#Double Sided Rap Tee

[goldenraeofsun]

Stepping Back In

A headache pulses behind Bruce’s temples, and his lower back twinges every time he shifts in his supposedly lumbar-supporting office chair. He fractured three knuckles in his right hand fighting Killer Croc last night, so he fumbles with his left to grab the office phone on the right side of his desk. The move does his back zero favors.

Just as he brings the phone to his ear, the call goes dead.

Scowling, Bruce sets it back down. When he opens an urgent email from Lucius, the phone rings again. 

“You’ve reached Bruce Wayne,” he says distractedly as he brings it to his ear.

A few panicked breaths echo across the line. Foreboding trickles down Bruce’s spine.

A throat swallows. “Dad? I… need help.”

Bruce’s blood turns to ice in his veins as every nerve in his body comes alive. He rasps out, “Jason?”

Jason’s voice audibly shakes. “I’m at the GCPD. I get only one phone call, and –”

The line goes dead.

“Jason?” Bruce inhales a sharp breath. “Jason!”

Nothing. No word from his son. No signs of –

Bruce stands up so swiftly, his office chair violently bangs into the glass wall.

He storms out of the office, past his empty secretary’s desk, out on lunch. The elevator ride down to the ground floor is excruciating, and he can’t help the dozens of scenarios that flit through his mind as the numbers tick lower and lower. 

Jason’s Red Hood identity has been compromised.

Jason is getting shipped to Waller and her certifiable Suicide Squad. 

Jason is dying, again. Why else would he willingly call his estranged father?

Bruce all but runs to the garage, and races across Old Gotham to the GCPD headquarters. He blows through at least two yellow lights and one red. Five minutes later, he double-parks outside the building – let them tow him; it’s not like a car is worth more than his son – and hurries up the steps. 

He braces both hands on the welcome desk, glaring down at the receptionist. “Where is my son?”

The receptionist blinks up at him. “ Uh, I need an ID, sir.”

Incensed, Bruce snarls, “An ID –” but a new voice cuts him off.

“Mr. Wayne,” Detective Montoya steps forward. “Good, you’re here. Follow me.”

Bruce’s expression darkens. He doesn’t budge. “Where are you keeping Jason?”

Montoya sighs. “Let’s talk first.”

Bruce exhales a short breath of relief. At least they haven’t shipped Jason anywhere yet. Jason is still here; Jason is still in Gotham. Firmly, he tells Montoya, “I’m not going anywhere until you take me to him.”

Montoya crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m afraid there are a few things we need to talk about first, Mr. Wayne.”

“After I see my son,” Bruce corrects, straightening to his full height. He has nearly a foot on her. “I have so far extended the courtesy to the GCPD of coming without legal representation, given the urgency of the situation. However, I will –”

“Christ,” Montoya mutters under her breath. “Fucking billionaires.” She clears her throat. “He’s in Room 2.” She gestures him forward. “After you see him, we need to talk. Separately.”

“Fine.”

She casts him a probing look out of the corner of her eye as they skirt around the bullpen and head back to the hallway that leads to the temporarily holding cells and interrogation rooms. 

“What are his charges?” Bruce asks curtly. With Jason’s rap sheet – murder, manslaughter, wire fraud, theft, robbery, assault, aggravated assault – he could be looking at life in prison without the possibility of parole.

“Car theft,” Montoya says.

Car theft?

Bruce waits expectantly for more, but apparently that’s it. He turns to her, about to ask several follow up questions, but she’s already rapping her knuckles on the door to Interrogation Room 2.

“Your dad’s here,” she says as she cracks open the door, and Bruce can clearly see over her curls. Jason sits at the table. He doesn’t look small exactly, without his usual leather jacket, but he does look… diminished. He’s wearing a threadbare red tee shirt, stained jeans, and worn chuck taylors. His hands aren’t even handcuffed to the metal ring in the center.

What the hell is going on?

As Jason spots him standing on the threshold, Jason breaks out into a large grin, which does not help Bruce's confusion at all. But before he can demand Jason tell him exactly what he is up to, Montoya shuts the door and all but shoves him across the hallway to Interrogation Room 1.

Once they’re inside, she turns to him. “We’re running a DNA test. We already checked for traces of Clayface, but he’s 100% human.”

For once, Bruce doesn’t have to fake his surprise. They arrested… Jason Todd. Plain (albeit deceased) Jason Peter Todd.

Montoya runs her hand through her hair, her frustration clear. “This is why I didn’t want you to see him before we could verify his identity.”

“Oh,” is all Bruce can say.

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” she adds unnecessarily.

Bruce’s gruff exterior cracks, just a little. That was nice of her. “It’s alright, Detective.”

“I’m honestly surprised we haven’t had more scams like this,” she says, gesturing to the door where Jason sits just across the hall.

Bruce narrows his eyes. “And you’re sure it’s a scam?”

Montoya’s eyes soften. “Unfortunately, that’s how most of these cases go. They claim they were trafficked or have amnesia, which kept them away for so long. They’re always bogus. They’re scumbags looking to prey on a family’s grief and bank account.”

Bruce holds back his grimace. A year ago, he contacted five highly respected neurologists under a pseudonym. He asked them about the presenting symptoms of retrograde amnesia and hacked their files for a dozen case studies to send to Jason if he ever decided to reestablish his civilian identity.

Bruce also identified three federal judges with long histories of ruling favorably in family court cases involving improbable medical miracles. They might still be worthwhile to hold onto, depending on how Jason plays this.

Bruce inhales a shaky breath. “But he… looks like Jason,” he says, laying on the pleading tone a bit thick. “He sounds like my son.”

“He’s done his homework,” Montoya explains apologetically. “With all your time in the public eye, it makes you an easy target.”

“I want to speak with him.”

Montoya’s eyes widen in alarm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I need to look him in the eye,” Bruce says firmly. “If it is Jason –” he breaks off, swallowing.

Montoya purses her lips. “I really advise against that. You can’t give these conmen an inch. They’ll –”

“I need to speak to him, alone,” Bruce interrupts.

“Okay, no,” Montoya says quickly, “That’s possibly the worst thing you could do, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce exhales a sharp breath. Enough of this. He’s getting nowhere stuck here in this room. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He pushes open the door and strides out into the hallway, ignoring Montoya’s muttered curses. He opens the door to Interrogation Room 2.

Jason’s head snaps up. “Dad?”

“We’re leaving.”

Jason blinks. “What? I – I don’t think we can do that?”

“Has he been charged with anything?” he turns back to Montoya. “What is the physical evidence against Jason?”

Montoya’s scowl deepens. “A witness placed him at the scene.”

Bruce throws her his most unimpressed look, one that would send Robin confessing to unfinished homework within fifteen seconds or less. “So,” he starts, “you only have him on circumstantial evidence, and the car wasn’t even stolen.” Damn it, he can almost feel Jason’s smirk at his back.

“Attempted theft is still a crime,” Montoya says coldly.

“Get up, Jason.”

Jason hops to his feet. It’s the fastest he’s obeyed an order from Bruce since he was fourteen years old.

“I’m taking my son home,” Bruce says. “My lawyers will call to settle this. If you need to contact Jason, you know where to find him.”

Jason actually shoots finger-guns at Montoya as they pass her on the way back to the bullpen.

Bruce just barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

* * *

Bruce inhales a sharp breath as Jason closes the door behind him. “What the hell was all that?” he asks, his voice even.

Jason levers the passenger seat back to a reclining position and lazily turns his head to face Bruce. “C’mon, that was fun.”

Bruce starts the engine and pulls out into the street. “What was the point? Other than to waste my time?”

Jason shrugs. He tries to prop his feet on the dash, but his legs are too long, so he nearly knees himself in the chin before he gives up.

Bruce coughs to hide his smile.

Jason scowls. “Shut up.” 

At the first red light, Bruce turns to him. “Why did you steal that car?”

Jason raises his eyebrows. “Pretty sure I didn’t steal anything.”

Bruce exhales a silent breath and prays to Alfred for patience. “Why did you make the GCPD think you were trying to steal a car?”

“Let’s chalk it to old time’s sake,” Jason says airily, but his eyes are calculating as he meets Bruce’s gaze.

Bruce blinks, and sitting across from him in the passenger seat is a twelve-year-old in equally ratty clothes, wearing the same calculating expression, terrified but doing everything he can not to show it to the man in the driver’s seat. A kid, starved for affection as well as just plain starving.

“Jason –” He breaks off as his phone rings. With a grimace, he roots around in his jacket pocket, mindful of his fractured knuckles. He scans the screen, Jeffrey Lobe. He takes the call and puts it on speaker.

“Mr. Wayne,” Jeffrey’s voice comes through, his typical annoyed tone dialed up to eleven.

“Jeff,” Bruce says, forcing his voice to stay light. “How’re you doing, old friend?”

“What’s this I hear about your son coming back from the dead and stealing a car, of all things?”

Jason hones in on the phone, his whole body tensing. “Who is this?” he mouths.

Bruce ignores the question. To Jeffrey, he says, “I was just going to tell you about that.”

“I’m sure,” Jeffrey says sardonically. “You know, it is good to keep your legal counsel abreast of developments like this.”

Jason blinks.

“I swear, you were my next call,” Bruce lies. “But you’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

“I’ll get the preliminary paperwork started on voiding his death certificate, but forgive me if I don’t rush to update your will,” Jeffrey says dryly.

“It can wait a week or two,” Bruce says, deliberately keeping his eyes on the road, “Jason isn’t going anywhere.” He doesn’t dare look in the direction of the passenger seat.

As far as Bruce is concerned, this is a good thing. If Jason didn’t want to come back from the dead, he shouldn’t have gotten himself fingerprinted and called Bruce Wayne’s office number from a GCPD phone. If Jason did want to come back – which Bruce strongly suspects is the case, since Jason isn’t stupid and wouldn’t get caught dead by the GCPD unless he was actually deceased (again) – then Bruce already has a plan in place.

“Bruce…” Jeffrey drifts off, “This is all highly unusual – it’s fucking crazy, if I’m being honest with you. This takes eccentric billionaire to a whole new level.”

Bruce sighs. “Jeffrey, it’s really my son. I don’t have the whole story yet, but he had amnesia of all things. He only remembered my name last week, and a big help that was, since he was stuck in Addis Ababa. I’ll of course be consulting with Dr. Vietti at Gotham University as well as Dr. Hou at Princeton to make sure it all checks out. But if you could track down a few more expert consultants, that would be a real help, Jeffrey. Who runs Gotham General’s psychology department? Dr. Page, right? Add her to the list too.”

Jason’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head.

“Amnesia?” Jeffrey asks, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Can you believe it?” Bruce says, suppressing a smile.

“Not really, but I know better than to argue with you after all these years.”

“You’re a stand up guy, Jeffrey.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeffrey grumbles. “Keep the compliments until you see my billables for this month. I’d better get going. I have my work cut out for me this week.”

“Call if you have any questions!” Bruce says cheerfully and hangs up before Jeffrey can splutter a response.

Jason breaks the silence first: “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Excuse me?”

“The amnesia? Addis Ababa?” Jason asks, his voice growing more frantic with each question. “All those fucking doctors? What the fuck are you playing at?”

Bruce merges onto Kane Bridge. Only when he slows with traffic does he turn to Jason. “Isn’t this what you wanted, the whole point of all this? To resume your civilian life?”

Jason gawks at him, his jaw hanging open.

“Isn’t it?” Bruce prompts. 

“Well, yeah! But,” Jason flails, “I was gonna go with a kidnapping gone wrong.”

“Five years ago?”

Jason scowls. “I was working on it.”

“We’ll go with amnesia,” Bruce says with finality. “You can read up on the recent case studies, and Dick and I can run mock trials to get you ready to display the right symptoms.”

“This is insane. You are insane,” Jason says, but his tone lacks any heat. “I can’t believe you thought of this in, like, an hour.”

Bruce snorts. “I’m good, Jason, but I’m not that good.” He wrestles with himself, but he eventually has to say, “I started contacting experts in neurological trauma a year ago to prepare for your case.”

Jason goes still. “A year?” he echoes blankly.

Bruce gives one stiff nod.

Jason’s eyes are wide. “Bruce…” he starts in a tone that Bruce hasn’t heard in years, certainly well before Jason’s trip to Ethiopia. The way he’s looking at him too, for once without anger or hate or spite, but with disbelieving awe - Bruce has to look away.

Eyes back on the road, he clears his throat. “Burgers.”

Jason starts. “What?”

“We should get burgers,” Bruce announces as he makes a u-turn that causes a cascade of honks from the traffic behind them. “For old time’s sake.”

Jason smiles, a real smile, not a sneer or smirk. “If I say yes, are you gonna eat it with a fork and knife?”

“Of course,” Bruce says as he steps on the gas. “I’m not a savage.”

A hundred kisses to @a-canceled-stamp for betaing this oneshot!

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M (SMUT)

Contains: Satoru x submissive virgin, Satoru x fem oc, married couple, wife receiving.

Warnings: smut, groping, fingering, dirty talk, oral, raw sex, consummation, blood, first time, crying, screaming, fluff, cute couple shit, love confessions, all the usual fixings.

For the next few days Hannah was patient. She did not jump at the first opportunity, choosing to set her plan in motion when Makoto was away visiting family. The housekeeper would be gone a week, leaving her and Satoru alone in the house. Just the two of them. No one else.

The clock on her dresser struck six o’clock. They had just eaten dinner - leftovers from last night - and allotted themselves some free time before bed. Hannah made all the necessary preparations; bathed, brushed her teeth, shaved her legs. She wanted this evening to be perfect. Perfect for him.

Now cleaned and freshened up, she walked into her closet where her wedding attire hung and lifted the first notch off her ikō, mindful not to let the rest of the rack topple over as there was little else keeping it together. She tilted the notch to one side. The uchikake slid out with ease and tumbled to the floor. The October sun had already set. Only a small paper lantern burned in the closet, capturing the silver threads and lilac wisteria in its light. The little wife gathered the precious garment in her arms and prayed for guidance.

She would wait another hour, but no more.

The hour had passed. Hannah stood outside his bedroom in the hallway. She was accustomed to them sleeping in her room, but that was about to change.

Mustering the courage, her knuckles rapped twice on his door.

“Satoru?” she squeaked.

Nothing at first.

Then the sound of shuffling footsteps.

The door slid open.

Satoru popped out, wearing matching grey sweatpants and tee, readers poised on the bridge of his nose. He must’ve been in the middle of reading something. His mouth stretched into a yawn.

“Hey you, I was just about to head over. Ready for bed?”

Hannah did not answer and looked down at the floor, blushing like mad. “N-not exactly.”

The confusion was apparent on his face. He didn’t understand. It was late. Why wasn’t she ready for bedtime? But it didn’t take long for him to realize what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing. His Six Eyes saw right through the wedding kimono like crystal clear water.

Oh.

Oh.

Feeling there was no time to waste, Hannah started to unloop the kimono, freeing the double knots she so expertly tied and untied a million times from poor nerves. Her hands shook feverishly. But just as the second tie came undone, she felt callused fingertips covet her own, halting their ministrations. She looked up to see pools of turquoise blue boring into her.

“We don’t have to do this, Hannah?” One hand moved to cradle the small of her back, holding her close. “There’s no rush.”

Hannah felt the urge to cry, but tried suppressing it. “Oh, I think we’ve danced around the subject long enough.” She smiled despite the emotion threatening to spill over. “Because you see, my darling, I’ve been a fool. A bloody, stupid fool.”

“A fool?” He stepped in to gingerly cup her face. “What makes you say that?”

The tears came freely. Hannah stared directly into his eyes; hazel colliding with blue, and did not mince words, voice carrying a shred of vulnerability.

“I love you, Gojō Satoru,” she said. “I was a fool not to see it sooner, but I’m willing to make it up to you. If you’ll have me.”

The Six Eyes wilder pressed a thumb to her lips, holding her into silence. Like the striking of a match, the smoldering of a flame, something awakened in his eyes she could not pinpoint, a light that could not be extinguished. Saying nothing, he wiped away her tears and lowered his hands to the drawstring of her kimono, whispering in an almost childlike voice. “May I?”

Obedient, Hannah let her hands fall to her sides as he tugged the knot, unraveling the uchikake he had gifted her from its silken chrysalis.

The wedding kimono dropped to the floor.

Hannah stood before him, naked as the day she was born. Like a sculptor assessing his fine handiwork, Satoru gave himself a moment of pause, eyes sloping over her breasts, nipples puckering from the sudden chill, nice and pink, the ones he’d been lusting after since he first saw her singing in the bath. His hands lifted to cup the supple mounds for himself, but not before he glanced to his wife for silent permission. Hannah gave a singular nod and gasped as one warm palm slipped underneath, gently bouncing the flesh up and down repeatedly, circling the pink bud with a calloused thumb. She was the perfect size, not too big, not too small. Exactly how he liked it, and his training regimen had worked wonders; His wife wasn’t a scrawny twig anymore. There was meat on them bones.

A beating pulse began throbbing between his legs the more he weighed her, stared at her. “Holy shit, Hannah, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to…,” he lost his train of thought, coveting her other breast. “So beautiful.”

His fingers were positively electric, sending prickles down her spine, massaging both breasts in a manner she hadn’t considered. Whenever she happened to touch herself running a rag in the wash or dressing into a bra such touches elicited no effect, but the fact these were his hands made all the difference. She liked it. It felt good.

It felt right.

Finishing his assessment, Satoru relinquished his hold. Callused hands sought hers and gently pulled her towards his bed, turquoise blue eyes filled with insatiable desire. He sat her down along the edge and backed away.

He lifted his shirt.

Loosened the drawstring of his sweatpants.

Hooked the elastic of his boxers.

And as he removed the last article of clothing, Hannah turned to look away, retaining those last vestiges of innocence, but Satoru denied her.

“Hannah.” He said it softly like a reprimand. “Look at me.”

She drew a shaky breath and slowly inclined her head, forcing herself to see.

Her lips parted.

Hannah had studied the male anatomy in biology books, seen Michelangelo's David up close during a pilgrimage to Florence, but Satoru standing before her in all his glory stole her breath away. He was truly a sight. A living monument of corded muscle and chiseled abs and years of discipline combined with blood, sweat, and tears. Everything about him was a masterpiece. From the definition of his arms to the carved ridge of his v, prompting her gaze to wander to their joined axis.

Her eyes widened.

He’s big, she noted. Bigger than the average male, already red and very erect, muscles relaxing so blood could pour into the corpora and harden the spongy tissue inside. Hannah knew at this stage his heart rate had elevated significantly nor could he feel the sticky precum oozing out his penis. His balls had swelled to twice their normal size, brewing millions of tiny sperm preparing to travel through the ejaculatory duct, whereby they would mix with seminal fluids from the prostate and exit out his urethra in search of an egg during climax. (That was the clinical side of it, anyway). Where things got tricky depended on what followed afterwards because —

“We can’t use condoms,” she blurted, clasping her mouth, swallowing as she watched a dribble of precum drip to the floor.

If Satoru’s cock wasn’t throbbing so badly like a stallion cooped in a barn full of mares, he would've voiced his opposition. It’s not that they “can’t” use condoms. No, no, no. It’s that they “wouldn’t.”

Vaguely curious on what to expect, Satoru had skimmed the Church’s stance on marriage and sex, Pope John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, and why most forms of contraception were frowned upon, excluding NFP. While he saw the logic, he vehemently opposed the conclusions. Contraception and birth control had lifted millions out of poverty, gave women the freedom to work and make their own choices. To think otherwise was outdated as it was regressive. Perhaps a small, minute part of him believed Hannah would rebel against her religious views, but alas. They were going oh naturale whether he liked it or not, and if she fell pregnant, so be it. He was in no position to argue.

Satoru steadied himself.

“I’m gonna open you up first, alright?”

Hannah gave a nervous nod. “O-Okay.”

“If you want me to stop for any reason, let me know.”

She nodded again.

Satoru cradled her chin, eyes serious. “I mean it, Hannah,” he said, smoothing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I can get a little carried away sometimes. If there’s anything I do wrong, tell me.”

She held his steady gaze and folded her hands over his. “I trust you.”

Satoru pressed his forehead to hers and splayed his hand over her stomach. She shivered as he gently pushed her down on the bed, taking ownership of her hips, and settling himself between her thighs.

At once, his touch went from languid to worshipful, breath hovering over her chest like warm vapor, encouraging the shy nipple to respond accordingly and relax. With lustful ardor, his mouth overtook it, sucking and pulling on the pink bud, while using his left hand to fondle the other breast. She could feel his hardness rub against her stomach, hearing him moan in pleasure. Hannah was beyond starstruck. Never had she experienced anything like this before. The swirling of his tongue combined with his thumb tracing around her nipple had her pressing her head to the mattress.

In time, his hand gravitated towards the warm cove of her thighs, slowly prying the legs open more to untangle the dark web of curls, gently combing the hair. Hannah felt the need to hide her face, embarrassed that he wanted to touch her there; the one area she hadn’t shaved. A dark chuckle roiled from him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teased, wringing the curls. “You know how much I like playing with your hair,” his hand started to dip further inwards, “Unless…there’s something else you think I should play with.” A violent shudder became her as his fingers teetered closer and closer to the tender swell underneath. “Let’s have a feel, shall we?”

Before she could think, two of Satoru’s fingers slipped inside, curling ever so slightly to imitate what he was about to do with a different body part. Hannah shut her eyes, struggling to find breath as Satoru toyed and teased and smarted. He added a third finger and soon Hannah could feel his entire hand caressing her arousal, thumb and pinkie stroking the folds in slow, deliberate circles, while his three remaining fingers plunged in and out of her continually, pleasuring her as best he could till the flesh grew achingly sensitive. Hannah let out a pitiful whimper, rocking her hips to match his “come hither” rhythm in the hopes it would help alleviate the budding tension collecting at her navel.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Small trembles ran through her as he went deeper, her little moaning pants mingling with the slick sounds of him stroking for her most sensitive spot.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he purred, feeling her clamp tighter and tighter around his fingers. He dipped his head in the crook of her neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin just below her ear. “Don’t fight it now…Ah, you’re going to cum any second…Yes, I can feel you cumming…my Hannah…my Hannah…my Hannah...”

An all consuming heat suddenly surged through Hannah’s body; her head, her breasts, her stomach, pooling down between her hips until she felt her entrance hold and release around his fingers like a heartbeat. A rush of moisture came to the forefront, coating the invasive digits in fresh wetness. After digging a little more, Satoru withdrew the soiled fingers and eagerly brought them to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled, cock panging for her in earnest. He welcomed the flood of endorphins to invade his brain and he licked each finger dry. Her very first orgasm was his for the taking, and it smelled and tasted better than anything he could’ve imagined. He wanted, no, needed more.

A feral look possessed him. Satoru knelt at the foot of the bed and propped her legs over his shoulders, leaving them to dangle like streamers, and before Hannah realized what was going on, his craven tongue was gliding along the wet folds of her pussy, licking the rims clean and stroking his way to the juicy center as though savoring a melted treat. Overwhelmed, Hannah’s soft whimpers turned to moans. “Satoru,” she called out and tried clamping her legs together when she started orgasming a second time. His wicked tongue plunged deeper. “Satoru!!” she cried louder, but Satoru had spread her hips wide apart, listening to his name being repeated over and over again as she came inside his mouth. So many wonderful, delicious sounds, envisioning her flushed cheeks, parted lips, and heavy-lidded eyes lashes. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to wring as many orgasms out of her like this as humanly possible.

Below, his cock was screaming for release. Satoru groped the hardened juncture below in an effort to appease it, stroking once, twice, feeling very tempted to throw in the towel and go all in. It ached like a motherfucker, but he had to pull away.

Although, he underestimated Hannah’s pleasure in this. Not wanting it to end, her hands clamored for his mouth to return, but Satoru quickly seized them. “No, sweetheart, no.” He kissed her knuckles. “If I keep doing that, I won’t last much longer.”

Her next words were dangerous.

“Then don’t,” she whimpered, practically begging. “I don’t want you to last.”

He tucked a trestle of auburn behind her ear. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” came her delirious response. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Regaining his balance, Satoru lifted her hips and properly angled himself.

Thanks to their warm-up, he slid inside her without much resistance, cock warm and heavy, stretching the virgin skin to accommodate its larger girth, yet the sensation was so intense and unyielding Hannah clenched without giving it a second thought. No, this was nothing like his fingers, nor his tongue. She felt her privates were on fire, as though his hardness was made of fiberglass, penetrating deeper and deeper until her walls thinned out and split open. Something tore. She smelled blood.

“Satoru,” she cried, gritting her teeth as tears watered her eyes. “It’s…Oh, God.”

“Breathe, Hannah,” he panted the deeper he went. “I broke your hymen. You’re alright, just breathe for me, sweetheart.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, baby, but breathing helps. Breathe, Hannah.” He watched her choke on an inhale and release a long, staggered breath. “Good girl, just like that.” She didn’t tell him to stop, so he pushed in a little more, her wet pussy squeezing around him. Fuck, she was tight. By far the tightest he’d ever had and the feeling was indescribable, her walls hugging him in all the right places, hitting the bulbous gland at the tip of his penis at just the right — Oh yeah. That’s the spot. This was Satoru’s first time with a virgin and in a daze he almost forgot himself, swearing never to use condoms again. Nuh-uh, nope, not when she felt like this. Not when she made him feel bigger, fuller even.

Meanwhile, Hannah clutched onto him for dear life, nails digging into his shoulder blades like mountain hooks. “Move,” she begged the deeper he went. “Satoru, please move.”

“Give me a minute, baby,” he huffed, voice velvet soft. “I’m almost there,” and with one final nudge his penis went as far as it would go, kissing the entrance of her womb.

Hannah grabbed a fistful of sheets, her throat so clenched she could barely form the words, “Satoru…please.”

Knowing she was having a rough go, Satoru eased his hips and did a little shimmy, making the intrusion more bearable. Hannah’s breathing steadied. He reached up and cupped her teary-eyed face, wanting one final look at her before they took the plunge. Although, in many ways they already had. His knees quivered from restraint.

“I’ll start slow,” he hushed, stroking her burning cheeks lovingly.

Hannah managed another nod and hooked her arms around his neck.

“You ready?”

“Hmhm,” she grimaced.

And so it began.

As promised, he set a maddeningly slow pace for her at first, gently tilting to a new spot each time he entered, allowing his cock to explore every inch of her sex with undiluted pleasure. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he praised between thrusts. “Aah, so good.” Tears flowed freely down Hannah’s cheeks with every torturous roll of his hips, every sharp gasp, every languid moan and sweet encouragement pouring out his mouth; fiberglass, heat, fire. She felt she would melt. It was too much.

Somewhere amidst their rigor, she managed to recapture his lips in a needy kiss, holding down her muffled cries and wrapped her legs around his torso, smooshing their bellies together. It helped. The pain eased a little the more he gyrated. She forgot the stench of blood. Panting for breath, Hannah broke from the kiss and pressed her head to the mattress as his large calloused hands resumed fondling her now very sore and tender breasts, giving her focus to the sound of their bodies slapping hard against each other, growing louder and faster the more they went at it.

She felt the muscles hook around her navel once more. The peaks of her nipples tightened and her core began pounding harder than ever before. A thousand tiny dots obscured her vision, along with a faint ringing developing in her ears. Her mouth went slack. Sensing she was close, Satoru grunted and took the opportunity to lower his hand, using his thumb and index to stroke the wings of her clit, causing the edges of her vision to turn stark-white. Then he rammed upwards as far as he could and somewhere in the back of her mind Hannah knew she was belting his name, screaming it loud for all to hear, but she didn’t care and neither did he. Their bodies were functioning on autopilot, grinding aggressively back and forth in fine, strobic movements. Lost to both pain and pleasure.

Their lovemaking reached its acme when a resounding groan, deep and guttural, coursed through Satoru’s throat like a low keening. Hannah felt his groin expand within her, the surmounting pressure bringing him past the point of no return, fully opening him up. There was no stopping it now. Faster and faster he bucked, spinal reflexes working full throttle, and within seconds Hannah felt something warm and sticky gush between her thighs. She heard a noticeable squelch as six months worth of abstinence and desperate longing came channeling out in heavy intervals; one, two, three, four…her insides were like liquid. Meanwhile, Satoru closed his eyes and snapped back his head, moaning loudly with every newfound release. Hannah’s own eyes lulled as yet a new orgasm engulfed her senses, his warm seed spilling into her like rainwater to the parched ground. Their fingers found each other, weaving into place. So this was what it was like when a man came inside you, she thought. It was the most incredible she felt in ages, if not, ever. Her toes and fingers tingled. Was she floating?

It was over as soon as it began. Satoru needed a good minute to expel himself, humping a few extra times to make sure he had finished, wanting her to have every last drop. He raised his head to catch his breath, ignoring how sensitive his genitals felt inside her.

Caught in a state of bliss, turquoise blue and moss brown stared into each other for a blissful moment, both disoriented. Satoru watched new tears stream down his wife’s cheeks as she began to sob, overcome with joy and euphoria. They’d done it. They’d really done it. The amber glow of the lights made her skin look radiant. She was his sun, his obsession, his hana. They’re would be no one else.

He wiped away her happy tears and sought her hand, wedding rings glistening from an oath fulfilled, skin-warmed and gold.

“Daisuki, Satoru,” he heard her sigh contentedly in the lantern glow.

Having yet to pull out, he hunched himself over so their foreheads could touch. “Not as much as I love you,” he replied in English and sealed her lips in a final kiss, cradling her in his arms as he positioned their bodies to lay beside each other on the bed, still conjoined.

If only they could remain like that forever. Never to be parted.

His wife.

Her husband.

One flesh.

At long last.

Chapter Contents

[thelensofyashunews]

Rising Detroit Rapper 1Up Tee Can't Help But Keep It Real

Born and raised in Westside Detroit, 1Up Tee is a product of his environment. Unlike many born into his circumstances, however, 1Up Tee does not accept the conditions of his home and the society's cultural expectations for granted. In his incisive anthems, the 25-year-old rapper questions conventional wisdom, pointing out contradictions in the way we live our lives, and striving to find a fairer way forward. 

1Up Tee grew up playing football, rapping on the side to vent his feelings, influenced by rappers like Babyface Ray and Payroll Giovanni. When he realized that he wouldn't go pro on the gridiron, Tee turned his attention to the booth full time. Tee wrote about the things he observed in his hometown, teaming up with close friend D Hen 1UP to release the mixtape Y.N.A. in 2022. Tee eventually turned his attention towards the anti-social behavior he witnessed all too often on social media. 

1Up Tee capitalized on his hometown momentum with the single "Accountability," released in 2022, framed as a conversation between two sides of himself–one side lamenting his lack of success so far, and the other side telling him to shape up and get to work. Tee's momentum continued into 2023, with singles like "Spoiled Rotten" and "Double Life" leading into the Upper EP in May. Late last year, Tee's profile began to cross out of the Great Lakes region and make waves nationwide: the catalyst was "Good Karma (Freestyle)," an examination about why bad things happen to real ones, which became a viral On The Radar performance and generated over 4 million on-demand streams. He kept the karma going with January's "Lose Lose," which earned attention from Pitchfork, racking up over 1.8 million streams in its first six weeks. 

1Up Tee has tastemakers like Pitchfork and On The Radar giving their approval, along with social media co-signs from Meek Mill, athletes like Damian Lillard and Marshawn Lynch, and fellow Detroiters including Babyface Ray, Dej Loaf, and BabyTron. Preparing to release more singles, and an upcoming project, Tee is ready to become the next rapper to break out of the Motor City. 

Stay tuned for much more.

[eddystshirts]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW DEADSTOCK 00s Vintage Aretha Franklin Queen Of Soul Rap Tee T Shirt RARE.

[missanissa71]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: I Am Still Music Tour Graphic Rap Tee Lil Wayne Keri Hilson Rick Ross Size XS.

[theeverlastingshade]

Blue Lips- Schoolboy Q

No matter how old I get, or who I’m talking about, I still can’t help but particularly admire great new records from artists who were once releasing great work but had fallen off somewhat since their last notable work. Beyond the surface level “comeback” narrative, there’s something inspiring and ultimately very human about creative peaks and pitfalls that refreshingly sidesteps the black and white binary conducive to pop culture which champions the notion of a short shelf life and a definitive expiration date. The story is far from set in stone while an artist is still engaged with their craft, and it’s a fool’s errand to outright dismiss the future work of an artist due to a perceived misfire at any point after they released something that you connected with. It’s been 5 years since Schoolboy Q’s dull, cruise-control rendered yawn of a record, Crash Talk, which unfortunately capped off what was previously nearly a decade of good to great records that helped largely define the sound of west coast hip-hop throughout the 2010s. Q’s recently released LP 6th Blue Lips, which features more than its fair share of his best music to date, is not only among the most satisfying course corrections of the decade so far (up there with Animal Collective’s Time Skiffs and Yo La Tengo’s This Stupid World), but it’s also among the year’s biggest highlights so far. But don’t call BL a comeback; this is a recalibration of the highest order.

Q’s music has always swung wildly from the giddy exuberance of party anthems to bone-chilling street missives with a rich, multifaceted perspective in the eye of the storm as the connective tissue, but BL sidesteps this dichotomy altogether by embracing a rejuvenated, ambitious spirit. BL spans 18 songs in 53 minutes, opening with a sunny sampledelic interlude devoid of bars, and closes with an r&b slow jam; it’s an excessive and occasionally messy affair, but the indulgence is the point, and throughout this dense web of sonics is a rapper in complete control of his craft continuing to push against his limitations. These songs unfold with unpredictable angles and are often propelled by predominantly jazz-heavy samples that work to demolish any lingering perception of Q as a one-dimensional weed-rapper. The single “Yeern 101” is catnip for any MC worth their salt and Q tears it to shreds, rapping in an urgent double time flow like his life depended on it. On the other side of the spectrum are subdued cruisers like “Blueslides” and “Nunu”, which are imbued with great melodies and plenty of negative space to luxuriate in between the blistering verses on either side. And the Freddie Gibbs assisted “Ohio” is a prog rap epic that moves through 3 disparate movements with finesse and precision, and not only does it not collapse under the weight of its ambition, but Q coasts through the off-kilter arrangements with the ease of a flawless Super Mario Bros speed run. Not everything on BL works, but the highs are sublime and the misfires are far and few between.

While Q brings his A game to BL, he’s also assisted by a plethora of collaborators that elevate his vision at nearly every turn. “Pop”, the 2nd track (and first actual song) is basically just Q teeing up Rico Nasty for an characteristically visceral verse, while “Foux” reunites Q with Ab-Soul who finds his groove again within the midst of the busy, percussion-heavy instrumental. Childish Major sustain the sinister allure of the prickly, penultimate “Pig Feet”, while Gibbs, a rapper known for consistently excellent features, outdoes himself on the obtuse, aforementioned “Ohio” with a gleefully dexterous verse. The beats, courtesy of an all-star team of producers that include the likes of The Alchemist, Beat Butcha, Cardo, DJ Kahlil and many others, range from psychedelic to soulful to funky to nasty with a zealous, crate digging acumen that narrowly avoids exuding an overwhelming sense of disjointed whiplash throughout its eclectic sonic sprawl. BL unfolds closer to a grab bag compilation that showcases how adeptly Q can navigate a plethora of different beats and moods than a tight front to back listening experience, and what he sacrifices in terms of lean cohesion he more than makes up for in satisfying risks that pay off far more often than not. Q has been a great rapper for well over a decade now, but he’s never showcased his ability to rap over anything thrown his way quite like he showcases throughout BL.

Throughout the bulk of BL Q preoccupies himself with surveying how he got to where he is, and contends with the pervasive fear that everything that he’s worked for could dissipate in the blink of an eye. On “Blueslides”, Q succinctly lays out the anxiety at the record’s core right in the first verse “Better climb out that hole before you fuck up your blessings/’Fore you realize that it’s over and start to get desperate/Keep your mind, body on pressure, give your time when it’s needed/Know a man gon’ be a man, if he don’t work, he ain’t eatin’” which is juxtaposed superbly against the song’s lush veneer. On “Cooties” Q’s gaze turns outwards toward societal decay and the concerns of trying to raise a child in our late-stage capitalist hellscape “Mass shootings, when will they stop it? Hmm/’Nother child gone for unlimited profits/Rather keep my kid home before you fuck up the process” over another richly-rendered beat, while “Time killers” and “Pig feet” are chilling calls to arms against snitches and cops that serve as stark reminders of Q’s tumultuous past. BL slowly reveals itself as Q’s most personal and introspective project to date in addition to being his most ambitious, and it’s a testament to his tenacity that he was able to make a record this accomplished this late into his career. BL probably won’t achieve the sort of cultural cachet that Habits and Contradictions did, nor the sort of old head cred that something like Blank Face LP inspires, but through its knotty, unorthodox presentation it reveals itself as Q’s best work yet.

Essentials: “Ohio” ft. Freddie Gibbs, “Yeern 101”, “Pig Feet” ft. Childish Major

[c-40]

A-T-3 319 I've Got A New Rap It's all about SPACE

The Challenger Space Shuttle made its maiden voyage in April 1983 and Return Of The Jedi was the blockbuster movie of that year. ET had been the movie of 1982. Space was pretty big news and this was reflected in music. Here's a round-up of a few that I haven't shared already

Jun Fukamachi - Galaxy Of Outlaws from Queen Emeraldus Synthesizer Fantasy. Anime has it's own space history (more from this below)

Charlie - Spacer Woman. First American woman in space was also 1983, I think... 20-years after the Russians

David Keaton - Space Control b-side of another cover of Them's Gloria

Alien Diplomat - Eee-Tee Come Home. Spelled Eee-Tee to get around copyright... genius

Pure Energy - Spaced Out (Party Mix) mixed by Jellybean

Raw Silk - Just In Time & Space (Dub) underrated follow up to Do It To The Music mixed by Nick Martinelli & David Todd - remember that Spaced Out comp?

Bill - Space Lady originally a b-side reissued this year

Jun Fukamachi - Space Illusion from Queen Emeraldus Synthesizer Fantasy

Robert Schröder - Skywalker backed by Space Detective which I prefer but can't find a link to. Robert Schröder was Double Fantasy

Greg Hawkes - Voyage Into Space keyboard and bassist for The Cars

[bradwuzhere]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Double Sided KoRn Clown Doll Head Tee.

[hotwings0203]

i’m thinking abt Police officer reader arresting scummy smexy Touya. Like he smirks when she arrests him and cuffs his hands to his back. I want him in me fr 😍‼️

Tw:none really, maybe sexual harassment and implied noncon

“Officer 776, we got a black sedan coming up your way on I-10. Do you copy?”

You sign and turn your music off before reaching for your walkie talkie and responding, “Yes, I copy.”

And sure enough, the only car that zooms by at 2 am on a Saturday night is a black sedan. It’s a shame, really, you were enjoying the city view by yourself without anyone to keep an eye on. You’re usually posted for ticket duty, but this time you got promoted for night watch.

You would’ve liked to continue leaning back in your seat and watch the only sky slowly dust with stars, but duty calls as the blue custom headlights go streaking past you.

Begrudgingly, you pull your driving handle back and start going after him, turning your lights on in the process and raising the siren.

You’re not even surprised when it takes some slight honking and almost a two mile mini-chase to get the car to pull over at the side of the gravelly road.

The car in front of you stalls, and you observe the status of the car itself. It’s hard to make out the look of the vehicle in the dark even with your headlights blaring in front of it, but you guess it’s a Mazda sedan or something of the sort just like how your higher-up said.

You take a deep breath and gather your flashlight as you open your door and swing outside.

On the short walk to the driver’s side you notice darker marks on the car…almost like they were scorch marks.

That’s strange.

The window is tinted and up. You roll your eyes in annoyance and give three sharp raps to the glass.

“Open the window and keep your hands on the steering wheel after.”

You wait a moment. It doesn’t budge.

A crease appears in your eyebrows and you quickly glance around. It’s completely deserted, just you and the perpetrator.

“I’m gonna have to ask you once more. Open the window otherwise-“

You cut off as the black glass slowly rolls down, revealing a man with ivory hair and black tips at the ends, his face scarred but astonishingly handsome. His mouth, eyebags, lower half of his face and ears are laced with silver piercings…stitches? Maybe, but whatever. Focus on the task at hand.

“What can I help you with meter maid?” Comes his sleazy, gravelly voice.

You lean down and rest an elbow on his lowered window, squinting at his smug face. His eyes are crinkled with the slight upturn of his lips, imitating a crude smirk.

No ones in the car with him, but you can faintly smell some kind of skunk aroma, and alarm bells go off in your head.

“Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Fast enough apparently, if I copped a sexy thing like you all for myself.”

He props his chin on his scarred hand and rests his elbow right next to yours, mocking your petulant expression.

You grimace and move your hand away from his. He pouts as you continue berating him.

“It’s 2am on a weekend, sir. Where were you headed off to that you had to be there in such a rush?”

The man sighs loudly and lets his head fall back against his leather seat, lips puffing out and fingers moving to drum against his steering wheel.

“Oh you know, the usual. Fucking bitches, getting money, anything a no-good handsome bastard like me does on the regular. Not like I’d expect you to know, meter maid.” He smirks showing his white canines and slowly looks you up and down.

When you scowl he raises his hands innocently and shrugs.

“Just kidding sweetheart. I was actually on my way to burn a few bodies, I’m a hit man y’know. Very much on the wanted list. I’m good at what I do…if you ever need a man, or a body,just call me.” He winks and his infuriating grin doesn’t falter as you yank open the door and practically throw his lanky figure out of the car.

He doesn’t put up any effort of resistance, just lets you push him down by the neck onto the hood of his car, his body bent as you begin searching him.

You know you smell some type of drug in the car but you’re not actually rooting through his pockets looking for gold. You just want a little bit of saving-face from his sleazy mouth.

He exhales and laughs as his cheek smushes against the black steel, his breath puffing up condensation on the hood while you pat his sides down.

“Put your hands on the car sir, and don’t move unless you want to be taken into a cell overnight.” You mutter as you feel his studded belt, his white tee revealing a toned yet sharp body underneath.

The man sighs in faux annoyance. “What’s with the attitude babe? If you’re feeling me up you might as well lose that cold shoulder. The name’s Touya by the way, I would’ve given it to you sooner if I knew you just wanted to get under my pants.”

You freeze as his words register right when you pay down his inner thighs for any suspicious substance-just following protocol.

Nevertheless, you instinctively shoot your hands to your side and sputter indignantly.

“You-you can’t talk to an officer like that! Are you drunk? Count to 100 for me.” You try to divert the conversations to where you have the upper hand, but you should’ve known Touya wasn’t gonna let it be that easy.

“Sure thing meter maid. It’s 1-800-*******.”

“What?”

“That’s my number. Be grateful, I don’t usually give opps my digits that easily, but you’re giving me a fun time so why not?” He cranes his head toward you and licks his lips seductively.

You’re thankful for the darkness of the night, for you can surely feel the best rise to your cheeks at his blatant…flirting?

“Shut up. Just let me do my job asshole.”

The walkie talkie crackles with static as your supervisor calls in to check on how you’re doing, but before you can speak into it Touya cries out suddenly.

“Help! Oh, help me officer! This meter maid is touching all over my little willy! She has ulterior motives I swear it!” He moans loudly and you snap the device shut before turning to him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Do you want me to get fired?” You hiss, but all you get in return is a maniacal grin.

“Sure, ‘means you can fuck around without any protocol then, right?” The man starts arching his hips up in a perverse manner and shoves his ass back into your torso.

You snarl and reach over his back, grabbing both of his hands and slapping a pair of cuffs on him before manhandling him the other way, his face finally aligned with yours, back against the cool steel.

“Oh, so you like it rough, huh?”

You ignore him and drop to a squat, taking his combat boots off less-than-gently and shaking them out for any real baggie.

“Shoulda’ told me sooner doll, we could’ve gotten this along wayyyy sooner.”

You slowly raise your eyes up and take in an eyeful of his thrusting hips mere inches from your eyes.

He’s looking down at you with one eyebrow raised and his usual smirk adorning his features.

Your blood rushes through your body like you just ran a marathon, and you abruptly stand before him, making sure your shoulder checks his straining bulge on your way up.

He yelps and doubles over, unable to clutch his prized possession.

This time when he straightens up with a twisted scowl, you’re the one grinning at him instead.

“Yeah, you’re right, actually. If you’re gonna get me fired anyways might as well do what I want, right?”

You open his passenger door and give him an innocent smile as he watches you warily.

After about 10 minutes of looting through his car and trunk, sure enough you produce a couple of large ziploc bags filled with white powder and copious amounts of cash under thinly concealed pockets in the back.

You hold all of these findings up, and each one of the revelations are either met with a mocking pout or a careless shrug.

Your skin starts to get hotter despite the chill of the night as none of your efforts to match his energy are met with any fruition. In fact, it seems to rile him up more.

“Looks like you’re getting tired hon. Why not use all that energy on this dick?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re not very good at this job, huh? You’d be better as some kind of stripper. Actually, nah, that’s too good of a job for you, maybe a prostitute stuck in my bed would satisfy you.”

On and on he goes as you practically raid his car, even throwing out belongings that aren’t in any way questionable.

Eventually you reach your tipping point. You make sure he’s watching you as you walk around back towards him and plant your feet squarely in front of him, taking your stance.

You reach into your pocket to produce your walkie, cock your arm back, and throw it as far as you can into the surrounding field.

“Where’s that smile now Touya? You scared you can’t defend yourself without anyone on the other side listening in?”

The ivory haired man shakes his head and sighs as if dealing with a grace loss. Your own brows furrowed as he looks up at you with a sorrowful expression, one that doesn’t quite scream sincere when the car lights reflect an excited gleam in his cerulean eyes.

“Nah, sweetheart. I’m actually more worried for you.”

And with a sound as soft as bell chimes, the tugs his hands at the back for a moment and brings his arms forward, palms spread and showing you cuff-less palms of blue hellfire.

He thinks you look pretty when the blue light reflects pure terror on your shadowed face.

“That was a stupid move, throwing your only hope of salvation away. I wasn’t lying, y’know. I really am a hit man. But I’ll take my own offer.”

As you turn to begin to sprint away he smiles again, this one more earnestly remorseful.

“I’ll be a hit man and a body you need for tonight.”

[eddystshirts]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW DEADSTOCK 00s Vintage Aretha Franklin Queen Of Soul Rap Tee T Shirt Graphic.

[kwanisms]

Collision Course 42a: showtime pt 1

previous || next

summary: Y/N is a twitch streamer by day, camgirl by night. Having just moved from Busan to Seoul, Y/N soon learns that leading a double life can have serious consequences if she doesn’t trust the right people. What will happen when her two worlds start to collide?

pairing: soonyoung x y/n x wonwoo

warning: strong language, provocative images, sexual content, see each piece for warnings

start date: 2020.07.06

end date: tba

updates every monday, wednesday, friday @ 7PM CST

a/n: times and dates don't matter!

➭ series masterlist

➭ add your name to the taglist

Soonyoung let out a nervous breath as he pulled into the parking garage for your building. Turning off the engine, he sat in his seat for a few moments before shaking his head and reminding himself that this wasn't weird. He could do this and he wasn't going to back out now.

He grabbed the duffel bag in the passenger seat and got out of the car, shutting his door behind him. He locked his car and headed toward the door that led to the lobby of your building, putting the code in and stepped inside.

The walk to the elevator felt longer than ever as he passed by the other residents and staff of the building. He tried not to show exactly how nervous he was as he reached the elevators and pressed the up button.

You shook your head before beginning to brush through the wig you had chosen for the night. It was a long wavy dusty lavender wig that faded to pink and even further into a cream at the tips. You had styled it simply, curling the bangs slightly. The waves fell past your shoulder, contrasting well with the black lingerie you had chosen.

The lingerie was a gift given to you a while back by Soonyoung before you knew it was him. It was a simple lace set with a moon charm between your breasts where the cups met with thin straps from the shoulder straps that crossed over your chest in a simple design. 

The panties matched with a moon charm sewn into the bow on the back, the sides had a similar strap pattern as the bra holding the front and back pieces together. Over your set, you wore a short black pleather skirt and a light grey long sleeved shirt with black thigh high socks.

You finished brushing the wig and set aside the brush, glancing up at your reflection in your vanity to make sure your makeup wasn't smudged. You smiled at yourself before turning to glance at the items laid out on the cushion behind you. You had chosen a wide array of toys for Soonyoung's first stream and were prepared to let him use them on you, or if he was feeling adventurous, to use on him.

You stood up and walked over to the camera, checking to make sure it was secured to the tripod and that the battery was full. You heard your phone go off and walked back to your vanity to check it. It wasn't from Soonyoung, instead it was from Seonghwa asking if there was a stream tonight.

You answered him quickly, letting him know there was a surprise for tonight before setting your phone down and walking out of the film room and down the hall towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Taking a couple sips, you stared off into your living area, mind wandering.

Soonyoung was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the elevator dinging as it arrived. He looked up as the doors opened and he was met with an empty elevator, as he had hoped. Stepping inside, he pressed the button for your floor and waited as the doors slid shut and the lift began to move.

His hand gripping the handle of his bag began to sweat, feeling clammy as he readjusted his grip. He had no reason to be nervous. You had everything planned out. There was nothing to be nervous about. It wasn't like he was unattractive. You had proven time and time again that you were more than attracted to him so why was he so nervous?

The elevator arrived on your floor, giving Soonyoung no more time to think as he stepped out and walked down the hall to your door, stopping just outside. Soonyoung raised his hand and hesitated. He wanted to knock but he couldn't bring himself to make contact with your door.

Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked, knuckles rapping on the wood of your door.

A knocking caught your attention and you looked away from your living room toward the door. You waited, making sure you heard correctly and your suspicions were confirmed when there was another set of knocks. You set your bottle of water down and walked over to open the door.

Soonyoung stood on the other side, eyes widened as you opened the door. You smiled at him. "Hey, you greeted him. Soonyoung's eyes swept over you quickly before he looked back up. "Hey," he said breathlessly. You stepped aside to let him into your apartment, shutting the door behind him.

He carried a bag with him and set it on the kitchen island as you walked behind him. He turned to face you. "So," he said nervously. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into you. "You sound nervous," you said softly, smiling up at him. Soonyoung pulled you against him, letting out a breath. "I know," he said softly.

You pulled back to look up at him. "Anything I can do to help you relax?" you asked. Soonyoung thought for a moment before a smile slowly spread across his face and you knew exactly what he was thinking. 

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. Soonyoung returned the gesture, his hands sliding down your back and moving to rest on your hips, fingers curling softly into the material of your robe as he deepened the kiss.

The kiss progressed slowly as neither one of you were in a rush. You wanted to take your time working him up, making sure he was relaxed as possible. You felt him pull your hips against his, his growing erection pressing against you.

You pulled back, giggling softly as he followed, chasing after your lips. When you denied him, he pouted slightly. "I wasn't done kissing you," he murmured, leaning forward again but you turned your head, allowing his lips to meet your cheek where he started trailing them down past your jaw.

You let out a soft sigh as his lips pressed softly against your neck. "Should we take this elsewhere?" you felt him mumble against your skin. You nodded swiftly before stepping back, taking his hand in yours and leading him away from the living room and back into your spare bedroom.

Once inside the room, Soonyoung looked around having never been in this room before. You watched as he walked around, looking at the set up he had seen so many times in your streams. He turned to look at you. "So, what now?" he asked. "Did you bring what I told you to bring?" you asked.

Soonyoung nodded before he remembered. "I left my bag in the living room, I'll be right back!" he said before running out of the room and returning moments later with his bag. He set it on a chest you stored your toys in and unzipped it. You walked over to see what he had brought.

"I wasn't sure what to wear so I brought some plain stuff," he admitted, pulling out some plain black shirts and jeans. "But I also brought this," he added pulling out a sweater and a hoodie. You smiled, picking up the sweater. It was a plain one but very soft. You glanced at the jeans and shirts before looking at what he was currently wearing. A plain black long sleeve tee with black joggers. You set the sweater down.

"Actually," you said softly, looking at him as he looked at you. "I like what you're wearing now," you said grabbing one of his hands and pushing the sleeve up toward his elbow, exposing his forearms. You repeated this to the other sleeve and smiled. "Yeah," you said with a nod. "That's perfect."

Soonyoung quickly packed up the clothes and set his bag aside before turning to look at the cushion that had a few toys set out. He walked over to them and when he realized what he was looking at, he blushed. "What are these for?" he asked softly. You smiled, joining him at his side.

"For the stream. You can use them on me," you replied, noticing how his cheeks turned brighter. "Or," you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder. "I could use them on you," you added softly. Soonyoung nearly choked on his own air before he was able to correct his breathing.

"O-okay," he stuttered. You smiled and looked up at him. "I'm going to male sure the camera is in frame. Why don't you pick something to start with," you said, nodding at the toys before walking away. You fiddled with some settings  before making sure everything was perfect. 

You turned to look at Soonyoung who picked up something and was inspecting it. "What did you pick?" you asked. Soonyoung turned to face you, a set of restraints in his hands. "Ooh," you whispered, walking over to take them from him. "Feeling a little bold, are we?" you teased. 

"It's been a while since I've been restrained for my audience," you admitted. Soonyoung shook his head. "I don't want to restrain you," he answered and you cocked your head at him. "I want you to restrain me," he added.

A slow but devious smirk spread across your face. "Is that right?" you asked. Soonyoung nodded. "Well then," you said, moving to stand in front of your chair. "Have a seat and let's get started," you said with a wink.

[sultrysweet]

Supercat - "Are you stupid or stupid?" (Pretty please?)

Are you stupid or stupid? x

Kara almost crash landed on her couch after her latest rescue with soot from the house fire smudged across her forehead, cheeks, and even a knuckle-sized swipe across her chin. Too drained to shower before she stretched out on the cushions, she at least had enough energy to speed change into her gray-sleeved baseball tee and pastel pink shorts that did little to cover much of anything. She opened the rarely used Postmates app on her phone a minute later when someone knocked on her door.

With a sigh, she stood up and tossed her phone on the couch. She trudged toward the unknown visitor and didn’t think to use her x-ray vision, or to even check the peephole, before she yanked the door wide open. 

Expecting anyone else, Kara rested her head against the doorframe and stared disinterestedly at the person in the hallway until her nose caught the scent of pizza. Her unfocused eyes looked down at the set of stacked boxes and widened. She noticed a familiar cross section ring with a green stone tip against the side of the warm boxes right when an even more familiar voice startled her into a more alert state of mind.

“Feel free to take them off my hands any time now.”

“Ms. Grant!” Kara pushed herself away from the door and stood at attention as though her former boss was a drill sergeant. Kara only added to that impression when she grabbed the pizza from Cat without having to be told, as soon as the older woman’s words finally registered. “You’re here! Why are you here?”

“Does it matter?” The former CEO cocked her hip and rested her ring-bearing hand on it while she gave Kara one of her infamous looks that some people might see as an open invitation to challenge the woman. Some people would be wrong.

Kara stared at Cat for a long enough moment of inactivity that it must have felt like a challenge all the same, if Cat rolling her eyes was any indication.

“Fine, someone sent a little birdie to me in D.C. and, now that I know the multiverse has collapsed into...whatever the hell this timeline is, I thought I’d thank you for saving the world. Again.” Cat breezed by her as she walked into the apartment without invitation. “Not to mention that fact that you won your first Pulitzer, which I sadly couldn’t see you receive in person, and I’m sure you haven’t had much of a chance to bask in the glory of that accomplishment.”

Kara stuttered as she turned and watched Cat stroll through her apartment like she owned the place. Knowing what Cat Grant was worth, even after selling CatCo, Kara didn’t dismiss the idea that the other woman could easily own the entire building.

“So, are you going to offer me anything to drink to go along with that pizza?” Cat settled in one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and then squinted at the refrigerator. “Do you even have anything to drink?”

Kara frowned. The usual judgment in Cat’s voice kickstarted higher brain function and led her to close the door and the space between them. “Yes, I have things to drink. And I don’t know what bird would have told you about...the multiverse…” She trailed off as she pieced together a possible, though still unlikely, situation that explained how Cat knew anything about the Vanishing Point. 

“Are you with me yet, Supergirl?”

Kara only stopped staring at the dimly lit kitchen backsplash when she felt the pizza slip out of her grasp. She jolted forward in an attempt to catch the boxes before she could drop any of the food only to nearly push the boxes out of Cat’s hands as the woman guided them onto the counter. “Sorry,” she muttered when she realized her mistake.

“That answers my question.”

“Sorry,” Kara said a little louder, and even managed to make eye contact with the other woman. “It’s been a long day.”

“The grime on your face suggested as much.”

“What?” Kara raised a hand to her cheek with the same urgency as though Cat had pointed out she’d shown up to work in her underwear. “Oh, there was a fire. Wait, go back to how exactly you know about the multiverse. Former multiverse.”

Cat sighed and popped open the top pizza box. “Agent Mulder paid me a visit two days ago and pulled a very E.B.E. move with a finger to my temple.”

“Uh, e-b-what?”

“Extraterrestrial biological entity. Have you never seen The X-Files?” The question came out like an accusation, another judgment, but Cat waved her hand and then pulled a slice of sausage and pepperoni pizza from the box. “Anyway, he zapped me with the knowledge of a world that no longer exists and I was faced with the new reality that Lex Luthor is worshipped instead of reviled, but that wasn’t even the most upsetting thing about all the new memories I gained, or that he unlocked. I’m still not entirely sure how that mind-meld thing works. Although, if you could get him to explain it to me—”

“What,” Kara interrupted with a sharper than intended tone and relaxed a little, “was the most upsetting part?”

“If you or your friend are worried that I’m only interested in knowing how or what he did just to write an expose on it, don’t forget that all my journalistic drive comes from  natural curiosity first and foremost.”

“Cat.”

Another sigh and then, “The most upsetting part was that I could have gone another handful months or even years wrongly believing everything about this new Earth because you were never going to tell me yourself.”

“What?” Kara gripped the edge of the counter and stared wide-eyed at Cat as she gave the woman her full attention. 

“And the only reason I can think that you’d do that is because you still weren’t ready to tell me who you are.”

“Who I…? What?” Kara shook her head as if to a clear dense fog in her brain that prevented her from understanding, or more accurately believing, Cat’s words.

“I know that it’s mostly my fault that you feel you can’t trust me. When I found out the first time, I gave you an impossible ultimatum. I had no right to force that kind of decision on you because it’s your life, your powers, and you will always have control over what you do with them. But I also never stopped to consider that just because you have these abilities doesn’t mean you wouldn’t need to feed, cloth, and house yourself like anyone else living in this world. Pushing you out of a job with me would have only left you to find a paying one somewhere else because I’m sure that government agency you work with doesn’t subsidize their alien associates.”

“Well, there is a great medical plan,” Kara said without thinking. She clapped a hand over her mouth less than a second later.

Cat grinned, never one to miss the opportunity to gloat. “I shouldn't have done that, but I still wish you’d at least told me before your friend hit me with his best shot.”

Kara resisted the urge to chuckle and said, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I had way more reservations about telling Lena than I ever had about you, and it’s not like you’re going to pretend to still be my friend just to learn about any of my weaknesses to use against me later. Wait, you’re not going to do that. Are you?”

“No! Kar-” Cat sighed and slid off the stool. “I know I forced you to out yourself to me before, but I confronted you about it. I didn’t hide, I didn’t pretend, and I never once went public with anything I’d found; even before you pulled the Houdini act with your stunt double.”

“Um.” Kara did laugh that time and felt her cheeks warm ever so slightly. “That was J’onn. The man who gave you memories of the original timeline, that was him.”

“A shapeshifter. That’s...well.” Before Cat lost herself to critical thinking, she said, “My point is, why would you think I’d do something like that?”

Kara winced. “Because it’s what Lena did.”

Cat balked. “Lena as in Lena Luthor? The woman who tried to mass produce a device that identifies aliens and would coincide with the Alien Registry that’s basically a pre-imposed rap sheet on any non-human and perpetuates profiling? The woman who bought my company just to give it away to that sensationalist who prefers clickbait to actual journalism less than a year later?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Cat shook her head. She took a deep breath and her shoulders rose toward her ears with the movement. Her body remained tense, even when Cat unleashed her newfound anger. “Are you stupid or...stupid?”

Kara stepped back like Cat’s words had lanced her.

“Great.” Cat huffed. “Now that I’ve dumbed down my speech to what would pass as good grammar with your latest boss, I’d say this trip has been more frustrating than I thought.”

“I’m...sorry?”

“I can’t believe you told her of all people. Forgetting the fact that she carries the Luthor name, which I know doesn’t automatically make her like the rest of that family, she’s done nothing to prove herself worthy of your trust.”

“Nothing? She was my friend!”

“A friend with a skewed moral compass that never favors you.”

Kara scoffed. “At least she was here! She helped me figure out what I wanted to do with that open-ended promotion you gave me. And then, even as a lowly cub reporter, she still took my calls and scheduled meetings. But then she also sat with me, shared working dinners with me, and talked to me. She was my friend. And now she’s an adversary.”

Kara hadn’t felt the tears form or fall, but she felt Cat wipe them away and close the small gap between them. 

“Kara.” Cat breathed her name like a prayer. “I’m sorry for what you lost.”

Kara sucked in a deep, watery breath and fell into Cat. She wrapped her arms around the smaller woman while more tears streamed down her cheeks and dampened Cat’s hair where Kara buried her face in the Queen of All Media’s neck.

“Thank you,” Kara said, her words muffled against Cat. “You don’t even know the half of it, either.”

“What do you mean?” Cat pulled away but kept her hands on Kara’s biceps. She even squeezed a little when Kara ducked her head toward her chest.

“Lena isn’t the only person I lost. Another friend of mine sacrificed himself for this new Earth.”

“Oh, Kara.” Cat stroked her thumb over Kara’s cheekbone a few times, the back and forth motion enough to draw more tears before Kara sniffled and lifted her head.

“I just keep thinking it has to stop, that I won’t have to lose anyone else. Or that I can at least get them back. I can’t get Oliver back, but at least she’s here. Lena’s alive and in National City and I tried. I tried to get back what we had, but she might as well have found new waters to swim in. Like you.”

Cat slid her hand from Kara’s face to her neck and grazed Kara’s jawline with her thumb. “I’m not sure what her or her brother’s plans are, but I can tell you about mine.”

Kara fisted Cat’s shirt where she continued to hold the woman at her waist and held the form-fitting, black V-neck tightly enough to tug the woman closer. Their noses nearly touched and one of Cat’s heeled feet stepped on Kara’s bare toes.

“Kara, I can’t promise you things will get easier with me around. I might actually make it worse some days, but—”

“But you’re staying?”

“If I’m not then I made a huge mistake buying out Andrea Rojas for my company two hours ago.”

Kara sucked in a breath as her lips curled into an unbidden smile. In the next breath, she eliminated the barely-there space between them and crashed their lips together. She clawed desperately at Cat’s shirt until the material stretched loose and Kara needed to feel more within her grasp. 

Cat moaned as Kara gripped the woman’s hips a short distance from where she’d previously clung to Cat’s shirt. Cat arched into Kara and her hungry touches. After several heated kisses, the Queen of All Media slid one hand down Kara’s arm and placed it over Kara’s while she moved her other hand to Kara’s sternum. With a light shove, she urged Kara away and pulled back from the kiss.

“Much as I’d love to continue this and explore everything those thighs of steel can do,” Cat said with a lingering stare at Kara’s tanned, toned legs, “I’m sure you worked up an appetite earlier and that pizza’s getting cold.”

“Let it.” Kara licked her lips while her eyes wandered over Cat’s form. “I’d rather skip to dessert.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Dazed and Confused (Part 2)

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up wanting to be a cop. When he gets kicked out of the police academy on a fluke though, he turns to a life of crime. After breaking up with Dean and seeing him committing a crime in the act, the reader becomes an officer herself and eventually a detective. Four years after that day, the reader is sent undercover to figure out what Dean is up to. Only she has no idea how far Dean is willing to go to keep her from finding out the truth…

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,500ish

Warnings: language, scary situations, violence, murder, etc.

A/N: This series has been on Ao3 only for awhile now and I am finally reposting here as well. It’s not new but it may be new to you. Please enjoy!...

______

It didn’t take long in a town as small as Elk Ridge, Washington to figure out where Dean was staying. There were parts of the place that were laid out as you expected. Suburbia was near the one school. The main street housed almost all of the businesses. The lumber mill where probably most people worked was nestled near the east outskirts of town. There wasn’t a whole lot else there. If you wanted some peace and quiet, it was probably a quaint little place to stay.

Some homes were spread out far and wide though. The feds had set you up in place that made your college dorm room seem like a mansion, located on the west side of town. You had a few neighbors but they were nearly a mile down the road. It had plenty of privacy which was great for investigating but you weren’t a huge fan of the isolation personally.

Dean was to the north, in some old hunting cabin that he was slowly fixing up. At least that’s what Kat, the town gossip, told you. She’d always say hello to Dean when she saw him around and he was cordial back but he kept to himself for the most part. He worked at the mill and frequented the one garage that would special order car parts for him. For the most part though, you had no leads.

“Well,” you said, sitting in your car shortly after lunch, the sound of an Impala driving back towards the mill giving you an idea. “I don’t think you’ll mind if I do a little poking around, Dean.”

You drove to his place in less than ten minutes, seeing nothing in terms of security around the property. You parked your car a ways down the road and doubled back through the tree line and to the home. You went to the backdoor first and found it unlocked, opening straight into a laundry room that smelled of sweaty clothes.

“You really better not be some psychopath, Dean,” you mumbled, walking into his kitchen, finding it sparse but Dean had always liked to keep his spaces clean. You opened a cupboard, finding it crammed full, a smile on your face. “That’s more like it.”

“I told you to stay away,” said Dean, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You turned your head over your shoulder, Dean right behind you, arms crossed. You stood up, spinning around and finding his hand in your jacket, shoving you through the backdoor.

“Dean, I-”

“I told you to leave me alone,” he said, clenching his one hand, twisting his body back like…

You dodged most of the punch but Dean had some weight behind it, knocking you to the ground regardless as he grazed your cheek. You stared up at him, moving to hit him in the groin when he dodged, getting his feet under your legs and flipping you onto your stomach. His hand caught your jacket collar and started dragging you on the ground, pulling your hood over your face.

“Be quiet,” he grunted, moving one hand away for you in time to see him open a shed door and push you inside.

“Dean!” you shouted, throwing your shoulder against the door the second it shut, the metal not budging. You were barely there more than a minute before you heard the Impala in the background tearing out of there.

Lawrence, Kansas

Two Days Later

“You’re off the case in case no one’s told you yet,” said John in the conference room at the station, sliding a cup of coffee over to you.

“I fucked up. I get it,” you said, staring at your statement for the hundredth time that morning. “I should resign.”

“You should take a leave of absence,” said John, taking the file away. “And go find Dean on your own.”

“Excuse me?” you said, John’s face hard set. “What-”

“He knew you were there. He had to. You checked in before you went to Dean’s place and somehow he randomly went home in the middle of his shift? I think he got tipped off. I don’t think we were ever supposed to catch Dean, kid. Just help give him a bigger rap sheet,” said John, leaning back in his seat. “Assaulted a detective. That’s not something people ignore. It gives him credibility for something bigger.”

“Yeah, and I’m the zodiac killer,” you said, John rolling his eyes. “Why would the feds-”

“Because we’re small town cops and they think we’re dumbasses,” said John. “Maybe we were but think about it. He saw you first on the street you said. An anonymous call came in saying where you were in that shed. He could have hurt you, killed you, but I think he’s the one that made sure you were found.”

“It’s too early in the day for a conspiracy theory, John,” you said, running your hands over your face, reaching for your coffee.

“Did Dean seem like the guy in his file?” asked John.

“Sorry, I didn’t think about it too much after he punched me in the face ,” you growled.

“He could have killed you Y/N,” said John.

“You know what? I’m calling in sick today,” you said, standing up and storming out.

“Y/N,” he said, grabbing your arm in the hall.

“I am done with the Winchester family. Leave me the hell alone.”

“Hey, open up,” Sam said for the tenth time that night, banging on your apartment door relentlessly. You growled as you got up from the couch and flung it open. “Good. You’re home.”

“Go away Sam,” you said, trying to shut the door, Sam simply pushing it back open. You groaned and walked back inside, Sam shutting the door behind him, dropping a bag on your table.

“I got you some of those Italian dessert things you like,” said Sam, leaning over the back of your couch, rubbing your shoulders. “I heard Dad gave you shit at the station today.”

“Dean didn’t kill me so he must be a good guy,” you said, glancing up at Sam, your swollen and bruised cheek on full display. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You sarcasm is duly noted,” said Sam, moving around and taking a seat next to you. “You got scared again, didn’t you, with dad saying that stuff.”

“Fuck, Sam, is that why you’re here? You think I need a babysitter?” you spat back at him, Sam keeping his face soft.

“Not every Winchester is trying to be an asshole to you this week,” said Sam, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I’m sorry Dean scared you. I’m sorry my dad doesn’t understand that. He wants to believe that Dean is good so badly, he didn’t realize he was willing to let you get hurt along the way.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m taking his advice and taking a leave of absence while I figure out what to do with my life because I sure as shit suck at this job,” you said, grabbing a pillow but Sam ripping it away.

“Don’t hide. And don’t quit either. You like helping people, Y/N,” said Sam.

“I’m scared again, Sam. I can’t be scared and do my job. It doesn’t work that way. All thanks to your stupid jackass of a brother,” you said.

“Get pissed then. Shove it to Dean,” said Sam, your head cocking. “You heard me right. Catch him. He’s wanted now for an actual crime, right? Bring him in.”

“He’s your brother Sam,” you said.

“My brother who hurt us both badly, who did that to your face. You’re like my sister, Y/N. He doesn’t get to push us around and make us feel like crap anymore. We aren’t a pair of little kids,” said Sam.

“Alright,” you said with a sigh, Sam ruffling your hair. “You want to order a pizza and have one of our Dean bitch fests?”

“You read my mind.”

It wasn’t until Sam was passed out on your couch and you were crawling into bed hours later that no matter which way this thing turned out, you knew you had to find Dean. You grabbed your phone, typing out an email to John, requesting your leave of absence while you got your head on straight.

A text popped up as you put the phone down, your eyes glued to it.

Meet me at the place I told you I loved you. 15 minutes.

You swallowed hard, knowing it could be from anyone, could be meant for anyone.

The place you said it back.

“Fuck, Dean,” you said, running your hand through your hair, climbing out of bed. You tossed on jeans and a tee, pulling your jacket and sneakers on, staring at your bedside drawer. “Dammit.”

You opened it up, pulling out your gun and shoving it in the back of your pants, grabbing your phone and walking into your living room quietly. Sam was snoring heavily as you thought about waking him up. The thought quickly disappeared as you went past, slipping out of the apartment and out of the building.

It was cool, the streets quiet at nearly 3 in the morning. You were on edge the whole way down the few blocks to the park, walking as fast as possible towards the only playground in Lawrence. You didn’t spot him which was troubling. There was barely any cover there apart from the enclosed tower by the slide. He was either up there or you were early enough that you could use it for yourself.

A quiet whistle punched a gasp from you, your gun in your hands in the next second. You took a wide sweep, approaching over the bridge you remember falling off of and scraping up your knee as you laughed, climbing up the steps you’d sat on for hours talking with him…

You paused and took a deep breath, raising your gun up as you spun up the last step, staring into the dark tower top.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” said Dean, flicking a lighter on, a small light filling the space, showing his hard face, body sat in the corner all in black. “I’m not-”

“Turn around. Hands on your head. Cross your ankles,” you said, Dean staring blankly at you. “Now.”

“Am I being arrested?” he asked with a chuckle, setting the lighter down, crossing his arms.

“Yes. You have the right to remain-”

“I’ve been silent for four years. I’m getting tired of it to be honest,” he said, glancing at the empty spot across from him. “I figured this would be a safe place to meet up...considering you’re on leave now and everything, I don’t have to worry about keeping you up too late for work.”

“How do you-”

“We need to talk,” said Dean, nodding again. “If you want to cuff me to do that-”

“Turn around, hands behind your back,” you said, Dean glaring up but nodding his head. He did as told, his body more muscular than you remembered. You slid a pair of thick zip ties around his wrists, Dean turning back around as you backed up, sliding down into the spot nearby.

“You don’t need to keep pointing that gun at me,” said Dean. “I am cuffed.”

“Considering what happened last time I was with you, I’ll keep the gun out,” you said, Dean’s eyes flickering to your healing cheek, scrunching up his nose.

“Sorry for that,” said Dean. “I can’t be too careful nowadays.”

“Poor you,” you said, Dean straightening his shoulders. “Start talking.”

“How’s Sammy doing? He’s in his third year of law school, right?” asked Dean, your eyes blinking fast. “He’s okay?”

“Why do you give a shit about him?” you asked. “After what you said. It took him two years to tell me what you-”

“He’s my little brother. Of course I give a shit about him. You too. I never stopped,” said Dean, staring at your cheek. “You really don’t know how awful I feel about hitting you.”

“You got two minutes before I drag you down to the station,” you said, Dean leaning his head back against the plastic wall, wearing a sad smile.

“You became a cop. Junior Detective. Top of your class. Perfect scores on your exams. Your arrest record is flawless and you bring in bagels on Fridays from the shop on fourth with the little-”

“Are you a fucking stalker or what, Dean?” you asked, Dean shaking his head.

“It’s how I knew you sent that email to dad,” said Dean, glancing down. “I...I didn’t get kicked out of the academy, Y/N. I...transferred if you want to think of it like that.”

“Transferred to what,” you growled, Dean scrunching up his face.

“Agent Winchester. FBI. Special Undercover Unit. It’s not really common knowledge it exists. We don’t go through the normal training academy. You work undercover so they keep you separate from almost everything. It’s why the FBI, the people I work for, sent you after me,” said Dean. “Well, they needed to build up my credibility but that’s not the point.”

“You’re saying you’re a federal agent,” you said, Dean nodding. “I’m Mary fucking Poppins while we’re at it.”

“How do you think I know shit I shouldn’t Y/N? I can hack into your computer, accounts. Your credit score is 740 by the way,” said Dean, cocking his head.

“You work for the government,” you said.

“I’ve been working one job for four years now, Y/N. I’ve done bad things but I’ve never hurt anyone. But I got a bit of a promotion recently and...somebody on my team is dirty. They’re working with the guy we’re trying to catch and I’m about to throw years of my life away to catch the dirtball. I need help. From someone I can trust,” said Dean.

“They teach officers to know when people are lying you know,” you said, Dean laughing.

“Then you know I’m telling you the truth,” said Dean. “I had to cut myself off from my life and hurting you and Sammy was the one sure fire way to stop you two from coming after me. I’m not asking for forgiveness, Y/N. I just need to bring down this guy and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of your life.”

“Sam gets fucking nightmares over the shit you said to him about your mom, Dean. You fucked him up. Both of us up,” you said. “Everyone you ever cared about over what? A job?”

“I agreed to do this on one condition and only one fucking condition so you can back the fuck off,” spat back Dean, trying his best to relax. “The guy I’m trying to stop, the guy I’ve been trying to stop for four years? He’s the one that killed our mother. I know I have done a lot of things but she deserves that the guy who killed her goes down. That is why I am doing this.”

“How can I believe any of this, Dean? How?” you asked. “What proof do you have?”

“If you don’t believe me, feel free to shoot me right here and now. Say whatever story you want, no one will care. Hell, dump my body if you want. I threw away everything to try and do the right thing for her, to stop this guy from doing it to someone else. If you think I’m nuts or making it up, go ahead and pull the trigger. I can’t do this on my own. Not when I can’t trust my team. I don’t deserve your help. But I’m begging for it, Y/N,” said Dean. “Just help me catch the son of a bitch.”

“Was it you at the bank four years ago?” you asked, Dean nodding his head. “Why’d you say you’d kill me?”

“I thought you’d understand,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a threat, Y/N. I knew once I saw you looking at me you’d figure out it was me. I was...don’t you remember that movie? We watched it a million times. The bank heist one. The undercover cop says it to his girlfriend at the bank...it was code that he’d make sure nothing happened to her, she’d be okay.”

“You expected me to remember a stupid movie scene during one of the most frightening moments of my life?” you barked, Dean shrugging. “I didn’t get that message, Dean.”

“I know. I know,” he said. “I couldn’t say, ‘hi honey, long time no see. I’m working this super secret undercover job and I gotta do some bad stuff for a little while but I love you and I’m not going to hurt you and I’m not the bad guy. Bye!’ It’s not how this works.”

“What were you doing in Washington,” you said.

“Testing a theory. I was trying to figure out who on my team is responsible. Nobody showed any tells though so nothing came of it,” he said. “I didn’t know they’d put you on it. Hoped but couldn’t know for sure. You just went through your secondary undercover training so I played the odds on that one.”

You lowered your gun, letting it rest by your side, tucking your knees into your chest.

“It wasn’t your fault either,” he said, your chin resting on your knees, eyes darting over to meet his. “Telling you and Sam those things...that was one of the worst days of my life.”

“Why did we meet here Dean,” you said quietly, Dean smiling.

“This was stop number four on the best date ever. I told you I loved you for the first time over by those swings. You said it back when you remembered how to speak,” he said, staring at his lap. “Figured this place is lucky for me. Less odds of you shooting me on sight.”

“There are so many things I should do right now,” you said, grabbing your gun in one hand, his arm in the other.

“Y/N,” said Dean, a crack in his voice as you pulled him down the stairs and onto the wood chip covered ground below. “Please don’t turn me in. I have to…”

You snipped his zip ties, grabbed them and walked over to a nearby trash can, tossing them inside. Dean was staring slack jawed at you, stuck in place while you wandered over to the swings, taking a seat on one.

“Y/N,” said Dean, standing in front of you while you kicked at the ground.

“You know, Sam and I have this sort of vent session about you sometimes. We basically bitch about everything we hate about you,” you said, Dean gulping. “Every single time, just like the one we had tonight, we always end up talking about good memories and how we hope we’re both so wrong and that you’re still good and something crazy is going on. Now that’s it happening, I can’t believe it’s real.”

“Y/N, I’m-” said Dean, letting out a oomph before he hit the ground, your gaze moving from the ground upwards, Sam panting over Dean’s unconscious body.

“Sam what-”

“He’s a dumbass,” said Sam, bending down, tossing Dean over his shoulder. “We got to move to a secure location.”

“Sam! What is going on?” you asked, Sam nodding for you to follow. “Sam!”

“Dean’s a good guy, Y/N. Loyal to a fault. To a fault, Y/N . He’s getting setup,” said Sam, walking away from the playground, you hot on his tail.

“Sam,” you said, tugging on his arm.

“Dean’s got his facts wrong. He never should have dragged you into this,” said Sam. “But you’re in it now so you better come with us.”

“He had nowhere to turn he said. He-”

“The guy at the FBI Dean is investigating? It’s the guy who killed our mom. He works for them. He’s on the team Dean works on. He’s setting Dean up to take the fall for everything he’s ever done,” said Sam.

“How do you even know that?” you asked, a million more questions flooding your mind.

“Y/N. You weren’t the only one that went into law enforcement when Dean went off the rails,” said Sam, your head cocking, Sam breaking into a soft smile for a brief moment. “Agent Winchester. FBI. Internal Investigations.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[foursideharmony]

Collateral Damage (Part 3)

Summary: Roman gets into trouble while questing in the Imagination. Rescue arrives, but will the rescuer be all right?

Word Count: 2,108

Relationship(s): Platonic LAMP, with some extra Prinxiety focus

Warnings: It's a whump/hurt/comfort fic, sooooo... hospital/clinic setting, some really disturbing imagery including fire and darkness and other unpleasantness, medical sutures, poison, illness, description of inflamed wounds, Remus mention, nightmare mention

Logan taped down the last bandage and stood back, admiring their handiwork. “There. I think we can put him to bed now.”

“He looks better already,” said Patton. “A little like a mummy, but I think he'd be okay with that. Remember that one Halloween?”

“Patton, that was Christmas Eve.”

“Oh. Right.”

Roman had begun visibly improving shortly after drinking his antidote, which made sense. His scratches remained a bit swollen, but the other two Sides had disinfected them, daubed them with ointment and patched them with gauze, and the prince was now resting peacefully and well on the road to recovery. Logan estimated thirty-six hours before his rapid recuperative powers (something they all enjoyed, as non-physical beings) brought him back to full health.

He waved the examination room away, transforming it into a small but pleasantly appointed hotel room, with Roman tucked into a full bed and a smaller cot alongside. Putting the Creative Side back in his own room would have been ideal, but they couldn't enter it from the common space without him being conscious to allow it.

“One of us should stay with him until he awakens naturally,” Logan said, “and I volunteer.”

“All right,” said Patton. “I'll look in on Virge after he's had a chance to rest up. And I'll keep an ear out for Thomas and let him know what's up if tries to call on us.”

“Excellent plan,” said Logan, changing from his medical garb into a simple combo of tee-shirt and sweatpants. He maneuvered onto the cot as Patton sank out and was soon dozing.

Fire. Fire and hot darkness and and pain, a dull yet insistent pain that was everywhere with no way to locate its source. And the fire was black fire, doing nothing to light up the oppressive, suffocating darkness. And the darkness was made of voices, too whispery quiet to be heard clearly yet at the same time so loud that they were like physical blows to his ears, inflicting more pain and more fire.

He couldn't move and he could barely breathe (the fire was somehow also water) and everything was wrong and everything hurt and he didn't understand why. There was no such thing as time—no past to remember in order to understand, no future to anticipate so he could plan—there was only an eternal present of pain and darkness. And fire.

~~~~~

Roman woke slowly, feeling unusually refreshed for a mere nap. It took him a moment to realize that no, it hadn't been a mere nap. His back was dreadfully sore at first, but the pain receded into the background as his awareness brightened, and he remembered.

He opened his eyes and glanced around as much as he could without moving just yet. A modest bedroom, furnished in subdued colors. Morning sunlight filtering in through medium-weight drapes over either a large double window or a sliding glass door. A framed piece of art on the wall, its image invisible behind the reflection of light on the glass cover. A bureau and a small television. So, a hotel room—not luxurious, but far from the worst place to be. He tried to sit up a little to take in more, but found himself hissing in pain as something twinged in the small of his back.

Suddenly Logan was there, standing up from wherever he had been and fumbling for his glasses on the bureau. “Roman? Are you awake? Is it morning?” He paused to yawn and change back into his daywear. “Don't try to get up too quickly or you'll pull on your sutures.”

“Sutures...” Roman repeated, easing himself up more carefully and reaching around his own back to feel the knobbly knots under the bandage. “Was it that bad?”

“Just in one spot. I put in two sutures to close up a laceration. I doubt you'll need them long.” He paused again, and cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough,” said Roman, just before his stomach rumbled. “Strike that—I'm starving. I don't suppose...I might get breakfast in bed?”

“Not from me, you won't. It should be safe for you to get up and walk as long as you're careful. Come on—Patton and Virgil will be very pleased to see you on the mend.”

“I owe Virgil, for sure,” Roman said. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly got to his feet. “These are nice pajamas; did you put me in these? I just need to make one little addition for the occasion.” He reached into the hem of his sleeve, like a magician doing a scarf trick, and drew out a swatch of gold-tinted chiffon which whipped around the shoulder opposite and knotted itself, creating an impromptu arm sling.

“Roman, that is entirely unnecessary. Your arm suffered only superficial damage.”

“It's for the 'recuperating hero' aesthetic. Let's go eat!”

~~~~~

Patton dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into his peppermint tea...yeah, it was that kind of morning. He was trying not to be morose, but it was tough going when the last he'd seen of his fellow Sides was Roman unconscious and Logan settling in for a bedside vigil. He wondered whether it was worth making breakfast, and for how many.

There came a soft sound from the stairwell, and then Logan's unmistakable imperious tones. “Descend slowly. Don't disturb your dressings.”

“I know how to walk down stairs, Logan.”

And just like that, Patton's morning was 100% better.

“KIDDO!” he bubbled, his sock-clad feet slipping on the kitchen linoleum as he hastened to meet Roman. “Look at you, almost all better! Wait, what happened to your arm? I thought...”

“Aesthetics,” Logan said flatly.

“So it's safe to hug him?” Patton said, not even waiting before sweeping Roman into a joyful embrace. “Anyway, we should have a special breakfast to celebrate your recovery! We can make it together! You two do me a favor and get out the stuff, and I'll go wake Virgil!” He all but leapt up the stairs, buoyed by relief and delight.

Patton and Virgil had an understanding. Patton was allowed to enter Virgil's room without specific permission under the following circumstances: 1) He was reasonably certain that Virgil was in there, 2) He was entering for the purpose of either gently waking him up or rescuing him from a presumed panic spiral, 3) He knocked first anyway and announced his intention to enter, giving Virgil a chance to deny him if it was a bad time.

Patton knocked on Virgil's door. “Virge? Kiddo? Roman's up and he's doing great! We're gonna make breakfast together.”

There was no response, so he rapped again, said “I'm coming in,” and did so.

And just like that, Patton's morning was 100% worse.

“Logan!” he blurted before he had even processed the entirety of the scene. “LOGAN!”

There was a crash of dropped dishes from the kitchen, followed by the rapid rhythm of someone charging up the stairs. Logan appeared in the doorway, his jaw dropping.

Virgil sprawled fully clothed on his bed—pale, trembling, panting, whimpering. His eyes, open a crack, were rolled back until only the bloodshot sclera were visible. The sheets around him were damp with perspiration. Patton repeatedly reached a shaking hand toward his face to offer comfort, but pulled back every time, unsure whether he should make contact. “What do we do?” he pleaded. “What's wrong with him?”

“I can't say without more information,” Logan confessed. “But it looks like—”

“It's the poison,” Roman said, having just arrived. “That's what it does without the antidote. It's one of my brother's favorite dirty tricks, so I know all about it. But I don't understand; he wasn't wounded! Unless...”

He shrugged out of his bogus sling and gently lifted Virgil's left hand, undid the zipper on the sleeve cuff, and turned down the fabric. Two punctures, one larger and deeper than the other, were revealed in the soft, pale skin on the underside of the Anxious Side's wrist. The flesh around them was horribly swollen and red, with inflamed blood vessels visible through the skin, radiating out from the wounds.

“The thorns penetrated after all,” Roman said. “It must have been so slight that he didn't notice at the time. The poison takes time to fully kick in.”

“Oh, Virgil,” said Patton, finally overcoming his hesitancy and ruffling Virgil's sweat-drenched hair. Virgil flinched away from the touch, his head thrashing back and forth until he finally flopped over entirely, facing away from them, and curled up into the fetal position. “He's burning up,” Patton said, following Virgil to the other side of the bed. “Roman, do you have any more of that antidote? Please say yes.”

Roman rubbed a hand over his face. “It's too late for that. There's about a two-hour window. After that, the only thing to do is ride it out. It's not going to be a good time for any of us, Virgil least of all...but he will make a full recovery. Remus doesn't go in for lethal stuff, on the grounds that dead people can't pay him attention.”

“He's not wrong in that. Roman, you have suffered the full effects of the poison before?” said Logan.

Roman nodded.

“Please tell me whatever you can about it. It may help advise a course of action for treating Virgil's symptoms until his system purges the toxin.”

“Nightmares,” Roman said softly. “He'll be knocked out for a couple days, and the fever will give him fever-dreams...bad enough, right? Now try to picture fever-dreams designed by my brother. Better yet, don't.”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “Would reducing the fever alleviate the visions?”

Roman shrugged. “Maybe? It can't hurt.”

“I'll set up some cold compresses,” said Patton, rising from his kneeling position. “And we should move him. This is no place for a sickbed. You two are already showing some under-eye smudge.”

“I do find myself becoming increasingly unsettled,” said Logan. “Thank you for spotting that, Patton.”

“I volunteer my room,” said Roman. “The atmosphere of pleasant fantasies should help to combat the nightmares.”

“You two work on that, then,” said Logan. “I will inform Thomas so that it doesn't catch him off guard if Virgil's suffering spills over onto him. In fact, he may be able to counter it from his end.”

The three of them nodded to each other, and they got to it.

~~~~~

It was a day and a half before Virgil woke up.

Roman had been watching him, as usual—it was his room, after all, and by concentrating he could modulate the atmosphere to produce only the sweetest and most beautiful of ideas, though he could only hope they were filtering through to Virgil's lowered awareness. He was changing the cold compress, which was a bit trickier than just removing one wet washcloth and replacing it with another, cooler one, because the delirium had Virgil recoiling almost violently when anything touched his head or face. The way to calm him, they (actually Patton) had discovered by accident, was to pick up his hand and gently massage the pad of his thumb.

Roman was in the midst of this process when Virgil's hand abruptly tightened on his, and then the Anxious Side's eyes flew open and he let out a brief, barking yell.

“It's all right!” Roman said on reflex. “It's just me, Virgil, I'm right here and you're safe. You're safe. You're safe, Emo the Frownfish.”

“P-Princey...?” Virgil said, his voice barely a squeak.

“Yeah,” said Roman. “We're taking care of you. You'll be okay.”

“D...d...don...”

“Don't what?”

“Leave. Don't leave. Please.”

Roman had been planning to go inform the other two that Virgil was awake, but after a plea like that, it was completely off the table. They would find out sooner or later. “I won't,” he said softly, squeezing the hand he was still holding.

There was a long pause while Virgil sank back into the pillow, whimpering.

“I know,” Roman said. “It hurts. It'll stop hurting pretty soon now that you're awake.”

Another pause, and then Virgil said, “Have you really been here this whole time?”

“We took turns, actually. But I'm glad I'm here now, so I can thank you properly for rescuing me the other day. You were my hero, Virgil. The least I can do is be yours for a little while.”

“Sap,” Virgil muttered, proving that he was going to be all right.

The End

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[kaffeinic]

Familiar | Bang Chan

Hey dear, I have this one shot/fanfiction idea but since I can't write I thought I'd request it from you x3 I can't stop thinking about a school AU in which Chan is a basketball player/captain and falls for the new girl in his class 🥺so if requests are open and if you have time, it would be nice if you could write that or something similar, thank you 💖

- @chansdimple

~

1

Pairing: High Schooler!Reader x Basketball Player!Bang Chan

Genre: Neutral // Romance

Warnings: Fem!Reader

Preamble: Change is extremely difficult, and moving to a new city with a new school was no exception. The classes are difficult, the people are loud, and the melodramatic behaviour seemed to constantly be at a ten. You felt suffocated - until you take a chance on a night out with a new friend.

You were conflicted, to say the least.

The idea of starting anew, in a strange place, with strange people you didn’t know, was, well, strange. Your hands were clasping the hem of your shirt, fiddling with the fabric in an attempt to calm your mind. You hated this feeling. It wasn’t something you generally chased after.

On the other hand, knowing that you were about to walk into a building in which no one knew you was almost relieving, in its own way. All of your awkward moments and incredible public mishaps were now ancient history. No one here could possibly know about that time in the second grade when you tried to pet the class turtle and somehow, someway was outpaced by it. No one would know about those times when you were so exhausted from the night before that you actually walked directly into a door.

Feeling a mix of glee and terror, you adjusted your grip on your bag’s handle and pulled open the front door. You were immediately greeted by a swarm of students, all moving simultaneously to their desired classrooms. You glanced around the foyer until you spotted the main office, briskly walking inside.

There were stark white walls on all four sides of the room, most of which were decorated with various trophies, class photos, and calendars. Six chairs were lined against two of the walls, providing seating for two rather angry students.

“Are you aware of how many times you’ve both been sent into my office this month? Nine. Nine times. I didn’t even think it was possible to piss off your teachers that much! Now, you’re both getting into fistfights before classes even start!” A middle aged man in an unbutton grey work suit fixed his tie with a huff. “If this happens one more time, you’re both getting suspended. Do I make myself clear?” He asked. The two boys sitting on the chairs adjacent to the man nodded their heads. “Get out of here.”

You cleared your throat after watching as the two boys sulked out of the office. The man’s face suddenly lit up.

“Hello, there! You must be Y/n. I’m Mr. Hanson. I trust you had a warm welcome?” He asked. You cocked your head in curiosity.

“What welcome?” You asked. “Did I miss someone?” The man peered past your shoulder through the window of the office door.

“Ah, your welcome committee is a little preoccupied.” He said. He found his way past you to open the door, waving a group of students over. “She’s over here, guys.”

You watched as four students strolled into the room, each with a very distinct aura about them. The first was a boy with red hair and serious features. He wore a pair of red jeans and a white tee, tucked in towards the front. He held out his hand to you, suddenly smiling, which changed everything about the way you had perceived him.

“I’m Felix. It’s nice to meet you.” He said. You returned the smile and shook his hand.

“Y/n.”

The second person to greet you was a girl with straight black hair, and equally dark eyes. Her clothes were viciously pink, and she sported a pair of heels with a myriad of jewelry. She immediately slapped a seemingly fake smile onto her face and waved.

“I’m Stacey.” She said, adjusting the way her bag rested against her hip.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You said. She exposed teeth, then turned to Felix, grabbing hold of his arm. First impressions said that they were dating.

The third person in line was a blond haired boy with a smile that screamed cheer. His yellow tee and blue jeans seemed to convert the same message.

“Hey! I’m Jisung. It’s very nice to meet you, Y/n.” He said, shaking your hand. You smiled at his enthusiasm. “This is Chan.” Jisung said, gesturing towards the fourth and final student.

Chan donned a pair of ripped blue jeans, a black hoodie, and a jean jacket to top it all off. His hair was dyed an almost silvery colour, and his curly bangs laid across his forehead in a stylish way. He gave you a polite smile, waving at you. You waved back, trying to avoid breaching the personal space of the five people around you. Suddenly the bell rang, signaling the last of the wandering students to hustle their way to class.

“Alright. Y/n, I’ve chosen these particular students in part because of your shared class schedules. If you stick to them, you shouldn’t get lost. I wish you luck!” Mr. Hanson said. You smiled and nodded.

“Yes, thank you.”

The five of you made your way to what seemed to be the math classroom. In every classroom you entered, the sea of students would follow you with their gaze until you sat, and even then, some curious eyes would remain glued to your figure. Jisung and Stacey seemed to always be on either side of you, with Felix on the other side of Stacey, and Chan on the other side of Jisung. The day was mostly uneventful until your last class.

You had carefully selected your elective - photography. It was simple enough - or at least that’s what you thought - but held your interest as well.

The photography class was rather small, and the only people shared the class with were Stacey and Felix. Throughout the day, she seemed to grow ever-annoyed at your mere presence. Felix waved you over to where they both sat, smiling.

“C’mon, Y/n!” He exclaimed. You smiled warmly at his invitation and obliged, sliding on his opposite side. Stacey let out a huff, rapping her fingers on her desk.

“Where are Chan and Jisung?” You asked, placing your bag on the desk in front of you. Felix began to take his camera out of the case, setting it up for whatever it was that they were about to do.

“They have basketball practice during the elective periods. Chan is the captain, and Jisung is his right hand, in a sense. They both work out plays and stuff together.” Felix paused and looked at you. “I honestly don’t know anything about basketball. I hope that made sense.” He began laughing bashfully. You laughed along with him, your eyes pinching with glee.

“Alright. I got it.” You said, glancing at Stacey. She seemed to be in a progressively worse mood as you and Felix spoke. It took you all day, but you thought you might have finally figured her out. She was jealous, which you thought was absolutely ridiculous.

A moment later, the photography teacher - who also happened to be your history teacher - walked to the front of the class.

“Alright, guys. I know I told you all about what’s going on this week, but Y/n wasn’t here, so I’ll recap.” Mr. Hanson said. “You all have one week to create a fifteen photo portfolio of the nature near and on our school premises. Each of you can have one partner.” He said. “You’ll be graded individually, not as a pair, so I suggest you both work on it.”

You peered around the classroom. It seemed as if everyone already had a partner. You stood to delve further into the lump of students, but heard your name.

“Y/n, I could partner with you.” Felix said from his seat. “It’s your first time, and I know it’s hard to work with someone you haven’t met yet.” You smiled at him thankfully.

“Uh-” Stacey immediately chimed in. “Felix, honey, we’re partners.” She said. “Plus, I have the good camera.” She grinned and pointed at the camera case that sat neatly on her desk.

“Yeah, but I think it would be nice if I helped Y/n out.” He explained. “She’s still new.” Stacey deadpanned before shaking her head.

“Yeah, but I doubt she knows anything about photography, and this is too important of a portfolio to mess up.” She explained. You looked to the ground.

“It’s alright, Felix. Thanks, but I can find someone else.” You said. Felix frowned, but nodded.

“Alright, but let me know if you need any help.” He added. You smiled and made your way over to the other students. Most of them had been given enough time to already have their partners, and were already discussing how they’d go about the project. After a few more moments of searching, you came back with no results. You let out a sigh, making your way to Mr. Hanson.

“Hey, Mr. Hanson?” You said. He turned and smiled at you.

“Hey, How’s it going? Did you get a partner yet?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No, but I think I’ll be alright working alone. I think I work best that way.” You explained. He contemplated the idea, and hummed in agreement.

“Alright, but I’ll be keeping an eye out to see if you’re struggling. Do your best.” He said.

The rest of the period was grueling as you relied solely on the paper instructions for the school’s camera. It wa nothing like you had used before. By the end of the hour, you were just about ready to throw the technology at a wall.

You shoved the last of your belongings into your bag as the final bell rang, letting out an exasperated sigh. Your body felt a little heavier than usual from such a stressful day.

As your hands flattened out on the front set of double doors, you heard footsteps coming from behind you.

“Y/n?” Chan said. You feigned happiness, not yet ready to deal with another awkward conversation.

“Hey...” You said. He cocked his head to the side as the corners of his lips tugged downward.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, jogging over. “Rough first day?” You let out a chuckle.

“Yeah, but it could’ve been worse.” You said. He grinned, looking down.

“What an optimist.” He teased. You giggled, pushing the door open. He raised his arm out to hold it for you, waiting as you slipped past the frame. He followed suit, then shoved a hand in one of his jacket pockets.

“How was your day?” You asked. He seemed to contemplate, then bobbed his head left and right.

“Not too bad. Practice was tough, but the day was otherwise good.” He said. You smiled.

“Good, good.” You said. He hopped forward.

“Do you have to be home?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Not particularly. Why?”

“I know what’ll cheer you up.” He waved his arm to get you to follow him as he approached a black car. You made your way over to him, hesitant.

“Where are we going?”

“The joy is in the surprise, milady.” He made a grand gesture with his arm as he said the name, which earned a chuckle from you.

“Alright, alright. Just not too far.” You said. “I need to be home by sundown.”

“That’s as long as I need.” He grinned. “Let’s go!”

You laid your bag on the floor of the passenger seat.

“Let’s go!”

~

Alrighty! It’s been a while since I’ve made anything new. I really hope that you all enjoy this first chapter. Any guesses on where he’s taking her? If anyone can get it, I’ll give them a shoutout. 💞 Best of luck!

As always, I appreciate your feedback! I hope you are happy and healthy. 😊

~

* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any gifs/photos used in this post. I do own the written content. Do NOT repost/edit. *

~

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[bradwuzhere]

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