#Just churning out noise and noise and noise for no fucking reason literally at all. And prioritizing it. I feel violent

[adhdo5]

AI image generation is so fucking tacky and annoying and unhelpful as if looking up reference images wasn't already enough of a pain here's a bunch of ugly slop that is a statistical approximation of what you're trying to get an image of looks like because that's apparently easier than extant images of the extensively photo documented thing you want to look at. CAN YOU KILL YOURSELF

[steveseddie]

rain check

steddie | rating: t | cw: none | wc: 3k | tags: steve has a crush on eddie, but he thinks eddie hates him, (spoiler alert: he doesn’t), miscommunication, confessions, flirting

click here to read on ao3

The sky starts falling just as Steve leaves Family Video. 

He doesn’t mean it literally- although he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the next weird thing to happen in Hawkins. After the Spring Break from Hell they just had, anything feels possible. 

For now it only means that it starts raining. Hard. So hard, in fact, that running across the parking lot to get to his car is enough to soak Steve’s Nikes and the bottom of his jeans, as well as flatten his hair against his forehead- his umbrella doing very little against the wind pushing the water in all directions.

“It couldn’t start raining five fucking minutes later?” Steve mutters, tossing the umbrella in the back and settling in the driver’s seat. 

His jeans stick uncomfortably to his legs and his shoe makes a squelching noise when he presses it against the pedal. Steve grimaces. He can’t wait to get home and change into dry clothes. 

Unfortunately, he can’t rush home to do that, not under these conditions. He has to drive slowly, squinting his eyes at the windshield to try and make out the road through the pouring rain. 

Steve considers pulling over and waiting for the rain to go down, hating that he feels like he’s driving blind, but he knows there’s a chance he’ll be waiting for a long time. 

So he keeps driving- slowly, carefully. It seems he’s the only person in Hawkins who got caught in the rain so crashing into another car right now because he can’t see past his windshield seems unlikely, and there’s no way someone would choose to walk under these conditions.

Or at least that’s what he thinks. 

Steve doesn’t see him at first- the only other person who’s out in the storm. 

He’s walking on the side of the road, hunched shoulders, no umbrella- not that it would do any good with the wind blowing every which way. 

It takes a moment for Steve to recognize him, but as his car gets closer and he squints at the guy through the window, Steve notices the familiar clothes, from the drenched leather jacket to the muddy Reeboks, as well as the familiar wet curls plastered to his face from the rain.

Steve’s heart swoops in his chest the way it always does these days when he sees Eddie. Almost immediately his stomach churns- also the way it does lately when he sees him. 

Because for some reason that Steve can’t comprehend, Eddie Munson hates his guts. 

Before the Spring Break from Hell, Steve wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Eddie hated him. In highschool, Steve was everything Eddie would stand on a table and loudly proclaim his hatred for- a rich popular jock. But after everything they went through, after fighting side by side to prevent the end of Hawkins, after Eddie jumped into Lover’s Lake to save Steve and Steve dragged an injured Eddie back from the Upside Down, Steve expected Eddie’s opinion on him to have changed. Hell, Eddie had even called Steve cool and badass and maybe even flirted with him a little.

Now, Steve is tempted to believe it was all a hallucination brought on by the demobat bites because as soon as it was over, and as soon as Eddie recovered from his own bites, it was like none of that happened. 

Eddie went back to hating Steve, shutting down his every attempt to get to know him and to become friends. 

It probably wouldn’t bother him so much if he wasn’t the only one Eddie seems to be avoiding, the only one he refuses to spend time with, but he is. In the last few months, Eddie has effectively wormed his way into their little group, becoming friends with everyone except him. He has study dates with Nancy, he hangs out with Robin, he has his nerdy campaigns with the kids and he has become Max’s go-to person for rides to the arcade and the skate park and the diner. All while shutting down every single one of Steve’s invitations to hang out and his attempts to start any conversations. 

It fucking sucks- especially because the constant rejection hasn’t done anything to squash Steve’s crush on the guy. 

Because even if Eddie ices him out and is sometimes a dick to Steve, he’s nothing like that with everyone Steve cares about. He’s good with the kids- constantly driving them to and from the arcade and Family Video, planning campaigns for them even during the summer. He’s nice to Robin- bringing her lunch to work, taking her thrift shopping in Indy. He’s sweet to Max- keeping her company when her mom is working, letting her paint his nails or braid his hair. 

And Steve can’t ignore any of that, or how cute Eddie is when he rambles about some nerdy book, or how hot he looks when he puts his hair up in a bun to fight off the heat or how talented he is when he plays his guitar.

Steve is helpless in the face of all of that, and within months, he finds himself falling for a guy who won’t give him the time of the day.

He knows it’s pathetic and yet, Steve keeps trying, hoping that Eddie will give him a chance, even if it’s just to be friends.

That might be why, instead of driving past him, Steve pulls the car over next to him, leaning across the console to roll down the passenger’s side window.

“Eddie! Hey!” He yells to be heard over the rain. 

Eddie whips his head around, brushing his wet bangs away from his eyes to peek through the window. When he recognizes Steve, his jaw clenches. Steve pretends it doesn’t hurt that the sight of him is enough to make Eddie tense up. 

“What do you want, Harrington?” He shoots back. He only ever calls him Harrington- not Steve or any outrageous nicknames. 

It shouldn’t bother him, but Eddie has nicknames for all of their friends- Birdie, Red, Wheels. So it’s just another reminder to Steve that he’s on the outside when it comes to Eddie. 

When Steve doesn’t reply, Eddie gives him a mean look. “Did you just stop to brag about having a fancy car to get you home while some of us have to walk in the rain?” 

Steve’s eyebrows knit in a frown, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Dude, no, of course not.” 

“Then what do you want?”

He does his best to ignore his hostility. “Where are you headed?” 

“Home,” Eddie says, his reply clipped. 

And because Steve is a pathetic man with a crush, he unlocks the passenger door and says: “Get in.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you a ride, man, get in,” Steve says, gesturing at the passenger seat. Eddie glares at it like it’s going to bite his ass. 

“I don’t need a ride,” he says with a huff.

“Dude, you still have like, five miles left in this downpour,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. Yes, he has a crush on the guy, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get on Steve’s nerves. 

Especially when he’s being a stubborn ass. “It looks like it’s stopping,” he says with a shrug. 

Steve groans, throwing his head back against the headrest in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, Munson! Get in the car!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that an order, King Steve?” He quips, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s tempted to drive away and leave Eddie to walk five miles in the rain, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s not even about his crush anymore, it’s just that Steve is a decent guy- no matter what Eddie seems to think. 

“Look, man. Whatever reason you have to hate me can’t be worth drowning out here or- or catching like, pneumonia or something. Just because you can’t stand me doesn’t mean I don’t care if you die, okay? So suck it up and stop being a dick for five minutes and get in the fucking car!” Steve snaps. He didn’t mean to yell, but maybe he underestimated just how frustrated he feels about Eddie hating him for no reason. 

For a few seconds, Eddie just stands there, stunned, the rain still falling down on him. He blinks at Steve a few times, tiny droplets falling from his long lashes. 

He looks pretty, Steve thinks. Even if, realistically, he looks like a drowned rat- or at least that’s what Robin would say.

He knows she’s going to laugh when he tells her that Eddie picked a storm over getting in the car with Steve. Then she’ll hold Steve’s hand and listen to him whine about his unrequited crush. 

When a few more seconds pass and Eddie doesn’t move, Steve thinks he’s going to have to give up and drive away. But before he can, Eddie opens the door and slides into the passenger seat, quickly rolling up the window to keep water from getting in. 

Then he sits as far from Steve as he possibly can- his arms crossed over his chest, his knees angled towards the door, his head turned towards the window. Once again, Steve tries not to let it sting, focusing on cranking up the heat and switching the car into gear. 

The rain picks up as Steve starts driving them to Forest Hills. If he didn’t think Eddie would jump out of the moving car for doing it, Steve would give him a smug look because the rain isn’t stopping like he said it would, it’s actually getting worse. 

He’s been driving for a few minutes when Eddie breaks the silence, surprising him and making him jump. Steve thought Eddie would just stay silent and ignore him the whole time. 

“I don’t hate you,” Eddie mutters, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. Even with the heat on, his clothes are soaked through and he’s probably still cold after spending so long in the rain. Steve wishes he had a hoodie or a blanket in the back that he could let Eddie burrow. 

“You have a funny way of showing it, man,” he says, not even angry at him, just confused. 

Eddie groans. One of his hands tugs a strand of wet hair in front of his face. “I know, fuck. Sorry.” He sinks down on the seat. “I just don’t know how to act around you, not without an apocalypse happening, I guess.” 

Steve thinks back to the couple of days leading up to their fight with Vecna. Even if they had a rocky start when Eddie almost killed Steve with a broken bottle, he thought they were getting along well, considering the circumstances. Near the end, Eddie was even cracking jokes and calling Steve names! 

And maybe it was just because the world was ending, but then, why did he keep acting normal with everyone except Steve?

“You don’t seem to have that problem with anyone else,” he says, failing not to sound too bitter about it, but it really stings being the only one Eddie doesn’t want anything to do with. 

“I guess not but- I don’t know, man, they’re a lot like me. Under that badass exterior, Wheeler really is just a nerd. And Buckley and I are both, you know, queer and well, the kids- I have a lot in common with them. But you- I don’t-” He tugs on his hair with a frustrated groan. 

“Wait, you- you’re queer?” Steve can’t help but ask. He knows he shouldn’t fixate on that. It doesn’t help his unrequited crush to know that Eddie likes guys anyway since he obviously doesn’t like Steve.

He realizes that Eddie probably didn’t mean to admit that at all when he drops his head in his hands. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. Now I made you hate me. How’s that for irony?”

“Woah, Eddie, hey,” Steve says, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie and the road. It’s getting harder to see from the rain picking up which means Steve’s attention should be solely on getting them home without driving off the road, but Eddie is a ball of anxiety and nerves and fear next to him and Steve can’t ignore that. So he pulls the car over on the side of the road and turns sideways on his seat so he can look at Eddie. 

“I don’t hate you, okay? I’ve been trying to be your friend for months, for fuck’s sake. This doesn’t change that.”

Eddie lowers his hands, looking at Steve with his big doe eyes that still look a little scared. “No?”

Steve shakes his head. He hesitates a little before tacking on his own admission. “Actually, it gives us something in common. I’m, uh, I’m bisexual. I like girls and boys.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “Oh.” He visibly relaxes except for his fingers that keep playing with his rings in his lap. “Um, it’s only boys for me.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, giving him a little smile. “Cool.” 

Eddie’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly into a smile of his own. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he ends up opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally getting any words out. “Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you-”

Steve frowns. “You said that already.”

Eddie holds his hand up. The tips of his fingers are paper white and pruney- Steve should probably start the car again soon and get him home before he dies from hypothermia. Whatever he has to say he can say it while Steve drives-

“I actually kind of like you,” Eddie finishes and Steve is glad he hadn’t started driving again or he might’ve crashed the car into a tree because-

Eddie likes him? Holy shit!

He’s still trying to wrap his head around that when Eddie starts talking again, nervously toying with his rings as he explains. “It wasn’t just that we didn’t have anything in common or that I didn’t know how to act around you- I was worried that you’d hate me if I got too close or if I flirted too much. It- it was easier when I thought we were going to die and I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with you turning me down easily or- or telling me to fuck off, so when we weren’t fighting for our lives anymore I just-”

“Decided to be a dick?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Eddie bites his lip around a smile. It’s not even a full smile, but it’s still directed at Steve and so far he’s only gotten scowls and glares from Eddie, so this right here is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest. 

“Well,” Steve says sheepishly, hanging a hand from his neck. “You didn’t have anything to worry about. I, um, I actually liked it when you did that- getting close to me and flirting. I liked it a lot.” 

Eddie’s jaw drops, his round eyes blinking at Steve. “Really?” 

Steve hums. “After everything was over and you weren’t dying anymore, I couldn’t stop thinking about- about you doing it again,” he admits and hears the way Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “So you can imagine my disappointment when you shut me out instead.”

“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

“I did. I do.” Steve says. Then he gets an idea. “Actually what do you say if I drive us to my house instead? We can hang out. And my place is closer so we can get you out of those wet clothes sooner.” 

Eddie’s lips tug up into a smirk. It reminds Steve of the one he gave him time in the Winnebago. This is Eddie’s face when he’s about to flirt and he knows he has nothing to lose. Steve braces himself. “Already trying to get me naked, big boy? At least buy me dinner first.”

Blood rushes to Steve’s cheeks, the pet name running through him and settling somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. 

But for all that he’s thought about Eddie flirting with him, he’s thought about flirting back just as much. So he leans closer to Eddie, reaching over the console to twirl one of his wet curls around his finger, giving him his most charming smile. “I can make you dinner. Does that count?”

Eddie’s smirk falters a little. “You want to cook me dinner today? Like- like a date?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Even after I was a dick to you?”

Steve bites his lip, hesitating. “If you don’t want to-” he backtracks, leaning away from Eddie, only for him to grab him by the lapel of his vest, keeping him in place. 

“Like fuck if I don’t. I just thought you’d want to know me better before asking me out, s’all.”

“That’s what dates are for, Eds,” Steve says, enjoying the way Eddie’s eyes widen a little when Steve calls him that. “Have you never been on one?”

Eddie snorts. “I’m a gay nerd in Hawkins Indiana, man. I’m lucky to get mediocre handjobs in dark alleys.”

Steve makes sure to move his eyes slowly and noticeably from Eddie’s face to his lap, giving him an easy grin. “I can give you more than just a mediocre handjob.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips before his lips stretch into a shit-eating grin. “Oh, I’m sure you can, sweetheart.” 

The pet name sends a shiver down Steve’s spine and he finds himself licking his lips, wanting to kiss Eddie, but he doesn’t want to move too fast when he just accepted to go on a date with him- 

Except, he hasn’t accepted yet. Steve kinda made the decision for him.

“Hey, if you’d rather have our date some other day I can just take you back to the trailer-”

“Nah,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Why waste any more time? Drive us home, Stevie, show me what I’ve been missing.”

So Steve does just that, pushing away thoughts of kissing Eddie and getting him out of his wet clothes to focus on the road.

At least until he gets them home- where that’s all both of them can think about for some time. 

[harpersdragons]

In Which Jason Just Wanted to Enjoy his Ice Cream in Peace

Literally just a super ooc crack fic, inspired by my parents not letting me take their ice cream maker that they forgot they owned

words: 1000

Summary: Jason steals the Manor's ice cream maker. Bruce...talks about his feelings? Everyone's confused about that one.

No warnings, i don't think

Ao3

Jason sighs as he relaxes onto his couch with his bowl. There’s nothing quite like homemade ice cream and a good book. It’s been a long time since he’d last had ice cream, let alone freshly churned ice cream.

It was a luxury he’d rarely had before living with Bruce, and then after he died and subsequently came back to life, he’d had bigger things to worry about.

He used to make ice cream with Alfred, and share it with both him and Bruce. It became a tradition for movie nights.

His window sliding open interrupts his reminiscing.

Freezing, he glances guiltily at the ice cream maker still on his counter. He’d already packaged what’s left to put in the freezer, but the machine was still sitting on his counter waiting to be cleaned.

He refuses to turn and look at the invading bat—because it’s definitely one of them. If he had to guess, based on the brooding and overbearing presence, he’d say Bruce himself came.

“You can’t just take things from the manor without asking, Jay.” Bruce sighs.

“I can and I did, Old Man. Fuckin’ deal with it.” Jason says around the spoon in his mouth. He stubbornly refuses to turn around.

So he may have stolen the Manor’s ice cream maker for his plans tonight. Big deal. Not like Bruce can’t afford another.

“I’d be more than happy to lend it to you if you just asked.”

Yeah, right. He and Bruce aren’t usually on speaking terms, barring tonight for some reason.

“It’s more fun to just take it.” Jason shovels more ice cream in his mouth.

“Are you at least going to share?”

What.

Ok, his earlier behavior was weird enough. He didn’t immediately jump into some angry or disappointed talk about taking shit without permission, and he didn’t just glare at Jason and take the ice cream maker back without a word.

But to ignore Jason’s smart ass comments and just ask if he’s going to share?

What the fuck is going on?

Jason finally looks at Bruce, standing behind him in all his Batman gear. His cowl is down, surprisingly. “Who the fuck are you and what did you do with Bruce?”

“Is it that unbelievable that I just want some ice cream?” Something in Bruce’s voice sounds sad.

“With me? Yeah.” Jason doesn’t know what compels him to be honest. Perhaps it’s his reminiscing over ice cream, or whatever, but the look on Bruce’s face almost makes him regret being honest.

Almost. A small part of him enjoys the devastated look that flashes over his face.

“Well I do.”

Jason studies him for a long moment. “Fine. Leftovers ‘re in the freezer.” He doesn’t want to ruin whatever weird truce they have going on right now by flat out refusing.

Bruce comes over with his own bowl of ice cream a moment later, and Jason moves his feet so Bruce can sit down. It’s a weird sight, Batman sitting on his ratty ass couch.

They mostly eat in silence, the only noise coming from the clinking of spoons against the bowls.

“You know you’re welcome at the manor anytime, right?” Bruce doesn’t look at him.

“Are you speaking to me or your bowl?” Jason deadpans. Bruce just had to ruin their peaceful silence.

Bruce glances up, then, “Who do you think, Jay?”

Jason fidgets under his stare. “No, I didn’t know that. Why would I? Not like you really made it a point to welcome me back.” Needing something to do, he grabs both their empty bowls and stalks the few steps to his kitchen, starting to clean the bowls.

“I’m sorry, Jason. You’re my son, you’re always welcome home.”

“You get hit with something? You’re acting weird.”

Bruce sighs, “It shouldn’t be me ‘acting weird’ when I tell my son he’s welcome at home.”

“Well it is, B. You’re shit at talking about this shit, and we haven't had a conversation that didn’t end in a screaming match in months, barring tonight. So yeah, it’s weird as fuck.” Jason turns around and braces his arms on the counter behind him.

“I miss you.”

He scans Bruce’s form. Nothing seems off, but Bruce wouldn’t be this open with his feelings.

“I’m calling Dick to come get you.”

“Jay—”

“Shut it, Old Man. We can talk when you’re less…feelings-y.”

As nice as it is to hear that Bruce misses him, or whatever, it’s not Bruce. And Jaosn doesn’t want to deal with whatever’s going on with the old bat.

Less than half an hour later, in which neither of them spoke, Dick crawled through the still open window.

“Great. Dickhead, take B home.”

“...You called me here just so I can take him home?”

“Yeah, he’s bein’ weird. Told me he misses me an’ shit.” Jason shoves Bruce towards Dick, the former protesting the motion. “I just wanted to enjoy my fuckin’ ice cream in peace.”

Dick seems to finally take in the ice cream maker, and perks up. “You made ice cream? Can I have some?”

“Later. Maybe. Get out of my apartment.”

“You invited me!”

“Solely to get the uninvited guest out of here.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Bruce finally speaks up.

“No.” Jason and Dick speak in unison.

“C’mon, B, let’s leave Jason to his brooding with his ice cream.”

“Oh, wait,I didn’t even get what I came for.” Bruce turns back around and takes a single step towards the kitchen.

“I’m keeping the ice cream maker, Old man. Get the fuck out.” Jason scowls.

“You can’t just take it, Jason.”

“Sure I can. I did. You can buy a new one.”

“Jason—”

“No.”

They stare at each other for several long moments, before Dick succeeds in tugging Bruce out the window.

Great, not his problem anymore.

Now he just needs to hide the damn thing.

Maybe acquire a new safehouse no one knows about. Solely to hide his ice cream machine for nosy bats.

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on. 

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish. 

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy. 

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands). 

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding. 

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.” 

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all. 

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t. 

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world. 

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about. 

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease. 

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do. 

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind. 

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.” 

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused. 

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. 

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop. 

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening. 

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[anteroom-of-death]

Put Me in a Movie...

Synopsis: The Master comes to terms...sort of. Set after the Doctor abandoned him in Nazi France.

Warnings: grooming, white supremacy, harsh language, introspection...

(Proof I write on occasion...)(also for reference listen to Put Me in a Movie by Lana del Rey if ur not familiar...)

Lights, camera, act-ì-on…

The Master stood at attention for these mere humans. The Doctor left him in the hands of humans that, without his special little perception filter, wouldn’t even listen to his charms or even basic hypnosis. Obviously, this body, no matter how svelte or pleasant to look at wouldn’t go over well as say….his body previously to his female form last go…or a few of his bodies especially the smirking, tall, one. The blue-eyed alabaster dandy wouldn’t even go over well…

Especially considering the environment: Paris, at the height of Nazi occupation.

If (s)he likes me, takes me home…

She left him there, knowing Earth history probably better than everyone else of their species. Knowingly abandoning him here, with these people. Well, why wouldn’t she? She’s always been deeply selfish, especially in regards to him and his needs. He had realized that thousands of years ago. When she first abandoned him for that wife of hers and living a charmed life. Before she got bored, stole that sub-par TARDIS, and ran off.

Selfish fucking bastard. Every body. Always.

So much for a childhood friend and blood pacts sworn in dark nights when you’d protect each other and be there for each other until the literal end of time…

And who’s there for poor Koschei?

No one, not ever.

He didn’t know he’d have this much fun…

No one, that much was clear since he looked deep into the void of all time and all space, and received the Drums.

The fate of all the species rested in a tiny eight-year old boy…and guided in such a way all throughout training and well into adulthood. Groomed into perfection to be the only one mad enough to try little tricks to break the reality of time and space at the most crucial time of war during a personal mental breakdown.

The Master broke his reverie as the lead SS officer trafficked him into a medical bay. Obviously he was master of deception- how’d he pretend and fool, quite literally their entire upper echelon into thinking he was the literal übermensch to get the ability to use their networks to find the Doctor.

The vivisection and tests were enough to bring him to regeneration’s door. It took him all the strength he held to not. He needed to keep that secret held to his chest. That knowledge could let these people win and erase much of his own past. He couldn’t risk it. No, not at all.

Come on you know you like girls (boys)…

He escaped as the Allies closed in and his captors fled their posts. Cowards, more so than the Bitch who abandoned him there, more so than the President who stayed comfy in his office as a war raged on, instead making a small child in the past the ultimate weapon. More so than his parents that ignored his many messages home that the drumming noises in his head were ravaging his mental health and causing him to make himself sick and wracking his body raw.

He was free, just had to deal with the consequences of this all. Just wait it out until the time-lines coincided with the main event.

Listlessness filled his hearts.

He wouldn’t dare do therapy. For obvious reasons: the cost of being remotely near anything medical mentally again would far outweigh the possible benefits of maybe a prescription for any lithium or barbiturate or diet meth the industry would churn out in the relevant coming future.

You know I can’t make it on my own…

Still he persisted on, focused on just waiting to actually enact the actual plot of this little scheme. A loss, but one he had to cope with. And for the assistance of his co-conspirators…

Decades passed the slowest that he’s ever seen them. Considering he knew most of the latter-half of the century from being on-planet on and off during it. The Master didn’t have it in him to hypnotize or engineer any tech. Too conspicuous, too much effort. He’d bled out all his will to do much anymore except endure.

He ended up in the early 2000s getting a job. A low-level executive in a marketing firm in New York City. Basic stuff, bossing around interns and speculating which members of ensemble shows filmed locally had bulimia and which ones had anorexia. Sarah Jessica Parker? Definitely anorexic. Mariska Hagarity? Probably bulimic.

He lived in Brooklyn, because well, the Doctor and her little friends had claimed Manhattan accidentally. Two of her little pets past, Amalie? Aurora? and Rorschach? Remy? The Lakes? The Ponds?. Those two. They lived in Chelsea and had a daughter he respected. They were soon to die and both were deep into mental decline, but didn’t want to risk exposing himself to little River visiting Mum and Dad on their death beds. No need to cross those paths…

It was a crisp early-April day. The first really good day of Spring. Perfect day for a stroll to McCarren Park to enjoy roach coach coffee and a questionable, semi-stale blueberry muffin. A little dive bar had advertised the singers performing that night. A pause and a sip: why not? A human life had it’s perks. The human race always excels at entertainment. He frequently looked to them to frame up fun little songs to blare when scheming or celebrating.

After the park and a trip home for a shower and a beard trim, he went to the bar and ordered a stout from a brewery that opened up in-boro. Brooklyn was changing. Especially Williamsburg. Gentrification. He worried that interstellar forces would bother him there and the Doctor would follow. Aliens, himself included, do love always targeting the hottest spots on the planet. He scoffed into the foam of his drink.

The first singer came and went, followed by a tiny girl with a well-loved guitar and a man on keyboard. She introduced herself as “Lizzy Grant, a.k.a. Lana del Rey. “ Hunching forward and a small, almost sickly sweet, little smile she started singing about being the self-proclaimed Queen of the Gas Station. She was decent. Nothing to sneeze at. Maybe one day she’d come out of her shell and perform at Glastonbury or some such large festival with thousands of enthralled fans if she was lucky enough. But for now, she was giggling nervously and strumming simply on her guitar.

The Master, a.k.a. Roger Estram, more or less tuned her out and focused with eyes semi-closed on the chatter. It soothed the Drums. He rolled his neck and shook out his hands lightly. He was relaxed. Nothing, not even the pain of thousands of years of agony would stop his night out. It was his night and he hadn’t been properly out since his firm made a liaison party between that delusional Jennifer woman and her teams and a low-level loud luxury brand.

Then he heard it. A song that hit him like a gunshot through the center of his respiratory bypass.

A fairly dark song, not what she had been performing. Definitely not the peppy, funny, tongue-in-cheek Americana. One that spoke of the casting couch and a bigger, presumably much-older man taking advantage of the tiny little girl crooning before him.

Suddenly all of his life came and smacked him between the eyes.

He knew he was groomed. He wasn’t a fool. The most uneducated Dalek could accurately determine this. But he was a Time Lord. Obviously he rose above it. Evolved past it. Especially leaving it all in the past as he passed from the body of the Prime Minister to the body of the Queen of Evil. He was all better now. The Time Lords (except for one) were all long gone. Toast. No one’s little plaything anymore. Ever.

That was all past, right? Long since ancient history.

Then why did it hurt so much? Not just now, certainly now, as this song crawled into his center and clawed open the wounds fresh. Why did something that happened as a child and presumably ended for him hundreds of years ago hurt?

Something about this song and the way she earnestly issued into the mic, “You can be my Daddy!” As if she had a role in her own victimization. The man who likes little girls could do whatever he wanted to her, just “Put me in a movie!” had him shaking and wanting to make streamers from his own entrails.

Each little harmonica blast she had her guest keyboardist make shot through his core. He was alone and sad and scared. The same little boy, who stared into the basis of reality to be chosen against his will. The same kid, frequently pushed to the outside, just waiting for everyone to take advantage of him. Accenting that it really just was him out in the universe and no matter what he did, he was used and abused and now couldn’t even manage to control a façade for longer than a few years before everything blew back onto him and he was left more alone and out of control than ever.

She finally finished her song and he paid his tab, shoving a big wad of cash in the little “For Singers” cup up at the stage before he stormed out into the night, glad that it was only a decade or so before he could do a grand reveal and rejoin the main plot of his life…not this strange little side quest his life had taken him on. No more little Earth girls that sang a song seemingly written for him, no more having to cope with being carved up. Back to his old, powerful self.

In the meantime, he sat down at his laptop in his apartment and googled “therapist Brooklyn childhood trauma”. He supposed it couldn’t hurt, right?

..You’re my little sparkle jump-rope queen, you’re my little sparkle…

[lubdubsworld]

Change of heart (Chapter 7)

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5   Chapter 6

Summary : Times are changing. After years of being oppressed, werewolves are taking a stand against humans , demanding equal rights and fair treatment. Heading the movement is Kim Taehyung, the breathtaking heir to the Kim fortune and one of the few remaining Alpha werewolves in the country. His disdain for the human race is well known and well warranted. They killed his family after all….. He wants to change the world , to put humans in their place but when his five year old daughter takes a shine to their very human neighbor , maybe he has to start with a change of heart , first.

: Pairing : Taehyung x OC / Werewolf AU!!

Genre : Romance, Explicit Content.

Chapter 7

The incessant buzzing of his phone was what woke Taehyung up, his entire body aching something fierce. 

He groaned , spitting  what felt like damp hair out of his mouth, blinking against the shaft of sunlight pouring into the room through the slats of the large windows . His bedroom faced the river, and every morning the sun spilled right into his bed , lighting the room up . He loved waking up to warmth and sometimes it made up for the absence of a warm body next to him on the bed. 

But today, with her wrapped around him, he hated the intrusion....wanted nothing more than to burrow into the bed and stay there for the rest of the year. 

It took him a second to realize that Mirae was lying on top of him and he was still, technically inside her. He had been so completely gone the previous night that he could barely remember a thing. 

Other than the fact that he hadn’t had sex that good in his life. Ever. 

Cupping the back of her head gently and wrapping one arm around her waist, he carefully rolled over, laying her gently on the bed next to him. She whimpered when he slid out of her and he winced when a rush of fluids spilled out of her, drenching his thighs and the sheets. 

Bits of the night began to come back to him then. 

Vague memories of fucking her to within an inch of her life. 

Guilt began to coil around his insides as he pushed the hair of her face. She looked like she had been mauled by an animal. Hickeys bloomed all over her neck, her jaw and even on the fleshy curve of her cheeks. Her hair looked matted with sweat and damp and cum . He had a mental image of her then, weakly crawling away when he tried to push into her for the fifth time, and she had been too sore to take him , begging him to let her suck him off  instead  and he flinched when he remembered holding her down against the pillow and fucking her mouth.

He’d managed to keep his knot out of her mouth, but he’d also had a really fierce orgasm, and his release had pretty much ended up all over her. 

His phone was still ringing and he reached across the bed to grab it, answering the call before checking who it was.

“Taehyung...are you alright?” It’s Dr. Lee and Taehyung blinks, surprised.

“Oh..yes. Dr. Lee , is everything okay?”

“I was only calling to check up on you. My sister told me that you were taking Ms. Yoon home and it made me wonder. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, doc. In fact better than fine. My head is surprisingly clear. I was fully prepared for this thing to last like a week but I feel normal already.”

Dr. Lee laughed. 

“Perks of  biting your actual mate and not an impostor. How is she, by the way?”

Taehyung relaxed a bit, staring at the girl in his bed. He gently stroked the hair off her face, running the back of his fingers across the smooth skin of her cheeks. 

“She’s ... fine.” He said roughly, “ Or as fine as you’d expect her to be.” He added as an afterthought, remembering that she had tried to get up from the bed for a drink of water and her legs had given out almost at once.

“And the mating mark? Did you dress it up like I told you?”

“Yes... It wasn’t that deep but you should probably drop by tomorrow and take a look at it anyway. “ An incessant beeping told him he was getting another call and he quickly apologized and hung up on the doctor  taking the other call.

“Tae, the shipment isn’t here on time. We’ve been trying to find the CI who gave us the info and the fucker seems to have run aground. Either that or Yoon’s men got to him.... “ Seokjin’s voice trembled with frustration and anger.

“Oh...fuck hyung that’s bad. Okay, what does Namjoon think? “

“Namjoon says that we should go ahead with drilling that dude we caught during the raid last week, Jaehyun or whatever. He thinks he may have some clue because he was fucking one of the bigger suppliers’ daughter.” 

Taehyung groaned.

“What about the reports from the lab? Did they test positive for any other controlled substance? I know we’ve only focused on a couple of them ...I don’t want to be blindsided by anything. “

“That scientist dude is a pain in the ass, refuses to talk to anyone but you and definitely only in person. “ Seokjin scoffed.

“That’s fine.. I’ll be there in an hour. “ Taehyung said sharply.

Seokjin made a noise of disapproval.

“What? Namjoon told me you were with your mate.... You’re going to leave her?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes at that. 

“She’s not my actual mate hyung. As in... what we have isn’t like official or anything. She agreed to it because I asked her to help me out and she knows that this isn’t anything more than a business arrangement. I didn’t even want to do it but...sometimes you do things for the greater good....” 

He moved to get up out of the bed , levering himself up to stand. He felt better than he had in weeks, his body thrumming with vitality and his mind sharp and clear. 

“She’s human right? Is she actually okay?” 

Taehyung scoffed at the implication . 

“I’m not leaving her bleeding and unconscious, if that's’ what you’re wondering. I bought a bunch of pain stuff for her.... the kind humans use.” He felt that pang of disappointment again. 

She was incredible....beautiful and kind and full of heart, yeah but the fact that she was a human was ...... It was just cruel to her. 

. He had spouted some nonsense to her about wanting to do this everyday for the rest of their life but nothing could be farther from the truth than that.   The idea of having to handle his bedmate with kid gloves made him jittery and nervous. 

She was so fucking fragile and he had struggled so hard last night, holding back, over and over again and she had still come out of it completely wrecked.

If she were a wolf, she’d be perfectly fine by now. Healed and happy and probably even up for some morning sex.

And yes the last bit made him sound like a horny bastard but come on, he was a healthy young wolf and an Alpha at that and his libido had always been on the higher side.

He shook his head as though to clear the way his thoughts were heading. It was ridiculous that he was even thinking about this. It was over. He had claimed her. She was his. His wolf was calm now. He could go about his life without having to worry about going into rut or losing his mind at the thought of another wolf near her. 

And he would not feel guilty about it. 

there was something called the greater good. In the grand scheme of things, one night of discomfort would not cost her anything. But what he was doing was going to change the world for his people. 

Seokjin’s voice filtered in through his thoughts. 

“At least tell her before you leave, Taehyung. You’re literally the kind of bastard who would do something as insensitive as leave her after you mated her and then act like you did nothing wrong. ” 

Annoyed , Taehyung hung up without replying.

Glancing at her, he moved to touch her cheeks again. She was asleep. Sound asleep by the look of it. It would be far more insensitive to wake her up. He would go and meet the guy about the lab results and get back here before she was up. 

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

“Ow.” 

 I groaned , muffling my agony against the white sheets as I tried to will myself to get up. Breathe through the pain, I told myself firmly. You do not want to spend the entire day like this. You need a shower, stat. 

 “Taehyung?” I called out weakly, for what felt like the tenth time. But the eerie stillness in the room told me I was alone in the apartment.

 I fumbled with my phone, fighting the urge to call him. If he had left, there had to have been a reason , a reason important enough for him to leave and it struck me again that I had been a little hasty, agreeing to this. 

Fueled entirely by my wish to get rid of the excess amount of cum all over me., I dug both my elbows into the bed, lifting my self up to my hand and knees. The pain radiating from my spine, settling deep in my center and the harsh abrasions on my insides.....all of it was a reminder that I had definitely bitten off more than I could chew. 

The first thing I did was grab the pain killers on the table, popping three of them into my mouth and dry swallowing. It was a little past eleven in the morning and I was starving. But I had to get a shower first. 

The trip to the bathroom was an ordeal and I had to fight tears, just to stand. 

Okay. Maybe a bath was in order than. 

I fumbled with the taps, watching warm water fill the ceramic tub, sweating a bit in the humid room. I glanced at my thighs, lightly stroking the bruises and watching them bloom purple under my fingertips. 

The pain was already ebbing, the tablets doing their thing and with my head a little clearer, my thoughts felt heavy. Regret churned, curdling in my gut and I could taste heartbreak on my tongue. 

Sleeping with him had been a mistake. 

A colossal fucking mistake, I thought desperately. I was already feeling abandoned and miserable. I wanted to throw on some clothes and go find him in his office . Wanted to curl into his lap and then refuse to leave. 

But mostly I wanted to kick myself for feeling that way. 

Taehyung wasn’t ..... available for any kind of relationship.

 He was an Alpha werewolf and important man. 

An important bureaucrat. Someone with power and responsibility. A man driven by his need to protect his kind and destroy anyone who meant him harm.  

A man who would do anything to get his way , even if it meant seducing a human he didn’t even like. 

And he had seduced me I thought , feeling unaccountably upset at myself. 

In the  vivid light of day, with my body aching so fierce and my head spinning , I could remember everything that happened the previous day with a sort of vivid clarity. And it was almost an out of body experience, like watching the whole thing happen to someone else. 

The way he had framed his words, the soothing comfort, the reassurances. That stupid fucking dance in the living room with the most cliché song in the world, it was like something straight out of a chick-lit novel. Something only a naïve, immature , desperate woman would fall for. 

What a cruel heartless bastard, I thought angrily. There was no way he didn’t know the effect of his words and actions on me. There was no way he didn’t know that he was purposely playing the part of a loving partner just to break down any defenses I may have put up. 

And like an idiot I had fallen for it. 

Staring around at the apartment and realizing he had just left me to fend for myself, without so much as a note....... After spouting all that nonsense about making sure I was comfortable. 

And I realized with a jolt that he really only meant it for the sex. All that affection, all that concern had been just for the few hours he had me in his bed. When he meant he wanted to make me feel me meant it only for when we were having sex. 

Now that he had got what he wanted , he was back to being the guy he actually was. 

A complete stranger. 

It made me  feel so incredibly foolish . 

Wetness spilled onto my foot and I realized the tub was overflowing. I closed the taps quickly before pulling the drain to lower the water level a bit. 

Climbing in, I settled back against the hard edge of the tub, letting my eyes flutter shut as the warm water soothed my sore muscles. 

“You’re up?” 

Jungkook’s voice startled me, and I nearly went under.

“Careful.” Fingers gripped my shoulder, pulling me back to stability and I gasped out, running a hand over my face to get rid of the water. 

“You... Where did you come from?” I stared at him , gripping the edges of the tub and watching him.

Jungkook looked like a breath of fresh air, hair slightly damp and clad in a white t shirt and blue jeans. He was grimacing a bit, eyebrows furrowed in evident annoyance.

“This entire room reeks.” He complained, turning on the ventilator in the corner of the bathroom. 

I groaned, settling back and just staring at him as he rummaged in the cupboard, pulling out a few bottles, a fresh wash clothe and bottle of body wash. 

My body hummed in delight at the thought of actually being cared for. 

“I’m not even kidding, is this what having a mate is like? You look like you were in a fight with a thorny hedgerow.” He commented, making his way over , but not before stripping out of his shirt and wiggling out of his jeans. 

I hummed, enjoying the view for a second as he finally settled on a small ottoman, right next to the tub. 

I gave him a sweet smile.

“Why are you here?” I whispered. He reached over to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Hyung told me to come. He got caught up with work and he feels bad about leaving you here all by yourself.” 

“Kim Taehyung....told you to come take care of me. Sounds fake but okay.” 

Jungkook laughed.

“To be fair he actually told your brother. But Yugyeom’s busy and he also doesn’t want to see you naked and so he gave me a call.” Jungkook carefully squeezed a dollop of body wash onto the cloth, before gently smoothing the soft linen against my skin. His gaze held mine as he carefully lathered up my shoulders, my collarbones and the curve of my neck. He took care not to touch the dressing on my neck, where Taehyung had bitten me. 

I smiled when one finger stretched out, tracing circles on my skin . Jungkook was too young to be subtle , and I felt a pang of guilt when I saw the very obvious look in his eye.

 Arousal looked so blatant on his handsome face, lips parted, slicked wet. Eyes heavy and intent as he gently rubbed the skin near my throat, thumb now curving around my neck , gently pressing in. 

His gaze met mine and I held it, feeling his hands move lower, fingers curling lightly on the curve of my breasts. When I felt the brush of his thumb on the hard peak of my nipple, I grabbed his wrist.

Tugging his hand away gently, I used my free hand to lightly flick his forehead.

“Behave.” I warned. 

His gaze turned pouty and he let out a breathy, “ Just wanted to make you feel good noona.” 

“You made me feel a billion times better just by showing up here today. But, I don’t want you to get mauled by Taehyung in case he’s feeling territorial again.  ”   I smiled, shaking my head. “ I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you go wait in the bedroom and I’ll call you when I’m done so you can help me out. of the tub.”

Which in itself , probably wouldn’t be necessary. The pills had done their trick and other than feeling well fucked, I didn’t particularly hurt. 

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Jungkook’s voice was petulant , eyes clearly showing how upset he was. He moved back a bit but made no other attempt to leave.

“I thought you liked him.” I chuckled lightly as he carefully arranged the body wash and the washcloths near the tub. I reached for it myself, carefully scrubbing over my skin, for now ignoring the way Jungkook kept his eyes trained on my body as I pulled my legs up to wash them. It was odd, how little his gaze affected me compared to how my body had reacted to Taehyung last night. 

With Jungkook it was...just physical. 

I liked being touched , so I enjoyed sex with Jungkook. 

With Taehyung it had been something so much more.

The very idea of Taehyung touching me, the idea of him wanting to touch me..that had been so overwhelming. 

And so sex with Taehyung had blown my mind. 

“What do you mean, like him? “ Jungkook frowned. 

“It was always Tae hyung, this and Tae hyung that...” I teased. “ You were never subtle about your little man crush on him.” 

I carefully grabbed the showerhead, wetting my hair gently. 

Jungkook scoffed.

“Of course I like him. You can’t be a wolf and not like Kim Taehyung. He’s done so much for us.” He grabbed the shampoo off the counter but before I could take it from him, he squeezed a bit of it into his palms and sank his fingers into my hair.

“Let me do this for you, noona.,” He muttered , voice deep and soothing and I couldn’t contain the moan that escaped, his fingers feeling like heaven as they carefully lathered up the damp strands, massaging my scalp till my eyes fluttered shut.

“Taehyung has things he needs to do and ...well, I agreed to this just so he could avoid any distractions.” I said gently, reaching out and lightly touching his arm.

“That doesn’t give him the right to hurt you though. “ 

I laughed despite myself.

“Why do you think he hurt me?” 

Jungkook stopped his ministrations.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” 

I felt my breath catch at that. This thing with Jungkook, it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing where I felt comfortable enough sharing my feelings for someone else with him. I felt awful, embarrassed and annoyed that  something I hadn’t even fully known myself was , apparently obvious to the world.  . 

Embarrassed because it would never be reciprocated. 

Annoyed because I should have nipped this thing in the bud. 

But I couldn’t talk about this now. 

“It’s not... “ I hesitated. “ It’s not going to be a problem. For me. I’m going to fix it. “  The dull throb of the bite on my neck mocked me, even as I said it. I had agreed to something momentous , something that carried a lot of consequences behind it, and I had done it on a whim. 

Taehyung with his honey dripping tongue and gentle but firm hands had made me dance to his tune so perfectly. But now that the act was over, I was definitely in danger of drowning. 

“ So, you’re just going to hang around while he does his own thing.” Jungkook frowned.

“Actually she’s free to walk out anytime she likes.”

Taehyung’s voice broke through the bathroom like a clanging cymbal and I jerked out of the tub in shock.

Jungkook startled too, eyes going wide as he scrambled to his feet. 

Taehyung looked like he had stepped right out of a magazine. 

He was wearing a perfectly pressed pinstriped white button down and teal green slacks , a slim patterned tie , in hues of green and red, perfectly knotted at the base of his throat and  he also had on a waistcoat, fitting him like a glove, setting off his broad shoulders and trim waist. 

He had his hair styled into a perfect  part, the thick silky locks arching into perfect side bangs that fell into his eyes.

Eyes that held a whole lot of fury as they took in the sight of me, naked in his tub while an almost naked Jungkook had his fingers buried in my hair. 

“I thought you would still be sore from last night....but I suppose that isn’t true, if you felt the need to call for your fuck buddy so soon?” He drawled casually. 

I felt anger swell inside me.

“ Jungkook was kind enough to help me out because I couldn’t even move.” I gritted out. 

“A feat that required him to strip to his boxers?” 

“Hyung, just chill. If I fucked her you would be able to smell it. “ Jungkook snapped, moving to shrug his clothes back on. 

Taehyung ignored him , grabbing a pair of fluffy white towels from the linen closet.

He gave me a look.

“You done?” He asked shortly. 

And somehow, its the sheer disinterest in his tone, the gaze that may as well be directed at a stranger on the fucking road..... That is what really  stings.

I felt like the entire weight of every bad decision I had ever made in my life had just dropped on my head. Almost sagging from the sheer hurt permeating my entire body, I grabbed the edge of the tub and levered myself up, not even bothered that I was completely naked. 

I stepped right out of the tub, completely ignoring the way my limbs practically screamed in protest at the movement. 

I held my hand out for the towel, completely ignoring, Jungkook’s hasty, “ Fuck” or the way Taehyung’s eyes that had gone as wide as saucers. 

He held the towel out and I yanked it out of his grip, wrapping the fabric around my body. 

Taehyung let out a harsh, “ Get the fuck out of my house.” at Jungkook who quickly grabbed his jeans and stumbled out with a rushed.

“I’ll call you noona.” 

I glared at Taehyung, refusing to so much as acknowledge him as I pushed past him into the living room.

“Jungkook wait, I’m coming with you.” I called out angrily and the wolf stopped, looking surprised as he finished pulling his jeans on, fumbling with his buttons.

“Leave, Jungkook.” Taehyung snapped.

“Uh....” Jungkook stared between the two of us.

“Why the fuck are you still here?” This time Taehyung’s voice was louder, deeper, bordering on a true snarl and Jungkook recoiled.

“Fine. I’ll just get a cab then.” 

I turned to the bag with my clothes, grabbing the first thing I could get my hands on. 

Taehyung’s voice came from behind me , tired and weary.

“Please don’t leave.”

I stopped, closing my eyes and willing myself not to completely lose it.

“Please , just.... I know I shouldn’t be angry. This thing with us is ...nothing.” He said softly, which , fucking  ouch .  Having him actually say it was so much worse. 

But he wasn’t done.

  “  Its just a fucking favor you’re doing me, i know that is what it is. We don’t owe each other anything I know , but if you're gonna see Jungkook just... not in my house okay. I didn’t like him with you...in  my  house.”

I turned around to stare at him.

“What do you think I was doing with him in  your  house Taehyung? He came over to help because Yugyeom was busy. You were the one who asked him to check up on me....weren’t you?”

Taehyung ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t fucking know...all I know is that my wolf smelled you and another alpha and-”

“You know you’re the only were who speaks like that...” I said angrily.

Taehyung blinked.

“Like what?”

“Like you and your wolf are two different entities. Like you can do any thing you want and then blame your damn wolf for it. And its beginning to piss me off.” 

Taehyung flinched at that.

“I’m just... I’m trying to do this in a way that our lives don’t get fucked up. I can’t... Your father....”

“I know. I know my fucking father is a scumbag and that he needs to rot in hell and I am willing to help you do it. But if only you could just.... give me a fucking break .,...” 

“I know...and I’m sorry. I just... I’m in a mess. Your father got rid of three of the dealers we could tie him to and it looks like there are other people involved in this whole thing. Other powerful men. I’m just... I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to do this without getting someone close to your father.”

I stared at him.

“Well, its not me. He hates my guts... He would never confide in me.”

“But he has a soft spot for a really close friend of mine....I believe you’ve met him....his name is Cha Eun Woo.”

I froze. 

“Taehyung....”  I groaned in disbelief. 

“I wanted to ask you if you would pretend to date Cha Eun Woo...”

I felt like my head was about to splinter in two. 

“Just long enough for me to get the info I need. Eun Woo is good at what he does and he can easily get into your father’s good graces, get him to confide in him and we could bring this entire fucking racket down...but the only way Eun woo could have access to your father would be through you.... “ 

Taehyung sounded desperate as he spoke, and I felt dangerously close to crying. 

“So it wasn’t enough that you got to fuck me? You’re just gonna pimp me out to your friends now...” I choked out.

“Fucking hell, Rae...That’s not what this is....This is for the...”

“Greater good.....yeah... I know.... I fucking heard you today morning on the fucking phone...Telling your friend how you had to suffer through a night with me for the greater good. And that's just perfectly fine....what I really don’t understand is why you had to fucking pretend like you actually gave a shit about me.... “ I  choked out , my eyes dampening against my wishes . 

Taehyung froze, eyes wide. 

Something awfully close to pity began to swim in them and I swallowed the bile rising up my throat. 

“Fine. Tell your fucking friend to come pick me up.” 

I couldn’t bring myself to even look at him. 

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

Author’s Note : Feedback is love.

Let me know what you guys thought. 

Taglist : @veronawrites

@ladyartemesia

@jincentvangogh

@bonyg

[stuckonstarker]

Highschool AU, A/B/O AU | TW: slut shaming

Peter sat in homeroom. It was absurdly early in the morning, in his opinion. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He already knew all the material already, anyways, so he didn't see why he couldn't take a quick nap. But last time he had dozed off in first period his teacher had given him detention for an hour. Talk about unfair.

He was zoning out when he accidentally overheard a conversation two other students at the front of the classroom were having.

"Obviously not!" A voice Peter recognized as Brad's said.

Another kid named Josh said, "Why, though?"

"Don't get me wrong," Brad said with a smug smirk, "I'd definitely fuck him, but who would want to be in a committed relationship with him? He's one of those omegas you fuck for fun."

Peter winced. He was never particularly fond of other alpha's treatment toward their omega and beta counterparts. There was little Peter could do about it, though.

While Peter himself was an alpha, he was also considered lower on the totem pole. He would just be putting himself in needless danger by saying anything. But, if he could eavesdrop and get the name of the omega they were referring to then maybe he'd be able to warn said omega.

Peter continued to subtly tune in on their conversation.

"Totally," Josh agreed.

Brad said, "Tony's hot as hell, definitely. But he's also super fucking easy. He'll sleep with anything that walks. I'm not too keen on dating a slut."

Peter's eyes widened. There was no way that they were talking about that Tony. Brad wouldn't be so bold.

"Is he trying to date you?" Josh asked.

Brad made a indifferent noise, "I don't know and I don't care. I'm gonna take him out then once I get a taste of that omega pussy I'm out."

"That's how you do it," Josh laughed.

Peter's lips formed a tight line.

Then, at that moment, Tony - in tandem with Pepper and Rhodey - entered the room.

Brad hit Josh on the forearm and made a shushing motion and noise. Peter knew then, for certain, that Brad was planning on using Tony Stark.

Tony Stark. A beautiful omega known for his salaciousness and intelligence. Though, people often prioritized the former.

Peter admired him. Tony was the smartest in their school.

That was an opinion few shared, much to Peter's surprise.

Tony's overt sexuality and confidence, along with his irrefutable genius, intimidated most people. And the few who weren't intimidated by Tony were often jealous of his accomplishments.

Peter was also intimidated by the upperclassman, but more in a 'I love everything you do and please stomp on me' way instead of the moral righteousness that inflicted the rest of his alpha classmates.

Peter watched with poorly concealed envy as Tony flirted with Brad the entire class. Brad looked quite smug about the whole situation.

Peter began formulating a plan to tell Tony of what he heard. They didn't have any other shared classes other than this one. But their lockers were actually really close.

Peter had noticed that Tony often used the limited time between classes to fiddle around with stuff in his locker. As such, the upperclassman was often late. It was in stark contrast to Peter's paranoid scramble to get to class - born out of the anxiety of being late. Peter was more often than not the first one to enter class.

However, he worried that Brad would linger around Tony's locker in-between class periods.

That worry was dispelled soon, though, when the bell rang and Brad immediately took off.

Peter's brows furrowed. If he had a chance with the Tony Stark then he'd never leave his side. That was probably why he'd never get a chance with Tony. Tony, who craved independence and freedom, would probably feel stifled by Peter's constant check ins and presence.

It made Peter reconsider for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't meddle where he wasn't meant to. Maybe Tony would only be insulted by Peter's misplaced concern.

Peter bit his lips at those thoughts. He shook his head and rid them from his mind.

No, he decided, he had heard something concerning and he owed it to Tony - as a good person - to, at least, try to warn the omega.

Peter watched with bated breath as Tony stood at his locker. Tony was so popular. He definitely didn't know Peter and if, by some miracle, he did it would only be negative rumors spread by Flash and Brad.

Despite the anxiety churning in his stomach and the cold chills racing through his body, Peter braced himself and hesitantly approached Tony.

Tony looked up curiously at Peter's presence.

"Hi...?" Tony said, amused confusion evident in his voice.

Peter could literally feel his face burning and the embarassing amount of sweat gathering on his hairline. He probably looked like a mess.

He started, "Uh... I-I'm sorry! It's just that, uh, I heard someone - Brad - talking about you and he said some... things."

Tony didn't looked upset or surprised about this. He only gave Peter a small smile.

He said, "I'm assuming that the things he said weren't compliments."

Peter shook his head. It was the only thing he felt truly capable of doing.

"Yeah, I figure. Most alphas like him are like that. It goes both ways, you know? He may see me as merely an easy way to get off but he's even less than that to me." Tony explained with such ease and nonchalance, "I wasn't ever going to give him the chance to fuck me."

Peter could barely breathe as he said, "Alright, I - uh - I... just wanted you to know."

Tony smirked, something knowing in his eyes, as he asked, "Why did you tell me?"

Peter said, "I mean... the things Brad said were real shitty and you're such a great person. I didn't the thought of him acting so smug about treating you badly."

"And that's all?" Tony prompted as he closed his locker. There was a look in his eyes that made Peter swallow hard.

He said, "Yeah, I can't really think of another reason. No one deserves to be discarded so carelessly. Especially not you."

Peter wasn't lying either. In fact, he wasn't sure he could think at all in the presence of Tony.

"You're such a nice guy, Peter," Tony said, a distinctive purr in his voice. He leaned in close - too close! - to Peter.

Peter could literally feel his breath being ripped from his lungs. All he could do was stand there like an idiot with wide eyes in disbelief and his mouth agape like a particularly dull goldfish.

Tony used a nimble pointer finger to move one of Peter's unruly curls out of his flushed face. Tony pouted as he made intense eye contact with Peter.

"What a good alpha you are - coming to my rescue and protecting me from those knotheads," he whispered as he pursed his lips.

Peter audibly gulped. His cock was ridiculously hard in the confines of his jeans.

Tony smiled, "You are so cute, Petey."

"You know me?" Peter managed to squeak out after he regained some of his motor functions.

Tony purred, "Of course I know you! You're so smart and sweet and such a good, helpful alpha. You're nothing like all those other alpha's who just want to use me, are you? You just want to protect my little, omega heart, don't you?"

Peter stuttered and stumbled through his words. Ultimately nothing he managed to say was even remotely comprehensible.

"Keep being an upstanding citizen for me." Tony said, "Okay, Petey?"

Peter nodded furiously.

"Good," Tony said slowly, almost a drawl, and continued, "we should get to class."

With those words, Peter was snapped out of his trance. He nodded and apologized once again before turning to head off to second period.

"One more thing," Tony said, stopping Peter in his tracks.

Peter gave Tony his full attention.

Tony smiled as he said, "Meet me here at the end of the day."

Peter's eyes widened.

"I want to reward you for your good deeds," Tony said.

Peter panicked, "You don't have to do that! Really! It isn't that big of a deal-"

"I want to reward you," Tony cut his rambling off, "I know I don't have to."

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He only nodded, entirely in a trance, and walked in the other direction toward second period.

He couldn't wait for the end of the day and, for the first time, it wasn't because of his sleep deprivation.

[benjaminthewolf]

The Story Of P.O.V.: Knowing The Enemy

(It takes place after the Tankman story btw).

****

    You’re unsure of how long it has been since you last fell asleep, but regardless, though you have slowly been shifting out of deep sleep, you’re not quite ready to wake up for the day. You’ve simply been too comfortable dozing off in your current position to change it or get up at this point. You only allow your head to move as you slowly  rub it against the soft, smooth walls of your current area. Squishy, pillowy, and flexible enough for one to lean pretty far back into it. Perfect for sleeping in. The persistent white noises drums in your ears as you give out a little sigh of comfort. 

     About fifteen minutes later, the white noise suddenly becomes a lot louder than you’ve been used to, startling you just a little bit, but not enough to force you up. A great gurgle can be heard echoing through your current area as something else begins to enter it, before plunging down to the formerly still pool below. You try your best to ignore it, but a few seconds later, another round comes through, stirring up the area you’ve been sleeping in even more, and causing the walls you’ve squished up against to start churning and pulsing, forcefully shoving you out of your sleeping position, thus making you sit up.

     “Well, I guess I’ve slept in far enough anyway.” you reason to yourself in your head as you give your arms a great stretch and yawn. Rubbing your eyes slightly, you are at last able to see what it is that has been disturbing your peace. 

     “Oatmeal?” you ask out loud as you simply stare at the strange, wet lump of oats being mashed up in front of you.

     “Hmmm? What was that?” another voice suddenly chimes in, makes you jump at first. After calming down, however, you sigh once more as you shake your head.

     “Oh, hey Tankman. Good morning.”

     “Ah, well good morning to you two, my guy. Did the falling oatmeal wake you up?”

     “Oh, yeah, it kinda did. It’s alright though, I was waking up anyway. I’m good. Uh, how are you doing this morning?”

     “Ah, well, I’m kinda glad you asked.” Tankman mumbles through a mouthful of oatmeal. “The supply trains finally arrived today, meaning we don’t have to be as strict with our rations anymore! Thus, we all get to have more oatmeal this morning! And get this!” 

     There is a slight pause as Tankman grabs the banana sitting on his desk. “We finally got some fruit around here! About fucking time!” Swiftly peeling it and taking a bite, it then becomes only a matter of time before the chewed up banana is pushed through the esophageal sphincter and joins the oatmeal as it continues to get churned into mush. And though Tankman never specifically specified he was eating a banana, you are still able to tell from the fruit’s iconic smell that it was indeed a banana.

     “So is banana like, your favorite fruit or something?”

     “Oh, yeah. One of the best fruits there is. Hands down. Just...mmmm!” Tankman responds as he ends his sentence with a french kiss.

     “Alright then.”

     “.....”

     “.....”

     “What, did I say something wrong, or-”

     “.....AND I KNOW THAT MAY SOUND KINDA GAY, BUT-”

     “Bah! It’s not gay! Your perverted mind just forces it to be gay because it’s pretty much second nature to you to be able to find a cock joke literally whereever there is the oportunity.”

     “Eh, yeah, maybe you’re right, and that can be both a blessing and a curse sometimes, but….”

     “Yeah?”

     “I just really like bananas, alright? End of discussion!”

     “Okay...I guess I’ll stop talking then.”

     The two of you are silent for a few minutes as Tankman finishes his banana. He then rounds off the breakfast with some water from a water bottle.

     You can hear the torrential stream pouring down into the stomach as the rumbling organ expands slightly to accommodate for the oncoming flood. You scoot back a little into the walls as they finish expanding.

     “Ah, well. That was pretty good.”

     You can’t help but giggle slightly. “It was just water, dude! Was the water really that good?”

     “Hey, I don’t wanna hear none of that! Water is by far the best drink there is on the planet! Fucking change my mind! I guarantee you can’t!”

     You open your mouth to protest, but promptly close it as you stop to think for a few seconds.

     “You know what? You have a point.”

     “Heh. Damn straight. Anyway, now that I’ve had breakfast, you should probably have some too.”

     “Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot about that!” you suddenly exclaim as you begin to realize that you’re getting pretty hungry as well.

     Getting up and making your way to the middle of the stomach, you stand perfectly still and don’t protest at all as the walls begin to contract, squeezing in closer and closer around you until at last you are squished up rather close against them, ready to be pushed up the throat. A hacking sound can be heard coming from the outside as the muscles of the stomach push you up into the throat, where you continue to rise before being ejected out of Tankman’s mouth, landing safely in his glove.

     Coughing a little after what he just did, Tankman sets you down gently on the table before reaching for a brown paper bag on the other end of said table. Reaching into the bag, he proceeds to pull out a granola bar and an orange. Unwrapping the bar, Tankman breaks a small part of it off and hands it to you. Grasping onto it with a nod, you begin to nibble as Tankman peels the orange. It’s one of those smaller oranges you would expect to find in your elementary school lunch box, so it’s just small enough for you to eat without issue. Setting the unwrapped granola bar and a couple orange slices by your side, Tankman then reaches back to his water bottle.

     “There’s still plenty left. I’ll pour some for ya.” he explains before getting up to find the smallest container for water that the camp had: a shot glass. Carefully setting the glass down on the table and trying his best not to spill as he pours, he slowly pushes the brimming glass towards you as you break off more of the granola bar to eat.

     “Ah, well, I don’t think I have any assignments right about now, so I guess I’ll just wait ‘till you’re ready to head out. Sound good?”

     You give him a firm nod before going back to nomming on your granola.

     “Right.” Tankman states before leaning back on his chair and putting his boots up on the other side of the desk from where you’re sitting.

     “We’re not in a hurry today, thankfully, so...we got time to chill.”

****

     “Alright, you’re sure you’re finished?” Tankman confirms with you after you finish your second orange slice.

     “Yep, I’m all good.” you leisurely respond.

     “Right.” Tankman says with a nod before holding out his glove for you to hop onto. Carefully crawling on, a single voice at the back of your mind suddenly raises an interesting, and rather important  question as you are lifted up off the table. “What if you used an opportunity like these breakfast moments to try to escape?”

     Escape? You roll your eyes and almost immediately brush off the thought. Escape. What a silly thought. Escape, and then what? Be completely lost in the desert for weeks as you desperately stumble around, hoping to find your hometown again? You’d most likely die if you tried that, especially considering your size. Or there’s the possibility of you being captured by the Tankmen again after your attempt. And at that point, well, It’s pretty much a guarantee that Tankman won’t be taking as kindly to you as he is now. And really, it’s not like he’s been treating you badly. So it really won’t be worth violating his trust. At least here, you get food, water, a place to stay, and protection from most of war’s horrors. Tankman himself is nice enough. Maybe he doesn’t quite see you as a “friend” yet, but certainly, some progress was being made on that front.

     “He’s a relatively nice guy. I mean, as nice as you can get to a war prisoner. He actually knows how to treat people. Pfft. Unlike those buffoons leading MY side. Idiots don’t care about me at all. They just wanna win their dumb war. God, if only I could just…” your thoughts suddenly trail off as your brain snaps back to attention once you realize that you have been placed inside Tankman’s maw again. Feeling that familiar warmth of the saliva seeping into your skin and clothes, your body casually slides down the tongue as it pushes you back towards the throat. Closing your eyes and letting a deep breath go in and out, you take a few seconds just to contemplate to yourself how odd of a situation this really is.

     Finally, you are swallowed back down into Tankman’s body with a great big gulp. The process has all but lost its terrifying edge to you. It almost just feels normal now, even though it hasn't even been a week since you were first captured. Barely any time at all. You reason that it just feels like it’s been a long time as you continue sliding down Tankman’s throat. Once you land back in his stomach, there really isn’t much for you to do except chill. Snuggling back down into the same spot you were in when you were sleeping, you let out a little sigh and start tapping a finger on your leg.

     On the outside, Tankman gives his stomach a pat before beginning to walk out of the tent. “Aight, time to head out.” he announces to himself as he enters the sunlight.

     It’s still relatively early, so not much is happening around camp at this hour. There are a few soldiers, mainly consolidated in small groups, chatting with each other. Most of the other tents are still closed. Once he reaches the end of the rows of tents, Tankman at last gets a glimpse of his iconic and beloved tank, still in as good a condition as ever. More importantly though, was the person standing next to the tank, presumably waiting specifically for Tankman to arrive.

      “Hey, Steve!” he cries out as he begins to pick up speed.

      “Oh hey Captain!” Steve responds with a wave.

     Once Tankman has sprinted up to Steve, he swiftly becomes mindful of how his sudden change in velocity has probably affected you. “Oh, shoot, I hope that didn’t cause you any trouble in there!” he semi-frantically calls out to you.

     Despite Tankman’s concerns, you don’t actually think what just happened was that bad. From your perspective, though the initial start did cause some liquids to slosh around, splashing you a little, in all, you were largely unaffected.

     “Ah, don’t worry about it! I’m fine!” you swiftly reassure him.

     “Okay, good.” Tankman replies with a bit of relief in his voice. “Anyway, so Steve, have any tinies been sighted since last night?”

     “Thankfully, no. We don’t think they have any plans to advance yet, so I think we should be good moving the camp up a little. Maybe closer to a water source. We did scout out an area near an Oasis that might be a good candidate. And best of all, no tinies have been spotted in that area to date! I mean, at least since that area became caught between warzones. Pretty much becoming a warzone itself at that point, honestly. So...yeah! That’s what’s been happenin’!”

     “Great news, Steve! If we have access to a natural water source, then we won’t be as reliant on the supply trains as we have been! When do you think we’ll start moving?”

      “Well, we still have to report this to our superiors first! Then they’ll decide what our next move will be. Pretty sure we will move though. Only seems like the logical thing to do since it’s probably our best option right now.”

     “Sure is. Unless this is all just some complex set-up by those tinies for some kind of sneak-attack. Heh. That would be kinda hilarious. No way of knowing that for sure though.”

     “Yeah.”

     “Unless……..”

     You swiftly stand up as you lean against the stomach wall and cross your arms. “No.”

     “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t wanna be spillin’ those important secrets now, do ya? Well, I’m not gonna hold it against ya.”

     “Yeah, absolutely no way you’re gettin’ me to drop any of that kind of info. Nuh-uh.”

     “Well, I mean we kinda gotta talk about something right now, so…..what kind of info can you drop?”

     “Hmmmm…..” you ponder to yourself as you tap a finger under your chin. “Good question. Maybe…..instead of talking about war plans….we can talk about…...OOH! I know! I’ll tell you guys about my best friend!”

     Tankman gives a sarcastic gasp. “Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? You have friends?”

     You giggle slightly and roll your eyes. “Yes. Shocking. I know. Haven’t been able to talk to him as much as I wanted to since this whole war mess began, but we still keep in touch. He’s a good guy. Known each other since I first joined the town. Though I admit that it was a little hard for us to become friends at first. He’s kind of the reserved introvert type. Barely has any friends except the ones that really matter to him. But...I know that he doesn’t mean to be...well...mean with how he can be distant at times. Just wants to be alone. And especially now, with all of...pfft...this...going on, that’s especially understandable.”

     “Well, whadyaknow, an extrovert and an introvert becoming best friends! I mean I guess they do say ‘opposites attract’.”

     “Yeah. Sometimes I do have to stop and wonder just how it happened that I made friends with...such a character like him. Especially when….okay, so maybe he does have some….issues...especially regarding emotional angry outbursts...but...well...you know…”

     “So he’s an explosive type.”

     “I guess you could say that. Man. I just hope he’s doing okay now. What I wouldn’t give to be able to see him again….”

     “Woah woah woah now, if that was supposed to be some sort of subtle hint-drop, forget it. No way the higher-ups would allow that.”

     Your heart immediately sinks a little after hearing what Tankman just said. You give a slight whine in response. “Pweeeeease?”

     “Hey, don’t you get all cutesy on me, you little rat! It’s not happening! Not right now at least! So just forget it already, will ya?”

     The noise that came out of your throat next could only be described as halfway through a groan and a whimper. 

     Steve gave a slight chuckle. “Captain, I really don’t think somebody like him would give up on an objective like that that easily! I have a slight feeling he’s going to keep on insisting until you eventually break.”

     Tankman gives Steve a good, long stare.

     “What? Am I wrong?”

     “No, and that’s the part I hate.”

     You put your hands together, even though Tankman can’t see it, and bend to your knees. “PWEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?”

     You have no idea how long the three of you simply stood there after that, as Tankman simply refused to answer.

     “Look,” he finally says. “I should probably be getting back to camp now. I’ll talk to you later, Steve.”

     “Wha-you’re not even going to-” you attempt to strew together a sentence before stopping yourself. There is once again an awkward period of silence before Steve responds to his Captain’s previous statement.

     “Well, all right then, Captain. Was nice talking with ya. See ya. Oh, and, you too, uh...wait...what was your name again?”

     You shake your head slightly as you suddenly realize that, one, Tankman isn’t going to discuss your begging any further, at least for the moment, and two, you haven’t even told Steve your name yet. Forcing yourself to let go of your previous pleas to see your friend again for a moment, you are then able to answer Steve’s question.

     “Jeff. My name is Jeff.”

[juniorgman187]

Home Alone (Reid Fic)

Summary: For the first time since living with Spencer, Reader is home alone and left to brave the figurative and literal storm on her own.  Pairing: Platonic Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff, One-shot Content Warning: Storm, fear and paranoia, use of a deadly weapon Word Count: 2.8k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

It was a dark and stormy night. 

Too cliche? Let me start over. 

It was the time of the year when the wind was so strong, even the sturdiest tree would blow over. Meanwhile, the rain relentlessly pelted the windowpane, cascading down the glass at a record speed. In the distance, you could hear thunder’s deafening clap and see lightning’s blinding flash preceding it. The only thing that could make this storm worse?

Being home alone in it. 

Spencer, my roommate, was never gone for more than two days at a time. He always arrived at the exact hour when he texted he would be, and he never ever left me home alone before his arrival. Without fail, he would call over a friend to stay with me or if he knew he’d only be gone a few hours, he’d drop me off in a public space, where he knew people would see me. To put it simply, if I was in the apartment, I wasn’t alone, and I had to think it was because of something he would never tell me about. 

Without explicit reasoning for his unwillingness to leave me by my lonesome, I could only conjure up theories and inferences that were never confirmed. My best guess was an accumulated paranoia caused by all of those cases he worked on. I’m betting there’s been more than one instance where a woman was home alone and ended up dead one way or another, and after all that he’d seen, he couldn’t let the same thing happen to me. If for no other reason than he just didn’t want to slave over another case like this and have me be the victim in it. He’d seen it too many times to not learn his lesson. And trust me - Spencer Reid is not a person who needed to be taught something twice. 

But before I lived with him, I was never scared of being home alone. In fact, I might’ve actually preferred to be alone as opposed to being in the company of someone else, but I think my compliance with his precautionary procedures made me weaker. After years of living with Spencer’s routine, I relied on it for my safety. I’d gotten so used to the luxury of having somebody around when he was away that this loneliness was so unfamiliar that it left me uneasy. By now, I’ve associated the presence of another person with the feeling of being safe, and conversely, I now associate being alone with being in danger. 

So if you asked me to sum up how I was currently feeling alone in this storm in one word, I’d choose ‘uncomfortable’, but if you asked me to sum it up in two, my answer would be ‘in danger.’

It wasn’t until the situation presented itself that I realized I’d never been forced to deal with it, so I never knew what to do when it happened. Never before had I needed to call Spencer while he was at work because prior arrangements had always been made in advance, but I hadn’t heard from him since noon when he told me that he was boarding the jet and he’d be home before I came home from work. Was it inappropriate to call him while he was working? I wouldn’t know - I never had to do this before. 

But then again, he called me when he said he was about to board the jet, so if I called him, maybe he was still on the jet and it wouldn’t be bothering him. Unless, they got another case as soon as they landed and it required his immediate attention and the thought of calling to let me know he wouldn’t be home yet completely slipped his mind. I could see that being a possibility too because even if I was totally oblivious about when to call him, I wasn’t blind to the mayhem his job involved. 

With no good reason to pester him with a phone call, I decided against it. After all, I was a big girl. I could be home alone. 

In fact, this was the perfect opportunity to do all the things I couldn’t do while someone was around. Plus, distracting myself was the only way I could ensure that I wouldn’t slip into the same downward spiral of paranoia that led Spencer to enforce this very system.

After my steamy shower, I wandered aimlessly around the apartment in just my towel and nothing else. This was something I hadn’t done since the days when I lived alone. Mainly because I didn’t want to leave so little to the imagination. Honestly, as much as I love Spencer platonically - I’m not blind. He’s obviously a very gorgeous, very single man for God’s sake, so the thought of prancing around in nothing but a rectangle of terry cloth had certainly crossed my mind once or twice, but if anything, wearing more clothing would attract his attention more than wearing less would. That’s just the way he is.

Second on my list of luxuries that came with alone-time was blasting music. This is something I hadn’t done in forever. Out of courtesy, whenever I played music, it would only be through my headphones, so Spencer wouldn’t be bothered by it. Even then, I think sometimes he could hear it faintly in the background while he read or studied his paperwork, but if he noticed, he never said anything. So to relish in my newfound freedom of aloneness, I turned my phone’s volume all the way up and danced ridiculously to it, too. Of course, the music wasn’t loud enough to disturb our neighbors - I wasn’t that insensitive - but it reached new volumes tonight. Louder than it ever had been in this apartment before. 

Somewhere in the middle of my impromptu concert, I heard something like knocking. It was a distinct enough sound to make me pause my music, but not so distinct that I could recognize where it came from. I wondered if it was a noise coming from my song, like when you’re playing music and you think someone called your name, but when you pause your music you realize no one actually did. But this … this was different. It was too real of a sound for me to be imagining it. I could hear it from exactly where I would normally hear knocking, but now that I was alone, and quite frankly - naked - hearing knocking made my stomach churn. 

“Hello?” I dumbly called out from my bedroom doorway into the living room.

This was a horror movie-esque choice, I’m aware, and it was usually made by the docile female only seconds before a murderer appeared and chased her up a flight of stairs that she’d somehow forgotten to properly ascend. But my thinking was if there really was someone knocking outside, they’d answer me, and I’d be able to detect the danger if necessary, but in true horror movie fashion, no one responded. Leaving me to hunt further to access the situation. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but my mind did exactly that. 

You’re about to be murdered. My conscience concluded. Or kidnapped. Or assaulted. Or violated. Or -

Knock! Knock!

My heart accelerated at a pace my lungs couldn’t support, not without heavy breathing. It was here where all my logic and rationality flew out the window because for some reason, I started tip-toeing to the door as if not making any sounds on the floorboards would somehow ensure my safety.

I didn’t know what I was trying to prove by finally grasping the doorknob with the intentions of turning it open, but it certainly didn’t prove I was a “big girl” or that I was any less scared because as quickly as I had touched the knob, I just as quickly recoiled my hand away from it and ran to my purse to find my phone. 

Matching the speed of lightning, I dialed Spencer and sighed a quick sigh of relief when I heard the line ringing. That was a good sign. 

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” I pleaded to myself as if God would hear it and grant me my prayer. “Please pick up, please pick up.” 

“The number you are trying to reach (702) -“

“Fuck!” 

That’s never happened before either. He never sent me to voicemail, not even when he was away and asleep. He’d always answer my call. This wasn’t a good sign. 

The knocking went away minutes ago, but my fear hadn’t. I couldn’t tell you what exactly was so scary to me, but all I knew is that I would feel a whole lot better, and honestly - a whole lot safer - when Spencer came home. 

“Come on, Spencer. Where are you?” I tried his cell phone probably three more times after the first call, my hope decreasing with each dial tone.

There was nothing I could do but wait. After all those missed calls, he’d have to call me back sometime, but I just hoped he’d be home before it’d get to that. 

My trepidation clearly clouded my judgement because rather than putting on clothes first and having my priorities in order, I was already reaching for the spare gun I knew Spencer kept in his bedside drawer. He didn’t know I knew it was there, but I did. And I planned to use it tonight if it came down to it. 

One hand held the top of my towel up from falling while the other shakily clenched a gun. 

Before this, I’d never actually held one before, but then again, there’s a lot of ‘firsts’ I was experiencing tonight. 

I didn’t expect it to be so heavy - and I don’t mean the actual size, but the weight of the object itself. This thing could take so many people’s lives, and I was holding it. It was a nauseating feeling, but my rapt fascination wouldn’t let me put it down. I had never noticed how intricate the contraption was. There were so many little details, so many little parts that needed to work harmoniously in order for it to carry out its function. I was only made more aware of just how many parts there were inside the gun because of my shaky hand unconsciously rattling the magazine inside. 

The clip sounded nearly empty. Jesus, Spencer, how many times have you had to use this thing?

My thoughts were cut short when the sound at the door returned. It didn’t sound like knocking, but something much worse. 

Someone was coming in. 

I wasn’t yet prepared for the worst so rather than confronting it outside, I stayed hidden within Spencer’s room ready to shoot when they finally came into my line of sight. 

If you were an intruder, I don’t think you’d be very intimidated at the sight of me, but for some reason, I still felt rather powerful. My hair was like strings draping over my shoulders since it was still damp, and the one hand I was using to hold the gun (the other being used as a towel holder) was shaking violently. I could barely carry this thing with one hand, and yet I still couldn’t put it down. 

I needed protection. 

I needed Spencer. 

I could hear footsteps slowly trailing in, and it seemed like the slower they walked, the faster my heart beat. 

“Who’s there?” My voice was loud, but it wasn’t nearly as threatening as it should’ve been to scare somebody. The dominance in my tone was clearly stolen by my fear. 

I saw a figure loom into the space between Spencer’s bedroom door frame and the living room, which was adequate distance for shooting, so with only partial hesitation, I nearly pulled the trigger.

“Shit!” The figure ducked their head while their hands raised into the air to suggest harmlessness - something a suspect would do to surrender. 

“(Y/n), put down the gun! Put down the gun! It’s me! It’s Spencer!” 

I could recognize his voice, but the storm’s darkness hid his face from me so I was still skeptical. It wasn’t until he swiftly came into the light to take the gun out of my hands that the small flicker of city lights illuminated his face. 

Spencer!

As soon as I could make out his perfect nose and his amber eyes, I melted into his already open embrace. I entered his arms wordlessly and shut my eyes so solidly with such relief that a tear escaped. 

“Hey, hey … you’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay, my dear.” He took my face in his hands to read me, and I think he must’ve seen my tears because his voice never travelled above a whisper. Maybe he thought if he spoke even a decibel louder, I’d shatter. He let my head travel back to his sternum, the warmest spot on his body, and again, he embraced me in a hug. His hands hovered in the air for a moment while he tried to find an appropriate place to put them - like I said before, he’d never seen me in just a towel, but he didn’t mention it. Instead, he threw his good manners out the window and hugged me just as tightly as he would’ve had there been more covering me than just terry cloth. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m right here.”

He held me for longer than normal, but he knew the circumstances were different here. Maybe that’s why he kept a single arm around me even when he travelled to his dresser where he collected an old t-shirt that he would go on to slide over me. I let the towel drop when the t-shirt was fully on, creating a sort of magic trick, where he never saw my naked body. But that wasn’t exactly true. 

I didn’t need to be without clothes to be naked. I was naked right now, even in his shirt - completely and totally vulnerable. He could see the plain fear that held me prisoner tonight, and so he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. 

“Do you wanna sleep in my room tonight?” 

I nodded into his chest without a spoken word. He knew I would still be scared, and in some way, I think his doting treatment was how he believed he could make it up to me. He even helped me into his sheets, taking the time to tuck me in like a child. I realized later though, he might’ve only tucked me in so the movement of the bedsheets would mask the sound of him carefully sliding his gun back into its rightful spot in his drawer. 

“Where were you?” I finally croaked, neglecting to add, ‘I needed you.’ It would’ve been redundant. He knew I needed him.

“The storm knocked over a telephone pole just a mile away. I was almost home when it happened.” 

Somehow hearing that he was so close only made me more frustrated. Here I was, thinking I was on the verge of death when Spencer was literally just a few blocks down the street. 

“You scared me when you didn’t answer my calls.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t see them until I was at the front door. I was too busy focusing on getting home to you as soon as possible while still driving safely through the storm.” 

With my eyes already shut, I could imagine him, his hands at ten and two on the wheel, his eyes straightward with nothing else in sight but the road ahead of him, his motivation to get home to the person who needed him most being what propelled that car forward - not even the gas. 

“I love you, you know that?” He whispered into my hair, where his fingers were already laced. 

“I know. And I love you, too.” I honestly replied. That’s why I need you here with me. It’s the only way I feel safe. 

I would’ve gone to sleep right then and there, but I was stuck on the fact that he was just a mile away this entire time. Maybe that was the point, though. 

He was never too far away. He was always right there, in one way or another. 

“In the morning, I have to leave at 7, so I’ll drop you off at the library.” What’d I tell you? He always made arrangements for me so I’d never ever be left alone. “So in the car ride there, you can tell me why you were about to shoot me.” 

After his statement was the first time I laughed that night. I nudged him to show my playful disapproval of his jest. 

“I thought you were an intruder!” My voice finally regained its volume. “You scared the shit out of me when you walked in.” 

Our laughter faded to silence and it seemed like that would conclude the night’s conversations, but I could still hear the gears in Spencer’s brain turning. 

“Hey, wait a minute - how did you even know I had a spare gun in my drawer?” 

To his question, I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to answer, exaggerating my snores to emphasize my blatant sarcasm. 

“Answer me!” He persisted; I could hear him smiling.

But I only smirked against his chest and coquettishly cooed, “Goodnight, Spencer.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

taglist: @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny

comment/message me to be added to taglist!

[evening-starlight]

Warm Beers

Taglist is open! Dm or comment to be added.

I’ve decided to put this story on an schedule! Monday, Wednesday, Friday.

This also takes place before Season One

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

4

Word Count: 1478

    Shoupe watches his daughter run around the house like a chicken with her head cut off, smirking into his coffee cup as Kenzie nearly trips up the stairs while trying to put on her shoes. "Can't go to work if you're dead, Z," Victor calls up as he makes his way to the front door after it rang. He smiles as she gives a sarcastic laugh from the bathroom.

    When he sees JJ behind the door, his smile falls. "What do you want, Maybank?" He asks, blocking the doorway as JJ takes a peep inside.

    "Well, sir, I was wondering if Ken could come out and play?" He asks, smiling up at Kenzie's father innocently. Shoupe rolls his eyes and opens the door, calling up to his daughter.

    "Z, your little friend is here to play." Kenzie's dad turns to the boy again. "She's upstairs. Don't touch anything on your way up," He waves off the boy and goes back to the kitchen. As much as he didn't like McKenzie hanging out with the Pouges, he would tolerate it over some Kooks he knows.

    JJ skips upstairs, looking around for Kenzie. She comes out of the bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, shorts unzipped, and only a bra over her chest. The surprised noise she makes is muffled by her brush, not expecting JJ to be here this morning. "Good morning, Ken," JJ laughs, wiping toothpaste off her chin, trying hard not to look down. Sure, he's seen her in a bikini before, but this was way more intimate.

    McKenzie waves hello with a muffled good morning before dipping back into the bathroom. "Where are you going this early?" JJ asks but only gets a waiting finger in response. The boy leans against the doorframe and watches as Kenzie struggles to brush her teeth and hair with opposite hands. "Jesus Christ, Shoupe J.," He laughs, taking the hairbrush from her so he can help her in her hurry.

    Her hair is soft and silky, easily untangled in JJ's hands. He's felt it before, but this time it felt different. Like the clouds were in his hands. JJ finishes brushing the delicate hair and holds it back as his friend goes to spit. "Thank you," She says breathlessly. "I got called into work today," Kenzie explains as she pushes past JJ and towards her room quickly. "Half the staff called out because someone spiked the punch at last night's Kook party with laxatives. So now I have to cover for six fucking people on a damn Saturday."

    McKenzie continues to rant as she pulls the Kildare Surf Shop shirt over her head. The dress code was extremely lax at work, so she turned the ugly unisex t-shirt into a cropped tank, feeling better with fewer clothes in the shop with a broken A/C. She looks over at JJ with pleading green eyes. "Pray for me because I will die today. It's supposed to be one-hundred degrees and prime Touron season." JJ laughs and pulls her into a tight hug.

    "You'll be fine, Ken. I'll bring the gang around to hang, okay?" Kenzie nods into his chest, careful not to smudge her makeup. "Need a ride?" He asks. McKenzie looks up at him, eyebrow arched as she smiles up at JJ.

    "Is that just an excuse so that you have to pick me up?" JJ makes a thinking face, looking away from Kenzie as she continues to smile.

    "Mm, yeah, it is," JJ admits, making Kenzie laugh before pulling away from him.

    "Fine, but you're buying me lunch today," McKenzie laughs, grabbing her phone and butterfly pattern backpack. Then, with a quick hug to her father, Kenzie runs out of the house behind JJ.

    She stops in her tracks when she sees JJ swing his foot over his bike. "What's the matter, scared of a little motorcycle action, Princess?" McKenzie can't help the slight shiver that runs down her spine at the pet name. She walks up to JJ, snatching the helmet from his hands with a huff. JJ smiles and starts the cycle up and takes off when Kenzie sets her hands on his hips.

    JJ can't help the wide smile that spreads across his face as Kenzie slips her arms around his middle tightly, resting her cheek against his shoulder as they zip through traffic and towards the main shop. The rumbling in his stomach begins again, annoying JJ to the bone.

    It was ten in the morning, and he hasn't drunk anything yet. Maybe it was that he didn't eat before speeding to the Shoupe household or drink water. Who's he kidding? He never drinks water.

    The disappointment when JJ sees the surf shop come into view is confusing, considering he loved everything about that store. The feeling is heightened when McKenzie pulls her arms off his middle when he parks out front.

    "Thanks for the ride, J. I'll see you at lunch?" She asks, pulling the helmet off. The way her brown hair, with slightly sun-bleached ends, cascades down to her shoulders as she shakes her head makes his stomach churn even more. He really needs some food and fast. JJ's at a loss for words for an unknown reason, so he just nods his head. Kenzie giggles and speed walks into the store, opening the door for some tourons.

    JJ can't tear his eyes away from her retreating form until the door closes behind her. He shakes his head clear of the blur and drives off towards the chateau until McKenzie's lunch break.

    The two hours leading up to Kenzie's lunch break seem like torture. JJ has an insatiable need to be by McKenzie that just seems to grow the more he hangs out with her. He just wants to be near her and feel her skin on his. There was nothing more JJ needed than to have McKenzie Shoupe next to him at all times.

    He all but bursts through the shop doors, takeout bag in hand and eyes searching for his favorite girl. His eyes find Kenzie, but his chest tightens at the sight of her twirling her hair for some jackass touron in a leather jacket. She giggles and brushes his arm slightly at whatever lame joke he said.

    Kenzie was absolutely flirting with the boy in front of her. He was handsome, and she had a weakness for leather jackets. His blue eyes danced in the shop light, and his jawline was sharper than her wit. "How about," She starts, getting a paper and pen. "When I get off at four, you give me a call, and we can go surfing together?" Kenzie asks as she jots down her number.

    As the boy, Theo, leaves, Kenzie sees JJ standing in the corner, scowling as the boy passes him. Kenzie quickly taps her co-worker's shoulder and informs him she'll be in the back with her friend. "J," She calls, pulling JJ out of his angry stare down. He follows her into the back room, smiling at Kenzie's co-worker as he passes.

    "Who was that idiot?" JJ asks, sitting across from McKenzie in the break room. She giggles and pulls her food out of the bag, starving after having nothing more than half a protein shake for breakfast.

    "Why, Maybank, jealous?" Kenzie teases, biting down into the burger and moaning as the taste dances across her taste buds.

    "No, just didn't peg you as the touron type, Ken," JJ says, biting into his hamburger as well. She snorts and covers her mouth to stop the food from coming out.

    "For being my best friend, you sure don't know much about me, JJ," Kenzie says. JJ rolls his eyes, not really wanting to talk about her sex life. "You know how many times I've taken a touron back to the chateau during parties? Or literally in the woods, J?" He chokes on his food, staring at Kenzie with wide eyes and tries to ignore the tightening in his jeans.

    "Didn't know my best friend was a kinky whore," JJ's words come out harsher than he meant, immediately looking up for forgiveness. Kenzie stares at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. They stare each other down, neither blinking. "Ken, I am so sorry," JJ starts. His best friend's smile shows through her facade, making him stop. She starts to giggle and soon laughs with her head thrown back.

    JJ can't help but laugh along, Kenzie's laugh being contagious. "JJ, it's not like," Kenzie says between breaths. "I haven't heard you in the bedroom with tourons either." She brings a fry up to her mouth, staring JJ in the eye as her's glint with sarcasm and mischief. "Daddy."

    JJ chokes on his spit, not expecting that word to come out of McKenzie Shoupe's mouth. "Shut up," He mumbles, focusing on the burger instead of the constant tightening in his jeans.

Taglist: @gwenlovesharrystyles​ @x-lulu

[thosewickedlovelies]

Into the Woods: chapter 2  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Instagram stalking ensues. Will you run into Frankie again?

Tags: no warnings AGAIN this is weird for me too but as mentioned I do have some smut planned for these two if anyone needs more incentive to read lmfao

Word Count: 2,783

A/N: As always, endless love to @yoditorian for this idea and her supervision of my writing about a social media platform I do not use 💗💚💗

Backstory / chap 1 /

---

Later that night, Frankie sits at his desk, poring over maps both digital and physical. Where could you live to have traveled to the same point in the forest as him within a day? He’s hiked along the edge of his side of the woods, and knows that unless he’s missed some major construction, you can’t be there. So now he studies the other side of the treeline, looking at the closeness of the towns, any tiny side roads that could lead to individual houses like his own. But his frustration is growing.

There aren’t any. Not any within feasible walking distance, at least. And you hadn’t been grubby enough to have been camping. Frankie frowns, tracing the small highway which cuts through the forest. There, not far from the turnoff to his home, was a parking lot at the start of a web of trails through the woodland. If you started there and completely ignored the predetermined paths, heading a course straight for the pond...

“Huh,” Frankie murmurs. It wasn’t much further of a hike than his own. So that means you don’t live within walking distance- he shakes off an odd twinge of disappointment at that- but he does have an idea of your hiking range, if he felt like trying to seek you out.

He shakes his head. Don’t be weird. That was something Santiago might do- deliberately roam where he knew you regularly went in order to find you again. Frankie isn’t nearly so forward. His style is slower, less aggressive. What he’s already planning is his next cooking trip to the pond. Plants need water, and you forage for plants- he figures it’s a likely spot to run into you a second time.

Frankie hadn’t spoken to you again after you’d parted today. Only caught glimpses of you through the trees, from where he had dutifully remained by his fire. But at some point between the twisting of the campfire smoke from one way to another you had vanished, and not long after, Oso had returned to him, flopping down on her side with a satisfied huff.

He snorted. “Well, I’m glad you got to make a new friend.” Frankie rubbed her belly with only a little jealousy.

Now, feeling restless, he decides to upload the pictures he took today. He’s almost immediately distracted, however, by a string of likes from a new follower- concluding with a familiar photo of Oso and Gloriana. A prickle of excitement runs through him at a reference to foraging in the username. No way.

Frankie leans forward in his seat, straining for a closer look at the profile picture. A grin spreads across his face when the page finally loads.

It’s you. You, mid-laugh, perched comfortably up on a sturdy tree branch. He quickly scrolls down to confirm; but this is definitely you. Lots of photos of plants, and woodland that looks remarkably familiar. Your bare feet in a stream. A busy street at afarmer’s market, you smiling with a stall owner.

Frankie laughs out loud at the sheer absurdity of it. Here he was, worried about coming off as a mega-creep, and you’ve already shamelessly checked him out on instagram. He’s never hit ‘Follow Back’ so fast in his life.

--

You try to quash the squirmy anticipation in your belly as you pull on your pack, organizing yourself for the walk ahead. There’s no reason to get excited, you scold yourself. Even if you do see Frankie again, you still don’t really know anything about him.

You’d tried to stalk him online, but there wasn’t much information to go off of from his instagram photos. The pictures themselves spoke volumes, though. You’d always thought you could tell a little something of people’s personalities from what they posted, especially from pictures with their friends. Frankie’s main group of friends had a certain look about them- military maybe, a sort of cocky surety in their posturing. Despite this, they’re often grinning in candid moments, a relaxed, unself-conscious affection between the men which endeared them to you. Them, and Frankie. It’s a shame he doesn’t post more photos of himself. You recall again the sight of him in the woods, shafts of sunlight striking his expressive features, illuminating his kind smile and earthen eyes.

Then you shake your head. Too much time alone with your ever-churning thoughts have you romanticizing your meeting, when in reality you have no reason to expect to run into him again. He’d said he was out there all the time, but you’d never spotted evidence of any fires, or of a giant dog gallivanting around the place. Maybe he didn’t mean the pond specifically, but the forest in general.

“Argh!” Looking around, you stomp your foot in frustration. In your distraction, your walking pace had slowed, and you weren’t as far along in your hike as you should have been. Resolving to focus on your surroundings (because you won’t see Frankie again if you don’t get to the pond in good time), you splash some water on your face to refresh yourself and stride onward.

As you get closer to your pond, you slow down again, this time deliberately. All your senses strain for any sign of Frankie, but you don’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary. Then you smell it.

Smoke.

For a moment you panic. Is it wildfire season? Can you run away from a forest fire? Who do you call for this??

Then you smell something else- something familiar and edible- and you nearly pop yourself in the forehead. Of course you smell smoke, you idiot. What did Frankie say he did out here?? Cooked. You were literally just thinking about his instagram.

What is that smell? You have got to see this.

You step carefully to avoid making too much noise in the brush. Now that you’re looking for it, the gray haze of campfire smoke is obvious as it drifts through the trees. You give its source a wide berth, hoping for a chance to observe Frankie without him knowing.

Your wish is granted. You’ve come at him from the side, and now have an excellent view of his profile, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stirs something in the heavy-looking pan in front of him. After a minute he looks satisfied, and retrieves the pan’s lid from behind him, arcing his arm carefully over the flames as he places it. Frankie sits back, a gusty sigh blowing from his lips.  As you watch, he tosses his cap to the side, running his hands through loose curls and scratching his fingers across his scalp. You bite your lip in a smile at the sight of his moment of self-indulgence.

You scan Frankie’s setup and the area around him, searching for-

“Ruff!” The dog you were looking for crashes through the bushes beside you, and you yelp in surprise, automatically stooping to soothe her.

Dammit, how does such a large animal keep sneaking up on you?

“Oso?” Frankie calls. He’s standing now, still hatless, a few steps closer to you than where he’d been sitting. He glances uncertainly between the fire and your approximate location. You hear him try your name next.

You swear quietly. “No, not you,” you add to Oso.

“It’s me,” you reply, straightening. “Sorry, Oso got me again.”

The pleased, upward tilt of his lips reverses as he shakes a stern finger at his dog, whose ears perk happily at all the attention. “What did I tell you? No more accosting strangers!” he scolds, though he doesn’t sound the least bit upset.

With a expectant glance at you, Oso trots back over to him. Frankie ruffles her ears, definitively undermining any negative impact his words might have had. You regard each other tentatively.

“Hi,” you say lamely.

His face crinkles back up into a smile. “Hi,” he returns. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Every possible conversation you’d mentally practiced since your first meeting flew right out of your head. “Well, you know.” You shrug lightly. “A person’s gotta eat.” Inwardly you cringe.

But Frankie is unphased. “I’d be really interested to hear about the kinds of stuff you find out here. This is almost ready, if you don’t feel like foraging for your lunch today.” He gestures behind him to the pan on the fire.

You hesitate, and Frankie seems to sense your uncertainty. “Only if you want.” He holds his hands up in a universal ‘no pressure’ sign, even going so far as to take a step back in emphasis.

You tell yourself to stop being so paranoid. This is what you wanted, after all. All your curiosity comes surging back as the wind shifts and the smell of his cooking sets your stomach growling. “Okay,” you agree. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Great!” Frankie beams. He turns- and promptly trips over Oso, still sitting beside him.

“Fuck!” He curses, hands hitting the ground on the other side of his dog.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. Is he always this prone to falling over? “Are you okay?” You make your way over to them.

“Yeah.” Now upright, Frankie seems flustered to find you so much nearer than before, his gaze flitting over you before he remembers himself. He turns to crouch by the fire again, snatching up his hat and re-securing it on his head.

You seat yourself a short distance away and observe. Oso has reclined on her belly on Frankie’s other side, her eager gaze fixed on the pan as he prods the food. Apparently deeming it finished, he retrieves three paper bowls from his bag and fills one each for you, himself, and Oso. With a small flourish and a nervous smile, he presents yours to you.

“Thank you.” You feel like maybe you should say something else, but he’s already moved to face Oso, murmuring something to her while he gives her her bowl. You decide to let the food do the talking.

And are glad you did when fresh, vibrant flavors flood your tongue. Your eyes flutter wide with surprise. “Wow, this is...incredible. How did you..?” You look between the steaming pan and his rucksack, unable to reconcile the feast of flavors in your bowl with how much you’d have to carry out here to achieve it.

The man blushes at your praise, gaze lowering briefly to hide his pleasure, but he looks back up at your question. “Trade secrets,” Frankie says solemnly. Then he drops the expression with a little laugh, his confidence clearly bolstered by your amazement.

“Just kidding, I’ll tell you. If-” he points his plastic spoon at you “-you tell me how we haven’t crossed paths before.”

That’s a fair deal, especially if it means you get to learn more about him. “I’ll do my best,” you promise. In between bites, you outline your gradual exploration of your surroundings upon moving into a nearby village a little over two years ago. This year, you decided to strike out into new territory- this forest.

“I found this pond pretty quickly and saw the blackberry bushes right at the end of the season last year. I’ve been coming here ever since, keeping an eye on it I guess. But this whole wood is really a gold mine.”

Frankie looks fascinated. “I had no idea. I know some plants, but I couldn’t even begin to guess what all is out here.” His mouth opens to ask more questions, but it’s your turn now.

“What about you?” you quiz. “How have I not seen you before if you’re out here ‘all the time’?”

“Well, I’ve been working my way over from the other side of the hill.” Frankie explains, gesturing to the gentle ascending slope behind him. “I only found this place earlier this year. Didn’t know it was someone else’s territory.” He offers an apologetic grin, and you duck your head, feeling a silly, pleased warmth in your cheeks.

“Anyway, I moved into my place over there about five years ago? But I had a lot to do at first. I made a ton of improvements to the house, I was starting a garden. The hiking was kind of a refuge from that at first, a way to quiet my thoughts when I was stressing myself out.” He admits this last part without looking at you, as if his stress is somehow something to be ashamed of.

“But then I realized that I actually enjoyed it, and it made me feel safer to know the woods in so much detail. So I made it a hobby. Started taking longer walks, mapping where I’d been. Brought whole meals instead of little snacks,” he adds wryly.

You laugh as his humor registers, completely engrossed in Frankie’s tale. He seems to notice this suddenly, and shuffles a little under your attention. “So that’s me,” he concludes, clearing his throat self-consciously.

Any foraging you intended to do today has long been forgotten. You’ve been sitting with your backpack on long enough that your shoulders have begun to ache, and you sling it off impatiently. Frankie seems to further relax himself at the sight of you settling in, leaning back on his hands, his empty bowl given to Oso to lick clean.

There’s one question that hasn’t been answered. “...so how did you end up on instagram?” you probe.

He laughs outright. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Frankie teases. His lopsided grin suggests he knows the impression he gives off. His mirth is infectious, and you find yourself grinning back at him, although you refuse to be embarrassed. He was the one who had thrown his phone at you, after all. And he had stalked your profile right back.

“Well, I’m no photographer,” he begins. “But I like the act of taking pictures. Really stopping and looking at what’s around you, what captures your attention. I was in the army before this, and it was just in-and-out of so many places, not actually experiencing anywhere for real…” Frankie watches you from the corner of his eye, speaking slowly, as if reluctant to say something which might change your opinion of him.

“My friend’s wife- the one whose kid I’m godfather to- suggested I use instagram as a way to organize my photos, but also ‘so they know I’m still alive out here.’” He chuckles. “I kinda like it now- it’s like a public diary. Mostly it was a relief to find that I’m not the only weirdo out there who likes cooking in the woods.”

You breathe a laugh reflexively, but your mind is turning over his words. I keep an instagram, he’d said before. Like a diary. Well, that’s...really cute, actually.

“Well, that makes me feel really shallow,” you joke, unable to think of any deeper response to his unexpectedly meaningful answer.

“Nah.” Frankie dismisses your quip with an easy smile. He asks you about yourself, then. How you got into foraging, other questions inspired by the pictures he’d seen on your page.

For awhile you converse with the uncomplicated lightness of two strangers who know absolutely nothing about each other, but want to. As a dessert offering, you take out the tub of blackberries you’d gathered earlier. Frankie’s eyes widen at their size, fatter than any berry he’d see in the supermarkets.

His freely shared emotions- fascination, curiosity, delight- continue to confirm your impression of him. Safe. His mouth works as he savors the sweet fruit, lips puckering, head nodding in close-eyed approval.

You will yourself not to stare. Looking elsewhere, you glance up at the sky- and the angle of the sun sends you leaping to your feet. “Shit-”

Frankie startles. “What’s wrong?” He tenses, but remains seated. Oso jerks to wakefulness where she’d been dozing by his side.

“I’ve got to start back if I don’t want to be out here at night.” Hurriedly you check your phone to be sure of the time, your heart rate slowing upon seeing it’s not as late as you thought.

Frankie stands now to hand you back your container, still mostly full of berries. You pause. “Keep it,” you tell him. “Make yourself a campfire dessert.”

His lips part in surprise, but you step back before he can protest. “Or at least take them as a thank you. For the food...and the company.”

He purses his lips. “All right. I’ll save making dessert for next time, though.” He subtly searches for your reaction to his implied invitation.

Anticipation lightens your limbs, but you keep your feet firmly planted on the earth. “Next time.” You’re not sure you manage to smother the excitement in your smile.

---

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle, @tobealostwanderer

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it. 

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.”

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it.  I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming.  I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them.  By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner. 

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural.  Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell.  One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,”  I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did.  They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.” 

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched  to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air.  “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival.  Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious.  Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

<< Prev   Masterlist  Next >>

[goulets]

Heartland

Chapter: 2/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth Rating: T (for now) Case Fic/Kid Fic a03 link

The first suggestion is that Jason move back into his old room, just down the hall from Bruce's which is met with an unequivocal not on your fucking life, Bruce.

“Let's get one thing clear: I am not 'moving back in',” Jason hisses, glaring around at all of them. He's whispering so as not to wake the baby, and it doesn't come off quite as intimidating as he'd like. “I just need a bed to sleep in, that's it. Don't do me any fucking favors.”

Dick says, “There's an empty bedroom next to mine, it's not that big, and the bathroom is shared, but – ”

“Sold,” Jason says, and again, the infant sleeping in his arms makes a good old-fashioned broody storm-off kind of impractical.

(jason)

The first suggestion is that Jason move back into his old room, just down the hall from Bruce's which is met with an unequivocal not on your fucking life, Bruce.

“Let's get one thing clear: I am not 'moving back in',” Jason hisses, glaring around at all of them. He's whispering so as not to wake Danielle, and it doesn't come off quite as intimidating as he'd like. “I just need a bed to sleep in, that's it. Don't do me any fucking favors.”

Dick says, “There's an empty bedroom next to mine, it's not that big, and the bathroom is shared, but – ”

“Sold,” Jason says, and again, the infant sleeping in his arms makes a good old-fashioned broody storm-off kind of impractical.

“Okay,” Dick nods. “I'll, um, just show you then.” Bruce looks impassive, and Tim looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, as Dick walks past Jason and Jason follows him up the steps to the main part of the mansion.

Jason doesn't like following behind Dick. It's partly the principle of the thing, because he literally had to die and rise from the grave to get out of Dick's shadow, and even then, it's a matter of distance, and little more. He's far enough off the path of righteousness that the light that shines like a beacon onto Dick doesn't even touch him. So it feels like old news, a habit he grew out of long ago, walking behind Dick, tracing his footfalls, but it's so familiar he half expects to see those stupid fucking pixie boots on his feet when he looks down.

Then there's the other familiar part, the part he’s been struggling not to acknowledge, the awareness that’s been growing in the back of his mind since he set up camp in Gotham. Simply put, Dick is hot. His ass in spandex was the source of way too many semis popped Jason's stupid, flimsy little Robin shorts, and his ass in faded pajama pants is nothing short of miraculous either. But it's not just his body, although Jason wishes it was, not just the shape of his ass and the curve of his spine and the span of his shoulders – Dick is beautiful. He's elegant when he moves, when he laughs, when he's angry, when he's worried, when he's a fucking mess. It's impossible not to look at him, the attention he commands is probably partly due to the fact that he was raised a performer, and partly because that's just Dick.

Jason knows he's one in a long, heavily annotated list of people to fantasize about Dick Grayson. It used to keep him up at night when he was a kid, and not just in that way. There hadn't been a lot of tolerance in the streets for homosexuality – sure, it existed, Jason'd even been on the receiving end once or twice in the unlucky parts of his youth – but you didn't talk about it. So he'd suppressed it, save for those late night visits from his hand in the dark, and then he'd died. Been sprung from the grave, grew up a little, and came back to find that, surprise surprise, the world had grown up a little bit too, and not entirely for the worse. And since then, he's had encounters with men, women, couple aliens, and all that is whatever. This thing with Dick doesn't bother him on account of Dick, well, having a dick. Not anymore.

No, it bothers him because it's Dick fucking Grayson. Golden Boy, Boy Wonder, or as Jason likes to refer to him, Stupid Fucking Bastard With Stupid Fucking Sticks Who Just Won't Fucking Quit. Out of all of them, Dick's the most unchanged. Bruce is hardened, less trusting; Tim is broken; Jason is – whatever the fuck he is, beyond all hope, maybe; but Dick's never lost the spring in his step. Jason thinks he'll probably backflip right into death with a smile on his face, and he won't come back, because Dick is too damn good to be reanimated like some freakish perversion of nature. Jason calls Tim “Replacement” because it's true, Jason was replaceable, but Dick never was. Not that Jason had ever wanted to be his replacement – he hardly knows what he wanted to be to Dick then, even less what he wants to be to Dick now, but it sure as hell isn't some bullshit co-parenting gig with the whole family breathing down his neck.

Of all the fucking days he had to drag his ass down here to gossip.

Dick says, “So, this is it,” and Jason realizes they're outside his new room. The room he's staying in. The room the baby is staying in. That's all it is.

It's not small at all, of course, and the bathroom he's sharing with Dick is also not small, with a stand-up shower and a jacuzzi sized tub, because that's necessary, two sinks, and a ridiculous amount of storage space. He doesn't look at Dick's room, just takes in the furnishings of his own, a queen bed with slate-grey sheets, closet, dresser, desk, bookshelves with a good number of books already on them, and a little windowseat that for some reason makes the back of his throat feel itchy to look at.

Danielle makes a small noise in his arms, and something occurs to him. “Um, where's she supposed to sleep?” He's not an expert, but he's pretty sure babies need cradles – actually, and a lot of other shit, like diaper cream, special baby soap, pacifiers, those sling contraptions he sees people walking around with, and probably a billion other things he has no freaking clue about.

Dick says, “Huh. Good question.”

Helpful, Jason thinks. She can't sleep with him, can she? What if he rolls on top of her? What if she rolls off the bed? What if he has a nightmare and pummels her to death in his sleep? The thought makes him want to be sick, what is he thinking, trying to be some kind of fucking caregiver –

“Jason? You okay?”

Jason blinks. It dawns on him that he's been frozen in place for several seconds now, mind overloaded with the sheer volume of information he doesn't know, endless blank pages supplemented by a thoroughly sourced index of his fears. It's not like he planned for this – ever – he's pretty sure parental ineptitude runs in the family, because his mom sure as fuck never read What to Expect When You're Expecting.

He says, “Doesn't she need some kind of special baby doctor?”

Dick nods. “Bruce'll have Leslie come by and look at her soon. According to the hospital records, she missed her three-month check-in, so.”

“Dick.” Jason tries, and fails, probably, to keep the overwhelming helplessness he's feeling out of his voice. “What the fuck, man – this is crazy. I can't – I don't – where is she supposed to sleep?”

“I can answer that,” comes Alfred's clipped tone from the doorway. Jason turns to see the older man hauling an enormous, tall box into the room.

Jason says, “The hell?” at the same time that Dick rushes forward and says, “Here, let me help you,” and that about sums it up, he thinks.

“Her sleeping quarters,” Alfred says. He and Dick lay the box down, and Jason feels his stomach churn unpleasantly at the picture on the front of a smiling, drooling blonde-haired baby standing in a white wooden crib, fat little fists wrapped around the railing.

“You work fast, Alfie,” Dick comments, hauling another box into the room. This one says Changing Table on the side, and then Alfred pushes a rocking chair in, and Jason will be damned if it isn’t a whole fucking matching baby bedroom set.

“Where the hell did you even get this?” he asks, incredulous. He’s been at the manor two hours tops, hardly enough time for even Alfred to go out shopping for an entire room’s worth of furniture.

“Same-day delivery,” Alfred says smoothly. “I find that being a frequent, loyal customer expedites the process somewhat.”

“You don’t fucking say,” Jason mutters under his breath. Dick is now bringing in box after box of diapers, six huge shopping bags full of baby crap Jason would rather do just about anything than sort through, and some disassembled swing-looking contraption that promises “15 soothing melodies and nature sounds”. The room, suddenly, doesn’t seem so big anymore.

“Hmm,” Dick frowns, looking around. He must be noticing the same thing as Jason. “Honestly, I don’t see all this fitting in here. Alfie, what do you think?”

“You have the adjoining room, do you not, Master Richard?” Alfred replies. He surveys their haul, looking satisfied. Jason feels a tiny bit like he’s going to have a nervous breakdown, which is more or less where he’s been since Danielle was placed in his arms to begin with.

He’d been deadly serious when he’d told Bruce that he’d take her and protect her, but true to half-cocked form, he hadn’t even begun to parse out what that meant. Now that he’s standing in a room that looks like a Babies R’ Us blew up in it, with a human being the size of a loaf of bread snoozing and twitching in his arms, he doesn’t know what he could have possibly been thinking. What Bruce could possibly have been thinking, letting him walk away with her.

Well. Actually, Jason thinks, that about tracks for Bruce’s idea of fatherhood. In Jason’s experience, anyways.

“We’ll put the crib here, I think,” Dick says, leaning the box against the wall opposite the bed. “Changing table can go next to it, and I guess put the rocking chair in the other corner? Bottle stuff should go in the bathroom, and, hmm…” he trails off. “Yeah, we’ll just put the swing in my room. Don’t worry about it, Alfie, I’ll take care of it. You’ve done more than enough, seriously.”

“I’ll leave it to you boys, then,” Alfred says, picking up some of the discarded shopping bags and tucking them under his arm. He gives Jason a long look, like there’s something he wants to say, but seems to think better of it. Jason doesn’t know whether or not to be disappointed.

The silence that falls once Alfred leaves is awkward, bordering on oppressive. Dick doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps opening boxes and stuffing things in drawers and putting on a show of looking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Jason knows better - can see how haphazardly he’s putting things away, how he’s moving around just to avoid being still. It’s a relief, in a way, to know that he’s not the only one completely out of his depth.

Still, he can’t deny Dick is being about a billion times more useful than him. What else is new.

“I’m just gonna stick this in the closet,” Dick says about a box containing a carseat. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Jason frowns. His car right now is a piece of crap Volvo that certainly shouldn't be hauling around anything as fragile as a baby. Not like he can take her on the bike, either. If they have to make a quick getaway, he’s looking at one-handed free running, or getting some new wheels posthaste.

Danielle grunts and yawns, stretching her tiny hands up and clawing at the material of his jacket. He pats her back, and she settles back into the crook of his arm. It tears at him, a little, watching her burrow into the leather, mouth occasionally opening and sucking, leaving little damp spots in her wake. She’s warm as hell now, practically a furnace, and he frankly wishes he had taken the damn jacket off before she got all comfortable, but he’d rather eat his own gun than put her down. It’s shocking to realize, but he wants her to be closer, wants to hold her right against his skin, against his heartbeat. He’s never felt this way about anything before, about anyone.

He clears his throat. “You seem bizarrely familiar with all this crap,” he says to Dick. “How do you - I mean, I don’t even have a clue what that thing is,” he gestures to the piece of fabric Dick is holding. It looks like the world’s longest scarf.

“It’s a wrap,” Dick says. “It’s for holding the baby. Or ‘wearing’, I think they call it. It’s nice for keeping your hands free. Roy had one for Lian, but it had a lot more buckles than this.”

Jason blinks. Roy, of course. Roy’s told him how much Dick has helped him out when he got full custody of Lian, back when she was still a baby. No wonder Dick is able to snap into action so easily. Jason’s spent a little time around Roy’s daughter, but she’s usually with her grandparents when they get together. For the best, since most of his team-ups with Roy have ended in shootouts and/or catastrophic explosions.

Just another reason he has absolutely no fucking business being anywhere near an infant.

“Hey,” Tim says from the doorway. “Um, here’s this pillow thing.” He holds out a box labeled Infant Lounger, and Jason is officially calling bullshit, there’s absolutely no way babies need this many goddamn surfaces to simply exist upon when, as far as he can tell from his one hour of baby experience, there’s no chance you’d ever want to put one down anyways. It’s all just one big racket - except for the diapers, probably.

“Thanks, Tim,” Dick sighs, opening the box and pulling out the lounger. It’s covered in a cutesy little whale pattern. “Well, that’s adorable, isn’t it?”

Tim looks skeptical. “If you say so.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “You didn’t come up here just to deliver a whale pillow, Replacement.” Dick shoots him a reproachful look, but screw him. “What’d you find out?”

Tim, to his credit, looks relieved to have an excuse to get to the real reason he’s there. “Well, we can officially rule out anyone from Intergang as a suspect. Their whole operation is a bust now. Word is Mannheim is pulling all the survivors out and regrouping, probably off-world.” He nods to Jason. “We’ve ruled the League of Assassins out, too.”

“So, who does that leave?” Dick asks. “Locals? Who are the major players in the East End?”

“There aren’t any,” Tim says. “The whole neighborhood’s been a power vacuum since...well.”

“Since me,” Jason snorts.

“It’s all small-time gangs, nobody with the firepower or the logistic capability to pull something like this off,” Tim goes on. “Which means we’re either looking at somebody new, or there’s a major territory grab that we somehow haven’t caught wind of.”

“Who patrols the East End now, anyways?” Jason asks.

“Nobody, unless Barbara sends the Birds out there. Used to be you,” Tim says mildly.

Jason works his jaw. “Last I checked, your boss is the one who wanted me out of there.”

“Last I checked, you didn’t take orders from him,” Tim replies, voice cool and even. Jason suddenly understands what an infant lounger is for - it’s a safe resting spot to hold your baby when you need both hands to throttle your aggravating family members.

“Oh, knock it off, both of you,” Dick says irritably. “Tim, are you running down leads for this?”

“I guess so,” Tim shrugs. “I was here on the Intergang expansion in the first place. Bruce and I are going to check out the bodies later this evening, get ballistics reports and see what else we can find. The paperwork is coming in pretty slow on the law enforcement side of things.”

Jason twists his mouth in disgust. “GCPD, dragging their heels? Shocking.”

“Pretty much,” Tim affirms. “They’re just happy the Intergang faction’s dealt with. I don’t think they want to look into it too closely.”

Even with a baby on the hit list, Jason thinks bitterly. It’s enough to make a person want to pick up and move altogether.

Danielle moves suddenly in his arms, stretching her tiny body and kicking one leg out against his ribs. She whines, twisting her head away, and when she turns back to look at him, her brown eyes are wide and watery.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “Dick, help. She doesn’t look happy to see me.”

Dick appears at his shoulder. Danielle whines again, flailing her limbs against Jason’s chest.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Dick coos, right in Jason’s ear. Oh, sweet Jesus, Jason did not think this one through at all. He feels his face flush, and has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at Dick to back the fuck up.

“Look at you,” Dick goes on, oblivious. “You’re awake now, huh? You need some attention, sweetie?” His breath is warm against Jason’s neck. Jason is going to crawl out of his skin.

Danielle’s eyes flicker towards the sound of Dick’s voice. She grunts, then turns abruptly and mouths at Jason’s armpit. Jason feels like his heart is gonna jump out of his goddamn throat. It’s been - God, he doesn’t even know, months? The better part of a year? - since he was this close to another person without his helmet on. His brain is screaming at him, escape, fight, neutralize, but even louder, there’s a piece of him overriding everything, a fist deep in his chest clenched around something he thought he’d left back in the Pit.

Danielle whines louder, kicking, and the fist clenches tighter.

“I don’t - ” he starts to say. His voice comes out breathy and ragged, he stops. Swallows. Get a grip, for fuck’s sake. “Maybe you should take her, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”

“Just rock her,” Dick suggests. His arm comes around to Jason’s elbow, and now Jason can’t help it, he jerks away violently. The little body in his arms goes stock still for a moment, hiccups, and then the sound of wailing fills the room.

Jason swears. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, like that means a damn thing to a baby. “Shit, I’m really sorry, Danielle.” He holds her upright against his shoulder, rubbing her back like he’s seen Roy do with Lian when she’s upset. “I’m an asshole, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She hiccups again, and makes a displeased noise that sounds vaguely chastising. Fair enough, he deserves it. Anything is better than crying.

Dick is looking at him, overbright, and Jason averts his eyes. Briefly, he makes eye contact with Tim, who looks incredibly uncomfortable. Good.

“I think we’ll leave the morgue investigation to you guys,” Dick says to Tim. He seems to have realized he overstepped. “There’s a lot to do here, and I still have my regular patrol. I’m guessing you’re going to the docks this evening,” he addresses Jason.

“I want to, but.” Jason rocks Danielle pointedly. “Kinda got my hands full here.”

“You don’t think we can leave her for a few hours?”

“What the fuck, no,” Jason says, incredulous. “Even if she wasn’t being targeted by some psycho, you can’t just leave a baby, what’s wrong with you.”

“Even I knew that,” Tim says, obnoxiously.

“She wouldn’t be alone, jeez,” Dick protests. “Alfred is here.”

“I’m protecting her,” Jason reminds him darkly. “Alfred has enough shit on his plate.”

“Okay,” Dick says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “She’s pretty attached to you anyways, so you’re right, it’s probably best if we do that.”

Jason isn’t sure whether or not he’s being patronized, but flips Dick the bird just to be safe. Dick pretends not to notice.

“Drake, your input is being requested in the Cave,” Damian announces from the doorway. Christ, it’s a whole fucking family reunion, and he can’t escape. “Personally, I hadn’t even noticed your absence.”

Tim’s expression goes from vaguely aggrieved to fully constipated, which soothes some of Jason’s irritation. Bruce’s demon spawn is a complete and utter terror, but he’s so like his mother that Jason can’t help liking him. He’s not stupid enough to look down on him in a fight - he heard secondhand what Robin did to Victor Zsasz - but his heart’s just not in it when he spars with Damian. So sue him, he’s got a soft spot for kids, no matter how lethal they are.

“Keep me updated,” Jason says to Tim.

Tim nods, one hand on the doorframe as he exits. “Will do. Sure you don’t want to come along? Autopsy is daytime work.”

Jason grimaces. “Been there, done that. You guys can poke at dead people, I prefer to get my answers from ones that are breathing.”

Damian scoffs audibly. “Breathing until you finish with them, you mean?”

Jason ignores him. He turns his attention back to Danielle, who is starting to mouth at the collar of his jacket more aggressively. Shit, he probably shouldn’t let her do that. This jacket isn’t too old, at least, but he’s smoked his way through a dozen packs of cigarettes in it already, not to mention all the bad guy spatter it’s probably absorbed. Surface cleaners can only do so much.

“Perhaps you’d like to offer her this,” Damian says imperiously, holding out a bottle. “You know, children her age require feeding every three to four hours.”

“...Thanks,” Jason says, suspicious. He doesn’t think Damian would attack him when he’s holding a baby, but he looks like he’s considering it. Warily, he takes the bottle. It’s warm. “Did you make it?”

“It’s infant formula,” Damian replies bitingly. “It requires no scientific mastery.”

Alfred made it, then. Jason exchanges a look with Dick, who quirks an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.

“You don’t need to stay, Damian,” Dick says. “I’m just gonna be putting together furniture. You probably have homework to do, right?”

Damian looks affronted. “My studies aren’t so taxing, Grayson. What furniture?”

“Baby furniture, for Danielle. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “You’re dismissing me because you want me to argue, so that I’ll stay and help you.”

Dick is the picture of innocence. “I really don’t need help. I assembled all the furniture in my apartment, I know what I’m doing.”

“I also know what you’re doing.” Damian walks to the box holding the crib pieces, hands on his hips. “A simpleton could do this.”

“They make it pretty user friendly.”

“I’ll get my tools.”

Dick looks quite pleased with himself as Damian rushes off. Jason can’t help but laugh.

“Nice,” he says, shaking his head at Dick’s impish grin. “Hold her for a second, I’m gonna take my jacket off.”

Danielle whines more insistently when he passes her to Dick, and doesn’t stop when he takes her back. He cradles her upright in one arm, bouncing her a little to keep her distracted, and touches the nipple of the bottle to her mouth. She latches on eagerly, and he tries and fails not to smile at her enthusiasm, the delighted kicking of her legs as she eats, her eyes trained on his face like laser beams. He feels - full, almost, like a balloon in his chest is slowly filling up, a window he’d nailed and soldered shut is being pried open again.

There are holes in Jason’s memory, things the Pit couldn’t restore, fragments of his life that were beaten out of him, or left in the ground, or atrophied and rotted away during his lost year after waking up. When he first came back to Gotham, he’d filled all those empty spaces with rage and spite, but he’d burned through it all in a few months and found there wasn’t enough left over to keep filling them, to stop him from noticing the edges of remembering in his mind, the sensation of familiarity that would abruptly fade into nothing. He’s learned to navigate around them, but there’s never been a moment that he hasn’t known they are there. They’re a constant reminder that he died Jason Todd and came back Almost Jason Todd, the same person but without all the pieces.

The feeling he has, feeding Danielle - the warm smell of her, the force of her gaze, so human and yet so alien, the clutch-and-pull of her small hands against the fabric of his shirt and the scarred skin of his hand - it’s like she’s reached right into the center of him and dragged forth the memory of being whole. He isn’t, he won’t ever be, but he can remember it, and it absolutely takes his breath away.

“You good?” Dick asks, softly.

Jason swallows. “Uh-huh,” he manages. It’s a damn good question. Jason isn’t frequently good, he’s often satisfied, often pissed off, often (less often, now) steeped so deep in madness he’s out of his mind. This is something else, he thinks. Something close to shattered, but it’s also close to good, because even though he’s in a thousand goddam pieces, the pieces, for once, are all there.

“Wow, Jay,” Dick murmurs. “You’ve really got a way with her, you know.”

Jason waits to answer until he’s sure his voice won’t betray how shaken apart he is. “She just doesn’t know any better yet,” he says. “Probably at this stage, it’s all the same to them.”

“She didn’t eat this well for me,” Dick says, and Jason can’t tear his eyes away from Danielle to look, but he can hear Dick smiling. “Face it, Jaybird, she chose you.”

“Shut up,” Jason replies, but it’s so subdued it’s practically a whisper. He can’t even deny it - she did choose him, and even if he can’t fathom why, even if it terrifies him, he can feel it all the way down to his bones. He’ll do anything for this little girl. Shit, she’s already got him shacking up in the last place he’d ever want to be. She’s got him thinking about sensible family cars, for Christ’s sake. He hasn’t even known her a full day, but she chose him, and he knows he’d die for her as instinctively as breathing.

“This had better not take long,” Damian says, reentering the room with his toolbox in hand. “I have training to finish.”

Dick laughs, but it’s a little off, somehow. Jason still doesn’t look - if he had to guess, he would say that Damian managed to surprise Dick, but that doesn’t seem very likely.

“Sure thing, Dami. The changing table is probably the easiest, if you have things to do.” Whatever Jason thought he heard, it’s not there anymore. Dick’s voice is back to being smooth and casual, pointedly so, which probably means Damian’s about to -

“In other words, you want me to assemble the crib,” Damian says flatly.

“Pretty sure I said changing table,” Dick repeats, exasperated.

“Enough with your mind games Grayson. They aren’t subtle, you’re embarrassing yourself. I’ll assemble the crib, since you seem to think it’s too challenging for you.”

“If that’s what you want,” Dick says evenly. Jason finally catches his eye, and he winks. “I’ll start working on the changing table - the way she’s eating, we’re gonna need it soon.”

Anxiety flits across Damian’s face, and he scowls hard at Jason a split second later. Jason shrugs one shoulder at him peaceably. He’d be lying if he said he had no reservations about changing diapers either, but hell, he signed up for this, didn’t he? People even more dysfunctional than him must have figured it out over the years. And considering his extracurricular activities, he can hardly be getting squeamish over a little baby poop.

Danielle, having paused her eating to look around, makes a short fussing sound and then latches onto the bottle again. Jason adjusts his hold and brings her up a little higher. She curls into him automatically, the fingers of her little hand splaying against his shirt, right over the intersection of scar tissue fanning across his chest. He’s never let anyone touch him there before. It doesn’t feel….bad. At all.

It feels like waking up after a long, disorienting dream. Like climbing down a mountain and taking the first breath of oxygen-rich air.

It feels like being home.

***

(tim)

“Here’s what we know,” Bruce says, pulling up the footage from Oracle. “One month ago, Cy Reynolds and a couple dozen henchmen took over the Eastern port for Intergang. They demo’d the warehouses the Dragons were operating out of, and the old Falcone hotel. They brought in tech, weapons, and what appears to be equipment from Apokolips to construct a boom tube.”

“Just what we need,” Tim mutters.

“Two days ago, Cy Reynolds, his wife, and their adult son all turned up dead. Each was shot twice in the head, execution style. Oracle, any update on ballistics?”

“Negative,” Barbara’s voice comes through the computer speakers. “Forensics are taking their sweet time.”

“We have sixteen other bodies, identified as Reynolds’ second tier of command within Intergang and their respective families.” Bruce pauses. “This includes three children. A fourth was targeted, identified as the child of Mitchell Howard and Linda Torres, but she somehow survived.”

“And made it all the way to St. Aden’s in Coventry,” Tim finishes. “Records say Torres lived on the edge of Little Italy.”

“Has your group seen any signs of new groups operating on the East End?” Bruce asks. “There’s a short list of suspects who could have pulled this off in two days.”

“If there are, they’re way underground,” Barbara says. “You can rule out the Golden Dragons, most of the ones left in that area joined up with Intergang. They’re focused on turf wars in Chinatown, they wouldn’t bother defending the Eastern port.”

“That fits with our intel,” Tim says, trying not to sound annoyed. This started as his op, and he’d ruled out the Dragons from the very beginning. Bruce’d had barely a passing interest until Jason got involved, and now Tim has been demoted to pinch-hitter on his own case. He’ll deal, but after the year he’s had, it’s a little hard not to take it personally.

“The killers’ modus operandi ranges from shooting to stabbing, which suggests human suspects,” Bruce says. “Targeting families suggests the mob.”

“The Falcones used to control the whole east side,” Tim says thoughtfully. He’s surprised it never occurred to him. He’d been so focused on new territory feuds, he hadn’t stopped to think that it might be an old territory feud. Maybe he deserves to be a pinch-hitter. “Any chance they’re making a comeback?”

There’s a flurry of typing on Barbara’s end. “Funny you should mention them. We had five bodies from the Falcone family turn up over the past six months. Some of these could be accidental, but I tagged it as suspicious after the third one.”

“So, a rival family,” Tim says, slowly. He racks his brain for a list of crime families in Gotham’s history. Who’d even bother going after the Falcones these days? They haven’t been truly active in Gotham for over two decades, but, Tim supposes, some rivalries never die. “The Maronis are locked up….maybe the Odessa Mob? Could they be making moves?”

“Nightwing would know if they were expanding past Bludhaven,” Bruce says. Fair enough. Wouldn’t make sense for the Russians to stage a hostile takeover when they’re barely holding ground across the harbor, anyways. “Who are the victims from the Falcones?”

“That’s the weird part. They were all straight, as far as I can tell. One shoe store manager, two housewives, a scuba instructor, a graduate student, and an entrepreneur. Barely a drug charge between them.”

“Could they be unrelated?” Tim asks, glancing through the reports..

“No,” Bruce says decisively. “It’s too much of a coincidence. These murders are all connected.”

“I agree,” Barbara says. “Based on proximity alone, but combined with the destruction of the old hotel, it’s all adding up to something.”

Tim doesn’t argue. They’re right - if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that coincidences are never just that in Gotham. The connection is there, they just need to find it.

“That hotel was Carmine Falcone’s crown jewel, back when he was in power,” Bruce says. “If the Falcone family is behind this, they could have been retaliating.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of bodies to drop just in retaliation,” Tim says doubtfully. “And to what end? If it is them, it has to be more than that.”

Barbara puts new footage on their screen. “Here’s what I pulled from last night’s traffic cams. Looks like the person who killed the baby’s parents is the same one who dropped her at the orphanage.”

Tim studies the grainy figure on the screen. They’re wearing a hood and limping slightly, but from the approximate size and shape, they appear to be -

“A female assailant,” Bruce says. “Not a pro. This person couldn’t have taken down a man like Reynolds.”

Tim stretches his arms over his head. “So, multiple killers.”

“Fits the mob angle. Give me an hour or two, and I’ll have an ID,” Barbara says. “Oracle out.”

Tim watches Bruce pull stills from the footage and run them against his video backlogs. On a separate screen, he watches Colin draw baby Danielle out of the Safe Surrender box, look around at the camera, and then hurry out of view.

“Red Robin, what exactly is going on over there?” Barbara asks quietly over the comm in his ear. She must have opened a private channel, because Bruce doesn’t show any indication he’s hearing her too.

“I’m gonna hit the training mat,” he says to Bruce. He gets no acknowledgement, which is more or less what he’s learned to expect.

“It’s been kind of a shitshow here,” he replies, once he’s out of earshot of Bruce. “What have you heard?”

“That Robin brought home a baby, and Red Hood adopted it, and now he’s moving back in to take care of it.”

“You’re pretty much caught up, then,” he says, stifling a laugh. “And Nightwing is helping, which is even weirder.”

“No shit,” she muses. “He’s helping Red Hood?”

“I guess? I was just with them, they’re kind of getting along, actually.”

“They had a decent rapport going when Nightwing took over as Big B,” Barbara says. “Robin wasn’t crazy about it. I think he wanted N all to himself.”

Tim considers this. “I always thought Robin didn’t like Hood because of his methods.”

“I’m not about to psychoanalyze Robin on a line I know he could hack if he wanted to,” Barbara says dryly. “But I’m sure that’s part of it. Hang on, B is lighting up the family line.”

Tim switches over. Bruce says, “We’re going to have to make some adjustments to patrols, while Danielle is in our care.”

“Black Bat and Batgirl are still in Florida,” Barbara says. “They should be wrapping up their case in the next day or two. I’ll put them on the South End when they get back.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “Signal should also be back in Gotham by then. Red Robin, you’ll need to put activities with the Titans on hold. I’ll have you covering the Northeast corner, including Crime Alley and the Bowery.”

“That’s my turf,” Jason snarls over the comm. “You can’t just go giving away my patrol. I gave you the East End, and look how that fucking turned out.”

“I wasn’t finished. Red Robin will cover those areas when Red Hood is otherwise occupied.”

Tim closes his eyes for a long second. Great. Now Jason will be gunning for him, again.

“Nightwing, your coverage of Bludhaven is non-negotiable. Robin will join you, temporarily, and fill in for you on the nights you need to be absent.”

“Really?” Dick sounds pleased. “Hey, Robin, did you hear that?”

“Of course I did,” Damian says. “Father, I accept this assignment.”

Unfair, Tim thinks, petulantly. He thinks Barbara’s probably right about Damian wanting Dick all to himself, but they all want Dick all to themselves. It’s complete bullshit that Jason and Damian, by far the least deserving, are the ones getting him.

“Oracle, we’ll need the Birds to fill in the gaps.”

Tim can almost hear Barbara rolling her eyes. “That’s what we’ve been doing, Batman. I’ll ask Huntress to keep her eyes on the Narrows. I’ve already got half my monitors dialed in to the East End. If anything happens there, I’ll be first to know.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “We’ll debrief again after tonight.”

There’s a long pause, and then Jason says, “Replace - Red Robin, we better talk if you’re taking my patrol tonight.”

Tim swallows. “Just so you know, I didn’t ask B to assign me.”

“No shit you didn’t. No one in their right mind would. No idea why he’s gone off the fucking deep end about this, like we haven’t dealt with way worse.” Jason sounds aggrieved. Tim can hear baby squealing noises in the background.

“Twenty bodies in one weekend isn’t nothing,” Barbara says. “This only happened because we were lax on patrol. No one was covering that area while Red Robin was gone.”

“I had informants on the ground,” Tim protests. “We were in touch.”

“It’s not your fault, Red,” Dick says immediately. “Oracle didn’t mean that. We should have been covering. It’s our bad, not yours.”

“I could have been covering,” Jason grumbles.

“Last time there were this many dead gangsters on the docks, you were covering.”

“Oh, fuck you, Boy Wonder.”

“Boys,” Oracle says, none too pleasantly. “I’m muting the family line now, so you’ll have to bicker like schoolgirls in person. Oracle out.”

Well, if he’s on the training mat anyways, he might as well get a workout in. Tim grabs his bo staff and scrolls through the training menus on his phone until he finds one that’ll thoroughly kick his ass. It’s stressful, having this many people in the manor. Tim doesn’t have a single clue how to act around a baby, much less how to act around Jason Todd with a baby.

Conner will find this hilarious, he thinks, whenever he gets back to Earth. Not the murders, obviously, but he’s always taken particular delight in Tim’s family drama. He’ll have to tell him about it next time they see each other - if they ever see each other - if Conner is even talking to him -

Tim shakes his head roughly. He’s been doing so well at not thinking about Conner, and truth be told, a hiatus from the Titans will probably do him a world of good on that front. He can’t take any more of Bart’s overcompensating, or Gar and Cassie’s whispering when they think he isn’t paying attention. At least when Bruce and Damian second-guess him, it’s not because they think he’s heartbroken, or whatever.

Because he’s not.

Probably.

The program starts, and then immediately ends when Tim takes a holographic missile to the chest. Crap. He hits the restart button, pushes everything else out of his mind. Dealing with his encyclopedia of dysfunctional relationships can wait. This, at least, he knows how to do.

***

[chubbyreaderchan]

Hero |  Bo Sinclair x Reader

MAJOR WARNINGS!!!: Contains mention of abuse, sex trafficking and lots of other triggering topics. Please do not read if you cannot handle such things. This will also very obviously have at least mild gore because it is literal serial killers! You have been warned. 

Summery: Bo and his brothers accidentally saves a girl from a sex trafficking ring. Instead of murdering her, they allow her to stay in Ambrose. Bo doesn’t expect to fall in love with her, especially since she clings to him and relies on him for comfort. 

(Y/n) sat in the front seat of the truck. She was the last to be delivered to a very rich man in New York. Tears streamed down her dirty face. Honestly, she just wanted to go home. She wanted to run away but she knew she didn’t have a chance, especially with her hands cuffed to the seat she was in. The man next to her very rarely spoke. Silent until she did something he didn’t like. She was bruised and uncomfortable, tired. But she didn’t want to sleep. She never wanted to risk it. He was pretty handsy, despite knowing his boss would kill him since the buyer wanted an “untouched” lady. 

Her stomach churned. She wanted to vomit. The vehicle was extremely hot as they drove through the middle of no where. The sun was sinking down and his truck puttered and made a strange noise. The truck was slowing down, practically crawling. He cursed annoyed and pulled off the side of the road. He tossed a blanket over her to hide her while he got out of the vehicle. He opened the hood and looked it over. He was city boy and had never actually fixed a truck before. He cursed and pulled out his phone. 

“My damn truck is a piece of shit...” He shouted, she stayed low as to not get the brunt of it. He kicked the tire on the truck arguing now. (Y/n) wished she wasn’t stuck in the truck or else she would make a run for it. She tugged at the chains and cursed softly. 

How long will she be here? 

She didn’t know. However, a tinge of hope built up in her chest when bright headlights came over the hill. It was a beat up truck with deer hooves hanging on the mirror. A scrawny man walked out. Her captor cursed again and moved to shove her down further to hide her. She winced as her wrist was tugged, pinched and slightly cut by the cuffs. “Ya need some help, buddy?” The happy looking guy spoke. 

“My truck is being a piece of shit.. I don’t know shit about it.” The scrawny man looked at the truck. “Ya ain’t far from Ambrose. My brother works there and he’s pretty good at fixin’ cars. He’s pretty cheap too.” The man whose name she never got cursed again and looked at his watch. If he didn’t the delivery would be late. If he was careful maybe he could get away with it. “Fine.”

“I can tow it.” He said with a bright smile on his face. “Unless you think it could make it.” 

“No, it should be fine.” Towing would be really risky. He climbed back into the truck and covered her more. He whispered to her harshly. “If you say a damn thing I will kill you” He flipped on the vehicle. It groaned to a start, whizzing as they drove to the small and strangely empty town. It was eerily quiet, but perhaps that was just because it was so late. It was a small town, the rules were different. 

“I gotta go get ‘im” The thin man, now known as Lester stated. “He don’t like people going into his gas station when he’s not there though.” He looked a little nervous. He was going to have to wake up his brother who honestly didn’t take things well. But it was a new tourist! He drove off and (Y/n) stayed down, softly sobbing. She was so close to being saved and yet so far. As soon as the damn truck was fixed she would be off to New York to be abused by some rich asshole. “Shut the fuck up” he whispered once Lester was gone. “I don’t care how rich the bastard is. I will fuck you up if you make any more noises” This time he had a pocket knife in his hand. He slid it down her cheek, leaving a burning trail of blood. “Don’t test me, bitch!” That’s when a broad shouldered dark haired man in a blue truck finally arrived. He looked tired, like he was just woken up. Most likely was. (Y/n) only got a glance of him, but despite his grumpy looking face he was handsome. It was a strange thing to think at a time like this but what else could she do? Her mind wasn’t exactly the healthiest at the moment. 

Now she could hardly hear them as they went into his gas station. She pulled again at the chains hoping for some weakness anywhere. It only cut into her wrists more. Blood dripped down them and she cried in pain, frustrated from her whole situation. Her sobs were as silent as they could be. 

“You know, you can use the facilities at the house. Lester can take ya so I can get to work.” The man nodded as he was lead off by the scrawny man. He left reluctantly. He was hoping the gas station had a bathroom but they were insistent for some reason he found suspect. Once in the house he found himself in a room alone. Or so he thought. After washing his hands, his eyes lifted to see a frozen masked man. He screamed when he felt a pair of scissors go into his ribs. The man screamed in pain pushing the masked man away and slamming out of the locked door back into the main parts of the house.

Meanwhile, Bo was digging in the truck. He pulled out different parts tiredly. Honestly, he wished he could go back to bed but wanted to get some of the easier things out of the vehicle while Vincent his brother was taking care of the tourist. All for one tourist. That kind of pissed Bo off but was to tired to go yell at his brother. He’d do it in the morning. Bo stretched and moved to open the door to the truck grabbing anything that seemed like it was useful. Then he noticed the blanket. It was unusually shaped. He frowned, grabbing it and pulling it. 

Bo’s face was filled with surprise at the pretty girl crouched down in the floor boards, crying. Her hair was dirty and hardly had any clothes on her body. His eyes trailed to the cut on her face then up to her wrists. He cringed, thinking of his own experiences as a kid. 

“Well, I’ll be. That man is just as much of a bastard as we are.” Her eyes widened at that. What did that mean? She sobbed softly, Bo’s blue eyes looked at her with a bit of concern. She was just another to be added to Vincent’s collection... yet. Something about her made him feel awful at the idea. She was already scared and probably seen some shit just as bad as what went on in this town. It also didn’t help that she was exactly his type, if he was honest. Vincent can go fuck himself. 

He walked back into a garage, grabbing some cutters. With a bit of force he broke the handcuffs. Two more cuts and she was completely free. “Come on, darlin’” He was shocked by what happened next. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him like a koala. “It’s alright. I got ya” This was strange. Normally they would run from him. 

“Come on. Let me clean you up.” He carried her into the garage, instead of taking her down stairs to his own fun chamber, he sat her on his metal work bench. He had a small first aid kit and began attending to her wounds. Bo was never this gentle to anyone is his life, but here he was. He knew pain like that oh so well. He knew exactly how to care for it. “There. No more tears, sweetheart. Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be cryin’“ He tried to lighten the mood. “Come here.” He walked off and grabbed a set of coveralls. She was practically naked and honestly though she could use a bit of extra comfort. “You can wear this. It’s a bit dirty but...” He shrugged. (Y/n) took it shakily, not minding him there while she slipped it on. It fit well enough, smelled like cigarettes and motor oil but it was alright. It was better than the sickly peppery smell of the man delivering her to New York. 

“Fucking shit!” Speaking of, there he was walking into the garage. “You little bitch fucking escaped. Get in damn truck, you stupid slut.” He began to advance stupidly forward. Bo stood between her and the man. “You aren’t going to take her, man.” Bo grabbed a heavy tool off the bench. “She’s going to stay right here in Ambrose,” The man grunted and lunged at Bo, only for Bo to bash him in the skull. Fuck that guy. Vincent will just have to get over it. He continued to bash him until he was a barely twitching pile of shit. When Bo looked up he saw Vincent in the drive way. “I’ll get you two new tourists, Vincent. Just let me take care of this one!” Vincent obviously said nothing. A nod. That’s all. He wondered in deeper towards (Y/n). She didn’t seemed phased by either the gore or the strange man touching her cut cheek. “It ain’t too deep.” Bo told his brother, joining them rubbing the blood off his hands. Vincent nodded again and moved to grab the body of the man to take him up to the House of Wax. 

Then she did it again. Ignoring the blood, she reached forward and hugged Bo tight. 

“Thank you, your my hero...” She sobbed. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe here.” He held her tightly against him. “What’s your name, little lady?” “(Y/n)”

“I’m Bo. You can stay with me, alright? I’ll take care of you” He said softly, brushing his fingers on her cheek as she cried again. What the hell was he getting himself into? 

[irwinkitten]

got lucky | c.h

requested by anon: ok so for the bi!reader concept: last year i ended my relationship w this girl the main reason was because she was really insecure and jealous especially about me being bisexual like anytime i would talk to a guy she would just get so upset about it and she would make such gross biphobic comments and at the time i had so much internalised biphobia that i tried to convince myself i was gay n stayed in the relationship longer than i should have because i rly liked her i guess lol anyways (1/4) we ended and a while afterwards i started seeing this guy who i’d known of for ages (friends of friends type situation) but we just never really talked before or hung out but from the first date we clicked and the sex was crazy good like the type of sex were ur ditching ur vibrators cuz he’s that good lmao so one weekend we went to this party together and of course she is also there, i was so surprised and i could see her eyeing us the whole night, so when she came over i was anxious af (2/4) and this guy knew i was bi! it was no secret, i worked really hard to accept myself! so she comes over and she deadass goes “are you straight now? i knew you would end up with a man!” and she’s all smug but also hurt and im standing there like what the fuck and THEN this dumb man goes “ha guess the sex is so good i made her straight again” and i’m literally about to cry over how gross the whole interaction is and im so shocked i can’t even defend myself, i dumped him that night obviously (3/) last messgae: so basically can you pls do a redo of the gross situation where instead of being with that dumb guy its with calum and he is so protective n sweet n NORMAL n encourages u to stand up for urself about bisexuality / your sexuality, because what happened to me happens too often and its disgusting and gross and no one deserves that!! only if u feel comfortable/inspired tho, no pressure!! love u laura, thank u for creating such a safe space for all the queer babies it means a lot 💘 notes: i kinda enjoyed writing this one esp for my sweet anon baby. i love u and i hope this is everything you wanted ♥  warnings: biphobia, implications of emotional abuse

word count: 3.2k

donate to my ko-fi here

-

“Hey what’cha doing sweets?” Calum’s voice pulled you from your musings, your hand idly tracing patterns against the paper but the pen remaining on the desk. You wrenched your thoughts from the spiral you seemed to have fallen down, a smile crossing your lips as you felt your heart flutter at the sight of him.

“Nothin’. Just thinking.” You finally replied as he pulled up one of the spare chairs next to you, the bustling activity of the coffee shop falling into your background noise as his thigh pressed against yours.

“Really? Normally you doodle when you’re just thinking.” He countered with ease and your eyes dropped to the paper, noticing that the pen remained where you’d placed it when you first sat down. Subconsciously you must’ve realised that the route your thoughts had gone were not suitable to put down on paper, your fingers picking up the pen and mind falling blank immediately.

“Oh.” You breathed before placing the pen back down and packing away the pad and pen.

“What’s running through your head, doll?” Calum’s voice was quiet and concerned, you shrugged.

“Just, a lot on my mind is all. You’re not my keeper just because we’ve slept together.” You admitted quietly and he frowned before picking up his bag and for a sinking second you thought he was going to walk off, but instead, he took your bag from your hands and slung it over his shoulder. 

He looked back at you expectantly and you sighed before standing up, leaving the coffee shop with him, your eyes on the floor as you fell into step next to him.

“Your place or mine?”

“E’s gonna be home and I don’t want to hear them rant about me bringing people back.” You muttered and Calum nodded. 

“I think Ash is out. He’ll probably head out to Luke’s if I show up with you.” At his smirk, you rolled your eyes fondly before shoving him towards the bus stop. His indignant “hey!” was only ignored as you two waited for the bus, his arm slung over your shoulders.

Selfishly, you leaned into his touch, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach was doing flips at his touch alone. 

The bus journey was a quiet ten minutes, but Calum seemed to understand that you weren’t willing to talk with so many people around, so he was content to just keep you close, and you were unwilling to pull away until his stop came up.

When you reached his shared house with Ashton, you noted that the car was gone from the driveway and Calum smirked.

“Looks like he’s out. C’mon.” His hand tucked around yours and pulled you inside. And for a second you wondered if you could distract him with sex, but then the guilt appeared and you could feel the tears of frustration appear as your thoughts swirled and you felt dizzy.

Calum had stepped ahead, turning to see you stood leaning against the closed door, head in your hands and he knew something was wrong. Stepping back to you, he dropped your bags and took your hand in his, pulling you upstairs to his room and your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Cal I-”

“I’m not suggesting that.” He muttered. You fell silent at that and as he pulled you into his room, you felt unsure, but he gave you no chance to really deny him as he crawled into bed before opening his arms out to you.

“Cal.”

“I know you. You don’t do emotional stuff well but I’m here for a cuddle and an ear if you need it.” You fell into the embrace easily, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his lips finding your temple as you finally felt something in you snap, the surge of emotions overwhelming and frighteningly vivid. 

“I keep telling myself that I never was a lesbian, that I still found men attractive but Poppy made me feel like having that attraction was stupid since I was dating her and that I was a lesbian and it’s so fucking confusing because I like you, but I can hear her voice screeching that I’m not right, that I’m a lesbian or faking it or a freak.” And for the first time since you left Poppy, you cried.

Calum had been waiting for this. When the split had happened, you’d been ready for it, you’d already left her mentally, but this was what he knew you needed. He knew that the relationship with her had been toxic, but you’d never revealed the extent of her behaviour. 

His heart broke.

“Just because you like both men and women does not mean you should feel so guilty over your sexuality. There’s a B in LGBT for a reason, doll. That’s you. You’re bisexual and you should be proud of that, not ashamed because some bitch with a control issue couldn’t handle the fact that you liked more than women.” 

You found yourself gripping his shirt with your fists as you pressed your face into his chest, trying to stem the tears that seemed relentless. But Calum held his silence whilst you got it out of your system, knowing that you needed to get this off your chest. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally got out, but he simply shushed you. 

“She was a shitty person with an attitude to show. You shouldn’t apologise for the bitch.” His words were simple but it gave you a breath of ease, pulling away as hands rubbed your shoulders gently. 

He was definitely too good to you, but he was there for you regardless and you were certain that you loved him for that.

“There’s gonna be a party on the other side of town in a couple of weeks. Ash took over the old Firefly down on Hartley. He’s revamping before opening the bar to the public. You fancy going?” And you smiled at the gentle distraction he was offering. 

“We get at least a free drink if we show up, right?” And Calum laughed as he kissed your temple. 

“He wouldn’t say no to me. Or you. In fact, I’m almost certain he’s expecting me to do full introductions on that night since Luke and Mike will be there with the others and their girls.” You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s not like I went to school with Luke or anything.” Came your sarcastic retort and Calum laughed as the two of you settled for the evening. 

“Pretty sure Luke last saw you when you started dating Poppy. He’s put two and two together but he won’t say anything unless you mention it. Even then he knows it’s not his place.” Your heart seemed to swell another size in affection for Luke. 

“You’re making it difficult for me to not fall in love with you Cal. Good dick, you know how to use those lips and fingers of yours, you make me feel like I belong and you respect boundaries without me having to ask.” You finally muttered and Calum gave you an almost wistful smile. 

“You may have been with Poppy but that didn’t stop me from being friends with you. You’re someone I’ve genuinely cared about from day one. Not gonna chuck that away because of who you are. Plus growing up with my mom and sister almost made certain I’d be in touch with my feminine side.” He teased but the sincerity and understanding in his tone eased your shoulders. 

Your features softened at the admittance and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Then I definitely got lucky to have you in my life at least, falling in love or not.”

—

When the day of the party rolled around, you felt sick with nerves and you couldn’t understand why. 

When Calum rolled up to pick you up—he was driving to Luke’s who lived closest to the bar and you’d both get a ride back to yours before he picked up his car the following morning—he could see the nerves and the grimace on his face spoke volumes. 

“What?” You all but demanded when you were debating outfits. He’d been sitting on the bed watching, but got up and held his hands out to you. 

You took them hesitantly. His thumbs almost immediately started to soothe across the back of your hands to help relax you. 

“Word has gotten around that Poppy is planning to show up. We haven’t exactly been quiet about our relationship, but I didn’t think she’d pull something like this.” And your stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“We’re still going. Ashton promised free drinks and we’ll be in the VIP area right?” You checked and Calum nodded.

“Ashton has already told the bouncers that she’s not allowed near the VIP section. They’re checking and rechecking the lists to make sure she isn’t on one of them.” He explained and you let out a breath of air. 

“Okay. It’ll be fine. It’s being handled and I’ve got you. Now which outfit do you think I should wear?” He studied your face for a second before a smile broke across his lips. 

“The dark purple with the deep plunge. Is it wrong of me to flaunt in her face what she lost?” And you laughed as you kissed him. 

“I mean, yes. But I also know that you want to show me off properly now that we’ve got things really settled.” You murmured and he grinned back unabashedly. 

It was still an uphill battle, but he’d given you a lot to think about. And after gentle convincing, you’d found an LGBT friendly therapist who helped you process your thoughts. It helped you come to terms with accepting the toxic relationship that you’d been in but also it highlighted how beneficial Calum had been as a friend and confidant. 

It also gave you the courage to ask Calum out officially, wanting to be with him entirely and not just in the evenings. 

He took that in his stride and things shifted once more between the two of you. When you opened up to him about some of your sessions, you knew that your trust had been well placed because he never indicated anything to his friends and so you were never subjected to pitying stares or glares. 

You were almost sure that you’d fall in love with him faster than you fell for Poppy. 

The drive to Luke’s was filled with your nerves. You hadn’t seen Luke in years and you were also meeting his two other friends, Ashton and Michael as well as their partners. 

“Ashton’s excited to finally meet you and stop telling me to be careful when I go to yours.” 

Despite Calum living with Ashton, your schedules never seemed to match and more often than not, Calum could be found at your place, a small sanctuary from your hectic lives. 

Ashton never begrudged that time you shared together, but Calum had mentioned a few times about how snappy he was being on the subject. 

“He’ll chill when he realises I’m not out to break your heart or steal something.” You muttered with a chuckle. Calum snorted in return as he pulled into Luke’s driveway. 

Your nerves return full force as he pulls you to the front door and steps in like he lives there. 

“Hey fuckers, anyone about?” He called through and was met with calls of confirmation, another yell following that they were in the dining room. Your fingers squeezed Calum’s tightly and he didn’t hesitate to return it, his thumb soothing across the skin on the back of your hand.

“Look who it is!” A voice crowed loudly as he stepped into the dining room, followed by loud calls of greetings. 

There was a flurry of introductions and you felt like the spotlight was being shone on you, under scrutiny from his best friends gazes once they had greeted their friend and Calum had introduced you. Or re-introduced you in Luke’s case.

“Well c’mon, the last time I saw you we were leaving school. What’s been happening to you?” Luke finally asked, indicating to the seat next to him. A small smile graced your lips as you sat down, Calum falling into the seat next to you as you shrugged. 

“Life I guess? It’s been definitely more interesting with the different jobs and moving about. Building up a social life again.” Luke’s face filled with a frown at that. 

Michael came in next. 

“Building up a social life? Did you not have one?” His words held an innocent curiosity, yet you felt yourself hesitate. 

“My ex was controlling to the point that I couldn’t do anything without their permission. They managed to make me believe that no one really wanted me around and I lost touch with old friends, like Luke.” You glanced to the side and he was frowning. 

The others held varying degrees of stunned shock or disapproval. 

“Well then he was a cunt.” Michael muttered and your eyes refused to meet theirs at the assumptions. Luke stayed quiet but his hand rested on your knee, squeezing it. You shot him a gentle smile in return.

“Well it’ll be good to have you back in our lives. Especially with these two knuckleheads.” He nodded at Ashton and Michael who immediately protested and you laughed. 

It felt like you’d known them for years as you all had a few shots. Ashton, despite being the owner of the bar, wasn’t worried about turning up with his friends. He’d already explained to his staff that he’d be around for the rest of the night once he arrived and he’d told the small groups he’d be here and there. 

After a handful of shots, the group of you made your way to the bar, your arm linked with Calum’s. There were separate conversations happening between you all, their girlfriends including you on their pamper night whilst the boys discussed a possible games night for all of you. 

When you arrived at the club, you saw the queue of people waiting to get in and the subsequent groans from the line as the bouncer let you in, no questions asked. 

Ashton guided the group of you to the VIP section and the music was still loud but you could still hear each other talking. You were chatting away with Luke’s girlfriend, arm still linked with Calum’s as Ashton disappeared to get drinks. 

Calum pulled your attention away briefly, his lips by your ear. 

“I’ve spotted her. She’s not seen us yet so don’t worry.” You barely nodded, acknowledging his words as you listened in, fighting to keep your nerves down. 

The night continued and you were all a few drinks deep. Calum’s arm had barely left your waist all night as you talked and danced and drank. You’d been welcomed into his group of friends with an ease you never realised existed. 

You’d deliberately not tried to seek out Poppy, silently praying that the universe would comply. But as the group of you stood out in the smokers area, huddled together under a heating lamp, your stomach sank as she stepped out, her eyes narrowing on you. 

“Fuckin’ knew it!” You could feel the alarm in your face as you stepped back into Calum, his arm going around you protectively. 

“Poppy, you’re drunk.” You felt curious gazes from your new friends, but you didn’t spare them a glance.

“You break up with me and go running to his arms, I knew you weren’t a fuckin lesbian. Pretending to try it out? Just another straight girl seeking attention. Fucking freak.” She snapped and your stomach sank. 

“Get it through your thick head that she’s bisexual.” Calum snapped in your defence, earning a glare from Poppy. But Calum didn’t shrink from the glare, your glance to his face confirmed he was giving her his own. You were mildly impressed that she didn’t back down instantly. 

“She’s a fuckin liar! Years of my life wasted on this bitch.” She spat at your feet and you took in a deep breath. 

“You don’t get to control me anymore, Poppy. I’ve liked both men and women, but you never liked that because it meant that I had more chances of leaving you. And I wished I’d have left you sooner. Calum certainly thought so.” 

“Of course you fucked the first man to pay you any attention.” Your heart sank once more at her declaration and you felt your mind fall into the old trap that you’d fought with for so long. 

“No she never. In fact she slept with a few girls long before she slept with me. But I was her best friend as she tried to deal with the mess you created in her mind.” Calum snapped back. You felt your heart swell for him. 

Poppy stepped forward, her hand raised but then Ashton stepped in front of you. 

“Get out. You’re no longer welcome in this bar.” He made a gesture and security slowly made their way over. 

“She shouldn’t be fucking welcome!” Poppy yelled back, but Ashton held firm. 

“She is my friend. You are not. Get. Out.” When the bouncer rested a hand on her arm, she shrugged it off and stormed away. Your entire body was trembling.

“So that was the ex, huh?” Michael commented and you could feel your hands trembling as you nodded. “Why didn’t you correct me?” Calum spoke up for you as his hands took yours. 

“It’s been a battle for her. Poppy had convinced her she was a lesbian, that she was wrong for having any attraction to men. In Poppy’s world, either your gay, lesbian or straight. Being bisexual isn’t acceptable in her eyes.” Calum’s arms wrapped around you and you stood there, holding onto him for dear life. 

“Well that makes two of us then.” Michael’s casual comment had your knees go weak and you let out a weak laugh. 

“Thank you Ash.” You finally murmured when you pulled away from Calum. Ashton didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you in a warm hug that was both comforting and reassuring. 

“Hey, you’ve been the best thing for my best mate. And you were friends with Luke once before. I’ve definitely got your back. And I get why you didn’t say anything and don’t hold that against you.” He muttered and you breathed a sigh of relief before returning to Calum’s embrace. 

“More drinks or are we gonna go back to Luke’s?” And you shook your head. 

“Let’s stay. I’m not gonna let her ruin it,” you leaned forwards so your lips were by his ear as the others went inside, “also I want to see if we can christen the bar in one of the toilets.” You breathed. Calum groaned as his grip around you got tighter and he pulled you in for a kiss that promised more. 

“Oh you’re so fucked sweetheart. Especially since I know where the individual lips are and they aren’t attended by anyone.” You held back a moan at that thought before pulling away, your hand in his. 

“Dance first?” And the innocence in your tone made him laugh as he followed behind you willingly. 

“Menace.” The term was laced with affection as he caught up to you, kissing the spot just below your ear. 

You simply grinned in return as you pulled him onto the dance floor, Poppy long forgotten as he danced with you. 

-

@sexgodashton, @goth5sos, @calumsmermaid, @empathycth, @wildflowergrae, @calpops, @rosecolouredash, @cal-puddies, @clockwork124, @loveroflrh, @stellar5sosrecs, @ashtoniwir, @cthla, @liketheydidwithyou, @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​, @bluehairedtracii, @drummerboy794, @feliznavidaddycal, @i-calumhood, @wokeupinjapanisabop, @converse-luke, @madbomb, @ccnicole02, @youngblood199456, @aulxna, @megz1985, @lukesidentitycrisis, @snapback-irwie, @neonweeknds, @666yourwitchyfriend666, @gamerboymike, @cashtonasfuck, @ashtaway, @conquerwhatliesahead92, @itjustkindahappenedreally, @twoamhood, @kchillout, @damselindistressanu, @colormekaykay, @findingliam-o, @sublimehood, @sugarcoated-pain, @singt0mecalum, @singledadharrington​, @calumspeachy​, @colourfulcalum​, @lostincalum​, @burncrashbromance​, @asht0ns-world​, @a-mnd, @flusteredcliffo​, @loti18​, @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​, @clumclum-hood​, @fangirl-everythang​, @lashtondaddies​, @calumssunshine​, @ambskiwi​, @abundant-stars​, @caltattoohood, @seedless-vascular, @myescapefromthislife​, @lmao5sosimagines​, @beyoncesdragon​, @jae-writes-fanfiction​, @cxddlyash​, @tresfandom​, @utterly-u-n-p-e-r-f-e-c-t​, @niallisworld​, @lietomevalntyn​, @babylon-corgis​, @monochrome44​, @behind-my-hazeleyes27​, @ghost0fy0u​, @lyllibug​, @bloodmoonashton​, @balsamic-cal, @calumsbaldhead​, @washedout-ky, @calumssunshinee​, @ghostofmashton​, @summerellaz​, @a-little-less-sixteen​, @cashworthy​, @smokeinherlungs​, @longlastingdaydream​, @h0tsos​, @sweetcherrymike​, @5sosnsfw​, @sugar-nico​, @sunnysideblog, @angel-cal​, @samros95​, @maluminspace​, @lukeinblue​, @cakesunflower​, @allamerican-betch​,  @britnicole11​, @gigglyirwin​, @everyscarisahealingplace, @loverofcashton​, @iovehemmings​, @g-l-pierce​, @jannimoeller3​, @wildmichaelflower​, @lukeskisses​, @5sossstan​, @youngbloodchild​, @alloutofcashton​, @tobefalling​, @abb-lan-5sos​, @calumsbub​, @flameraine​, @here-for-the-uproars​, @mateisit-balsamic​, @ilovelukey​, @sarahshepherdblog​

[curiousherbal]

Growing P̶e̶r̶i̶o̶d̶ Pains

Mystic Messenger

*Also read Growing P̶e̶r̶i̶o̶d̶ Pains on ao3* 

707 / Luciel / Saeyoung Choi x Reader ; 707 / Luciel / Saeyoung Choi x MC

Fluff & Angst (borderline crack; also dash of h/c)

5.9 k

Rated: T ; TW: Blood

Summary: In all fairness, you had meant to clean up the blood before Seven got home.

*reposting this story in case ppl on tumblr would rather read it here :) ; be wary of Seven route spoilers*

In all fairness, you had meant to clean up the blood before Seven got home.

But it had been a rather tiring day; a tiring, exhausting, not-so-very-comfortable, bloody day. Oh, how the day had been bloody.

It was also only 2 pm.

But you were on your period, so you were allowed to announce the day as ended before it had even begun. Right?

Usually your monthly flows were relatively well-contained, provided you were provided for of course – that is with “all-night” pads (false – they lasted 3-5 hours max on your heaviest days) and supersized tampons (you rolled your eyes at the arbitrary naming of tampon sizes – I mean what’s so “super” about recreating The Shining every day for a week once a month anyway?).

The silver lining in the sea of red was that, as an adult, you were now fairly adept with dealing with Mother Nature’s gifts, a feat that only took many soiled pants, innumerable ruined bedsheets, and the adolescent trauma of tied sweaters around your hips – to accomplish.

You made a mental note to talk about that last one with your therapist next week…

“Ugh,” you let out a groan as you blearily blinked your eyes open. The sunlight streamed through the window blinds in the bedroom that you and Saeyoung shared.

Well, if he were here.

“Disgusting.” You muttered as you yawned and started to disentangle your sticky legs from the sheets.

Your hacker boyfriend had gotten called away late last night, err – more like early morning. Very early morning, you mentally amended with a displeased grunt. He left in a hurry, promising a quick return as he lobbed this and that into a scuffed duffle bag.

“I’ll be back for dinner, my sweetie!” He ruffled your hair and kissed the corner of your upturned mouth, bouncing on the balls of his feet like it wasn’t 1:46 AM. And like he wasn’t about to leave his sleepy girlfriend alone for the night.

“Really?”

“Why – would the Great 707 ever lie to his darling kitty?” Seven grasped at his chest, a look of mock hurt exaggerated across his naturally goofy features.

Resisting a grin at his silly antics, you made him promise to return safely. And by dinnertime, nonetheless. “I’m going to want ice cream tomorrow evening.” You stated drily with a slight twitch of your eyebrow.

“Ice cream?” Seven had a subtly puzzled expression, which he rapidly exchanged for his charming grin, “Of course! My princess requests!” And with that – a kiss on your hand, and a pat on the head to the robotic cat standing guard at the flat’s entrance – the secret agent had disappeared into the night, the last sign of his leave being that of the revved engine from one of his prized sports cars.

In retrospect, maybe you should have been more explicit when hinting that you were going to be on your period.

But you were on your period, and he was a 20 something year old man, and once again, you were allowed to be however you damn pleased, and he should know that you were about to have that time of the month again. Right? Right.

“FUCK.” You dropped your forearm dramatically across your forehead. “Really? Are we really doing this right now?” You picked up the habit of talking to yourself when Seven was away.

“Fine – guess so…” With a sigh of resignation, you braced yourself for the physical exertion required of one to get out of bed.

Your insides churned a bit; it was the tell-tale feeling that only accompanied that of your body prepared to spew blood the second gravity went against your favour. You felt it. You knew it was going to happen; you just didn’t expect for your period to get so heavy so fast, and only overnight too.

“Well there’s nothing for it, Meowy – we’re just gonna have to make a run for it…” You cocked your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at the feline robot that was now preventing the unassuming Roomba from dutifully trying to gain entrance to your bedroom. “On second thought – maybe I should attempt the Tooty-Ta instead.” You laughed grimly to yourself. I’ll have to show Seven that ridiculous dance when he gets home. Lord knows he’d love it.

Gritting your teeth, you peeled back the sheets and carefully swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Your knees knocked as you clenched your thighs together. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple. “Great, heat flashes too? I’m not that old yet, damn.”

“Mrrrrr?” Meowy rolled over to your side, stiffly upturning her neck to regard you curiously, her programming having sensed that you were in distress.

Taking a deep breath, you braced your clammy palms on either side of your hips and gradually began to rise.

Gravity is an incredible thing. An incredibly, predictable, annoying, but necessary force of nature – much to the chagrin of the uterine force of nature you delicately clutched between your legs at present.

One wobbly step. Two. You rounded the bed post and began to reach for the door frame. So far, so good. Encouraged, you picked up the pace. Maybe I overestimated the amount of blood? You smirked confidently and entered the hallway. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, adjacent to the kitchen. Alright – let’s get this bread. You began your penguin-shuffle down the hardwood hall, leaning against the smooth, eggshell finished walls as you attempted to maintain the delicate balance required of your makeshift dance. Ten steps. Eleven. You reached out for the bathroom door, expecting to latch onto the glass doorknob when –

“Agh!!” You tripped over the Roomba.

The blood gurgled and began to plummet (as liquids, and pretty much anything and everything else, are wont to do) now freed from the desperate clenching of your thighs.

With a cry of despair, you clutched at your abdomen as you felt the large swash of bodily fluids exit your aching genitals, seep through your thoroughly ruined panties – Nooo, these are the cute ones with cats on them that Seven got me! – and splat quite dramatically onto the floor.

If it weren’t for the ruined underwear, the upturned Roomba, and the general resignation of being on one’s period – you would have been rather impressed at the size of the splatter that now decorated your floor in a lovely, concentric pattern.

“This…. Has never happened before.”

And it hadn’t. Usually, your periods started in the evening, not the morning. Usually, they were the heaviest on the second day, not the first. And usually, they weren’t of such a viscous consistency and atrocious metric volume that they glitched right out of your body, through your clothes, and landed in a terrific mess on the floor.

“It’s the Honey Buddha Chips; it must be!” You let out a wail of disgust, blaming the sweet and salty junk food as the reason behind your abnormal flow. “Saeyoung Choi, you WILL be paying for my ice cream tonight!”

You failed to realize that ice cream was also categorized as junk food too.

With nothing left to lose, blood still dribbling down your legs, you pivoted on your feet and marched back to your bedroom. Fine. It’s gonna be that kinda day, huh? You angrily snatched a clean change of clothes from your dresser – this time with your designated Period Panties™ – and made your way back down the hall towards the bathroom. A nice, cold shower will do just fine. You tried to convince yourself it was to counteract the annoying heat flashes you had seemingly picked up as a symptom of your menstrual distress, and not to cool the hot, balmy tears of frustration that now streaked your flushed face.

And if it weren’t for the ruined underwear, the upturned Roomba, and the general resignation of being on one’s period – then maybe you would have noticed how your toes and heels squelched as they made contact with the glob of period blood still lying inanimately on your floor.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

Meowy was stressed.

Well, as stressed as her CPU could be, the mini gears and sensors running vapidly in her plastic and metal cat-shaped vessel.

Her auditory sensors reached warning threshold when her master’s precious one made loud noises of displeasure. Her visual sensors were already busy fighting off that dratted antagonist-of-a-cleaning-robot from earlier. And now her thermal sensors picked up the trace of something biological splatted on the ground. Something biological… and warm. Meowy saw red. But unfortunately, the cat robot couldn’t appreciate the literal nor figurative accuracy of that statement. She just knew she was stressed, even if her insentience didn’t quite allow her to know why, and even if that stress was purely mechanical, rather than emotional.

Master could purrrrobably add that feature in a future update, she surmised. Well, if robots could surmise, that is.

You were being quite a bother. And by bother, well, you were the source of your boyfriend’s cat robot’s overstimulation.

Upon showering, you exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam and clean clothes, fit with a cushy pad to catch the rest of your ebbing flow. Your bloody night clothes littered the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, and the goopy glob of period blood still sat, just as liquids are wont to do, inanimately in the same place as before (albeit, perhaps sporting a rustier hue as oxidation took effect).

It’s nice to be clean, you had thought, though the here-and-there prick of abdominal cramps and sporadic dizzy spells are nothing to long for. You had figured that some food and a glass of water would at least help the latter ailment, so you had proceeded to attempt to make yourself a late, light lunch.

Meowy frantically circled the small kitchen, letting out her programmed mews of concern every 2.35 seconds. During her 3rd or 4th worried lap, she ran right into your left foot, which you were precariously balancing on by habit.

For the second time that day, you yelped out an elegant “agh!” and dropped the knife you had been using to spread your favourite strawberry jam on the toast that you were planning to eat. The red-rimmed knife fell to the floor with a cacophonous clatter. Forgotten.

“Meowy!” You snarled as you towered over the cowering robocat.

Instantly, your rage dissipated to remorse as you felt empathy for the poor creature. Unpleasant images of Seven smashing the cat in a fit of similar rage accosted your brain, and with it, the tremulous and turbulent emotions from that past event too.

“I’m so sorry!” Your despondence flared suddenly and tears formed in the corners of your eyes. Mortified at how you treated your emotional support robot cat, you fled the kitchen in a teary haste. You tore down the hallway, intending to crash back into bed until Saeyoung came back home to make amends with Meowy and yourself –

Only to trip over the Roomba again.

“Oof!” Your knees crashed to the floor abruptly, your palms quickly reaching out to catch yourself from falling face first –

Only for them to slide out from under you after making contact with the slick pool of blood and period gunk that you neglected to clean up earlier.

And for the third time that day, you let out a final “AGH!”

SMACK!

Your face rammed into the ground, the bridge of your nose catching the pool of blood on your way down. Resigned, you didn’t move a muscle for five minutes, wallowing in your despair for yelling at Meowy, a lovely hybrid of self-loathing and disgust for not cleaning up the blood, and lonesomeness that ached every time Seven left on an indeterminable, clandestine trip.

Utterly wretched and still just as exhausted as when you had woken up approximately… you glanced at the clock at the end of the hall… 5 PM already??? … three hours ago, you cautiously raised yourself back to your knees. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you sighed dejectedly and stood the rest of the way up.

Trudging solemnly back to your bedroom, you froze as you looked at the state of your sheets.

“Are you kidding me?!”

The sheets were rumpled from your hasty wake-up from earlier in the day, yet that wasn’t what caught your eye. No – your eyes lamentably traced the spotting and pools of long-dried blood that stained the center spread of sheets in the dip where you had slept. I must have leaked before I woke up, and I didn’t even notice.

Dehydrated, fatigued, and entirely resigned to end the day, you turned around and walked the short distance across the hall into the guest bedroom that Saeyoung most often used as an office space for work. (Less often, his twin Saeran would camp out in the small room, though recently he refrained from spending the night, too afraid that he’d become further traumatized by the excitable noises that tended to emit from his brother’s room late at night.)

You didn’t care that there was still blood trekked all over your apartment. You didn’t care that you were now just as soiled as before you had showered. You didn’t care that Meowy was short-circuiting in worry. You didn’t care that Seven had yet to return. You didn’t care. All you wanted to do was crash and wake up from this nightmare of a day.

Just a quick power nap, and then I’ll clean it up before Saeyoung gets home.

So, you curled up on the couch beside Seven’s work desk and cocooned yourself in a large comforter. With your back to the room, you entered fetal position and drifted off to sleep almost instantly, the crown of your head just barely visible from between the cushions.

And if Meowy was yowling as if possessed, well, you were too exhausted to notice.

Not that robot cats could be possessed, of course.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

Fresh-faced and lively – Saeyoung was ecstatic.

The agency work turned out to be nothing more than a casual revenge-driven hacking: a harmless ploy orchestrated by a disgruntled employee trying to find some scrap of solace by antagonizing their rich, snobby boss’ computer system. Yes, it had been unfortunate that the job was sudden and required on-location skills, and yes, Saeyoung was rather reluctant to leave his adorably cute girlfriend alone for the night… but the goodhearted jokester couldn’t help but crack a smile as fond memories from just hours earlier accosted his mind…

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

“Mrr?” Elizabeth the 3rd let out a perplexed mew as the penthouse front door opened silently.

Seven creeped in, a finger brought to his lips as his eyes widened upon seeing Jumin’s cat. “Elly!” He immediately clasped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed that he let his excitement upon seeing the pure white Persian cat be audible.

“My darling! Uncle Luciel has come for you~~” He playfully whispered as he set his bag down and crouched beside the spoiled feline.

Elizabeth sauntered up to the intruder, presenting her lushly furred back for caresses.

“Don’t tell Mr. CEO, but I’m working here tonight. I need to access his Wi-Fi network directly.” Seven ran his fingers up and down the cat’s back, encouraged by her accelerated purring. “Don’t worry, ‘tis nothing nasty my friend – he’ll just be forced to do all of his work by hand tomorrow. I think his computer deserves a bit of break, no?” With a conniving twinkle in his eye, Seven began unpacking his equipment, settling cross-legged with his computer on his lap and Elizabeth sprawled out at his side, butting her head against his thighs periodically as his hands flew rapidly over his keyboard.

A large snore startled the mischievous hacker.

“Pshhsh!” Agent 707 brought up a hand to conceal his mirth, desperately trying to muffle the delirious laughter that threatened to escape his throat. Elizabeth glared at him, displeased that the large hand had ceased massaging her backside.

“I’m sorry, my kitty-love, I just didn’t expect Jumin to sleep so soundly!” Seven cooed lovingly.

Within the next few hours, Saeyoung finished up his early-morning hacking endeavors as instructed and deftly returned his equipment back to his bag without making a sound. He stood up and adorned a wistful expression, sad to be leaving his Elly all too soon.

“Meow~”

“Oh, my dear – we mustn’t!” Seven scooped up the cat and swung her around, crushing her flat face against his sharp nose. “You know not the extent that this sweet parting brings me pain, but alas, our love is forbidden!”

“Mrrrrr…”

Seven gently placed the cat back down. She immediately began grooming her mused fur, unimpressed with Seven’s soliloquy.

“Always the lady.” Saeyoung bowed reverently, a hand on the door to leave. “Wait!” Digging excitedly in his duffle, the young man pulled out a thin, red, satin ribbon. A small pawprint locket charm clinked on the ribbon.

Gently fondling the jewelry, Seven clicked open the locket and gazed adoringly at the image within. “Ah, it’s perfect. A representation of our love, my Elly!” With one final glance, Seven clicked the locket shut and bent down to tie the ribbon loosely around Elizabeth’s neck, covering up the collar Jumin had gifted to her prior.

Elizabeth, none the wiser, mewled an unbothered farewell as Saeyoung patted her once more affectionately and made his departure with a cheeky air-blown kiss.

The hacker disappeared from the CEO’s penthouse, slipped past the guards once more, and vanished into the early morning – having one or two more things left to accomplish for the agency before he could return home.

What those tasks were? Well, perhaps it’s best that only special Agent 707 would ever know for sure.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧        

This will pay the bills all for next month! Saeyoung thought with a grin, drawn back to the present as he lovingly slid his palm over the curve of the leather steering wheel. Plus, maybe this will teach Jumin not to overwork his minions. The young hacker smirked. He could already sense Jaehee’s displeasure when she would find out that RFA’s very own security hacked her boss for entertainment. And a bit of cash.

Seven wound his way through the hilly countryside, enjoying the dip and curve of the roads. He glanced at the car’s clock: 5:36 PM.

It was approaching dusk, and he was eager to return home. He moved his free hand over to his baby car’s console and pressed down on the window switch.

“Yahoo!” Seven stuck his head out of the window and let the wind ruffle his untamable ginger hair. His striped glasses pushed comfortingly against the bridge of his nose, as the golden hues of the setting sun reflected in his mutually golden irises.

A sudden pang of yearning overtook the young man, thinking about his princess at home. Though it happened without fault every evening, Saeyoung couldn’t help but feel anxious about missing the sunset. He wanted to watch every sunset with you; this would be the first one that you both had missed since you started living together.

A reversed flick of the window toggle and a harder stomp on the gas pedal later, Saeyoung sped back home with renewed urgency. We can catch the tail end of the evening together if I hurry.

Unbeknownst to him, the red, rosy fingers of sunlight that stretched linearly across the horizon were complementary towards the organic drops of red that currently decorated your shared home.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

It was a quarter past 6 when the door to your shared apartment finally received its missing tenant. The last of the sundry locks popped open, the metal restraints finally allowing the port of entrance to swing on its hinges.

“Honeyyyyyyy~ I’m hooOOOMMMEEE!” Saeyoung sang loudly as he shouldered his way through the frame. Closing the door behind him, the totally-averagely-paranoid hacker wasted no time in redoing all of the locks. Turning around with a relieved exhale, Seven carelessly dropped his duffle on the floor and toed off his shoes impatiently.

No less than two steps deeper into the flat, Saeyoung was just starting to acquire a sense of strange foreboding when a white blur came barreling around the corner of the hallway –

“Master! Master! Your precious one!” Meowy, hysterically wheeling herself towards her creator, belted as loudly as her speakers permitted.

“What the hell?” Startled, Seven eyed his rambunctious robot, unable to fathom what in the world could trigger his creation to act so frenzied.

“Master! Your precious one! Blood! Bleeding! Help!” Meowy shrieked, her pitch increasing steadily and becoming disconcertingly garbled, her processors unable to cope with the sensory overload.

Saeyoung froze.

Time stopped.

Her… blood?

…

…

BLEEDING?!

“What?! Where? Meowy what happened?!” Seven pushed past the yowling cat, crying your name as he further entered the apartment.

Seven frantically rounded the corner, his panic only increasing with every second that you neglected to greet him at the door. You always greet me when I come home! Where are you!?!  He shouted your name a second time, his heart hammering in his chest, muscles constricting painfully as his mind began to whirr with confusion and pain. You can’t be taken… not again… We just got this together... us.

“Honey?? This isn’t funny!” Saeyoung quickly glanced to his left as he passed the kitchen.

He froze.

There. On the ground.

A knife.

It’s red.

Clumps of something that was equally red and sticky looking surrounded the knife. The knife that should not be laying carelessly on the floor. The knife that very obviously fell on the ground in a struggle and was currently tainted red.

His airway felt constricted. His sense of hearing muffled, despite Meowy still shrieking incoherently at his feet.

As if in his own personal horror movie, Saeyoung pivoted his head to his right, now looking in to the bathroom. Terrified eyes locked onto small, red footprints that graced the floor. They traveled from the hallway onto the cold tiles. He assessed the criminal scene with widening eyes: blood stained clothes were thrown haphazardly before the shower. Your nightclothes. Your nightclothes that you had definitely been wearing. His own t-shirt that you so adorably asked to wear at night, citing that it smelled just like him. The large shirt that he gave you in mock exasperation, secretly fawning over your cuteness when you slid it on.

Look Seven, it’s like a dress on me!

With another frantic gasp, Saeyoung wailed your name brokenly. Once again compelled to action, he tore his gaze from the bathroom and began to sprint anxiously down the adjacent hallway. He needed to find you. Now. It was dark. The air was stale. His nose twitched in distaste as he sensed the twinge of iron that faintly permeated the hall before him. It felt like there had been little movement in your apartment today. He fumbled for the light switch on the wall. His trembling fingers just missed it. His body was already surging forward, so he continued his aching search into the hall blindly, his feet shuffling against each other lamely –

Why is there blood why why why this can’t be happening

Saeran and I… we got rid of Mint Eye, we survived, we did we DID!

but what if they came back

Why did they take her clothes off??

unless…

Seven’s stomach sank nauseously.

what if they took her what if – no no no nononono NO!

There was a sign of a struggle; she’s bleeding, she’s hurt!

She’s …. Dying.

…

NO please God no–!

Saeyoung suddenly tripped over something heavy. He crashed to the ground, blinking away the tears in his eyes despite not being able to see anything in the dark.

His scuffed palms instinctively reached out to catch him. Angry at his own clumsiness, he fumbled for his phone in his back pocket, swiping up to access his flashlight.

“AGH!” He sprang back in a shocked stupor.

A worryingly large pool of dried blood stood out conspicuously where he had just fell. Darker red, nearly black, glossy clumps of something sat atop the dried blood, having congealed to the consistency of rancid jelly.

Without turning back to see what he had tripped on, Seven screamed your name in utter despair, propelling himself upwards as he desperately searched the last two places you could be. Not wanting to confront the bedroom just yet, he yanked open the door to his office space, quickly glancing around in a fretful daze. Not being able to locate you immediately, he finally turned to your shared bedroom. His phone’s flashlight zeroed in on the bed. The empty bed. The empty bed that was speckled with the same blood that stippled the hallway. And the bathroom. And the kitchen.

You weren’t here.

You were taken.

You were injured.

You were gone–

“No!” Saeyoung collapsed to his knees, struggling to dial the keypad on his phone. He wasn’t even sure whom he was calling when a meek voice sounded out behind him.

“… Seven?”

Dropping his phone in alarm, Saeyoung spun around, ignoring how the carpet burned his knees as he pivoted.

You. You were there.

You were clutching at the bedroom door frame, highlighted only by the last surviving streaks of sunlight creeping through the blinds. You looked… fine. Maybe tired at worst.

Saeyoung choked out your name, his eyes instantly filling with tears. Both of you were frozen for several moments, him out of complete bewilderment, and you, cranky but concerned, having finally been woken from your deep sleep by wails of despair. And then –

Seven rushed to his feet and crushed you against his chest. You could hear and feel his heart thumping erratically in his chest. His breath came out hot and moist as he pressed his lips to the top of your messy hair. His lanky arms wrapped tightly around your startled frame, his fingers finding their desperate purchase around your waist and the small of your back. His taller frame shook, and you soon felt something wet streak down your temple. “I thought I lost you.”

Still utterly confused as to what exactly was happening, you just returned his terrified embrace, perplexed as to why your eyes suddenly filled with tears too.

“Seven… Saeyoung…”

He clutched you even tighter, the symptoms of a full-blown panic attack likely to ensue.

“Luciel.”

Alarmed, you leaned your face back and looked deeply into his blown eyes. You placed shaking yet comforting palms against either side of his sharp cheeks. Fighting past the cotton in your throat, you sought answers for his critical state.

“What do you think happened?”

He let out a wobbly sniffle and returned your intense gaze, gathering the courage needed to answer you coherently.

“Your… your blood. Why is it all over the apartment?” He croaked painfully. As if spooked again, his eyes widened almost comically once more: “You’re not hurt, are you?? Oh God, I didn’t even think to check first. Of course you’re hurt; your BLOOD is all over the place. Oh fuck, it’s on your face too. oh my god. Don’t move, I’m taking you to the hospital oh God…” Saeyoung began to stoop as if to pick you up but you hurriedly made to halt him.

“What – no Saeyoung, stop. I’m fine. See? Why ever would you think that… oh.” You gulped nervously, the hot flush from earlier now creeping up your neck and overtaking your face in shame. Well… fuck.

“Please don’t be mad… um,” you nervously averted your gaze, your hands dropping to pull his wrists out from your sides. You laced your fingers together. “Let’s sit down, yeah?” You guided the shaken man to the end of the bed and then turned away.

Thin fingers suddenly encircled your wrist.

“My sweet, I’m just turning on the lamp. It’s dark now.”

“Oh… right. Of course.”

You padded over to the wall, flicking the switch so that the yellow overhead fluorescent bathed everything in a sad hue.

“Okay so…” You took a shallow breath and eased yourself down onto your boyfriend’s lap, his arms wrapping around your waist once more. You began to card your fingers through his hair. It was a position that brought you both immense comfort and security. “Don’t laugh, but… uh, and I’m really sorry for causing you so much distress, but ahh I guess maybe my body was just so surprised that you got called away real early this morning, remember? Oh of course you remember, you just got back... And so – oh Seven, it must have been the chips! I’m so sorry! I’m a terrible person; I yelled at Meowy and – the underwear! With cats! Saeyoung dear, please understand I didn’t mean to! We can get another pair. But I really blame that stupid Roomba for all of it.” You trailed off pitifully, averting your embarrassed eyes in favour of studying the corner of the bedroom instead.

Silence settled in wake of your rambling statement.

“You… what?” Seven loosened his grip and stared up at your fretful eyes with utter confusion. “Babe,” he took a shaky breath alike to yours, “you know I love you, always, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but – what the fuck are you talking about?”

Unable to hold back your torrent of hormone-induced emotions, you blurted, “I’m on my period!”

“You…”

“It happens every month, Saeyoung.”

“Yes, but… it’s not supposed to get all over the floors! And the walls! And the bed – Babe! The knife! There are clumps of FLESH in the hall!” Seven held your arms in a tight grip, forcing you to look right at him.

“I know! I… it was a heavy flow.” Your eyes cast downwards pathetically. Oh man, do I wanna curl up in a ball and die…

Abruptly, a chuckle resounded off the walls. The chuckle grew into giggling, which then grew into bellowing laughter. You joined in with your boyfriend’s mirth, both of you laughing to expel any of the remaining insecurity and fear you both felt. For every laugh, a tear was shed, and for every hysterical giggle, your interlocked hands squeezed the other.

Growing pains and period pains, your relationship had both.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

You didn’t get to watch the rest of the dwindling sunset together.

After calmly and patiently explaining your abnormal and premature flow, accompanied by the resulting afternoon fiasco via Meowy’s unfortunate presence, you had gotten Seven back to a stable mental state. He blushed furiously, embarrassed that he reacted so dramatically to something as old-hat as your menstrual cycle. But you shushed him, gave him gentle, chaste kisses, and assured him that his reaction wasn’t unfounded. It had been… upsetting for you too, even if your feelings were rooted in annoyance and crankiness more so than fear.

Still shaken by the sight of your blood, Saeyoung insisted that you both cleaned up the flat together. He didn’t want to leave your side, after all. With a light smile, he suggested maybe a game to make the task less grisly. An unassuming pair of handcuffs (which were actually the tipping point for Saeran moving out the day he saw them), a large sponge, and some soapy water later, you and Saeyoung were racing down the hallways nearly on all fours, jointed at the wrists, challenging yourselves to stay upright as you both pushed the same waterlogged sponge across the hardwood floors.

You were both giggling loudly, which only became amplified when you realized that you both still hadn’t up-righted the miserable Roomba.

“Left! Left!” Saeyoung shouldered your direction leftwards, and you both were able to – finally – avoid a third collision with the sad robot.

When you both released yourselves from your metal confines and entered the bathroom, you sadly presented your soiled cat panties to Seven. He wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his grimace. The little cats sure do look hellish with all the blood splatters… You cringed in agreement. The footprints were scrubbed off the tile, and you gathered your discarded clothes to put in the hamper.

“See, my lovey, it’s just the underwear that are bloody.” You held up his t-shirt that you had taken to sleeping in. Seven blushed harder and stammered an apology. “Don’t apologize, everything else was pretty much covered in blood… it’s natural to think that the shirt was too.” You offered an easy, albeit still concerned, smile. He gratefully returned it.

Saeyoung stammered the most upon seeing the knife in the kitchen. “I uh –, “ he cupped the back of his neck, “I didn’t really inspect it earlier. I just saw… hehe… red.” His face turned the colour of his hair. Meowy let out a mewl of approval.

Cracking a grin to yourself, you shook your head. “I know.”

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

It wasn’t until an hour or two later that you both had finally cleaned your flat of the remaining incriminating evidence. Both tired, you were entirely resigned to spending the rest of this nightmarish day cuddled with your boyfriend in bed. It seemed this was Seven’s train of thought too, until his eyes suddenly lit up with excitement.

“Babe!” He twirled you around the kitchen, picking you up and settling you down on the counter. He wedged himself between your legs as you were winding your arms around his neck. “I didn’t forget.”

“Hmm?” You offered him a dazed expression.

“You scream~” He began to improvise one of his many cutesy melodies, “I scream~~”

Your eyes brightened with sudden realization: “We all scream for ice cream!”

“Yes! My princess requests! And so, I shall deliver!” He kissed both of your cheeks, helped you down, and then shucked off his coat. Wrapping it tightly around your shoulders, he tilted your chin up, “Cute.” Wink.

“Allons-y!”

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

Jumin had had a terribly frustrating, annoying, absolutely baffling day.

Upon arriving at work, he was met with a flustered Jaehee.

“Sir, something’s wrong with the network,” she glanced down at her clipboard, “And, ahem, well your technologies, sir.”

An arched brow. “My technologies?”

“It appears everything fed through your devices ends up not going through. I’m afraid we’ll have to complete all documents the old-fashioned way today.”

The other arched brow. “The old-fashioned way?”

“Handwritten, Mr. Han. Everything will have to be done by hand.”

Assistant Kang’s words sealed Han Jumin’s fate. His hands cramped. He had ink smears over his pinstriped dress shirt. And his hair now sported commoner cowlicks.

Jumin returned home around 9 PM, exhausted and bleary beyond belief. “Elizabeth, my love – come and comfort your father.” Jumin stumbled into his penthouse, intent on cuddling his cat since she somehow eluded him earlier that morning.

“Meow~” The stunning Persian vocalized lazily as she sauntered up to her master.

“Ah, what a fine lady you are.” Jumin scooped her up and nosed her long fur. Something round and cool brushed against his skin. Curious, Jumin fondled the delicate metal lock attached to an imposter satin ribbon looped around Elizabeth’s neck.

“What is this?” He scoffed, irritated that one of the guards must have thought to play dress up with his cat.

Jumin set Elizabeth down and removed the ribbon. He clicked the locket open. Inside, there was a photoshopped photo of Saeyoung and his Elizabeth recreating American Gothic, but with childish doodled hearts and horrendous text in Comic Sans font:

707 x Elly forever!!!

“Luciel… I expected no less.” Jumin rolled his eyes. “Well done I suppose, though I’ll have next draw, of course.” The tall man smirked enigmatically to himself and went to bed.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

But for now, somewhere in Seoul, you shared an ice cream sundae with Seven.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

Notes:

Several notes ~ hello! I am relatively new to the mysme fandom (quarantine really said hey, why don't you go ahead and fall in love with the RFA boys, and I woefully agreed) This story is actually sort of based on something that happened to me, believe it or not. I mean, beside the having Seven as my bf part T_T I had a really heavy flow one month, like my body decided to just do the period all at once on one day instead of drawing it out for a week or so like normal. So yes - I woke up, felt impending doom as one does, and then stood up to make it to the bathroom. Well, gravity check - like all this blood and ya know the squishy period stuff fell out instead and I was like??? ok???? This was also at like 4am, so I cleaned myself up, and went back to sleep. Sadly, I had to clean up the massive splatter on my floor when I actually got up several hours later. That was probably tmi, but hey, periods are a natural part of life so~~ I'm fine, dw. Periods just be weird sometimes. ANYWAY - you can leave me prompt ideas or send them to me on tumblr via the same username (curiousherbal). The end of this fic sorta alludes to another fic I have in mind ;) EDIT: Which I have now posted, it may be found here Thank you so much for reading! This was a mammoth. I only ever wanted it to be around 1k, but here we are nearly 6k words later.... I just love seven ;_; ok bye bye