#sleep tight disgusting blob

[alice-makes-things]

Guys I work in a library and if you have children you need to borrow this picture book for them

Or just borrow it for yourself I don’t make the rules

[kneelingshadowsalome]

A Brute, An Angel... (König x F!OC)

Summary: König gets an order to make a female SpecGru sniper talk, but König doesn't want to hurt women.

Category: Smut 🔞, angst, fluff

Tags & warnings: Explicit mature content +18 audiences only, strangers to lovers (slight enemies to lovers), dubious consent, threats of rape, virgin!König, size kink, size difference, p in v, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, squirting, hugs and cuddles, super fluffy ending. König will be named in later chapters. 

A/N: KorTac and SpecGru are rivaling military contractors, Conor is König's superior (and a huge villain), and I just wanted to write angsty smut featuring our favourite Austrian boi. 

Part 1/3 of Valkyrie

Read on Ao3

A Brute, An Angel...

"You're always yappin' about how ya can make prisoners talk. Now here's ya chance."

König tried his best to stand tall while Conor spat at him with a gruff accent he couldn't quite place. He could tell the man got off on this: getting a chance to order him around and making him uncomfortable. He concentrated on looking down at him — knowing perfectly well that it only pissed Conor off when he did that. As if König could will himself to be shorter.

"But she's a… She's a girl. Sir."

"She is an enemy, and we need that intel."

I highly doubt that, sir.

"What do you want me to do with her?"

"Make the captive talk. Ya don't have to do the usual. If y'know what I mean."

"Are you suggesting that I rape her, Conor?"

The fact that he used the Lieutenant's name to appeal to him on a more personal level should've spoken volumes. But it had little effect on the man everybody in the KorTac was more or less scared of.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm giving you an order."

If Calisto or Stiletto were here, Conor would be on the ground by now, begging for mercy. König found himself thinking what stopped him from gutting the man right then and there.

"Does the team leader know about this?"

“Never ya mind about that."

"Permission to speak, sir," Zero pushed in.

"Go on."

"This goes against the protocol-"

"Did ya give two shits about the bloody protocol when we were in Adal?"

The abrupt outburst almost made König flinch. Almost.

Zero didn't turn the slightly disgusted gaze away, but snapped his mouth shut.

"I - I can't do it," König muttered.

"You sayin' you refuse to obey an order?"

König straightened upon hearing the word 'order' but otherwise remained in confused silence.

"I suggest you carry on unless ya wanna get demoted to a fuckin' desk job. It's your call."

And with that, Conor turned and marched off. Zero followed suit, sparing a pitiful glance at König as he went.

He was left alone in the bunker hallway, illuminated by a lamp that produced an unnerving buzz.

Conor was only doing this because he liked to bully him. Somehow, somewhere, Lt had lost his humanity, but it wasn't supposed to be his problem. Not until Conor made it his problem.

Something in him made the Lieutenant tick. König didn't know whether it was because he was a relatively fresh recruit or whether it was the fact that he was a foreigner. Hell, maybe it was the mask, how could he know?

"Fuckin' jerry."

And he wasn't even; he was Austrian, but Conor didn't care, which meant that it was something else about him that got under his skin. The man had vehemently decided to hate him, and he could do nothing about it.

König turned to the door leading to the interrogation room, grabbed the doorknob, inhaled deeply, and went in.

The girl was tied to the ceiling with a grey paracord that bit into her wrists as she hung there, barely able to stand. The bastard had bound her unreasonably tight. An ugly sight, that.

But she wasn't.

The thick braid was messy, her arms were more or less bruised, and her face had dirt on it, but she was, by far, one of the loveliest beings he had ever seen. She looked like heaven and hell, an angel of war who had fought for days against overwhelming forces and only wanted to sleep.

He swallowed, glad of the hood making the blob of his Adam’s apple invisible. She stirred and looked up, eyes dark with the burned out wrath of a cornered wild thing. She looked dog-tired, and scared. Beaten. And no one had even struck her yet. Not that he knew of, at least.

She pulled herself to her feet by the rope, although it was long enough to allow her to stand, and raised her chin.

"So you're the one they sent to break me."

-----

It was him.

The man that had gotten her in this situation in the first place.

She had been stupid enough to freeze for a few moments, the crucial little moments that meant the difference between life and death, escape and capture. And for what? To watch how this beast raged on the battlefield like it was his playground, to watch how he plowed through her mates while bullets showered around him. Seemed to evade him even though he was the largest possible target in the whole damn skirmish.

It didn't really help that his gear was gone. He was still one of the biggest men she had ever seen. If not the biggest.

The black hood was still in place, though, making him look like an inquisitor. Or an executioner.

She suspected he was here to make her talk. He could probably make anyone talk... But there was a particular threat present here. She was a woman in a helpless state, and she had a hunch that this mountain of a man wouldn't shy away from any methods that would humiliate and destroy her. He probably enjoyed it: getting a little treat after a nice day in the field.

The man strode to her, and it seemed that the only thing that moved as he walked was his hips. But the sound of his weight, the sheer mass that met the floor through combat boots, made her draw back in a futile attempt to disappear somewhere between her raised arms.

He stopped a generous few feet away, crossed his arms over his chest, then unraveled them again to his sides. He was all corded muscle beneath that black shirt, the fabric barely concealing the curves of a well-built chest. The poor textile stretched from the swell of his shoulders.

She didn't say anything. She expected a punch in the face, a knee to the stomach. Something to get things started.

He walked behind her, much more slowly, the thumps against the cold, hard cement causing the hair on her neck to stand on end. He stepped close, so close that she could feel his body heat against her back.

"Listen to me." She flinched at his voice, far more high-pitched than she would've suspected from such a beast of a man.

"I'm going to help you. But you have to assist me here."

The 'here' sounded more like german for 'hier'. Through her terror sweat and confusion, she found herself wondering how odd it was that the KorTac had some German guy working for them.

"We have to…" he cleared his throat from the falsetto his voice was climbing to.

And she only now realized that he was nervous.

The soldier was fucking nervous.

"We have to have intercourse," he continued, his accent bleeding thick through her senses like some goddamn ASMR she used to calm herself with. A guilty pleasure she succumbed to when she tried to reach sleep after a mission.

Only after she got past the fact that the enemy soldier's voice made her feel tingly, she understood what he had said exactly. What he was proposing.

She knew that nerves and adrenaline were a fucked up thing. You could get turned on during the most absurd situations when the survival instinct kicked in. Those situations could include getting a target on sight and pulling the trigger, or getting hit and receiving care under fire.

Turned out that it could include the prospect of getting tortured by a 6 feet something enemy merc who whispered in her ear with a thick German accent, gently like a lover.

Perhaps this whole set-up was just another kind of torture. A good cop, bad cop routine, in which he was both of the cops. He tried to tear her walls down and make her trust him, and when she refused to tell him anything, he would get to work. Tear her nails off, dislocate joints, rape her bloody.

"I'm not going to speak."

She announced it with a far less stern voice than she would’ve preferred, and heard him swallow. Either he was damn good at acting, or he was the most socially anxious soldier she had ever seen.

He rounded her and stopped only an inch or two from her face. Which only reached the man’s chest, broad and lean, covered in that black shirt and smelling of battlefield along with his sweat - the combination hitting her nostrils as an undiluted, masculine scent. He reached a gloved hand to prop her chin up, to force her to look at him.

It was her turn to swallow, and the angle he forced her neck caused the sound of her gulp to echo in the bunker. The tactical glove had cut-proof padding on the knuckles, and it scratched the delicate facial skin, even though his touch was more of a coax than a yank. But that wasn’t what caught her attention so vividly that it nearly made her knees buckle.

It was his ice-blue stare. The eyes stood out from the holes of his mask, from among the heavily applied black facial paint like two beacons. And they were gentle. Bordering on puppy eyes. The thought alone nearly made her laugh hysterically.

Even with her faltering knowledge of human character, she could’ve bet all in that this man would not hurt her. That he was far from a torturer.

And the knowledge made her even more confused. If he wasn’t the torturer, then who was he? What the hell did he want?

“You have to co-operate.” His voice was strained with something akin to despair.

“I can only help you escape if you co-operate,” he whispered, his voice so low it went straight between her legs.

Jesus, this was not okay.

He released her chin, but she didn’t turn her gaze away. Her eyes roamed his face, or rather, the black hood that covered it. She wondered why he wore it when other soldiers didn’t bother to hide their identities. The only other man she had seen wearing a mask was Lt, with the top of a human skull attached to his balaclava. And even he wasn’t this big. Albeit menacing and shrouded in mystery that came from all things danger, death, and pain, the man before her now intrigued her far more than even Ghost did.

Why did he hide his face? Why was he so… jittery?

And why did he try to escape her gaze?

He looked like the whole situation was too much for him. To say that the man was distraught when she merely looked him straight in the eyes when he told her that they needed to fuck, would be an understatement.

If she were to choose a man to torture someone with his dick, this would be her last choice.

“What’s the escape plan, then?” She asked, still not believing for a second that he would help her, even if he didn’t strike her as intimidating anymore.

"I, uh…"

"You don't have a plan?"

"Well, not yet."

"Why am I not surprised," she murmured into the stale, dusty air of the chamber. "Why would you even want to help me?"

"I don't hurt women," he said and took a step back as if to confirm that statement.

This was so fucking ridiculous. He was a mercenary in a filthy bunker with a bound prisoner, assuring that he was a gentleman. Was she on candid camera or something?

She had never been in a situation like this. She had never imagined being in a situation even remotely close to this. She would have laughed over the absurdity of the whole thing but couldn't, because her lower lip started to tremble.

He noticed it and instantly shifted weight from one leg to the other. He tried to direct his anxiety into the leisurely movement, and it caused his hips to sway from one side to the other, making her think of all kinds of stupid associations, such as lapdance and snake hips.

With those rather tight khaki pants, it was impossible to prevent her eyes from darting to the bulging thighs and the evident package he was delivering between them.

Jesus fucking Christ, pull your shit together…

"I'm going to get you out of here," he promised.

"That's cute of you," she tiredly threw in, getting far too much satisfaction out of the reaction her words managed to pull out of him. He blinked a few times, and the colossal chest heaved as if the man was trying to catch his breath. "Funny that you need to fuck me to be able to do so."

Another switch from side to side, a sway of those goddamn khaki-covered hips.

"I'm almost positive that the only surveillance they have on this room is that camera over there. The screen is in another room," he told her, sounding stupidly proud of his debatable skills in spying. She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "But the guys there are usually watching tv," he hurried to add.

"I doubt they will today if your orders are to rape me." Again, he looked abashed, eyes darting to the floor and back to her. Was this guy thick in the head or something? "Probably got their beers popped and their pants down by now…" she said, and the man let out something close to a squeal.

"That is exactly why we have to… provide them with something until I come up with a plan."

She looked at him and almost smiled. Like one would smile at a daft dog that was far too eager to please.

"You just said you don't hurt women," she said.

"That is why I very much wish you would co-operate," he answered.

"You are the weirdest torturer ever."

"I - I am not a torturer. I'm just a soldier," he tried to assure her with that climbing voice. He was shitty at concealing his uneasiness. The man was completely flustered.

"Then why did they assign you with this… task," she demanded to know. It was yet again laughable: as if he was the one being grilled here. He wouldn't answer, and she cocked her head to the side.

"Ever interrogated with your dick before?" She blurted.

His hands were trembling. Slightly, but they were.

"Negative," he said, voice tight.

Was this guy….

Was he a virgin?

The twisted concept of some romantic chivalry, the nervousness, the respectful distance he kept, and the fact that his hands started shaking when she said a dirty word, all pointed to the possibility that he very much might be.

She thought he was picked because he was big, because his obvious blessings in the crotch department also held a promise of pain. But this guy certainly didn't know what the heck he was doing. And not only because he wasn't a torturer or because he didn't want to hurt a lady. She could almost swear, hand on Bible, that this man had never been with a woman. Not much further than the first base, anyway.

"Well, get on with it then."

She told herself it was only because it was useless to postpone the suffering that would eventually come anyway.

She told herself it was not because she was trying to break a Guinness world record of developing Stockholm Syndrome to this guy and his adorableness. She told herself it was definitely not because she kinda sorta wanted to see how he would act when he had to actually pull that cock out and touch her with it.

He stared at her, eyes wide beneath that oversized hood, and she could swear it was his heart, not hers, that made that thumping sound.

"I am going to touch you," he informed her. Like the dumbest moron.

If she ever got out of here, and if she ever, ever told this story to someone, they wouldn't be able to believe it.

He took his gloves off - why would he even bother to do that? - and let them drop to the ground.

His fingers were long, the fingernails meticulously cut. There were a few scrapes and scratches here and there on his palm, indicating his lack of coordination. Clumsy boy.

When he reached for her, she assumed he would go for her tits, or her waist, or grope her ass. But he didn't. Fingers cupped her face, trembling still, before they slid over her neck and grabbed her throat, not to choke, but to revel. Like she was a sculpture or something, and he wanted to know how the material felt. How soft she was.

She looked into his eyes, because eyes told everything; they would betray a flash of sadism or whatever else she still expected from this strange man. They roamed all over her, darted across her face, every now and then to her eyes, but mostly avoided her stare like the plague. He wouldn’t hold a gaze for much longer than a glimpse of a second. And there was still no sign of lust for inflicting pain. Only perplexed wonderment.

Her hands and arms were numb because of the position she was in, hands tied above her head, blood flow inhibited. But she paid it no mind as his hand traveled down her neck, caressed her collarbones, and then stopped right before he reached the gap between her breasts, free game in the white tank top she had been left with, along with her cargo pants and boots.

“Can I… May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice muffled and so thick that it was difficult to untangle what he had said.

It was such an odd request that her words left her, and she could only produce a whimpering sound at the back of her throat. He took it as a yes, and raised his hood, only enough to reveal a pair of thin lips among a light brown stubble. His mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again, as if he didn’t know how to proceed.

He bent down like the giant he was, not hinging at the hips but hunching over towards her, probably trying to appear smaller but ending up looking like there was a tower falling on her. The smell of gasoline and sweat hit her as his lips met hers, parted, and a shy flick of tongue swept across her bottom lip. She tried to remember how to breathe and ignore the rush of wetness that told her she would have no problem whatsoever with him parting her nether lips too. He captured her lip, sucked, then opened his mouth wider and hers with it.

She answered his kiss - just a little bit, and he instantly deepened it and moaned into her mouth. She fluttered her eyes open and saw that his were squeezed shut. He pressed a hand against her back and pulled her against his overwhelming body. All she could feel was muscle… and then some more. He was hard, the thick erection colliding with her stomach all but seductively. She went completely stiff, eyes wide and lips tight.

The man went even more rigid, if possible. He released her mouth with a grunt and buried his head in her neck.

"I can't -... I can't do this, I'm gonna go and tell him they need to find somebody else," he said in a strained voice, riddled with pain.

No. No.

The fuck he would.

If he would be replaced by somebody else, some crazy, blood-drunk soldier with cold eyes and a knife, some jerk-off who hadn't had a go with a woman since their last leave, she would fucking die.

"Please don't," she hushed and swallowed against him, the place where his hood and the collar of his shirt revealed skin.

"I want it to be you," she continued to whisper in his ear, meaning to say If it has to be somebody, let it be you, but choosing to deliver a sentence as persuasive as possible. As inviting as possible.

So that he wouldn't leave her in the hands of someone with no mercy.

"Scheiße…" The hot air brushed against her skin, even through that hood.

"If only I could touch you too," she said, regretting it immediately. She was acting a little too enthusiastic in the midst of her panic. Trying desperately to prevent him from leaving.

But the hand on her back moved down a bit, and long fingers splayed over the small of her back, pressing gently.

"Don't tease me," he huffed, panting although they were both quite still.

Jesus Christ… at this rate, the KorTac could hire her to do the interrogations.

She wondered whether the surveillance team was looking at the scene, which was far too intimate and loving to be an interrogation. What kind of a man would try to pry information out of someone by embracing them gently? Kissing them hesitantly?

In a way, this was torture: she didn't know what would happen to her after… whatever this was. She didn't know what procedures would follow when the others found out he had no intel for them to tell.

Let's get this fucking over with.

"What's your name?" She asked, hoping that the puppy boy wasn't naive enough to tell her his actual name.

"They call me König."

King in german...

"König…-"

She meant to ask him to touch her so that this horrible, awkward mess would come to at least some sort of an end, but couldn't find the words. His name on her tongue seemed to do the trick, though. He ground his hips against her, and had she not been tied to the ceiling, the movement would have toppled her. The hand on her back went behind her knee and raised it to his hip. Then another hand slid down to do the same to her other knee, pulling her from the ground like she weighed nothing at all.

The strain on her arms was released, and the relief was heavenly. For that alone, she could've let him do whatever he wanted to her.

"You're so klein… small," he commented with her raised to straddle his lap and her face finally on the same level as his. "Small people make good snipers," he declared with a hint of longing in his voice.

She had a terrible urge to sling the bundle of hands over his head. And not for self-defense reasons.

"I'm not that small, you're just big," she said, like a beauty to the beast, like it was a cute scene in a movie where everybody was nice to each other. Her gut feeling of the man being a virgin only increased by the minute. He was so… blameless. It was downright unintelligible that he was a soldier.

But she had seen how brutal he was on the field, how he had struck holes in her teammate with a combat knife like he was playing tag and didn't quite know the rules. Didn't know that one stab in a well-picked spot would have sufficed.

She had seen him haul a grown man with 100 extra pounds of tactical gear on him up like the poor man was a barbell, and bring them down over his knee. The sound of a breaking spine would probably haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. She had simply gawked at the display of utter, brutal violence before her. Normal men, even soldiers of a special forces tactical unit, simply didn't do stuff like that. Hands-on, down in the mud, barbarian kind of stuff from medieval times.

And now the same man was fondling her like she was his sweetheart. Like he was about to carry her in the bedroom full of roses and other syrupy valentines shit.

"And what do they call you?"

The accent was really doing things to her, along with the few german words tossed here and there, absentmindedly like candy. He was an enigma with his colossal body, croaking voice, and gentleness that surpassed even the violence.

"Valkyrie."

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, astonished.

"My team found out I used to do fencing, and I'm blonde, so…"

It was silly and the swords weren't even that big. One could hardly call them swords at all, the pointy little things they were.

But the situation indeed had taken a turn into a sick fairytale. Like, come on. Valkyrie and König? Some stupid hippie would've loved that: how it was meant to be, destined, even, that the two of them had met. That she was a damsel in distress, and he was here to save her from the ring of fire.

She stifled the urge to shake her head, to snap out of where this was spiraling into.

Affection.

They barely even knew each other's codenames. She was in a modern version of a dungeon, lit by a single light bulb, about to get raped by some edgy, mentally unstable goliath, she reminded herself. While perhaps psychologically interesting, he was not okay. This was not okay. She had been trained for situations like this.

Except that she wasn't. She was trained to withstand torture, battering, spending days in a cell where the lights never went out. She knew methods to draw the mind away from constant pain. But she hadn't received instructions on what to do in a situation where she wasn't even being questioned. Not even on the sly. Her call sign wasn't much of a secret. They probably knew who she was before they brought her to this room.

"There are many stories of valkyries in my Heimat," he prattled on enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I know the Nibelung saga," she said.

"Very heroic, very German tale."

"You ought to know."

"No no, I'm not German, I'm Austrian," he said.

This was turning into an odd conversation.

"König." She said in an attempt to bring his attention to the present moment. He fluttered his eyes, long lashes batting over that innocent-looking stare.

"Don't. Just… don't," she tried not to stutter.

He had lied to her about not being a torturer. Chatting with her like they were on their first date, discovering that they were actually intrigued about one another... It was insufferable. Although she was the one who had started it by asking his name…

"Right. Getting on with it," he said like he had been given an order. Her heart stung. Tears were welling up from the absurdity of this whole situation, from his silliness, from her having felt rather comfortable and safe in his hold. Fucking safe.

She should quit the army when she got out of here. If she got out of here. She wasn't right in the head to continue with this job.

"I've been an idiot," he told her.

You're damn right.

An idiot she could imagine herself falling in love with in another situation, but an idiot nonetheless.

"You should put on more of a fight, and…" he trailed off.

And you should be rough, you dumdum, she thought. Again, in another situation, she would've probably loved him to be rough.

"Roger," she said to him and heard him chuckle, saw how a few wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. He lowered her down to the ground, and she hissed when her arms extended against the rope again. He let her go, gently, like it was his fault that she was attached to the roof.

"I would help you, but -"

"It's ok." She gave him a weighted look that told him to stop speaking. To get on with the action so that she wouldn't get attached even more than she already was.

He grabbed her by the throat again, doing a shitty job at trying to make it look like he was manhandling her. His eyes landed on her chest, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, thinking about whether he should tear her top. Apparently deciding against it, he went for his trousers instead, pulling the belt buckle open with a click.

It had been a while, what with all the stress and the sleep deprivation not being an ideal combo to get her juices flowing. But nothing could prepare her for the surge of wet heat when the front of those light brown pants practically gave way for what must’ve been the largest bulge she had ever seen. It was almost vulgar, even more so when the fabric of his boxer shorts stretched at the sudden throb.

She realized her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she closed it carefully, but her lips parted again when he continued to shove both of those pants down. He didn’t even bother to take them off, and they were left somewhere mid-thigh, with belt buckle dangling in the air.

And God, he was huge.

It wouldn’t even stand up properly, even though there was no doubt that he had a full-on erection. It jerked between them like a threat, or a dare, but mostly it was just a long, thick, veined baulk that couldn’t support itself because it was just so goddamn big. He was uncut, but the foreskin had drawn back from the arousal, and the tip of his slit glistened with precum.

And he was flustered again, misinterpreting her stare as a sign of fear instead of awe.

"I promise I'll be quick," he whispered, and the first thing that her mind chirped back was Please don't. And not because it would probably be painful. But because she desperately wanted him to slide that monster in inch by inch and take his beautiful time with it.

"Uh-huh," she managed to say before the man codenamed King stretched his fingers toward her pants.

With trembling digits, he opened them and started tearing them down before realizing she could not spread her legs without him taking the pants off. And then he realized he couldn't take them off without taking her boots off.

So what happened was that her panties and pants were halfway down, and the Austrian hulk kneeled in front of her with his hooded face in level with her pussy. He turned his head to the side and leaned a bit on her thigh to unlace her boots, but she was pretty sure he did it mainly because he was embarrassed to look straight at her cunt.

She helped him as much as she could, raising her feet one by one for him to take the combat boots off. He tossed them somewhere to the side and tore her pants down, all the way down, and over her feet, leaving her in her tank top and socks.

He rose, his cock brushed her thigh, and she jerked like she had been scraped by some sharp object. It bounced at the contact, bumping against her again, sweeping a wet streak over her skin.

"Sorry," he mumbled like it was somehow worse than what he was about to do next. When he would shove… that thing inside her.

He picked her up again, almost in a hurry. Her heart was ramming against her ribcage and her mouth was dry as her feet left the ground. He was hard against her belly, flesh hot and throbbing and slick with precum that pushed out from the tip and left wet stains on her top.

This time she did raise her hands over his head and let the arms come down to rest on his shoulders. Her intuition told her she would soon need the support.

He moved her around like she was a doll, letting the erection drop between them to position himself against her slit. Her folds parted without effort as he slid against them, once, twice, before halting.

Don't comment about it, don't…

"You're wet," he grunted with delighted surprise.

"Yeah?" She said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Just fucking do it, she yelled in her mind, lips drawn into a straight line so that even a dumbass like he could see that this was not the moment for hesitation.

And he didn't hesitate.

He searched, adjusted himself, adjusted her, spread his stance, grunted…

And it was pretty clear by now that he didn't know what he was doing. Her nipples brushed against his chest as he searched for the right spot with her in his arms, and she hoped he would've taken his shirt off so she could feel skin instead of cotton.

"There," she helped him with a whisper as he hit the right spot. He returned, probed, and she guided him. "Now up…", and he bent his knees while raising her slightly. The angle was right, and he finally drove in, slowly but surely.

The stretch was phenomenal. It hurt more than a bit after he had passed the entrance, and the delicious feeling turned into a burning sensation.

"Wait.." she begged, and he stopped immediately, panting like a runner.

"Back up a bit."

He did, pulling out almost completely before she bucked her hips to let him know he could push back in. And when he did, she gasped, and he moaned, so tight and so glorious that the sound that erupted from him was laced with pure need.

"Ach, you're tight.. soft…"

She clenched around him at his shameless commentary, and he let out another broken sigh.

Of course it's tight when you're so big..

He wouldn't go fully in, and she doubted whether he ever even could. She had never been this filled. But more was coming.

He withdrew again before thrusting back inside, deeper still.

"Oh Jesus," she gasped, "yes, just like that.." the words escaped her lips and she noticed his eyes were directed at her, drunk and half-lidded.

"Yeah…" he echoed, his voice shivering like a leaf. "Das gut?"

If her hands were free, she would've torn that hood away, buried her fingers in his hair, and pulled until he would expose his fucking throat for her to kiss and lick.

He began thrusting with a steady pace, shallow but intense, going deeper every now and then when he slipped. His hands shifted, one by one, to grab her by her butt to glide her up and down his length. It was fucking hot that he didn't need his hips to fuck her, that he could just move her around with his hands and slam her against it if he wanted to. Her ankles hooked around his waist on reflex, and her fingers flexed in the ties, trying to grasp onto something but finding only air.

"You feel so good," the short, agonized 'good' coming out more like 'gut'; and her pussy tightened, pulled, and sucked him like he was the best thing ever.

"Sch…shit," he breathed laboriously, taking a moment and thrusting even deeper, eyes closing like he was on the brink of losing consciousness..

He hit a spot that was both familiar and unfamiliar, and she was pretty sure that if someone was looking at the surveillance material, they couldn't tell whether the look on her face was of pain or pleasure. She couldn't keep herself in check, couldn't seize control anymore. She was so soaked at this point that the evidence of her arousal was heavy and loud. So audible that it made her cheeks hot.

"I wonder what you taste like," he mused, his hood shaking in sync with his thrusts. "Honey and raindrops, eh?"

"Mh," she sobbed, her thighs quivering. She wanted to spread them more, to let him see her and have a taste, to present herself for him to do as he pleased. But she couldn't move much in his grasp. It was like she had been propped up on a machine, buckled to a seat reserved just for her.

He took a wider stance as if hearing her thoughts on wanting even more of what he had to offer, and she held on to him as he shifted like the continental plates beneath her. He proceeded to fuck her while leaning his head against the side of hers, and she held on to him as he breathed into her neck. The occasional moan sounded more like a sob as his cock slid in and out, in and out, slick with her wetness.

"You're what they sing about in Rheingold," he kept talking that romantic bullshit in her ear while stuffing her with that long Austrian cock that would make most women squirt if he kept at it long enough. "Und Walküre…"

It was so good she wanted to cry. She thought about letting a tear or two slip and saying it was just for the show if he asked. Virgin or not, König was doing a pretty decent job in making her a writhing, weak mess. He was not too quick, not too slow, but set just the right, rigorous pace that would send her into oblivion. He became the fountain stone, the buoy in the storm. He was the man that would send her over the brink and the man to hold her unwaveringly as she fell.

"Not much longer," he informed her light-heartedly, like he was in the middle of a mission about to be completed. Completed to the fucking full.

She couldn't even begin to tell him that she was already there, because everything suddenly coiled and burst, and she was arching her back, making him reach even deeper, almost fully inside her, the heavy balls slapping against her ass as her toes curled and her body went completely rigid…

The sound that broke out was not a yell, nor a scream, it was a violation of her vocal cords. She had never sounded like this — like someone falling and meeting the ground with a strained, lewd groan. Like someone who had the orgasm of their life.

He startled, almost quailed from her. Not because of the screaming, nor the sounds she made after… but because she came, hard, while he was banging her like a battering ram.

"Genau so…" König rasped, taken aback but trying his all to cover it. He slowed down on instinct, letting her greedy pussy suck on him like it was giving him a blowjob, telling him he was a good, good boy… because her words had left her.

He moved a little, and she could see the flash of those eyes from within the darkness of the hood, knew that he was watching her intently as she swam in ecstasy with an open mouth and pinched nose and eyes that wouldn't focus.

"Schön," he continued, sounding fragile. Weak. Vulnerable…

She couldn't for the life of her look at him, look in those eyes that must've told her things she wasn't strong enough to deal with at the very moment.

Her head dropped and her thighs went slack, but König held her, steadfast like the most gallant knight. He resumed his earlier pace with caution and care, breathing distinctly with his mouth open under that black mask. She was limp in his arms, trying to hold on as best she could while listening how the cock drove into her again with moist, sloppy sounds.

The moans that followed didn’t suit a man of his build at all. She had expected brute strength and hoarse grunts, not pinched, needy sobs and a head softly pressed against her. Forehead against fucking forehead. And he probably didn't even know what it was doing to her because he was such a stupid, adorable little — ugh, big dumbass.

She wanted to grasp his shoulders, slide her hands under his mask and raise it, kiss those moans straight from his lips, and run her fingers all over his stubble, the chiseled jawline she had seen only once. She wanted to feel him, all of him, not just his hands and his cock, even though they were good. Or fucking best. It almost made her cry; the post-orgasm need to cuddle for a bit but not being able to do so because her hands were bound to the fucking ceiling of a fucking dull grey bunker.

"Can I… cum..?"

Was he asking her permission to…

"Can I cum inside… Please, I'm close," he panted.

"Yeah… Yes.."

He slowed down the pace as he drew out his own upcoming release, relishing the last thrusts like he was sampling the finest cuisine. She finally dared to look at him and saw that his eyes were open and full of naked, helpless adoration. Devotion, even.

She must have been imagining: they were only the eyes of a man who was about to nut good. But damn if that fevered, helpless stare didn’t succeed in touching her very soul. To her horror, he wasn't shy this time, but held her gaze, held it, held it — until his lashes fluttered and he went over the brink with a cry.

It echoed from the damp concrete walls, just a single, prolonged wail that eventually broke and ended in miserable panting.

She could feel his cock throbbing, shooting the load inside, emptying the whole magazine in her. How the seed welled up, unable to go anywhere before he would decide to pull out.

König laid his head on her shoulder and pulled her against him, and she was not suspended only in rope but in time and space as well. His shoulders moved up and down with the heavy breaths, and she pulled her tied hands to awkwardly brush his neck as he came down from heaven.

He was shaking. Shaking, and let out a whimper against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, she was sure he was crying or on the verge of doing so.

"König?"

He shuddered a sigh, taking a moment to himself.

She felt hollow. Not raped, not assaulted, not abused. Just hollow, knowing what had happened between them would not be a recurring thing. That there was no 'them', not really. Not in the real, actual world.

"You can let go of me now," she whispered, although that was the last thing she wanted him to do.

But he did as she proposed, lowering her down and sliding out of her only after her feet had met solid ground. He pulled out carefully, gently, like he was leaving his beloved. Warm fluid descended down her left thigh in a streak, indicating that it had been a while for him.

Her head was full of dumb thoughts, such as whether he had a girl waiting for him somewhere back home. In Germany perhaps — no, in Austria. And if he had, just how lucky that person was.

She wondered if he had found someone here, and if they were in the military or not.

She wondered if there was no one, if he was alone, and if he curled up in a fetal position every night before he fell asleep in some bed that was too small for him.

And whether he would get into trouble for violating orders.

"You were," he started, eyes directed to the ground, "magnificent."

Was I your first, King?

"You weren't that bad yourself," she complimented him back, and he huffed.

"You liked it?" He asked in a way that made her heart squeeze tightly in her chest.

"Wasn't it obvious?" She couldn't help but smile. Couldn't… Wouldn't.

"Ja," he chuckled while looking down at his boots with an interest that was totally born from shyness. "I'm glad I could please you," he said before tucking himself demurely back into his trousers.

She wondered if he was as aware as she was of the fact that neither of them had played out the part they were supposed to. It had all gone out the window the moment he had touched her again. Practically thrown out, as if they were defying death itself together.

He gathered her boots and helped her step first inside her panties and then the cargo pants. He had to go around her back and reach from behind to zip her up and put her belt on, and it was such a mundane, cute act that she thought that this was indeed the cruelest form of torture she had ever witnessed. He hovered over her after he was done, and stole a brief caress of her waist before crouching to lace up her boots.

He rose, and came back in front of her, and the silence between them stretched to a short eternity. There were so many things she wanted to say, things he probably wanted to say, thoughts buzzing in both of their heads like bees as his seed cooled down on her thigh and made her pants stick to her skin here and there.

She thought about thanking him for being gentle, but what was she really thanking him for? Raping her tenderly? With the attentiveness and passion of a lover?

Was it rape if she had enjoyed it? If she had had one of the most powerful orgasms of her life?

He was… she had no words for him. The way he had unraveled her in mere minutes was shocking. Devastating, to say the least.

"I will find a way," he promised for the thousandth time. "I will not let them hurt you."

She nodded slowly, continued to do so while looking at him, her eyes welling with tears.

“Hey, kleine Süße, don't worry.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, soft and sweet. "I will be your Siegfried."

She didn't have the heart to remind him that both Siegfried and the valkyrie died in that story.

Part 2:

[aesthbaby]

Attention pt. 2

Summary: After being the unsub’s latest victim in a joint case with the BAU, you see what was missing. Nothing’s ever been clearer and all it took was being rendered unconscious by an unsub in front of your girlfriend and her entire team. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Plus!size reader

Prompt: Check part one

Warnings: cursing | kissing | injury | mentions of a fictional case | poisoning

Word count: 2719

Masterlist

An: I’m pretty sure you can read this as a stand alone if you wanted to but here’s part one. Also, I’m sorry this took me 2 months to publish.

The moon is brighter than the sun? No I’m pretty sure the sun is. What’s wrong with me? Why does my head hurt?

You attempt to reach for your head but your arms are too heavy to be of any use. 

That’s definitely not the moon.

The light source is moving. It’s a flashlight, the pocket sized one.

“Stay with us.” You hear a jumble voice from behind but can’t make out who it is. “We’re almost there.” The light is too bright but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. It hurts. “No, no stay up. We’re almost there.” It’s Emily, and she’s the source of the blinding presence. “Can you sit up for me?” You’re saying yes but nothing seems to come out and all you feel is fatigue. Your body is leaving this earth.

And there she is, yelling your name as its being drowned out by the darkness that’s enveloping you.

~~~~~~~~

“Hey!” Emily shouts from the stairs. “Stop day-dreaming and help me.”

“Help you? What’s going on?” The ground feels unsteady but the scene looks familiar.

Emily sets the box of towels on the counter top. “What?”

“Where am I?” You start to examine your hands, wondering what in the holy hell is happening.

“Babe,” The nickname gets your attention immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Emily,” She places a hand on your forehead.

“No fever.”

“Emily, I’ve already done this.”

“What do you mean?” She laughs. “We’ve been at this for hours. You have may more stuff than you let on. Plus, if we’ve ‘already done this’ I wouldn’t have had to tote all of these boxes by myself.”

A ‘sorry’ almost rolls off your tongue but it doesn’t make a sound. “No, Em I’m being serious.”

She plops down on the white arm chair and let’s out a huff. “Fine, you got me.” At your confused expression, she continues. “We’ve been here before, atleast you have. Three months ago you moved into this apartment with the love of your life, Emily Prentiss.”

Barely managing a stutter, “You’re not Emily?”

“Yes. Well, not exactly. I’m your version of her.”

“Am I-” You swallow the lump in your throat before saying the next part. “Dead?”

“What?” She smiles. “No. Just sleeping. A deep sleep at that.” She mumbles the last part.

“What happened? Why am I here?” You Can feel the panic and dread starting to set in. “I want Emily. I don’t want to be here.”

“Woah.” The brunette stands from her seat. “Calm down, you’re okay. Just take it easy.”

“Easy?” Now the anger is starting to boil. “I’m in a fucking coma with a fake girlfriend and you’re telling me to ‘take it easy??”

“Hey, look at me.” When you don’t move to look at her she gently takes your head. “You’re not in a coma y/n/n. You’re just sleeping.”

A tear starts to wellup in your eye. “But what does that mean?”

“Do you remember why you went to work with me today?”

“Uh,” You trail. “I think it was for a case.”

“Right, but why were you there?”

“Emily mentioned me to Hotch a year ago, about how good of an agent I am. That was before we were together.”

“Right,” She nods while doing that lip biting thing. “But why?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘why?’ I don’t know why.” You begin to pace the shared loft. “I thought she was just putting in a good word for me.”

“Y/n, you know there’s more to it than that.”

You stop your movement and turn to face her. “Then tell me, you know!”

“No I don’t. I told you in not really her; I’m your version of her. I only know as much as you know.”

You slowly sink down on the plush couch. “I want Emily. I want the real Emily.”

“Then go to her.” She sits beside you and lays a gentle hand on your knee.

“How? I don’t even know why I’m here or what’s going on with me. I just want to go home.” The tears are staring again but not falling.

“Yes you do. Come with me.” She stands and holds out a pale palm to you. Hesitantly taking it, she leads you to your bedroom door. “Are you ready?” As soon as she sees you nod she opens the door and a bright light pulls you both in.

“Em, where are we?” In front of you is the bed to which you’ve been sharing for months now. On it is Emily in one of your big t-shirts on the phone with someone. “Wha-”

“Wait,” Your artificial Emily whispers.

The closet door opens and you step out in the new pajamas she bought you. “You look good.” She smiles with the phone away from her ear.

“Who is that?” You mouth as you crawl into bed with her.

“Hotch.” The classic toothy smile is on display as she replies. “Yes! Sir— I’m sorry but I- no we do not. Okay thank you.”

“What was that?”

“Hotch was asking for my input on the new trainees.”

“And....?”

“I did a thing.” She drags.

“A thing?” You arch your eyebrow.

“Yes.” She moves to straddle your lap.

“What was it?” Her lips on your neck completely scrambles your brain. Effectively making you forget what you were asking.

“What is this? I barely remember it.” You turn to face your rendition of Emily. All you get is a shrug in reply from her. “She wasn’t actually talking about trainees, was she?” Another shrug. “I’ll take that as a no. Was she talking about the poisoning case?” Silence. “She recommended my department to help with the murders.”

“Finally, but you still don’t know why.”

“Do I need to? Why does it actually matter.”

“Come on babe,” She brushes a hand down your arm. “I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Since when do you call me ‘babe?”

“We’ve been over this, I’m not Emily. I’m your version of Emily and apparently you subconsciously wish she’d call you more pet names.”

I’ve never thought of it like that...

“I want to show you something else,” She gestures to the bathroom. “Pay attention this time.” As she leads you through the door you can hear your past self speaking.

“She told me I have a weight problem with a god complex intertwined.” You huff from the bathroom mirror.

“Who?” Em is sitting on the edge of the bath moisturizing.

“That bitch I work with!”

“The same one who asked if Africa was a country?” She scrunches her face up in a disgusted twist.

“Yes! Who says that to someone?”

“Yeah how did she get into the academy anyway?”

“Privilege, both Pretty and Rich.”

She lets out a scuff. “That cannot be real.” You turn to her with a confused look. “Pretty privilege.”

“It’s very real and you clearly have it.”

The brunette stops dead in her tracks. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous Em, and you have been appointed more opportunities for it.”

“I’d like to think differently....” she trails.

“I’m not saying you haven’t worked hard to get where you are today but your looks have pushed you a bit further than the rest of us.”

She’s silent for a bit, to the point where you start to worry that you’ve done something wrong. “Then what does that make you?”

You place your towel on the rack and turn to face her again. “What do you mean?”

“You have the looks, charm, and brains. Do you consider yourself to be ‘privileged?”

Completely bipassing the question, “You think I’m pretty?”

“Was that not obvious before? I practically drool whenever I look at you.” She’s as sincere as always but your eye rolls says you don’t believe her. “I know how you can get trapped inside your head sometimes, but I want you to know that I do not share the opinions you have of yourself. You look at yourself and dismiss your beauty while I embrace it. You’re always doubting your intellect when I find myself wondering how I got so lucky to fall in love with a female version of Spencer.” Your small smile morphs into a laugh at the Spencer mention.

“I can’t stand it when you go all soft on me.” Hearing Emily say stuff like this always surprises you because she’s not really the type of person to confess all of this first. It’s usually you who has to adress your emotions as a couple.

“Only for you.” She leans up and plants a kiss on your cheek.

As the memory fades you turn to the consciousness you’ve been talking to. “Shit.”

“Yup.” She draws.

“The reason she didn’t see my connection to the victims is because she doesn’t see that side of. She doesn’t see me as her ‘Plus-Sized Girlfriend.’ She only sees me as her girlfriend, no other labels attached.”

“So, you get it? Do understand why?”

“I get it now.” A tear teeters on the edge of your eyelid. “Yeah, I get it.”

She snakes an arm around you, effectively pulling you into a tight hug. “Are you ready now?” She even smells like your Emily, the memory making the tear fall from your eye. “Remember what I showed you, okay?” Before you can respond a warm light envelopes you.

It makes sense now, she recommended me for the case because of my abilities, no because we’re together or she wanted me to get ahead. She has a blind spot that’s blocking a good chunk of her perception of me. She couldn’t have known I would’ve been targeted. The unsub could’ve been watching me way before I got involved. There’s still a bunch of holes in the case but this is the best you’ve got. Please remember all of this before you wake up.

Your eyes are heavy again. The room feels cold but warm at the same time. Trying to peak out of one eye proves more difficult than it seems. The blinding light of the room is overwhelming, it’s like white ice. Now I’m not making sense. You try to cry out for someone, anyone, but the words die off on your dry lips before they can formulate. “Hey,” You hear a voice softy call from the other side of the room. A tender hand plants itself on your knee, making you flinch a bit. “Glad to see you awake.” Why do I know that voice? In front of your barely open eye is a blonde blob; as your eyes began to focus you realize it’s Jennifer.

As you try to master a hey all that comes out is a low croak. “Its okay, don’t try to speak just yet.” Everything in your head feels fuzzy but the only thing you’re able to think about is Emily. A hum that barely resembles an ‘M’ boils out your vocal cords.

“Emily?” She clarifies on your behalf. A small smile breaches your features. “I’ll go get her and the doctor.” No less that a minute later you can hear her healed boots tapping towards the room. She rushes to your side, planting kisses along your forehead. The doctor does her round of intake on your body with Emily glued to your side.

“Agent y/l/n should make a full recovery so long as the healing process goes as planned.” Was all you managed to absorb as she explained the aftercare plan for you. All of this while JJ is in the background putting the pieces together. She had a feeling Emily was seeing someone but had no idea that someone was you. The way she’d been acting since you collapsed in the office made her also connect the dots. Emily explained her concerned behavior as a long friendship you two once had. Everything was starting to make sense now; you’re the one person who could break Emily’s walls and tear down this compartmentalization bullshit she has going on. Not wanting to impede on what she can only assume is a private moment, she steps out of the room to inform the rest of the team.

“Are you okay?” It’s like she wants to cry, scream, ball her eyes out but all of that built up emotional strain won’t allow her. Instead of letting her do this to herself, you try your best to shift in the bed. “What are you doing?” You didn’t get very far but now there’s an empty space beside you. Motioning for her to lay next to you actually works. With both of you in the annoying small hospital bed you can hold her closer, feeling the quick heart beat. The brunette head of hair in nuzzled in your chest so not to interfere with the tubes and wires still attached to you.

Taking a deep breath and just enjoying the moment, you finally speak. “I’m okay. I mean I feel like I swallowed sandpaper but I’m okay.” You can almost feel the sigh release from her chest.

“We still have no idea how you were poisoned or why you were targeted.” Her jaded voice is always never this emotional, it’s strange to hear her so vulnerable. “For the smartest minds of the FBI we feel a little stupid.” The laugh the bounces around in your throat is painful, still welcomed. “Baby,” She starts after a moment of silence. “If I have realized the connection between you and the victims, I wouldn’t have let you work this.”

“You didn’t know,” You have no idea where this is coming from but something in the back of your mind is telling you to explain it to her. “You don’t see all of me, Em.”

She sniffles and buried herself deeper into you. “When I look at you, all I see is you. I don’t see your weight or your figure, I only see you. My girlfriend. You’re right, that’s the problem. I’m only seeing part of you. Not all of you. I don’t deserve you.” She moves to stand but you quickly pull her back in before she gets the chance.

“You can’t run from this, Emily. I understand that you didn’t do this intentionally.”

“My actions- blindness almost costed you your life. I can’t put you in danger again.” When she pulls away you let her go this time.

“Emily. You’ve ran away from your own shadow before, aren’t you tired?”

“If it means keeping you safe, I’ll file a fucking restraining order!” She nearly yells.

“Don’t do that. Everytime you fuck up you get that look in your eye like I’m going to break up with you or something. I’m not. I know you’re waiting on the other shoe to drop but I promise it’s not. All of those other guys you’ve been with? I’m not them. Big difference is that I’m female and a lot more mature. I’m also not as psychotic as he who shall not be named.” A small smile breaches her features. “I love you. Rather you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh really? Wait until Garcia finds out I’ve been hiding this from her. She’s going to wanna know all about you. You’ll definitely be invited to the next girls night.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrug. “But seriously, how did I get poisoned?”

“The forensic team is still searching our place, nothing yet but you know they like to take their sweet time with cases. I’ve obviously be recused from the case while the rest of the team works with the CDC and the Anti-terrorism division. We also have agents and Unis posted outside the room and hospital so the Unsub has no chance of coming after you again. Even an added air filter so he has no vent system.” She waves towards the attachment on top of the existing air vent. No wonder the air smells so crisp in here.

“Sounds like I’m in good hands.”

“You are, just wish I could be out there with them.”

“You’re right where you need to be, right where I need you.” You stretch your arms out to her like the way a child does.

She laughs at the gesture but complies. Instead of squishing into the small bed she drags the chair to the side of your bed, firmly clasping your hand in her’s.

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[mintsuke]

Forelsket | 8 - Not a Dream

Tsukishima Kei  x f!Reader

Note: Out of embarrassment, you closed your eyes during the whole process.

A/n: A little short but finally LMAO.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Perhaps you never quite forgot about the pretty boy, who had quite literally swept you off your feet and stole a kiss from you. Soft-looking blonde hair and a warm shade of honey brown eyes. Tall and stoic, a mysterious kind of guy maybe. 

Yet, all of that was ruined when he decided to open his mouth. A very soft... or harsh... reminder that boys were just not it for you right now. Gosh, if only. You really might have taken Kuroo’s advice to move on by finding a new beau. Was the world just against you, that it decided the men in your life were all shit. Besides Kenma of course. 

Kuroo was debatable. 

So when you wake up the day after you return to Tokyo, world pitch black from the eye mask you didn’t know you had, you weren’t expecting the foreign contents of what was supposed to be your room. 

“Tetsu?” You yawn, confused why your bed felt emptier. The middle blocker had been sleeping over, and you really hope he’s not destroying your kitchen in attempt to cheer you up from yet another barrage of calls from your ex. 

You froze. Was that your voice? Were you sick? Slipping off the eye mask, you set it down on the bed. Ignoring your abnormally larger hard, you brush your palm over the mattress. Were these your bed sheets? You don’t quite remember having this color. Glancing around, you don’t even remember ever having such bad eyesight. 

Through the blurry blobs, you spot glasses on the nightstand and don them as you examine your surroundings. You notice the shelves lined with figures of dinosaurs and the school uniform and volleyball jersey that hangs on hooks on the door to your room... at least whoever’s room you were in. 

You were either kidnapped by a prehistorical nerd, or your childhood friend had somehow changed the whole layout of your room within hours. The latter didn’t seem to convincing, but knowing Kuroo, it was still possible. 

Scratching your head, you squeeze your eyes shut at your lack of longer hair. Soft and short strands met your fingertips as you swear to any god out there, if Kuroo Tetsurou cut your hair in your sleep as some sort of prank - he was going to meet his death.

Slipping out of bed, you glance down at your abnormally longer legs. You’re equally as weirded out as you stand and find that you reach the height of the doorway when you leave the confines of the room and into an unfamiliar hallway. Through trial and error, you find the bathroom, switching on the lights as you glance at the mirror. 

Your heart stops.

Was... was that you?

“Hah?!” You exclaim in shock, gripping the edges of the counter to stare at your reflection. Familiar honey eyes stare back in mirrored shock, wide in disbelief, as you recognize the face of the pretty boy from just the day before. 

Slowly raising your hands to your face, you watch as the reflection mimics the way you brush your digits over your cheeks. 

Was this real? Were you hallucinating? A dream? 

You pinch yourself with a wince at the sharp pain.

Not a dream apparently. 

“Hey— you’re unusually loud this morning, you okay?” 

You flinch, glancing over at the male standing at the doorway. He’s slightly shorter than your current body, sporting the same blonde hair color and honey colored eyes. His expression is notably more softer than the stern frown you had seen on the boy in the mirror. 

Currently, you were still finding it hard to believe that you were in that boy’s body right now. You didn’t even sleep that late last night. So how was any of this even possible?

Were you reading too many shoujo books? Body swaps couldn’t possibly be real... right?

“I’m fine,” You answer finally when you realize he’s still waiting for a response. 

Was this his brother perhaps? The similarities in appearances were striking. He was too young-looking to be his father.

He doesn’t seem too convinced by the answer, but he shakes his head and shrugs, “Alright, if you need anything let me know, you look a little pale.”

He was right. When he finally left you alone, you shut the door with a click of the lock and turned to once again appraise yourself in the mirror. The color from your cheeks were draining and you looked as though you’ve seen a ghost. Although, honestly the expression seemed so out of character and weird on the middle blocker’s face.

You were starting to panic, chest tightening as you gradually grew dizzier. Taking a seat on the toilet seat cover, you placed your head in your hands. 

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. 

You stayed like this until you felt the world come to a stand still and you could breathe normally again. 

How did this happen in the first place? Your brows scrunched together in hard concentration, thinking back to your only interaction with the boy. The pads of your fingers brush over your, well... his bottom lip, remembering the static of electricity that had shocked you when you’d both kissed that night. Could it have been...? Was that even possible outside of anime and manga? 

Then you felt it. Horror struck across your expression as you glanced down at your crotch. 

You really had to pee right now.

.

Tsukishima opened his eyes to the bright shine of the sun slicing through the blades of the blinds. Irritated, he wondered where his eye mask had gone in the middle of the night. He shifted to sit up when he realized he was being held captive by a tight hold around his middle. 

Finally growing aware of the warmth surrounding him, he raised his chin to glare up at the sleeping face of Kuroo Tetsurou. 

Wait. What. 

He looked up and down multiple times, squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them, in case he was hallucinating. Each time, he grew even more uncomfortable with how close his mentor was, and even more disturbed by his sudden appearance.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house Kuroo-san?” He spat harshly, before his mind went blank at the pitch of his voice. 

Seriously what the fuck?

“Mm, Kuroo-san? I don’t remember pulling a prank on you just yet (F/n),” The raven-haired middle blocker hums, stirring from his sleep at the sound of his name. 

Tsukishima didn’t remember seeing Kuroo last night, nor did he remember getting in bed with him. The disgust at the thought and the experience right now, was making shivers run down his spine. He needed to get out of this weird cuddle position they were in, and fast. 

“Let go of me you pervert, I’m not into that,” He hisses, ripping himself from the other middle blocker’s arms. The sound of his voice continued to throw him off as he sat up and glanced around the room. 

What was going on? His eyesight had significantly improved. Moreover, this was definitely not his room.

“(F/n), are you okay? You literally asked for cuddles last night?” The other male says, more confused now as he sits up with a drawn out yawn. 

“(F/n)? Are you blind now? I’m Tsukishima?” He snaps in annoyance.

Who the hell is (F/n)?

Kuroo’s eyes open wide now, more awake and even more confused by his answer. 

“I’m serious, are you okay? Did kissing Glasses-kun mess you up that bad?” he asks teasingly, ruffling the shorter’s hair. 

That’s when Tsukishima notices his longer hairstyle. He’s also suddenly aware of how much bigger his mentor appears in comparison to himself. Had he always been that much larger than him? They were supposedly about near each other’s heights. 

Wait. Kiss?

Tsukishima turns to him with squinted eyes, frowning up at the elder.

“How do you know about the kiss?” 

The older blinks down at him. Really what was going on with his childhood friend? Were you having a random case of amnesia? So suddenly, was that even plausible?

“You told me? Are you sure you’re okay? Did you fall down again before I came over?”

His brows furrowed, he didn’t tell anyone, not even Yamaguchi told the two idiots plus Yachi. His friend didn’t even talk to the opposing captain either, so how?

“No what the fuck, besides that, where are we? This isn’t my house.”

Kuroo makes a face at that. 

“We are at your house (F/n).”

“No, and I’m Tsukishima.”

Hazel eyes squint down at him. Kuroo opens his mouth to say something when his phone vibrates incessantly on the nightstand. With his back turned to reach for the device, Tsukishima glances at the table to find a picture frame of the Nekoma captain, his pudding-haired setter, and you  — the girl he’d knocked over on his descent down the stairs and kissed just the other night. 

Picking up the phone, Kuroo is momentarily surprised to be receiving a call from the caller ID titled as “Tsukki”. Once accepting the call, he’s about to express his surprise about receiving a call from the aloof blonde, when his eyes widen at the frantic voice on the other line. 

“What do you mean you’re (F/n)?”

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[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [61]

iii. sleeping giants

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: violence, bleeding, injuries, explosions, torture.

Summary: You, Clarke, and Madi finally get the chance to confront your enemies, and you quickly learn that you’re up against more than you bargained for.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You, Clarke, and Madi are crouched low along the ridgeline, and you and Clarke each have your rifles propped up on the large rocks in front of you, focused on the man you trapped in the clearing. He’s still crying out in pain, and you can see the blood on his clothes, bright red against his tan jumpsuit. Madi has watched on in silence since you arrived, but she finally breaks now, looking over at you and Clarke, clearly upset. “This isn't right.”

Clarke looks away from her scope to look at Madi, sympathetic. “Madi, I know, but this is our home, your home.”

“And they want to take it from us.”

Clarke nods, “That's right.”

She’s quiet for a second before she asks, “But he doesn't have to suffer. We can kill him now, right?”

Clarke’s expression hardens, her jaw sets, and she turns back to her weapon, peering down at the man again. “Not yet.”

You follow suit, the conversation seemingly over, watching as the man screams out again. Suddenly, there’s movement in the trees around the clearing, and seconds later prisoners start to creep out towards the man, led by the woman you saw earlier. She motions for the group to stop and watch, but a few of the men around her ignore her, walking past her and right into the kill zone you and Clarke established. You whisper, “I’ve got left.”

“I’ve got right.”

You and Clarke each fire off a shot, one immediately after the next, killing the two closest men. Everyone else in the group drops down, looking around for you, and you and Clarke reload before peering through the scope again. Unfortunately, you set your sights on the group just in time to see one of the men stand up, a large weapon in his hand, pointed right at you. You and Clarke see it at the same time, letting out a soft gasp, unable to do anything else before the blast hits the ridgeline in front of you. 

The blast knocks all three of you away, and you hear Madi let out a scream before your body lands on the ground with a hard thud. You groan in pain, a high pitched ringing in your ears, and you hear Clarke’s muffled voice calling your name through the haze in your head. You look up, meeting her eyes, and she grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. “We have to run!”

You nod your head, crouching low and following her and Madi from the ridgeline and into the trees. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and the cotton in your head to clear, but when it finally does, you feel a rush of anxiety, aware of the danger the three of you now face. Your anxiety only grows when you realize Clarke is gasping, quietly fighting back pain. You pull her to a stop, and Madi whispers, “We can make it to the north cave, come on!”

You ignore her and search Clarke over, pulling her hand away from her ribs and staring down at the black blood covering her hand. “You’re hurt.”

A look of fear passes over Clarke’s face and she turns to Madi, “We have to hide you.”

She looks around until she finds a cut out in a tree nearby, and she starts to urge Madi towards it. “You need to get in here.”

“Not without you.”

You glare at Clarke, blood still dripping from beneath her shirt. “Clarke, you can’t go on like this.”

“I have to keep Madi safe!”

You grab her shoulders, forcing her to look at you, “But who will keep you safe?”

You push both of them towards the hole, just large enough to hide Clarke and Madi. “You both need to hide, I’ll lead them away.”

“But-”

“Clarke there’s no time to argue about this! Get in here, stay hidden.” They both climb into the hole, looking up at you in fear, both reluctant to let you go. You smile down at them and Clarke whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you both.” You pass Madi your knife, wrapping her fingers around it. “Stay safe.”

And then you grab trees and branches from nearby, covering them both up, tucking them out of sight. You turn and run off, leading them away from your family, making sure to be loud enough that they follow you instead. You can hear the prisoners in the woods behind you, yelling updates to each other every time they catch a glimpse of you, and it only pushes you faster, trying to put as much distance as you can between you and the prisoners at your back. Unfortunately, you don't expect them to shoot at you, and you hear the sound of gunshot pop through the air seconds before a bullet tears through your left shoulder. You let out a cry of pain, the injury surprising you and knocking you off your feet. You stumble and roll down a small hill, groaning as you reach the bottom.  You hear footsteps approaching from behind you, and you start to jump to your feet when you feel a boot press down into your back, pinning you in place. 

You try to fight against them until you feel a hand press into the bullethole, making you scream out in pain, choked and broken. You hear a radio to your left, the voice of a woman coming through. “McCreary, we heard gunfire, report. I said report, McCreary.”

“Relax, Colonel. I told you we'd get her, and we did.” Someone grabs your hair, using it to tug your head up and back, and you sneer at the man who drops onto his knees in front of you. He reaches up to stroke a finger down your face, and you rear back and spit at him, watching the blob land in his beard near his mouth. He smacks you across the face, hard, snapping your head to the side, the movement tugging at your hair, and you bite back your sound of pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He lifts his radio again and adds, “She's a feisty one. Pretty, too.”

“Good work. Bring her to me, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

You are yanked to your feet by the man, McCreary, and he holds you tight by the shirt around your neck, limiting your movement. He half drags, half pushes you the whole way back to the village, and you try to keep an eye on your surroundings as you move, looking for any sight of Madi or Clarke. You’re relieved when you don’t see them in the village, still out there, still free, but your relief is short lived when you are shoved into the center of the village, surrounded by prisoners on all sides. The woman from before calls out, “Let me see her face.”

Your head is again yanked back by your hair, and you hold back a grunt of pain as your eyes land on the woman in front of you. You're surprised to see that she’s young. Definitely older than you, but also younger than your mother, her face relatively smooth of any lines or signs of aging. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, giving you a small view of the jagged scar that runs across the front of her neck. You shudder at the sight of it, not sure you want to know how she got it and survived, and you move your eyes from her to the man at her side. He’s younger than her, closer in age to you, and he’s handsome. His eyes seem kinder than the others, and he’s dressed differently, his clothes all black instead of tan. He looks at you suspiciously, before his eyes fall on McCreary behind you. “You only caught one?”

“We only saw one.” McCreary lets go of your hair, pushing your head down and into the grass. You pull yourself to your knees and then look up at the people surrounding you, watching as the handsome guy whispers, “I highly doubt she was alone.”

“How many others in the woods?”

You look up at the woman, mind running through what to do, until you remember Lincoln. Silent, steady, warrior with a heart, who didn't say a word the entire time he was in your camp. None of you even knew he spoke English until Octavia told you later. You quietly decide to say nothing, hide your reactions, and you make your face blank and set your jaw as you look up at them, silent. The woman looks at McCreary, who smacks you across the face for a second time, the skin on your right cheek throbbing in pain. He drops down in front of you, and grinds out, “Answer the question.”

You stare up at him, still silent, and he lifts his arm and grabs your head before raising his fist, ready to punch you. You flinch a little, waiting for the blow, but the woman stops him in his tracks. “Not yet. First we pray.”

McCreary pulls you to your feet and drags you to the church, as the woman yells to the other prisoners, “Secure the perimeter. Her people will come for her, be ready!”

You are led straight inside of your home, and your lip curls up in disgust when you see that the prisoners have already made themselves at home. McCreary grabs a chair and tosses you into it, before snatching up a bit of rope and securing you in place. When he finishes, he stares at you for a long second, and you glare back, not letting him intimidate you. He glares back at you, before rising to his full height and punching you across the face. You grunt in pain, his hit landing in the same place as his last two, and you’re sure a bruise is already forming along your right cheek and eye.

The handsome man from before runs over and grabs McCreary before he can hit you again, yelling, “Hey, hey, stop! We need her.”

They both grab each other, McCreary hands reaching for the man’s neck, and the woman runs over to break up the spat. “Hey! Enough!”

“He's not one of us. We lose four men, and he doesn't even care.”

The woman glares at McCreary, snapping back, “He is one of us. None of us is here without Shaw.”

Shaw. The handsome man is Shaw, the man all too eager to hit you is McCreary. Shaw is different from the others, evident by McCreary’s “not one of us” comments, but you still aren’t sure how he’s different. You tuck all of the information away for later, in case you need it. The two men release each other as McCreary counters, “None of us is here without me, either. You remember that.”

The woman glares at him, grabbing him by the front of his uniform, her voice low and threatening. “We all have a role to play, and we're all upset about the loss of our men. Take a team and sweep the woods for her friends.”

She releases him and he stares at her for a long second, before he nods and walks away, bumping Shaw on the way out. Shaw turns to glare at him, but makes no move towards him, and the woman walks closer to you, eyes scanning you. You see her gaze drop to the floor, onto a puddle of black blood near your feet, dripping from the bullethole in your shoulder. She turns to Shaw, pointing at the puddle. “You see this?”

He walks over to your chair and runs his finger through your blood, rubbing it between his fingers as he peers down at it. “Blood alteration like they had on the Eligius III. Two suns, no sunscreen needed.”

Two suns? Eligius III? Though the comment confuses you, you are careful to keep your expression blank, adding the information to the list of things that might be useful to you later.

“Must be how they survived down here.” The woman lifts her radio and mutters, “Bring me a med kit. Over.”

The request sends some hope, some relief through you, because captors rarely bandage up their prisoners if they’re just going to kill them in the end. For now, your survival seems likely, meaning you're still useful to them. Something you can work with. The woman pulls up a chair across from you, sitting down into it, threading her fingers together. “We got off on the wrong foot, you and I. We had no idea that there was anyone alive down here. How could we have? We were just trying to get back home. Imagine our surprise when we found that there was no home to get back to, and then your people started killing mine. Surely you can understand why I'm upset, just like you were upset when we took your village. I don't blame you. When a fascist government tried to take my home, I wanted blood, too. And I got it. Nobody else has to die today, just tell me what I need to know, and we can come up with an arrangement that works for all of us. Sound like a plan?”

You sift through the information she’s given you, filing parts of it away for later, careful to keep your expression neutral and unreadable. Shaw, convinced by your show, muses, “Maybe she doesn't speak English.”

The woman doesn't get to answer, because the door to your home suddenly bursts open, and a large man drags someone inside. “Colonel Diyoza, we found this one lurking in the woods outside.”

Your stomach drops as your eyes land on a head full of blonde hair, streaked with red, and she looks up and meets your eyes, looking worried. You see her eyes scan your face, landing on the forming bruise, before she takes notice of the blood dripping from your shoulder onto the ground. You see her worry deepen, but you send her a silent message with your eyes, letting her know you’re okay. You scan her body for additional injuries, relieved to find none as the woman, Diyoza, stands from the chair she was sitting in and slides it next to you, motioning towards it. “Tie her up next to the other one.”

As soon as Clarke is pushed down into the chair beside you, you turn her way and whisper, “No gonasleng. Weron deimeka?”

No English. Where’s the sun? She nods, understanding your command and your question. “Klir. Kamp daun oso sontam honen graun.”

Safe. Near our summer hunting grounds. You nod before you look away, Clarke now tied up beside you. When you do, your eyes land on Shaw and Diyoza, who clearly heard your whispered conversation. Shaw turns to Diyoza, “So, no English then.”

The radio at Diyoza’s side crackles to life with McCreary’s voice, updating everyone on their search. You see Clarke perk up from the corner of your eye, and Diyoza must see it too, because she smirks as she pulls up another chair. “They speak English, they just want us to think they don’t so we'll speak freely and reveal something they can use against us.”

The radio crackles with another update, Clarke clearly listening in, and you resist the urge to shake your head, wondering how someone so careful is now so obvious, her mama bear instincts overriding her warrior instincts. “Every time the patrol checks in this one looks at this. She's tracking our movements, that's all she cares about.”

Clarke freezes, not meaning to give either of you up, and Diyoza looks over to you, seeing if you're going to change your mind and answer any of her earlier inquiries. When you make no move to, she leans back in her chair, appraising you both. “You don't want to talk, that's fine, don't talk. But we'll see how you feel when we find whoever it is you're protecting.”

She lifts her radio, her eyes never leaving Clarke as she delivers the news. “Change of plans, ladies and gentlemen. No more prisoners, shoot to kill.”

Your blood runs cold, and you and Clarke share a look, but she manages to keep her cool, though you know she’s eager to kill everyone in this room and get back to Madi. Diyoza stands, watching you both, waiting for you to react, and when you don’t she sighs and puts the radio down on the table beside her. She grabs the medkit and walks over to you, but you shake your head, nodding over at Clarke. Her brows pull together but she moves to your twin instead, finding the injury they gave her when they blasted the three of you on the ridgeline. As she works, she calls out, “Shaw, they’re both bleeding, gimme a hand.”

She passes some supplies to Shaw before he walks over to you, searching your body for an injury. He finally finds the bullethole in your shoulder, and when he checks the front of your body, he sighs when he doesn't see an exit wound. “The bullet is still in your shoulder, I’m going to have to free one of your hands so I can get your jacket off to get a better look. Are you going to behave?”

You stare at him, trying to decide what to do, before ultimately you give him a single nod, knowing that Clarke already alerted them about your ability to understand, and that bleeding out as a prisoner is not how you want to go out. Shaw frees your left hand and then helps you shrug out of the arm of your jacket before he tugs down the neck of your shirt to get a better look. As he does, you feel his finger pass over the jagged scar on your shoulder, the one Clarke gave you when she cauterized your arrow wound on Luna’s rig. His face pops back into view again, giving you a strange look before he reaches for a pair of surgical pliers. “This is going to hurt.”

You give him no reaction and he takes that as a sign to continue, digging the pliers into the hole in your shoulder, searching for the bullet. Your jaw clenches, biting back a scream of pain, trying to keep up your show of strength. He digs around for an agonizingly long second before you feel the pliers slide out of the wound. A second later he grabs your hand and drops the bullet into it, glinting in the light beneath your black blood. He grabs a suture kit and stitches you up, your mind distracted from the pain as you roll the bullet around in your hand. Shaw finishes quickly, bandages your wound, and helps you back into your jacket before he restrains your hand again and steps away from you. You tuck the bullet into your pocket, a reminder to you on what you’re dealing with here. Diyoza finishes up on Clarke, both of you now bandaged, and the two of them walk away from you and your twin, leaving you to contemplate the mess you’re in.

Hours pass, and slowly day turns to night as your captivity continues. The sporadic updates from McCreary leave you and Clarke with hope, no mention of them finding Madi, leaving at least one of you safe. Sometime after dark, Shaw grabs a canteen and offers Clarke and then you a sip of water, before he settles into the seat across from you, his voice soft and pleading. “Come on, what harm can come from telling me your name?”

He watches you, waiting for you to answer, but when you don’t he leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, believe it or not, this is the best conversation I've had in over a hundred years. I was an altar boy in a church just like this. Saginaw, about two hours outside Detroit. On my Harley, I'd make it in one. God, I miss that bike...more than I miss most of the people.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but McCreary’s voice comes through the radio, sounding excited. “Someone just ran out of that cave. Harris, Falk, watch your six. Fast little thing, we can cut her off at the lake. Go west. Wait, scratch that. She's turning North, I got a shot.”

You and Clarke exchange a look of fear, and she immediately breaks her silence. “No! She's just a child.”

Diyoza turns to face her, surprised. “She speaks.”

“Please.”

She stalks towards Clarke, her voice hard. “How many others are in the woods?”

“None. It's just the three of us. I am begging you, tell him not to shoot!”

“Fire at will.”

Clarke looks over at you, terrified at the thought of losing Madi, her daughter, her family, and you look at Diyoza. “I know where they are, over near our summer hunting grounds. She's leading them into a trap. If they don't stop right now, those men will die.”

Diyoza looks at you, unconvinced, but Shaw turns to her, looking sincere. “I believe her.”

You silently thank the kind hearted man as Clarke backs you up, “It's the truth. If you let her go, we'll tell you everything.”

Diyoza stares at you both, considering this offer, before she lifts the radio again. “All units: stand down. Falk, if McCreary disobeys, shoot him in the leg. Harris, if Falk disobeys, shoot him in the head. There may be traps near your position. Check it out and report back, over.”

It only takes a minute for them to come back on the radio, sounding shocked. “Son of a bitch, another bear trap. Almost stepped right in it.”

“Report to base camp. Over and out.”

Clarke looks up at the woman, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling the truth. As long as you keep doing that, your friend in the woods will stay alive, and so will the two of you. Do we understand each other?”

You and Clarke both answer, “Yes.”

“Good, then let's begin. Start with how the world ended.”

You and Clarke share a knowing look, before you lean back in your chair, your voice serious, “Which time?”

“There was more than one?”

“Two, actually.”

“Start from the beginning.”

Clarke takes over, beginning the history lesson, as McCreary and a few others step inside your home, listening in. “On the Ark, they taught us that the war started as a Chinese first strike, but they were wrong. It was started by an AI called Alie. Her intention was to reduce the popu-”

She’s cut off by someone’s voice coming in over the radio. “Colonel, we have five more hostiles. At least one is armed, are we still playing nice?”

Everyone in the room cuts a glare over at you and Clarke, but the two of you share a look, utterly and completely bewildered. There’s no way. Diyoza grabs her radio, “Stand by.” 

She points to the others in the room. “Find out where they are and reinforce their position. Not you, McCreary.”

She comes to stand in front of you and Clarke, absolutely fuming. “What did I tell you would happen if you lied to me?”

“We didn’t-”

“Everyone else is locked-”

Diyoza cuts you both off, hitting Clarke across the face, and then you. You bite back a yell of pain, sure that your cheek is bruised at this point. “Take them outside. Use the collar.”

Your eyes widen in alarm, not liking the sound of that, and the reactions of the two men around you only increase your worry. McCreary grins, already walking towards you. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Shaw stands from his seat, looking worried. “Colonel...they’re cooperating.”

“Which is why they’ll live. Their friends, on the other hand…” She lifts the radio, finally deciding on her plans. “Four of ours are dead. It's time to even the score.”

McCreary snaps a thick collar around your neck as another prisoner puts one on Clarke, and you are both pulled to your feet and dragged to the door, fighting the entire time. McCreary tosses you down the stairs, and you roll, hitting your shoulder on the way down. You hold back your scream, letting out a quiet groan of pain as Clarke is tossed down beside you. You pull yourself to your knees, your hands desperately clutching at the collar, and McCreary comes down the stairs and stops in front of you, two remotes in his hand. He tsks, “I wouldn't do that if I was you, you might burn your fingers.”

You pull your fingers away just in time, because seconds later a pulse of electricity moves from the collar, through your body. Little sounds of pain slip past your lips as you convulse, the shock worse than anything you’ve ever felt from the batons, and you can hear Clarke somewhere nearby, making similar sounds of pain. All around you prisoners start to cheer, gathering in a circle to watch, and you start to crawl away, hoping that you can outrun the pain that radiates through your body. Clarke groans out, “Please, we weren’t lying!”

“Hit them again.”

He hits you both again, both of you crying out in pain as the shock electrifies every cell in your body, tearing you apart, piece by piece. When the pain finally stops, you convulse for a second, your body trying to shake the pain off, and McCreary drops down in front of you, grinning. You weakly mutter, “We don't know who that was.”

“I guess you made your point.”

You’re grateful for Shaw, still trying to defend you and your twin, but Diyoza is less impressed. “You might be right. But just in case, hit them again.”

He electrifies you again, your whole body shaking from the force of it, and you can feel yourself growing weaker as the pulse moves through you. The pain stops abruptly, but it takes a second for your senses to return, and when you do, you realize you and Clarke are side by side, sitting in the path of a bright light. Diyoza yells, “Hold, and fire on my command.”

You and Clarke crawl towards each other, staring at the rover in front of you, as Clarke whispers, “Madi, no.”

Diyoza yells, “Come out with your hands high!”

You hear the rover door open and close, and you peer towards it, blinded by the bright lights. A figure approaches slowly, much taller than Madi, and your stomach drops, not sure what you’re seeing. Before their face comes into view, you hear their voice, washing over you and leaving you shocked. “I’m unarmed. Just want to talk.”

He comes closer, stepping into the path of the light, his face now coming into view. 

Bellamy. 

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, falling down your cheeks at the sight of him. He’s older, but he looks good, really good, facial hair now covering the lower half of his face. His hair is still long, curls bouncing around his face. You have to resist every cell in your body, screaming at you to run to him and jump in his arms. Instead, you pull yourself to your knees, your eyes locked on him, watching as he looks at all the prisoners pointing a gun his way. 

“Talk. Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand.”

Bellamy’s voice is full of leadership as he looks at Diyoza, “How about I give you 283? That's how many of your people are gonna die if you and I can't make a deal.”

He holds up a cup in his hand, and it must mean something to Diyoza because she freezes in place, an unreadable expression passing over her face. She nods, and Bellamy holds up a hand, signaling for the rover to back up and drive away. You hear Clarke sigh beside you, relieved that Madi is still safe. Diyoza glances back at you and your twin, before turning her focus on Bellamy. “283 lives for two. They must be pretty important to you.”

For the first time, Bellamy’s eyes finally find yours, surprised to see you on the ground, clearly in pain. Clarke is now on her knees beside you, looking at Bellamy in shock, and you see a look of pain pass over Bellamy’s face as he looks you over, taking in your appearance. He answers Diyoza, his eyes locked solely on you. “They are.”

You feel a rush of tears fall down your face again, fully crying as you look at the love of your life, back on Earth, standing in front of you. You can feel your muscles tense, wanting to run to him, but the collar shifts on your neck, reminding you of its presence, so you don’t. You just sit there, eyes locked on Bellamy, his eyes locked on yours, reminding you of all the love, memories, and history that the two of you share. 

Diyoza turns to Shaw, her expression serious. “Assemble a team and head back to the transport, check on our people.”

Shaw starts to walk away, but Diyoza grabs him. “Take the girls with you. Anything goes wrong, kill them both.”

Shaw nods once, and McCreary pulls you to your feet while someone else grabs Clarke. They start to pull you away, away from Bellamy, and any self restraint you held onto goes out the window, threatened with the thought of never seeing Bellamy again. You start to fight, pulling against McCreary’s hold on you, wiggling in his grip. You call out for Bellamy, finally getting yourself free from your captor, and you take off towards him, Bellamy’s arms already opening, ready to grab you in a hug. You smile, overcome with relief, but you never make it to him. Halfway across the space someone activates your collar, sending electricity pulsing through you, more powerful than before. You hit the ground, convulsing and twitching, your body focused on nothing other than the shockwaves that pulse through you. You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to tell. It’s hard to think of anything other than the electricity that invades your body and destroys you.

You’re relieved when the pain finally stops, but your body is exhausted, unable to handle the last hit of electricity, and you feel yourself start to slip into unconsciousness. You hear Shaw yelling at someone, and Bellamy saying your name, and you try to fight the darkness that engulfs you, wanting to get back to him, but it’s too strong. It grabs your body, wrapping you up, before the darkness takes the plunge, bringing you with it. 

-

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[saphinc]

write  more  plus  size  muses  challenge  (  from  a  writer  with  two  chins  &  counting  )  !!  tw  ;  eating  disorder  ,  body  image  ,  fatphobia  mention.

there  are  a  million  reasons  someone  is  overweight.  some  of  us  don’t  know  ,  or  care.  we  don’t  have  to  explain  it  or  justify  it.  neither  does  your  character.

but  they  can.  and  sometimes  it’s  really  important.  i  have  struggled  with  my  size  my  whole  life  ,  but  i  attribute  most  of  it  to  an  eating  disorder.  but  that’s  for  me  ,  not  you.

we  don’t  need  to  eat  double  the  portion  size  to  feel  satisfied  ,  nor  do  we  need  to  eat  more  often.  our  hunger  works  like  yours  does.

stop  writing  fat  characters  who  are  constantly  snacking  or  asking  every  other  character  for  their  leftovers.  it’s  fucking  rude.  we  don’t  do  that.

if  anything  ,  i  am  more  likely  to  eat  less  or  avoid  eating  altogether  when  around  others.

also  stop  writing  fat  characters  that  are  constantly  dieting.  stop  writing  fat  characters  who  lose  weight  to  be  liked  (  or  for  any  other  reason  for  themselves  ).  we  don’t  have  to  change  ourselves  ,  just  the  people  around  us.

plus  size  bodies  are  unique  and  beautiful.  we  can  be  tall  or  short  or  hairy  or  lanky.  

our  weight  isn’t  all  in  the  hips  and  ass.  mine’s  in  my  torso.  it  can  be  in  your  chest  ,  your  face  ,  stomach,  legs,  thighs.  most  of  the  time  ,  it’s  everywhere  ,  spread  out.

i  have  stretch  marks,  but  those  only  showed  up  when  i  rapidly  gained  weight  .  most  of  my  life  i  didn’t  have  them  despite  being  fat  from  a  young  age.

my  thighs  and  upper  arms  jiggle.  a  lot.

we  don’t  all  hate  our  bodies  &  we’re  not  all  bullied  for  them.  we  make  fun  of  ourselves  too.  i  love  my  jiggly  arms.

that  being  said  ,  we  are  treated  differently.  all  the  time.  sometimes  i  think  people  are  scared  i’ll  crush  them  by  just  standing  there  &  talking  ?  or  they  think  i’ll  breathe  the  fat  plague  in  their  space  ?

shopping  is  really  hard.  most  stores  don’t  cater  to  fat  bodies  at  all  ,  especially  in  women’s.  i  mostly  shop  in  the  men’s  section  or  in  exclusively  plus  size  stores.  our  options  are  super  limited.  that’s  not  our  fault.

the  word  fat  isn’t  offensive.  but  don’t  call  me  it  or  describe  me  as  it.  we  do  use  it  to  describe  ourselves.  and  not  in  a  negative  way  !

speaking  of  ?  did  i  mention  we  don’t  all  hate  our  bodies  and  want  to  change  them?  

edit  your  language.  eradicate  the  idea  that  skinny  is  beautiful.  every  size  is  beautiful  ,  asshole.  i’m  really  cute.  being  fat  and  being  beautiful  are  not  mutually  exclusive.

don’t  say  “you’re  not  fat”  to  a  fat  person  like  it’s  a  compliment.  i  am  fat  and  that’s  okay.  stop  treating  fatness  like  a  character  flaw.

we  fall  in  love  just  like  you.  we  don’t  have  to  settle  for  an  individual  who  makes  us  feel  like  crap  just  to  not  be  lonely.  i  know  it’s  hard  to  believe  but  there  are  actually  people  out  there  who  don’t  judge  character  by  weight.

it’s  not  cute  to  have  fat  as  your  “type”  because  not  one  of  us  is  the  same,  our  bodies  are  so  different  and  our  only  similarity  ,  really  ,  is  we’re  bigger  than  average.  we’re  not  a  fetish.

there’s  no  fat  clique.  i  have  friends  who  are  plus  size  and  ones  that  are  skinny.  i  knew  really  popular  assholes  in  high  school  who  were  fat.  i  knew  soft-spoken  ones  and  edgy  ones  and  stoners.  we’re  not  all  friends.  not  all  of  our  friends  share  our  size.

same  with  our  families.  stop  assuming  we  come  from  fat  families.  being  overweight  can  be  /  is  genetic  as  well  as  due  to  lifestyle  choices.  both  of  my  brothers  are  skinny.  my  mom  is  bigger  than  me  ,  my  dad  is  average.  my  grandparents  are  small  ,  my  cousin  is  a  little  smaller  than  me  &  my  aunt  used  to  be  big  but  ended  up  losing  a  lot  of  weight  due  to  a  physical  illness.

boobs  sag.  gravity  pulls  them  down  before  anything  else.  mine  bounce  ,  fall  ,  pop  out  of  my  shirt  ,  whatever  the  fuck  they  want.  they  crush  each  other  when  i  lie  on  my  side  and  spread  in  big  blobs  when  i’m  on  my  back.  they’re  super  annoying  and  i  love  them.

it  is  possible  to  balance  items  on  our  chests.  it’s  very  useful.  sometimes  i’ll  prop  my  boob  up  to  have  a  bigger  table  when  i’m  carrying  something.  sometimes  i’ll  rest  my  container  of  applesauce  on  it  while  i’m  lying  down.  my  dog  likes  to  use  them  for  pillows.

i  can’t  see  through  them.  it  takes  some  work.  i  can’t  lay  flat  with  a  bra  on  and  watch  tv  at  the  same  time.  i  can’t  see  through  my  stomach  when  i’m  looking  down  either.  

that  doesn’t  mean  it’s  harder  for  us  or  takes  longer  for  us  to  use  the  bathroom  or  shower.  we  just  have  to  learn  to  do  some  of  it  blindly  or  move  faster  (  because  yes  ,  of  course  we  wash  under  our  fat??  )

i  do  not  sleep  with  a  bra  on.  i  was  told  at  a  young  age  that  i  should  though.  i  don’t  know  if  there’s  any  merit  to  that  tip  or  if  it  was  invented  to  make  skinny  people  at  sleepovers  more  comfortable.  

we  can  (  and  do  )  wear  sports  bras.  same  with  spandex,  tights,  and  crop  tops.  we  can  wear  whatever  we  want  just  like  you.  it’s  just  not  as  easy  for  us  to  find  these  items  in  our  size  ,  in  stores.

being  fat  isn’t  a  disability.  

we  don’t  get  special  treatment  in  gym  class  or  different  expectations  ,  because  guess  what  ?  we’re  not  unhealthy.  stop  babying  us  when  it  comes  to  physical  activity.  we  know  our  own  limits  and  we’ll  tell  you  if  we’re  close  to  them.

we  can  run.  we  can  do  yoga  and  stretch  without  cracking  or  breaking  something.  we  can  &  and  do  have  sex.  we’re  not  always  in  pain  either  ,  for  the  love  of  god!!

there  are  things  we  can’t  do.  the  most  obvious  place  for  me  is  at  carnivals  ?  i  still  go  to  them,  but  i  don’t  go  on  rides.  most  don’t  support  fat  people.  same  with  clothes.  most  of  them  don’t  come  in  our  size.  our  options  are  limited.

we  don’t  sweat  more  than  the  average  person?  weight  isn’t  an  indicator  of  how  much  you  perspire.  

on  that  note  ,  i  don’t  give  a  damn  what  health  blogs  and  magazines  tell  you.  those  are  written  by  skinny  people  who  hate  us  and  think  we’re  gross.  we  are  each  individually  responsible  for  a  so  called  obesity  epidemic  ,  according  to  them.  they’ll  do  whatever  to  convince  you  of  this.

i’m  not  “glorifying  obesity”  either.  i’m  telling  you  that  i  exist  and  i’m  not  disgusting  because  my  body  looks  like  this.

don’t  forget  to  be  intersectional  when  considering  writing  plus  size  characters.  familiarize  yourself  with  harmful  stereotypes  and  misconceptions.  i’m  a  cis  white  woman.  i  have  it  a  lot  easier  than  plus  size  poc,  and  plus  size  trans  ppl.

[cloudywriter]

early mornings

~~~

A/N: i got back into this series now that a new book will coming out so i have feysand on my mind. i know they’re suppose to have a little boy, but rhys with a daughter? c’mon. i imagine they have their son after her. anyway, here’s a cute, feel good feysand one shot and feel free to request something if you’d like!

~~~

Rhysand awoke to the faint sound of giggling coming from the balcony attached to his and Feyre’s bedroom. Rhysand rubbed his eyes and registered the empty spot next to him, he rose out of bed slipping on some loose pants before pushing past the velvet curtains to the balcony doors. It was dawn and the sun was just beginning its ascent into the peach-colored sky. The balcony overlooked the misty, flowing Sidra that snaked past their estate Feyre had designed.

On the balcony, he could see Feyre sitting, watching the sunrise with a cup of tea on the iron table beside her. Resting upon Feyre’s lap was their daughter, Stella. Stella’s head was tilted up towards the sky, studying the clouds that laced through its shifting colors. 

Rhysand smiled to himself, every day he saw Feyre and Stella together his heart felt so full. He didn’t know how to express the utter joy his little family brought him. Rhys pushed open the door and walked into the crisp, cool morning air. Stella’s dark hair flipped over her shoulder as she whipped around to face him, a smile took over her face. Her hair was the same hue as Rhysand’s, but her eyes were as blue as her mother’s. Her face resembled Feyre’s more, but still, Rhys looked at her and saw his sister staring back sometimes. Stella’s laugh brought him back to the present as she hopped off Feyre’s lap and into Rhysand’s open arms.

“Daddy!” She exclaimed as Rhysand wrapped her in a hug, “good morning, my little bat,” he cooed. Like Rhysand, Stella could summon up her Illyrian wings on command, but they were still unaware of the extend of her other powers, she had only turned five a couple of months ago. Feyre was facing them now too with a big smile plastered on her face. 

“What are you two doing out here so early?”

Feyre shrugged, “I woke up to a certain someone jumping up on the bed and took her out here before she could wake you.” Feyre knew Rhysand never minded Stella’s early morning shenanigans, but he worked so hard and deserved every ounce of sleep he could get. Rhysand turned back to Stella, “you’re a child of the Night Court, not the Dawn Court, why are you always awake so early?” Stella only giggled before looking up to examine the sky once again. 

“That cloud looks like a bird,” she grinned pointing at a gray blob, wiggling out of Rhysand’s grasp. Rhysand raised an eyebrow as he set her down on the chilly balcony stone. Her bare feet made pattering sounds as she ran back into their room and down the hall. “She must want breakfast,” Feyre declared as she rose from her seat and headed after her daughter, but Rhysand grabbed Feyre, pulling her into a tight embrace, actively splashing the tea in her hand onto her dressing gown. 

“Rhys!” 

“I’m sorry darling, I only meant to tell you good morning.” 

Feyre just rolled her eyes and set the cup down on the dresser behind them and wrapped her arms around Rhysand’s neck. 

“Well, now I’m just wearing a robe soaked with tea.” Rhysand leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Feyre’s, “maybe you should take it off.” Feyre hummed and pressed her lips to Rhysand’s, her stomach fluttered as he ran his fingers up and down her spine. 

A disgusted “yuck” came from the doorway of the bedroom, Stella had returned to retrieve her parents. 

Rhysand only let out an airy laugh before crossing the room to scoop Stella up. She kicked her little legs as her dad flung her over his shoulder and headed towards the kitchen, “I’ll get you some breakfast little bat, calm down.” Now it was Feyre’s turn to smile to herself and think about perfectly content she was with her little family, more than content.

~~~

[everythinggeeky]

Here With Me | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi! reader

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, breaking the Jedi code is vv tempting

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Reader and Obi-Wan are assigned a mission together, and reader’s methods to interrogation are...untraditional. Despite her outlandish tendencies, Obi-Wan and the Council allow her to continue. Will her unconventional methods get her in trouble with the Council and with Obi-Wan?

masterlist

A/N: requests & taglists are open; I wrote this in a few hours so excuse any disjointedness!

You placed your saber on the table, glaring down into the eyes of Goru, the accused separatist pirate, who is seated and restrained in front of you. 

“I’m gonna give you one last chance to speak up. You don’t say anything, I use this. You speak up? The saber stays there. So what’s it going to be? My way, or your way?” You said, hands firm on your hips, leaning over the table just enough to seem menacing from his seated position.

Your prisoner glanced up at you, the saber, Obi-Wan in the corner, back to the saber, and up to you. 

He spits a glossy blob in front of you, just missing your saber by an inch. Obi-Wan stiffens in his position, he knows there are no holds barred with you, and you won’t hesitate to punish the prisoner for his current actions.

“Alright. So that’s how we’re gonna do this” you picked up your saber, igniting the blade.

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan spoke up from the corner.

You looked over to him, a contemptuous look on his face, urging you to back down. With a long gaze back at him, you consider your options. Let him go and risk another murderous rampage, or kill him and violate the Jedi code. Disengaging the blade of your saber, you place the hilt back into its position on your belt. 

You walk away from the table and nod to Obi-Wan, “let’s take this guy in. I’m not done with him yet.”

Obi-Wan signals the troopers to take the pirate away, taking him in for custody as ordered. You stand cross-armed, watching Goru stare you down and spit at your feet. Your face crumples in disgust before turning to Obi-Wan.

“Let’s get off this god forsaken planet. I have better things to do back home.”

“As you wish.” Obi-Wan leads you out of the interrogation cell and back onto the ship.

You walked up the ramp and slumped into the seat in the front of the ship, Obi-Wan taking his seat beside you.

“If you’re going to lecture me, now would be the time,” you mumbled into your palm which was pressed against your cheek.

“I’m not going to lecture you. Do I agree with your interrogation methods? Absolutely not. When we get back, we’ll talk it over with the Council. They’ll decide how to proceed.”

You grumbled, setting the ship’s course for Coruscant, refusing to look at Obi-Wan.

“Y/N, please. Give me something. We can relax now.”

“I’m still working, Obi. Not now.” 

He sighed deeply, sinking back into his seat. The remainder of the trip was silent, soft breaths and the occasional beep from the control panel filled the air where soft, romantic words normally would after a mission. After landing on Coruscant, you stood to leave the ship without another word. Obi-Wan stood, catching your arm in his grip, pulling you to a stop.

“Y/N. Please don’t shut me out. This is still progress.”

“And you still don’t approve of how I do business.”

“Is it untraditional? Yes. Effective? Unfortunately, often,” he said, releasing you, “the Council will figure this out. Please put some trust in them and in me.”

“Not after last time.”

Surrendering, he walked off the ship in front of you, heading into the temple. You watched sadly as he walked on; had you pushed too far? Softening your demeanor, you exited the ship and followed Obi-Wan.

“Master Kenobi,” you called out to him, he stopped in his tracks, turning to you a few paces ahead.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Doing your job? What you were assigned to do?”

“Master...you and I both know that’s not it. My methods do not usually obey the Jedi code.”

“And did you do anything today that would violate it? No. Do not stress about it.”

You nodded, looking up at the man who ranks above you in training but walks beside you in your much more private relationship. 

His face softened equally, “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t. I need you here with me, alright?”

Confirming your promise, you walked side by side with him into the Council meeting room. Standing tall and professional, you pulled your robe tighter around your body. Taking your seat in the Council meeting, you crossed one leg over the other. Master Windu opened the meeting, discussing past business before shifting into the present manner. During his discussion, you could help but doze off. You were terribly exhausted and were desperate to be in the hands of your fellow Jedi master once again. Your mind traveled a bit, to which Obi-Wan seemed to notice, pushing a thought into your mind. You snapped up, peeking over to him. Without a word, he raised an eyebrow and stroked his beard nonchalantly. Narrowing your eyes, you returned your focus to Master Windu, who was now focused on questioning your methods.

“Did you use the approach that we agreed on prior to departure? Was it successful?”

“After arriving on the scene, Master Kenobi and I decided that the Council’s methods would not be successful in the circumstances that we arrived at.”

“With respect, Master Windu, Master Y/L/N acted with restraint. Her methods were successful and the suspect in custody,” Obi-Wan spoke up in defense.

“Very well. With the guidance of Master Kenobi, we will allow the negotiations to continue. Be wary.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I think that settles things for tonight. Consider your methods for the following interrogations. Master Kenobi, Master Y/L/N, proceed as planned. Dismissed.” 

The Council members stood from their seats, each going their separate ways. You slipped into the hallway, standing by for Obi-Wan. As the Council members filed out of the session, you greeted them politely, Obi-Wan stopping next to you, keeping his own professional stance. 

“So it seems the Council is willing to be forgiving. This is the best we can hope for.”

“I suppose. You know how I feel about giving into law and order.”

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Obi?”

“Its the code.”

“Fuck the code, Obi.”

“Maker…” he mutters, shifting uncomfortably at your outburst.

“I’m tired. And I really need to get some rest, alright?”

“Of course. Would you like…?” he trails off.

“Please,” you invited him to come along with you, walking back with a professional distance between you both. 

On your way to your quarters, Anakin turned the corner.

“Master Kenobi, Y/L/N,” he greeted politely.

You both stopped in your tracks, glancing at one another before back at Anakin. He bounced back and forth between you both, a questioning look on his face.

“Settling down for the evening?” he prodded.

“Oh, well, we have some business to settle before our interrogations continue later this week,” Obi-Wan covered.

You nodded in agreement, pushing down the growing blush threatening to paint your cheeks.

“Of course. Well, enjoy your...interrogations,” Anakin said with a smirk directed towards Obi-Wan before continuing on his way.

You continued down the hall, trying to get to your quarters as quickly and as professionally as possible. Entering your quarters felt as though a fifty-pound weight was lifted from your back. Obi-Wan sighed heavily, becoming more comfortable himself. You shrugged your Jedi robes off your body, opting for a much more comfortable nightgown. Obi-Wan stripped down to his trousers, settling into bed under the covers.

“Come here, darling,” Obi-Wan stretched his arms out to you.

You climbed up into bed, settling down beside him, resting your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry for acting out. I don’t like it when the Council tries to control how I work. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know, tomorrow is a new day, I’m sure we’ll understand the workings of the gang’s plot in the Outer Rim soon enough,” Obi-Wan threaded his fingers through your hair, stroking slowly to calm you down from your stressful day, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Obi,” you mumbled sleepily into his bare chest. 

As you relax in his embrace, you being to drift asleep. Obi-Wan presses a soft kiss into your forehead, bidding you goodnight. Falling asleep, Obi-Wan keeps you tight to his body.

The next morning, you grumble as you wake up, heading to clean up and get dressed. Obi-Wan follows suit, getting dressed for the day and then opting to prepare breakfast for you both. As you walked out to the dinette, you slinked your arms around his waist, leaving a kiss behind on his shoulder.

“Morning...thank you for cooking.”

“Of course, darling. Did you sleep enough?”

“I mean..I could always use more. But I’ll be alright.,” you grinned accepting the plate from his hands.

These quiet moments of solace kept you sane. One moment, the Council demanded your complete attention, the next you were training a rowdy padawan. Some peace and quiet hidden away with Obi-Wan in your quarters was hard to come by, but when it did, it was oh so sweet and you never wanted to let go.

“So. The Council wants us to re-interview Goru, the captured pirate from yesterday,” Obi-Wan spoke up to set today’s agenda on straight.

“Got it. Maybe I’ll consider following their suggestions. If no one decides to spit on me today.”

Obi-Wan let out a low chuckle, finishing his breakfast and cleaning up afterward. You both fluttered around your quarters, strapping on belts and centering lightsabers in their respective clips.

“Well, let’s get this shit over with,” you grumbled, making your way into the hallway first.

While signaling to Obi-Wan that the coast was clear, Anakin rounded the corner just as Obi-Wan stepped out of your room. With a knowing expression, Anakin looked to him for an explanation. There was none.

“Anakin. What are you up to today? At this hour?” Obi-Wan asked him.

“Master Windu informed me that I’ll be accompanying you both for the interrogations. He believed my methods would be much better suited to Y/N’s. You are still to supervise and monitor, Master,” Anakin responded.

“I see,” you looked nervously over to Obi-Wan who was now to serve as another body to witness to the Council.

The three of you made your way into the interrogation chambers in the temple. You walked inside while Obi-Wan and Anakin stayed behind to ensure nothing went wrong.

“Hey there, old friend. Long time, no see. Miss me?”

“Not at all,” your captive spat.

“Fair enough. Now, my offer still stands. Work with me and you won’t get a blade through your eye; fail, and well, bye-bye.”

“Y/N…” Obi-Wan warned.

You dismissed him with a wave of your hand, instead choosing to focus on the matter at hand. Working to pull the intel from him, you put the pressure on.

“Are you or are you not working with the Ohnaka gang??” you shouted into the face of your captive.

Anakin looked over to Obi-Wan with hushed concern, “Is this about Dooku?”

“The Council believes that he is operating in the Outer Rim with the help of Hondo. Keep it down.”

Anakin returns to his original position standing guard.

“I’ll never give up Hondo, you Jedi scum.”

“Cute. Real creative,” you paced around the pirate seated in front of you.

Withdrawing your saber from your belt, igniting the blade, you extended your arm to crackle just beside Goru’s face.

“I’ll ask again nicely, how are you working with Hondo?” you inched the blade closer to his flesh, threatening to singe a precise line.

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, silently urging you to proceed with caution. These were dangerous men, after all. However, with one wrong move, your decision could be fateful and in violation of the very oath that you swore to protect others with the Force, not use it to slaughter and mar. 

Pushing on, the blade of your lightsaber now ever so slightly damaging flesh, causing your captive to groan slightly.

“Hondo is negotiating with Dooku! Dooku is using the good we pocket to fund the separatist army!” Goru surrendered. 

Satisfied, you pulled your saber away from his neck, returning it to your belt. 

Walking around the table to face him again, “now was that really so bad?”

Goru threatened to spit at you once again like he did yesterday, but was quickly stopped by Obi-Wan and Anakin entering the scene.

“Aw, c’mon boys, I was just getting started,” you whined with mock disappointment.

“Goru, we’ll lead you back to your cell. The Council will decide your fate from here,” Obi-Wan chimed in.

With the help of Anakin, he led Goru down the hall back to his cell before returning to you solo. 

“Y/N.”

You shook your empty gaze from your eyes, “yes?”

“What did I say about physical threats?”

“Keep it to a minimum,” you mocked.

“Exactly. That was unnecessary.”

“I believe that was a minimum.”

“This is why they call me the negotiator. We’ll discuss our findings with the Council, and then proceed as they wish.”

“Do you ever feel like a soldier more than a guardian?” you interrupted.

“What? Well, I mean, it’s all for the efforts of war, protecting and guarding the peace.”

“But for what? How do we even know we’re on the right side of this war? What if we have it all wrong?”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan looks around him before continuing, “darling, where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know. I know what I do is for the good of the Republic, but what if they got it wrong and I’m just completing tasks and orders?”

“There is so much more to Jedi master than that. You will find that soon. The hope in a padawan’s eyes when they discover the gift of truly utilizing the Force…” Obi-Wan reaches to rub your back in soft comforting circles.

“I want to be more than a soldier.”

“You are so much more. To the Council, the Republic, and to me.”

tagged: @kenobee​ @hxldmxdxwn​ @smokahuntis​ @jbarnesss​ @takenbymyfandoms​ @obiwkenobi​ @ilovesupersoldiers​

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Right there

Summary: Love stories aren’t always grand, sweeping epics. Sometimes they come soft and slow, made up of a million different things, and you may not even recognize what you have until it’s right there in front of you. This is one of those stories.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Brief mission related trauma. Oreo thievery and dirty bubblegum. Mostly just buckets of fluff.

A/N: Hello Tumblr friends! I’ve been in a writing drought lately and it feels like forever since I posted anything, so here’s a short, fluffy fic while I try to Stella my groove back. My plan was to make this snappy and snarky, but it went full scale mush by the end. Guys, I just really love Bucky Barnes. ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

The murmur is low in your ear. Smoothing the folds of emerald green satin, you follow Bucky’s glance down and see the tips of your freshly painted toes, clad in sparkly sandals and peeping from beneath the evening gown. Nothing out of the ordinary, until you notice one thing.

“Gross. What the hell is that?” you whisper.

Stuck like glue to the front of your right shoe, curling over the edge and dangerously close to your bare skin, is a piece of neon blue bubblegum.

Keeping one eye trained on the crush of inebriated party goers, searching out the mission target for the evening, you try a few options.

Scrape the edge of the shoe on the marble floor. Pointless.

Give a couple stealthy stomps. Useless.

Try to wipe it on Bucky’s trouser leg. Bucky sighs heavily and sure, that’s entertaining.

But no matter what you try, this appears to be the superglue of all gum. Bucky stares straight ahead, eyes roaming the crowd, but you see him periodically glance over, gauging your progress.

There’s no real harm, you can fix it later, but every time you shift your weight, the tacky feel of it sticks to the floor and makes a small snick sound. Like a parasite, the dirty, chewed up wad creeps further up the shoe, so close to defiling your pristine toes, and the whole thing is driving you bananas.

“Pay attention to the mission,” Bucky whispers sternly, but as of immediately, there’s a new mission in town. So, when your revolutionary idea arrives in a wave of brilliance, you take immediate action.

Nestled snug against Bucky’s lower back, hidden beneath his tuxedo jacket, sits his favorite knife. Without a thought, you reach up and tug it from the sheath, turning to face the back wall, balancing on one leg and gripping his forearm for support.

And then, frozen in shock, Bucky proceeds to watch you use his favorite knife - the one he sleeps with under his pillow, the one he keeps beside his morning Cheerios, the one he painstakingly sharpens after each and every mission - to dig at the dirty blue bubblegum fused to the bottom of your shoe.

“Disgusting,” you mutter. With a twist and flourish, it pops free and you fling it away, sending it flying into one of those tacky potted ferns by the bathroom. Smothering a laugh, you shoot Bucky a challenging look - and then slide the sticky knife back in the sheath.

You slide it back in the sheath without cleaning it.

Bucky grinds his teeth so hard his jaw locks up.

There is no earthly reason you should still be alive after this sacrilegious approach to basic knife protocol, but when he subtly leans over to voice his intense displeasure, he has the sudden desire to laugh.

“Everything okay, Barnes?” you ask under your breath, resuming your scan of the crowd. An insanely devilish grin tugs at your lips, and he huffs at the playful nudge of your elbow.

“Just fuckin’ peachy,” he mumbles drily, and then he marvels at the thought that follows.

Because right there, Bucky Barnes decides that maybe that proper knife etiquette isn’t all that important.

As long as he can see you smile.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Bucky stands stoic at the open kitchen cabinet, pointing at the top shelf, his furious glare driving daggers into Sam’s heart.

“Dude, I swear I didn’t touch them.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Wilson.”

“Dude, I fucking swear. Get over yourself, damn.”

Sam stands with his arms crossed, an equally exasperated sneer on his face. Sitting on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, you watch with interest. Back and forth they trade barbs, a verbal tennis match full of snarky comments, childish quips, and the occasional mention of each other’s mom. Finally, Sam throws his hands up and whirls away.

“You’re fucking impossible, asshole.”

Bucky bangs the cabinet door shut and stomps over to you, plopping into an armchair to sulk. Smiling in commiseration, you stay silent, furtively trying to swallow. You’re so close to success, but then it happens.

No matter how hard you try, the crinkle of an Oreo package is too obvious.

At the sound, Bucky’s head snaps up.

“What was that?” he asks, suspicious. Eyes wide, you shrug in silent innocence. Bucky scrutinizes your pile of blankets, realization dawning. “Was that - did you steal my Oreos?”

Another silent, vehement shake of the head. You’re close, so close, just one more swallow -

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Prove it. Whistle for me.”

Damn.

When you purse your lips and blow, nothing comes out. Well, nothing except flecks of black Oreo crumbs. Swallowing the rest of the cookie, you fish out the bottle of milk hiding under the blanket and wash it all down, smacking your lips.

“Oh, sorry. Were these your Oreos?” you ask sweetly.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and tries to be mad, he genuinely tries really hard, but it doesn’t work. Launching himself from the chair, he bounces onto the couch next to you, sending your milk sloshing and you squawking in faux anger.

“You dirty little thief,” he deadpans, snatching away the package. Shoving three cookies in his mouth, he steals your bottle of milk and chugs it down. When he finishes, a white milk mustache is painted above his lip. It turns this dark man, someone with decades of gunpowder on his fingers and bloodstains on his soul, back into a young boy. Carefree and innocent, brimming with happy laughter. Swallowing hard, you reach over and carefully wipe it away with a firm brush of your thumb.

And right there, Bucky Barnes discovers the simple beauty of cookies and milk and the feel of your cool fingers on his skin.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

No. You didn’t. And that’s the problem.

Every blow of your fists unleashes something inside.

Smack, smack, smack.

Harder and faster, the punching bag absorbs all the pent of anger and lingering fury of a failed mission.

Smack, smack, smack.

It was so close. It was right there. You should have seen it. Should have remembered the bad guys never play nice, and the price of hesitation is a life. Memories trigger memories, sparking through your brain like a circuit board of bad decisions, lighting up one after another. Bucky stands on the other side of the bag, silently watching you pummel those demons trying to burrow into your skin.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, and you frantically shake your head.

Smack, smack, smack.

Tears spill over. They blur your vision, turning the punching bag and the tall soldier holding it, into shapeless blobs. Blinking them away, wiping your runny nose on tape covered hands, the salt of tears and sweat drips into the busted-up gashes across your knuckles. It stings, a vicious reminder of what was lost. The scent of blood fills your nostrils and there are those memories again, a tsunami of pain barreling through.

Smack, smack, smack.

“Go away, Bucky. Leave me alone,” you snarl, aching arms still swinging at the punching bag. He ignores the request, a stalwart statue. It infuriates you in an unexplainable way and you spit the words in his face. “God dammit, fuck you, I don’t want - I don’t need - I don’t - I mean it. I fucking mean it. Please, just” smack “fucking” smack “go.”

Smack.

Like a booming clap of thunder, your last punch is so hard, it explodes the fragile wall holding the tears at bay.

Knees buckle. Shoulders slump. Fists slam the floor. You go down hard, and the result is devastation.

Ugly, wrenching sobs claw up your throat, stuck behind your clenched teeth until you open your mouth and howl. It hurts to cry this way, to let everything loose and accept the consequences of your failure. You will never save them all, and that clarity is a special brand of destruction.

Bucky says nothing. No words can solve this pain. No one knows that better than him.

Instead, he lays down on the sweat drenched mats beside you. Without a word, he wraps you into a hug, tucking you against his chest. Even if you don’t deserve this comfort, you cling to it. Clutching his shirt, the only lifeline you have left, you cry until that bottomless well of pain and misery finally runs dry. It takes hours, but Bucky is patient, never ceasing the comforting strokes up and down your spine.

And when it’s done, when your exhaustion leaves you unable to open puffy eyes, he simply lifts you up and carries you to your room. Places you gently on your bed and pulls the blankets over you.

“Bucky. Don’t go. Please don’t leave,” you beg hoarsely, and the misery in your voice breaks him. The bed dips as he climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms once again and you feel his lips brush your forehead.

The night bleeds into a dreary grey dawn, and right there, Bucky Barnes sinks into the comfort of a dreamless sleep, with you cradled tight in the heat of his arms.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Eyes closed against the shining sun, you offer a sleepy hum. There’s a rustle of movement, and something soft tickles your cheek. It runs across your nose, touches your eyelids, sweeps light as a feather over your lips.

Eyes struggle open, and there you find Bucky watching, a little purple flower held in his long fingers. The look on his face is unreadable. He does that sometimes, looks at you like he wants to say something more, but he always hesitates, the words stuck in confused silence.

The petals wave faintly in the breeze and you smile.

“Pretty,” you say.

“Just a weed,” he shrugs.

“Still pretty,” you say. “Hand it over.”

Bucky places it in your outstretched palm. Gives a wry shake of the head.

“You’re the only one I know, who thinks weeds are beautiful.”

The small blossom sits thoughtfully in your hand and you hold it up, squinting to the sun.

“Just because something has a bad name, doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.”

There’s a peculiar hope in Bucky’s face as he considers the statement. He likes those words. He likes them a lot. Wants to believe they might even include him too. But nervous silver fingers pick at the threadbare edge of the picnic blanket, and you see a shadow of self-doubt flit over his handsome face.

“Sometimes a weed is still a weed. Even pretty words can’t change that fact.”

The reference is clear. You know exactly what he means, because the list of negative metaphors Bucky uses to describe himself has grown extensive and colorful over the years. Rising to your knees, you shuffle closer until you’re facing him.

“Hey,” you say gently. Careful hands cup his face, the scratchy feel of his beard on your palms softer than you expected. “You better not be calling yourself a weed, Barnes. I’d hate to kick your ass out here in public.”

The shimmer of unshed tears in those blue eyes makes you ache for him. But when Bucky sees the determination in your face, he blinks them away. And like the little weed in your hand, a tiny smile begins to bloom.

He clears his throat.

“Kick my ass, huh? I’d really love to see how that goes.”

“It’ll go my way,” you say confidently. Picking up his heavy hand, you turn it palm up and peel his fingers back. Laying the purple flower in his hand, the vivid color glows against the bright silver. “See? Beautiful. Just like you.”

He stares at the flower. Looks up.

It happens right there, in the sun-soaked summer fields of Central Park; Bucky Barnes feels his heart stop at the taste of your kiss.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Lost in thought, Bucky startles at the question.

Following the line of your arm, he sees you pointing into the infinite ocean of blue-black. Stars are speckled through the heavens, patterns of constellations and figures that you always manage see, but he can never seem to find.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, the two of you walk along, miles from civilization. The first hint of winter settles all around, hard frost covering the tips of the grass, coating the pebbles edging the abandoned road, turning your breath to thick white clouds. It should make him anxious. Bucky hates the frost, despises the frozen blue that weaves maliciously through his worst nightmares.

But on this cold, moonlit night, with you warm by his side, he finds he doesn’t mind so much.

“What am I looking for?” he asks.

“Shooting star,” you say breathlessly. Tilting your head back, you go still, a beacon of patience awaiting a cosmic miracle. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Bucky peers up at the sky, but as the minutes click by, he knows he’ll never find what he needs up there.

He turns to look at you instead. Watches you watch the sky, his chest burning with contentment at the sight of your profile in this moonlit night.

“Sure,” he says. “So beautiful.”

Gloved fingers find yours, and you turn your gaze from the infinity of space, to this man beside you, solid and real and here on Earth. There is nothing in the world but the two of you, nothing else matters as you move impossibly close.

“Such a sap,” you murmur, your mouth a mere breath from his. The tip of his nose is icy against your cheek, and you can feel him smiling as he returns the kiss with a shiver.

The world is funny. Because this - this is your love story.

Built on blue bubblegum and stolen Oreos, blood-stained bandages and purple flowers, shooting stars and an endless night sky, this love bursts with highs and lows and a million variations in-between. Wrapped up in the delicious comfort of your kiss, Bucky wonders what in the world he ever did to earn this.

This perfectly imperfect life. Here. With you.

There’s no real answer, of course. Love is like that sometimes.

So instead, he dusts off those three words from another life, ones he’s stored away for decades, and he hands them over, because they’re the one thing he can always see, no matter how dark his world becomes.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

The words are drenched in happiness, syllables shaped with a quiet joy that glows brighter and fiercer than every constellation hanging above. And in the space of a single second -

Your heart skips.

Your breath catches.

You swear you could fly.

Because this is it, this is the moment. This is the big one.

And that right there is when you return those three words, the ones Bucky Barnes has been missing his whole life and the ones you’ve held close, since the night you found that blue bubblegum tacked onto your shoe.

The words are perfect. You kiss him again.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

*****

[aloe-casia]

Ostracism

Day 1, Netflix/Books, Mild Gore/Canon-typical Witcher Racism, 5,417 Words

Summary: Geralt receives help from a group of cruel villagers for the sole reason that they want him out of their town. Needless to say, the situation is not ideal.

@geraltwhumpweek

So often, Geralt found emptiness where others felt full. It had been this way for as long as he could remember, except for the few vague memories he had of being Visenna’s son before she gave him over to the Law of Surprise. Where humans went to fill themselves to the brim with interaction, the markets and towns, were places Geralt avoided more than he would avoid a plague-ridden burial ground. He wasn’t sure entirely how this habit had started, just that it had become necessary, particularly after Blaviken. Not only did the noise and smell overwhelm his sensitive mind, but people cursed and spat. Called him unnatural, disgusting when he rode into town carrying the head of the beast that would likely have killed them all. They said he was mutant scum, good for nothing but killing and being killed, a shield to keep others safe but not worthy of gratitude.

Normally, this was a nonissue for Geralt. It bothered him a bit, to hear them curse and spit on Roach’s hooves. But he avoided their towns and cities anyways, did exactly as they wanted because it was also beneficial for him. The sensory overload of venturing into a town without absolute necessity was often enough to push him over the edge into the territory of dangerously debilitating migraines. However, it was different when he needed the people who hated him. It did not happen often, most of the time Geralt was capable of patching himself up, caring for his wounds as best he could and then continuing on his way as they healed up on their own. But there were some times when this was simply impossible. And then he had, in the past, relied solely on luck to keep him surviving. Luck, and the fact that he had been told over and over that he was destined for something more than dying in some farmer’s field.

However, Geralt was beginning to question if this was really the truth. Something about the way his blood was soaking the golden wheat around him, dyed almost amber in the sunset, made him feel like this was where he would die. It was almost beautiful, he thought dizzily. There were flies buzzing above him, the sound of their quickly beating wings almost soothing, letting him drift off to sleep. Far above, he could hear carrion birds crowing. That was never a good sign. Carrion birds were intuitive sensors of death. They would never have wasted their energy flying to him unless he was truly dying.

Rolling on his side, Geralt lazily trailed his finger through his blood, pooling on the ground underneath him. He drew a figure eight in the dirt, and watched as his blood filled the grooves, the same consistency as molasses. The birds crowed, and the insects buzzed, and the sun continued to sink over the horizon. He was reminded of the fact that even if he died here today, which was a considerably likely occurrence, the sun would keep setting. The bugs would keep flying. The birds would fly off after they were done devouring his corpse and go find some other decaying body to gorge themselves on. It was a strangely comforting thought.

Geralt was ripped from his wandering path of thoughts by the feeling of rough hands rolling him on his side. He started with pain and fear. The fact that anyone had managed to come all the way up to him and touch him before he noticed they were there was damnably frightening. Even dying, Geralt had always hoped he would be in complete command of himself until the end. Although, now that he was experiencing it, he realized this was an impossibility. Death conquered all, even Witchers. A small whimper escaped his chest as whoever was rolling him over dug their fingers right into the open, bloody chasm carved into his side. Geralt would have screamed, but he was too weak. The world felt hot and heavy, and he could barely even bring himself to feel concerned as the person lifted him up carelessly. One hand was still half in the wound, using it as a kind of handhold to keep Geralt upright. He groaned again, feeling the hot blood trickling down his sides. As he was dragged away, the dirt of the farmer's field squelched under his boots. It was red and rusty in the sunset. Feeling ill, Geralt swallowed convulsively, feeling the tips of his boots making tiny furrows in the mud. Somewhere along the way, his eyes had drifted shut, even the painful grip not enough to keep him conscious. Vaguely, he heard voices. Gruff, harsh, indistinct. He tried to raise his head, tried to get a faint understanding of what was happening to him, but he was so damnably weak. He'd let himself lose too much blood. If Vesemir had been there, he would have whipped Geralt within an inch of his life for being so careless.

But Vesemir wasn't here. Geralt was alone, in a strange and inhospitable world, wounded and too weak to even lift his head and see who was taking him. At this point, with most of his blood having seeped out onto the ground, Geralt felt too listless to even care about who it was. Everything was cold. He shivered, clenching his toes and hands in a final, desperate attempt to keep himself from betraying any weakness. A rough, work-worn hand grabbed his chin and yanked it upwards roughly.

“You’re fucking useless, you know that?” A deep voice grumbled, “We hire you to do one thing. Just kill the fucking rusalkas and leave us in peace, and you can’t even do that. We want you gone, and the sooner you’re able to sit on your horse and get out of here the better.”

Geralt blinked blearily, disliking the way the man was squishing his face in his tight grip. He couldn’t see anything, the blood loss was taking a heavy toll on him, and even if he had been able to understand the man over the roaring in his ears he guessed he wouldn’t have been able to make sense of the words. He was too weak, too tired. He just wanted to be left in peace, to lie down and expire in the dirt.

However, it was not to be. Geralt had a moment’s notice before the man who was holding his face released the tight grip on his chin, causing Geralt’s chin to thump painfully against his sternum. His boots swam in a blurry haze under his feet. Then, he felt strong, thick arms wrapping around his waist, and a rush of air as he was tossed unceremoniously against something hard and wooden. There was a dull thud, and underneath a slightly sickening sound of hot blood dripping onto the boards. The moment Geralt hit the wood, stars swam in front of his eyes and an audible groan escaped his lips. He reached around, trying desperately to find something to anchor himself to, something to hold onto as the world spun dizzyingly around him. His stomach was on fire, and he gasped as he tried to inhale. His head, which had taken quite a knock when he had been thrown, was aching fiercely, his vision tunnelling. Having been unable to find anything solid to grip, anything to anchor him to consciousness or to help him understand what was happening, Geralt allowed himself to slip. Whatever was to become of him, there was nothing he could do about it now anyways.

----

When next he awoke, Geralt was only aware that whatever he was lying on was jolting horrendously, and that it was probably this jolting that had caused his return to consciousness. His body certainly did not feel ready to be awake. He was covered in his own blood, sticky and hot, and in so much pain that the only way he could draw breath was by leaving his mouth open and taking gasping breaths like a beached fish. There was a vague sound of trotting horses, and men talking and laughing amongst one another. Their voices were harsh, and sounded cruel.

Peeling back his eyelids with considerable difficulty, Geralt was able to make out the green leaves of trees and the bright light of sunlight filtering down between them. He had always loved the dappling of the sunlight on the forest floor, but now even that had been turned into a feverish, painful nightmare. The light passed over him as they moved, so quickly and unpredictably that it completely overwhelmed his sensitive eyes. Feeling nauseous, Geralt tried to lift a hand to rub at his eyes and block out the light, but found that his hands were unable to move. At first, he thought this was due to weakness brought on by blood loss. After all, he was covered in his own blood, sticky and hot and sickening on such a warm day. But when he tried to move again, he heard a rattle and felt the sharp bite of metal against his skin. Whoever had him had bound him tightly, weak though he was.

A horse trotted up next to what Geralt had confusedly determined was a wagon. He couldn’t truly make out the person sitting on it, or the horse for that matter, but the scent of animal and unclean human suddenly became stronger as a brown blob floated into his vision. Under different circumstances, Geralt would have been tempted to laugh at his own weakness. And then probably slap himself upside the head for having been so stupid as to get into this situation in the first place. But thinking was too hard, and all the thoughts he had were disordered and made his head ache even worse. He focused on the stench, but that only made his aching stomach roll.

“I see you’re awake, beast,” a voice, the same one from earlier, sneered down at him, “Best not to move. Monsters can’t be trusted not to lash out, even when they say they’re here to help.”

Geralt blinked up at him, eyes aching, trying to understand what was happening to him. There was a bandage wound tightly around his side, he could feel the itch of the fabric pressing against his skin as the wagon jolted. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why people who so obviously detested him were keeping him alive at all. He allowed his head to bounce on the floor of the cart, hoping perhaps it would knock him out again. Every pebble on the road was agony for his stomach, sliced open as it was. The man must have seen the confused look in his eyes, though. He leaned over off his horse, and Geralt gagged at the stench of his breath — onions and rotting teeth.

“Probably wondering why we’re bothering to save your worthless hide, eh?” The man chortled, breathing hot air all over Geralt’s face, “Not that there’s much to save. But we can’t have a Witcher’s rotten corpse sullying our fields and killing our crops. We’ll heal you up well enough to send you on your way, and then you can go die somewhere far away from here. And take your thrice-damned cursed body with you.”

Ah. So this was one of the places where the myths about Witchers bringing curses and bad luck still persisted. Geralt supposed he should be grateful they were willing to patch him up at all, instead of just dumping his body in a river and hoping he floated away. However, the circumstances were less than ideal. Geralt creased his eyebrows and nodded meekly. He was too weak to fight this right now, and so far they seemed intent on not outrightly harming him, if not exactly being gentle either.

He turned his head to the other side, mostly to escape the man’s fetid breath. There were poplar trees sliding by as the wagon jolted on, each bump withdrawing a small gasp from Geralt’s parted lips. As he watched, the trees began to blur together, turning into a mass of white and brown bark. He couldn’t hear the bugs or carrion birds anymore. Perhaps they had gone off to find someone more determined to die.

----

There was no more rest for Geralt all the way back to the village where he had taken the contract. He tried to pick his brain for the name, but came up empty-handed. His thoughts had been reduced to the bare minimum to keep him distracted from the hot pain in his gut. All the way back, his eyes had continuously slid shut, with every rock on the dirt path snapping them back open. He was exhausted, and freezing cold. His body trembled from lack of blood, and every breath hurt. A bed and soft blanket would be more than acceptable right now. And Roach. She was always gentler on him when he collapsed against her neck after an injury. Much gentler than these men, who had taken it upon themselves to spit on and kick at him every time he let out a noise of pain. Geralt couldn’t really hear their jeering anymore, but the kicks hurt, and the spit covered the few parts of him that hadn’t already been soaked with blood. He just wanted some damn peace and sleep.

When the wagon finally rattled to a stop with a jingling of harnesses and whinnying of horses, Geralt realized he hadn’t even noticed when the scenery sliding by him had turned from trees and bushes to the brown of mud brick and timber houses. He blinked, wishing he could lift a hand to rub across his eyes. They were full of sand and dirt from the journey, and ached every time he closed them.

There was a clattering of boots and spurs as the men, Geralt hadn’t been able to count how many, dismounted. Then, the same man who had spoken to Geralt earlier clambered up next to him in the wagon and placed his face uncomfortably close to the Witcher’s. Geralt winced and turned his head away from the hot breath.

“Welcome home, bastard. My wife is waiting to bandage and stitch your wounds, and then you’ll be left alone until you heal. And if you get any ideas with her, know that I will flay you alive and throw you in the river, curses be damned. Do you understand me?”

The man grasped Geralt’s face viciously and pulled it so close to his own that Geralt could feel his stubble brushing up against his cheek. Several answers came to his mind involving the impropriety of his actions, and how his wife would probably be relieved to have an out. However, he dismissed these responses as being unlikely to help and as products of what was probably a burgeoning fever. Normally he had better self-preservation instincts.

“Yes…” he breathed through his teeth, wincing as the cold air passing through them caused them to ache, “Just for fuck’s sake, let me sleep.”

The man cackled obscenely and backhanded Geralt roughly, unlocking the shackles around his arms so he could sling him over his broad shoulder. Then, he trudged inside, all while the other men who had accompanied them back to the village elbowed and jeered at Geralt. He closed his eyes and let his head hang. The blood loss he was experiencing wouldn’t let him do much else. He trembled a bit, although he tried clenching his muscles to keep it under control.

When the man carrying Geralt bounced up the steps to what must have been his home, the Witcher nearly blacked out. He was lying with the injured portion of his stomach digging straight into the man’s shoulder, and with every stair his vision tunnelled a bit more. He could smell what must have been stew cooking inside the house, but his stomach ached at the mere thought of ingesting anything. Vaguely, Geralt wondered if all of his stomach was still inside him. The rusalka had swiped at him with deadly precision, and he had fallen before he was able to truly assess the wound. However, he supposed, he wouldn’t have survived the trip back in the wagon if the rusalka had mortally wounded him. Vesemir had once told him that if he could make it past two hours, he would be almost certain to recover.

Inside the home, Geralt found himself being dropped unceremoniously onto something bouncy that must have been a bed. He would have been grateful for this but for the way the mattress bouncing aggravated his wounds, and the fact that the man had bound his hands to the sides of the bed with what felt like leather horse reins. Not that those would have been likely to restrain him if he had been a bit stronger. Geralt had a feeling that the man knew this, and was doing it more because it was humiliating and pulled at his wounds uncomfortably. He tried not to wince, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but was unsuccessful.

The house was a cacophony of smells and sounds, and Geralt tried to close his eyes and tune it out as the man stomped out of the room, hollering that he was hungry and wanted dinner. Geralt felt so weak. His legs and arms trembled from a combination of cold and pain. He was still dressed in his blood-soaked shirt and pants, and the blood had congealed into a cold, slippery mass. Geralt felt like he might freeze, and it was all the more torturous because he could feel blankets underneath him. Freezing and miserable and too weak to roll over, Geralt tried to settle for burying his head in the pillow. It was still to noisy and bright in here to sleep, but his mind was sluggish and slow and his thoughts were scattered. Blood loss was not conducive to entering a meditative state, so Geralt had no choice but to curl up and tremble, hoping whoever came to stitch his wounds would have mercy and give him something to help him sleep. Normally, he eschewed opioids. But just this once, it would be a blessing.

----

It felt like many hours later when the wooden door banged open again. Geralt had long since lost all feeling in his hands; the reins cutting deep into his wrists. He thought he could feel blood dripping onto the floor, which made his heart speed up. He couldn’t afford to lose any more blood tonight.

The woman who entered the room had sleek brown hair and big brown eyes. She was wearing a hand-woven dress and flowered apron, although Geralt only acknowledged this as a way of confirming that at least his eyesight had improved since he had been lying in the farmer’s field. She also smelled considerably better than her husband; like stewed meat and dirt. Geralt had always liked the smell of dirt. It reminded him of Vesemir. He shook himself violently, wincing when he realized his attention span was nowhere near what it should be in such a situation.

While Geralt had been reflecting on dirt (another thought that would have made him snort a bit under different circumstances), the woman had seated herself none toi gently on the edge of the bed, jostling Geralt’s abdomen. He wished he could bring up a hand to grip at it, but the reins were too short. She smiled cruelly at him, although her huge eyes widened innocently.

“Dear Witcher,” she simpered, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear in a way that made him shiver from something other than the cold, “I’ve been instructed to tend your wounds. And I assure you, that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from bleeding you and sending your horse galloping out of this town with you tied to it. You’re the bastard that couldn’t even save us without getting himself completely butchered. What is the point of you, then?”

Geralt blinked up at her and tried not to squint too much. His eyes were still full of grit and sand, and more than anything he wished she would wipe it away, sew up his wounds, and leave him in peace. Her wide, childlike eyes made his skin crawl.

“Oh, do your poor eyes hurt?” She smiled down at him, “I imagine they do all the time. That’s what happens when you have the devil in your eyes. Surely a little sand won’t hurt after all that.”

Resigning himself to healing that only involved the bare minimum of what he needed to do to survive, Geralt tried to summon some tears in the hope they would wash out the sand. While the ability to cry from emotion had been taken from him during his Trials, tears were still an important defence mechanism used to rid the body of unwanted toxins. But he was so tired, and couldn’t even focus enough to dilate his pupils in the light, let alone wash away the sand from his eyes. He settled in for a miserable time, unsure why he had expected anything else. Humans didn’t willingly offer help to monsters, after all.

“You may call me Tara,” the woman continued as she watched Geralt blink exhaustedly with a toothy smile, “Although I don’t expect you’ll be saying much for quite some time. Those rusalkas really did get the jump on you, no?”

He glared at her, watching as she unpacked some bandages and a wicked-looking needle and thread. She also set a butcher’s knife down on the table beside her other healing things. Geralt wondered what she intended to use it for that would still leave him alive at the end. He twisted a bit, face pinched with the discomfort of his wounds. The dried blood on his skin itched, and he was so weak and tired. A very small part of him that still indulged human emotion missed Eskel. His brother always took good care of him when he was wounded. It had been a long time since Geralt had experienced a tender touch. And, weak with blood loss as he was, he ached for it. He coughed a bit.

Tara seated herself on a short stool next to the bed and began threading what appeared to be a long darning needle with thick black thread. Geralt tried to keep his eyes from rolling back completely in his head. He didn’t feel comfortable passing out while she was in the room, but with every blink he fell closer to sleep, cold though he was.

“Oh! I almost forgot. With all that blood loss, you must be in sore need of water. Perhaps I could get you some…after we’ve stitched your side. I don’t need to keep you comfortable, just make sure you don’t die on my watch.”

That rendered all Geralt’s hopes for a painkilling herbs null and void, then. Clearly, Tara was set on doing this as cruelly and painfully as she possibly could without killing him. Geralt hazily wondered if her hatred of Witchers came simply from the damning legends about his kind, or there was something greater at work. He had never experienced such raw hatred without warrant before.

Using the butcher’s knife, Tara slit Geralt’s shirt down the front, making a disgusted face as she flicked congealed blood off herself. She frowned at the wound underneath.

“Clearly whoever said Witchers are unmatched warriors never saw you fight. I know at least twenty men in the village who could have dodged such an obvious blow.”

“Why didn’t you send one of them to kill the rusalkas, then?” Geralt slurred out before he could stop himself. The blood loss was making him lose all his inhibitions. Tara frowned and pushed hard on his wound, making Geralt groan a bit as stars flashed before his eyes. Once again, he wished he had full movement of his arms, if only to push her away. Somehow, he doubted he was strong enough to push her off at the moment.

“Because they are valuable. They have families, and lives, and feelings. They aren’t tools. They deserve better than to spend their lives hunting beasts. No, that’s work for more…base creatures.”

Geralt found himself no longer able to speak as Tara wiped a cloth roughly along the sides of the long cut in his belly. He had tried to lift his head to see how damaged he was, but his neck quivered and shook, and he had had to abandon the attempt. Now, he floated in a semi-aware state between sleep and wakefulness, in too much pain to drift off but too exhausted to truly pay attention. His eyes fluttered at half mast as Tara finished cleaning the wound with wicked swipes of the cloth and began drawing the sides together to stitch it shut.

“Let’s hope that Witchers’ pain resistance hasn’t been as vastly exaggerated as your fighting abilities. I don’t have any needles smaller than this. Or, if I do, I couldn’t be bothered to find them.”

Geralt tried to open his eyes and summon some version of the glare that normally reduced men to quivering masses, but his eyes stubbornly refused to cooperate. With his luck, he would probably be unable to see her clearly anyways, and end up glaring in an entirely different direction. The sand had moved around in his eyes and was clouding his vision again, and the blood loss-induced weakness wasn’t helping matters. He steeled himself by wrapping his shaking hands around the reins, suppressing another small cough of pain.

With what Geralt was sure was a wicked smile, Tara dug her needle far deeper within the Witcher’s flesh than was strictly necessary and pulled the two sides together with a malicious tug. He clenched his hands around the reins and tried, unsuccessfully to suppress a whimper.

“Oh, does it hurt?” She said with exaggerated false sympathy, “I’m sure it’s nothing for someone as strong and unbeatable as you.”

Geralt tried to focus on his breaths as she continued tugging ruthlessly at his lacerated side. He was exhausted, and eventually drifted back to his half-asleep state as she finished knotting the thick stitches and pulled a bandage uncomfortably tightly around his side.

“There we are. Sweet dreams, Witcher. I’ll be back tomorrow to see if you’re still alive. If you try anything, rest assured you will be shown no mercy, mutant bastard.”

He was sure she was smiling down at him, even though he had lost the ability to open his eyes somewhere during his ordeal. He turned his head tiredly into the sheets. It was impossible to get comfortable — the way they had bound his arms pulled at the haphazard stitches in his side. He could feel the sides of the wound expanding a bit every time he tried to move, stitches straining to hold him together. However, discomfort was something that was all too familiar to Geralt. Letting a breath of pain escape through his clenched teeth, the Witcher turned his head onto a cooler part of the pillow and closed his eyes.

Rest did not find him easily.

----

Three days later found Geralt, with his wound barely scarred over, bundled up on Roach as she cantered away from the town. Tara and her husband had left him tied up in the barn after it had become clear he was no longer in mortal danger, and they had sent him on his way in the wee hours of the morning by slicing the ropes that bound him and dumping a bucket of ice cold water over his head. He was still suffering a bit from the blood loss — having lost all his potions in the fight with the rusalkas, he would have to replenish his blood supply the normal way. However, it left him uncomfortably cold, and as Roach cantered away he bundled himself deeper into his cloak to ward off the chill morning breeze.

“Come on girl, we just need to collect my swords and then we can get out of this shithole of a town.” His teeth were clenched to keep them from clacking together, and one aching wrist was wrapped around his stomach, which twinged a bit with every step Roach took. He slowed her to a trot as they continued down the road, hoping none of the less superstitious villagers had taken it upon themselves to follow him.

They reached the swamp where the rusalkas had been living as the sun had begun to set. Wrapped up in his cloak and shivering miserably, Geralt was reminded of the sunset when he had been lying in the field not far from here. Briefly, he wondered if he should stop taking contracts in villages where the people were obviously full of hatred for his kind. He had survived this time, but only due to malicious rumours that his flesh was cursed. And he would need to find somewhere a bit more welcoming to hole up for a few days, to make potions and let his stomach heal. He wished he was closer to the Temple of Melitele. Nenneke, despite all her grumbling, always took him in and gave him somewhere warm to sleep. However, he would have preferred to continue on the path unhindered.

Dismounting painfully, Geralt tried to find his swords with as little bending over as possible. Even standing up straight was a bit of a stretch for him at the moment. Roach nosed him gently until he nearly tripped over the hilt of his silver sword, decorated with the jewels from Renfri’s brooch, which gleamed dully in the sun.

“Thanks, Roach,” he sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle as he reached down to collect both swords, wincing a bit as they squelched in the mud, “Probably would’ve spent all evening stumbling around this fucking swamp.”

His attention to detail was also suffering greatly, probably due to a lack of sleep from the uncomfortable position he had been tied up in while staying with Tara and her husband. Not for the first time, he was incredibly grateful for Roach’s intelligence. She always seemed to know precisely how and when she was needed.

“Let’s head a bit further down the road tonight,” Geralt sighed as he heaved himself back into the saddle, strapping his swords behind him to save himself the weight on his shoulders, “I don’t want to camp any closer than this town than I have to, but I’m not sure how much further we should go on.”

Roach turned around and nosed his knee sympathetically, letting a soft breath out through her nose. She kept her pace at a walk, sensing Geralt’s sharp intake of breath whenever her gait shifted. As the sun continued to set, and the Witcher felt his eyes drifting shut, he allowed himself to slowly slump forwards. Tara’s stitches had been woefully placed at best, and they pulled tightly at his skin when he slumped. Sighing and wincing when that hurt as well, Geralt crossed his wrists, raw from the rope that had been used to tie him in the stables, across Roach’s neck. Sensing what her master was about to do, the chestnut mare raised her head a bit to provide a more comfortable rest. With an audible whimper (these were the wilds, and there was no one but the birds around to hear), Geralt collapsed weakly into her neck, cramping hands fisting her main as his stomach ached again. He would just rest his eyes a bit, just for a little longer up the road. There would be no respite in an inn tonight, nowhere to lie down and rest his head, which ached with exhaustion and a residual fever. He was a tool, a killing machine, nothing more. And in these parts, that meant he was undeserving of rest. After all, monsters slept by the side of the road, not in beds or taverns.

He fell asleep fitfully, brow creased with pain, the spiteful voices of the farmers filling his mind. Butcher, mutant bastard, cursed. An emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach, below the wound he had taken in defence of those people. Roach’s head swayed beneath him.

He did not truly rest that night, or for many nights to come. Alone, outcast, left to his devices, he lay awake on Roach’s back and blearily watched the trees as they passed him by.

[banashee]

 Happy and content

 It’s been too long - the entire mission has been too long. Truth be told, the weeks he's been gone feel like forever and it takes all of his training and self control for Clint to keep himself from curling up on the metal floor in the elevator and take a long nap right then and there. His back won't thank him, for one. But even more so, the elevator doesn't hold the company he's been desperate for ever since he left.

 So he keeps himself upright on the wall, and stumbles out on the main floor where he's met with an excited

 "You're home early!" and a long embrace that he melts into, holding on tight and pushing his nose in a mop of dark hair.

 "Hmm you smell good."

 Tony laughs out loud and then says,

 "I haven't showered in two days."

 "Perfect."

 "Yeah, no. I'm sure both of us could use a good wash."

 "Me, definitely, I'm fucking gross right now. You're welcome to join me there but for the record, you really do smell good."

 "Eh, no. You're just too tired to notice."

 "Hmmh." he holds on for a minute longer, then Clint slowly lets go and smiles at Tony, who looks at him with a lopsided grin of his own and amused sparkle in his eyes.

 "I like the you-smell without anything else covering it up." Clint admits then, and it's met with a quiet "Huh." and nothing else but it's true.

 There is almost always something - either motor oil and smoke or expensive cologne most days- it's all very much and distinctively Tony but there is no denying that those scents are just… Different.

 The hot water in the shower feels like heaven, but then again, so do the gentle hands and lips making their way all over his body. The two of them take their time together, and it's a good thing they're already in the bathroom because they would have had to get out of bed and into the shower again once they finish. As it is they can save themselves the trouble and simply get to fall into bed together where they happily curl up around each other.

 Sleep comes fast that night.

 Their morning is blissfully slow and comfortable. It's one of those rare days where they don't have to be anywhere, and both Clint and Tony take full advantage of it.

 Days like this one have been rare lately, what with the lives they lead - alien attacks and SHIELD missions don't exactly follow a convenient time table.

 So being able to be lazy and drink coffee all morning long is a luxury. They stretch out breakfast unnecessarily long, just because they can, and go back to bed for another round of quality time and a long nap after.

 It's been almost two years since their drunken night out in Las Vegas that changed their life for the better.

 Despite the fact that they've been close long before that, "casual" had always seemed safer. No expectations, no disappointment. Until they caught feelings because duh.

 Waking up hungover and very much married had been a bit of a shock, and even though they'll never live down the fact that it took all this for them to finally figure their shit out, it's the best thing that happened to them.

 They work out. They work out beautifully, and even when the jokes and good natured mocking about the sheer cliche and ass-backwards way of it all didn't die down in a long time, they're happy together.

 They're happy to have found each other - happy to have found another mess of human being to tackle this bitch called life together and suddenly, almost two years have passed.

 The first anniversary, they spent fighting gooey blobs from outer space and while tedious and downright disgusting, the day had been kinda fun.

 "This is a real fucking sad excuse for an anniversary date." various team members had pointed out, and promptly informed them that there is a table for two booked in a nice Italian restaurant as soon as they they were done washing alien slime out of every single body cravis.

 The gesture was sweet and the food amazing, and so they have many fond memories of that day.

 Now, the two year mark isn't far, and while he's dozing off on Clint's chest, Tony decides that this year, he'll make plans. As he slowly drifts off, he smiles - it'll be a good plan.

 Hopefully.

 *+~

     Prompt No.32  -”You smell good.” - “I didn’t shower in two days.” - “Yep. Perfect.”  

[dobrikburrito]

loved ones, d.d. & v.s.

words: 2.2k

requested by anonymous

Hi!! I love your writing sm you're amazing!!! Can I get a David fic where she's so nice and and always does stuff for all of them like the dishes when she doesn't have to or buys them presents so they all work together to do something nice for her

disclaimer: wholesome fluff.

⠀ 

One year ago

“Alright, Zane, I think that’s enough alcohol for tonight, baby.” You supported Zane having his arm around your shoulders. “Here, have this.”

Zane made a disgusted face. “What is that?”

“It’s just water, come on, take a sip.” You told him, but immediately rejected it.

Rolling your eyes, you took the cup away and then brought him the same cup again. “Ok fine, have it your way, here’s some vodka.”

And he happily drank all the liquid, which made you laugh and facepalm. “How is it?”

“That’s some tasty drink right there,” He nodded, approving the “vodka”.

“Aw, I’m glad you liked it.” You smiled, taking a paper towel and drying his sweaty forehead. His eyes were barely open and his body was trying to dance to the music, but ended up just moving oddly. “Hey, I have a fun idea. How about we eat some of these chips? I’m feeling reeeeeeally hungry.”

You brought a small packet of regular chips and gave him some to eat, which he obeyed like the good toddler he was.

After taking care of Zane for a couple of hours, he was sobering up and wasn’t going to pass out or have a ridiculous major hangover the next day.

“Thank you for helping me with him, (Y/N).” Heath softly smiled in appreciation.

“No problem, babe. Let me know how he wakes up tomorrow. I already gave him one Advil,” You informed your friend. Heath nodded and walked Zane to the car.

10 months ago

“Psst, hey. Dave, wake up.” You poked David while he was napping rolled into his comforter on the living room couch. He whined, you rolled your eyes. “Come on, you need to take your medicine.”

David mumbled something incomprehensible, but stood up a bit and took the pill and the bottle of water from you, barely opening his eyes. After swallowing it, he nodded in appreciation. “Thank you (Y/N),” Only to fall down on the couch again, sleeping.

Just recovering from a bad case of the flu, you spent part of your days at David’s making sure he was properly taking care of himself, which he usually wasn’t, hence the sickness. You cooked him some soup while he napped and cleaned the dishes for him. Jason came along an hour later to check up on him as well.

“Hey (Y/N), how’s David doing?” Jason approached you on the glass table by the kitchen and hugged you. “Uh, that smells good.”

“He’s been sleeping a lot, but I made sure he took his medicine and is properly eating actual food and not just Chipotle.” You hugged Jason back, stopping your own video editing for a while. “And I just made some soup, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“David’s really lucky to have a friend like you around. Sometimes he’s just so reckless I want to punch him.” Jason looked at the blob that was David on the couch. “Actually, we’re all very lucky to have you around, you’re always taking care of us.”

“You’re cute, but I’m just being a friend, that’s all. We work so much that we forget that health is actually a real thing.” I laughed, shrugging.

“I’ll go wake him up to eat your soup then.” Jason kissed your head and you got up to pick up some plates.

8 months ago

Todd had his head resting on your lap, eyes closed, feeling your fingers running through his black strands of hair. Somehow he showed up at your door at 2:45 am, completely wasted, after drinking his feelings away because of another fight with Corinna. You were caught in the middle of this tornado since the moment they started to date, always listening to both sides, trying to reason with them and advising in what they should do.

You looked to the orange and pink sky through your living room window, it was probably around 6 am now. You’ve spent all these hours listening to a drunk Todd cry about how sad he was but couldn’t ever properly express his feelings to Corinna.

This time you chose to just listen and wear off the alcohol in his system, giving him water and all the protocol for him not to wake up a bigger mess. Your eyes shut for one second, giving that you were exhausted yourself.

Todd woke up after a couple of minutes and saw you there, taking care of him for the hundredth time again, only to sigh and get up to cook you breakfast.

6 months ago

You had scheduled to meet Kristen for a Saturday brunch, missing your time together. When you arrived, she was already there, Scotty sitting by her side. Instead of being mad, you just smiled watching them together from a far and seeing how much love they had. You reached them, hugged them tight and sat down, spending the next couple of hours talking about everything in your lives.

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot,” You shook your head, quickly slapping yourself in the forehead. “Here, I bought you this!” You smiled.

It was this lovely and big Buddha crystal figure with a lotus flower on the inside. It was written Kristen all over it. The look on her face was priceless and you clapped, excited.

“(Y/N), oh my God. This is amazing! I can’t take this, this looks super expensive.” Stunned by the figure, she didn’t even look at you, just kept admiring it.

“Oh please, yes you’re taking it. I saw this while I was looking for a new clock for my apartment and it was you all over it. I couldn’t not take it!” You smiled, sweetly. “And my channel is doing good, don’t worry about it!”

“What’s the occasion?” Scotty asked with a smile on his face, also appreciating how happy Kristen was.

“Can’t a girl give her best friend a random gift out of the blue just to see her cry?” You shrugged, being a little over dramatic for the joke.

“Oh my Gaaaaaaaah.” Kristen did a fake-cry and whine just to make you laugh.

4 months ago

“Jesus fucking Christ, what is the matter with you people?” You said, breathless. “Why do people do this to themselves willingly.”

Todd and Jeff stopped to laugh at you, a few feet down the hike from them. “Come on now, it’s not that bad.” Jeff joked, waving for you to reach them.

It was the beginning of the year and as much as Todd and Jeff were friends, they were still getting to know each other. You knew both of them, knowing that Todd and Jeff had just been through terrible break ups and could use each other’s help. So you managed to sneakily schedule the first hike they ever did together, using your bad habits as an excuse.

“Don’t look at me like that (Y/N), I’m not gonna carry you again.” Todd shook his head when I gave him my puppy eyes.

“God dammit,” You rolled your eyes and did a little power run to reach them. “Just go easy on me, why don’t ya?”

We kept walking together and a couple of miles in, Todd asked Jeff “So… How have you been since you broke up with Cierra?”

“Basically shit, man.” Jeff answered and they continued to talk about every aspect of their lives.

You smiled to yourself, mentally giving you a high five for your bromance cupid skills.

2 months ago

“Ooh, who’s that guy?” You scrolled through Corinna’s Instagram DMs while she was putting on make up before you both went out. I show her the profile picture for Tfue.

“Oh, it’s this streamer guy that I told you about, he’s nice.” Corinna took one look at it and went back to her make up.

Clearly, I clicked to go to his profile and started going through his pictures and videos. “Oh, he’s cute too. He’s very much your type.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She chuckled while putting mascara on.

“You know exactly what I mean, don’t play dumb.” I laughed. “And he’s asking you out for next weekend! Why don’t you go out with him?”

“I don’t know (Y/N). I told you I needed to take some time after the whole Todd situation,” Corinna made some excuse.

“You did tell me that and you did take time, Cor. It’s been a few months now,” You knew how lonely she felt and you wanted for her to get back out there. “You’re not instantly going to get married to this guy or whatever other guy you go out with. But I think it’d be fun for you to see some new people, change weathers. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your anxiety rising lately. I know how you tic and you need to be social and have fun to destress.”

Corinna sighed and looked at me. “I hate how you know me so well,”

You shrugged. “I’m very proud of it, to be quite honest.” I made a proud face that made her smile. “C’mon, you have nothing to lose here.”

She gave you a quick smile which was enough for you to accept as a yes. “I’d love to hang out! When are you free? And send.”

“(Y/N)! Did you just message him?” Corinna was half shocked half amused.

“What? No.” You looked like a toddler who was just caught doing something bad.

“Oh my God, give me this.” Taking the phone out of your hand, she looked for his DM. “You’re the worst!”

“I think the words you’re looking for is absolutely unbelievably amazing.” You smiled. “Besides, I have a feeling you’ll be thanking me in the future, so… I do accept thank yous as louboutin shoes by the way.”

You walked out of her bathroom, leaving her chuckling.

Today

“Alright guys, here’s the deal. I just texted (Y/N) and she’s coming to my house.” David was sitting down by the living room with a bunch of the VS behind him. “She’s always taking care of everybody, so we decided to surprise her tonight.”

“Today is her half birthday. We decided to do this today so she wouldn’t suspect anything.” Corinna explained to the camera.

“When she arrived, I’m gonna blindfold her and walk her in,” David informed the viewers. “Then she’s gonna see all of this.”

Taking the camera, David got up from the ground and showed around his house, which was filled with all of the people who loved you and cared for you. The house was completely decorated with Cabaret, with performers and playful activities, which you absolutely adored.

“She’s gonna flip the fuck out,” Jason said to David’s camera. David laughed.

“50 bucks she starts crying,” David wagered.

“I’m on it!” Jeff shook David’s hands.

Once they saw your car parking in front of David’s house, he made his way out of the door, while Jason filmed everything from a hiding spot.

“Hey, thanks for coming!” David smiled at you and hugged you.

“Yeah, no problem. What’s up?” You didn’t even realize anything. Your hair was in a messy bun and you were wearing a clickbait hoodie and sweatpants. Every time one of your friends asked for you to come because they needed help, you never hesitated. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” David laughed, then showing you a black piece of cloth. “I’m really sorry but I have to blindfold you.”

“What?! David, no!” You whined and looked around, looking for the camera. “You don’t even have a camera, what? No! No wild animals! I still have nightmares because of the roaches and the scorpions.”

David laughed. “It’s none of that I promise, don’t you trust me?”

“No.” You blatantly said and the both of you laughed. “Fine, but if it’s something gross I’m going to kick you in the balls.”

“That’s oddly specific. Okay. Come on.” David said as you turned around and he blindfolded you.

Carefully, he helped you get inside the house, positioning you in the middle of the room. All cameras and phones were on you. “Okay, on 3 you can take the blindfold off. 1… 2… 3… go!”

The second that you took it off, everybody yelled “Happy Birthday!!” and popped a bunch of confetti sticks, shooting you with silly string, sour cream and bottled cheese.

“What the fuck?!?! It’s not even my birthday, David!!” You screamed, your eyes closed because there was so much silly string on your face. Everybody just laughed out loud and Corinna came to your rescue with baby wipes to help you regain your sight.

You looked around, seeing everybody and looking at the decoration. “You guys did this all for me? It really isn’t my birthday though, so I feel bad.” You were getting emotional.

“But it is your half birthday!” Natalie popped another confetti.

You did an “O” face. “Of course, I should’ve seen this coming.” You threw one hand up in the air, defeated. “I hate all of you,” You cleaned the tears from your eyes.

“God dammit,” Jeff paid David 50 bucks.

The party went on, you cleaned yourself and said hi to all of your friends, hugging everybody, taking pictures, having drinks and enjoying the night as the center of attention.

[selfinsertdabi]

umbrella academy mpreg stuff cool cool

this is the longest thing you’ll get out of me

Klaus is messy. Klaus can't keep a job. Klaus never learned how to control himself when he drinks. Despite all of that -- despite how much of a disaster he is, despite how desperately pathetic and lonely and *sad* that he is -- Dave loves Klaus, for everything that he is and everything that he isn't, and Klaus knows he'll never find anyone this good, this pure, this *beautiful* ever again in his entire life.

Sometimes the cosmic forces in the universe give you good things, and sometimes they don't, but Dave is a miracle that saved him from hitting his twentieth overdose, and he doesn't even *care* about all of the times he said he'd never fuck a soldier, never be with someone that would defend the mockery of their country, but shit happens, and here he is.

Dave loves him -- loves *him,* and he can hardly fucking believe it, can't believe it even when Dave's balls deep inside of him, even when Dave's slow dancing with him to some sixties song in the middle of his living room, sings Elvis to him and makes him feel like he's on top of the fucking world.

Sometimes the cosmic forces in the universe give you bad things, and Klaus is about to learn just how quickly he can turn a situation around if he has to.

xxx

The first sign is that his nipples hurt. They ache, and not in a good way -- Klaus is fine with getting his nipples played with, but he can't even graze his arms against them without wincing in pain; and then, one morning, he wakes up -- totally sober, mind you, he's been good at keeping that up for a while -- and leans over the side of the bed, promptly hurling everything in his stomach onto the carpet. Again, this isn't *unusual* behavior for Klaus, but he's *sober* right now, hasn't touched anything in *weeks* (besides weed. and cigarettes. and a little bit of coke at that one party. but that's it! he swears.)

The third sign, the most pivotal one, is that he's so tired he can't get even get out of bed -- not even when Dave orders copious amounts of alfredo from that one pizza place down the block, they have the best hangover food -- and this goes on for about four days before Dave demands that he go to the doctor, hell, not even the doctor, fucking express care works -- but Klaus is not a fan of the doctor, with the poking and prodding and the constant looks that silently call him a junkie.

Dave's upset he won't go; says that it could be something bad, something he caught before they were together that didn't even manifest until now, and that argument ends with Klaus slamming the bedroom door, and his boyfriend doesn't even sleep in his own bed, instead on the couch.

He kind of knows what's up when he wakes up and vomits for the fifth day in a row. It's some sort of second sense, this weird feeling he can't shake, and he sneaks out when Dave's in the shower, books it to the Walgreens on the corner, steals what he needs (and a bag of skittles for good measure), comes back to the apartment within ten minutes, and Dave is none the wiser.

It's a good thing they all learned how to sneak out this early on.

He doesn't even do what he has to do at the apartment; he goes back to the mansion, crawls in through an unlocked window (ever since their dad died, the security around the place has been a little lax), and he's relieved that the only person he sees is his mother, who welcomes him (despite the fact that it's two in the morning) with her usual robotic grin and wave, which Klaus returns, scurrying around the corner -- and, of course, he promptly bumps right into the chest of his oldest brother, the huge, hairy, apeish chest of Luther Hargreeves, and Klaus just crookedly grins up at him.

Spaceboy is *not* amused. Luther plainly sees the box in his hand, snatches it from him, and Klaus stands there, dumbly -- he can't even protest, who the fuck is gonna protest against Luther, he's fucking seven feet tall and his fists feel like cinderblocks (and Klaus knows what cinderblocks feel like, he's been beaten up enough times.)

"... " Luther stands there, looking at him as if almost in disgust; throws the box on the ground, leaving Klaus to scrabble and snatch up the plastic off the floor, protesting with a "what the fuck, du -- " before Luther calmly tells him to shut the hell up.

"You know this is *your* problem?" and Klaus just looks at him, nods, and Luther keeps staring down at him stonily. "I hope you're not coming here running for help. No one is going to rai -- "

"I *know*," Klaus says, plainly, "you don't have to tell me twice." Luther keeps staring at him, stares back at the floor, strides down the hallway like the huge fucking behemoth of a man that he is -- but he stops, right at the doorway, turns to look at Klaus.

"I can't believe you could even consider this. Knowing what kind of responsibility is on our shoulders. I can't, Klaus."

Klaus says nothing, and when the stick shows two blue lines, he throws up.

xxx

Dave was *thrilled.* Klaus knew he would be; knew that that big dumb puppy (said fondly) would be nothing less than *ecstatic* when Klaus told him he was pregnant. He crushed him in a hug, swung him around in circles in the living room; Klaus laughed, accepted the flurry of kisses brought his way, ended up throwing up again when he got dizzy.

He had the first appointment, already -- he didn't know that they stuck a probe inside of you that early, he was always under the assumption that you got the gel smeared on your stomach or something -- got to hear their baby's heartbeat, the fast, little rapid thump thump (it sounds like a horse galloping, Klaus thinks), got to see the tiny, strawberry sized kiddo inside of him.

It was odd. Really odd. There's an entirely new creature inside of him, a human being that *he's* responsible for (and it is him, he thinks, it'll always primarily be him, even if he and Dave broke up, the courts always side with the parent that birthed the child, but he is a former prostitute-addict-homeless person, so he doesn't know how well that'll go), and it's wigging him out that it has a heartbeat, a little tiny wriggly blob that will eventually become a person with likes and dislikes and a *soul,* and he's caught up all of a sudden, because he's been in his room at the mansion (he hangs out there just as much as the rest of them, usually when Dave is at work) looking at his ultrasound photos in a big manila envelope, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

He's convinced it's Luther, but it's Diego -- and he sighs, slaps at his arm, calls him a dickhead, and Diego just points at the pictures.

"Mind telling me what those are?"

Klaus just blinks, and he knows he looks stupid.

"Man... are you high? I knew, I already fucking knew, Luther told me all about you coming in here last month and -- "

"*Fuck* Luther," Klaus drawls, and he tosses the envelope onto Diego's lap. "There's your niece or nephew. They've got working arm joints and also give me this thing called round ligament pain. Fucking sucks. Feels like I pulled the muscles in my stomach, but inside."

"That's enough," and Diego takes them, looks at them, and Klaus swears he can see what looks like longing in his eyes, some sort of what could have been, but he shakes his head, pushes it down, and Diego just makes a small sound.

"Looks like a blob."

"No, no, look, here -- "

And it's a nice day for Klaus, after all.

xxx

Allison's apartment is *so* much nicer than a halfway house, Klaus thinks, as he flops back on the king sized guest bed -- a fucking king sized guest bed? Is she fucking joking? -- and idly lays his hands on his belly, poking and prodding at what is now an obvious bump.

Well, it's not *too* obvious, only if he wears tight clothes and isn't covering up with a coat, but it's *there* and it's *real* and he can't even keep thinking about this, because as soon as the nausea stopped, his hormones kicked into high gear, and the only thing Klaus can even think about is sex.

Dave's on a work trip for the rest of the week, so he's not fucking anyone in particular, and he eyes up one of Allison's body pillows for a second, before the door opens and he sits up, abruptly, because even if he's not doing it now, he's used to doing shady shit that gets him caught up, so it's an instinctive reaction. His shirt's messed up, rolls up his stomach just a little bit, and he can tell that Allison sees the swell before he yanks his shirt down.

"I'm not doing heroin in your apartment again. Promise, Allie."

She scoffs, rolls her eyes, sits down on the bed next to him.

"Nobody said you were doing *heroin,* Klaus," and she smiles a little, her eyes drawn to where one of his hands is idly on his belly, protective for next to no reason, but that feels instinctual, too.

There's an odd silence, and she swings her feet a little, before she laughs some, breaches the gap. "You're showing? Like. Showing showing?"

Klaus nods, pulls his shirt up a little without thinking, and Allison makes the smallest of sounds, reaches her hand out without thinking, before pulling it back.

"Christ, I'm sorry, that's so rude, and that's coming from someone who was actually pregnant before -- "

Klaus takes her hand, wordlessly, presses it to his belly, and though nothing's moving inside yet, Allison still *smiles.*

"He's really there," she breathes out, and Klaus nods; all of a sudden, his throat's dry, he feels fear pricking at the corners of his mind, but he thinks of Dave, Dave and his big frame and big arms and that outdated cologne, and it brings him back down to reality, calms him a little, and Klaus sighs.

"Yeah. Isn't it crazy? Whole ass little minnow, swimmin' around in there... "

"I think it's *beautiful,*" Allison says, quietly, and tears spring to the corner of Klaus' eyes.

xxx

He has his second ultrasound, and Klaus declines to find out what the baby is -- he wants it to be a surprise, and besides, there are too many societal expectations put onto people anyway concerning sex and gender. Whatever his kid is, it's fine by him.

Dave puts the ultrasound photos on the fridge, on the bedside table, at his work desk, everywhere he can; Klaus thinks it's adorable, and it makes his heart swell that somebody can actually love him *that* much.

He's at the halfway point, now, and so far, things have been a breeze -- the only thing that bothers him is the *discharge,* it's fucking *everywhere,* it's gross, and there's absolutely nothing he can do about it -- and there's the shortness of breath, too, because everything is being pushed up in quick order, even though he's only four months pregnant.

The bump's bigger, too; he's gained ten pounds, which was a Big Fucking Deal for Klaus Hargreeves, but Dave had quickly calmed him down (and Allison, who said by this point in her own pregnancy, she'd gained twenty five, and it had all went to her face, which had made Klaus check himself out frantically in the mirror), and he knows it's not a big deal, doctors told him he'd be gaining a pound (maybe two) a week at this point, and Klaus really is starting to realize how much of a toll this is going to take on his body by the time it's over.

He's home alone, again, and he can't really take much more of watching the same star wars movies over and over again -- he can't even take a walk, it's December, and it's snowing like hell outside. He changes to TLC, watches some episode of a baby story (he can't imagine being trapped in a dorm room during a blizzard and giving birth; he thinks he'd rather die), turns that off halfway through and rolls onto his side, staring at the ticking clock. Maybe he can actually take a nap? The heartburn bothers him every time he lays down, and he's out of the prescription antacids the doctor gave him, doesn't want to take regular ones out of fear that something might happen.

Klaus resigns himself to trying to take a nap, and it's just when he's gotten himself tucked under the covers, ceiling fan on low and tv even lower, that there's the oddest feeling -- it's like gas, but not; it kind of reminds him of the feeling that you get right before a plane lands, or when you get onto a rollercoaster, right before the drop -- and it happens again, and again, and Klaus sits up, pulls his shirt up, presses his hands to his stomach to focus.

Ah.

The baby's moving.

Wait -- the baby's been moving. He just couldn't feel it.

And now he can.

His eyes get as big as dinner plates, but he doesn't freak out; tries to stay calm, because he wants to feel it again.

Feel it again he does, and he gets up, pulls his shirt up below his chin, stares at himself in the mirror, runs his hands over his stomach, texts Dave a picture with no caption.

xxx

"Fiiiiiiiveeee," Klaus whines, trailing after his younger brother in the hallway. "Come feel the baby kickkkkkkkkkk," and Five just reacts with a sound of disgust, shuts his door, and Klaus walks in right behind him, sits on the bed, grabs his hand, and Five snatches it back.

"Don't grab me like a child -- "

"But you *are* a child!" and he takes Five's hand again, presses it right above his navel, and Five entertains the idea until a swift kick's felt against his palm, and he takes it back, shakes it like he touched something that clung to his skin.

"Okay. Cool. There's your little parasite, how cute," and Klaus hits him with a pillow, which causes the both of them to get into a mild wrestling match on the bed, one that Klaus breaks up when he gets an elbow to the side of his stomach.

"God, Five, you're such a dick!" and he rubs the side of his stomach, murmuring a little to the life within; Five sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry at him.

"Good, and I don't care."

There's silence for a while, and Five breaks it eventually, clearing his throat and looking at him out of the corner of his eyes.

"... are you sleeping any better? I can give you some of the meds dad made, you know they're safe for anyone, regardless of pregnancy -- "

Klaus shakes his head, but it warms his heart that his little brother cares enough to offer him their father's sketchy prescription meds.

"No, no, dearest little brother, I'm fine -- "

Five hits him again.

xxx

Ben is really Klaus' rock. More than Dave, more than himself, more than the magical three pm powers of daytime talkshows -- Ben is the one who has kept him sane when Dave is away at work, when he and Luther are arguing about some bullshit again, when he and Allison get into a fight because yeah, he threw up on her bedside table and left it there, but he's *pregnant,* cut him some fucking slack!

He's thirty weeks, today, and he's actually pretty fucking over it. The heartburn kills him; he feels like, without his meds, he can't even drink *water* without it coming back up. He can't get comfortable at night, it's impossible to sleep, and when Dave's not home, it's even worse, because their child likes to have mini raves inside of him every night, and Klaus does *not* appreciate it -- and never mind the swelling, the general all over discomfort, the shortness of breath, because *god,* everything is up in his ribs now and sometimes he can feel the baby just wedging their foot up there and it genuinely honestly makes him want to *die.*

But back to the matter at hand.

He's been practicing for a while, now; because this is important to him, and even though Ben is there *all the time,* he's not corporeal, he's a fucking ghost, and Klaus really, really wants to channel his brother so he can feel his niece or nephew kick.

This is important to him; they've all felt it (except Luther, but who needs Luther), and he's sitting on the edge of the bed, focusing inside himself, feeling the pins and needles, tv static, rising up his arms -- and it hits a peak, and it feels like a lightbulb's gone off inside his head.

"Ben?"

"Right here," and Ben's on the other side of the bed, reading a book, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

"Ben, c'mere for a sec."

So he does; comes over to Klaus, looks at him, makes a face when he sees Klaus' stomach shift towards him a little, and Klaus smiles, because of course the baby somehow knows their uncle Ben is there.

"Gimme your hands."

Ben looks at him flatly, and Klaus mutters sorry, waves his hands over the spot he wants Ben at. "Hover them here."

Ben does that, too; Klaus closes his eyes, and he feels them rolling back in his head, and he *knows* he'll have a headache later -- but that same feeling, like a lightbulb, goes off, and when he comes back into it, he kind of foggily mutters "Put your hands there. You can."

Ben's shocked; Klaus hasn't channeled him in a *while,* it's exhausting, but his hands feel real, and he smiles widely when he feels the warmth of his brother's skin underneath of his hands, feels the shifting under his skin, and the baby picks up in its movement as Ben twitches his fingers against Klaus.

"Holy shit, Klaus? That's... "

"Fucking amazing, right?" Klaus pokes his belly a little, gets the kiddo moving, and just watches as the baby presses right into Ben's hands.

xxx

Klaus is horrible at packing. Period. It doesn't matter if it's for a trip, or for a vacation, or even for something that's potentially life threatening -- he always waits until the last minute, and that's where he is now, on his littlest sister's apartment floor, folding clothes awkwardly over the planet his stomach's become in the last five weeks.

There's no denying he's pregnant, now; his stomach's clearly housing life inside, and he winces at a sharp kick to his ribs, palming the top of his belly and making general noises of discomfort. "Owwww, kid, why are you like thisssss?"

Vanya's made tea; she brings it to him, sits it on the coffee table, gestures to his mug, which he takes and drinks a little too eagerly, practically burning himself in the process. Within ten minutes, he has to pee, and it's a struggle getting him off of the floor -- he's six foot, and Vanya's about five one -- and he's at least glad that she offered to help him pack, because Dave's being too touchy feely, and he's sensitive, now, in a bad way.

So, Vanya's house it is. Her apartment's the least embellished of any of them (well. not his old one), and he idly peers at the pictures crookedly hanging on the walls, the wallpaper peeling, the sink still dripping even after he turns it off. God, Vanya lives in a shithole, but he realizes, after the book, after the financial cut off (besides her medical insurance), that this is all she could have. He wishes he could help her, and he's interrupted by another kick, hissing through his teeth and pressing his hands to the small of his back.

He and Vanya don't talk much; they never have, and it's not even that they don't have anything in common -- it's just that Vanya prefers the silence, prefers the heady comfort of enjoying someone's company in peace, and Klaus can't really blame her. Other than Ben, she's always been the one he feels most at peace with, and a few minutes after he settles on the couch, he looks at her, tilts his head a little.

"You wanna help me fold the clothes? I know that was like, my only job, but you know how bad I am at starting shit and not finishing."

Vanya smiles, her typical toothless, light one, and she nods.

"Yeah. Give me the socks."

xxx

Forty weeks is *not* amazing. Klaus feels like a whale, feels like everything is stretched and aching and hurts in all the worst ways, and he alternates between clinging to Dave and just wanting his boyfriend to get the fuck away from him. He's antsy; they both know it, and Klaus spends much of his day pacing around the apartment, picking at food, not really interested in anything but ways to get this kid out of him.

Sex is out of the question; they'd tried, that and nipple stimulation, and it got to be too awkward, and Dave just felt bad that it wasn't working -- Klaus still got an orgasm out of it, in another way, but nothing happens, and it frustrates the hell out of him.

He's in one of his clingy moods, now; he won't leave Dave alone, he's pressed up to his side as Dave watches some anime about these superhero kids, and Klaus laughs a little, because all of the characters seem so hopeless but relatable at the same time. His hand's at the bottom of his belly, and Dave's is plastered onto the side. It's cute, really, sweet that Dave loves the baby so much -- Dave talks to him all the time, got Klaus a pregnancy pillow so he could sleep on his stomach, pushes his shirt up and kisses goodnight every night before they go to bed -- and he feels the baby push against Dave's hand, trying to stifle a groan from the change in pressure.

Dave, god bless him, presses his hand into Klaus' hip instead, and he could practically *purr* with how good the counterpressure feels.

"Mm, Davey, keep doing that," he whines, settling back into him more, and Dave is the most *wonderful* listener, rubs Klaus' other hip with his free hand, and Klaus lets his head loll backwards, looking up at Dave lazily.

"I love you," he says, softly, and Dave dips his head to kiss him, squeezes his hip, and Klaus makes a soft noise, nips at his jaw a little before shifting over into his lap, leaning his head back into his shoulder.

"You know, I've got you to thank for all of this. Not just -- not just him or her, but everything. Getting sober, being happier, learning how to love -- *everything.* And no matter how much I bitch and moan about this, I want you to know I will never, ever regret it, okay? I'm happy to have your baby, I love him so fucking much -- I love you, I love *you* so fucking much, and there's nobody I'd rather be doing this with -- "

He starts to blubber a little, and Dave wipes at Klaus' face.

"I love you, too," Dave says, simply and fondly, presses what feels like hundreds of kisses to his face, settles his hands on top of his belly.

xxx

The sounds Klaus is making are honestly kind of scary -- Dave's been through some shit, but nothing like *this,* and he knows he wouldn't have been able to keep his composure if Kate hadn't been in the room with them -- Ben, too, because he's apparently done a fuck of a lot better job at calming Klaus down over anyone else.

Kate's still on the floor, holding his legs open; she's gotten him to move back some, but this position isn't really working for her, and once there's a lull in contractions, she practically snatches Dave off of the bed, gets him positioned behind Klaus on their bedroom floor, literally hands him one of his legs -- Dave's mad Ben can't hold the other one, but Kate easily hooks his leg over her shoulder; this works better, and she can see what's going on -- speaking of what's going on, Dave can tell just by her face that there's obviously *something* making its way out of Klaus.

"Good, Klaus, you're doing good. Push when your body tells you to. I'm not counting for you, okay?" Dave's kind of glad she's not; having someone yell to ten in your face isn't much fun, whether it's in the military or if you're giving birth on your bedroom floor. Klaus makes a noise that sounds like he's getting torn apart, and Dave winces, but he's quickly chin to chest, silent as he pushes, and when he's finished, his head just falls back onto Dave's chest, and then there's a *stream* of curse words in at least four languages before the urge overtakes him again.

Half an hour ticks by slowly -- at least Klaus is making progress, and at one point, Kate takes his hand, lets him feel the baby's head, which results in a flurry of exhausted tears for a moment before she gets him back on track. Dave discovers that crowning is probably the worst part of labor -- Klaus is *yelping* by this point, scrabbling back against Dave, and Dave's reminded of the stories Klaus has told him about how he was locked in the mausoleum, pressing himself into the corner and screaming for hours on end as spirits taunted him -- and all Klaus repeats for the next fifteen minutes are variations of "fuck, holy fuck, this fucking *burns* jesus christ she's ripping me apart -- " to which Kate reassures him that the baby is not, and she wants to tell him he's being *mad* dramatic, but she knows better than to do that while her friend is in the throes of labor.

Klaus, meanwhile, meant every word of what he said -- this kid feels like it's stretching every single amount of soft tissue down there, it's like a fucking bowling ball that's on *fire* and jt's ripping him apart, this is worse than detox, worse than overdosing, worse than withdrawing, and *jesus* does he want a fucking cigarette --

and suddenly, the burning is over, and it feels like something has just... suddenly popped out of him. His hand reaches down by impulse, and there it is -- the head, his *baby's* head, and he laughs, half hysterically, half from relief, and Kate pats his leg. "You got a brunette, dude. But the shoulders aren't out yet; c'mon." He hears Dave murmur something to him in his ear; ignores it completely, but he appreciates the sentiment.

The shoulders are vastly different; they're broader, and he's vaguely wondering the fuck he conceived a child with someone that was so fucking *ripped* from years in the service, but he can't focus, because the pains are coming, and the urge to push is stronger than ever. Now it *really* feels like the kid is splitting him open, he feels like he can feel all of the baby's individual bones just *grinding* against him, and he knows he's yelling into the pain, doesn't care if they get noise complaints from how shrill his voice is.

Klaus has been through a lot in his life -- being part of a child team of superheroes, losing Ben, losing countless amounts of friends and lovers alike -- and it feels like every emotion at once is welling up inside of his chest, hot like a fire; he knows Kate is telling him to push, Dave and Ben both murmuring softly to him at different times, and he thinks he's at the end, now. The end of what, he doesn't know, but he's *tired,* fucking *exhausted,* and he's really ready to throw the towel in, tell Kate to just take him to the hospital, they can cut this thing out of him -- but sudden determination awakens something deep, deep inside of him, that feral parental instinct, and he curls forward, eyes shut tight, and he's *yelling*, hasn't yelled this loud in, well, shit, probably *ever* -- and his ears just start to ring, his head feels like it's full of cotton, he's empty, he's finally fucking *empty* for once, the last nine months have just been him being too full of *everything* -- and there's the baby. Right on his chest.

It's slippery, and wet, and slimy and all the other adjectives you would use to describe a newborn, and Klaus' hands scrabble at his child, bringing them closer to his face, and he *bursts* into exhausted tears, just looking manically from Ben to Dave to Kate and back down at the baby. He can't even bring himself to talk for a moment; Kate's busy down there, and he doesn't even care what she's doing, and when he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. He hears Dave crying behind him, and he whips his head to look at Ben; hell, even Ben's eyes are shiny with tears. Klaus just murmurs "oh my god, hi! hi, look at you!" and that's all he can really think to say, just variations of that over and over, and eventually starts to wipe the baby off on his chest, ties the cord when it stops pulsing in a few minutes, and she raises her eyebrows, looks up at the both of them. "You've got a little boy, by the way. Definitely not your little princess, but, hey. Whatever works."

xxx

Their son is beautiful. He's the most beautiful thing Klaus has ever done, with his dark hair (not as dark as his; it's that medium brunette that Dave has, but their baby has Klaus' eyes, those bright, bright eyes that are so common in the Hargreeves children) and his little face and his chubby cheeks and god, when he fucking *smiles* Klaus feels like he's about to lift off of the ground with how happy he is.

Dave's the best dad; he's cuddly and snuggly and doesn't care that Klaus wanted the baby to sleep with them, doesn't even care that he has to take the midnight feedings, stays up all night with him and makes sure Klaus is okay, too, and he feels like this is his first step towards a normal life, no more Umbrella Academy, no more *anything* that's horrible and stressful and bad, just Dave and Klaus and their *baby,* their *son,* and it doesn't even matter that Luther's only seen him once -- he has two aunts and three uncles that love him very, very much, and two fathers who would certainly raise hell if anything so much as even scratched him.

He's tucked into bed with him, Ben, their little Benny boy (Klaus insisted on the name; Dave had absolutely no complaints); he's just eaten, and Klaus peppers his little head with kisses, inhales his scent (why the fuck do babies smell so *good?*), rests his forehead gently and lightly on his son's, only lifting his head when Dave crawls next to him on the bed.

"Hey."

"Hi," Klaus says, quietly, and for once, he feels like all the cosmic forces in the universe finally have things going his way.

[coaxol0tl]

Lurking under the skin. | A BNHA EraserMic fic

Warnings: blood, bugs. Don't read if squeamish

Hizashi sighed, for what had to be the millionth time that night.

He was bored.

So, so bored.

For the first time in a long time, longer than he cared to remember, Hizashi had a night completely off. Which wasn't terrible, he guessed.

Except it was.

Because, on the one night Hizashi is free from everything, Shouta was called in for patrol. And he refused when Hizashi begged him to let him tag along.

Something about how he should be 'relaxing' or something.

Which he would be more than happy to do. If Shouta was here.

He decided to change it up and instead of sighing, Hizashi blew a loud raspberry. Yeah, maybe he was being kind of a brat. But if you got a night off for the first time in forever and then your husband was called into work last minute, wouldn't you be a little miffed too?

So Hizashi felt his irritation was warranted.

He continued to glare up at the ceiling, barely feeling it when his leg rapidly bounced. And he had to stop himself from gritting his teeth, he was trying to work on that.

He needed to find something to do. Anything.

His stomach growled, giving him the perfect distraction.

Dinner!

Well, technically midnight snack. But he hasn't had dinner, so he'll count it.

He got up, and went to the kitchen. Maybe a little too quickly.

Digging through the cabinets, Hizashi decided in a simple pasta salad.

That way Shouta could have some too when he got home.

Hizashi got the ingredients out, and started to prepare the dinner.

__

Everything was done and in a large bowl, and now all he had to do was cut up some veggies to mix in with the pasta.

So he got to it, slicing up the veggies and mixing them with the noodles.

Humming under his breath, and lightly swaying his hips.

The knife slipped and knicked Hizashis right wrist, he jumped hard. Cursing while he pressed the cut to his lips.

He picked the knife up, and tossed it into the sink. Hizashi looks at his wrist, it wasn't that bad. Just a little scrape, no biggie.

It didn't even need a band aid. Still stung though.

Ignoring it, Hizashi fixed himself a bowl after mixing the tomato in and stuck the rest into the refrigerator for later.

Hizashi plopped down on the couch, propping his long legs onto the coffee table. And turned the tv to some random channel. He didn't hear a word of the program he flipped to while he was lost in his own thoughts, thinking of nothing and everything.

The fork clinked against the bottom of the bowl, he looked down in surprise. Did he already finish his food?

It was harder to zone out like that when Shouta was around.

He sighed and leant his head on the back of the couch. Looking at the clock on the wall, it read one am.

Maybe he should head to bed. He was feeling pretty tired.

He stood and stretched, letting out a breath of relief when his back popped.

Dumping the empty bowl into the sink, Hizashi made a mental note to do the dishes later.

He opened the door, entered the bedroom and closed the door behind himself.

Hizashi pulled his shirt over his head, wincing as the fabric rubbed against the cut on his wrist. He should really get a band aid or something, but he was feeling kinda lazy so he brushed it off.

Slipping out of his sweatpants, deciding to leave his underpants on. And he slipped under the covers, immediately sinking into the soft sheets.

Maybe Shouta was onto something when he told him he should relax. The sheets were extremely soft and the pillow cushioned his head perfectly.

He forgot how comfy his bed was.

His eyes slipped shut as he was pulled into a gentle slumber.

Still, he couldn't help but think it would be so much better if Shouta were there to enjoy it with him.

__

Hizashi gave a full body jerk when he suddenly woke up from his deep sleep.

His brain was still engulfed with his previous drowsiness, but he was awake.

He was laying on his side with his arm off the bed.

Hizashis face twitched when he felt something tickle across his hand.

His eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, was Shouta home? If that was him, what in the world was he doing?

Slowly he opened his eyes to see what was happening, and ask Shouta what was up if it was him.

Instead, Hizashi saw a black blob on his hand. Without his glasses, and senses still fogged with sleep he couldn't tell what it was.

But he could feel it.

His eyes widened.

It was definitely a huge fucking bug.

His body seized up in fear, he tried to jerk his body away, but he found that he couldn't move.

He shuddered in disgust when he felt its spindly legs creep across his hand and wrist. Shutting his eyes tight, he hoped it would go away soon.

When one creepy leg gingerly poked at the cut on his wrist, Hizashi gasped in pain and looked at the bug with a mix of horror and confusion.

Having it poke at his wrist was bad, but it was even worse since he couldn't see it properly.

Hizashi watched in horror as he felt what was happening.

The bug plunged a leg into the cut, Hizashi wanted to scream.

Another leg joined the first one, he felt it pull the delicate skin on his wrist apart.

He couldn't even feel the blood running warm streaks down the pale skin of his arm. To focused on the pain.

He felt bile rise in his throat when the thing started to bury itself under his skin.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he watched.

The skin rippling from its movements underneath it, the pain of his torn skin, the slick feeling of blood. It was to much.

How could he stop this?!

He couldn't.

When he saw the entirety of its body wriggle under his skin, Hizashis eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he blacked out.

__

Sunlight filtered through the window, landing on Hizashis face.

He slowly opened his eyes, grumbling when the light flooded his vision.

He laid there for a few more moments, then his eyes shot open.

Sitting up, Hizashi looked at his wrist.

It looked….normal?

Furrowing his brows, Hizashi pressed his fingers against various points on his arm. Trying to find any abnormalities. Completely normal. Nothing was wrong.

He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his mussed hair.

Just a nightmare.

"What're doing, 'Zashi?", a sleepy voice grumbled next to him.

Hizashi looked down, Shouta was gazing up at him from the burrito of blankets he had curled himself in.

He smiled down at his husband, and laid down next to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Just sharing a bed with the most beautiful man in the world!", he answers happily.

Shouta snorted at his answer, but Hizashi could see his ears turn red.

He smiled at his little victory.

He'd keep his nightmare to himself, for now he just wanted to cuddle with Shouta and forget about it for now.

[awkwardbluefish]

Please Know You’re Not Invincibile

-

Tim’s ocean blue eyes flicker over the documents displayed before him, fingers twitching over keys and plump lip being bitten by coffee-stained teeth. His brain evaluates, picking apart the information and putting them together again, just like picking apart a clock to scour all the innards and analysing how it all fit, how it all worked. It was nothing unusual to see him doing this. It was another case after all, another killer that needed to be off the street and in a cell as soon as possible. More blood on his hands the longer he took. So, Tim works and works until his back aches and eyes burn. Until he cracks the case.

Only when he makes a break in the case does he allow his shoulders to sag, to allow his posture hunch and let the leather couch hug his form from behind. He blinks, eyes burning with tears, easing the sting as his mind reels. Not about the case, he can’t bare to think of those dead children any longer, no, he thinks about his family. Their characterization, their moods. Maybe he was being paranoid, it wouldn’t be the first time, but the others were acting different, stranger. Stranger than usual at least.

Cass was still in Hong-Kong, nothing bizarre there. Barbara was on a mission with the birds of prey, meaning she was out of commission with the bats for a month at the latest. That wasn’t strange, the regret in her tone when she informed them all was, however. Stephanie was with Harper and Helena, claiming she craved some girl time. A smile quirks at his lips and he vaguely feels sorry for Helena and Harper. He doesn’t worry too much because despite Harpers bemoaning about shopping, she did enjoy dressing people up. His lips twitch with a soft exhale, a hum vibrating in the back of his throat. Jason, despite being on good terms with the family, was being, well, rather angsty. He left after a fight with Bruce about the man trespassing on his territory. Speaking about Bruce, the man has been going on patrols earlier than usual, taking the demon spawn with him. Tim wouldn’t find it strange per say, but what caught his attention was the desperately sorrowful looks he shot at Dick when the mans back was turned. Like he was treading on eggshells and didn’t know what to do, how to act.

Tim lets out a huff, rolling his shoulders and cringing at the crack that echoes in the quiet room. The sooner he gathers all the information, and plus some, on this bastard than the sooner the man, thing, can rot in a jail behind steel bars. And with new information, with each broken laws, with each detail explicitly written down then the longer he stays there. Where he rightfully belongs.

He knows the others glance at him as he buries himself into a case, how he worries over a report. They didn’t understand why he goes as far as he did for each case, why he scoured everything he had access to as much as he physically could. It didn’t get to him though, the looks. Not even Damian’s remarks and Jason’s teasing dug under his skin anymore. It wasn’t for him after all. It was for the victims who suffered, justice to those affected. It was the least he could do.

-

Tim closes the laptop gently, the click reverberating in the room. He’s sent the case to B who was currently out on patrol and was the closer to the location of the criminal. He’d get it done and Tim was too exhausted to go out tonight. He’d be a liability on the field. Unlike what Damian might say, this was the better way to proceed. He wasn’t slacking off, not really, even if his brain told him he was. He knew the logistic of what could hypothetically happen if he donned the cape tonight with the exhaustion clinging to his frame and blocking all his senses. It wouldn’t end well.

A jaw cracking yawn escapes his lips and Tim knows its bedtime. Well, attempt at sleep at least, rest at the very minimum. A grunt leaves his lips and his gaze flickers over the mess decorating the glass coffee table. He could clean it now. He should. With a small frown, a pout if he was being honest with himself, he slides his laptop on the glass, regretting everything in his life as it squeals obnoxiously. He collects the mugs adorning the counter and walks to the kitchen and places them in the lukewarm water. Suds decorate his skin, water sliding between fingers and trailing down his arm as he places the glasses on the rack to drip dry.

“Okay, now its bedtime.” He tells himself. It was nearly four in the morning after all. B and the brat should be back soon and he really doesn’t want to deal with Damian’s taunts that are logically false but his brain will convince him that were true. That, and he truly did need to sleep.

Water sinks into the grey fabric of his boxers as he wipes them haphazardly, socked feet silent against shining wooden floorboards. A creak echoes down the hallway and he blinks, squinting in the distance at the figure in the hallway. The black blob was too short to be Alfred and too sturdy to be Damian, who was still out in patrol if Tim knew the boy. Dick? He says nothing, worrying his bottom lip at the hunched shoulders and the far off look on his older brothers face as light slips its way through cracked curtains. He looks out of it, really out of it.

“Dick?” He calls hesitantly, teeth digging into gum as Dick visibly startles, gaze snapping up and crystal blue eyes flickering to his in unrestrained shock. That wasn’t good. Dick was a bat, he didn’t startle like that. Not even in the comforts of the manor. The training ingrained into them didn’t allow it, they didn’t allow it and yet…

“Hey Timmy,” he whispers, voice quiet and raspy like he was far from hydrated, “was spaced out there, heh. Sorry.” Dick scratches at the hair on the back of his neck, forefinger and thumb pulling at the strands is a nervous tic. Something was really wrong.

Tim scans his form, sees no breaks or new bruises. Despite the hunch in those broad shoulders, he showed no pain as he walked over, bumping into Tim’s side with a strained smile. He wasn’t hurt so what was it?

He shrugs, going for casualness and just making it. “It’s alright Dick, we all get like that. Want to get some food? I was just about to have a small midnight snack before turning in for the night.”

It was a test. Tim clearly was heading towards his room, not towards the kitchen he’d just left. Worry claws at his gut as Dick nods, not calling him out on the fib. Or maybe he didn’t even notice it.

Dick stumbles ahead of him, incoherent agreement or teasing on his lips as his feet scuffle against wooden floorboards, moving as if he couldn’t wait to escape the cramped hallway. Tim blinks at him, returning to chew at his bottom lip as he turns back to the hallway. Dick hadn’t been moving. He was startled, caught off guard when Tim called out to him. He had been focusing on something.

The curtains flicker, blinds flowing in the cool breeze of the night. Moonlight dances across the walls and Tim swallows the constricting ball in his throat as best he can. How hadn’t he known? Slowly he gathers his bearings, follows the scuffling form of his brother. Together they leave the portrait of the small family smiling behind them, teeth whiter than the moonlight stretching across the hallway.

He was going to kill B. The man clearly knew but hadn’t helped, hadn’t done anything, for his eldest son. No soft-spoken words, no hand on an shoulder, not even silent company. Bruce wasn’t even here to lend silent support on the anniversary of Dick’s parents’ death.

Tim was going to kill him.

-

Heart settling into his stomach he steps into the kitchen once again. For a second he just gazes at his older brother, watching the tightly drawn shoulders and trembling fingers as he pours the milk. Tim swallows, closes his eyes. He remembers the screams, the crying. The stench of oozing blood and kicked up dust invading his nostrils. He remembers the crunch of bones, skin ripping apart to make way for the splintered skeletons. The worst part, however? The worst part was hearing that utterly heartbroken cry of a young boy, seeing watery devastated eyes. How hadn’t he remembered that today was that day?

CRASH

Tim lets his eyes snap open, drinking in the gaze of the muscles shaking underneath his brothers’ shirt. He takes a breath, exhaling quietly through his nose as he toes through the milk and dodges broken glass. Dick’s muscles flex under the fabric when he rests a cool palm on his back. He winches, making soothing motions between his brothers’ shoulder blades as the man slowly sinks into his side.

Its silent for a second, then; “S-sorry Timmy.”

Tim blinks, sighs and shakes his head. Richard Fucking Grayson everyone.

“There’s nothing you need to apologise for,” Tim tells him, stressing the words to help his brother see that there truly was no need to say sorry. No need at all. Who cares about some spilt milk and a broken bowl? Not Tim and Dick definitely shouldn’t.

Truthfully, he wasn’t the best at comforting, but as Dick collapses into Tim’s side, whirling around to shove his face into his neck to curl his arms around him and full on sob, Tim knew he was going to do his damn best to try.

He returns the hold, throwing any hesitation out the goddamn window to hold his brother. He rocks them both, just like Dick used to do when their positions were reversed. His toes wrinkle and his body shivers at the coldness of the milk and disgust as it squelches between his toes.

Tim manages to turn his head, pressing a kiss to the locks tickling his neck. A hiccup is breathed onto the bare of his skin where shoulder meets neck and the sobs became harsher, wetter. A small sigh escapes him and Tim pulls him closer, arms tight because of course Dick still tries his absolute hardest to reign in his emotions even when its one of the worst days of his life.

"Come on, let's go to the couch." He murmurs quietly, somehow heard over the crying. Snot and tears are rubbed into his skin and his shirt as Dick nods but Tim could hardly care less.

Encouraging the man to lean his full weight against him, Tim somehow manages to shuffle them both to the couch. He avoids the leather one, the fabric not soft or comfortable enough to rest on, to go to the fluffy one. Tim lets go for a second to sit down, laying against the cushion and heart cracking at the broken whine leaving his oldest brother’s throat. He pats his thigh, grunting when Dick basically collapses into his lap to bury his head against his stomach, fingers curling into the fabric of his boxers.

Tim hums softly to a random song, fingers carding through soft locks and playfully tugging at random strands. He didn’t know if this was the right action to take but as Dick buries his face into his stomach as his shoulders tremble, he thinks it’s the only thing he can do for his brother right now. One hand abandons the hair, trailing down the back of an overheated neck to gently massage at a shoulder. Slowly, the crying dies down, the occasional wet hiccup breaking through Tim’s soft but gentle humming.

How was this fair? How was it fair for Dick to be all alone when all he needed was companionship? Sure, everyone was busy, doing their own thing but it just wasn’t fair that Dick got the shorthand of the stick. He was always there, hugs warm and words comforting whenever they needed him and yet Dick was stuck with Tim. Someone who wasn’t good at hugs, awkward at best and never quite knowing what to say. Yet he was here, instead of Bruce who decided Dick needed space of all things.

"Thanks Timmy," is murmured into his chest. His humming dies off, awkward and high pitched but he still cracks a smile. Without thinking he wiggles down, angling his head to press a small kiss to the mop of raven hair splayed across his chest. “I like your cuddles.”

An involuntary snort escapes Tim and he can feel Dick pressing his face into his shirt to hide the smile pulling at his lips. Tim doubted those words very much and he made a point of elbowing the man lightly. He was small and bony and Tim doubts anyone found his hugs comfortable. Too many sharp edges. “Thanks,” he says instead. “Your hugs are good too.”

His skin tickles at the small cheer and he smiles, making no move to escape the hold as Dick snuggles down, seemingly afraid he would escape at the first chance he got. He wouldn’t. Usually, he’d die before letting Dick know that but today his brother needed to know he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. So, he wiggles down to lay on the couch better. Dick relaxes, form relaxing as his eyes flutter closed.

Tim copies the action, making a mental note to tell the demon spawn about this. This way they can double the revenge on Bruce and even if Damian purely blamed it on him, well, he wouldn’t mind. Anything for Dick.

[angstchim]

Inscribe | jhs

II. Bucket Hats

➻ I. Biology Test | III. Doll Face

➻ Rating: M

➻ Words: 10140

It was 8:59 in the morning. The room sound and silent. The aura of relaxation coated the air. Soft gentle breaths could be heard as the rise and fall of your chest heaved. You slept soundly on your small couch. That was until the wretched sound of a ducks quacking erupted from your phone. The sound so loud it scared you shitless as it always did. Jumping from sheer fright you fell off the couch and came into harsh contact with the wood floor that adorned your apartment. "Jesus fucking Christ!!" Left your lips as you wearily searched between the cushions of your couch to find your measly phone. Once the item in question was in your hands you were met the familiar sight of an "okay" or "snooze" button. Your thumb smashed the "okay" button. Sighing while running a hand through your greasy hair , you looked around taking in your surroundings. You were in your living room. Not your bedroom which was a little odd. You furrowed your eyebrows a bit , however the memory of last night flooded back to you. Last night you were perched on your couch listening to music at max volume. Just laying there , music blasting in your ears . Eyes closed , relaxation in the air . It was your only escape from the obnoxious sex your neighbors had. Other than leaving your house that is , but you found it absurd that you had to consider leaving your own home because of your neighbors and their bloody loud sex.

You shouldn't ever have to resort to that but sometimes you honestly felt like you had to resort to that because your land lord was a good for nothing son of bitch. However you found out that blasting music into your ears , was the best coping  mechanism you had against your sex addicted neighbors . Honestly sometimes you feel like the government should pass a law saying that certain individuals should be banned from sex . However your unpopular opinion wouldn't never be taken to account and you left it at that. As a result of last night, it seems you fell asleep on your couch . Which wasn't a big deal at all. Just that your couch was really uncomfortable to sleep on. Sitting on it was fine and all . It was a comfy couch. However it was a couch not a bed. It wasn't meant to support your sleeping body the same way a bed would and therefore here you are suffering for it .

You body ached . Sleeping on the couch was never a good idea. Yet last night your common sense had slipped from you. Who could blame you? Lots happened yesterday . Something small like not to sleep on the couch was bound to slip away from you. You shouldn't blame yourself for forgetting not to , however you did curse yourself for it . Because now here you were , with a sore body. You let out a string of curses as you got up from the floor . You checked your phone . It read 9:02. Not only that but you received a new message last night.

213-000-000: Hey y/n it's the guy whose embarrassing notes you've been reading for two years . Would you like to meet up over lunch tomorrow and talk about it ? :)

Hoseok. It was him. Your heart thudded as your face heated . He sent that last night . You mentally facepalmed yourself. Honestly how could not notice that he sent you a message ? You were literally doing nothing other than listening to music on the couch yet somehow you managed to completely miss his message . Hastily you tapped on the message . Your thumbs smashing the keyboard of your phone as you composed a reply.

Sorry I'm replying so late, I fell asleep on the couch yesterday . Anyways I'll take you up on that offer for lunch today . I have lunch at 12:30 today so if you're free at the same time let's head for lunch somewhere.  Hit me up with where you'd like to meet :)

You checked it for any spelling errors. Rereading it in your head a few times before you pressed the send button. It was still pretty early so you didn't expect a reply right away which was fine with you . As your hair was kind of disgusting, it was greasy and you needed to hop into the shower quick before you got dressed for school. Hopping on your phone real quick , you put on Spotify. Your music began to blare through your phones speakers as you trudged your way over to your bathroom. Your stripped yourself of your clothing, looking in the mirror as you did so. You always had to look at yourself in the mirror whenever you undressed yourself . It was odd . You just felt weird when you didn't do it . Strange habit to say the least . However while looking in the mirror you noticed you still had some of your makeup left on from yesterday . Mascara was clumped on your eyelashes . Liquid lipstick stained your lips and your eyeliner was smudged .  'Yikes' was the only thought you had . Your eyes trailed down your body to your arms . For once in a long time they were bare . No chicken scratch on them. Except for your number that was written in your comic sans handwriting that you wrote yourself yesterday at the cafe with Hoseok.

Whenever he wrote on himself, the little notes he wrote would usually disappear the next day, whenever he washed them off you assumed . When he washed them off his body , they disappeared off of yours . However it seems like he didn't wash your number off his arm. Seeing this you smiled to yourself .  He didn't erase your number off his arm. He left it there. It probably doesn't mean much . It hardly meant anything really . But still you felt a sense of warmth blanket your heart as you saw this.  You let your fingers trail over the ink that adorned your arms . Knowing momentarily it'd disappear since you'd have to wash it off while you showered . Taking it in once more , you etched it's memory into your brain as you started the water in your shower. You hummed the lyrics to the song that blared through your phones speakers . Swaying your hips a bit to the beat of the song.  Once the water temperature was to your liking you got inside . The warm water felt soothing as it rolled off your body.

You wiped the water from your eyes as you searched the shelves of your shower rack for the shampoo. Once you located it , your hand grabbed it . It felt a little light. You'd have to buy some more soon. Opening the bottle you squirted copious amounts of shampoo into your hand. Much more than what was necessary for washing your hair that is . That was another bad habit you had . You used way too much shampoo and conditioner. More that what was needed to wash your hair . You didn't know why you did it . It just felt so satisfying to have a large blob of shampoo or conditioner in your hand. Plus it felt nice to lather such large amounts into your hair. However you needed to stop this habit . You were a college student after all. Everyone knows how much of penny pinchers colleges students could be and you were one them to be honest .

You couldn't afford to buy new shampoo and conditioner every week because you had this weird habit of using too much. Of course shampoo and conditioner didn't cost much , the 2,167 won you spent on each individual bottle of shampoo and conditioner did add up overtime . You were a college student . Spending lavishly was not in your vocabulary.You took the ungodly amount of shampoo that was in your hand and began to lather it into your wet hair. This part of a shower always soothed you. Massaging your scalp , making sure you covered every piece of your hair with shampoo, making sure to close your eyes tightly you stood under the shower head that spouted warm water onto you. Hands going to work , washing the soap from your hair. While doing this , your mind began making itself known. Whenever you took a shower, your mind would always run wild . Not in a bad way , but in a psychological way, if that made sense ? Like you'd think abut things you wouldn't normally think about.

Like for example "Maybe the reason Patrick is so dumb , is because he lives under a rock." Odd to say the least . But it's what ran through your head whenever you showered . The least that could be said was that whenever you finished showering you had a whole new way at looking at the world . In a sense your psychologically dumb thinking was therapeutic, almost . While your thoughts were unleashed , no boundaries on them what so ever , you had already finished rinsing out the shampoo from your hair , along with moving onto the next step of conditioner. You moved on to shaving wherever it was necessary. After a few more minutes of going through your daily shower routine you were finally done .

Once you finished you just stood there in your shower. A little zoned out as you looked at your now bare arm. No more writing was there . It made you a little sad to look at it , but you shook it off because you needed to finish getting ready. Wrapping yourself in a towel you dried yourself off before stepping out of the shower . You were the type of person who dried off in the shower , opposed to outside of the shower . You hated when water got everywhere . You never realized you were this type of person , till you let Jackson crash at your place a few months ago. He was shitfaced and called you to come pick him up. You didn't mind, you took him back to your place . Jackson was very familiar with your apartment , he spent lots of time there just hanging out. However that particular day, he was so fucking shit faced that he threw up outside , on your damn cacti. You remember being so fucking annoyed with Jackson. You pushed it aside knowing that he couldn't control it . But still, out of all the damn places to cough his guts onto , it had to be your damn cacti?

This isn't the point though. You let him take a shower and once he finished, you let him wear some of your ex's clothing that you still had . It fit him kind of tight since he had a bigger build . You never threw out the clothing , it was comfortable. It was the only clothing you had for him to wear , you knew damn well he wouldn't fit into your tiny clothing. Moral of the story Jackson dries himself outside of the shower and leaves a puddle on the floor that you begrudgingly had to clean. That's what made you realized a new pet peeve you had . After drying off properly , you walked out and off into your closet to find something to wear today. Keeping in mind that you needed to look nice , you were meeting with Hoseok after all. You settled on a pastel pink crop top that was long sleeved , light washed high wasted jeans and some white sneakers . Simple enough. But it was cute and whoever looked at you was sure to let their gaze linger a little longer than necessary.

You threw on a black velvet choker as a simple accessory. Next you brushed out your semi damp hair , you blow dried it in the bathroom , however it still remained a bit damp. You were on a time crunch though , no time to fuss about something small like that. You brushed out your long locks. Your hair framed your face nicely . You kind of had the 'goddess' style going. Not that you minded, it was cute, and basic . You hated being basic . But sometimes life required for you to be basic . Your whole body was sore and you were not in the mood to do some nice styling today . Next, you moved onto some quick makeup. You did what you did yesterday . Mascara , eyeliner , eye brows , and lipstick. Simple but it did the trick . Made you go from a 7 to a decent 10. Giving a nod of approval to your appearance, you grabbed your bag and the necessities for your phone . Luckily your class schedule rotated everyday so today you were blessed with the fact that you didn't have to suffer in Mr. Chen's dreadful class. Today the first class you had was clothing design.  Which you had with Jackson . You had a good portion of your classes with your buddy ole pal., Jackson which reminded you of the funky message he sent you yesterday.

Jackson had always joked about sleeping with you. It was an on going thing he did , you gradually got used to the joke to the point it didn't have any effect on you. Jackson was a straight male after all and you're sure the thought of banging you came across his mind before . Hell , it crossed your mind before too. It wasn't like you had any feelings for Jackson , but to be honest you're sure every female has thought of sleeping with her male friends before . If not then you might just be odd. That wasn't the point though. You shook your head , you lost the train of thought you had going with this. Grabbing your keys , you headed out to your car. As per usual you plunged the keys into the cars ignition and switched on the radio. A song you recognized was playing. Touch by NCT . Now that was a bop. You hummed the song as you drove to school. There was light traffic and the weather was rather decent. It took about ten minutes to get there .

Once you got there you parked your car in the student parking lot and locked it . Then you made your way inside the building. Your design classroom was a rather small one . Not many people took this class due to the fact that it was fucking murder. It was hard , it was grueling , it was distasteful. However you were willing to put your blood , sweat, and tears into your dream. You got to your classroom a bit early. Not that you minded you always like sitting in an empty classroom. It was calming ? You couldn't describe it but all you knew was that you liked it . That's what mattered. You sat down in your seat . In this class you sat next to Jackson. Actually , you sat next to Jackson in all your classes . It was a strange coincidence, but it was nice . Rather him than one of his deranged groupies . Once you sat down and laid out all your materials for this class you plugged in your earbuds and checked your phone for a reply from Hoseok. Your stomach felt extremely light when you realized he replied . You clicked on his number . You ought to change that.

231-000-000: Want to meet up at that McDonalds between your Uni and Mine ? Do you know the one I'm talking about ? It's by that one preschool . Tiny Minds or something ? Anyways I got a buddy who works there at the McDonalds so we should be okay to stay a bit longer since he works there and he won't chase us out . Also 12:30 works fine for me . See ya then y/n ;)

That winky face . He just had to put a winky face . Such a tease. Your stomach fluttered . Thumbs shaky as you composed your reply.

I know exactly what place you're talking about. I'll see you there @ 12:30 . ;)

You decided to throw a winky face back. Now you finally got around to making him a contact on your phone . You changed his name to "Hoseok". You contemplated added any type of emoji or emojicon to his name . You decided against it . You didn't want him to accidentally see it or something and then get weirded out if he didn't feel the same . Slow and steady wins the race after all right ? While you were setting up Hoseok's contact name in your phone a certain brunette male came up from behind you. Stalking you like a wolf would an unsuspecting rabbit. Fresh prey in other words . Jackson entered the classroom quietly as he saw your familiar silhouette sitting in your seat. You seemed to be preoccupied with whatever was on your phone. His playful side taking over as he quietly made his way through the otherwise empty classroom. Quietly , as quiet as he could. He etched closer and closer to you. Ready to pounce . That was until he's eyes glossed over the screen of your phone .

The name Jung Hoseok was written across the screen. Jackson's eyebrows furrowed . A frown tugged at his plump lips . Who was this guy? You never talked to any guys other than Jackson . He's never seen you hang out with any other guy either . As far as he was concerned he was the only one . However seeing this other guys name across your phone screen was like a wake up call. That you had other guys around you, that you weren't just his . Seeing as he was the only male around you since your horrible past relationship , and your whole Sehun fling. He unknowingly considered you 'his'. You were 'his person' without knowing it . You were under his protection. Under his wing. Of course you two had no romantic relations or anything . Yet he still considered you as someone who was his . It's a hard emotion for him to explain . However he didn't like this wake up call at all. He already didn't like this Jung Hoseok guy. Nor the fact that you just sat there smiling like an idiot at your phone . All you were looking at was a fucking name , smiling like a dork. It pissed Jackson off . He wanted to throw your phone.

The thought of pouncing on you to scare you was completely forgotten. “Who's Jung Hoseok ?" He asked , his voice coming across a little more bitter than he wanted. You jumped in your seat , your phone dropping on the table as you heard Jackson's voice ring throughout the classroom. "JeususfuckingchristJackson!!" You spouted as you tried to regain your calm. He scared the shit out of you. You looked back to see Jackson standing behind your chair , slightly hovering over you as he looked at your phone screen . Eyebrows furrowed a bit. He set his bag on the table and took his seat. He leaned on the table , chin resting in his hand. Eyes still focused on your phone screen.  A slight pout on his face , like there was something disappointing him. He took his eyes off of your phone to look you in the eyes . His brown eyes staring holes into your eyes . His plump lips pursed a bit . "Who's Jung Hoseok?" He asked again , his voice nonchalant, however it held a bit of seriousness to it . You gulped . He seemed a bit off, but he was still Jackson . Your bud. "Oh him, he's a guy I met at a cafe yesterday after school." You explained as you grabbed your phone off the table pressing the "save" button to save Hoseok's contact. Jackson let out a slightly forced chuckle .  You didn't notice that of course as your mind was elsewhere.

"You actually met a guy ? Jesus how long as it been two years ?" He chuckled , his voice light yet his eyes still seemed serious .”Yeah , about two years ." You shrugged , then you remembered the message you received last night from this bastard. Your furrowed your brows , and pursed your lips at him. Jackson took notice of this and raised a brow at your behavior . A small look of confusion adorned his face. "What?" He asked , looking at you still with one brow raised .

“What was with that message you sent last night ?" You asked as you gave his arm a light punch . You weren't mad or anything but Jesus could Jackson be a confusing guy.Jackson chuckled "The message that you so rudely ignored ?" He said being dramatic as hell as he put a hand over his heart . Acting as if you ignoring his message wounded his ego or something. "Yeah that message doofus ." You said playfully hitting his arm again to get him to stop being such a princess. He shrugged, more people were filing into the classroom at this point. "Just wanted to tease you Sweets ." He said this while reaching over letting his big hand perch itself on your head . He ruffled your hair . You let out an annoyed hiss.”Jackson !" You hissed grabbing his hand from atop of your head throwing it back to him. "What?" He asked innocently "you dressing up for someone ?" He mused , leaning back in his chair acting like he couldn't care less. But in reality he cared a fuck ton that it was almost painful.

You clicked your tongue . "As a matter of fact I am. Hard to believe since it's been so long." You weren't looking at Jackson as you said this . You were too busy scrolling around on Tumblr , liking some dumb memes you found about your favorite Kpop groups.

Jackson shifted in his chair . His tongue swiping the inside of his gum as he attempted to keep his cool. "Is that so I hope you have fun . Hope he isn't  a douche like the last couple of guys you've messed around with ." He didn't look at you . He just looked down as he fiddled with his thumbs . “We just met and are going for a casual lunch , nothing too serious just yet . I'm sure he's a good catch." You said as you continued your scrolling . Just as you finished saying this the classroom was now full , and the professor was now in the classroom. For this class you had this old hag of professor . She was a fifty year old cougar . Well you weren't sure if she was a cougar . She just looked like on and had the vibe of one . She always wore clothing for women half her age . She always acted like she wasn't fifty and did her makeup like a twenty year old would. It was kind of gross to look at . The sight of a fifty year old trying to masquerade around as a women thirty years younger was unsettling .

However you've never seen her try hit on any of the guys who attended your college . But you wouldn't put the idea passed her . Especially when she looked the part. Her name was Ms. Kim . Miss. She wasn't even married . However Miss Kim , had a thing about phones in her class so as soon as she entered the class everyone made sure to make their phone as scarce as they could. You and Jackson included . Miss Kim was a very blunt teacher you'd say if you were given a chance to describe her . She came into the class , set her shit down gave the assignment . Explained it a bit , answered any questioned students had . Then let them get to work. She didn't like phones out during her class . If you had your phone out she wouldn't reprimand you or anything. But she would take your grade down a whole 10 points which can hurt. She won't even let you know , she'll just do it and when you see your grade and talk to her about she'll just flat out tell you it was because of your phone. Quite the bitch of a teacher .

That's part of the reason her class has such a reputation to it . No one wants to fucking deal with her . However it was a mandatory class , well for you at least since you seeking a career in the fashion industry. Today the assignment was for you to create a piece of clothing by the end of week. It couldn't be store bought of course and had to portray something personal to you. You spent the rest the class , designing and sketching in your sketchbook the ideas you had . While doing this you felt a familiar tingling sensation on your right arm. Your heart to blunder as it tried to break free from your ribs once more. You cautiously looked around you. Some chick next to you was too busy trying to hide her phone under the table as she frantically sent messages . You could hear the faint sound of her thumbs smashing the keyboard of her phone as she did this. Next you looked over to Jackson whom was seated next to you. He was too engrossed in his sketch to notice you. Jackson always got too concentrated in his designing. Not that it was a bad thing , you actually adorned Jackson quite a bit for that . You slowly pushed the sleeve of your right arm up as you looked to see the familiar sight of chicken scratch on your arm. 'Wyd?' It read . In messy letters . Honestly by now you a pro at deciphering Hoseok's  messy handwriting . It made you wonder how his poor professors managed at Yonsei Uni. His chicken scratch wasn't easy to read at all but you mastered it . You honestly felt like you deserved a medal.

You smiled though . He's such a dork. You grabbed an ink pen from your bag and wrote 'Stuck in design class hbu?' . After that you pulled down your sleeve and continued to work on your sketches . About a good 15 minutes had passed before you felt a familiar tingling sensation on your arm. Class was about half over but the time he wrote back. Your were still doodling , not so much sketching anymore just doodling small drawings onto the margins of your sketchbook. The class you had next was mathematics . Another class you deemed a bit useless for you since you were going into the fashion industry solely due to the fact that they were requiring you to take algebra . You see why something like geometry may be helpful but fucking algebra ?

Once again you cautioned your surroundings making sure no one would see you. Coast was clear. You rolled up your sleeve to see that he replied in his messy cursive . Just finished dance practice , tired as hell' . You forgot he was a dancer. You wonder what kind of dance he did . Would you ever see him dance ? If you did lord knows you wouldn't be able to handle it . That was certain. What kind of dance ?' You wrote in your comic sans handwriting.  Your rolled your sleeve back down and began to pack up your things. Class was about to end in five minutes, you were going to walk  with Jackson to your math class . Coincidentally Jackson got stuck in the same shitty algebra class.

Finally,the bell rang , signaling you were free from the grasp of Miss Kim. You nudged Jackson as he seemed a bit spaced out. He only looked up at you before giving a nod of understanding . You both made you way out of the design classroom , walking to your algebra class. While doing so all of Jackson's groupies began their usual whispering sessions . Each of them killing you with their glares as you walked beside Jackson. Jackson always ignored them and encouraged you to ignore them as well. He didn't control them , he couldn't , it's not like he asked for the little fan base he had . It just happened . He complained to you so much how much he hated girls that were groupies . It just annoyed the fuck out of him to have girls dropping at his feet left and right . For good reason too , it quite unattractive to see someone throw away all their morals for the sake of admiring someone else. Very distasteful. You ignored it , his little fan club loved to find any reason to hate on you. Like you could breathe and they'd be offended . You didn't care. Honestly you couldn't care less. Sometimes you felt like breaking those groupies hearts even more so you'd do something like grab Jackson's hand. You'd watch with satisfied eyes as they all glared back at you with hateful glares. You made your way to class , Jackson at your side . Today you didn't feel like crushing the hearts of groupies . You and Jackson walked together over to your algebra class in a comfortable silence . Entering the class you took your seat next to Jackson.

Class began and ended in the blink of an eye. It was now 12:15 and you couldn't be more excited . You gave Jackson a rushed goodbye as you rushed out of the classroom and halls . You were a bit winded and out of breath by the time you made it to your car which was parked in the student parking lot . Unlocking it swiftly , you hopped inside and threw the keys into the ignition , radio blaring as it turned on. Not that you minded you were too excited and happy to care . You began making your way to the McDonalds that you and Hoseok agreed on. It wasn't too far away from your school . A 15 minute drive couldn't hurt . You had an hour for lunch after all before you returned to school for your last two classes you had today. It was Friday after all and the school didn't give as much classes on Fridays as they did every other day of the week. You nodded your head slightly to the beat of the song that was playing on the radio. Momentarily you arrived at the McDonalds . You just sat at empty table you were a bit early. About five minutes of waiting passed before you saw a familiar form enter though the restaurant's front doors.

There he was in all his glory. Hoseok entered the restaurant. He had on a rather tight fitting black, long sleeved top. The only way you could tell was because he had his black Puma windbreaker unzipped so you could get a good view of the thin fabric as it was stretched along his muscular torso. What a sight. This time he didn't have on any glasses and lord did you love it.You could get the perfect view of his face . His black bangs obscuring his vision yet you could still make out the soft almond shape of his eyes . His long eyelashes shielding his tawny colored orbs. You never knew such a basic color like brown could be so beautiful. Yet Hoseok made you realize lots of things. He just had that effect of you. He wore a black leather bucket hat over his soft black tresses. A look not many could pull off but he did , Hoseok was able to pull off things others couldn't . One of kind, truly. Now you suddenly had a bucket hat kink give or take. He paired it with a rather tight fitting pair of black jeans that were ripped at the knee and it had a few slight tears on his thighs . Lord his thighs . The first time you met him you were able to tell that his thighs were thick and muscular, but now more than ever they were making themselves known. His jeans hugged his thighs in one of the best ways humanly possible. Dancing did him well that was certain.

Time seemed to pass by so slowly as he made his way over to the table you sat at . Once he arrived he flashed you a toothy smile. His pearly whites never failed to make your heart flutter . "Well, well isn't it the guy who's supposed to come early to these things?" He says with a chuckle.

You shift in your seat , realizing that he was right . Usually the guys are supposed to come early, not the girl. However it wasn't like this was a date right ? Did he see this as a date ? God , he's one confusing man. “Ima rule breaker , get used to to it ." You throw back in a flirtatious tone. Motioning for him to take a seat . He just chuckles even louder than before . He takes his seat swiftly. “Hope you didn't wait too long." He said as gave you a friendly smile. Damn him. It should be a crime to be that good looking . Like the man would just  breathe and you'd be in cardiac arrest. However you stayed strong deciding not to give into this devil disguised as an angel.

"Hardly waited at all." As you said this a waiter approached the table you and Hoseok sat at . He was jaw droppingly handsome . He had jet black hair , almost black eyes , and a jawline that could kill. His nose was button shaped . Sadly he was wearing a tacky McDonalds uniform . However he managed to make that McDonalds uniform look runway worthy . The shirt was too small for him so you could get a good view of wonderfully sculpted torso. He was very muscular . He had a broader build than Hoseok. Hoseok was of a leaner build, which was wonderful . But this guy was a straight muscle pig. Nothing extreme like bulging muscles , but there were enough for you to tell he must hit the weight room every week.

He had thicker lips than Hoseok, however he had a bit of a baby face . You'd say he was at least two years younger than you. You eyed this man a bit longer as he walked over to your table . “Well , well would you look at this ? What's a fancy fuck like you doing here ?" He spoke to Hoseok , he had a nice soothing voice , it wasn't too deep but deep enough. While he spoke you noticed he had bunny like features . Especially his teeth . Cute . Hoseok rolled his eyes , "Trying to enjoy lunch, so you gonna take my order Kook or are you gonna sit there and waste perfectly good O2 that I could be breathing in right now ?" Hoseok retorted .

Kook? This is the guy Hoseok stole math notes from ? You would've never imagined this hunk of guy. Honestly if Hoseok was stealing notes from someone you'd expect a nerdy looking guy , not this muscle pig. Kook just shrugged at Hoseok's comment . Eyes widening when he saw you. His jaw opened a bit of slack as you two made eye contact . He shifted a bit as he stood there just making eye contact with you.

You decided to speak to him first . "H-Hello , I'm y/n l/n . I'm an acquaintance of Hoseok's" you said as you gave a polite bow of your head to the bunny looking guy. He quickly bowed back. Eyes never leaving yours . "I'm Jeon Jungkook , I'm a close friend of Hoseok Hyung , nice to meet you y/n Noona ." He said rather formally.

"Noona ?" You questioned out loud . You never really hung out with people younger than you so you've never really been called Noona by anyone . He blinked at you. "You are a Noona, correct ?" He looked at you , eyes still wide . He didn't seem like the smug guy he was just moments ago as he spoke to Hoseok.

"Oh yeah I'm 22, I assume your younger than that right ?" You said . “19 ." He replied . You sat there mouth hung open as you looked at the boy in front of you. This muscle pig of a guy was three years younger than you?! Hoseok laughed loudly as he watched this exchange between you and Jungkook. It never failed to amuse him when people found out Jungkook's age ."She seems star struck . You still there y/n ?" Hoseok huffed between laughs. You blushed as you realized how ridiculous you must've looked just staring at Jungkook with your mouth hung open.

“Yeah I'm here , just a little surprised that's all." You chuckled . “Little ?" Jungkook mused cockily. His smugness evident in him. “Ya! I'm your noona don't speak to me like that ." You said while pointing a finger jokingly at him. Playfulness coated your words . Jungkook and Hoseok laughed loudly at this . Jungkook giving Hoseok a playful nudge on the shoulder. "Hyung , she's great , bring her around more ." He said through laughs . You blushed brightly hearing this . Hoseok's eyes widened, the apples of cheeks red but you couldn't tell if it was blush or just his face was red from laughing too hard just moments before.

“Don't worry Kook , she'll be around more , y/n is a friend of mine after all right y/n?" He said slightly evading Jungkook's comment just moments ago. “Yeah don't worry this isn't the last of me ." You said throwing a smile at Jungkook. He returned it with a toothy smile . He had a beautiful smile . He really resembled a bunny. “Anyways enough of this small talk before my manager chews my ass out , what do you guys want to eat ?" He said picking up his notepad , clicking his pen on with the thumb of his really large , veiny hands . He had beautiful hands . His hands almost rivaled Hoseok's in terms of beauty. Hoseok gave you look . A gesture of 'you ready to order ?' You have him a reassuring smile . "Would you like to order first ?" You asked Hoseok .

"Sure ." He shrugged . Hoseok gave Jungkook his order as he jotted it down . You relayed yours to him as well and then the muscle pig was out of your guys hair .

Once Jungkook left, Hoseok and you were awkwardly silent . It was strange seeing as just moments ago it was lively . Hoseok was the first to speak. “Y/n tell me about yourself , I'd like to know more about you." He said in a soft voice . Giving you a smile smile as he did so.A bit flustered you replied "Well what exactly would you like to know ?" You asked him. Twiddling your thumbs , making eye contact . He put his finger on his chin as he dramatically acted like he was thinking hard on what to ask you. Letting out a "hmmmm" sound as he did so. "How about what's did you think when you started seeing my little scribbles on your arms ?" He asked with a chuckle . Still sounding as if he didn't believe this whole situation was real. “Honestly I was so freaked out ! You have no idea one day I wake up and see some chicken scratch on my arm that wasn't even mine ." You chuckled out "I thought I was going crazy." Hoseok dramatically put a hand over his heart . "Chicken scratch? My handwriting isn't that bad!" He huffed out . "It really is , I couldn't read it till I turned it sideways ." You shot back .

“Lies." He said in denial. “Don't get me started on what I've read over the years ." You chuckled out watching the man get flustered at the mention of what he wrote on his arms in the past . “Lord don't bring it up, I just want to forget about that." He said as he avoided eye contact. You let out a giggle . "Alright , Alright I'll forget about it ... for now" You mused . “Y/n!" He whined . God he just whined . You weren't prepared, honestly a man like him whining just because you're teasing him? He really was something else and you were loving every bit of it . "Anyways my turn to ask questions ." You stated matter of factly. Tapping your finger against the table as you did so. Hoseok resting his chin in the palms of his beautiful hands . “The stage is yours." He said while , blowing a piece of hair out of his face . God that was hot .  He should do that more often . "What kind of dance do you do ?" You asked , leaning in a bit. This was something about Hoseok that really peaked your fancy.

He lit up when you mentioned his dance . Normally people didn't care enough to ask him about it . They'd just brush it off as a hobby he did or pastime . Not something he took seriously as a career . He leaned in a bit more , still a fair distance across the table . His face still rested in his palm . The bucket hat perched atop his head . His bangs slightly hanging in his eyes. His eyes where practically shining when you mentioned the word 'dance'. You could tell dancing was his passion. "I do lots of HipHop dance , along with some contemporary dance ." He said gleefully.

“HipHop dance ?" You inquired. "Like the type of dance boy groups would do ?" Your face lit up as you asked this . He smiled . "Yeah similar to it at least . My contemporary dance is the type of dance you may see watching a play or something ." “Contemporary dance is really beautiful." You spoke without really thinking . "I could never do it , my body can never move that gracefully but I do appreciate it , it's an art ." Hoseok seemed very interested as you spoke . "Not many people consider dance to be an art you know ? They just say it's a hobby or a pastime ." He muttered out a little bitter sounding. 

You empathized with him completely. Not many people considered fashion to be a full fledged career like engineering. It was just discarded as a hobby or silly dream by many. When you told your mother you wanted to go to college for fashion, she laughed thinking it was a joke only to realize you were serious. “I understand what you mean. People don't consider fashion to be a serious career either . They just dish it off as a pastime or hobby." You said nonchalantly looking out the window of the restaurant. Watching people you didn't know pass by as they walked along the streets of Seoul. "It sucks that people think that way. They can be so close minded . By the way what type of fashion do you do ?" He asked as he leaned back into his seat . His arm resting on the back of his chair . As he did this you could get an even better view of the thin fabric of his black shirt . It stretched against his torso nicely. Truly he was sculpted by the gods .

"Yeah,  but that just means we have to prove them wrong. And I think my work is a mix between high fashion and commercial. You said throwing a reassuring glance his way. As you said this Jungkook returned with the cheap food you both ordered . “Two orders of diabetes ?" Jungkook asked jokingly, a little bit of snark in voice . “That'd be for us kind sir ." You said nodding your head to him giving him a sarcastic response . He just sent you and Hoseok a playful smirk before setting down the greasy food making his way back to wherever he came from.

“Bon Appetite!" Hoseok said taking a fry from his tray. You watched as the fry left his lips shiny from the grease . He even looked beautiful eating. Lord this man was inhuman. You both began eating. You tried your best to be as self aware as you could. Making sure to not make any mess, be it on the table or your face. You both continued your talk about how unfair things were for people who majored in any department of dance and fashion . While enjoying the conversation you had with Hoseok , you attention was driven elsewhere when someone entered the front doors of the restaurant. A familiar head of brunette hair dressed in a white sweater , khaki pants and brown dress shoes . Sir Jackson Wang just walked it. You recognized him immediately. You stopped eating , and just started at him. Hoseok took notice of this and glanced behind him to try and peg what had you so distracted . As soon as Hoseok glances behind him , Jackson took notice of your presence .

His face lit up once seeing you, however his gaze darkened when he saw a man sitting across from you. An attractive man at that. Jackson threw a phony smile on his face as he made his way over to your table. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his khaki dress pants . “Well, isn't this a coincidence Sweets?" Jackson added emphasis on 'Sweets' . You didn't really pay too much attention to it . Brushing it off as his usual behavior . However Hoseok took notice of this. When Jackson spoke it was directed at you , however Jackson was looking Hoseok straight in the eye. “Stalking me ?" You asked playfully looking up at Jackson from where he stood next to your seat.  "You wish, sweet cheeks." Jackson said once again directing his words at you , but keeping eye contact with Hoseok.

Hoseok made an awkward coughing noise . Making sure you knew he was still there .  "Y/n , wanna introduce me to your friend  here ?" He said with a light chuckle . An underlying tone of authority laced his voice . You didn't pick up on this . However Jackson did and he didn't like it . Here we was trying to make his presence known to this random guy that you were having lunch with . However this random fuck was sending it right back to him, not backing down. “Oh yes of course! How rude of me ." You said with a light chuckle . "Hoseok , this is Jackson Wang he's my best bud . Jackson this is Jung Hoseok , I met him yesterday, we're becoming quite aquatinted." You introduced both males to each other . Neither of them made a move to shake hands . They just bore holes into each other . A tension in the air that you couldn't quite put your finger on. Hoseok spoke first . "Pleasure meeting you Jackson." He said a fake smile across his attractive features .

Jackson returned it with a phony smile of his own . "Likewise ." Jackson then turned to you.  "Sweets ready for the party tomorrow night ? Meet up at my place @11 , dress to impress ." He said while outstretching his large hand to rest of your head while he ruffled your hair. As he did this muscle pig Jungkook came back to drop the receipt off at your table . "Party?" He jumped into the conversation . "You mean the one being held by this guy named BamBam or something ?" He said his bunny teeth shining through as he spoke . Jackson looked over to the 19 year old .  "Yeah you know BamBam?" He said looking at Kook. “Not really , heard he throws killer parties . Taking my bud Hoseok with me tomorrow night ." He said while nudging  Hoseok on the arm. Hoseok sent him a glare , rolling his eyes . "Since when did you decide that Kook?"

"Since now ." Kook said while clicking his tongue . “Jungkook you can't even drink yet ." You mused . Jungkook just put a finger up his lips letting out a  'shh' , giving you a playful wink before walking off to god knows where . You turned to Hoseok . "You going to the party too?" You asked taking a sip of your soda . Jackson's hand still rested on your head . "Apparently." He said sending you a flirtatious smirk . You felt your insides flutter . This didn't go unnoticed by Jackson .

"Hopefully I see you there ." You said quietly. You'd don't think he heard you , but then you saw him smile widely . “I'd like to see you there too." He said leaning on the table . Chin rested in his hand . "I'll get going, see ya once lunch is over Sweets ." With that Jackson gave one last ruffle to your head. Shooting a glare at Hoseok as he did so . Once again directing his speech to you , but looking Hoseok dead in the eyes as he did it. Hoseok sent him a phony smile back. Hoseok wasn't really fond of this Jackson guy. He was standoffish. Not only that Jackson seemed to be possessive over you which Hoseok didn't really like. Hoseok didn't know why he didn't like it . He hardly knew you as you were nothing more that an acquaintance, yet it rubbed him the wrong way to see Jackson drape himself over your small frame . Calling you Sweets. He almost wanted to ask if he could give you a pet name of his own . Almost.

However Hoseok wasn't going to back off . Especially since you and him were connected in some way, shape , or form because he knew his scribbles didn't just appear on your arms for nothing that's for sure . He needed to know how in the world you were connected to him.  This Jackson guy will not get in the way of that. Hoseok will make sure of it . “Sorry about Jackson , he's can be a little standoffish when meeting new people . That because it's only been the two of us for so long." You explained . “The two of you?" Hoseok inquired .”Yeah , Jackson is pretty popular at school . Amongst the girls , I'm the only girl he lets around him because I'm a genuine friend , however at school it's always been the two of us . Just me and him. He's like a brother ."  Hoseok took a sip of his Sprite. "He has fangirls ?" He asked

“Yeah tons of them. Some of them can be so vicious." You sighed . “Girls can be cruel. Especially over something petty like a man." He said empathetically . "Tell me about it , lord you'd be surprised by all the shit I go though just because I'm Jackson's friend." You'd said tiredly. Thinking back to all the times his groupies would try to trip you in the halls , start childish rumors , and or try to sabotage you in anyway. "The way they act makes you feel like you're in high school and not university." Hoseok chuckled . "Science says girls are more mature than boys but situations like this makes me question it ."

“I'm with you on that one ." You laughed . "Girls can be such nightmares especially jealous ones." Hoseok let out a bellowed laugh . "Say it louder for the people in the back." He remarked putting his hands over his mouth in a shouting motion.That was when you lost it . Hoseok lost it as well . Both of you sat there in the middle of of McDonalds laughing like lunatics . Others around throwing you disapproving looks. It's considered rude to be so loud in public places . But you honestly didn't care as you wiped the tears from your eyes .

After the laughing fit you two had together , you both cleaned up your garbage and disposing of it before walking out together . "How'd you get here ?" You asked him. “Subway." He said , tucking his large hands into the pockets of his Puma windbreaker . You grabbed your car keys from your bag . Dangling them in his face. "Would you like a ride back to Yonsei?" You said with a smile on your face. His eyes lit up. "Like I'd pass up a ride with you."You blushed . You didn't know how you should take that. "F-Follow me ." You stuttered our , leading  the way to your car in the parking lot . Unlocking it you watched him get situated inthe passenger's seat. Once you were situated in the driver's seat you put the keys into the cars ignition. As you did this the cars radio blasted the kpop you were listening to earlier . You quickly rushed to turn  it off. You felt so embarrassed. You really wanted to burry yourself six feet under .

Hoseok just laughed seeing how flustered you were . "Was that Perfect Man by Shinhwa?" He asking throwing up a brow . “Maybe ." You replied. “I love to dance to that song. Put it back on ." He chuckled . You just giggled , turning the radio back on letting the song blare through the car . The ride back to Yonsei was a short once howvever you were able to spend it singing with Hoseok . He honestly was the sweetest thing. When he sung he was so animated . Such a cutie . Honestly one minute he was a hot devil the next minute an angel. It was like God and Satan shared the same body. Once you parked in the Yonsei park lot you unlocked the door for him.

Hoseok sent you a smile . "See you at the party y/n." Giving you once last flirtatious wink , he got out of the car . Closing the door as you watched his form walk further and further away from your car. Entering the fancy university building. You couldn't wait to see him again. You drove back back to your university . The rest of the day just flew by. Once you were out for the day , you stopped at the mall. You were going to a party tomorrow, you knew it was probably gonna be a trashy party , but still you had no clothing . Having not gone out in two years, you got rid of such trashy clothes as they just took  up space in your closet that could be used for storing the very unsexy onesies you wore religiously  at home. You entered the rather dead shopping center . It was still early in the day so of course not many people would be there . You walked into a shop and found a black leather mini skirt . It was a piece you didn't have and it was a statement piece that would be sure to draw attention to you. Smirking as you grabbed it . Next you grabbed some fishnets to pair with it .

You walked to the next store . A black lace brallete caught your attention. You touched the fabric of it . Soft and delicate . Checking the price you nodded . It was a reasonably priced item. You had a sheer black top that you could wear over it . You had some black ankle boots that would work wonderfully as well. You purchased your items. You were a quick shopper . You were a in and out type of person. You didn't like staying around for large amounts of type due to the fact that you had a bad habit of over spending when you didn't quickly leave . You made it back to your car. Tossing the bags into the backseat you drove home listening to music . Last minute shopping done . It took a good fifteen minutes to return home.After a good fifteen minutes of singing to old kpop hits from Shinhwa . You finally came back to your humble abode.  Your lovely white apartment, with your two little green cacti at the front of the door. Next door your shitty neighbors which you hoped would get some sort of std that would cause their rigorous sex life to end. It was a harsh thought. However anyone would understand if they knew how much sleep you lost due to their odd vocal kinks.

Your shopping bag in hand along with your school bag, you punched in your pin code. Entering your house you tossed your sneakers off in the entrance only to look down and see a familiar pair of brown dress shoes . They certainly weren't yours, but you were very familiar with that pair of brown dress shoes . “Jackson ?" You called out as you entered your house . Setting your bags down on a table near the entrance.”You back Sweets ?" A deep voice called back. He poked his head out from your kitchen. You sighed . "What are you doing breaking and entering ?" You asked sarcastically as you marched into your kitchen. Watching with narrowed eyes as a certain brunette rummaged through your refrigerator. He didn't even look back at you. Just continually rummaging through your fridge.

"It's not breaking and entering, just entering as you see nothing in your house is broken Sweets." He stated matter of factly. Still digging in your fridge as if he owned the place. “That's not the point ." You grumbled walking over to the tall brunette. Giving him a harsh slap on the back to add emphasis on your point. “Yah! I'm your Oppa don't hit me!" He said as he quickly turned around grabbing your small wrist with his large hands . You rolled your eyes . "Oppa my ass , you're only two months older than me . Hardly an Oppa ." You said shaking your wrist from his grasp. "Doesn't matter , I'm still your O P P A !" He said putting emphasis on every letter in the word 'oppa'.

You gave him the finger . He just chuckled . Shrugging you off as he went back to rummaging through your fridge .  "Anyways oppa," You mused "what are you doing entering my house unannounced?"  You asked as you leaned against your fridge . As he continued to dig in it . “That's right  Sweets." Jackson mused referring to you addressing him as Oppa before he continued "Haven't got to spend as much time you lately. I'm sure you missed your Oppa." He said finally grabbing whatever he was looking for and closing your fridge . He held a can a of Sprite . This bastard . All that fucking digging for a can of Sprite  that sat in a shelf on the fridge door. This guy was a menace. “You saw me earlier today at McDonalds." You replied smartly . He smacked his lips , letting out a groan. "I didn't get to spend time with you there . You were too busy throwing glances at that Hoseok guy."  He whined . Opening his can of Sprite . "I was not ." You huffed .

"And I don’t have a V.I.P." He said rolling his eyes . “V.I.P?" You questioned he brunette. He replied nonchalantly "Very Impressive Penis" he stared sort of proudly. You choked on your own spit. The cringe filling your entire being. You nodded your head in the direction of the front door . "You see that door Jackson? Walk through it." 

Jackson chuckled . Giving you the finger .  "I do have a V.I.P though." He said throwing you his infamous smirk. “Jackson if you don't stop ." You groaned . “It's not my fault your such a Dildo Baggins ." He teased . It's true you haven't got laid in ages but you were not in a relationship with a dildo. “Whatever Rumpleforeskin." You shout back with a remark just as crude as his. He shrugged off your insults . "Anyways who's the guy you were with today? What's with him, you seeing him or something?" He inquired about Hoseok. “We're getting to know each other ." You replied ."He isn't just a guy you want to peg you?" He asked surprised .

“No. You know Jackson unlike you I don't go looking for hookups all the time ." His dramatic side back as he put a hand over his heart faking pain. " I do no such thing, Sweets." “Fucking liar ." You replied . It was true Jackson wasn't innocent. He may have not fucked his groupies , but that doesn't mean he wasn't in the beds of random girls left and right . None of them stayed around long. He had them for one night before kicking them out the next morning. "Don't be mad I get laid and you don't ." He said

“Just for that I'm getting laid tomorrow." You said giving his arm a rough slap. “I mean that's the purpose of bringing you out tomorrow. It's be a shame if you came out only to not get lucky." He said nonchalantly. “With the outfit I have planned to wear tomorrow, I'll get laid for sure ." You replied irritably “Can't wait to see it Sweet Cheeks ." He said tautly . “Whatever I'm bored of this talk." You said grabbing a banana off the counter . "Want to watch some Netflix ?"  You asked “Sweets are you asking me to a Netflix and Chill session ?" He said wiggling his brows at you as he took another sip of Sprite . "Hardly." You groaned making your way to your living room. Plopping yourself onto your couch . Followed suit by Jackson.

As you were setting up everything for Netflix . Jackson spoke "you know Sweets , I was here for about 30 minutes before you came home. And all I hear is this extremely loud fucking banging and shit. Your neighbor must be drilling his girl hard." He chuckled . “They make me want to shoot myself ." You replied bitterly just thinking about your deranged neighbors. You pulled up your Netflix and sat back on your couch. "You can pick what you want to watch." You said letting him take over your laptop .

Jackson hummed taking it from you. You watched as he put on 'Magic Mike' . “Magic Mike really?" You asked raising your eyebrow at him . “Ehh why not , they don't have Fifty Shades ." He hummed . Sometimes you forgot he read smutty books like Fifty Shades . Magic Mike was the next best thing . You cuddled into Jackson as you normally did when you two watched movies together . You had a calm exterior , however in the midst of watch Channing Tatum do his icon hip thrusts you couldn't help but imagine a certain dancing major preforming those moves instead . Tomorrow's party was bound to be exciting.