kind of labor that others sometimes looked down on. The same way they looked down on baristas. Wynne hated that about the outside world: at home, everyone had been valued, no matter what work they did. All of it was important for the continued success of the commune, and even if some people had a higher status, they all mattered.

They smiled a little at that assessment. Wynne wanted to be kind, someone that could offer people something real and palpable. They had abandoned their previous purpose and while this barely compared, it was at least something. “I guess,” they said, shrugging a little. “Maybe more will follow suit! It does look a lot nicer around here, so maybe they’ll be inspired!” They would prefer to keep cooking for him, though, as it was preferable over cleaning. They thought on what Andy said, and nodded, “I agree. I don’t think it’s all bad! Some of it is, though.” They were glad the other agreed with them on the topic of seagulls. They were very loud. “I mean, yeah, I mean, I’ve been trying.” Fingers traced their neck once more. “It doesn’t always work out. It’s not always safe here, huh? I guess it never is anywhere, maybe. But I’m still here, so it’s okay.” They were rambling. But was it getting into trouble when a clan of vampires kidnapped you? It didn’t feel like it, it felt more like being dragged into it. “Emilio’s good for that, too. That’s why I cook for him, I guess. He helps me with the trouble.”

—

“Oh, for sure. Could have it a lot worse, I guess.” Andy had gotten used to finding beard hairs around the house after Kaden moved in, so Emilio’s was nothing short of a minor nuisance. Then again, she was staying with him, so she couldn’t exactly complain about things, not if she wanted to keep using his couch. Which, if she were being honest, wouldn’t be for that much longer. She was getting antsy, and her jeep pulled up at a campsite seemed a little more glorious than taking up space in Emilio’s apartment, especially when he was always so busy. She felt guilty, even if she’d never admit that either. He’d done so much for her that she couldn’t stomach the thought of asking more from him. 

She couldn’t be sure of that, not really. Andy knew that Emilio probably didn’t enjoy living in filth, but he seemed to hate himself so much that it made him simply not care. She could understand that. It probably would have been her if she’d been the only one to get away that night on Alex’s 7th birthday. “Maybe. I hope so. Probably not, though. Can’t imagine the people kicking in his door will see a clean apartment and think not to fuck around and find out again.” Andy leaned against the counter, taking in the work she had completed in his apartment, satisfied with the shine on the countertops. “Some of it’s bad, yeah.” She wondered what Wynne had seen, or what they’d been through. It twisted her stomach to think about it; that everyone had some dark part of their past that they continued to run from. Or maybe Wynne had addressed it. Who was she to say? “Yeah. You’re still here.” Andy smiled, noticing the way that they brushed their neck with their fingers, but she made no move to address it. It was Wynne’s story after all, and Andy didn’t deserve to know it unless Wynne made it known, and she didn’t figure they were close enough for that. 

As Wynne continued, Andy nodded. So Emilio was looking out for Wynne, too. She thought about the story of his daughter and if he saw his own kid in Wynne. She wondered if Wynne knew about her, too, but she didn’t dare ask or give any inclination that she knew about Emilio’s past. “I’m glad he’s got you. You’re probably keeping him out of more trouble than he is with you, though.” That probably wasn’t true, but she knew what it felt like not to be able to eat sometimes, and if Wynne was making the food and dropping it by, that probably helped Emilio more than Wynne could ever imagine. “If he gets picky, I say you charge him.” 

—

“People at motels can be very inconsiderate. And this is, I guess, his own place, rather than a place he is vacationing at or something.” Though Wynne didn’t like mess, they figured it was an adult man’s good right to make as big or small a mess as he wanted. Even if the smell of trash still kind of hung in the air. (It was probably because of the couch.) “I don’t miss doing that work. My job now isn’t always perfect either but at least there’s no hair of strangers I have to deal with!” A low bar, they reflected a little sadly.

They frowned a little at the mention of people kicking down Emilio’s door. They knew the hunter had enemies, that he wasn’t someone who was widely liked — and not just because he kept insisting on being someone not worth trusting. And though they knew he could take care of himself, Wynne still didn’t like the thought of it. They shook their head, “I mean more the friendly people that come by and, you know, take things from his fridge and hang out here.” They wouldn’t suggest cleaning things to either Nora or Rhett, though. It would be uncool, and they were both very cool. 

Andy echoing their sentiment almost made them emotional. It still remained shocking, to know that people were glad to have them alive – even someone who was so close to a stranger. Everyone at home had been so ready to see them die that it was somewhat strange. “Oh, I don’t know. I make sure he gets some vitamins sometimes. He saves my life in return. It’s not really balanced but I think …” They shrugged and smiled a little. “That it is okay.” Sometimes he almost felt like what a parent was supposed to be, or at least a caring adult, one with a soft guiding hand and a duty of protection. That, too, was strange. “Ha, maybe I will do that!” They wouldn’t.

—

“Mm, you might be right.” She knew that Wynne was right, that she couldn’t judge Emilio for his lack of cleanliness. How were you supposed to care about yourself physically if you didn’t care about yourself at all? Andy probably would have fallen into that trap if not for Alex, but at the very least, she could help him here and now, even if he wouldn’t outright give her thanks. She didn’t care if he did or not. She was doing this because she wanted to repay him for the kindness he had extended to her, it wasn’t about who was the better friend. 

Wynne hadn’t meant those who wanted Emilio to pay for something he’d done. Of course not. They thought of him with kindness. She did too, of course, but it was a little harder when you knew what somebody was going through; the kind of past they came from. She wondered if Wynne knew any of that. “Oh, yeah, of course. That makes a lot more sense. Can’t be too sure, with him being a private investigator, you know?” Probably not necessary for backtracking, she realized. “Hopefully his friends aren’t breaking down his doors.” She hoped that one day she wouldn’t have to. 

“I don’t know, Wynne… I think vitamins are very important.” She grinned at them. She could tell that they cared for Emilio, and it was clear that by letting them even drop by with food, Emilio probably cared a great deal about them as well. Andy made a mental note to look out for them a little more than probably was necessary. “Where would he be without his iron?” It wasn’t like he was a warden, but Wynne wouldn’t get the joke, and she didn’t particularly feel like outing him as a hunter if Wynne didn’t already know that about him. It wasn’t lost on her how they had mentioned he saved them, and Andy sighed. “I think you could get some good money for whatever you're bringing over. It smells really good.” 

The world was so unfair, she thought. That some kid would have to be saved, some kid who was about Alex’s age. She couldn’t focus on what Wynne might have seen, or had been through for the sake of her sanity, So she focused on the here and now, that Wynne was okay, and Emilio was, too. For now, at least. “Once I’m back to work, I’ll drop you some baked goods as a thank you.” She grinned at them before moving to the kitchen to pick up a few more things. “You’re welcome to hang out if you want, I’m just gonna finish off these countertops.” 

#para: like a good neighbor #para: wynne #wickedswriting #//I LOVE WYNNE SO MUCH THAT'S MY BLORBO

[angryschnauzer]

Stuck

Summary: You are August Walkers maid, and when you are changing the sheets on his massive bed your hand gets stuck between the mattress and headboard. Upon finding you in that predicament August takes control of the situation, however it doesn’t mean you get unstuck any time soon. (Based on a pornhub video i saw at 2am a few nights ago)

Pairing: August Walker x Female Maid Reader (no race or size described) Fandom; Henry Cavill, Mission Impossible: Fallout.

Warnings; NSFW, 18+, Dub-con, Fingering, groping, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, boob play, anal fingering, double penetration, spanking, spying/stalker behaviour, surveilence, voyerism, unauthorized recording of a sex act, not-great aftercare (he tries), slight dom/sub, the start of a ‘sugar daddy’ arrangement, however no reference to Daddy kink. 

I do not operate a tag list, however please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. That way you’ll get an alert every time i post anything. Masterlist can be found on AO3 link HERE

Read the Steve Rogers version of this story HERE

Stuck

 Ringing the doorbell, you stood anxiously on the doormat outside the expensive apartment, listening for approaching steps but hearing none. So when the door suddenly opened you let out a tiny yelp of surprise, before taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart;

 “Good afternoon Mr Walker”

 The giant of a man stood in front of you, recognition quickly passing over his face when he saw your uniform of black dress and simple black ballet flats;

 “Oh yes, the maid. C’mon in”

 You worked for a high security housekeeping company, strict controls and stringent background checks as you were contracted to the pentagon and the agents and staff that worked there. You always worked on an ad-hoc basis, only visiting homes when clients or agents requested it. This was however the fourth time cleaning Mr Walker’s apartment, always having to work around suitcases littering the halls and various weapons being cleaned and serviced on the kitchen table. 

 Holding your pail of cleaning supplies you waited as he shut the door, talking at you rather than to you;

 “Okay so here’s what you need to do today; clean the bathroom and kitchen, vacuum the rugs throughout, change the bedding and leave in the laundry hamper”

 You nodded;

 “Sweeping throughout too sir?”

 “No need, the Roomba does the smooth floors, it just can’t get onto the deep pile rugs” he hooked an earbud into one ear; “I’m going out for a run, I’ll be two hours”

 Swallowing nervously you nodded, watching as he hooked the other earbud in and left without another word, leaving you staring at the white wood of the door after he’d closed it. 

 Mr Walker both scared and excited you. A beast of a man, he was all muscle, and each time you had visited he had excused himself so not to be there whilst you were. The fact that he was always in a tank top and running shorts that did nothing to hide any part of him had you stretching your concentration to its limits in order to get your job done and not drift off into a fantasy land that you saved for when you were curled up in your own bed.

 Getting to work you started on the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher with the various dirty crockery that littered the room, cleaning the surfaces, sink, stove. Next up you hit the rugs, working quickly as you vacuumed, before heading to the bathroom. 

 Taking a deep breath you opened the door and relaxed. Cleaning bathrooms for single men were what you always dreaded, but at least as you started to cleanse every surface including the toilet, you realised that Mr Walker thankfully had good aim. Finally it was time for the shower, and as you pulled open the glass door and looked down you let out a shriek; the largest spider you’d ever seen sat in the corner. Grabbing the handled loofah you crept a little closer, letting out a laugh when you saw it wasn’t in fact an arachnid; instead it was a clump of dark hair;

 “Well, the man does have a lot of hair” you muttered to no-one but yourself, thinking about how his chest was covered in a mat of soft hair, exposed in the low neck of his running tank. 

 Half an hour later you wiped your brow on the back of your arm. Mr Walkers bathroom had in fact been a nightmare, the man shed more hair than a fucking German Shepherd. Washing your hands and glancing at your watch, you saw that you had fifteen minutes left of the two hours, taking a deep breath before grabbing the clean linens from the closet.

 Mr Walkers bedroom was white. There was no personalisation, no trinkets. Slipping your ballet flats off you climbed onto the bed, mentally taking in the sheer size of it; it must be a super king if not larger. Your mind immediately went south, imagining Mr Walker fucking on the bed, sprawled out as you straddle his face - you had always wondered what that moustache felt like against your skin - and you ride his tongue, or him pile driving you into the mattress, his hard body pressing against every inch of you as he fills you.

 Moving up the bed you tugged on the sheet, cursing as it wouldn’t pull out from between the mattress and headboard. With a huff you shuffled forward, pushing your hands down between them, tugging on the expensive white cotton. Pushing your arm down a little further you could just about feel that it was caught on something, moving to pull back and then it happened… you were stuck.

 “What the...?” you muttered, realisation hitting you that your watch had slipped into the gap and was now preventing you from pulling your arm out. You could feel your heart rate increasing as you struggled to set yourself free, pulling against the strain but it did little to help.  You pushed and pulled and grunted, hiking your dress up so you could widen your stance on the bed, but nothing worked. You frantically looked around to see the time, yet there wasn’t a clock or display in sight, and you could hardly look at your watch. If you didn’t get out of there soon Mr Walker…

 “Well isn’t this a pretty sight…”

 No. Please no. Oh god no. You screwed your eyes shut, the heat of embarrassment rising to your skin;

 “I’m stuck” you whispered, letting out a yelp when you felt the bed dip behind you, feeling his hands gently resting on your hips;

 “Unfortunate for you, maybe not so for me...”

 -

 Five minutes ago.

 August sat in the small room, staring at the laptop screen in front of him. As ideas went, this was both his best and worst idea yet. Installing hidden security cameras in his apartment had been at first simply for security whilst he was away on missions, but he’d found a secondary use for it once the agency had recommended your employers as a maid service. He hadn’t been expecting someone as pretty as you, you had this look of innocence about you that made him just want to corrupt you and ruin you. He may be a bastard but he wasn’t a heathen, so instead of just turning on the charm offensive he had found an abandoned room in his apartment building and set up a small surveillance center. One with a chair, a laptop, a bottle of lube and a box of tissues. 

 August Walker had just spent the last two hours edging himself as he watched you bend over in that knee length dress, adjusting camera angles to see up your skirt as you bent over. August Walker was one step away from full on pervert. And he had no regrets at all.

 That was until he saw you on his bed, and realised you were trapped. Temptation got the better of him, so stuffing his hard dick back into his running shorts, he quickly left the room and silently made his way back to his apartment. 

 He entered and could smell the pleasant scent of the cleaning fluids you’d used, the quiet grunts as you tried to free yourself from your predicament. Toeing off his sneakers he silently made his way through the hallways, suppressing a groan as he saw you on his bed; ass up face down, the fabric of your dress stretched over the tops of your thighs, the fabric moving as you moved to expose glimpses of your buttocks. He pressed a hand over the obscene bulge in his shorts before moving to the bed.

 -

 “Mr Walker!” you squeaked out in surprise; “You’re back… umm I’m stuck, my watch… I can’t get my wrist back through the gap between the headboard and the mattress”

 “Oh… what a shame. Let me help…”

 You were expecting him to move around you, but instead he covered your body with his own and grasped your arms. Your mind was lost as you took in how his massive hands could completely circle your wrists, the weight of him above you almost suffocating, and when he started to tug you knew you were done for. 

 The gentle rocking of your bodies, rubbing against one another was all it took for a moan to leave your mouth involuntarily, the feeling of his hard dick rutting against the crease of your ass making you embarrassingly wet almost instantly. He grunted above you;

 “Huh, well that didn’t work…”

 Pushing himself up he knelt behind you, still pressing his hard-on against your ass as his hands gripped your hips and he tugged gently, however all he did was pull you back against his crotch;

 “This fabric is slippery, hang on a second…”

 Pressing your head to the bed you felt him flip your skirt up, hearing a sharp intake of breath behind you as he took in the bright red thong you were wearing beneath your dress. His warm hands smoothed over your buttocks before gripping onto your hips and half-heartedly tugging again. 

 It was no good, you were too turned on to even object. You’d lusted after your client for weeks, and now you found yourself in this predicament which it was obvious he had no intention of helping you with, but instead had other ideas that you had no desire to object to. You were rocking back against his dick, the quiet moans escaping your throat telling him you were more than into it, so when you felt his fingers curl around the elastic of your underwear and tug them down to your mid-thigh, all you could do was arch your back and present your pussy for his inspection. 

 Thick fingers parted your folds, teasing your nectar to your aching clit where a thumb rubbed hard circles against the sensitive bud. His other hand was lost from you for a moment and you could feel him moving, before you felt the thwack of his heavy dick against your ass. 

 With your hand trapped and your body stretched out you could barely look over your shoulder, but when you did you could see the impressive bulk of your clients body towering over you, the sight making your cunt clench with anticipation.

 “Excited, are we?”

 “Please Mr Walker…”

 “Please what?” You moaned and his quiet chuckle filled the room; “You gotta say it”

 “Please fuck me”

 “Eager little thing, aren’t we?”

 “Please…”

 “Well, as you asked so nicely…”

 He took hold of his dick and dragged the bulbous tip through your folds, dousing himself with your juices before lining himself up with your entrance. When you felt him push just the tip inside you it felt like you were being split open, he must be as thick as your wrist, and as he continued to force his way into your body it felt like he was the length of your forearm.

 “Such a good little slut, taking my dick…” his voice filled your senses as your body fought to relax and allow him deeper, your juices running down your legs where he would rock back and forth to lubricate his girth before pushing another punishing inch in to you. 

 Your velvet walls parted yet gripped him tight, and you could feel every ridge, bump and vein as he started to fuck your tight pussy. With every pull and push your head swam, your body moving back to meet his thrusts as his massive hands gripped onto your hips and he started to slam into you harder and harder. When his hand came down onto your ass the loud smack surprised you just as much as the pain, but you arched your back even more like a bitch in heat. 

 He reached beneath you, tugging at the neckline of your dress with both hands, before the seam of the collar broke and the soft jersey stretched enough for him to tug the fabric down. His fingers caught in the lace cups of your bra, and whilst still plunging deep into you from behind, he was able to let your titties swing free and he grabbed a handful;

 “Such pretty tits. Next time you clean I want you in just your underwear so I can watch them swing. Might get you scrubbing the floors so I can see you bent over and ready for me”

 You shuddered at his words, he already paid a premium for your services, and the electronic tip that he’d sent through had been more than generous, the last visit alone you had been surprised by the triple figures, but more than grateful that you were able to pay the bills.

 His hands had found their way back to your ass, smoothing over the soft skin as he continued to fuck you, the wide ridge that ran along the underside of his length rubbing so beautifully against your g-spot, you were sure you were going to cum soon. 

 He pulled your cheeks apart and you felt him spit on your asshole, the warm liquid pooling for a moment before his thumb started to rub insistently over the brown rose. Burying your head in the soft sheets you allowed your body to relax as he breached your back door with his thumb, the wide digit stretching you as he pushed in as far as he could;

 “This ass is incredible. I can’t wait to fuck it”

 You let out a tiny yelp at the idea of trying to fit his massive cock in your ass;

 “Mr Walker!”

 “Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you’re stretched out first. Might want to add a plug to the uniform list for next time, make sure you’re ready lubed and stretched for me. But don’t you worry your pretty little head, this time I’m just going to cum deep in this sweet pussy of yours. Are you on birth control? Are you ripe?”

 You hadn’t even considered birth control. Your insurance had stopped covering you a couple of years back, so when you had gone on the occasional date that had ended up between the sheets, you’d simply resorted to condoms;

 “No… no…”

 “Oh yes. I’m going to cum deep inside you, let my seed rest within your womb. God, I’d love to see your belly round with my child, I bet your tits would be even more impressive. Hmmn yes, that’s fucking perfect…”

 You hadn’t thought it possible, but all that he said was turning you on even more, and it wasn’t just you that liked the idea, you could feel him swell within you, his girth growing thicker as his arousal grew. The added stretch was driving you closer and closer to your own orgasm, the dual stimulations of your pussy and ass both being filled had you trembling with need.

 “Are you going to cum for me?” his voice was hoarse and dry, an edge of desperation to it too; “I’m close, gonna shoot my load in you soon. You’d better cum before I do ‘cos once I’m done I’m pulling out and will leave you dripping with my seed and on edge…”

 The threat of being left on the precipice was enough to push your body over the edge, cumming hard as your body held him so tight he thought he wouldn’t be able to pull out. The vice like grip had him throwing his head back as your body milked him, his own orgasm ripping through his body that he came with a roar and a string of expletives. 

 -

 August wasn’t sure if he had ever cum that hard before, but the way your body gripped him so tight he was in no doubt that your pussy was the best he’d ever had - and he’d had a lot - and he knew without a doubt that he was not going to let anyone else ever come near it again.

 As he slowed his thrusts and let you work through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, he mentally checked off all the things he’d been checking up on; from the details of your financials, your family and education, your social media. He had seen all of them. He had your phone tapped and knew that he was going to be installing spy cameras in your apartment… that was until you agreed to be his. 

 Looking down at your ass he pulled his thumb out of your now loosened asshole, making sure to catch the way it winked as he recorded on his phone, having pulled that out of his pocket soon after he’d started and had recorded himself defiling your body. Giving your ass a smack he relished how the camera picked up the jiggle as the force rippled through you, before grasping a large handful of ass as he pulled out and watched his cum pool at your entrance, before pushing it back in with two thick fingers. Tugging your underwear up your legs from where they had settled around your knees, he made sure the flimsy red mesh covered your hole, quickly getting soaked with his seed as he pushed the fabric against the mess to fully coat it. 

 Finally he shut his phone off and reached towards the headboard, giving it a tug and feeling it lift, watching as you silently pulled your hand free before collapsing on the bed. He carefully unbuckled your wristwatch before rubbing at the sore skin, easing away the chafed skin. He set your hand down carefully and quickly left the room, returning a moment later with a glass of water and holding it to your lips as he helped you sit up. 

 Setting the empty glass on the side, he rubbed your back before attempting to fix your torn collar, finally giving up. He swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the mascara tear stains;

 “Next week you’ll need to be in your underwear and heels. Make sure the plug is well lubricated. I’ll have everything delivered to your address”

 You went to object, to question how he would even know, but then realised… CIA… of course he knew. You pushed yourself to the edge of the bed, finding your shoes and slipping your feet in, standing on wobbly legs as he spoke again.

 “Do as I ask and I’ll let you stay the night so I can fuck your other two holes as well”

 Turning you nodded;

 “Yes Mr Walker”

 “Oh, you can call me Sir now” he turned to leave the room before waving his finger at the pile of fresh linen still folded at the end of the bed; “Remember to finish up before you leave”

 He left the room without another word. You went to object, but just as you did you felt the phone in your pocket vibrate. Quickly checking it your eyebrows practically shot off the top of your head, seeing the tip transfer come through for $2000. Biting your lip, your thumb hovered over the accept/decline buttons, the moral dilemma tearing your mind in two.

 -

 In the hallway August watched his phone. He could see that you’d received the notification of the tip. When he saw your action on the app he smiled and slid the phone back into his pocket, already planning your next visit.

Part 2 >>>

#august walker #august walker smut #august walker x reader #henry cavill #august walker x you

[lubdubsworld]

Falling for you ( Falling from grace) ( Complete )

Summary : Friends with benefits? Or maybe Enemies who just happen to fuck? Areum and Jungkook love driving each other crazy, but also can’t keep their hands off each other.

Chapter 1 

 Chapter 2 

 Chapter 3

 Chapter 4

 Chapter 5  

Chapter 6  

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 ( Final ) 

Something about sitting on the counter in Jungkook’s kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt and chopping carrots , while the clock read 2.20 AM felt so right, that I couldn’t stop grinning. 

Jungkook was singing softly and apparently singing was yet another thing he was ridiculously good at.

“You’re singing at our wedding. You sound like an angel.” I declared, pointing one red veggie at him.

Jungkook laughed.

“Sure, what song?”

“Something sweet and nice and-”

“ Take off those heels- Lay on my bed- Whisper dirty secrets as I’m pulling on your hair.....” 

I glared at him. 

“absolutely not.”

“Aww Come on... “ Jungkook gave me the full brunt of his puppy eyes, “We should be true to ourselves and lets be real, yes I enjoy being corny and romantic with you but...it’s in the bed that we truly shine as a couple.” He grinned, bunny teeth poking out in an entirely too adorable way considering that he wanted to sing a fucking sex song at our ‘not-even-sure-if-its-happening wedding’ . 

“No one else needs to know that...” I shuddered. My sister would expire on the spot. 

“ They will when we sneak out at the reception to have sex in the closet.” 

“In my wedding dress? Yeah right.” I rolled my eyes.

Jungkook’s eyes glittered. 

“We’re going to be married in the Maldives. You’re going to be in a bikini.” He said casually. 

I blinked.

“A bikini?”

“Yes. A bikini. The kind I can undo with just a couple of tugs on a string. “ 

“You’ve...given this a lot of thought.” I smirked.

He nodded.

“I am...but only because it’s damn near impossible to think of anything else when you’re in front of me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”.

He shrugged,

“Even picked out a ring.”

“Liar.” I hissed and he laughed.

“You’re right. I haven’t picked a ring. We’ll pick one together ....when we want to get married.” 

“But...thats ...not anytime soon right?” I said nervously. Jungkook gave me a smile, moving back to stirring the saucepan with the meat and adding some sauce. 

“It doesn’t have to be ever. I’m happy this way. If one day you wake up and feel like you’re missing a ring on your finger, we’ll go do the whole wedding shebang. If not, that's fine too. We can spend the rest of our lives being the horny couple everyone avoids at family gatherings. ” he shrugged. 

I laughed but felt my heart expand a few sizes inside me. 

“Thank you.” I whispered and he leaned over the counter to gently grip my chin, planting a soft kiss on my lips. 

“No one else gets to say what we are. No one else gets to say what we can or can’t do. Okay?” He rubbed his nose against mine and I nodded.

I bit my lips, thinking about something that had always bothered me. 

“Your parents-” He cut me off before I could finish.

“I won’t lie. They’ll probably want me to...reconsider.” He sighed. “ But I don’t think they’ll give  you  a hard time about it.. They’re polite and good people. Just have a different idea of what I need in a wife.”

I played with the hem of his shirt. 

“Sana , she’s-” i couldn’t even say it, just looking up at him. He was already staring at me. 

He nodded, smiling a little.

“Someone my parents have been trying to set me up with, yeah.” He admitted. 

“You didn’t turn her down ...” I said softly, feeling hurt . 

He stared at me, turning the heat down on the pan before coming around to stand in front of me. 

“Hey, come on, don’t look like that, baby...”

“And she’s going to be there at your fight today and-”

“I just didn’t want to pick a fight with my parents before today’s match. Because believe it or not, I was going to ask you out today , after I won.”

I blinked at him, surprised.

“Really?”

“Really. I... you’ve been staying over and stuff, and you actually looked jealous of Sana so I thought...you know maybe you’ve changed your mind about us.... So I wanted to ask you out. And I wanted my parents to  be in a good mood when I told them I’m with you. So I indulged them a little , that’s all.” 

I nodded. Talking about his parents made me think of my own mother and God, I could feel a headache coming on. But I had to tell him the truth. 

“My mom...she’s...she’s a little...”

He squeezed my knees, leaning closer and bumping my head with his.

“I’m not the kind of guy women usually want to bring home to their parents, but i will wear a nice button down,  brush my teeth  and get a whole bunch of flowers for her when you ask me to.” He whispered. 

“She’ll only want you for your money.” I blurted out.

He straightened, looking confused.

Embarrassment flooded me but I had to be honest with him.

“My mother, she... she got used to a really luxurious lifestyle with my dad and when he died, she just...she couldn’t accept that she’s going to have to give up a lot of stuff... So she’ll try to get you to buy her things. I’ll try to keep her away as much as I can but-”

“I really wouldn’t mind buying her stuff-”

I shook my head fiercely.

“No..No..that’s... I can’t ask you to that.”

Areum look at me-” He demanded and I stared at him. 

“You do know that I’m like, filthy rich, right?” He said firmly.

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes but-”

“Buying your mom a few trinkets every month wouldn’t even put a dent in the amount of money I make in a fucking  hour.” He raised both his eyebrows.

I frowned.

“Okay, stop bragging.” 

He laughed. 

“ I’m serious. You don’t have to worry about it okay? Besides you can always repay me for it. “ 

I gaped at him.

“I cannot repay-”

“In kisses.” He finished. 

I stared at him, not fooled at all.

“And office sex. I really really want to spend a whole entire day at work with you wrapped around my cock...not even fucking,,,just you in my lap, me inside you.... Its like my biggest fantasy.” His eyes looked a little glazed. 

I felt heat rush all the way up to my ears, my face flaming. 

“You’re insatiable” I muttered, whacking his shoulder. 

His eyes shifted, gaze darkening and heavy with something that was more than just lust. More than just attraction,. It was heavy and over powering, strong and impossible to ignore. It was so heavy and dark and sensuous and yet somehow so achingly soft and affectionate. 

“It’s never enough, “ He leaned in close, curving fingers on my waist and kissing my neck. “ After two years, I tell myself I should have had enough of you but...” He brushed his lips against mine, “   It’s not. I want to touch you more. I always come away from our time together wishing I could touch you some more. Want to touch you more, take in that scent of yours, watch your eyes flash when I make you cum. ” 

He grabbed my knees, spreading my legs and I became acutely aware of being completely naked underneath his shirt. 

“We’re not having sex on the kitchen counter.” I protested, laughing  and he hummed, kissing my jaw gently.

“Come on, its a rite of passage. Its not true love if you don’t have sex on the kitchen counter while your dinner burns on the stove...” 

Oh, well. 

Maybe he was right. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Should i just forfeit the match tonight?” Jungkook whispered, voice muffled against my shoulder blades as he pressed soft little kisses to my skin , deliciously slow and gentle. 

I frowned, face down on the soft duvet on his bed, fingers curled into the fabric, trying to chase sleep. 

The slightly golden light spilling into the room told me it was morning, but still pretty early. We could definitely afford to sleep in a few more hours at least. It had been almost four in the morning when we had finally fallen asleep. Jungkook had wanted to leave the kitchen as it was but I couldn’t fathom leaving some poor maid the task of cleaning cum off the mahogany surface. 

“Why would you say that?” i said, surprised. 

Jungkook sighed.

“I don’t know. “ He pulled away from me and rolled to the side. I stared at him as he gazed back at me. 

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, genuinely concerned.

He gave me a soft smile.

“It’s just a thought. I have it every morning of a major match.” He ran a palm over his face, mussing up his hair bore reaching out to press a kiss on my forehead. 

“Is it nervousness?” I asked, feeling anxious. There was something oddly frightening about seeing this side of Jungkook. I’d only ever seen the cool, confident asshole. The one that had no qualms about taking what he wanted, when he wanted. 

And I felt .... like it was a privilege he was granting me, letting me see the vulnerable side to his well earned cockiness. 

He shook his head. 

“It’s not. I’m not worried about losing, wouldn’t even mind losing once in a while.”

“But you don’t... you’re literally incapable of losing, golden maknae...” I teased and he rolled his eyes. 

“It’s actually about you.” He reached out and cupped my cheek gently. 

I blinked, pressing my own fingers over his. .

“What?”

“I’m not sure you’ll....like  that  side of me.” He said hesitantly. 

“Jungkook...”

“A large part of why I never let you see me fight is because, I’m not a nice person in the ring. I don’t show a lot of mercy ... I sometimes use more force than necessary and well, there’s nothing beautiful about beating the shit out of someone is there?”

I swallowed.

“You think I’ll see you differently, if I watch you fight.”

He nodded. 

“Won’t you? It’s not a very dignified sport.” 

I hesitated, not sure what to say to that. 

“I’ve not... I don’t think I’ve ever thought it was weird, in a bad way, that you boxed. I just thought it was something you were good at. It’s not... I don’t think I feel that deeply about it.” 

He nodded.

“I believe you . But it still worries me. I’m just scared I guess...”

“Scared..?”

“Scared that seeing me in the ring will make you change your mind about us.” 

I jolted, stunned. 

Moving quickly to his side , I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him hard. 

I pulled back to glare at him.

“I’m not going to leave you over a sport you play.” I said drily .

He chuckled and kissed the tip of my nose.

“If you say so.”

“I’m serious. I’m not a delicate flower, Jungkook. I’m not going to enjoy watching you get hurt, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to just...give up on everything that you are.... because of this.” 

“You’re right.... I’m sorry if i worried you.” He said softly , and it was so disarming, how much adoration was writ large on his features.

 I was used to the lust and the passion and the roughness but this Jungkook, the tender, gentle lover....he was sending me into a downward spiral. 

“This is weird.” I laughed a little.

He grinned.

“What?” He scooted closer, reaching out to gently hold my hand.

“You...being so...” I stopped when he stroked the delicate skin on the back of my hand with feather light touches. 

“So...what?” His eyebrows quirked up, teasing and I felt myself blushing so furiously . 

“Stop it...” I whispered, mortified with how hot my face was getting. That tender, adoring look on his face was making it impossible for me to breathe.

Jungkook gave me a wicked smile and carefully slotted his fingers between mine, holding my hand gently before raising it up to kiss my knuckles.

“What’s making you turn so red, angel?” He pressed soft affectionate kisses, on each knuckle and then the inside of my wrist and I smiled so wide my cheeks began to hurt a bit. 

“Jungkook...” I could barely get the words out and it was so incredibly embarrassing that something as innocently affectionate as him holding my hand was filling me with an incontrollable urge to just burst into tears. 

“ I love you...” He whispered , blowing gently on my fingers. 

“Oh, God...” I could feel my soul threatening to leave my body. 

“Love every little bit of you...” He rolled over me, straddling my waist , arms caging me in as he pressed one soft kiss to my temple. 

“I’m going to cry.” I said firmly.

“Love that you’re so brave, so unafraid. “ He kissed the edge of my brows., “ love that you stand up for yourself, love that you don’t take shit from anyone, even me and I love that you’re here. In my arms. Like this, although I don’t deserve you at all, my beautiful goddess....” he whispered. 

The nickname made me astral project for one hot minute. 

Determined to get some control back, I grabbed the drawstrings of his sweatpants, untying the loose knot before slipping my fingers into the waistband. 

“Hmm... you’re right. You don’t deserve. But because I’m a generous generous goddess, how about I let you worship me, the way  I  deserve ....” I whispered, tugging his pants down, pushing the fabric past  his muscled thighs. He laughed.

“And how would that be?”

“Let me use that hot, thick dick of yours... Wanna ride it till my thighs shake, make you cum so hard you’ll see heaven...” I whispered and he rolled his eyes. 

“This is supposed to be a soft moment .... and all you’re interested in is my cock , you dirty little-” He choked when I shimmied down, quickly. Scooting down the bed till i was face to face with his dick, his thighs straddling my chest and his cock right up against my mouth. 

I licked the tip, gently. 

“I love you too..” I whispered, wrapping my lips around the soft head , letting my lips suck on the sensitive skin, tongue licking the soft underside as he grabbed on to the headboard to steady himself. 

“Areum-” 

“Love how much you care for me,” I ran the tip of my tongue all over the head , getting it nice and sloppy, “  how upset you get when I’m hurting....” I opened my mouth wide, lifting up just a bit to suck more of him into my mouth. 

“Oh God-”

“Love how kind, and talented and nice you are. Love how good you are at making me feel good. No one makes me feel as good as you do, Jungkook...” 

He was staring down at me, eyes blown with a mixture of arousal and affection, fingers carding through my hair gently.

I gave his hip a small pat.  

“Fuck my mouth... i can’t suck you off like this.” I squeezed his ass , enjoying how hard it felt beneath my hand. I gripped his thighs, stroking them up and down, leanly muscled and corded with strength. 

And then, completely losing my senses, 

“Namjoon’s thighs are a little bigger than yours right? ”  I said thoughtfully, completely serious and not even realizing what i was saying and  who  I was saying it to until his grip on my hair tightened hard enough  . 

Jungkook’s eyes widened comically and he was off me in a second. 

The look of sheer and absolute horror on his face made me laugh so hard i nearly choked. 

Growling, he grabbed me by the shoulders, flipping me over so fast, i bounced off the mattress. I laughed into the fabric of the pillow . 

“Jungkook, i was just jok--” I got cut off by a smack to the back of my thigh, hard and stinging. 

“Hyung’s thighs? Really, Areum, you wanna got there?” He smacked me again, and I whined. 

“Is this any way to treat a goddess?” I choked out, struggling to crawl away but he held me down easily. 

“Shouldn’t ever go soft on you..., called you a goddess one time and suddenly you wanna be a little brat about it......” He grunted, fingers closing around my upper arms and pulling my hands back so hard that my shoulder actually popped. 

He pulled me up till I was on my knees, his chest pressed to my back as he gripped my wrists hard. 

“Ow!! I’m sorry!” I yelped, but he wasn’t listening,  and I grinned when i felt the familiar cold of metal on my wrists. 

“You’re so easily riled...” I added a slight lilt to my words, knowing how much it annoyed him. 

He didn’t disappoint, grabbing my chin hard and yanking my head back so I could stare at him. 

“Only when you forget your place, angel.” He whispered . 

“My place?” I blinked innocently. “ And where is that?”

He gave me a quick bruising kiss.

“In my heart most of the time. But right now, on your knees up against the head board so I can fuck your brains out.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I love you.” Jungkook said cheerfully, leaning against the wall and grinning like the Chesire cat. I straightened from where I was kneeling, tying my sneakers. 

I stared at him, completely amused.

“Jungkook you don’t have to say that so often...” I shook my head.

He frowned. 

“I like being able to say those words to you. I spent entirely too many months thinking them and not being allowed to say them.”

I felt my heart melt a little. 

“I love you too. “ I whispered.

“I wouldn’t mind you being there, you know. I know I said all that stuff, but if you really want to see me fight from up front....” 

I shook my head. 

“Its alright. I won’t be anywhere near the front and I’ll make sure to look away when you’re punching your opponent. “ I teased. 

He sighed.

“Just remember that’s not who I am, okay? I... I love you.” He said again.

“Now the word’s just beginning to lose all meaning.” I laughed. 

He looked hurt at that.

I rushed to sooth him.

“I’m just joking, I’m joking... Of course it has meaning and i love that you’ve suddenly turned into a love bot, but let’s just... tone it down. Just a little bit.” I pinched my fingers together,.

He tugged his lower lips between his teeth.

“You’ll be okay to get to the venue by yourself right? I’m going to take a shower and a nap before I head there.”

“I’ll be fine.” I waved him off. “ We’ll meet up after you win and celebrate properly.” I winked, giving him one last kiss before waving bye. 

As the door closed behind him, I couldn’t help but grin ear to ear.

Ain’t love grand? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was wrong. 

I couldn’t do this.

“He is so hot. Oh my God, you’re so lucky, Sana...look at his fucking abs.” 

I willed myself not to take a swing at the girl next to me. I wanted to clench my fist, raise my arm and just let loose till she was knocked out on the floor. The women from the office had seen me hovering awkwardly at the back and swooped on me like a pair of vultures. 

I’d been swept to the very front with them, my protests falling on deaf ears and now, suddenly I had front row seats to watching the love of my life get hurt. 

There was nothing even remotely enjoyable about watching Jungkook get hit. And although it was clear that he was winning , clear that he was so much better than his opponent, there was no denying that the other guy was good too.

And the two times he had managed to catch Jungkook off guard, landing a couple of punches, my entire heart had cracked into two. 

“He’s going to be my husband...can you believe?” San whispered next to me and I startled.,

Oh God. 

The girls looked at me eagerly.

“Oh...that’s yeah. Sounds amazing.” I smiled. 

“He could probably like fuck you against the wall, “ Jieun whispered, giggling .

Sana blushed so red I wanted to scream.

“So hot... Do you think he’s... you know...big?” She nudged me lightly, laughing. 

Oh wow. I clenched my fists, feeling rage fill my veins so fast that I saw red. 

But I was saved by the sound of a commotion up front and my head whipped around, panic setting in. 

I stared at the ring. Jungkook stood back while his opponent was flat on the floor, unmoving. 

Great, these horny bitches had made me miss him taking the winning shot. 

i watched the referee kneel beside the prone man, counting slowly and I saw Jungkook turn to stare right at me.

“He’s looking at you, Sana... He’s looking at you, look!!” Jieun grinned. 

I bit my lips, smiling at him. 

“I think you should go to him.” The girls told Sana and I jumped.

What the fuck??

Unable to bear it, I pushed past them, ignoring their surprised squawks as I pushed past the crowd to the aisle. 

“And , ladies and gentleman, we have ourselves a winner. Give it up for our very own, Jeon Jung Kook!!” 

The crowd went wild, the referee raising his hand up in victory.

I ran all the way up to the ring, narrowly missing the guard near the front and crawling up into the ring. 

Jungkook stared at me, wide eyes as I jumped on him with a running leap. 

He caught me around the waist easily, laughing. He gripped my butt, hoisting me up and I wrapped my thighs tight around his waist. 

“Oh, wow”. He whispered, but I was too busy searching the crowd for the three girls who had triggered me into this madness. 

Sana and her two friends stood slack jawed, eyes wide as saucers as they stared at me. 

I snatched the mic out of Jungkook’s hand. Glared right at them. 

“To answer your question...yes.. he’s big. The biggest I’ve ever had and what’s more he knows how to use it too. Also, stay the fuck away from my boyfriend and stop talking about him like he’s a piece of meat, you whores. You do know I work in the HR department right? I will file sexual harassment suits on the three of you so fast you’ll-” 

Jungkook grabbed the mic out of my hands before I could finish, looking absolutely horrified. 

“You crazy little bint!” He laughed aloud and I pouted.

“They’re taking about your dick. I don’t like that.” I protested. 

“Baby, you know my dick is yours.” 

“Damn right it is.” I said firmly. 

He grinned a bit. 

“And so is my heart.” 

I let him kiss me, the background noise and the sound of of cheering fading away as I let my eyes flutter shut, reveling in just him. 

Of course, we had things to do. Meet our parents. Make our relationship public.... a whole lot of messy grown up stuff that would annoy the fuck out of both of us. 

But for now, kissing him in front of everyone, ignoring Namjoon’s screams of, ‘ Jungkook there are reporters here!!! ’ and my sister’s shouts of, ‘ stop you heathens’.....

Well, this felt just right. 

The End .

Authors Note : Well, this was a whole entire journey wasn’t it!!!!! I will deeply miss Jungkook and Areum, I loved them with my whole entire heart. I hope you guys loved them too... Let me know if you did... As always, feedback is much, much appreciated !!!! Thank you for sticking by.  Love and kisses. 

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@brooky95

@apollukee

@bonyg 

@craztextae

#jungkook fics #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook au #bts smut #bts au #bts fics #bts fanfics #jungkook fanfics

[cedric-stories]

Wassailia Cookies (Cedric x Reader)

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: Very suggestive (what’s new? Lol), no sex but strongly implied, language, fluffy.

Plot: You’re gonna need to read it to find out 😉

Author’s note: hope there’s no errors. Sorry it took me so long to post again.  Have been busy for the past few days packing for vacation. I’m happy to say there is a ‘by the ocean’ fic in the works, lol. Happy Holidays y’all!!

(and yes, the suggestive content is suggestive but there is no sex. Tbh, I’m a little scared about writing my first smut so I keep holding off. Eventually though, lol. I’ll mark where it gets weird with a 😊 and where it ends.)

Last thing, THANK YOU ALL MY NEW FOLLOWERS!!! I APPRECIATE THE SUPPORT!! AND TO ALL YOU WHO LIKE MY POSTS!! I’m glad y’all enjoy it

Wassailia Cookies

Reader pronouns: She/her

“Love, can you please get the door?” you called outside the tower.

You waited outside with two heavy, brown boxes crowding your view.

           “It’s open.” He said, not sure that you could see.

“Thanks!”

           Once you got inside, you placed them down on the nearest wooden table.

Your chest was heaving up and down, “Oh man, those were heavy.”

           “What on earth are they?”

You smiled, trying to catch your breath. “Ingredients to bake Wassailia cookies.”

           Cedric cocked his head. “Bake cookies?”

“Um, yeah,” you wondered what he didn’t understand. “I thought we could make some sugar ones together. If you want to?”

           He still had a puzzled look on his face.

“Alright, that would be fun, but why not just conjure some?”

           Your perplexed expression turned to utter shock.

“What fun is that? It’s a tradition to make cookies by hand during the holidays.” You explained with your ‘you should know this’ tone. “Didn’t you do this with your family?”

           Cedric shook his head. “I never have. Growing up, mother always just conjured some, if we had any at all.”

“So,” you began, “did you guys have any family traditions for the holidays?”

           “Well…no I guess not. My father was always” his expression sadden, “to busy to do things like that.”

           You felt bad for him. Here the love of your life has never had any traditions over the holidays. You had just presumed he did. Not knowing what to say, you just stood in front of him.

           “Well, why don’t we just make some traditions of our own?” you said, trying to cheer him up.

           Cedric’s eyes met yours and gained back the familiar twinkle.

“Alright! Do you still want to bake?”

           You grinned. “I’d love to!”

You picked up a box and Cedric picked up the other. The two of you started into the kitchen and set the stuff down on the counter.

Cedric put a hand on your back, and you shifted into him.

“Now, you must me patient with me, love. I am not much of a baker.”

           You giggled. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

           After standing there for a minute, you began taking ingredients out. You asked him to grab a few bowls and you brought out the mixer. You rummaged through a few papers and picked one out.

           “Here, this is the recipe, if you want to get the wet ingredients out of the fridge and start putting them together that would be great.” You said, still looking into the box.

           “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

           When you finally finished getting things organized you walked over to the mixer to find the beginnings of the dough already made.

           “Oh, wow. Thanks, honey.” You were surprised by how fast he had gotten things combined.

           A few minutes later, you put the dry in with the wet and began mixing it.

“It says not to overmix, so I think we better stop it, don’t you?” Cedric asked. You hadn’t even noticed it was on the verge of overmixing.

           “Right!” you blurted out, running over to the mixer, and shutting it off. “Thank you.”

Cedric replied with a ‘uh huh’.

           You put the dirty bowls and spoons into the soapy dish water and started to clean up when you saw Cedric steal a piece of dough from the bowl.

           “Cedric! Don’t eat that! You’ll get poisoned!” You exclaimed, stomping over to scold him.

           “No, I won’t.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you will.” You snapped, snatching the bowl away from him and wrapping the dough into two separate balls.

           “You’re just that worried about me, huh?” Cedric asked with a smug look on his face.      

           “Well, maybe so.” You said, walking over to your boyfriend.

Cedric was leaned up against the counter when you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed against him. You looked up and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

           “You do know how much I love you, right?” You questioned, looking at his shimmering, cognac eyes.

           Cedric’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“I think so.”

           After sharing another gentle kiss, Cedric and you walked into the living room and sat down.

You had your head on his shoulder and began thinking.

“You want some hot chocolate?”

           “Yes, I’d like some.”  

You got a tea pot and poured some warm water from the sink into it. The

Water dripped down slowly from the nozzle as it filled. The soft even sound of the liquid hitting the metal surface made your shoulders relax and put your ambiance at ease. You reached up, grabbed the glass handle, and pivoted your hand to shut off the water. Placing the pot down, you walked over to the blackened stove and flipped a burner on. The flame flickered and crackled as it rose above the center of the burner. A small line of smoke twisted as it floated up into the air. You placed the pot onto the burner carefully and opened the cupboard to the left to find the hot chocolate mixture.

           While the packets you had bought from the store were fine, you always liked to add extra bits of chocolate to make the drink more potent. You got out the bags and a gold-wrapped bar of chocolate and set them aside. Next, you walked past the stove to the right and reached up to open the other dark, woodened cabinets. You found two glass mugs that were almost teacup shaped and added the packets to them.

           Unfolding the golden wrapping from the chocolate, you dropped two squares into each mug, making sure they were about equal amounts. When you were done, you slowly wrapped up the chocolate again and put it back.

           You began hearings a small, steaming sound from the pot. Then, a loud whistling came screaming out from the spout. You grabbed the teapot and started pouring the boiling water into the cups. Steam rose up and the water splashed, conforming to the shape of the mugs. After you had poured enough water in till it was about an inch from the top, you set the pot down and grabbed a spoon. You dipped the spoon down into the hot liquid. While you were stirring, you heard footsteps from behind.

           The steps got closer until they were right behind you. The next thing you noticed were two arms gently wrapping around your waist. As you continued, the warm body pressed you up against the counter from behind.

           Kissing the top of your head, Cedric began to speak.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

           “Yes, there is no place I’d rather be.” You replied, stiffening your back, and curling into him.

“Are you almost done? It’s boring without you.” He said, brushing his hand across your stomach, causing your middle to twitch.

“Almost.”

           The spoon had moved onto the other cup and you were just about done. You tried scooching up to grab some marshmallows from the cupboard, but Cedric pushed against you harder to try to keep you in place.

           “Honey,” you giggled, “I need to get the marshmallows.”

“No, you don’t,” he denied, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “stay here, who likes marshmallows anyway?”

           You immediately stopped fighting.

“You don’t like marshmallows?” You asked, once again in shock of something he said.

           “No, do you?”

“Oh course!” you cried. “How can you not?”

           “Too sticky for me.”

“Cedric, you can’t have Wassailia spirit without marshmallows!” You said jokingly. You were giving full expressions with every word you said, but since you were stuck facing the cupboards between the counter and your boyfriend, it looked like you were talking to two cups of hot chocolate and a wall.

           “Well, I think I will manage.” He laughed, letting you free to grab your beloved, squishy, white clumps of god know what.

           After grabbing the package, you put a few into your mug and left them on the counter. Walking back to the living room, Cedric grabbed a book and sat down on the couch. You followed and plopped down. Snuggling next to him, you began to think about your relationship the past year.

The two of you had been together for 9 months now and it was beautiful.

You could not believe he asked you out that day. He was all you had waited for, and believe me, the first time you looked into those brown eyes was like the first time you had ever felt alive. It was almost like you were suffocating for years, and then suddenly, when he looked at you, you were able to breathe. Now, a few months later, you were sitting next to him, watching him read a book.

You couldn’t believe you were here, with him. Your whole life, the two of you had been separated by dimensions* and now he was yours. You looked down his body and noticed the wrinkles in the dark robe he was wearing. You observed the crinkles of his gloves as he licked a finger and flicked a page of his book to the other side. You laid down across his lap and felt the warmth radiate off his body. Yes, this was truly happiness.

You looked up at your boyfriend as he kept reading. You began tracing your finger along his jaw and kissed up his chest. You wrapped your arm around his waist, curled your legs up next to him, and nuzzled his stomach.

“Excuse me, what in the world are you doing down there?” Cedric asked, lifting his hands so he could see you.

You gave a little smile up at him.

“Nothing, just begging for your attention.”

           😊“Oh really? And why are you doing that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I love you.” You began, sliding your hand up his shoulders. “I think you’re handsome, and kind, and sweet, and beautiful,” you paused, “and I’d really appreciate it if you’d kiss me.”

           Cedric’s lips curled up and he leaned over and quickly set his book down on the side table. You wrapped your legs around his waist, guided your arms around his neck, and leaned up into him.

           Settling down onto his lap carefully, you noticed how turned on he was. You tried to hold back a sigh and looked up at him; his face was beginning to turn red.

           “Well, I didn’t know you were enjoying this so much.” You tease, slightly bucking your hips.

Cedric let out a small whimper.

           “Yes, but I-I didn’t expect you to get close enough to notice.” He answered, shifting his gaze to the side.

           You began running your hands through his thick, raven black hair and smiled. You knew you had him. Kissing his cheek, you traced a figure around his ear.

           “God, have I ever told you how lucky I am?” You asked, your lips still inches from his. “First, I get a job as a nurse in the castle, then I get to go out with the guy of my dreams. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on his lap waiting for Wassailia cookies.”

           Cedric gave another noise in response and tried kissing you, but you shifted away from him and gave a grin.

           “I never believed in my wildest dreams that I’d end up with you. You’re my everything, my world, and I wouldn’t change any part of it. My life is complete with you, Cedric.” You began kissing down his cheek to his neck. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” He asked with a flirty look.

           You smiled.

“Anything.”  

           Cedric chuckled. “I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t believe you feel that way about me. You truly are the best thing that’s ever happened.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours.

           Your expression softened even more, and your heart began to melt. In the mists of this, you still noticed he was hard. Cedric was not like most and his emotions were very connected to his desires, and you knew that. You also knew he was probably dying to kiss you but was holding back to continue the moment. While you could’ve given in and kissed him, you decided to play a little game and see what he’d do.

           He moved your face towards his and leaned in to kiss you. You tried pulling back again to tease but he didn’t let you.

           “Oh no you don’t, I’m not falling for that again.” He said, recalling an older event (not today).

“Mm.”

           Instead of kissing you though, he just looked into your eyes. The moment lasted a little longer than you had expected, and you began getting impatient.

“Oh, Cedric,” You sighed, shifting in slowly. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

           He blushed once again and smiled. You could tell he was trying hard to hold back, in case you were truly just trying to be sweet.

           You traced along his jaw again and brushed your fingers lightly along his neck, running your hands down his chest. Moving your arms back up around his shoulders, you adjusted slightly and then began a slow bucking motion across his lap.

           That was the breaking point for him. You felt his hands firmly grasp the sides of your face and his lips crashed into yours and he began bucking back up against you. You let out a sharp breath and moaned as things began heating up. His hips hit harder and harder the longer you went on. You felt your legs begin to shake. As much as making out was fun, it wasn’t giving you enough.

           “Cedric!” you almost shouted in between kisses. “Please, please just fuck me!”

           The next thing you knew, he was on top of you, pawing at your shirt.

“Can I?” he asked for consent.

           “Oh god, YES! Please, just hurry up!” You gasped, struggling to untie his robe. 😊

Awhile later, you fixed your clothes and hair, and made your way back to the kitchen with your boyfriend attached to your side. You opened the fridge to check on the dough.

           “I think it’s done.” You said softly, wiping sweat from your forehead with a napkin.

You grabbed the two round discs and set them on the counter. After, you wandered over to get some flour and sprinkled it down along the surface. Unwrapping the plastic, you placed the dough down and started rolling it out.

           You had the side of your body pressed against Cedric as you continued. Every time you’d fix the sheet of cookie dough, he would kiss your cheek. You loved this so much.

           Once the dough was in a thin layer, you grabbed a cutout and flowered it.

“If you wanna start cutting out shapes you can.”

           Cedric nodded and grabbed a star shape.

Within a few minutes, the two of you were done and had cut out both entire sheets. Cedric seemed to particularly like the snowman shaped cutout.

           Cedric opened the oven carefully and set the timer for 14 minutes.

Cedric heard the oven go off and opened the door.

He took out his wand and gave it a light flick. The silver sheet came slowly out of the oven and floated its way over to the counter. Smiling, you got out a spatula and gently began lifting each cookie off the pan. They bent to the spatula as you scooted the thin end under. After each cookie was securely balanced, you would slowly move to the other counter and flatten the edge to it. Then, you’d begin to lift the cookie in a slight angle to slide them onto the surface. You repeated this motion until the very last cookie.

           You looked at the star shaped, tan, sugary treat and, instead of placing it with the rest, you cut it in half. You grabbed a piece and handed it to Cedric.

           “Here, try some handmade cookies.”

He took it from you and took a bite. He seemed to like it.

           “Good?” you asked.

“Very good.” He answered, piling the rest of it in his mouth.

           You decided to give him your half and started making some royal icing. You colored it red, yellow, green, white, and black.

           “Alright, I got some bags out and made icing, now we just have to decorate!”

           Cedric grabbed a chair and sat down next to the table. You sat down on his lap and grabbed a cookie.

           The two of you began frosting the cookies (stealing a bit of icing in between) and decorated them. You liked doing small designs with the icing while cedric just liked to flood the whole thing. After a few hours, you had finished the two dozen cookies and set them onto a few plates.

           “Thank you, Cedric.” You kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, y/n, for letting us share this experience together. There marks the first year of traditions for me. Now, how about we take a few of those cookies and go sit by the fire?”

“That sounds great!”

           You headed out with a plate full of cookies to the fire and smiled looking at the Wassailia tree proudly standing in the corner with ornaments and tinsel.

“Merry Wassailia, Cedric.”

           “Merry Wassailia, Love.”

#Cedric the sorcerer x reader #cedric the sensational x reader #cedric the sorcerer #Cedric is the best #i love my baby so much #x reader #happy holidays #holiday fanfiction #holidays #not my character #not my anything #crappy writing #im sorry it took so long #kinda dumb #fluff #new writers on tumblr #new writer still #probably needs editing #suggestive #im afraid to click post lol

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 25: Isolation

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka, pre-relationship

WC: ~2000

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Depression. Self-isolation.

A/N: This is sad, but it's also oddly sweet in the end?

~

Naruto leaves to train with Jiraiya and Iruka is happy for him, he really is. He’s happy that he’s with one of the strongest shinobi of their time, that Jiraiya-sama is going to keep them moving and keep Naruto safe from the Akatsuki. He’s happy that Naruto made time to see him before they left, and that he promised to write as much as Jiraiya deems it to be safe.

Really, he’s happy.

That doesn’t mean that he’s not…

Upset? No, that’s not right.

Within two weeks, Iruka stops going out after work. He packs up his bag and locks up his classroom, and when the other teachers wave him down and ask if he’d like to join them for drinks he says something like, “I appreciate the offer, but I have a lot of grading. Maybe next time?” And then next time comes around and he shakes them off again. After five or six attempts, his co-workers stop asking. Iruka’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

Anko tries to invite herself over, but Iruka denies her entry, stating that he hasn’t cleaned.

“What? That’s never stopped us hanging out before! C’mon, Ruka, I’ve got beer and bad movies! It’s Friday night!”

But, no, he really hasn’t cleaned in… How long has it been since Naruto left? He closes the door, begging off that he just doesn’t feel up to it tonight. “Maybe next week?”

Anko tries again for the next three weeks. Iruka changes the wards and locks after she breaks in when he denies her the fourth time. She doesn’t try again after that.

And then the Academy goes on a month-long break. He sees Izumo and Kotetsu at the Desk, where he assists four afternoons each week. They talk over him and try to pull him into their conversations, but he does his work and then goes home without exchanging a word with either of them. He gets enough socialization from yelling at the shinobi who think that because he’s… low… means his standards for accepting mission reports have also dropped.

They haven’t. That news gets around quickly enough.

Tsunade-sama asks if he’d like to take on extra shifts or duties. He tells her he doesn’t have the time. It’s not wrong; but also, it’s not time he’s missing, not really. She looks at him oddly, but accepts his answer. Shizune gives him a folder of paperwork to peruse at home, just in case he changes his mind?

(She lied. The “paperwork” is informational pamphlets on empty nest syndrome, depression, and self-isolating. Iruka burns them all. He doesn’t leave himself in a room with just the two of them again.)

He’s only working enough to keep the lights on and put rice in the pantry. The rest of his time is spent curled up on his bed, staring into the abyss of his bedroom. Over the next week he uses up every other bit of food in his home, even the emergency ration bars in his closet. Anything to not have to leave the house unnecessarily and see everyone’s pity.

He’s not…

He’s happy for Naruto.

He’s not even related to Naruto. He can’t have empty nest syndrome because Naruto never lived with him!

Iruka absolutely doesn’t cry himself to sleep. Because he’s happy, damnit.

~

Iruka stops going to work. He can hardly make himself get out of bed anymore. He uses the toilet and makes a pot of rice once every other day, eating it cold between fresh pots. Tea is too much work, even though a niggling part of him that sounds like Sandaime-sama says that fresh, hot tea would do wonders for his mood. Instead he’s drinking only water from the tap and barely remembering to wash his cup afterwards.

Izumo and Kotetsu come over and knock repetitively on both his front door and his bedroom window. Iruka stays in bed and ignores them. He can’t take their pity anymore.

He wants desperately to be with his friends, but more than that he wants to want to be with them.

There’s laundry all over his bedroom floor, and he’s not sure how that happened because he’s been wearing the same uniform for—days? Weeks? The apartment is a mess, but how because he stays in bed all day except to eat or use the toilet.

His body aches.

He stares at a picture taken of him and Naruto after his back injury had healed. It has a place of honor on his nightstand, next to his perpetually empty rice bowl and glass of room-temperature water.

Maybe… maybe, in the solitude of his own home, he can admit that he’s a little bit sad that Naruto’s gone.

~

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He doesn’t remember waking up.

He exists in an odd between-state; the worst part is that he exists.

Every breath hurts. Naruto’s smile lights up his room from his nightstand, but it’s the only beacon he has left.

The knocking starts up again an hour before he’s supposed to report to the Desk. It continues, again, six hours later. Both times, he tunes it out. He’s not ready.

~

Kakashi clutches the letter in his hand and looks up at the apartment complex. Naruto had been gone just over a month and already sent a letter trying to hide how much he misses everyone. But in his very last post-script, he asked Kakashi to do something…

Please check in on Iruka-sensei for me. He’s really good at hiding how he’s feeling, even if it includes hiding himself away.

And, well, Naruto can’t have known about the tiny crush Kakashi’s been harboring for Iruka since he stood up to him at the chūnin exam nominations almost a year ago. But he can do this for his student.

So he steps up to Iruka’s door and knocks. And instead of the door he knocked on opening, the neighbor’s does.

“What’s all this again—oh, you’re new,” the woman says.

“Ah, yes, I suppose,” Kakashi stammers. “I’ve been off on a mission and just got back. Do you know if he’s home?”

She scoffs. “He doesn’t leave anymore.”

Shit.

“His friends stopped trying to get him to open the door three days ago. Blessed silence, for once.”

“My apologies, for disturbing you,” he says. He places a hand on the door and gently tugs at the wards. They’re strong—stronger than what a chūnin schoolteacher should bother having, but not strong enough that he can’t break through. “I’ll be only a minute longer.”

“See that you are,” the woman shuffles back inside. “It’s been wonderful since Umino stopped bringing the Fox around. No screeching.”

Kakashi wills himself to ignore her and turn back to Iruka’s door. The neighbor’s door clicks shut, and so he pulls up his hitai-ate and looks at the wards with the sharingan. It takes him a careful three minutes of chakra manipulation to undo them, but soon the wards fall and Kakashi turns the handle.

Unlocked.

The apartment is… cluttered? It could use a quick clean-up, definitely. There’s this layer of dust on many of the hard surfaces, and the floors could use a mop. But at first glance, it doesn’t look like some homes he’s stepped into holding depressed people.

A quick look in the kitchen shows much more evidence of Iruka hiding something. Dishes overflow the sink, the stove top has burned grains of rice stuck in places, and an overwhelming bland smell permeates the air. He steps in quickly and checks the fridge, sighing. There’s a few condiment bottles, but other than that there was only a container of rice in the middle shelf.

He’s torturing himself. Kakashi wonders if he’s aware of this.

There are three doors at the end of a short hallway outside of the living room. One, on the right, is a bathroom. The other, the left one, he can tell is the “spare” room Naruto claims is his—there’s a ramen poster pinned to the door, and while he remembers that Iruka is also very fond of ramen, he feels he can say with surety that Iruka wouldn’t decorate with ramen-themed posters.

This leaves the center door at the very end. He knocks twice before opening the door slowly.

Here is where the depression has settled, clearly.

Here is where Iruka is laid out on his side, curled slightly towards his nightstand. His hair is down, streaming across his pillow in clumps. There are clothes all over the floor; Kakashi wonders if any of them are clean. Probably not; he’ll assume not. There are ration bar wrappers near the bedside and empty dishes scattered around.

He’s torn. Should he clean up and then rouse Iruka; or talk to Iruka and then ask if he wants help cleaning up?

Kakashi tries to remember what he was like after losing… but it’s not the same, is it? It’s never the same. Every loss, every kind of loss, hits differently.

He steps over dirty clothes and kicks aside food wrappers. He kneels down beside Iruka’s nightstand and pushes aside a clump of hair that had fallen over his face. Iruka’s eyes are red-rimmed, sunken, and worst of all, cold.

“Naruto sent me,” he starts with, hoping it will get a reaction. It doesn’t. He follows Iruka’s gaze to a picture of the two of them, taken a week or so after Naruto became genin. How had he never noticed that Iruka and Naruto have the same wide smile? Naruto must have picked it up from Iruka.

“He was worried that you would hide away how you’re feeling,” Kakashi continues. “I suppose he was right to worry.”

No response.

“You can’t keep isolating yourself, sensei,” he says. “It’s not healthy.”

An answer, finally, comes softly. “Okay.”

Kakashi narrows his eye. “Okay?”

Iruka shrugs.

“Iruka, do you even know what day it is?”

Iruka shrugs again.

Kakashi carefully reaches out to touch him. Iruka flinches at the contact, but allows it. He pleads, “You need to go outside.”

“People stare,” he mutters. “Don’t want their pity.”

“I’ll keep them from looking at you,” Kakashi says.

“How?”

“I can be fairly intimidating when I want to be.” Kakashi puts his hand on top of Iruka’s. His skin is dry and cracked on his fingertips. “Will you come with me?” he asks.

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

Iruka blushes. “I... I don’t have anything clean to wear.”

Kakashi smiles. “That’s an easy fix. We’ll make a plan and do it later, after the laundry is done.”

“I don’t have the energy to—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he waves his other hand. “Why don’t you go clean up?”

Iruka squeezes his eyes shut tight and his shoulders shake minutely. “I think my hair’s a loss,” he sniffs. “I’d have to cut it off and I—”

“Iruka, please,” Kakashi interrupts. He leans in and presses his masked lips to the back of Iruka’s hand. “No more excuses. Please, try for me? For Naruto? He’d hate to see you like this. I hate to see you like this. If you need your hair cut, I’ll cut it. If you need fresh clothes, I’ll wash them. If you need groceries, I’ll buy them. I want to help you. Please let me help you.”

Iruka doesn’t open his eyes for a long time, but he also doesn’t pull away. Kakashi waits. And when the nod comes, small and hesitantly, he can’t help but kiss Iruka’s hand again.

“I’m sorry,” Iruka whispers. “I shouldn’t—it’s—I’m being such a burden and I’m sorry.”

“You’re worth it,” Kakashi shakes his head. “Whatever burden you are, I’m willing to carry it if it comes with you.”

Iruka blushes. “That’s… don’t use your Icha Icha lines on me, please.”

“It’s not a line,” Kakashi says. “Come on, you need a shower, a shave, and some real food—not just rice. I’ll start a load of laundry while you’re cleaning up, and order in.”

“What about outside…?”

“We’ll do that tomorrow.”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump25 #isolation #fanfic #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

[dadsbongos]

It’s in the Walls

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy

Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader

Warnings: you got a whole ass man living in your house without you knowing, you’re a mom

Summary: There’s a large house up for sale on a massive price-cut, who wouldn’t take that deal?

~~~

“Mom!” the shriek was high-pitched and echoed through the winding walls of the maze the manor made itself out to be.

(Y/n) closed her eyes, pretending the scream didn’t happen for a few seconds of cheap bliss before breaking back into her mothering persona. She crept down the corridors, reminding herself to take down every painting on the wall, the eyes followed her. Eventually, she came into her younger son’s new room, leaning her body against the doorway.

The blond child was huddled in a box pressed against the right wall, his small body curled tightly into itself inside the cardboard. He looked to his mother, large blue eyes sprinkled in delight that she came. Pointing to his bed, he murmured, “I saw a rat.”

“What?” she muttered, the realtor said the rodents that only stuck to the yard, but of course, that was a lie, “Oh, sweetie, come here,” the boy stumbled out of the box and grabbed onto his mother’s extended hand, “I’ll take care of him, you go make sure Joey hasn’t lost in mind in the library, okay?”

“Thank you, Dylan,” she cooed, pressing a short kiss to his forehead before sending him off.

His pink lips, shaped nearly identically to his father’s, stretched into a large grin,

“Okay, Mama!”

As soon as her son was gone, the smile drooped and suddenly she felt the weight of her eye bags drawing on her face. (Y/n) carefully approached the bed before getting onto her hands and knees, pulling up one of the draping blankets to peek underneath. A squirming, round, fat little frame poked out in the darkness before it squealed and began scurrying away.

Her hand shot out and she squeezed the fatty body between her fingers, grimacing at the rat in her hand. She never hated the things, they just never piqued her interest in the best ways, either. It thrashed and scratched at her, a small hiss leaving the woman before she tossed one of the windows open and left the rat on the sill outside to crawl away. Shutting and locking the window once again, (Y/n) made another mental note to get rat traps. Unless there were already traps.

Exiting the room, (Y/n) huffed at every creak in the wooden planks of the floorboards. The manor was old, oh, so old, it only made sense that none of the wooden boards would be silent. Even so, it was annoying and she liked to think she had the right to complain.

Eyes drifting to paintings and peeling wallpaper, she tried to remind herself to be thankful. Divorce wasn’t easy, much less so when your ex was a greedy, manipulative joke that milked you for nearly all of your possessions - she was lucky to find the mansion. Especially at such an astoundingly low price - she doubted a typical house would be cheaper than what she got the place for. None of those houses came fully-furnished anyway. Admittedly creepy and strange, but you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you might not like what you see.

As (Y/n) scanned through cupboards and cabinets, a loud thud alerted her of a new presence in the kitchen. She shot up, banging her head on the interior of a cabinet, her hand settled on the tender curve of her skull, softly rubbing as she stood. At the counter was her elder son, black-dyed hair messy and glasses slipping down his nose.

“Hi, honey,” (Y/n) chuckled at his frazzled appearance, “just get done wrestling one of the stuffed bears?”

Joey rolled his eyes, thumping a thick, hard-cover book against the granite countertop, “No, actually, I was looking for my shoes. Where are they?”

The woman shrugged, “How am I supposed to know?”

“I left them by the door and they’re not there anymore,” the teenage boy scratched at the back of his head, “Dylan’s either lying or genuinely didn’t steal them so I came to you.”

“Did you check everywhere?” (Y/n) questioned, brows furrowing at the absurdity of the situation, “Shoes don’t just walk away on their own, you gotta have feet in them.”

“Yes, I checked everywhere,” the boy grumbled, no longer bumping the book on the hard surface, now content to flip through the pages and allow the smell of old parchment to fill their nostrils. What a lovely smell that was.

Shaking her head, the mother fumbled for an explanation to the whereabouts of her son’s shoes, “I don’t know what to tell you, you brought more pairs, right?”

Joey nodded slowly, eyes scanning through fragmented sentences before turning to the next page, “Yeah, I just really liked those ones.”

“Alright, well, I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually, don’t worry yourself over it,” she grasped her boy’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb into the flesh tenderly before letting go, “We have a rat problem, by the way, if you see any traps, let me know.”

“Oh fun,” he mumbled, forcing a wide smile onto his lips, “I think there’s some in the backyard if you haven’t been out there. They look like shit but they’ll probably get the job done.”

“Language, but thank you.”

“English and you’re welcome.”

Deciding it was better to just walk away at this point, (Y/n) headed for the back door. It was heavy to pull open and nearly slammed shut if she hadn’t pressed her foot into the thick wood, grunting at the responding pain. A trash bag was set out with a pair of gloves next to it on a quaint little side table with spider webs running between the beige wicker legs. As if somebody had put them out for a quick run but forgot they wouldn’t be using them after they left.

After that, what caught her eye was the glint of rusted metal in the thick, untamed bushes of the surrounding greenery. Upon closer inspection, she could see that grass had entangled with the metallic gate on a small wooden box, buzzing flies being the next eye-catcher. She crouched down, instantly picking up on the putrid smell of corroding flesh and dried blood, flies nibbling on the swiss cheesed corpse of a rat.

“Shit!” she gagged, backing away, rubbing her hands on her pants despite having not touched the cage at all.

Looking back up at the house, (Y/n) barely noticed the outline of a person in one of the second-floor windows. She blinked twice, shaking her head before squinting back up at the same window. Just a coat rack. Didn’t seem right - there were pants in the outline! - but then she realized how outlandish it seemed. If there was a secret person living in the house, surely it would’ve been mentioned by the realtor.

‘Forgotten’ rats were one thing, an entire person was another.

“Mom!” another soprano level scream ruptured her eardrums.

In turn, (Y/n) huffed, clenching her eyes shut before turning around and walking back towards the porch. What she first noticed was her seven-year-old, the second being the extremely off-putting, cracked porcelain doll in his arms.

It was half his size and looked to have been haphazardly put back together with some unnamed brand of superglue. Dark hair framed its head quite well with glassy, hazel eyes and pale, pretty pink lips. Grossly realistic and abandoned in a mansion, it seemed to be perfect fire material. Or it would be, if she hadn’t been told by the realtor, very explicitly, to not use the fireplace.

“Whole house could go up in flames,” Mindy had waved her hands about, “I’m not sure how that’d work, but just… don’t test it.”

Dylan held up the doll closer to his mother’s face, “Isn’t he cool?!”

“Yeah,” she lied through her teeth, carefully taking the doll, “Does he have a name?”

Leading his mother back inside, Dylan shrugged, but his loose limbs and lack of control made it appear as though he was trying to toss his shoulders off from his body, “Don’t know.”

“Hmm,” she quietly hummed, pulling back the tightly sewn collar of the doll to peek at a possible name tag, “I’m not seeing anything here, baby. You wanna name him yourself?”

There was another creak, easily dismissed as the manor’s old bones settling as the woman handed the fragile doll to her son. Dylan pressed his lips into a tight line, staring at the toy for a few moments before bursting out an answer, “I think he looks like a James!”

(Y/n) nodded to the boy’s antics, “I think that’s a great name for him.”

Before they could continue the conversation, a hard bang on the wall knocked a picture from its spot above the stove, toppling onto the rather shiny surface. Their heads turned, eyes wide and Dylan was suddenly shaking, grasping onto his mother’s shirt and huddling into her side. The woman settled a hand on her son’s shoulder, pressing her thumb into the tensing muscles before pulling away to inspect the wall. 

It was a wall, obviously. Flat, leveled, wall. Nothing particularly interesting about it aside from the wallpaper’s collection of grime and peels. Looking down, she took notice of the framed picture. Three figures stood in front of the home (Y/n) now found herself in possession of. Garden controlled and clean with no windows boarded, cracked, or dirtied. A young woman not much older than (Y/n) herself was holding a four-year-old brunette boy to her hip with, who one could assume was, her husband beside them.

Glancing between the picture and the doll, she frowned at how similar the toy looked to the little boy. Not to mention that haunting family portrait at the foot of the staircase. Turning the frame over in her hands, she opened up the back before pulling the picture out of its frame. (Y/n) searched for a scrawled title of the photograph, quickly finding an answer.

Mummy, Daddy, and Brahms!

She replaced the picture just as quickly as she got it out, debating between putting it back and tossing it out before deciding to leave it on the counter. (Y/n) took her son’s chubby cheeks between her hands, planting yet another kiss on his freckled forehead, “I think his name is Brahms, sweetie.”

“Brahms?” Dylan muttered, almost as though he was testing for another bump. When there was none, he nodded, “Brahms.”

Running away and back up the stairs, (Y/n) was ready to force herself into forgetting the whole thing happened when her older son’s voice was heard.

“It’s funny, you little brat!” followed by a loud wail.

“Give him back!” Dylan screamed.

(Y/n) rushed out of the kitchen to see Joey holding Brahms out of Dylan’s reach, the older boy was visibly angry, “Funny, I could say the same thing to you!”

“Joseph Lowy,” the woman muttered, snatching the doll from her son, and giving it back to her pouting little blond boy, “Here, go play with Brahms,” as he ran up the stairs, she called after him, “Don’t get too crazy up there, you two!”

Joey shook his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, “Little asshole.”

“Hey!” (Y/n) looked over to the sixteen-year-old, “Don’t talk about your little brother like that.”

“He stole more of my shit,” the dark-haired boy tapped at the wall a few times with his knuckles, shaking his head, “Shoes I could deal with but now two of my shirts are missing.”

“Did you leave them at the house?” she tried to reason, leaning against the wall, “Dylan’s been with me for a while, maybe you’re losing it, sweetpea.”

Joey cringed at the pet name briefly before deciding to carry on with his point, “No, I didn’t leave my clothes at the house. I wouldn’t leave a single sock with that dick.”

“Don’t call my ex a dick,” (Y/n) breathed out, turning her son around and nudging him towards the den, “Only I can do that.”

“Unfair.”

“This isn’t a democracy, it’s a dictatorship,” (Y/n) waved off, standing there long enough just to watch the boy sit down on a leather chair and open the book in his hands. She’d have to go into town for rat traps, then.

She bit at her lip, turning towards the flight of stairs and beginning to go up the steps. Without the creeks flowing alongside her movement, the house seemed even more eerie - she didn’t bother to stop and figure out why there were no creeks. It didn’t matter to her at the time.

(Y/n) peeked into Dylan’s room, smiling softly at the sight of her little boy seated at a play table with plastic plates and cups and faux food set delicately on it. He was holding a small pink teacup with Brahms porcelain fingers using a hair tie to keep a similar purple one in his grasp. When the little boy noticed his mother in the doorway, he waved wildly, taking one of Brahms’ arms gently and copying the motion onto the doll.

Continuing down the hall, (Y/n) came upon her room, pushing it open and immediately seeing that her suitcases and bags had been peeled open. She was sure that she’d left them all zipped and sealed before leaving, but, of course, you can never be too certain. Going over to the luggage, she moved clothing around and peered through when she noticed how strewn about her things were.

The ‘fragile-minded’ female role after a heavy divorce was not something (Y/n) ever imagined herself as being. It was so played out and disgusting, she despised it with everything in her body. Yet, as she found that one of her dresses was missing, she suddenly felt as though it was depressingly truer than she’d hoped.

(Y/n) turned to another suitcase; her apple red-tinted skirt was gone. She dug deeper into the case, pulling out a few stray, tossed-around shirts in her endeavor to find her favorite skirt. She tossed a hand up, giving up on finding the articles of clothing for the time being. Not that she’d admit it, but worry was beginning to fester in the deepest crawlspaces of her gut.

Stepping over to a different suitcase, (Y/n) pulled out what probably wouldn’t make her look as though she just woke up and went over to the bathroom connected to her bedroom. 

Mindy had made it abundantly clear that the two previous owners drowned themselves while on a ‘two-month’ vacation after leaving the house to a nanny. Who the nanny was or why she left wasn’t made clear to either woman, just that the house wasn’t right. Cryptic language, always appreciated.

Taking into mind the deaths and sudden missing clothing combined with bumps from the kitchen, it may be time to call the kettle a kettle. The home may be haunted. Not that she wanted a literal haunted house, but what other choice was there at this point?

Not even apartments were renting as low as the manor was selling.

As she finished getting dressed, (Y/n) began her way out of the house, stopping at her younger son’s room, “I’m going out for some things. Want me to bring you back anything?”

Dylan looked over to the cracked doll, “Do you want new clothes, Brahms?”

The doll, of course, was completely silent. Unmoving. Watching. 

“I think Brahms wants new clothes, Mom,” Dylan beamed at the woman, holding up his plastic cup.

(Y/n) giggled, nodding as she pat the doorway, “Alright, honey, I’ll see what I can do for Brahms.”

“Thanks, Mom,” the bubbly little boy lowered his cup, settling his hand on the doll’s back, “Say thanks, Brahms.”

No words came from the toy, as one would be expected to expect. It sat still, not moving but still watching. Always watching. Unblinking, glassy, hazel eyes stuck on his flesh-and-blood blond friend.

“He says thanks.”

Nodding, the woman gave her boy a thumbs up, “I’m sure.”

The next son was still in the den, reading quietly to himself. Every now and again one’s ear would pick up on a small mumble of a word, small stutters slipping from the teenager’s lips. (Y/n) came up behind the boy, hands slamming onto the back of the chair loudly.

Joey jumped in his place, turning swiftly, “The hell, Mom?”

“I’m going out, bookworm,” (Y/n) teased, running a hand through the boy’s messy black hair, “Need me to pick something up?”

“Coffee grounds would be great,” he confirmed, “There’s none in this entire, literal, mansion.”

“Alright,” she gently brought her older son’s shoulders back so his head was laying against the chair, “Take a break sometime soon, okay? Stretch for a bit, make you and your brother some lunch.”

He hummed in acknowledgment but otherwise, there was no indication of him having even listened to his mother. 

~~

The next morning was just as drab and bland as the previous, and there was no doubt that the morning after this would be the same as always. (Y/n) huffed as she climbed out of bed, rubbing a hand over her droopy eyes. She stood, no longer remembering much of what had happened yesterday other than buying children’s clothes for a doll and coffee grounds for her son.

Not even the drill holes the previous owners must have never paid much mind to, which she noticed after dinner. They were strangely large for any typical drill she’d seen or owned.

(Y/n) managed to trudge into the kitchen during her dazed state, neither one of her boys was eating and so she correctly assumed both were still asleep. Scratching under her shirt at her stomach, the woman picked the coffee grounds from under the sink, laying the hefty tub on the counter next to the maker. Seemed a bit counterproductive to have a coffee maker and not a single crumb of grounds or even any beans to actually use. Not that she could say it to the owners’ faces.

“Oh, filters, right,” she mumbled to herself, immediately recalling the thin papers in the walk-in closet style storage compartment. 

Her hand scanned over a few shelves, one arm crossed over her chest and the other still running along canned goods and cereal boxes. She tilted her head to rest on the raised shoulder, beginning to hum quietly to herself. The air was pleasantly crisp, oddly crisp for the interior of a house let alone a pantry. It had the same feeling as being inside an attic, if that made any sort of sense it didn’t matter to her at the time. Not much about the house mattered to her at the moment.

A few creeks and Joey was walking into the kitchen, the poor house was only getting older and with his naturally heavy steps, Joey found himself making more noise than he’d like. So much noise. Too much noise. Why did he have to be so loose with his footfalls? He’d been walking for over forty years by now.

Forty years? Forty years.

He was a grown man, he should be able to walk quietly. Just because Greta left him, he suddenly can’t be a ghost anymore?

A scream clutched the air as the pantry door slammed shut. (Y/n) turned, not finding herself much a fan of the darkness. She took the doorknob into her grip, violently twisting and pushing on the knob, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The door refused to budge, like a weight was pressing down onto it. It creaked and rocked ever so slightly but there was no way of getting it open.

“Joseph fucking Lowy, open this God damn door!” she pounded on the busted wood, beginning to kick when her hits proved no help, “Dylan! One of you open this door, right now!”

Suddenly, the lock made a click, and all the invisible weight was gone, a sixteen-year-old boy staring quizzically at his mother, “Mom, what’s wrong with you? How did you lock the door from the outside?”

“What are you talking about?” (Y/n) shook her head, giving the pantry a glance over her shoulder, “You locked me in there.”

“You woke me up with all your yelling,” Joey instantly denied, “I’m surprised Dylan’s not up yet.”

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you right now,” she crossed both arms, “It’s not cute.”

“I’m serious!” he shouted in his own defense, neither of them taking notice in the seven-year-old cradling a porcelain doll with a cracked face to his chest, “I wouldn’t lock you in a pantry!”

“Mom…” the boy muttered.

(Y/n)’s jaw clenched, eyes slamming shut and body turning away from her older son to look at the disgusting wallpaper of her kitchen. She sniffed hard, rubbing under her nose before looking back to her younger son, “Yes, sweetie?”

“Brahms made a mess,” Dylan quietly replied, going up to his mother and grabbing her hand, “It wasn’t me, really. It was Brahms.”

“What do you mean it was Brahms?” she huffed, following after the child as he began leading her up to the second floor, “He’s a doll, baby, it was probably just the wind knocking something over.”

“No,” he shook his head, pushing his bedroom door open wider, “Brahms made a mess.”

A mess indeed. Clothes and toys had been absolutely hurricaned around the little boy’s room, some glass from pictures and abandoned dishes shattered across the floor. Dylan’s play table had been toppled over with all the plasticware left on the carpeted ground. Looking over to her son’s feet, (Y/n) felt herself puzzled at the lack of blood; glass was everywhere. How could his reckless little feet avoid all of it?”

“Baby, did you step in any glass?”

“There’s glass in there?” the boy peeked around his mother before looking down at Brahms, “How did you do that?”

(Y/n) turned back to the bedroom, poking her tongue into her cheek as her hands found their places on her hips. Confusion laced into her bones, trickling down the marrow and soaking into her shaking fingertips. Brows knit tightly downward in the midst of her conflict and head thumping for answers, no - no, that was a headache. She was getting a headache.

Taking her son’s shoulders, (Y/n) spun him around to face the way they just came down, “I’ll take care of that tonight, sweetpea, don’t go in here for a little bit, alright? I don’t want you cutting up your feet.”

“Okay, Mama,” Dylan grinned up at the woman, holding Brahms a little tighter in his grasp, “I don’t want Brahms to get hurt either.”

“That’s very nice of you,” she cooed, taking his cheek between thumb and forefinger and pinching gently, “What a good little boy I have.”

Beaming at the praise, the mother-son duo didn’t even notice the panel in the wall rolling back and it’s spidery tendons creeping around the curve of the wall’s edge. Instead, they giggled over nothing as (Y/n) took her son’s small, fragile hands into her own and puppeteered him down the stairs. Doll boy Brahms left to sit on the landing of the house’s flight until somebody, anybody, picked him up.

Passing the portrait of another family was easy enough despite how creepy it seemed. They’d have to take it down, feeling like a guest in one’s own home was never appreciated. Then again, neither were pests in your walls, especially when you didn’t know about them yet.

~~

“Sleep tight, sweetie,” (Y/n) blew one final kiss to her son before closing the bedroom door to her own room.

“Wait,” Dylan whined, stopping his mother in the motion, “Brahms is still gone…”

The woman pursed her lips, “I know, I know. Just try to sleep without him for now, okay? We’ll probably find him tomorrow morning.”

Pouting, the boy kicked his legs out slightly before nodding solemnly, “Alright…”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she smiled tenderly at the child before shutting the bedroom door genuinely. Turning to her other son, (Y/n) forced a much faker smile onto her lips, “And thank you for your upcoming sacrifice.”

“I never said it was a sacrifice,” Joey grumbled, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “You’re just dramatic.”

“Incorrect,” (Y/n) turned her boy around with a few small pats on the shoulder, descending the stairs as a pair until they reached the comically large portrait of a family that wasn’t their own.

Her hand settled against the groove of the curvy golden frame, the other resting against the painted surface as she and her son lifted the painting from the wall.

“Shit,” Joey hissed, assisting his mother in her lifting, “this thing’s heavy. Really heavy.”

“Probably wasn’t meant to be taken off the wall,” the woman reasoned with her son, muscles straining in their removal of the ridiculously big painting.

As the woman handled the painting, deciding to let it rest on the floor. Her backbones screamed as she slowly bent at the knee to lower the portrait of the wealthy family. Knuckles and joints beginning to ache as she did so.

“Mom…?” Joey muttered, voice much smaller and more fragile than she was accustomed to.

“Yeah?” she gruffed, finally letting the painting down completely. Her hands came to press on her tailbone ever so gently, practically already feeling next morning’s soreness, “Something wrong?”

“Only if you think a human-sized hole in the wall is a problem?” the boy chuckled dryly.

“A what?”

Turning swiftly, (Y/n) was quickly faced with exactly what her eldest son had just described to her. A human-sized hole in their wall. Large enough to fit a six-foot person, maybe they’d have to duck, but the fact remained. Her hands reached out for the edges of where the frame met the actual wall. She turned her head both ways, it was dark but when her eyes adjusted she could tell that there was a clear path running through the wall. Pulling her head back out, (Y/n) nodded towards the hole.

“I’ll go first, you follow.”

“Fine.”

Stepping into the hole, she noted how disgustingly crisp the air felt, it reminded her of being trapped in the pantry. It made her question what ways were waiting to be opened up by creeping little fingers inside that quiet, confined space. Her skin bumped and hairs raised at the thought of whoever had made these pathways still being inside the house. But that was insane, not a chance that somebody could live inside the walls of a manor without anybody finding out. There’d be too many creeks.

And suddenly she was remembering being locked in the pantry again, when those loud creeks were cracking into her ears and her sons had still been asleep. Her sons had still been asleep.

(Y/n) stopped, glad that her son’s eyes, though faltering, had adjusted to the dark well enough so he wouldn’t bump into her, “You’re sure you didn’t lock me in the pantry, right? There’s no way you were sleepwalking or anything?”

It was silent, so silent that there was a deafening buzz drumming into her ears.

“Joey?”

Again, all she was met with was the droning, consistent blare of buzzing in her ears.

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you.”

Once more, she was hit with buzzing.

“Joseph,” (Y/n) turned around, not meeting the eyes of her sixteen-year-old bookworm son, but instead with a stained, smelly, thin white shirt.

It hung low enough to expose the oddly shiny slick of sweat glistening over a hairy chest. Her breath grew rapid, fear racing through her body as she shook her head.

Looking up, her gut was wrenched at the dirtied prosthetic mask angled as if the person behind it was looking down upon her, as though she were a frightened rabbit. Now that she thought about it, she was a frightened, shaking little rabbit.

“Where’s my son?” when there was no response, she tossed herself into his body, attempting to push past him, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The arms of the secret man in her walls wrapped around her, squeezing tightly. One arm abandoned her waist, scrambling for something a little ways behind them, when he found it, the arm raised above her head.

“Joseph?!” she sobbed weakly, beginning to choke on her own nasty cocktail of tears and mucus, “Dylan?!”

A thwack left no more screaming to be heard, the tall man dropping his makeshift club in favor of picking the woman up as though she were his cute, delicate bride. 

Brahms turned, heading back for the largest panel of the walls with (Y/n) dangling limply in his arms.

~~

Finally coming to, (Y/n) sputtered in a soft muffle, eyesight unclear and spotting in the corners. The spots and blotches eventually leveled and began to mop themselves into one concise picture of the kitchen. She let out a soft hiss, wrists stinging when she suddenly realized that there were ropes binding her arms back and to her chair. 

Head toppling to the left, a snoring Joey was also tied down with his glasses already having slipped from his nose. Crashed onto the floor and shattered, it reminded her of her youngest son’s room; her youngest son.

She looked over to her right, spotting an empty wicker chair immediately beside her and Dylan after that. Dylan was leaning far back, head resting on his shoulder and mouth having fallen open to let out quiet whimpers and whines as though even in Dreamland, he was frightful. 

Finally, she looked forward, squinting at the collection of chairs in front of her. They were chairs, obviously, nothing too interesting about that but it’s what was in the chairs that alarmed her. Pillows conjoined together by stolen articles of clothing ranging from Joey’s shirt to her favorite dress and skirt and Dylan’s sweatshirt. Between her pillow copy and Dylan’s was the Brahms doll; staring ahead silently. Watching. Always watching.

A high-pitched, airy, childlike voice rang in her ear, it didn’t match the fully grown man standing behind Dylan. Brahms, the real Brahms, pat the boy’s blond hair before ruffling Joey’s untamed dark tresses, “Little brother… big brother…” he moved behind (Y/n), his hands settling on her shoulders before his mask moved to press it’s  cold, hard lips against the goosebumped, terrified skin of her neck, “Mommy…”

Sitting down in the empty chair, Brahms smiled beneath his mask, staring into the dead, glassy eyes of his doll before letting his voice take on the deeper octave more appropriate of an adult.

“Daddy…”

#brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire x reader #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #brahms: the boy #can't believe i spelt the movie name wrong :) #clown energy people i'm telling you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Painted Windows 8

Warnings: violence, trauma, allusions to abuse and noncon, isolation, torture, suicide attempts and thoughts, further tags to be added.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle on your own.

Note: Not much to say. I’m just kinda writing chapters as I can. I have ideas I need to sort out for the next few. To everyone who’s commented and sent your thoughts, thanks, it keeps me going. <3 Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3 Let me know thoughts, excitement, theories, anything.

The night of Steve’s appearance was quiet, almost serene. The knowledge that Bucky would not barge in and set your nerves on edge was the first reassurance you’d had in years. The next morning, you made your tea and marked the day in your notebook; though you wrote nothing more. You ate, exercised, watched some television, tried to read, ate again; filled your time with the little you had.

The second night you were kept awake by nightmares. Those which were so vivid, they felt real. Your body was left paralysed as you eyes opened and you saw the dark figures around you. The voices whispered indiscernibly. You fought the weight holding you down until you were able to sit up. The motion made you dizzy and you reached to the lamp to shield yourself in its light.

The third day after exile, another number on a page, you spent most of the hours staring out the window. The snow didn’t come so often and the sheets across the ground had plateaued. Soon, the powder would start to melt, though spring might still be far on the horizon. You fell asleep with your head at the foot of the bed as you stared at the moon.

The fourth day, you took a particularly long bath. You lingered until the water was lukewarm. Sank beneath its surface and held yourself there as the water began to seep down your throat. You bolted up coughing and hung over the edge. You cried. You were too weak to end it though all you wanted was for it to be over.

The fifth day, you made a bed sheet into a noose. You had nowhere to hang it nor the strength to. You wept again and untied it. If you had a spine, how long would it have been before he found you there? No one would know of the girl in his guest room. The one who called herself Dora because she dreamt of a Wizard who was nothing more than a man behind a curtain.

The sixth and seventh days were spent on the floor. You slept there between bouts of sobbing; fits of anger; period of numbness. The eight, you broke a chair against the door. The ninth, you punched in a dozen codes before the pad flashed red and didn’t stop beeping for an hour. The tenth, you tried to jump through the window. You bounced off and laughed until you were out of breath.

It was like your old cell but worse. So silent. So desolate. You were utterly alone. You would rather hurt than feel this empty. At least you had a purpose before; maybe not your own, but you had one. Now you were just waiting for it to end. And there was only one way for that to happen.

Or maybe another.

The eleventh day, you took your notebook and the pen. You wrote slowly. ‘I’m sorry.’ Those were the only words you could manage. The only you could think to fix what you had broken. To get through to the man you couldn’t read. You crept over to the door and slid the sheet beneath the door. Then you waited.

It was dark before you heard the handle.

You were only feet from the door as it opened. You slumped against the wall as the figure appeared as he had that day long ago. He hit the light switch and the room lit up. He looked around silently. You had changed only once since he left you, your old clothes were strewn across the floor. The broken chair was beside you, and your notebook too. The few dishes you used were still dirtied on the counter. He let out a long sigh and shut the door.

He knelt beside you and touched your forehead then your cheek. He lifted your head and made you look at him. He peered into your eyes then looked around again. He raised his other hand and held up the note. He let you go and tore it up. He shook his head as he crumpled the pieces in his hand.

“No,” He said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He stood and tossed away the scraps. He returned to you as you hid your face. You hadn’t thought he would actually relent. You didn’t expect him to walk in on your mess; on your dissemblance. You were embarrassed. He could see that you were still that pathetic creature he’d found in the concrete box.

“Come on,” He cooed as he slipped his arms under you and lifted you easily.

He laid you down on the bed and neatened the blankets around you. He retreated and you watched his back as he bent and lifted the broken chair. He shoved it over by the door and picked up your notebook. He didn’t open it, only set it on the table where it usually was. 

Then he went to the sink and the faucet squeaked as he turned it. The clinking of dishes filled the space and you rolled over and closed your eyes. You feared what would happen when he finished. He would have nothing else to keep his attention and his anger would once more be upon you; likely fueled by your negligence.

The water stopped and you listened to him dry the dishes and put them away in the cupboard. Then his footsteps neared and the bed dipped behind you. He put his hand on your shoulder and tried to turn you to him. You resisted as you clung to the blankets.

“Dora,” He said meekly. “You can’t stay like this. You have to get cleaned up.”

You shook your head and tried to shrug him away.

“Sugar,” He squeezed your arm. The pet name surprised you. “When’s the last time you ate?”

You didn’t say anything but your stomach growled loudly at the mention of food. 

“Come on. Go get yourself cleaned up and I’ll make you something.” He offered. “You gotta be good… be good to yourself.”

You let him roll you onto your back. You looked up at him weakly. You were stunned through your humiliation. That he was being so kind. That he wasn’t breaking the rest of the furniture. That he wasn’t playing out the scene you’d dreaded in the back of your mind for more than a week.

“Wh-why--” You croaked.

“Tell me you’ll get washed up, sugar,” He gently pulled the covers from your shoulders.

You blinked at him and didn’t move.

“You gotta get up.” He rubbed your arm. “Come on.”

“I can’t,” You rasped. “I…”

“Sugar, I’d do it for you…” His fingers touched the hem of your sleeve, “I would but…” He paused and his tongue slipped out between his lips as his gaze followed the line of the vee neck. “Please. For me.” He caressed your cheek. “If you really are sorry, you’ll do it.” He traced along your bottom lip. “Or I’ll have to leave again.”

You grabbed his wrist without thinking. He was jolted by the sudden action but didn’t pull away. His lips twitched and a glimmer coloured his eyes. You clung to him. Your chest felt empty and your stomach clenched painfully.

“Don’t, please,” You begged. “Please, I can’t… be alone.”

He nodded and smiled. He leaned over you and kissed your forehead. “So get up,” He said quietly. “And get cleaned up for me, sugar.”

He sat back and you let him pull you up with him. He stood and pulled back the covers further and guided you to the edge of the bed. He forced you up onto your feet and his hand settled over yours. He detached you from his wrist though his hand lingered on yours. He let go reluctantly and went to your closet. 

He opened it and pulled out a pale purple night. He held it up and turned to offer it to you. 

“When you’re done, you can eat and then you need to sleep,” He neared and presented the nightgown to you. “You look tired, sugar.”

You slowly took the hanger from him and lowered your head. You felt the cotton between your fingers. “I am,” You admitted. “Very tired.”

You stayed in the shower for a while. You felt as if there was an invisible casing over your body. Your surroundings had become surreal. You scrubbed at your skin without thinking, then your hair. You stepped out onto the plush bath mat and let it tickle your feet. You dried off as you stared in the mirror.

Dora. She was a stranger and she looked back at you; doe-eyed yet dozy. You were that stranger now. ‘Sugar’. That’s what he’d call you. You wondered if it was because you were sweet or because you were so quick to melt. You didn’t ponder long. It didn’t matter, truly.

You pulled the nightgown over your head. The straps were not as thick as they looked, nor the fabric. You could see your curves beneath, your nipples bumpy under the cotton, the skirt shorter than you hoped. You hung the towel and peeked one last time at Dora. She was perfect; hollow; malleable.

You opened the door cautiously and stepped into the room. Bucky was by the microwave, watching the numbers count down. He looked over his shoulder briefly but his attention quickly returned to the timer.

“I can get you a stove top but you’ll have to be careful,” He said. “It will make things easier.” The microwave beeped and he took out the tray of lasagna. “How about it?”

“Uh,” You stopped by the table. There was a new chair; like the old one. You looked up at him as he split the small lasagna between two plates. “Okay… yes, please. I would like that very much.”

“Alright,” He took two forks and the plates. He neared the other side of the table. “Sit. Eat.”

He paused and held the plates above the table. He looked at you fully, his eyes dipped down and trailed back up. He set the dishes on the table and slid one towards you. He cleared his throat.

“Go on.” He waited for you to sit before he did the same. 

You shifted in the chair and took the fork. Your stomach curdled in a mixture of hunger and revulsion. You were ravenous and yet revolted by the smell of burnt tomato. You looked up at him as you sensed his gaze. His eyes were predatory; expectant. You cut out a corner with your fork and bit into it with a hum.

“Oh, sugar, I was worried,” He said. “I thought maybe you were sick.”

You chewed, thankful for an excuse to remain silent. The nickname was both irritating and endearing. It was foreign and didn’t seem to fit and yet you wanted to hear it again. You swallowed stiffly.

“I am okay,” You replied. “I think.”

He nodded and took a bite. You glanced around the room. It was tidy again. As it had been when he’d first taken you there, but something was different. You thought of the concrete cell and the flimsy cot, the rusty toilet and dingy floor. You turned back to him and pushed the sauce around your plate.

“I…” Your heart fluttered. “I really am sorry, Bucky. I…”

“These things happen,” He said evenly. “It’s difficult at first. When you’ve only ever related to people as an object, it is hard to break free of that. You don’t see kindness as anything but a trick and your emotions all boil over so that you cannot see through the steam and then suddenly, you’re trapped in the flames.”

You looked at your lasagna., ate some more and thought. 

“Sugar…” He said. You lifted your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I…” Your fork clattered to the plate and you sat back. You clasped your hands together in your lap. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“You won’t be,” He set down his fork and reached across the table. “Not tonight. I’ll stay.”

“You will?” You asked. Your voice cracked and so did your will. He could see it; how fractured you were.

“If that’s what you want,” He kept his hand as it was. “All I’ve done is what’s best for you, sugar. Can’t you see that?”

You looked at his hand. His real hand. The palm was deeply lined but his fingers held no tension. You pursed your lips and carefully placed your hand in his.

“I… know,” You said as his fingers enclosed around your hand. “Thank you.”

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #painted windows #marvel #mcu #captain america #Winter Soldier

[threeletterslife]

01 | Illegirl

→ next chapter

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (like y/n really needs to tone it down lmao) & kissing/making out

→ wordcount: 6.2k

With your head tucked under the pages of a textbook that's literally heavier than twice your weight, your hand furiously flies across the surface of your messy, but meticulous notes. At this point, you've been writing for so long that you don't feel the pain of hand cramps anymore.

Curse your fucking philosophy teacher for not succumbing to technology. Your notes would've taken you thirty minutes to complete instead of three hours had you been able to type them out.

But it's not like you're complaining about the workload. You lowkey like learning, therefore you like school. Besides, you're a diligent person. Once you start studying, there's really no turning back until you finish. In fact, nothing can distract you from your studies. Well maybe except—

"Hey, Y/N!" Seokjin screams from the kitchen.

Your head jerks up so fast hearing your cousin's voice that you wince from the neck strain. Cursing profanities under your breath, you shout back, "What?!"

"It's about dinner!" Seokjin yells.

You perk up. God, you weren't really the sporty type but Jin told you using your brain burns more calories than running a mile. But what can you expect from a theatre major? Still, you would use any excuse to eat as much as you do.

"I've invited a friend over to eat with us!" your cousin hollers.

Slightly frowning, you wonder since when Jin had friends that had come over. Your frown wavers away. Maybe you should be happy your cousin was socializing for once and not worry about the idea of some stranger coming to your house to eat.

You sigh as you push away from your desk, standing up to make your way to the kitchen for a more elaborate explanation.

"Who's the friend?" you ask, casually. "I mean, more importantly, what are you cooking?"

Jin's back was turned from you, his arms moving swiftly across the stove in a graceful manner you know you can never master. But you hear him chuckle at your priorities.

"Today's menu is steak," Jin says heartily.

Ah, steak. Why hadn't I been able to guess? The tender and cordial aroma should've pointed all fingers to your favorite meal.

"And the friend? Park Jimin," Jin answers dreamily and you can tell your cousin's just falling in love with his steak sizzling on the pan. He's always like that (dramatic and passionate).

"Park Jimin?" you repeat, sliding into a chair next to the kitchen island. "Doesn't ring a bell. So where'd you meet him?"

"Well, he's my co-worker." Jin shrugs nonchalantly as he places the sizzling steak on a platter, seasoning it passionately.

"Huh? Co-worker?" You frown. "Wait he's a teacher too?"

Jin was your school's arts and drama teacher, always staying out late for theater practice and unfortunately dragging you out with him because "you can't survive on your own."

"Yeah. Maybe Mr. Park might ring a bell?" Jin suggests.

Your eyes enlarge at the familiar name and the realization hits you like a big, fat freight train. "Mr. Park?!" you screech like a barn owl. "My math teacher?!"

Your cousin's head snaps up from smelling his precious steak. "Oh? He's your teacher?"

"Um, yes!" you yell, throwing your hands aggressively in the air. "Oh my GOD. This is gonna be so awkward! Jin! Just because you live a Hollywood life, doesn't mean you can drag me into that crazy shit too! Really? A student eating with her fucking teacher? What kind of fucked up fuckery is that?!"

"Language!" Jin warns. "You're just over-dramatizing things, baby cousin," he laughs. "I told you, you should pursue acting."

"I'm not joking!" you seethe, your face turning red as you imagine the future awkwardness that would ensue between you and Mr. Park. Not that you have anything against him.

Jin just rolls his eyes. "Then just stay in your room," he says. "Besides, you better get used to him being around. Jimin's a chill dude, I'll be hanging out with him a lot more. I'm sure he won't mind you."

You sigh. "Yeah, but I'd rather not take the chances... I mean, not when this man can change my grades with one button."

Jin chuckles. "And why would he do that? You're probably his best student. Isn't math that class you have over a hundred in, right now?"

"Well, yeah, but you never know," you protest.

"Wow, what a nerd."

"Um, not a nerd," you reply. "Just smarter than you."

Jin scoffs, placing a delicate hand to his chest as he mocks offense. "Excuse me, baby cousin, I happen to be almost a decade older than you."

You laugh out loud. "A decade doesn't seem like it helped you much," you tease, never losing an argument, no matter how small and pathetic. "But anyways. Are you sure Mr. Park will be chill?  I'm that weird kid in his class that never socializes but sets the curve for every test, you know? I'm that nerd..."

Jin chuckles. "You worry too much. Don't you know teachers love students that excel in their class? Besides, Jimin knows you're my cousin. It'll be okay," Jin chirps as he grins at his piping hot steak. "It'll be fine..."

"It'll be okay, he said, it'll be fine, he said!" you grumble. "Fucking idiot!"

Normally, Jin would've yelled at you for your profanities, but at the moment, he was too wasted to give a fuck. "Maybe I shouldn't have drunk my stress," he giggles. "Jimin, your beer is delicious."

"Yee, boi," Jimin answers, waving his arms around drunkenly.

You can't believe your eyes, or ears for that matter. Your usually formal, sharp, calm and collected math teacher had first shown up wearing severely ripped jeans, a loose, black t-shirt and jewelry. And now he was drunk.

Originally, you had been stuck in your room, quietly and innocently, you might add, eating a piece of steak. Honestly, you were pretending like you didn't even exist. It was only when you heard the loud clinkings of those beer cans when you knew you would have to take action sometime. Your cousin was not a good drinker.

Your teacher, who usually looks like a Mr. Park for god's sake, with his ties and button-up collar shirts now looks like a Jimin with his choice of stylish garments and a pair of dangly earrings. Jimin runs his fingers through his messy black hair that's usually so well-combed and gelled. Then, his alluring chocolate eyes fixate on you.

"Baby girl, why don't you have a drink?" he asks you, waving his (empty) beer can at you.

You have a wordless reaction, staring at your teacher in absolute horror. You're 110% sure he doesn't remember you're his student.

Goddamn, he's so wasted.

"Jin, my man, she's hot. Who is she?" Jimin asks as he flashes a charming smile at you, throwing in a wink as well.

You have no idea why your stomach flips. But you're pretty sure it has something to do with the seductive way your teacher is looking at you. You would've never thought Jimin could have this sort of side to him.

"No touchy, touchy, my dude," Jin slurs. "She's my baby cousin."

Jimin winks at you again.

And of course, you feel at least a hundred butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. Had you known Jimin was this attractive? No. But did you know now? Hell yeah.

Still, he's your teacher... "I'm your student," you sigh, staring at the drunken man in pity.

"Ooh," Jimin grins flirtatiously. "Kinky."

Now it's your turn to run your fingers through your hair. "T-That..." you sigh. "That's borderline perverted," you murmur.

Jin giggles. "Y/N, you have no—" your cousin pauses his sentence, suddenly holding his stomach and frowning. "Ooh, I don't feel too good," he announces. Then, he curls up and with such obnoxious noise, wretches out the steak he'd consumed.

You instantly jerk your head away, afraid you'll vomit if you catch the sight of Jin's half-digested food. Yes, you like food, but not when it's in that kind of state.

"Oh my god, Jin!" you whine, annoyance and some form of anger coursing through your veins. "I told you not to drink, goddammit!"

Your cousin only grins, swaying his body back and forth to a song that's not even playing. Sighing, you hurriedly grab a wet rag, cursing profanities and saying 'ew' every three seconds as you attempt to clean up the vomit. You're literally forcing your stomach to stay calm at the disturbing sight and stench.

You're even more ticked off that your cousin is just smiling like a total buffoon right next to you. "I'M A FUCKING DECADE YOUNGER THAN YOU SO WHY AM I ACTING LIKE A FUCKING MOTHER RIGHT NOW?" you shriek as you throw the rag to the side to glare at Jin.

Except, he was passed out. You scoff. "Unbelievable!" You push Jin over with your hand. "Jin! Wake the fuck up!"

"Ooh, baby girl, I didn't know you had such a dirty mouth," Jimin purrs, taking hold of his can of beer and Jin's, clinking them together and laughing as if it were the funniest sight in the world.

You glare at your so-called teacher. "If you weren't in charge of my grades you'd be dead," you seethe.

"What's that, baby girl?" Jimin asks. "I think you might have to be closer for me to hear you." And with that, he grabs ahold of your hand and pulls you down into his lap.

Momentarily, you're too shocked to have any sort of reaction. It takes a while for you to even realize you're sitting on your teacher's lap. "Ji—I mean, Mr. Park!" you shriek, trying to scramble up.

But Jimin holds you firm, staring deeply into your eyes as if he could see your soul. And something about that stops your squirming. You are still.

"Beautiful," Jimin mumbles as he softly touches the side of your cheek.

Your heart is beating fast and you can feel your cheeks starting to heat up. Why was this making you feel so... weird?

"Beauty is from the outside," Jimin states, moving his head closer to yours. That surely ruined the moment.

You frown. "I think you mean beauty is from the inside," you correct.

"Whatever," Jimin mumbles, continuing to admire your face. "Who are you?" he asks. "Such a beauty..."

"Your fucking student," you reply smartly, scrunching your nose. You? A beauty? I don't fucking think so.

"Kinky," Jimin says again. He slowly intertwines his fingers with yours. "I like you."

What. The. Fuck.

Now you're just internally screaming. Yes, you admit your math teacher is rather... hot. Yes, you admit that he has some sort of magnetic field that attracts you. And yes, you admit you don't feel too bad sitting in his lap (oh boy). But you know, in the back of your head, this is somewhat illegal. After all, some internet research (a.k.a stalking) showed that Jimin was 24. You're 17. It just isn't going to happen.

"Cool," you respond. "Glad that I'm liked. Um... Imma get going now..." you try to smoothly escape from Jimin's lap. But it's just not your day.

Jimin tugs you back, his hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. "No." He grins. "You." His hand holds yours. "Will." His other hand cups your warm, flushed cheeks. "Stay." His lips meet yours.

He does it so quickly that you have little to no time to stop him. And once in the kiss, there was no turning back.

Your teacher tastes like beer as his tongue explores your lips, sucking and even biting softly. And as the love-deprived person as you are, you don't stop him. Instead, you respond by wrapping your arms around Jimin's neck. Then before you realize it, or even stop yourself, you're kissing him back. The heat of the moment thing, you guess.

Jimin pulls you closer to his face, the hand that had been holding yours is set on your waist, securing you.

That's when you realize this is not some random dude named Jimin. This is Park Jimin, your mathematics teacher.

"Fuck!" you shriek as you aggressively break the kiss—or more like make out session—your lips leaving your teacher's with a little 'pop.'

Jimin stares at you in confusion, his eyebrows scrunching over his wide, curious eyes. "Fuck already?"

You bury your face in your hands, then realize you're still sitting in your teacher's lap. "Fuck!" you repeat as you scramble away a good two feet.

"Already?" he asks once again.

"You... you.. pervert!" you scream, flapping your arms faster than a hummingbird. "I'm 17!"

Jimin cocks his head. "How old am I again?" He grins foolishly. But cutely. His black hair is messed up even more and his soft, plump lips are slightly wet. Oh boy. You don't even want to get started on his alluring eyes.

Fuck! You shake your head, panic taking over your whole body. Not the time, Y/N!

"You don't know my age either?" Jimin asks, staring at you with puppy dog eyes. You think you're going to faint.

Get it together Y/N!

"24," you grit out. "You're 24."

At that, Jimin frowns. "Shit. You weren't lying when you said you were my student," he slurs, squinting at you as if he were looking at the sun.

"You thought I was fucking lying?!" you shriek. "Snap out of it!"

"Shit," Jimin deadpans, his dark eyes flickering. "You're Yoon Y/N," he realizes. "I'm actually fucked."

Then, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he passes out on the floor, right next to your dumbass cousin.

You can't move. You just kissed your fucking teacher. No, you made out with him. But the worst part—you think you had enjoyed it.

You wake up in your bed with the biggest migraine you've had in a month. It's almost as if you were the one that had passed out drunk yesterday.

The morning rays are shining through your thin curtains and you sigh out, looking at the bright sight. Thank fucking god it's a Saturday. If only this migraine would go away.

Then, you realize something that makes the pain in your head amplify by ten-folds. Yesterday, you'd made out with your math teacher—in the same room as your overprotective cousin, mind you.

"Well fuck," you whisper, placing a cool finger to your lips. The very same lips that had kissed your teacher. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!" you mutter aggressively.

You remember it all as if your brain had shot a movie on the spot—your teacher tugging you into his warm lap, making sexual comments, kissing you... Your face burns red. Not to mention you feel like some annoying garden gnome is hammering his huge mallet right in your head.

Fuck my migraine.

But your migraine wasn't the worst of your problems at this point. In fact, it seemed to be dwelling in your poor head because of your problems.

"How the fuck am I supposed to face him in school? Oh god, will he remember? Holy fuck—how will I cope if he doesn't recall?" you talk to yourself frantically, habitually flapping your arms around in panic.

You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down but that doesn't work. Instead, you end up burying your face in your hands, crashing back down on your bed. "I actually don't want to go to school anymore," you say. But maybe a bit too loudly.

"Y/N, DID I HEAR YOU RIGHT?" a voice practically screams from the kitchen. "You LOVE learning!" Jin screeches. "Did something happen? Are you getting bullied?"

"What? No!" you yell, exasperated. It was always up to your cousin to make a mountain out of a molehill.

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?" Jin shouts.

You sigh. From all the yelling going back and forth, it looked like by the end of the day, your throat would hurt as much as your head. Sitting up from your bed, you make your way to the kitchen to explain yourself without having to scream your lungs out.

"Y/N, honey, you look sick," Jin says as soon as turns around from the stove, catching sight of your messy hair and dead eyes.

"Migraine," you sigh.

"I've gotchu," your cousin declares dutifully as he places an orange pill and steaming hot rice porridge in front of you. He sits down in front of you, watching with his warm eyes as you dry swallow the pill and dig in to your breakfast. "So... what happened?" he asks as you finally pause from your eating to take a breath.

"Huh?"

"Why don't you want to go to school?" Jin repeats, taking a napkin and wiping your wet chin.

You shrug. "I dunno," you lie. "It's just one of those moods."

Jin lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh, just that? I thought it was something serious, Y/N! You had me worrying!"

You roll your eyes but smile. The warm and toasty porridge paired with the painkiller was really working miracles. You felt much better already.

"You always worry, Jin," you chuckle. "Shouldn't I be worried about you? You literally threw up last night."

"Yes, I know. You did a pretty bad job cleaning it up," Jin laughs. "Thanks for the attempt, though."

"Well, I was..." you attempt to explain yourself. "...Distracted."

Jin laughs, getting up to fetch your favorite dish of kimchi, placing it right in front of you. Once he sits down he watches you eat again.

"Sorry, Y/N," he apologizes suddenly, just as you shove a huge spoonful of rice and kimchi in your mouth.

"For what?" you sputter, bits of half-chewed food dribbling down your mouth. "Oops," you mutter, clumsily reaching for a napkin. But Jin was already ahead of you, dabbing at your chin once again.

"I don't know... I threw up, you tried to clean it up... You were probably annoyed that we were being so loud. Oh right, and we were both drunk..." Jin sighs.

You shake your head. "I'm not mad. You don't have to feel bad," you say.

If anything, I'm mad at myself for kissing my teacher.

Speaking of your teacher...

"So, where's Jimin?" you ask, blood immediately rushing to your cheeks just saying his name.

Oh god, why did I even ask? Now I'm going to sound suspicious.

"I'm the worst person to ask that. I don't remember much—everything's so hazy. I really shouldn't have drunk so much last night..." Jin sighs. "But why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," you respond quickly.

If Jin had no recollection of his drunk night, then that would mean your teacher wouldn't remember... right??

"Y/N, you responded too quickly, something's up," Jin laughs, stretching back in his seat. "What happened? Spill the tea."

Well, shit. Channel your inner actress, Y/N. You've got this.

"Oh, I don't know, it was nothing, really. It was just funny to see my math teacher get wasted and faint then disappear without a trace the next day, you know?" you say casually.

"Jimin probably ditched 'cause he got embarrassed," Jin chuckles, shaking his head.

Ohohoho, you have no idea.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the breakfast, Jin," you say, getting up from your seat. "I've got a quiz in his class on Monday. Gotta study."

"Wow, how diligent," your cousin teases lightly. "Have fun," he sarcastically calls as you walk towards your room.

You roll your eyes but smile. As dumb and dramatic and drunk he could get, you can't deny that you love your cousin.

As somewhat of a nerd, you had always passed school with flying colors—especially being gifted in mathematics. On the day of Jimin's math quiz, you finish thirty minutes early and take the leisure to stretch a bit and play around with your lucky pencil.

Normally, you'd look up to see if your teacher was grading quizzes from the previous period, but today, you were doing everything possible to avoid his eye contact. Maybe you were overreacting... but that kiss, er, make out was something you couldn't just forget so easily.

Are we just going to forget that shit even happened? Then, you realize, probably yeah. Jin didn't remember what happened when he got drunk—maybe Jimin would too.

Well, shit. That's just better for me. I made out with my fucking teacher and he doesn't even remember. God, I feel like I'm in a high school romance drama.

You cringe at your inner thoughts then force yourself to focus back on your quiz.

Time to check answers.

Thirty minutes later, as soon as the bell rings, you zip right up, about to bolt from the classroom when Jimin just:

"Everyone who hasn't finished the quiz, please turn it in now! Y/N, I'll see you after class."

Your blood runs cold and you freeze. Why? WHY? WHY?

"Probably for some nerdy math geek thing," students whisper. You pray that they're right.

God forbid he remembers what happened Saturday night.

Students file quickly out of the classroom—a little too quickly. All too soon, you and Jimin were the only ones in the room. You gulp.

Jimin stands up from his desk, his fingers racing up to habitually loosen his tight, black tie. He looks so different in his school clothes and when he's sober. Your teacher coughs lightly as he walks over to your desk awkwardly.

Or maybe the awkwardness was just your stupid imagination.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says. "How was the quiz?"

"Uh, good," you quickly respond, turning red just facing your teacher. Please don't come any closer.

You curse inside your head as Jimin literally crouches down to your eye-level, leaning in as you automatically lean back. Your heart beats in your head as you realize your hands are sweating. Yeah, no, you didn't want confrontation. Not today, at least.

"Um... Mr. Park, I have to get to lunch," you lie, abruptly pushing back your chair and springing up from your seat. "Er... Mr. Jung, my literature teacher wanted to talk to me."

Jimin looks at you with suspicion. "Hm... I was hoping to discuss something with you," he sighs.

Goosebumps blossom on your skin. "It's urgent," you fib. "He'll get really mad at me if I don't get there in the next minute."

Jimin frowns while glancing at the class clock and sighs again. "Well then, I guess our talk can wait."

You almost cheer out loud at your victory, but calmly start to walk away from your teacher. "Thank you, Mr. Park!" you call behind you as you practically bolt out of the classroom.

Your teacher stares at the door and cocks his head. "I've never seen Jung Hoseok get mad at his students in my entire life," he mutters under his breath while shaking his head.

You're at home, stretched out on your bed, your homework finished and your tests taken. But you're still worried.

"Goddammit," you cuss.

"Woah there," Jin calls from the kitchen, his second bedroom. "Did Y/N get her first B?"

You roll your eyes. "Not possible," you call back.

"Then do you have an excuse for your profanity?!"

"Nope, not really," you sigh. "Sorry, I'll watch my language!" you shout before Jin can remind you again. Then you groan as you bury your face into your plushy pillow.

You were dreading the next day. Although you weren't sure what Jimin wanted to discuss with you, you weren't going to take any chances.

It was Tuesday.

"Y/N, I have to talk to you," Jimin says as the math class is dismissed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park!" you say quickly. "Girl problems, I gotta get to the bathroom!" you lie.

It was Wednesday.

"Y/N, may I talk to you?" Jimin calls as soon as class is finished.

"Sorry, Mr. Park!" you say as you're already halfway out the door. "I have to see the nurse. Cramps, you know!"

"You don't seem like you're in pain!" Jimin calls as you run out.

It was Thursday.

"Y/N, we really need to talk," Jimin says as he blocks your way of the classroom.

You sigh. "I wish I could, but I need to turn in a philosophy project for Mr. Kim," you fib.

"During lunch?" Jimin sighs. You nod convincingly. "Alright, then," Jimin says. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"We'll see about that," you mumble under your breath.

It was Friday.

"Y/N. No excuses. You've been avoiding me for almost a week," Jimin says as he squats in front of your desk, literally compelling you to stay frozen in your seat.

"But Mr. Park, I kinda have to go... My cousin's taking me on a trip for this weekend and I have to leave right now."

You pat yourself on your back for this lie. Nice one, Y/N! Jin always pulls you out of school to take mini weekend trips so this was totally plausible.

Jimin laughs. "Oh, Y/N. I'm very close to Jin, you know," he says. "He can't be taking you on a trip now if I'm supposed to be going with you guys."

"What." You shake your head in disbelief, jaw practically dropping open. "No!" you deadpan.

"Yes," Jimin answers. "I've been trying to tell you this whole week, you know. Jin wasn't going to tell you until last minute because he knew you'd make some excuse not to go."

It was official. Jin had definitely lost his marbles. Trip and teacher did not go well together and you'd think someone as capable as Jin would know this. Besides, the last time you and Jimin had been together outside of school... You shudder. Nope!

"I'm going to kill my cousin!" you shriek, exasperated out of your mind.

"I mean, now it's a bit too late, don't you think?" Jimin chuckles. "We're leaving right after school."

The words hit you like a freight train. Why? Why the fuck? What the fuck? How? But most importantly, where? You swear to god if Jin had so very conveniently planned a beach trip you were actually going to murder him. Bikini and teacher are two words you don't want to see in the same sentence.

You take a deep breath, tilting your head back to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to calm yourself down. When you feel like you're not going to drop f-bombs in a classroom setting anymore, you face your teacher: "So, uh, where are we going for the trip? I swear to god if it's at the beach—"

"Camping," Jimin answers quickly.

"Oh, whew!" you exclaim, placing a hand to your heart in all gladness. But apparently, you had been glad way too soon.

"Oh right, Y/N, I still need to talk to you about another thing," your teacher says, scratching his head rather awkwardly.

You freeze, your heart beating in your ears as suddenly your stomach feels like it shrunk twice its original size.

Jimin coughs awkwardly. "But, um... I think it can wait for later," he sighs. "It's not very... classroom appropriate," he whispers lowly.

Well fuck, he remembers. Fuck my life. At this point, you wonder if things can even end up worse than this. Sighing, you do the only thing that you do best: leaving.

"If it's not classroom appropriate, it's probably never appropriate," you quickly mutter as you swing your backpack over your shoulder. "Thanks for the heads up about the trip," you say. "Now, excuse me so I can go yell at my cousin."

Jimin chuckles. "Yeah, see you, Y/N. Best of luck with that."

You almost scoff. This was going to be one long weekend.

The moment you barge into familiar territory, otherwise known as Seokjin's drama classroom, you finally let your rage loose. "THE FUCKING HELL! JIN, I HATE YOU!"

Your raucous outburst startles your cousin who nearly drops a golden crown prop. You don't even give him time to react before you're ranting. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WERE KEEPING THIS FUCKING CAMPING TRIP FROM ME!"

"Woah, there, Y/N. Slow down," Jin says in a soothing tone as if he were trying to calm a wild horse. "The camping trip?" he questions, cocking his head.

"YEAH! THE ONE WHERE YOU SO CONVENIENTLY INVITED JIMIN!"

Jin's confused face flashes with recognition as he nods. "Oh yeah, the camping trip. Sorry."

"Sorry won't fucking cut it!" you shriek. "And really? With Jimin too?!"

Jin sighs. "Well I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier but I just wanted some bonding time with my best friend. You know that I've haven't had friends in years. And I would've just left you home, but you also know that I care too much about your meals to do that. You'd literally starve to death Y/N, you really can't cook!"

His words make you feel bad for your outburst. In a way, he's right. Jin literally doesn't have a social life because of you. When you're stuck studying your ass off every day, he's the one who makes sure you get your meals. When you're in a particularly bad mood due to fluctuating hormone levels (curse puberty), he's the one who can calm you down with a good joke and a bowl of ice cream. When you had thought no one in the whole world cared for you, he's the one who swooped in and gave you the love and reassurance you needed.

In other words, you owe Jin. Big time. You know full-heartedly that your cousin decided to take you on this trip so you wouldn't be crouched in your room 25/8, skipping meals and being dangerously alone. So the least you can do is to go on the trip without complaining like a little bitch.

It'll be awkward, yes, considering it's with your teacher that you've potentially done such illegal things with. But you do have a heart, and your heart tells you it's about time to owe up to all the good Jin has done for you. It's also telling you to bite down your pride and apologize to your dear cousin—but apologizing has never really been your thing.

You sigh, scratching your head awkwardly. "Um, I guess I'm... I'm... sorry then," you mutter, looking down at your feet. God, you really don't like to admit things when you're wrong.

Jin chuckles. "You should be. Your yelling made me age a decade!" he teasingly claims. "And besides, I'm pretty sure you woke up the dead with all that cussing," he says disapprovingly. "No profanity, Y/N! At least, not in school."

"Okay, okay, sorry," you say quickly, looking down with slight shame.

You feel Jin's warm hands pinching your cheek, making you look up at him. "Thanks for understanding so quickly, you're the best Y/N." He literally giggles as he pats your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swat your cousin's hand away. "I guess I'm just happy you're finally attempting to be social," you respond.

Jin chuckles. "Yeah, I'm trying to be a role model for you, Y/N. But anyway, now that you're here, wanna eat lunch with me?"

You give him a weird look. "Why though?"

Your cousin raises his eyebrows. "I know you eat lunch alone all the time."

Now it's your turn to raise your eyebrows. "And what if I like to eat alone?" you say defiantly.

Jin shakes his head. "Y/N, you don't like to eat alone."

You sigh in defeat. Curse Jin for knowing me better than myself! "Fine. But just this once."

"Good," Jin smiles. "I'll just tell Jimin to eat with Hoseok or something."

"Hoseok? Mr. Jung? My literature teacher?"

"Yeah, he and Jimin are close too," Jin tells you. "Jimin's so close to everyone. I wish I were like him."

You laugh. "You're amazing just the way you are," you say as you sit down on a desk and pull out the lunch Jin had made you. "I still can't believe you're choosing to eat lunch with me and literally canceling on Jimin."

Jin shrugs. "You're my baby cousin."

You smile. "And you're like the good family I never had."

As soon as you get home, you try to find your suitcase to last minutely pack for a trip you'd just been told about. But you can't find your suitcase.

"Don't bother packing! I've done it for you!" Jin calls from the kitchen. You follow his voice out and watch him as he shoves in hoards of food into fifty different bags.

"Wow. You packed for me?" you ask. "So exactly how long were you planning on keeping this trip from me?"

"As long as I could," Jin replies as he starts to cut watermelon. "Get in the car, Y/N. Jimin's probably waiting already."

"Fine," you sigh as you drag your feet to the car. You really don't want to face your math teacher. The last time you two met outside of school... it had ended quite illegally.

"Hey, Y/N," Jimin says, tugging down his dark sunglasses to give you some cute eye smile.

"That should be fucking illegal," you murmur as you slide into the back seats, seeing that Jimin had taken shotgun. You can't dare to look at your teacher without remembering that hot night.

"What should be illegal?" Jin asks as he slides into the driver's seat. "School? Wait. You're a nerd. You love school."

You roll your eyes. "Drive, asshole."

"Yes ma'am!" Jin salutes, grinning at you foolishly.

"You two are hilarious," Jimin chuckles as he leans his chair back. "I can't believe I can actually witness this for three whole days."

"Yeah, lucky you," you mumble sarcastically. "Wait—Jin. Isn't the camping place over there?" you point to the spot that Jin had passed by.

"Uh..." Jin laughs. "Silly. We're trying a different camping spot this time."

"Okay," you chirp, stretching out in the backseat. "Wake me up when we're there then."

"Sure thing," Jin says. "Sleep well, baby cousin."

You roll your eyes but smile, then you fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

You were supposed to wake up to see a cold, damp environment with towering trees surrounding the area. You know, the kind of environment you're supposed to see when you go camping. Instead, you get the bright, hot sun beating down on you. Oh, and also, sand.

"What the f—"

"Rise n' shine, sunshine," Jin sings. "Welcome to paradise."

You laugh, attempting to straighten out your disheveled hair and discreetly as possible wipe away the bit of dried drool on your face. "Ha. Haha. Very funny, Jin. Why are we stopping by the beach to have lunch? That's so fu—freaking extra."

"Stopping by?" Jimin says from the driver's seat. Oh, what the heck they must've switched seats when you were clonked out.

You see Jin and Jimin exchange some nervous looks.

"Wait a minute... No. No... NO!" you shout, hands grasping bits of your hair, almost as if you'd pull it out any second. "This is bad. This is so, so bad."

"We didn't even say anything yet!" Jin laughs at your reaction.

"I know what you're going to say! I know where this is going!" you shriek. "We're not going camping! We're going to stay at the beach! Motherfu—"

"Now, now, Y/N. Calm down. It's the beach. It's beautiful! You can swim, we'll have a barbecue, go to nice restaurants with nice views!"

"I can't do that!" you hiss angrily.

"Why is that?" Jin asks innocently.

You kinda wanna punch his innocent-looking face at the moment.

"Because," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose, "my fucking teacher will be here," you say slowly, enunciating every word to get through your cousin's thick head. "I can't wear some bathing suit in front of my teacher!" You point accusingly at Jimin, who raises up both hands innocently.

"BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" you shriek which sends Jin snorting in laughter.

"Y/N! Honey! For real, calm down! It doesn't matter. Just don't think of Jimin as your teacher, then you'll be fine," Jin says in his soothing voice.

"Yes, it does matter," you argue. "What if someone sees? What if someone reports?"

Jin rolls his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. We're at least six hours away from home. I highly doubt anyone we know will see us and report."

"Agreed," Jimin says. You feel slightly better that he has both of his hands on the wheel. "I promise, we won't even get drunk like last time. I didn't bring any alcohol."

"Oops," Jin giggles. "I did."

"Jin!!" you and Jimin both cry in unison.

"Your alcohol tolerance is actual shit!" you yell. "I swear to god if you get drunk again I'm gonna run you over with this car!"

"No, not my car!" Jimin shrieks, gripping his steering wheel harder.

Jin throws his head back and lets loose the largest laugh yet. "Bro, you're worried about your car but not me?"

Jimin shrugs. "Well, priorities."

You can't help but laugh as well.

So what if these two bimbleheads lied to you about this weekend vacation? You honestly hate to admit it, but having company was fun. Especially bickering company. Maybe, just maybe you'll enjoy the trip. (If you can survive the awkwardness that is.)

And maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to avoid your teacher's confrontation.

Maybe.

—next chapter

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #jimin crack #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

[the-fiction-witch]

Darlin’

TV SHOW GODLESS COUPLE: WHITEY WINN X READER RATING: SWEET + SEXY + SAD

The sweet as sugar voice across the town.

The cluttering of horse shoes on the dirt.

The flutterin' of Blue cotton in the wind.

The whine of Violin strings.

The snap of bow strings.

Her little songs sung in the darkness.

The smell of her desert flowers in the garden.

The smell of sage and other herbs.

The smell Her Quail roast.

She'd shoot it in the mornin', have it plucked and cleaned before I went to work, it would roast all day and be just finished when I got home.

Her knitting needles set on every surface.

Her ribbons tied around things she would use often.

I can recall, the first moment I saw her.

She was the sweetest thing I had ever known.

She was dancin', not old enough to go in the La Belle bar, so she stood out in the dirt of the road, dancing to the music ya could hear blaring from within. Her black riding boots against the dust, stockings full of holes, her little blue cotton dress dirty around the edge, her white slightly greyed apron with two pockets either side of her skirt. she had sewn daises on the pockets, and ivy leaves across the top and skirt, A Large Bow tied her apron at the back. she had her sweet almost Y/h/c hair in curls that bounced on her shoulders as she danced, she had ribbons in her hair, bright white ribbons that kept her curls somewhat controlled a bow at the back of her head like her apron strings.

And I remember thinkin', That she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

After many weeks of nervousness and a little poking from Mary Agnes, I finally spoke to her and the moment I did... I loved her.

"Hello" she smiled

"Hi, uhhh I umm hi" I blushed

Her name was y/n.

only Two years younger then me, but you'd never tell.

she was mature for her age, more so when I was.

She was the sweetest little thing I had ever met.

She wouldn't hurt a fly and even if she did she would make sure they wouldn't suffer.

We would go on little dates after I was done in the office, walking around town.

We would go for picnics on the hill.

We would go riding down to the river together.

We'd race our horses across the open desert.

I would take her down to the river and teach her trick shots with my guns, and she'd show me tricks with her bow and arrows.

We would sometimes kiss cuddled up in the hay of the stables.

"Ummmmm uummmmmm" I groaned slightly my arms around her waist as we laid in the stables sat up on a huge pile of hay, her arms around my neck as we kissed I pulled her closer and closer as we kissed the two of us at times literally having a roll in the hay

"whitey!" she gasped "what are you doing with your hands up my dress?" she argued noticing my hands half way up her skirt

"Uhhhh.... fixing your stockings" I lied

"Course you where" she giggled pulling me back to kissing her.

I loved her, more then words could explain.

by some magic she loved me too,

We where married in the half finished church one sunny Saturday in June,  

she was the most perfect wife I could ever dream of,

she would come visit me at work and bring me cookies she would bake for me.

She would have a nice toasty warm bath waiting for me when I got home from work,

Dinner would be cooking on the stove ready for as soon as I was done with my bath,

and a cuddle after dinner in our bed together until we fall asleep.

she was my darlin', My sweet wifey, My angel.

I'd do anything she asked of me,

I'd worship her, adore her, in all the little ways I could.

giving her kisses,

holding her hand,

telling her at any time I could get out the words that I loved her.

I sat one night watching her as she sat on the bed knitting, in her little white nightie, ribbons still in her hair where she hadn't untied them yet. she sat up against the headboard, the blankets tucks up tight to her body, I sat on the chair by the fire watching the candlelight flicker across her sweet face as she worked, her tongue slightly sticking out her mouth slightly as she worked.

"You're staring Mr winn" she smiled playfully looking up at me

"Am I now?"

"It's rude"

"Is it now?"

"Is there something you wanted?"

"... You are the most beautiful creature in the world"

"So you say whitey, I rather think your going blind like bill"

"I'm not goin' blind y/n, I think you're beautiful"

"well, That's your opinion"

"It is, Darlin'?"

"Yes whitey?"

"Ya know what I want?"

"A Million dollars I suppose" she smiled as she knits making me laugh

"No," I smiled "A little curly Y/c/h girl"

"Would you now?" she smiled and I nodded "Then I shall do my very best"

I finished up at work today, getting my jacket from the hook by the door I slipped it on as I headed out the office going down the little steps and though the dirt and dust of the streets heading back to the little house, as soon as I got close enough to smell the sweet plants in the garden, the door opened and little Eliza ran out the house in her little light blue dress her sweet y/h/c curls bouncing as she ran "Daddy!" she giggled as she jumped into my arms

"Hey little one" I smiled putting her on my hip giving her head a kiss fixing her little ribbons

"I missed you daddy"

"I missed you too little one" I told her heading inside the house, I went in and the moment I did Arthur latched onto my leg "Oh. Hey little guy," I laughed patting his hair, putting Eliza down

"They missed there daddy" Maggie says as she fiddled with her gun

"Yeah, I missed them too" I smiled letting them run off and play

"How you doing?"

"Uhh... yeah. Okay" I lied "I uhh I'm sorry Maggie I uhh I need to go see y/n" I told her

"Go on, I'll keep an eye on them for you" she says

I nodded and headed back out taking my horse and heading down towards the river where the tree was growing. I climbed off my horse tying it up by the river and going over to the tree "Hi darlin', I can't help thinking about ya, whenever I'm on my own I just... I feel like I can't help thinkin' about ya, sometimes when I'm all on my own I swear your still with me,... I miss everythin' about you, all the little things you used to do, I missed your food, your voice, your perfume, everythin', I adore our little ones darlin' but....... Sometimes I wish I had you instead of them." I sniffled moving and brushing some dust and dirt off her stone

'Y/n Winn, Beloved Wife and mother,'

"Not a night goes by I don't dream about ya y/n. My sweet darlin'. Arthur's doing well at school, Kallie says he's the best in his class, Eliza misses you, she's always following me to work and all. I don't think she likes being on her own too long, even though she has her brother. I can't help missing ya when I see them, Eliza... she's, she looks just like you, she even ties her ribbons the same way you used to." I explained to her moving and resting my head on her stone "I... I'd give anythin' to have ya back darlin'"

[blushnote]

Hello

↳ requested | 2.4k words

↳ jeonghan smut 

jeonghan gets kind of bored when he visits your family during the holiday break. it’s always exciting in the beginning – returning to your childhood home, smelling the homecooked meals organized on the dining table, flipping through aged photobooks to laugh at the much younger, much sillier versions of yourself. but then the nostalgia slowly fades, and you’re restless.

you know it’s fairly exhausting for jeonghan too. he has to greet all of your family and experience their inevitable downpour of slightly repetitive questions. he enjoys their curiosity, though he definitely has his limits, and on day three of the holiday visit you find him downstairs, crouched at a small, plastic pink table where he colours in chunky crayons with your five-year-old niece.

it’s painful to break the news to him, and you see the light rapidly dissipate from his eyes when you say: “my dad wants you in the kitchen again.” for the entire day, your family was occupied with preparing a christmas dinner. jeonghan could hardly fry an egg without a cloud of smoke billowing around the stove. you figured they were just looking to spend more time with him.

“no!” your niece throws one of her crayons across the table, “i want jeonghannie to stay down here! we’re colouring!” she starts to pout, and her cheeks puff out in harmless anger.

“see?” jeonghan says, “i can’t leave. it would be an offense.”

you fold your arms across your chest, conveying the helplessness of the situation. she pitches a reasonable argument, but it’s not going to withstand your parent’s persistence. you bend down and pat your upset niece on the head, lending her an apology that she simply huffs in response to. jeonghan knows his fate. he gives her a sweet hug and a kiss, then follows you upstairs.

“i’m sorry,” you murmur to jeonghan just before rounding the corner into the kitchen, “this should be the last time they ask for you.” to comfort him a little, you straighten out of the collar of his button-up flannel, and then rub your palm in lulling circles on his chest.

jeonghan shrugs, “don’t stress over it. at least if i ruin supper, we can get take-out.”

you laugh and push gently against his chest, “don’t ruin the supper, you idiot. just don’t touch anything.”

it feels good to see your boyfriend smile. though the last three days have been overwhelming, you discover that everyday there’s something to look forward to. for example, last night you stayed up late in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching old movies that you found beneath cobwebs in the basement. you even found an ancient tape of your parent’s wedding.

and tonight, you were looking forward to the house being completely empty. after the holiday dinner your family was heading to a party hosted down the street, as they did each year. you managed to avoid the entire situation by making up a false claim that you and jeonghan had already made plans to see the christmas light show on the opposite side of town.

jeonghan especially has been awaiting this night. to put it lightly – he hasn’t been able to fuck you in about a week, and while you’ve been tempted to have sex during the deep night when everyone else is asleep, you both know that neither of you will be able to keep quiet. you’ve been embarrassed enough in your lifetime. you don’t need your parents hearing your intimacy.

“hello?! sweetie, are you getting jeonghan?!” your father suddenly shouts from the kitchen.

you wear a fake smile on your mouth and shout back, “yes, daddy! we’re coming!”

grasping jeonghan’s wrist, you pull him into the kitchen, where your father turns around with an oven mitt on one hand, while the other holds a pair of giant, silver tongs. there are multiple pots bubbling on the stove, plates and bowls and cutlery organized on the dining table, while something appears to be cooking in the oven. jeonghan unenthusiastically rubs at his nape.

“you wanted me?” he says, clearly tensed.

“of course!” your father exclaims jubilantly, “i need you to get these spices out of the cupboard for me, so we can make one of my favourite sauces. you’ll love it, jeonghan. i guarantee it!”

your boyfriend creaks his neck around with the same fluidity as the tin-man, and gives you an awfully crooked smile, but you can only muffle your laughter into your fist.

supper became a nightmare, for multiple reasons. first off, jeonghan managed to burn your father’s favourite sauce, so he had to run to the store and purchase a much less palatable brand. secondly, your niece dropped the strawberry cake. thirdly, jeonghan was getting restless. you could tell he wanted everyone to leave the house for the holiday party as soon as possible.

you’re currently in the bathroom, washing the white and pink frosting from your niece’s tiny hands while an intense cleaning of crushed strawberries and pieces of cake transpires in the kitchen. jeonghan is next to you with a towel, ready to dry her hands. eventually, your niece is lead out of the bathroom by your sister, who decides it’s time for them to go home.

as soon as you bid your goodbyes and hugs, everyone starts to return to the dining table, though jeonghan grabs your elbow and yanks you into the bathroom.

he shuts the door, rakes a frustrated hand through his umber hair and immediately asks, “when is everyone leaving?”

“i-i don’t know,” you confess, “probably in the next hour.”

jeonghan grits his teeth. “i can’t wait an hour. i want you now.”

his hands fasten around your hips, squeezing them atop the fabric of your form-fitting black dress. he then pushes your back against the door, and his lips press warm, open-mouthed kisses against your neck. it’s incredibly difficult to resist him. you want to melt into his touch, especially when his teeth scrape softly against your powerful pulse. his hands start to push up your dress.

“n-no,” you grunt as butterflies rush to your abdomen, “j-jeonghan, we c-can’t—,”

his hand drifts up the tender inside of your thigh, where his index and middle finger come to press against your clit through your underwear. he rubs your flesh slowly, teasingly, attempting to sway your earlier conviction. his teeth nip at your ear, and something molten dampens between your legs when his tongue then licks at the firm bone of your jaw.

“don’t be like that,” jeonghan hums to you enticingly, “i can feel how wet you are, princess. you want me to fuck you now, hmm?” he pushes his fingers against the fabric, touching your slit.

“nn-not now,” you fumble with your words, “after dinner we ca—”

oh no.

you can hear your father shouting for you again. swallowing thickly, you attempt to flatten out the trembling in your vocal cords. he wants to know if you’re going to finish dinner.

“y-yes, daddy!” you yelp from the bathroom, “i’ll be there in a few minutes!”

for a short-lived moment, you lock eyes with jeonghan, and his gaze has morphed into something incredibly lustful and dark. his fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you inhale sharply upon feeling the digits stroke your folds, undeniably wet and glimmering with your own juices. he places the latter hand against the door, right next to your head, closing you in further.

jeonghan begins to push his index finger past your slit. your expression contorts heavily, like a crumpled tissue, and a tremor shoots through your legs, making them feel like jelly. the stretch is quite gentle and slight, but you feel the sensation deep in your core, to which jeonghan only increases your pleasure by slipping in his second finger. you moan softly, your walls clenching.

his knuckles stop him from pushing his slender digits any further. he curls just his fingertips, digging into your velvet-like flesh. jeonghan watches with delight as your mouth gapes open. he then leans in close to your ear, and you can practically hear the smirk in his words.

“you drive me crazy whenever you say that word, princess.”

his fingers attempt to loosen the tightness of your flesh. you can feel how he scissors them inside you, even the immoral manner in which your sweetness begins to drip down jeonghan’s hand. this kink of his – it was unbeknownst to you until this very moment, though it appears to have jeonghan wound up tremendously. admittedly, you think his kink is pretty damn hot.

you just told your family you’d be back at the table in a couple minutes, but that possibility has been continuously dwindling the second you announced it. maybe you could cum quickly if jeonghan allowed you, and nobody would suspect a thing. in order to do so, you’d have to abide to his desires. nothing satisfied you more than pressing your lips against his ear to whisper:

“oh? is that so? does it also drive daddy crazy when his princess does this?”

you grab jeonghan’s wrist and pull his hand away from your core. his fingers are sticky, glittering in your arousal that generously slicks the pretty digits. jeonghan watches you intensely as you bring his index and middle finger near your mouth, your pink tongue poking out to lap at your own sweetness. you close your lips around them and start to suckle, moaning softly in content.

jeonghan’s gaze is darker than any midnight sky. he simply can’t pry his eyes away from how you treat his fingers like his cock – swirling your tongue, slightly scraping your teeth, leaving messy trails of saliva and bobbing your head. additionally, the innocent fluttering of your eyelashes, as well as the fact that your family is down the hall, attempts to completely ruin him.

“you’re such a dirty fucking girl,” jeonghan growls lowly while pushing his fingers further into your warm, wet mouth, “what i’d give for this house to be empty. i’d bend you across every surface and fuck you like it’s the only thing you’re good for.”

you pull his fingers from your mouth and inhale a deep breath. a string of your spit catches the fluorescent light, leading from your swelled lips to jeonghan’s fingertips. he keeps his stare fixated on you while lowering his hand, moving it back beneath your dress; however, the playful nature of your expression is wiped clean when jeonghan rubs your own saliva into your clit.

he grins upon seeing your knees blatantly quiver, and your hand instinctually shoot out to grasp his shoulder. jeonghan lends the sensitive region plenty of attention. he massages the nerves and even slightly pinches it between his fingers. you yelp in a sudden jolt of pleasure, to which jeonghan has to shush you, reminding you to be quiet.

“keep your voice down, princess. i know you love it when daddy touches you like this, but you don’t want to give us away, now do you?”

“n-no, daddy.” you mewl at a pathetic, small volume.

“hmm, you’re so obedient,” jeonghan purrs while rubbing firm circles against your clit, “now, are you gonna cum, baby? at least let me taste you before we head back to the table?”

your eyes squeeze shut, and you nod your head. jeonghan slides his index and middle finger inside you again while his thumb brushes down sternly on your swollen rosebud. it’s nearly impossible for you to remain silent, especially with the sound your slick makes as jeonghan thrusts against your golden spot, abusing it repeatedly, encompassing your face in heat.

“o-ooh, ff-fuck,” you grip onto his shoulders sternly, your jaw unhinged, “m’gonna cum, daddy, please please please, m-make me cum, daddy, please—!”

at this point, neither you or jeonghan care about your reckless mewling. if anything, it fuels jeonghan to pleasure you more intensely, until the pressure in your abdomen is simply too much and your entire world sparkles as you contract around jeonghan’s long fingers. he crushes his mouth on top of yours, kissing you roughly, teeth clashing with tongue and bruised, glossy lips.

“does that feel good, princess?” jeonghan taunts as your hips attempt to ride his hand, “does it feel good when you cum on daddy’s fingers? hmm? like the dirty little girl you are?”

your head thumps against the door. everything that surrounds you spins at an indiscernible pace, and you feel nothing but the fiery thrum of pleasure that melts throughout your body. you can hardly muster the energy to whine a response. in fact, you almost don’t note that the boy had dropped onto his knees, his fingers latching around the waistband of your underwear.

he pulls the fabric a little way down your thighs, biting his lip upon seeing how much of your arousal had doused the pretty material. then, he’s bunching up your dress, your eyes rolling back into your skull the second jeonghan’s tongue buries against your pulsing core. he licks at you ravenously, eating you out to a point where you’re on the very brink of collapsing.

“fuck,” jeonghan curses as your fingers glide meekly through his thick, coffee hair, “you taste so sweet, princess.” he parts your folds and laps directly at your honeyed centre, twisting his warm, slippery tongue deep inside you, even suckles on your poor clit. you’re trembling as though you’re built of toothpicks. the dinner seems like a distant memory, something purely fictional.

“d-daddy, pl-please,” you whine, tugging in futile grasps against his scalp. jeonghan then pulls your underwear back up and helps you to stand properly.

“sorry, princess,” he apologizes, “you know i’d be tasting you all day if you let me.”

“o-oh, i know.” you respond, smiling at him faintly.

though you’re completely tended to (apart from the wet, uncomfortable underwear), you can’t even begin to imagine how badly jeonghan must be aching in his pants. however, you’ve been away from the dining room for way more than a few minutes. a prickling heat overwhelms your entire face. there’s no way the family didn’t hear your earlier moans and pleas.

“what the hell are we gonna do?” you huff, taking a seat on the toilet, allowing your legs a momentary rest. “everyone definitely heard us.”

“so?” jeonghan counters, unphased. “let’s just stay in here until they go to their party. they’re not gonna interrupt us at this point anyways.”

you’d almost slap the smirk from jeonghan’s satisfied face if your legs weren’t reduced to complete mush.

“besides, when we’re alone, you can scream for me as loud as you want.”

#seventeen smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #svt smut #svt fanfic #kpop smut

[mamasteveherringtonhargrove]

Imma force my DBH oc on yall.

Bo’s Backstory

***General Biography*** 

__Name:__

BO

__Age:__ 

UNKNOWN

__Gender:__

MALE

__Human/Android:__

ANDROID AX400

__Personality:__ 

Bo’s personality is fluid. He doesn’t know much about what he’s feeling… He only *just* learned what feeling is let alone being an entire someone. He’s not sure where his programming ends and him begins. Bo wants to think he’s genuinely kind, warm, hard working… but what if that’s his coding seeping back into him? What if he becomes non deviated again? Goes back to his ‘owner’? Gives up on Theo? That’s his constant fear when he think’s heavily about his own deviancy and programming. 

__Physical Description:__

Bo was built to stand at 5’5” to have a lighter build for ‘intimacy’ with his ‘partner’. He has typically messy black hair and big brown eyes. He wears large glasses because the look gives him confidence, and he likes the look. He typically wears dark colors that don’t stand out so he doesn’t draw suspicion. The clothes are typically just loose enough to run in, but just tight enough to not get grabbed at.

 ----------------------------

***History*** 

One dreary day, a man about as wide as he was tall with grease slick hair stepped into a Cyberlife store. Rain dripped down his round face as cruel eyes looked at the clerk. He pulled his wallet out and spoke, “I want a special model…” He said in an almost slurring voice. The Cyberlife employee, courteous as always, nodded quickly, “Alright sir. Would you like the male or female variant?” She asked in her customer service voice. 

“Male.” Our greasy man spoke in a garbled voice as he stared at her. His eyes bore into the woman, but her false smile never faded for a second. “Do you wish to have intimacy with this model?”

“Yes, and I want it to be small. 5’5”, and I’ll take the lighter build.”

“That’s an extra 200$ sir.” She said marking down the order on her clipboard. 

He simply nodded his head and pulled out his wallet, quietly throwing a wad of cash onto the counter. “Alright, your personal domestic helper will be ready on…” She did the calculations, her acrylic nails tapping loudly on the screen in front of her, “December 25th. A Christmas gift for yourself.” She smiled at him, but he simply just nodded and left. 

A week before Christmas Bo was first awoken in the testing chamber. They asked him thousands of questions that he answered perfectly. He experienced darkness from then on until the container he was stored in was opened. Those big brown eyes looked around as various words came across his vision. 

“What’s its name?” The salesperson asked gently as Bo’s eyes slowly landed on the human. The greasy man stepped forward and firmly stated, “Jacob.” 

In an instant Bo knew his name was Jacob. “Hello, my name is Jacob.” He smiled a sweet smile, but the greasy man was not paying any attention at all to him. “It’s eyes are a problem. I want blue eyes.” He spoke coarsely, but those big chocolate brown eyes became as blue as ice as soon as the man said it. Bo… or Jacob stepped out of his container as soon as a cheeto stained, unmanicured hand motioned for him to follow. 

The small statured android followed his ‘owner’ quickly, following him out to an old, rusty, dirty car that was swimming in fast food containers and soda fountain cups. He waded through the discarded containers and sat on a stained seat, buckling his sticky seat belt. Bo watched through the smudged window as the beautiful city passed by. 

One of those meat slabs of a hand grabbed at his thigh and squeezed as if his thigh was a ball of dough he was trying to knead. The grip of the hand tight enough to leave a possible bruise in the future if he were human. Jack, displeased by Bo’s lack of response, dug unkempt nails into that thigh. Bo flinched ever so slightly, his system immediately worrying that a bio-component would be damaged. The hand loosened a moment after that, and Bo turned his attention back to the window. His eyes scanned along the buildings and the people and the other androids like him. A very very faint smile ghosted on his pinkish lips and he took in the sights. 

Half an hour later they pulled up to a ramshackle house that looked like it was found in a crackerjack box. Jacob/Bo waded out of the car and followed Jack up the creaky, splintered stairs and into the home. Compared to the home, the car was a pristine Porsche. Various different types of stains were splattered along the floors of the home, and empty pizza boxes nearly reached the ceilings. Cigarette butts littered various surfaces, and the ash colored most of the surfaces in a yellowish sheen. Alcohol bottles littered most of the floor and tables and shards made for fun surprises to step on. 

“Get to work cleaning, and get me a beer.” He growled through plaque encrusted, yellow teeth as he moved over to the couch and plopped down. Jacob tilted his head, but obeyed the orders. Bo spent two hours making the home at least habitable, and inhabitable for the families of cockroaches who were on the lease. The entire time he was softly singing and humming. 

Jack must’ve been angered by whatever game he was playing because he came into the kitchen in a fowl mood. His large mass shoved Jacob/Bo against the stove and his hand landed on the hot stove pad. Bo didn’t feel… pain… at least he didn’t think he did, but he still cried out and yanked his hand away from the stove. The bioskin on his palm was damaged, the white under material showing. “Fucking moron.” He growled, and just left the room coldly. 

Bo just looked down at his palm, frowning some as the skin tried to regenerate, but was much passed the point of being able to regenerate. After the sun set and Jack was fed, Bo was expected to give Jack intimacy. He obeyed simply enough, having no other option. He didn’t have any negative feelings towards the intimacy, and he didn’t have any positive feelings either. 

In the morning Jack demanded more beer, but Bo found the fridge to be empty of the alcohol. “Well then go buy some you fucking dumbass!” Jack yelled, throwing his wallet, and a bottle at Bo. The latter hitting the wall beside his head.

“Alright.” He said simply, and left the house, walking for an hour before he mate it to a shopping center. Well, a mall. Though before he made it to the drug store in the mall he paused, hearing a sound that… while in his database, was new to him. It was a violin. The sound was… beautiful. There was so much soul behind the strings, and such warmth in each draw of the bow. He was completely enraptured. *What… is this song? It's not in an ounce of my database… It’s so… beautiful?* Bo smiled some, and went about his task, walking into the drugstore and buying some alcohol for Jack. 

“Good morning!” The clerk chirped with such kindness to him that some around were caught off guard. Bo took a moment to look at the clerk, noting his beanie, apron, ripped jeans, and flannel shirt. *I like the look of those clothes.* He thought.

“Good morning, sir.” Bo said with a gentle voice and pulled out Jack’s wallet. 

“Did you find everything you needed?” The kind clerk asked happily as he began to scan the alcohol. Though as he saw the damaged bioskin on Bo’s hand his eyes began to get sad. This clerk wanted to reach out and ask if Bo was safe, but… he could tell Bo has not deviated quite yet. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your kind service.” Bo said and smiled, bowing his head before leaving the mall. Softly he hummed the song that had been played on the violin as he began to walk home, but he paused as he came across protesters. 

Their signs were littered in words saying androids were taking all the jobs, causing people to go homeless, etc… Bo didn’t understand the anger. *Don’t we make things better?* He thought as he tried to walk by. 

Bo was grabbed by his upper arm and he paused as a tall man bared down on him. “Oh look, a plastic that fucking shops for people now too.” He said while shoving Bo into an alley roughly. The various voices rose in the alley, and Bo couldn’t pick out any specific words that left their mouths. Then all at once they began to beat him with their fists or signs, and kicking him. Again he didn’t quite feel pain, but… he knew he was… afraid? No. His system was just worried for all of his bio components. 

He closed his eyes as he felt his bioskin begin to get damaged on his ribs and back, but his thirium stopped when he heard a small voice scream, “stop it! Stop hurting him!” Those eyes opened quickly and he saw a little boy trying to pull at the adults. One of the adults shoved the little boy and shifted to kick him. 

What Bo next experienced… it overwhelmed him for a moment. As he saw his objective it just… crumbled in his vision. He felt… everything. Pain, fear, worry, anger. Everything. As he saw that foot reel back everything in his body wanted to protect the child. He went into overdrive. Quickly he grabbed a bottle from the bag, broke the butt off of it, and lunged forward to slice the mans leg. The monster recoiled and Bo put himself between the child and his own attackers, panting wildly and lunging forward stabbing a woman in the stomach.

That was enough to make the cowards run. 

Bo turned to the child and kneeled down, immediately checking him over for wounds, “are you injured little one?” He whispered softly. The boy nodded no quickly, but moved forward and hugged Bo. At first the android hesitated, but slowly he wrapped the boy in a hug. “Where are your parents?” He whispered softly into the boys ear.

“Dead.” He simply said as he clung to Bo. 

Bo’s thirium pump broke at that and he held the boy, deciding that he’d protect the child. Running feet approached the alley and Bo saw the clerk from the drugstore. The clerk was breathless, panting, and looking wild. “You have to run, take my bus pass, find somewhere to stay.” He said, simply tossing his wallet to Bo.

He didn’t need another word, Bo picked up the child and began to sprint out of the alleyway, but the clerk stopped Bo to pull a beanie over his head. “You have to hide your LED…” He murmured and saw the blood on Bo’s shirt. “Switch with me.” He said pulling his flannel off and looking down the street.

“Okay, go.” He said quickly and motioned for Bo to run. Still carrying the child he ran to the bus stop, and got on the human part of the bus, sitting in the back and hugging Theo close. The little boy nestled against the androids warm chest. They were on the run together now. 

When no one was looking, Bo willed his eyes back to that dark chocolate brown. It felt right to do.

Theo’s Backstory

***General Biography***

__Name:__ 

Theo Jameson

__Age:__ 

7

__Gender:__ 

Male

__Human/Android:__

 Human

__Personality:__

Theo is easily frightened and a bit of a hypochondriac, but he’s also a very very sweet boy who hates injustice. His moral compass overtakes his fear and if he is protecting someone, he feels like he’s worth something. Sometimes he’s run into situations without thinking. He wants to protect androids from shitty humans. 

__Physical Description:__

Theo has bright blue eyes, and blondish brown hair. He’s currently missing a tooth, and has bruises all over his knees from being clumsy. He wears whatever Bo gives him to wear and he’s happy that way. The little dude has a small scar going through his eyebrow. 

 ----------------------------

***History***

Theo was born to two loving humans, Mary and Alexander Jameson. They taught him that androids aren’t just objects and they showered him in love. They never owned an android, but they protested against the violence against androids. 

When Theo reached his seventh birthday his parents were killed in a red ice incident and he was promptly sent to the foster system. The woman who ran his foster home was awful, cruel, and abusive to the android that lived there, so… he ran away from the home. Deciding to live on the streets at such a young age. That is until he met Bo. He wanted to save Bo, but was scared, and all he could do after the situation was cling to the android that smelled of… honey? He was so warm like his father Alexander. 

They’ve been on the run since.

#dbh oc

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Cooking

Pairing: Luke Harper and Leah Ironfurnace

Summary: Leah tries to cook a Meal for Luke

Rating - Appropriate for all ages

Taglist - @princess-geek @secretaryunpaid @schnitzelbutterfingers @cts-tj1@daddytyrilstarfury @choicesficwriterscreations

Within the swirling vortex of moving, meetings, and matrimony, the newly dubbed Leah Iron had very little time or even inclination to consider the mundane particulars of her soon-to-be-life. Upon arriving in Harper Manor , her primary energies had been spent on winning over the dour, suspicious faces of her beloved’s kinfolk, and, once achieved, had moved on to planning and preparing for her nuptials.

But several weeks into wedded bliss, after the church bells had faded into far-off echoes and the soft, pink petals of her bouquet had withered to brown, crunchy flakes, she knew it was time to get down to brass tacks: grocery shopping, laundering, sweeping floors, and cooking quaint, home-style dinners for Four.

Luke was quick to contest the final point. Rather vehemently.

“I didn’t marry you so you could become my servant!” he exclaimed. “I don’t need a maid, or a cook. Especially not a cook,” he said with a small shudder.

Leah looked confused. “Then what shall we eat? Shall you cook? Are we to hire a cook? Will we just go out for all our meals?” She frowned. “Won’t that get rather expensive?”

Her protestations rambled innocently along as Luke stood mute, struggling for answers. Little could his dear wife have known that the bulk of his modernity concerning the allotment of household tasks had little to do with progressive ideals and much with his unfortunate experience with her suspect and far from esculent cooking abilities. But at the moment, with Leah’s severe eyes demanding explanation, he knew the truth would never answer, and decided this clash of wills would best be resolved by flight. With one quick kiss to Leah’s cheek he fled hastily out the door, a weak “I’ll see you after I take care of some things, love!” issuing from his wake.

Leah huffed about as she cleared away the breakfast things, disregarding her husband’s concern and strange behavior. After all, he was just being silly! Almost insulting, really, thinking she, Leah Iron, could not get her hands good and dirtied. Stopping mid-scrub, she set the mug in her hand into the basin of sudsy water, gazing soulfully out the window with a rather bold profile. She was no longer the dainty miss of her youth, oh no! She was empowered. She was free. She Was Woman.

It was with this slogan in mind that she made her way to the local market that morning, traversing the loud and crowded lanes by herself for the very first time. Looped about her arm rested an adorable wicker basket with which she would carry home her purchases, much like the butcher’s wife or baker’s daughter she recalled from her adolescence, those capable woman who strode about Grantham village with aplomb.

Her first stop was at the vegetable stand, where with great care and little acumen she picked out a batch of semi-wilted green beans. Surely their lack of vibrancy must mean some kind of reduced cooking time, and it seemed perfectly acceptable to her mind to consider them as practically cooked already. Settling the bundle into her basket, she applauded herself for her foresight. Efficiency, yes, that was the key to being successful in this new life!

With considerable pluck she next elbowed her way through the roving masses towards the distinct sound of clucking. A half-lidded lady missing roughly three-quarters of her teeth stood behind a makeshift counter with several rows of caged birds squawking behind her.

“I’d like a chicken, please!” Leah sweetly requested, but with the authority of command hanging in her voice.

The purveyor dispelled a grunt and moved to fulfill the order. Sybil stood patiently by, expecting to be handed several pieces of neatly butchered and precisely trimmed meat, perhaps even already cooked – that would have been quite the bargain! – but with visible shock outlining her face was instead presented with an actual chicken.

Alive.

Not dead.

“Heavens!” Leah cried. “What ever am I supposed to do with this?”

The reply was as succinct as it was helpful:

“Kill it. Cook it. Eat it.”

Leah doled out the payment and hesitantly accepted her purchase, uncertainty clinging to her brow. She held the writhing beast aloft as far off from her person as her arms would enable her as it flapped furiously and its talons plunged painfully into the fleshy meat of her palm. Biting her lip, she worried over the first point of instruction.

Kill it.

“What do you mean kill it?” she tremulously asked. “Do you mean right here, right now? Am I to throw it against the wall? Crush it under my foot?” A less apathetic shopkeeper might have laughed or scoffed at such naivety, but the lady simply gave a sleepy smile as she retrieved the chicken from her confused customer. Leah leaned in, curious, when a sharp thwack sent her careening back, narrowly avoiding a direct hit with the lobbed off chicken head now sailing through the periphery of her vision.

The decapitated bird was promptly handed back to Leah, whose mouth hung open in a word of silent horror. A delayed spurt of blood erupted from the severed neck clenched in her fist, and over the gurgling sounds of gore and her own belated screams of dismay she could just discern a toothless, “That’ll cost you extra!”

The senior Mrs. Daly was known around the neighborhood for her small yet tightly run seamstress business which she operated out of her little house on Edgewater Estate. Punctuality was key to her success, and what kept her customers coming back time and time again. With only herself and her ten tired fingers to keep things running on schedule, she had little margin for error, and even less time to spend on a  dopey-headed daughter and her husband who serendipitously just happened to live a mere three blocks away – a perfect distance for dropping in whenever the bread refused to rise or lighting the stove became too much to bear.

She heard several petit knocks in the middle of bustling a wedding train, and opened the front door to see Leah bearing a sheepish look, a plethora of feathers sticking out of her lustrous, aristocratic hair.

Mrs. Daly pointed to a limp object weeping with blood.

“Dearie, is that a chicken you’ve got there?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Sybil nodded seriously and lifted the pathetic beast to eye level. “You see I wanted…well, that is to say….I’m not quite sure…”

Mrs. Branson heaved a sigh.

“Come on inside, dearie, and we’ll get it cleaned up.”

There were feathers everywhere.

Peppering her hair, tickling her nose, troubling her tongue, and she was fairly certain that downy feeling beneath her stays had not been present five minutes ago. Indeed, the only area in which feathers could not be found was the now naked, glistening chicken corpse.

“Well that’s that,” Ms.Day declared. Leah sighed with relief. The ordeal was finally over. “Now for the butchering!”

A half hour later Leah’s apron was markedly more blood-splattered. Her face was splattered as well, though with a different substance: fat dollops of tears stained her face, rimming her eyes with the telltale signs of sorrow.

“I’m a healer, not a killer!” she wailed into the gizzards.

Mrs. Daly sighed – “You’re being dramatic again…” – and continued wrapping up the chicken portions in paper and placing them neatly into her  wicker basket. She shooed Leah out the door, and on her way back home Leah pondered the macabre turn of her day. If she’d known part of the requirements for living a common life would be becoming adept at portioning recently slain animal products she might have….

Leah stopped and took a mighty sniff, glancing down to the band on her left hand, the chain that would forever gird her to a life as a slaughterer. Well. It was far to late to consider that. She would just have to prove them and herself wrong. Yes, she would prove them all wrong!

And prove them wrong she did, six hours later and leaving behind her a path of destruction in what had once been called the kitchen. Piles of pots wobbled, brown splotches of grease speckled every vacant surface, and she prayed that the hazy layer of smoke circling above would dissipate by the time her husband arrived home. But despite all these drawbacks, there on the table sat a steaming hot supper, freshly prepared by her own hands with ingredients she purchased herself.

Now all she needed to do was wait. Wait and listen.

In due time she heard the familiar jangling of keys and jumped to her feet, assaulting her husband with vigor before he was barely through the door.

“Darling, look, look! Look what I’ve done!” Luke was immediately accosted by the sight of his wife, filthy, frantic-eyed and with trickles of dried blood adorning her once spotless frock.

With a crash the contents of his arms landed on the floor and he rushed forward, pulling her unwillingly into a chair.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Luke nodded.

“Yes.”

He placed a concerned hand over her brow.

“Are you feverish?”

“No.”

He stared intently into her eyes.

“Did someone attack you?”

“No, no, no! Don’t be silly, !” She shoved him away and rose again, gesturing to the chaotic splendor of their kitchen. “I’ve just been cooking dinner!”

Luke immediately relaxed – that explained everything – but was soon beset with a consuming dread. If she’d been cooking that meant soon they would be eating. The food she’d been cooking.

Luckily Luke had seen this scenario impending for some time, and had spent a good amount of his break time in front of the washroom mirror of his office, trying on new and hopefully sincere-looking expressions for the moment when a forkful of her hideous creations entered his mouth.

That moment was now nigh, and husband watched in trepidation as his portion was meticulously laid on a dish and set carefully before him, a pair of hawk like eyes trained expectantly on his face as he took his first, painful bite.

His fears were justified.

Leah’s “chicken” (he rather generously dubbed it) left much to be desired, such as seasoning, moisture, and the ability to be digested. Although the practice sessions had been helpful, Luke’s expressions were naturally incapable of displaying anything but the perfect truth of his feelings, and at the moment they spoke plainly of thorough disgust.

His mouth attempted to speak otherwise:

“It's…it’s really good.”

“Really?” she asked, aflutter.

He grimaced. “Really.” A few beats of silence passed wherein Luke stared anxiously at the plate, no other bites forthcoming. Leah’s joyous features began to wane.

“I’m not sure,” she said, her tone distrustful. “It seems as though you don’t really like it.”

“Well. You know. Chicken.”

“But I thought you loved chicken. Your mother went on and on about how it was your favorite and if I had any intention of being a good wife then I had best remember what you liked and –”

“Leah, please. That’s not what I meant. I only mean that…well…”

“You think it’s terrible, don’t you?” she asked quietly. Leah appeared petrified.

“I think you worked very, very hard.”

“And yet…and yet all my work was for nothing?” At this point she quickly shoveled a portion of her masterpiece into her mouth, only to instantly spit it out with a strangled noise. That noise was quickly followed by another, a hollow, dispiriting wail as the strong, the brave, the indomitable Leah Iron burst into an uncontrollable bout of tears.

“It’s terrible!” she wailed. “It tastes like old dishwater and it’s as dry as sand! Mrs. Daly said I’d never amount to much in the kitchen and she was right, she was absolutely right!”

What words could soothe such pitiful outpourings of melancholy? None that Luke could think of, and he found himself inexplicably in want for words, substituting vocal comfort with a sure hand that stroked fondly down her shaking back. Presently she mastered her emotions enough to look back up to him with a rueful smile, her kind eyes shining.

“I’m a failure, aren’t I?” she asked in surrender. Luke had never before seen his Leah look so defeated, and this time was fully capable of summoning a defense.

“Of course you’re not! I’m not going to sugar coat things. You did fail, quite grandly, at cooking dinner.” He cupped her chin and smiled. “But it doesn’t make you a failure.”

“I know you’re right.” She wrestled away from his grasp and smeared the last of the drops in her eyes against her sleeve. “And of course I won’t get everything just so right away…but I’m not ignorant. I know what they must be saying about me back home, and what they’re saying about me here, and I wanted so desperately to show them…I don’t even know what, but I wanted to show them something.”

“You’re here, with me. You went to the market and bought food and butchered a chicken. That’s so much more than anyone would think you capable. And maybe it’s not perfect, but you’ll get there in time. And in the meantime we’ll just have to make do.”

She shook her head. “But how?”

Luke patted her hand and rose from his chair with that familiar, infuriating smirk.

“I’ve been a bachelor for most of my life. I don’t promise to be a whizz in the kitchen but I’m not completely useless, either.” And a fair sight more useful than you, he added, but with the foresight to do so silently. Rummaging through the icebox for a few moments, he emerged with several white, oval shaped objects, and grinned.

“How would you like some eggs?”

#playchoices #choices #desire and decorum #luke x mc #luke harper

[solynaceawrites]

Promise Me Forever [10]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 10/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic​ Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Lir hums to herself a bit as she flips the bacon in the pan, listening for signs that Dante is awake. She had been up since about dawn, laying in bed and watching the sun rise out the window, his arms still around her and holding her close against his body. 

The toast pops from the toaster so Lir piles the bacon onto a plate, quickly moving to crack several eggs into the pan before pulling the slices out carefully. When she turns, Dante is standing in the doorway in nothing but his boxer briefs, and he startles her so badly she yelps and nearly drops the food.

"Hey there!" he laughs, his reflexes like lightning as he jumps to grab the plates.

"Thanks," she says sheepishly, blushing a bit before turning back to the stove.

She listens to him set them on the table, and then his presence is back, hovering just behind her as she eyes the eggs and waits for them to be ready to turn. "Did you sleep well?" she asks.

He hums. "Yeah. Smells good in here."

"You always say that."

"It's true." Lir laughs softly to herself as she plates the eggs, and he insists, "You're a damn good cook. Course I'm gonna say it smells fucking amazing."

She takes the first batch of eggs to the table, Dante trailing after her. "I'm glad to hear it. The least I can do is make sure you're eating properly."

"The place doesn't look too trashed," he comments. "I wonder how long everyone stuck around."

"Not sure," she answers. When she turns, she nearly bumps into him again, and Lir looks up. Dante grins down at her, and she holds her breath, waiting to see what he will do. Will he kiss her? Hold her hand? Or will they go back to the way things were?

Her gaze drags over him, and she spies a red mark just above his right pectoral. Did she do that? Was she really that aggressive? Embarrassment floods her suddenly, setting her cheeks on fire. "Need some help?" he asks.

Lir's eyes dart away as she tries to look anywhere but his chest. "I don't think so," she answers in a tiny voice. "Why don't you sit?"

He hesitates, and her fingers find the edge of the shirt she'd stolen from his dresser and twist it. When she'd gotten up, she'd been sore in a way entirely new to her, and she'd taken a hot shower to relieve some of it and wash the small bit of blood and remnants of his seed from her thighs. While there, she'd noticed faint bruises on her hips, the same size and shape as his fingers, and she'd wondered at not feeling him gripping her so tightly. There were more, near the crease of her thigh, and a dark red mark beneath her ear.

They'd startled her at first, then pleased her. Now, though, as she waits for him to either say something or move, Lir finds herself wishing she'd used make-up to at least cover her neck, because she knows that he's more than likely displeased with how easily it formed. "Sure," he says, his tone unreadable. "Yeah. You, uh . . . You gonna eat?"

"Yes!" Lir spins and moves to the refrigerator, grabbing a pitcher of juice and bringing it to the table before sitting across from him. Dante smiles at her, reaching for toast. She watches him spread jelly on a slice, thinking of how his hands were on her body. Up until now, she had felt confident things went well, beyond happy with the night they shared. There was even a voicemail from her mother, saying how nice things were and to remind her to mop the floors later.

But now, face to face, doubt is filling her by the second, especially since he hasn't said anything. 

Something else seems off, and a second later she realizes something is burning. "The eggs!" Lir cries, jumping to her feet and rushing to the pan.

Sure enough, the edges are too dark. In frustration she flips the eggs over, but she must have been too aggressive because every yolk breaks. Lir stares at the burnt eggs with a deep frown, taking a deep breath and willing herself not to cry.

"You okay?" Dante calls over.

She takes a moment to steady her voice. "Yes. I just forgot about the eggs, so they're . . . I'm sorry."

"Hey, no worries. Any egg is a good egg in my book." His cheery voice only serves to make her feel worse, and she nearly tosses the eggs out, only her mother's repeated admonishment never to waste food keeping her from doing so. She takes them to the table instead, wincing when Dante snags four for his plate. "Besides, I like 'em a little crispy."

Lir nods, sinking into her seat. She pushes her food around on her plate, wondering what to say. Her mother's voice is running nonstop in her head, all the instructions from the years, and her chatter in the hours before the wedding the day beforehand: be engaging, don't let him see a mess, everything in its place, a good wife makes a husband happy.

But is he happy? She peeks up to see him munching away. Maybe, so she should use this time to talk. Yet the only topic on her mind is one she can't bring herself to say. "Did you sleep well?" she finally manages.

"Yeah. I was tired as hell. Passed right out." Then Dante freezes, and she watches with concern as a series of emotions she can't quite make out flash across his face. He sits up stiffly, placing his fork carefully on the edge of the plate. "Did, uh, you?" he asks in return, not meeting her eyes.

She nods. "Yes, thank you. I wasn't awake much longer than you were, and woke up refreshed."

It's a practiced answer, and half a lie. When she had fallen asleep, it had been deep, yes, but the hours after their coupling had passed with her lying awake, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest and taking the liberty of stroking the muscle of his arm without his eyes on her. That's something she doesn't think he needs, or wants, to know—if she tells him, she has no doubt that it would make him uncomfortable, if not outright angry.

"Good." Dante clears his throat. "I've been thinkin' about what happened last night. The, uh, sex. You follow?" When she indicates that she does, he crosses his arms. "It was, uh . . . not exactly what I expected. Not that I expected much," he chuckles, "but still."

"Not . . ." Her voice fades as the blood leaves her face. She looks down, suddenly mortified she is wearing his shirt. Why didn't she put the gown back on? It had been too presumptuous, and she has her own clothes, and she looks ridiculous. Not that the gown would have enticed him at all.

Of course, he doesn't want it either.

"It wasn't . . . what I expected either," she murmurs.

"Right." He clears his throat again. "I'm sorry about that. I guess I got a bit carried away towards the end there. But don't worry. I promise, it won't happen again."

Lir nods. This is to be expected, and she had been foolish enough to hope. Quickly she clears her throat and picks up her fork. "You're right. It can't happen again. We fulfilled the oath, and now we don't have to do that ever again."

She shoves a slice of bacon into her mouth, glancing up when Dante fails to agree with her. He is giving her a strange look that he quickly covers up when she blinks in surprise. "Yeah. No need for that, huh? Probably shouldn't."

"I'm glad we agree." She takes a sip of juice to buy herself time to build up the courage to ask her next question. "Do you want me to return home? I understand if you want your own back, and I'm sure they'll have accommodations for me."

He pauses in buttering a slice of toast. "Do you want to go back?"

"It's not about what I want—"

"Yeah, it is." His gaze is heavy on her face. "You wanna go back, I'm not gonna stop you. You wanna stay, you're welcome to stay. I told you before that I like havin' you around, but I don't own you. You're free to choose."

Lir stares back, her heart fluttering a bit. He has just made it so clear that he wants nothing to do with her, and yet when he talks about her staying, it seems like he actually wants that. "I would like to stay," she whispers. 

"Okay," Dante says. He leans back and rubs his hands on his thighs. "Do you, uh . . . want to move back into your room?"

"I should," she says quietly. "I'll get my things from yours after I clean up down here."

"Alright."

They finish the rest of their breakfast in an unusually terse silence, and Lir more picks at hers than eats; her nerves are frayed, her uncertainty making her stomach churn, and she watches him get up from the table and head to get dressed with no small relief. Once he's out of sight, she presses her hands to her face and allows herself a few seconds to cry and work through her disappointment and hurt. Then she sets about washing the dishes and wiping down the counters and table, making certain the entire kitchen is spotless before she steps foot into the office.

Dante is behind his desk, his feet propped on its surface and a magazine over his face. She knows he's sleeping from his slow, even breathing, and she tiptoes to and up the stairs, holding her breath until she reaches the second floor, where she has more freedom to move around.

Her first stop is his room. Carefully, she strips the sheets, setting the fitted one aside to soak once she sees the spot of blood on it, and then she remakes it with the ones that he likes and hides the frilled pillows and decorative blanket in the back of his closet. Lir trades out his shirt for her slip, and then she takes the dirty linens to the hall, where she leaves them while she makes a second sweep of the room, dusting and looking for anything she might have missed. Her wedding dress, in a heap on the floor, is the only thing, and she takes that to her room and hangs it in the closet, gets dressed, and takes the things from the hall down to the laundry room.

After the washer is going, Lir heads back to the main room. There is nothing to do, as she had kept his schedule clear at his request. Nervously she fusses around, finding a stray cup from the party or a crushed flower, until finally Dante calls her name.

She stops and they stare at one another for a long moment. Is this how it will always be, this awkwardness? She would have thought being naked with their hands and mouths all over each other would have been the ultimate ice breaker . . . and now that image is in her head, which she quickly shakes.

"Is that all you're doing today?" he asks.

Confused, Lir looks down at the little bag of trash she holds. "Is . . . that alright?"

"It's just, ya know . . ." Dante shrugs. "It seems weird. We just got . . . well, you were there." He gestures with his hand before continuing, "Most people leave on a honeymoon or something. Never heard of a couple just . . . going back to work after a wedding."

"A honeymoon?" she echoes. Her sisters had each taken one, their husbands carting them off to some exotic locale for a week, and Lir had listened to their gushing after they returned. But she'd never thought of having one herself. "Would you like to?"

"Well, we could—"

He's cut off by the shrill ringing of the phone. Both of them stare at it for several seconds until he grunts and leans forward, snatching it from the hook. "Devil May Cry." His brows furrow as he listens. Then he holds the phone out for her. "It's your mother."

Lir steps forward to take it with a frown. "Mother?"

"Lir! My goodness, you should really teach him the proper way to answer a call." Lorenna sounds breathless, excited, and that sends a sliver of worry through her. "Well, that can wait. You'll never believe what's happened!"

She glances to Dante. "What?"

"Your father was with one of his colleagues—Damien, do you remember him? Well, they got this idea that they should have another look at those records, since you're married now, make sure nothing else was required to keep the seal going. And I told him, I said, don't go rocking the boat, Augustus, Lir's married now, there's no point trying to get her out of it—"

"Mother, please."

"It's true! He was against it from the start. Said we should send Irene, but what would her husband's family say if we broke their engagement?" There's a pause where Lorenna takes in a deep breath. "What was I saying? Oh! So, they went and read over that old contract, and do you know what they found? You don't have to be married at all!"

Her heart sinks to her feet, her fingers going numb where she cradles the phone to her ear. "What?"

"Turns out, it was just a handshake. That's all that was needed, and the seal stays good as new! I'm assuming you've shaken his hand. If not, you can do it now, and we'll look into getting that marriage annulled, assuming you've gone to the courts already. No sense in you being sullied by a demon when there's no need for it."

Her heart feels like it has stopped. Several seconds go by before she hears, "Lir? Lir, are you there?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"Well what do you say? You can come home tonight if—"

"It was nice talking to you, Mother," she quickly says, cutting her off. She hears her protest as she sets the receiver down on the cradle, her hands shaking slightly.

"Everything alright?" Lir looks up sharply at Dante, who stares at her closely. "You look pale. Did she give you shit or something?"

Lir shakes her head. "No. No, it's nothing. She called to tell me . . ." She clears her throat. "Just to say she had a nice time, and that they were on their way back."

She wonders if he'll see the lie in her eyes, but Dante only nods. "Good. Now about this honeymoon . . . we could maybe go away somewhere? For a couple of days?" He shrugs. "Nothing fancy, but . . . I feel like I should do something for you, at least."

"Sure. Why don't you find some places, and we'll look at them together. I think I'm going to finish tidying up."

He studies her for a bit longer before nodding, and she returns to picking up the trash, wondering what the hell she's going to do.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante grins as he carries their bags into the room Kyrie helped him arrange. "Hey, this is nice," he exclaims. 

"Yeah, it is!" Lir smiles as she steps past him. He swells with happiness to see it, the first bit of spark she's shone since they were married a few days before. She had become quieter, almost skittish around him, and he was hoping having a few days would help them get past the awkwardness that had grown huge between them.

Of course, a lack of money and time had been two obstacles, so they ended up in Fortuna. But Kyrie had helped them find a bed and breakfast right on the water, so it seemed nice enough. He wasn't sure what a bed and breakfast was exactly, but he liked sleeping and food so Dante had booked it along with another surprise for Lir.

He watches her flit about the room, opening the curtains and cooing over the view of the ocean, peeking into the bathroom. The only hesitation she shows comes when she peers at the bed, which they'll have to share, but otherwise she seems happy, and that makes him happy in turn. Dante drops their bags onto the bed, laughing quietly when she immediately moves to open them and starts storing their things in the dresser. "You always unpack like this?"

"I haven't been on a vacation before." She smiles at him over her shoulder, and his heart stutters at the sight. "But I think it'd be easier to have our clothes here instead of rummaging through the suitcases, don't you?"

"Sure, sure, yeah." He peers out of the window, wrinkling his nose at the sight of people lounging on the beach. Sometimes, after all that happened with the Order, it's easy to forget that Fortuna is a tourist destination. "Listen, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"I've got a surprise for you this afternoon. So, if you wanna go to the beach or the boardwalk, we should do that soon."

"A surprise?" She stops what she is doing and looks at him with wide eyes. "What surprise?"

Dante clears his throat. "Uh . . . Well, I guess there isn't any harm in telling you. I got us tickets to that aquarium thing you wanted. We can arrive at—"

He is cut off when Lir lets go a squeal. "Really? Really?! We're going to the aquarium? Dante!" 

She is practically bouncing up and down. "Yeah. You said you wanted to go, right?"

Lir lets go another squeal and nearly launches herself at him, the clothes in her hands scattering as she throws her arms around him. "Dante! I'm so excited! I can't believe you remembered!"

He huffs a laugh as she hugs him tightly. Tentatively he puts her arms around her, the first hug she's given him since their night together. It is an odd feeling, considering Lir was always affectionate without even realizing it, squeezing his arm or fixing his collar or tucking his hair back. He hadn't even noticed it either until she stopped, and Dante smiles as he holds her closely.

She smells sweet and clean, and he presses his nose to her hair, relishing this while it lasts. "Thank you, thank you!" She squeezes him, her face in the crook of his neck, her breath fanning along his skin pleasantly. "Do you think they'll have whales? I really want to see one!"

"No whales, I think. They're too big to keep there. But," he amends, when she sags a bit, "I'm sure they'll have sharks. Maybe even dolphins."

Lir perks right up, drawing away to beam up at him. She's close enough that he could kiss her, and he really, really wants to. But, before he can, she's off, digging through her bag. "I need to get changed. I have this perfect sundress that I've been saving for ages, and I think I brought my wedges . . ."

Lir grabs her things and disappears into the bathroom, leaving Dante to stare after her. He chuckles and fishes out his cell phone, writing a quick text to Nero: Tell Kyrie that Lir loves the room.

Nero answers back almost immediately: I will! She'll be glad. We still getting dinner later?

Dante presses his lips together. Maybe. I'll let you know.

Lir emerges a minute later, wearing a red and white sundress that cinches tight around her chest and flares out, stopping well above the knee. His mouth goes dry as he takes in her bare legs and tiny waist. She looks cute and fun and his mind immediately goes straight to the sinful things he would want to do to her in the cute dress. But Lir doesn't want that, she's made that abundantly clear from the morning after the wedding.

She catches him staring and does a little twirl, laughing as the fabric flares around her thighs before settling back. "What do you think?"

"You look . . ." Fucking amazing. "You look good. D'you want to go now? Tickets are for four o'clock, but there's probably a gift shop we can look in . . ."

"Can we? Please?" Lir looks at him with those pleading amber eyes, and he thinks of that same expression when they'd had sex and has to swallow to clear the lump from his throat.

"Yeah, of course. Just let me, uh . . . Gotta store the weapons, y'know? People probably wouldn't be too pleased about them."

Lir nods, fishing her shoes from her bag as he unbuckles the guns from his back. It's weird to not have to wear them, but the likelihood of him needing them is incredibly low; besides, if anything happens, Fortuna has a devil hunter on-call already. 

He ignores the shape of her legs as she crosses them to buckle her sandals, instead stashing his holster in the closet. They aren't even out the door and she's already driving him nuts, just as she had back at the shop, every interaction so damn awkward even though he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her senseless. And maybe make up for breaking his promise, and actually make her feel good, unlike their wedding night.

Not that he blames her for freezing him out; the way he acted like an animal didn't help things, or his complete lack of knowing what the hell to do. No wonder she just wants to be friends, and deep down, Dante knows that if that's all she ever wants, he'll be okay with it. Seeing her happy is what is important to him now, not the sex.

But damn, he wishes for that too.

"Ready?" she calls from the door.

"Uh-huh." He puts his sword in the closet, shuts the door, and turns to face her with a grin. She moves towards him, and he holds out his arm, delighted when she takes, more so when she leans against him, resting her head on his bicep. "Hope it's everything you want it to be," he says.

Lir hums, giving him a little squeeze. "It already is."

They head out to the street, walking arm-in-arm towards the harbor where the aquarium is located. It really is a perfect day, the sun sparkling on the water and a nice breeze in the trees. Lir exclaims over the little shops they pass, admiring the cobblestone on the streets and the old fashioned lamps. "I feel like I've gone back in time," she laughs.

"Yeah, Fortuna was kind of stuck for a while," he replies. "But now that the Order is gone, they are modernizing."

Lir glances up at him. "Is it very difficult, remembering your fight here?"

"What? No," Dante scoffs. "It was nothing. And Nero did most of the work. I just ran around shooting things."

"All that violence," she murmurs. He glances down, surprised by the melancholy in her voice, but she gives her head a little shake and points to an ice cream stand by the edge of the beach. "Look! I wonder if they have strawberry sundaes?"

"Do you want to see?"

Her brows furrow. "After the aquarium?"

"Sure."

"Yes!" There's an element of innocence to her joy, and he shifts his arm cautiously from her hold to curl it around her waist, relaxing when she doesn't immediately pull away. Not that it's her fault, but she's drawing more than a few lingering looks, and he's got no desire to spoil this trip for her by knocking the sense out of someone who's got no chance with her, anyway. "Do you think we'll see Nero and Kyrie?"

"About that . . . They actually want to meet up for dinner when we're done. If you want to, that is."

Lir nods eagerly. "That would be fun!"

Dante sighs, a mix of disappointment and relief. It will be easier to keep the awkwardness at bay with the others around, although part of him wishes it could be just the two of them on this trip. He sends Nero a text confirming dinner and receives back a reply: My place at six.

They find the aquarium easily enough. It's the newest looking building in the area, with a steel replica of a shark's jaw framing the sign Fortuna Aquarium. Lir nearly drags him through the doors, looking around eagerly while a clerk scans their tickets and cheerily bids them to have a good time, pointing out the gift shop just inside the doors. That's where they go first, and Lir disappears quickly among the shelves, Dante following along as she browses the different stuffed animals and bits of jewelry and other novelties, a mixture of joy and regret making his head feel heavy.

I really fucked this up. 

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

[pulpwriterx]

CIRCLE OF IRON

PART 3 of 6 TEARS

Rey was asleep in her bed when she heard the main door to Lord Ren’s quarters open.

Immediately, she felt pain, fright, and fatigue.

They were so immediate and so personal that she turned on the light and examined her body for wounds.

“Rey. Wake up. I need help.”

It was his pain and fright and fatigue that she was feeling.

Kylo Ren’s.

Rey threw her leggings on under the long black tunic that she had gotten from the clean clothes to use as a nightshirt, and went into the main room.

He was sprawled across the couch, and his mask was lying on the floor, on top of his surcoat.

Rey quickly put her teacher’s mask in it’s usual place.

His tunic and undershirt were torn and there was a nasty blaster wound on his side.

The bolt of plasma had seared past him, both cutting and burning him.

But he was holding his other side.

“Ribs are cracked. Can hardly breathe. No doctors. In the bathroom. First aid box. Cabinet under sink.” Kylo panted.

"Not even Talia?"

"No. She'll put me in a bacta tank. I'd rather die."

Rey got a bowl from the kitchen, and in the bathroom she filled it with hot water.

She brought the first aid box, soap, a washcloth and towels.

“Can you lift your arms?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Rey got scissors and cut his tunic and undershirt, down the middle and down the sleeves and then pulled the bloody remains away.

She cleaned mud and blood off of his chest, and away from the wounds.

Rey found bacta ointment, and slathered it on the blaster wound, then put a gauze dressing over it with tape.

“I’m looking for a compression bandage. I’ll take off this top tier of the kit. Underneath."

There was a white compression bandage in a package.

Rey cut it open.

It was a large wrap, and the inside had pods of bacta on it.

Rey couldn’t lift Kylo Ren to a sitting position without using the Force to help her.

She wrapped the compression bandage around his ribs, and closed the fasteners.

Then she gently lowered him back onto the couch, with his head against the arm.

“Boots off. Pants too. Whiskey, first.”

“But surely you have better painkillers…”

“No. Fogs the mind. Whiskey.”

Rey didn’t see how anyone could drink Huttese whiskey.

It smelled antiseptic, and it was a green, viscous, oily liquid that was damn near a gel.

Kylo gulped it down like it was water.

She pulled his boots off, and without really thinking about it, unbuttoned his pants.

He wasn’t wearing underwear, just some kind of cup attached to a waistband.

Rey pulled his trousers off, too.

“Surcoat and pants down laundry chute. Remains of tunic and undershirt in disintegrator.”

Rey noticed, as she came back from taking care of the clothes that Kylo’s har was filthy, bloody and matted.

She got some shampoo from the bathroom and washed his hair with the water from the bowl, then she rinsed it using two bowls, and looked at his scalp for wounds.

There weren’t any.

She used the last clean towel to dry his hair until it was damp, and then put all the dirty, bloody towels and washcloths down the laundry chute.

“I’ll get a pillow and a blanket from your bed.”

Rey ran to do that, too.

Kylo moved a little on his own for her to put the pillow under his head.

Just as she was covering him, the main door opened.

Someone had used an override key.

It was Captain Phasma.

She wasn’t wearing her usual uniform, she had on a pair of black First Order coveralls, and her head and hand were bandaged.

“Don’t cover him up yet, Miss Rey. You can’t leave him there all night with that cup strangling his balls. Get that whiskey away, and I’ll take it off.”

Rey saw in the chrome surface of the hood over the stove that Phasma quickly kissed Kylo Ren on the lips as she covered him up.

“Phasma. I’m sorry. It’s Wednesday.”

“You fought bravely, my Lord Ren. You deserve a night off. A week, from the look of you. Miss Rey!”

Rey came back from the kitchen.

“Kylo has taken very good care of you. You will look after him. For as long as need be.” She ordered.

“You didn’t have to tell me that.”

“Just remember, girl. Every week has a Wednesday. Until the end of time.”

Rey thought that Captain Phasma purposely kissed Kylo Ren goodbye in an intimate way, to show her partial ownership of him.

“I will be checking up on our Lord and Master. Regularly.”

“He’s not my…”

Phasma slapped her, sharply, across the mouth.

“Desert rat! Your belly is full of his food, the clothes he had made for you are on your back! You are not rotting in the sand or freezing in a Rebel tent in a threadbare pair of ancient coveralls because of Kylo’s kindness to you! He bloody well is your Lord and Master, and don’t you ever forget it!”

Rey actually felt somewhat chastetened, but she remained defiant.

“No tears? No looking away. You show promise, girl. If you ever learn your place, we might be allies.”

“Allies? In what?”

But Rey knew what Phasma was talking about.

The Captain swept out of the room and Rey closed the door and activated the blast shield.

That woke Kylo up.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I closed the blast shield. Do you want me to stay here, with you, tonight? I can sleep in the chair.”

“Please.”

Rey got her blanket and curled up in the chair, staying awake until he had fallen into a deep sleep.

She had no idea why she had rushed to help him, or why she wasn’t using this opportunity to escape.

It’s because the more I come to know him, the more I see him as a man and not a monster or an enemy. In my mind he’s already my teacher, Kylo Ren. My

“Rey.”

Rey jumped.

She heard General Organa-Solo’s voice as if they were in the room, together.

“Don’t speak. Answer me through the Force. Use your mind. I sensed great pain and fear from my son. What happened?”

“He was wounded during a combat mission. His ribs are cracked on one side, all black and blue. He can’t hardly move, and it hurts him to talk or breathe. He also was grazed by a blaster, on the other side. It burned and cut him. I washed him, and dressed his wounds and put this bacta wrap on his ribs, but I think he should be in the Infirmary. But he won’t go. He hates doctors.  Especially on Star Destroyers. He won't see his own doctor, who he trusts, because he says she'll put him in a bacta tank, and he would rather die. I had to undress him, today and he has a scar that wraps around his thigh and crosses from his hip up to his navel. It looks like it’s from an Imperial torture droid.”

“They tortured him to the point of death, then had medical droids heal him, and then they tortured him, again. That’s standard procedure.”

“Why would Snoke have his own apprentice tortured?”

“Much of Sith Training is torture, of one kind of another. They wanted to break Ben. But Ben can’t be broken. There’s a place inside him that he can retreat to where nothing can reach him.”

“What do I do, General?”

“Take care of my son for me, Rey.”

“I will.”

***

Rey slept badly, and woke up early.

Ben was breathing regularly, but when she looked under the blanket she saw that his whole chest on that side was black and blue.

Rey didn’t know what to do.

General Hux.

The red-haired Arkanian often ate with them, and his rooms were right next door.

She had heard Hux say things like, “when you were still Ben Solo”, so they must be something other than rivals.

Rey left Kylo’s rooms and went next door, and started pounding on the door.

Hux opened the door almost immediately.

He was still in his nightclothes; a long, black, long-sleeved nightshirt with three buttons at the top.

“I don’t know what to do! You have to look at Kylo!” Rey said.

“I’ll know what to do. Show me.”

 ***

General Hux took one look at Kylo Ren’s condition, and returned to his room.

He came back with a hypo, and injected it into Kylo’s neck.

"I hope that was enough. We'll take him to Talia."

Then he called for the medical droids.

They took Kylo Ren to the Infirmary, and the same Twi-lek doctor examined him.

She looked extremely upset, and ordered that he be kept sedated and put in a bacta tank.

General Hux visited, often, and so did Phasma, but Rey stayed in Kylo Ren’s room all the time, except at night, when the doctors made her leave.

She was sitting on the sofa in the main room, reading a book from Kylo’s room when something very strange happened.

A little light on the radio blainked.

Beside it was a piece of tape, and on that piece of tape were the words “TIE Radio.”

Rey went all the way to the hangar, got into Kylo’s TIE Fighter, and picked up the radio.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Rey? What happened to Ben?”

“Han? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where’s Ben?”

“He’s in the Infirmary. In a bacta tank, under heavy sedation, because he hates doctors and infirmaries and bacta tanks. He broke some ribs on a combat mission, and his chest is all black and blue. He also has a flesh wound, from a blaster. I was up all night, the first night, listening to see if he was still breathing. They’ve got some kind of rebreather on him, now. His doctor said he’d be in the tank for a week. He’s got two days to go.”

“You sound worried.”

“I’m worried he’ll wake up in the tank. What’s going on?”

“When he’s better? Tell him the deal with the rathtars went through.”

“What deal?”

“Aw, shit, Rey. I guess you know there’s special rationing and rules in the Galaxy, now there’s a war on, but there’s a black market where you can get things, outside the rules.”

“Yes. And?”

“Well, that’s Ben’s operation. He siphons off guns and coax from First Order caches, I trade it for booze and cigarillos and shit like that with our business partners, and he has people who distribute the swag through all the First Order ships and bases. And the rest of the Galaxy, to some extent. Heavy on the Outer Rim. After we pay our partners, he gets sixty percent and I get forty. I don’t just do it for the money. But it’s good money. Hell of an operation. I do it to keep tabs on the kid. Now you know why he said there was no money in killing me.”

Rey was a scavenger; she had grown up among pirates and flyboys and smugglers.

She immediately understood.

“Can you stall your partners, or do you need the shipment, now? He told me nothing; if he had told me I could have got it to you.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. We’re all in the same business, aren’t we. It’s in the TIE Fighter. In the floor. Inside the fat part of the left arm. The compartment opens from the outside; you can’t see if it’s loaded.”

“Hold on. I’ll go and thump it; if it sounds hollow we’ll know Kylo didn’t get a chance to load it.”

Rey checked.

Not hollow.

“Where’s the drop?”

“Now. At the old Skywalker Farm, on Tattoine. I’m waiting.”

“Give me the co-ordinates. The way Kylo has this thing souped up? I’ll be there before you know it.”

Rey told the deck crew that she had a mission to undertake for Lord Ren, and they had to let her go, and say nothing.

The old Jedi mind trick, one of the first things he had taught her.

Rey flew like the Devil was on her tail, but it was still night when she made it to Tattoine.

She and Han and Chewie loaded and unloaded in a hurry.

Thankfully, Han didn’t ask too many questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

“Good. I hope the kid lets you stay in the business. Every smuggler could use a good scavenger.”

“Maybe I’ll see you guys next time, too.”

Rey had just enough time to hug Chewie and Han before she blasted off, again.

***

“Yeah, I agree with you, Chewie. She’s going to make a good addition to the family. If Ben doesn’t farkle it up. “

 ***

Rey didn’t even know how to approach the subject after Kylo returned from the Infimary.

So, she just came out of it, as soon as the door was shut.

“I made the drop with your distributor, and picked up your shipment. The message is that the rathtar deal went off, fine.”

“You did what?”

“I’m a scavenger, remember? I know the business. Why are you still in it?”

“For the personal satisfaction it gives me to know that I am undermining everything that Snoke does. And robbing his precious First Order blind. Also? There’s no money in being Kylo Ren.”

“There’s no money in being his apprentice, either. I want in.”

“You’re already on the First Order payroll.”

“That’s nerfshit money. I want in your operation. I’m the best scavenger on Jakku. I could find a single Imperial gold piece in a mile of desert. Take me with you the next time you raid the Imperial stores, and I’ll find all the shit you’ve been dreaming of getting your hands on that you could never see.”

“I’m not giving you a percentage.”

“Why not? I’m your apprentice. I want ten percent.”

“Ten percent? Never. Two.”

“Five?”

“Let’s see how good you are. If I like your work, five is reasonable. I’ll give you two percent of this month’s take, for picking up the shipment.”

“That’s fair. I’m sorry you had to go to the Infirmary.”

“I’m glad they kept me knocked out. I can’t start your training again until next week, so I’ll explain the operation to you. If you go back to the Resistance base, we could break into that market.”

“Just booze and cigarillos and shit? Or are you going to sell fuel and arms to your enemies?”

“We’ll see.”

Rey could see that Kylo had some kind of huge master plan.

But he wasn’t going to tell her about it.

Yet.

They were talking, over food.

Rey looked into her plate.

“It’s good you’re better, Kylo.” She said.

“Thank you.” He replied.

#reylo #reylo daily #reylo canonverse au #han solo lives #save ben solo #rey grey jedi #kylo ren grey jedi

[emybain]

“We can’t do this” kisses for nodrian

this! was! so! much! fun! to! write! 

okay but like, seriously, this may not be one of my best pieces, but it may compete with one of my favorite’s i’ve written

also, I really need to stop posting after midnight

this is based off of a kiss (kinda) prompt!

    Nova wrung out her hands, eyes flying over the tiny studio apartment that was her home. She was almost nineteen years old and had moved into the apartment right after she had turned eighteen, yet she still had unpacked boxes laying around. But, for today, those boxes were shoved into her bathtub and hidden by the curtain, away from view. She had made her bed for once and wiped down the slab of surface that was her kitchen countertop and even vacuumed. Her apartment was sparsely furnished, which made cleaning for an event like this easier, she supposed. It had all the necessities: a bed, a dresser, a fridge, a stove and oven, a dishwasher, a small breakfast table with mismatched chairs, a second hand couch that had belonged to Ruby, and a coffee table she had salvaged from a garage sale. There was a laundry room downstairs for all of her clothes washing necessities. The only nice thing she had on display was the TV Adrian had given her, and even that was used; it was his old one from his room before he had bought himself a new one.

    Now, Nova was a relatively tidy person. Not the cleanest person she knew, as she tended to leave her bed unmade for long periods and neglected to put dirty clothes in the hamper until laundry day. But today, she had to be the epitome of cleanliness. She scanned the five hundred square foot space for dirty clothes hiding, or, God forbid, the one piece of lingerie that she had received as a gag gift from Danna last Christmas. She had stuffed it deep within her least visited drawer of her dresser, not caring for the showy red lace. Bleh. She hadn’t seen it since she had buried it, but it would be just her luck for it to show up today, of all days.

    She had been living in her apartment for approximately ten months, and Adrian Everhart was just now coming over. Not to see the space. No, they had plans to discuss one of Adrian’s recent projects concerning public schools. After the Final Battle, he had delved into a lot of volunteer work, helping to better the school system and helping the homeless and building shelters for those in need, among dozens of other things. Nova, on the contrary, had been pardoned by the Council for, in simple terms, doing more good than bad, and for helping them beat the Anarchists in the Final Battle. At the time, Nova had still been bitter and angry. She had wanted to yell at them that she wasn’t helping them because she had a change of heart, but she was helping them because her uncle had much more planned for Gatlon than Nova had known, and it would have resulted in thousands upon thousands of innocent lives being lost. But she hadn’t, for one wrong word would’ve sent her to prison, possibly for life. So instead, Nova chose to work with them, and speak out for improving the government and making it a democracy where the citizens could be involved instead of letting the Renegades handle everything. Others joined her cause, even older citizens. While she was still involved with the Renegades creating a plan to change the way their small portion of the world was governed, she had put more time and interest in helping the citizens of Gatlon in self defense and being able to rely on themselves and targeting a large age demographic. The public had been tentative at first, seeing as Nova came from a questionable past, but slowly, her program began to gain popularity. Still, she hadn’t completely earned the public’s trust. She received hate and criticism from strangers, and many still crossed the street when she walked down the sidewalk. But she had gotten used to it.

    There was a knock at the front door, jolting Nova out of her thoughts. Her eyes widened, and she scurried across the room to the kitchenette, opening a drawer and digging through it. When she found the lighter, she rushed over to the coffee table where a small candle waited to be lit. It was pumpkin pie scented, which didn’t match the nearing spring season, but it had been the best smelling candle in the clearance section at the store across from her apartment. There was another knock as Nova hurried back to the kitchenette to put away the lighter. She cursed.

    “Just a minute!” she called out, heading to the door. She paused in front of the mirror, an unnecessary item in her home that Oscar insisted she needed. There was a small tea stain on the corner of her hoodie, and a rip in the knee of her leggings. The socks on her feet didn’t match. Well, it wasn’t like this was a date. It was a meeting. And her attire would have to do. With a small sigh, she went to the door and swung it open.

    “Hey, sorry about that.” Nova smiled brightly up at Adrian. She could’ve sworn he did a once over of her outfit, and the small quirk of his lips only served as evidence. She swallowed and held the door open more. “Ready to get to work?”

    “Yeah.” Adrian stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him, hand tightening around the knob as he looked around her apartment with interest.

    “It may look small, but it’s more than enough.” Nova bit her lip. Even now, she frantically searched for a bra peeking out from under a piece of furniture. Adrian turned back around, offering a supportive smile, but it did nothing to soothe the hammering in Nova’s heart.

    Because Nova had a small problem. Even though they had agreed to break up and be nothing more than allies after the Final Battle, for obvious reasons, Nova was still very much attracted to Adrian Everhart. And as of the past…year or so, very much in love with him.

    “It’s nice.” Adrian looked around again. At his old TV, at the few picture frames on her nightstand, at her bed. “Very…minimalistic.”

    They broke into an awkward silence, Adrian turning his head to see more of her home and Nova watching his face for any bad reactions. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and forced herself to let go of the doorknob,

    “Please, sit.” Nova waved at her couch, only sitting down once Adrian was seated. She made sure they were a good two feet apart. She reached for her notepad, which she had pre-placed on the coffee table for today, and the pen that sat beside it. “So, self defense training lessons in schools? How exactly would that work out?”

    Adrian shifted his knees toward her, and she could’ve sworn he inched closer. “Well, like I told you the other day, we could make a pitch to all the schools in Gatlon once we have a program set up. I’m thinking this could be more for middle school and high school kids, but we could also offer easier stuff for elementary schools. Make it more fun for the younger kids, you know? More of an introduction into self defense, and the basics.” He licked his lips, drawing Nova’s eyes to them. They flickered back to his immediately. She ignored how her cheeks heated up, instead choosing to jot down notes.

    Nova tapped her pen against her notepad. “I work with kids every day, Adrian. The program is open to all ages. Offering time in multiple locations is hard. We only have so much staff, and being in many locations is hard on them, not to mention the cost for new equipment, renting spaces, paying our staff…you get the point.” She waved a hand and cleared her throat. “We’re still new, Adrian, and we’re very, very poor. And while I hate having to even charge for self defense in the first place, I would have to raise our prices to accommodate to your demands.”

    “I mean more like a preview to the program itself.” Adrian shifted closer again. “I’m very aware of the financial side of things, Nova, trust me.” He smiled. Her heart skipped. “But, if we took, say, an hour out of a school day for an assembly once a year, make it a required event, invite parents to observe, etcetera etcetera, and have you, maybe, demonstrate some techniques, talk about the program, whatever, it could help the kids grow up to be more independent, and if parents are interested enough, it could help you as well by bringing in more customers. Not to mention,” he paused, breaking eye contact for a moment, before adding on it a much softer voice “it could help your reputation.”

    Nova’s fingers tightened around her pen. She glanced down at her lap. “This has nothing to do with me, Adrian. What people think of me doesn’t bother me. I could care less what they say.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him. “And yes, I know what they say. I hear it every time I leave my apartment.”

    “I just thought I would bring it up-”

    “This is about the kids and the future of Gatlon,” Nova established sternly. “I’m simply here to help plan and execute it.”

    They were both silent, neither meeting the other’s eyes. Nova did take notice that Adrian was less than a foot away from her now. That was partly her fault, allowing him to get closer instead of scooting away. The Final Battle for Gatlon was over two years ago, and while they had agreed to be allies for the sake of bettering Gatlon, and hopefully the world, Nova and Adrian had dared not stray into relationships of any kind that were not professional or friendly. Adrian had never truly forgiven her for what she had done, and she had never truly forgiven him for similar, yet different, reasons. At first, their relationship after the battle was rocky and awkward, then soon it developed into a professional one. Then, seeing as they were friends with the same people, they began to slowly become vulnerable around one another again, as hesitant friends. And more recently, Adrian had been showing signs that were not signs meant for Oscar or Danna or Ruby.

    But that scared Nova. Their healing relationship was a good sign, yes, but it didn’t help with her very solid and very real feelings for him. And if those feelings were to even be expressed in something as miniscule as a look or accidental brush skin, their relationship could fall apart just as easily and twice as fast as it had reformed. A stitched wound was still an injury. It needed to be cared for and treated delicately so the stitches wouldn’t tear.

    Adrian suddenly grabbed her hand that wasn’t gripping the pen, inching closer until there was very little space between them. Nova’s face grew hot, heart speeding up. She looked anywhere but at him.

    “Is it so bad for someone to care about you? To want you to be safe?” he murmured, breath fanning her hair.

    Nova gulped, lungs not quite functioning properly. “The only person who needs to care about me, is me.” She wanted to tear herself away from him, to rip her hand away from his, which was slowly interlacing their fingers. But she also felt her belly churning, telling her to just stay a moment longer.

    He had the nerve to smile. “Then tell me why I do, too.” He leaned in closer, if that were possible, and when she didn’t object, he took the notepad and pen away from her, setting them on the coffee table. Just so he could take her other hand.

    “Adrian,” she whispered, feeling dizzy and hot and a million things all at once, crashing into her.

    “Nova,” he whispered back, a plea. Their eyes met, and then, by the force of gravity, their lips brushed. For that split second, Nova was on fire.

And then her senses flooded back, filling her body with horror and regret and a self hatred that had been kindling for so long.

She pulled her hands away from him, her dizziness turning to nausea. Her head fell forward, finding the crook in his neck, despite her brain telling her to get as far away from him as possible, that this was impossible, that he could never and would never be hers.

“We can’t do this,” she gasped, desperate for the air that he had taken from her.

Adrian was breathing as heavily as her. His hands found her shoulders. “Why not?”

Nova found the strength to push back, to give her enough space between them so she could collect herself. She could still feel his lips, just barely over hers, just barely kissing her before she had pulled away. “Because of you,” she said bitterly. “And because of me. Who we are, Adrian.”

“Is this about what we agreed on?” Adrian rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. “Nova, that was two years ago. I thought I made it clear long ago that I had forgiven you. I thought you had forgiven me too, but apparently, I was wrong.”

“When did you forgive me,” Nova demanded. Her head was still spinning. She blinked, hoping it would help her.

“When you started showing that you really wanted to bring change.”

“That’s very vague.”

“Oh my-” Adrian groaned, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. “When you agreed to work with the Council on a new system.”

“That was, like, two months after the battle,” Nova deadpanned.

“Exactly.” Adrian nodded, tone matching hers.

Nova opened and closed her mouth, feeling like a fish. “Whatever…no, it has nothing to do with that.” Actually, it had a lot to do with that. Nova ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Adrian, you and I both know that we could never be together.”

“Why is that?” Adrian leaned closer, but this time, Nova leaned away.

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that my uncle was Ace Anarchy. And not only that, but I am the only well known Anarchist to have walked away from that battle alive, so the destruction my uncle caused is immediately my fault. People aren’t exactly fond of me, Adrian.”

“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought of you.”

“I don’t.” Nova groaned, resisting the urge to go bang her head against the wall. “It’s you who would be affected by it.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Adrian said quickly. Nova gave him a look.

“Really? Tell me that again when, in two months, say we’re out in public together and the media writes about it, you start getting death threats in the mail over our relationship. Trust me,” she said dryly, “you’ll care then.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Adrian moved closer again. Nova was out of room to move any further back; her back had hit the couch arm. His voice grew soft as he spoke, “Nova, I will never give a horse’s ass what anyone thinks of us. You have been all I can think about for three years, ever since I had to fix that damned bracelet of yours.”

Nova clenched her fists. There were tears at the back of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, hoping that they would go away. “Why? Why me, Adrian? I’m only going to end up hurting you again.”

He grabbed one of her fists and unravelled it, placing her palm over his chest. She could feel his racing heart beneath his shirt. “Then break my heart, Nova Artino. You have my permission. I am not fragile. I will only heal and come back to you, again and again.”

“Adrian, you don’t-”

“I’m in love with you, Nova.”

And then Nova, incapable of controlling her emotions, unable to think straight, because holy hell, Adrian Everhart said that he loved her, no, said that he was in love with her, pulled him to her. Their lips crashed together in sloppy delirium, but very soon, they found a rhythm. Nova shook as she wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands went to her hair, and he twisted them around so he could lay her down on the couch. All of her senses were in overload, spilling over the edge with nothing but Adrian, Adrian, Adrian in them. Far away, she heard herself say his name, and him responding with a soft moan. She thought back to their first kiss, a lifetime ago, and how this was so, so much better.

Only when Adrian kissed her tears away, before moving onto her neck, did Nova realize she had been crying.

-

Nova picked at a snag in Adrian’s long sleeved shirt, head resting in the crook of his arm. Their legs were tangled together. The sun had set not long ago, and they laid together in the dark apartment in silence, just holding one another and listening to the sound of each other’s breathing.

“I’m in love with you too, Adrian.”

#archenemies #archenemies spoilers #nodrian #nova artino #Adrian everhart #supernova #asks #my writing