#I wish I could do a good job cropping out the background on the earrings

[kris-mage-fics]

2, 7, and 33 for the writing asks! -em

Weird Questions for Writers post

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

Nope, I couldn't! This is purely an accessibility issue for me. I can't write by hand for very long before my hand really starts to hurt. Also my spelling is sooo much worse. When I'm typing I rely a lot on muscle memory to spell words correctly, but when I'm doing it by hand the dyslexia is really a problem. Like m/w get switched, or b/d, b/p, d/a, d/q, p/q, f/t, i/j, even u/v. Sure I know I want to write an 'm', but I might end up writing a 'w' because it's the same letter just mirrored. Or I'm trying to write 'a' but my hand keeps going so now it's a 'd'.

The thing is, I didn't even realize I was dyslexic until a few years ago! So until my late 30’s I struggled so much with any kind of writing and didn’t know why it was so hard. If I mentioned to anyone that spelling was really hard for me they’d always say stuff like “But you’re so good at reading!” So I thought I was stupid or not trying hard enough, even though deep down I knew there was something going on that wasn’t my fault. Writing by hand actually gives me a lot of anxiety because of all those years being judged for something I didn’t have control over. And honestly, I don’t think I would’ve ever trying writing if I didn’t know I was dyslexic. Because I still would’ve been blaming myself for being neurodivergent.

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Answered here.

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

Yes I do! I’ve done a ton of different arts and crafts over the years. My grandma taught me to crochet when I was 8, and that’s something I’ve done on and off ever since. Generally I crochet lace because the feeling of most yarn as it passes over my fingers gets really irritating, and fine cotton doesn’t. Also I like to challenge myself to make tiny, tedious things! I used to draw, but gave that up in my late teens because of how quickly my hand would start to hurt. Though I really miss it. I’ve dabbled in quite a few different types of embroidery: cross stitch, needlepoint, and drawn thread work. But my favorite is black work/double running stitch/Holbein stitch which I always make completely reversible with no visible knots because I’m nuts like that. I know how to sew, both by machine and hand. I’m not an expert at it, but I can do basic fitting and make clothing that isn’t very complicated. Quilting is something I’ve dabbled in, and would like to do more of, it’s so different than sewing clothing! Another thing I want to do more of is making chain maille jewelry, I’ve done a bit of it and it was really fun! (I’m purposefully leaving out quite a few things I’ve done because it’s already a long list, lol!)

My favorite art form besides writing is bead work! There is something so satisfying to me about working with beads. For one I love jewelry, which I think is a large part my grandpa’s fault (he was a rock hound/amateur lapidary artist, and he used to make jewelry for me). And I love both the technical/mechanical side of bead work, and the artistic/design side of it! It doesn’t matter if it’s bead weaving, if it’s stringing beads, or combining beads with wirework! I love all of it! Working with beads just clicks on a deeper level for me than most art forms I’ve tried.

As to whether it ties in to my writing, I guess that depends on how you interpret that question. I use a lot of lessons I’ve learned about creativity and my own creative process when I write. The way I approach writing is heavy informed by how I work in other mediums. And if it makes sense in the story, I will absolutely use knowledge about other types of art in my writing. Though I haven’t had much opportunity to do so yet. That’s only a matter of time, I usually give my own characters a hobby I’m at least a little knowledgeable about, so it will come up at some point or another.

Thanks for the ask, Em! Also I turned this into more essays, lol!

Oh, man I was looking for examples of some of my work, but I have hardly any photos of things I've made! Well, I did find a couple I can show.

This was done for a drawing class I took when I was 18. While I have regrets about adding color to it, I still think it turned out pretty well. I used a photograph of some rhododendrons from an old National Geographic as reference.

I made these earrings for my mom back in 2015. They're sterling silver and apatite with silk thread woven through the fine chain to add more color. The silver beads next to the drops are 2mm, and the total length is only 1.5 inches/3.8 cm, so you can see I tend to work small.

[sinswithpleasure]

The Playgirl (ft. LOONA's Yves) [Part 1] [Female Reader]

---------------

This was supposed to be a lengthy oneshot, but I wanna have it out as I write, so... here's Part 1! Just so you know, it's futa!Yves, but I won't really mention it until at least Part 3.

Also, this is entirely female reader!

Can be found on AFF and AO3!

---------------

Everyone knows of Ha Sooyoung.

Most know her by her preferred name Yves, but it is the same either way—the people still have her deeply imprinted in the recesses of their minds. After all, who doesn't know of the campus fuckgirl that only goes for girls?

You are no exception to having knowledge of Sooyoung. After all, she is your seatmate for every class you had, and while she is regularly absent, she is a regular hindrance when present. During lectures, she likes to fling paper balls at unsuspecting classmates, flirt with any female classmate or TA, or play games on her mobile phone loudly. The fact that she is your seatmate only makes it worse, considering she has her feet on the table most of the time.

Now you have to tutor her. The bane of your existence. Ha Sooyoung. Yves. Tutor. Tutor her.

Your look of disbelief meeting your professor's determined gaze melts into a sigh of resignation. You know that no amount of whining or pouting would result in a win for you—Yves had the poorest performance, barely scraping through any of her tests, whereas you aced every test given during your course of study. It would only be natural for you to be tutoring her.

Yves flashes a smirk and wink from the front row of the lecture theatre, giving you a two-fingered salute as the professor leaves.

"Hey, babygirl. Guess you're my new tutor."

"Hi." You cannot help but let bitterness seep into your tone, but you bite down on the bullets you wish to fire.

"You don't seem that happy."

"No, but it's fine. Let's get down to business."

"Uh-uh, not today. I've got a party to get to. How about this, give me your phone."

You hesitantly pass her your phone, and she enters her number in.

"Call me." She flashes another smirk and a wink, pushing her hair back. The phone in your hand displays 'yves 💘'.

-----

When you call Yves, you hear more of the chatter in the background than her voice. However, she is still audible, and that is all you need.

"Hello?"

"Sooyoung. I'll tutor you beginning tomorrow."

"Oh, it's you, babygirl. Sure, see you after class?"

Huh. That was easy.

"Good, please bring along the Calculus textbook—"

Indistinct chatter rings across the line, and you vaguely hear the crowd chanting "Drink! Drink! Drink!" before Yves's voice cuts through the line again.

"Sorry, babygirl, I've got to jet. I ain't gonna win this game of beer pong talkin' to you. See you tomorrow."

Before you can even say anything, the call is cut. You take a deep breath, deciding to let it go. Maybe this would be the only time. After all, innocent until proven guilty, right?

With a long exhale, you throw yourself back into whatever work you were doing.

---------------

When Yves appears after class, she staggers into the classroom, clutching her head.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have drank that much last night."

She crashes on the chair next to you, immediately folding her arms on the table, resting her head on it. Her eyes open blearily when you request for her to take her Calculus textbook out.

"I didn't bring it."

You halt, frustration beginning to build.

"I thought I told you to bring it."

"Well, babygirl, I forgot. Looks like we can't do this today then." Yves rises, staggering towards the door. Repeated calls of her name fall on her deaf ears as she rounds the corner and disappears.

You take a deep breath. Tomorrow.

-----

[You sent a message:]

Yves

Tomorrow, after class.

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Hey babygirl

I've got a party tomorrow.

[You sent a message:]

You're ditching your grades for a party?

A party in the afternoon?

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Come on, live a little, it's fun to cut loose!

Yeah, I need to go set it up.

Wanna come?

[You sent a message:]

I'd rather spend my time productively, thank you. I expect to see you after class. The same place.

-----

Yves is absent again from class. Naturally, she is absent from the tutoring session. Every call you make to her goes unanswered throughout the afternoon.

You hate this. It wasn't as if tutoring her was a choice you made—the professor shunted the task to you, even after all your protests and reasoning for why you shouldn't take the job. The impression that she gives off already isn't anything good, and the fact that she actively is wasting your time only pisses you off even more.

The fact that Yves is your seatmate only adds to the frustration. Her shoes are all up in your face, the sounds of her games in your ears, her paper balls all over your table. Everything she did just pissed you off.

When you reach home, you immediately drop a call to Yves. Three rings of the phone is all it takes before she picks up the phone.

"Hey babygirl."

"Don't babygirl me. Where were you this afternoon?"

"I told you, I had a party."

"So you choose to waste my time?"

"Sorry, babe." The lack of sincerity is evident in her voice. "This is clearly more fun."

"You prioritize fun over your grades? Are you trying to fail?"

"Yo, yo, chill, chill! Cut me some slack! Take it easy. I've got time!"

"The final exams are less than half a year away."

"Precisely." Yves's smirk can be heard through the phone. "I have time."

"I don't. Stop wasting my time. Come tomorrow."

"Oh, fiery. Just my type." Yves chuckles, before she pisses you off even further. "I'll see you, just not tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"I'll be busy nursing my hangover. Ciao." The call is cut.

You growl in frustration, squeezing the pen in your hand tightly. How easily she dismisses you only serves to fuel your anger. How could someone give no shits about their future?

Yves was basically the opposite of what you stood for. To you, school was an obligation—something necessary in order to move forward and succeed. This meant that people had to possess the responsibility to keep to this commitment so they could succeed in life. The future is uncertain, so you should make every effort to ensure that you can forge a path that is as certain as it can be.

Yves, however, treated school like a waste of time. To be out having fun mattered more—life and the future is uncertain, so if she could afford the time to live in the moment, then she would take the time to. Why pressure oneself to engineer perfection when imperfection is how the world runs?

This was a constant argument between the both of you when Yves was present in school. On the days she came, you had to fight to pay attention to your professor since the both of you would argue. You hated having to defend your point of view against her, since she was deeply set in her contrasting view. You hate how carefree she is. How is it that someone can live without worrying that much?

When you let your vision focus, you take a deep breath and go back to your work.

---------------

You are ten minutes early for class. Chatter fills the classroom as per usual. When you reach your seat, your ears perk up at a familiar name.

"... you hear Yves took her home last night?"

"... sex … fucked her the whole night … best time of her life …"

You scowl. Even when she wasn't present, you had to hear about her, and even worse, her womanizing and hedonistic lifestyle. Who cares about her?

"Good morning, babygirl."

The bane of your existence appears before your very eyes, leaning over your desk with her signature smirk. You give her a glare, but not before you fail to resist checking her out.

Yes, she is admittedly hot. But insufferable. But hot. Facts are facts.

Her hair slicked back, check. Leather jacket, check. Fishnets and crop top fitting her… appealing chest, check. Tight pants that fit her figure, check. Fuck, she looks so good.

"My eyes are up here." Yves pushes your head up to meet her gaze with a finger. The smug smirk on her face makes you want to slap it off her. "If you want me, all you have to do is ask."

"Why're you here?"

"Someone who places such importance in school doesn't want her seatmate present? I'm hurt, babe."

"Fuck off. Don't touch me." You shift away from her touch, and Yves grins.

"I came to see you, my favourite tutor. You're interesting."

"Put that interest in your studies."

"No, I don't think I will, not when you're this pretty."

You try to fight the blush that appears on your face, but it seems that you fail—Yves's cocky grin only gets bigger when she reclines in her chair, resting her feet on the table.

This is your second year with Yves as a seatmate. The girl next to you somehow managed to scrape past first year, and now here she is, staring at you with an amused smirk, annoying you just as she had since Day 1.

"Y'know, I mean it when I say you're pretty."

"Thank you." You grit your teeth, though how red your face remains betrays your hidden feelings. After all, girls don't really compliment you that often, let alone a hot one like Yves is.

"Mm, you're welcome." Yves smiles, resting her head on her chair. "I'll depend on your tutoring, babygirl. Goodnight."

"You're going to sleep?"

"Yep. I'll just listen attentively to you later, cutie."

"I would prefer it if you paid attention now."

"What, and stare at the prof's ugly mug? Why would I do that when I can take the time to stare at your beautiful face instead?"

"Fuck off."

"Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Yves's grin shows how little offense she takes at your rebuttal. "I like you, baby."

You decide to ignore Yves. Ignore how she easily infuriates you. Ignore how hot she is. Ignore the compliments that make heat rise from your cheeks and neck.

Insufferable.

-----

Yves takes a long time to rise from her slumber. You try to shake her, but Yves remains steadfastly asleep on her chair.

"Yves. Wake up."

"Mmnnngggh."

"Wake up, wake up."

"Five more minutes."

"No." You heave a sigh. "Wake. Up."

"Fine, fine, babygirl. You're such a killjoy."

"Do not 'babygirl' me. Let's start."

You pull out your Calculus textbook. Yves halfheartedly pulls hers out as well, and you flip both books to a summary exercise.

"Do these. I need to know your current ability."

"Only because you're pretty, babygirl." Yves picks up her pen, beginning to work on the questions.

-----

"How are you getting all these wrong?"

Your tutee shrugs, leaning back on her chair. "Who cares?"

"I do! You're going to fail."

"Aw babygirl, you do care about me."

"Shut the fuck up. There's so much work I need to do with you."

"Meh, whatever." Yves stretches in her chair, leaning back to close her eyes. "Do your magic, tutor. Teach me."

"Fine. Let's begin."

-----

Both you and Yves part ways at the gate of the campus. After a tense session involving multiple arguments when Yves used more of her phone than to attempt learning anything you were teaching, or when she started to look up girls on Tinder, you gave up and halted the session.

"See you soon, babygirl."

"Fuck you."

"Anytime, babe. You just have to ask."

"Fuck off."

"Calm down. It's not like we don't have time."

"We don't."

"Not with that attitude."

"Fuck your attitude."

Yves only grins when she hears your reply.

---------------

Another tutoring session, another Yves absence. This time, when you call her, you're met with the obscene sounds of Yves engaging in sexual intercourse.

"Hey babygirl."

"Yves. Where are—huh?"

Wet smacks echo loudly through the speaker on your phone. Someone moans on the other side. Regular thumps ring through your speakers.

"I'm a little busy now, baby."

"Wha—what the fuck?"

"As you can hear, I'm busy fucking someone. Bye."

The dial tone that enters your ears almost makes you smash your phone on the table to pieces. You instead settle on smashing your fist against the table instead.

This is the last straw.

-----

The next time you see Yves, you pin her against the wall. Taken by surprise, Yves finds herself in a position she usually puts others into. Smirking, she relents.

"Didn't take you to be so forward."

"This is the last fucking time I'm taking your shit. I've had it with your constant excuses about parties, or whatever. Now, you choose to go fuck some bitch even when you know you have stuff to do. I'm fucking done. I quit."

"Come on, don't be like that, baby." Yves's cocky grin widens. "Maybe I need some more motivation."

"If having your life planned out isn't motivating enough, nothing will work."

"Oh, but I had this wonderful idea…"

You resist taking the bait, but having Yves pinned against the wall fucks with your judgement.

"What?"

Today, Yves is clad in all black leather. Whatever she's wearing doesn't catch your eye—the fact that your face is so close to Yves's flusters you. The same slicked back hair, scarlet lipstick across her kissable lips, a cocky glint in her eye, catching your gaze before traveling down to your lips, then below…

"I've seen the way you look at me, babygirl. You say you hate me, but all I see in your eyes is lust right now. You want me so bad, don't you?"

"Sh-shut the fuck up." You curse at the slight stutter.

"So how about this? I'll be the best student you'll ever have, and if I ace the exams at the end of the year… hmm."

Yves lets her voice trail off, knowing she has your full attention.

"What the fuck do you want?'

"If I ace the exams, I get to fuck you."

You cannot believe your ears.

"What?"

"I said what I said. I'll be the best student you'll have. I'll ace the exams. And when I do, you'll sleep with me."

"Why the fuck would I say yes to that?"

In an instant, Yves flips you around. Your back is now against the wall, your arms held against your will, held down by Yves's grip. Yves leans in.

"Because you think I'm hot."

You subconsciously lean in when you feel her hot breath on your lips, and Yves leans in as well. Something soft presses against your lips. Instantly, she is off you, smirking.

"See you around babygirl. Don't think about me too much."

So you agree.

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 6

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 6.0k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, sex with ulterior motives, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, oral sex (male and female receiving), throat fucking, spanking, clothed sex, unprotected sex, ripping clothes, degradation, throat holding (not to the degree of choking), licking, cum play, it’s nasty it’s just nASTY

I hope you don’t all hate me after this ahahahahahaha love you guys <3

☕💕 If you enjoy this work, please consider supporting me and my writing on KoFi ^^ ☕💕

-------

We must build a brighter future for PhysComs.    They are people, just like you and me, and they are severely undervalued in our society. We employ them, we rely on them, and yet, they are ignored at best, and abused at worst, with punishment and persecution waiting should they dare to speak out about the horrific injustices through which they suffer.    We cannot live in this double standard. I refuse to accept it, and I urge you to open your hearts and imagine what it would feel like to be needed but shamed. To be relied upon, but to never receive recognition for your efforts. They are people, just like us. They live among us, yet they are treated like ghosts.    As of now, Physical Companions are employed by most entertainment companies, but are given no benefits and no job security. They have only the protection of their own agencies and any underground communication they might have between each other.    These people should be respected. They should not be forced to live in the shadows.    It’s time that we acknowledge and thank these tireless workers, and provide them with some support in return for all of the support that they provide this industry.

You read over the words again and again until they become a continuous stream of overlapping thoughts, filling you with utter confusion.

What the fuck does this mean?

You look away from your ComGear and pull up the document on Namjoon’s computer again. “Jungkook!” You call out to him, your heart hammering, and the door opens enough for him to poke his head through, his eyes widened expectantly.

“Yeah?”

You hastily gesture for him to come in, your eyes glued to the screen. “Come read this. Out loud.”

He seems confused, but comes up beside you and looks over the document, murmuring as he reads. “We must build a brighter future for PhysComs…"

As he confirms by reading back to you what you’ve seen with your own eyes, your confusion heightens to a fever pitch, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Is this… an essay? About PhysComs?

“Wow,” Jungkook says softly, his eyes scanning the words in fascination. But when he turns to look at you, you can see that it isn’t fascination at all. His eyes contain something that stirs worry in your gut. “I, uh… I didn’t realize things were so bad for you.”

Pity.

No. No, this is bad. This can’t be happening.

Your brief feeling of ease at finally getting some answers vanishes in an instant as your mind becomes a whirlwind, spiraling down, down, down… You can see, clear as day, what will happen if Namjoon shows this essay to the other boys.

You’ll become someone they pity.

Pity is bad, pity isn’t hot, pity isn’t sexy, pity isn’t fuckable, pity means they’ll feel bad when you do your job, pity means they’ll use other sluts to lessen your burden, pity means they give you more fucking vacation time, pity means they’ll never look at you the same way again, pity means-

You don’t realize you’re short of breath until you’re gasping, hyperventilating, your knuckles white against the dark armrests of the chair.

Jungkook is beside you. He’s saying something but all you can hear is a high pitched whine and the thunder of your own pulse as it crashes in your ears, reminding you with every thump of your beating heart that you’re a failure.

You’ve failed.

You stand up, probably a little too fast, as your vision grows dark in the corners. Jungkook immediately goes to help you when you stumble, but you fend him off.

"I'm fine." You put a hand to your head, trying to force it to stop throbbing. "I don't need your help."

He seems hesitant to reply.

“Where is Namjoon? I-I need to-” Your voice trails off as stars swim in your vision. “Fuck…”

The room becomes blurry, and you feel weightless as you sink to the floor, the distant echo of Jungkook’s frantic voice fading into nothingness.

-------

“Some clients may become… misguided.” Madame paces in front of the class, checking everyone’s form and breathing as they lay on their backs at their stations, legs propped and parted as fucking machines train you all for stamina.

This is a relaxing class, despite the nature of it. After a while, you barely even notice the dildo sliding in and out of you, the whir of the machines becomes background noise. It’s a good chance to focus and meditate.

“They may come to hold… pity for you.” Madame bites on the word as she lowers her ever present riding crop, gently coaxing one girl’s legs further apart.

“They’ll think, aww, the poor little sluts are forced to be used. They’re being objectified. They don’t get a say.” You can barely see Madame’s arm from your position as she drags the riding crop along the girl’s thigh, and the girl shivers in pleasure.

“Pity is useless, girls. This is your job. You don’t pity the mailman for having to be out in the weather. Safety is key, and rules are in place for a reason. That’s why people never hire just one Physical Companion.”

The class snickers at this. The idea is preposterous. PhysComs are always hired in sets, proportional to the amount of clients they’ll be serving.

“You are never forced to serve your client. You are independent contractors. Anything you do for them, you do willingly. This is why we train. To broaden our capabilities, and make ourselves-” Here, she adjusts the setting on one girl’s machine. The dildo moves faster, causing the girl to let out a breathy moan.  “-as flexible as possible for our perspective clients.”

You inhale steadily as Madame examines you, her eye keen enough to pick up every detail of your posture, every twitch of your muscles. She clicks a setting on your machine and you feel the dildo expand slightly in girth, stretching you out further.

You smile and sigh at the stretch, proud to beat your previous record for time needed to move up a size. Madame’s expression gives away no approval, but you can tell from the twitch in her lip that she finds you to be a promising pupil.

She moves on, examining the next girl in line. “Our job is to assure them. To remind our clients why we are here. When we are with our clients, we are purely sexual beings.”

The girl beside you has her hands clapped to her mouth, trying desperately to conceal her noises. You can see her legs quivering and feel a twist of pride at being one of the few people eligible for an orgasm suppressant. Until you get your Opticon implanted, it’s an excellent advantage for stamina training.

Madame returns to her post at the front of the class, her sharp gaze sweeping over each of you as she continues her lecture. “If you are pitied by your client, then you have failed to make them see you as useful. Useless toys are thrown away.”

-------

Regaining consciousness is like being pulled up from the depths.

You vaguely register the softness of a bed beneath you. You blearily open your eyes, and see someone sitting at your side, their face swimming in your vision.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung pets your cheek, his large hands warm against your clammy skin, his voice is gentle. “Are you with me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing a groan as you shove yourself onto your elbows.

“Woah, woah,” He stops you, guiding you to lay back down. “Easy there. How are you feeling?”

You feel like shit, honestly. Your head is still pounding and there’s a ringing in your ears, though the dizziness has faded significantly.

“I’m fine,” you croak, surprised at how weak your voice sounds. You wish you had the strength to shove him off, but your hands are braced uselessly on his arms.

A quick glance at your surroundings tells you that you’re back in your bedroom. How did you get here? The memories of what you discovered begin to come back to you, and with them, your sense of urgency returns. You try to push him off again. “N-need to see Namjoon...”

Taehyung shakes his head with an air of duty. “Namjoon isn’t home yet, but he said to keep you company and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.” He rearranges your arms and tucks the blanket up around your shoulders, then reaches for something on the night table and gently coaxes a straw to your lips. “Here, have some water.”

You reluctantly take a sip. You hadn't realized your throat was so dry.

He seems satisfied, and gives a nod before setting the drink down.

"What happened?” You ask with a looming sense of dread.

“You fainted,” he replies somberly.

You squint at him. “Yeah, I meant after that.”

His face brightens in understanding. “Oh! Well, Jungkook said he tried to call Namjoon as soon as you collapsed, but he didn't answer right away so he had to leave a voicemail. Then he brought you back here to your room instead. Carried you the whole way.”

There’s amusement in his eyes, though you can’t imagine what he finds funny about the situation. “It was perfect timing, so I said I’d look after you until you woke up.” He smiles warmly. “And now you’re awake.”

“What do you mean perfect timing?”

His smile falters for a moment. “Because... I just got home from shopping. See?” He says brightly, gesturing to some shopping bags sitting by your door with big name brands on them.

You also notice that your door handle is broken clean off.

“What… happened to my door?” You gape at the sight.

“Oh, I guess it must have been locked when Jungkook brought you home.” Taehyung chuckles. “I don’t think an elephant could have stopped him. You had him really worried.”

Something inside you feels warm at the notion that Jungkook would care so much.

And that warmth is immediately doused by frigid guilt.

Fuck, what are you thinking?

You’ve let them get too close, you’ve let them see your struggles, you’ve let them see you as a human being, as someone to worry about, instead of a mindless toy. Namjoon has written an entire persuasive essay about the supposed plight through which he believes you’re suffering.

You’ve become too relaxed around them. Fuck, you’re sitting here letting Taehyung fuss over you, when you should be offering him your body, sucking him dry, and letting him fuck your brains out.

That document puts things back into perspective. Letting this… tentative emotional connection that you've started with them go any further could be career ruining. Not just for you, but for the rest of their PhysComs. The dozens of Secondaries they employ could be at risk for losing their jobs too, if your clients suddenly feel guilty for using your services.

And then what? The members’ sexual drives will get out of hand. They won’t be regulated, they might stick their dick into a lucky fan and end up with a pregnancy scandal to cover up, or they’ll become tired, sluggish, and distracted due to unregulated sexual maintenance, which could affect their performance.

You are a necessary piece of their daily routine, their health, their jobs.

Vacation be damned, you are not about to let Namjoon’s blind optimism put himself, the other boys, or your own career at risk. It's for his own good.

You should have deleted the damn document when you had the chance. But it would have been too late anyway. Once they see you in that light, once they start pitying you, then that flicker of doubt will linger in their minds no matter how much you try to extinguish it.

You need to remind them of your place.

Jungkook and Namjoon are lost causes, they’ve both been exposed to the document’s propaganda. But there's still that mysterious vote they’ll be having by the end of the week, presumably about your future. That means you still have a chance. If you can convince a majority of them to view you once more as a purely sexual being…

You try to clear your head, mustering your strength to serve, but before you can ask Taehyung how he wants to use your body, he speaks.

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving.”

Your whole body tenses. You don’t like where this is going. He’s starting to sound an awful lot like Namjoon.

Taehyung seems to sense your discomfort, because he leans closer and bestows a fleeting kiss to your forehead. “Now it’s time for you to receive.” His eyes are warm as he stares down at you, and he holds a glimmer of something secretive in his smile, like he just told a private joke.

Your confusion grows. “Taehyung… what are you talking about?”

“He’ll be here any minute,” he says by way of an answer, and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Just relax, jagiya. You deserve this.”

“What do you-?”

But before you can question what he means and why he’s acting so strangely, your door swings open, and Min Yoongi enters.

“Here to take over,” he says, his mouth and nose still covered by the same black mask from earlier.

Taehyung looks surprised, almost shocked. “Where’s Jimin? He was supposed to-”

“Asked me to come instead.” Yoongi lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Said something about not feeling right.”

You look between the two of them. Taehyung’s mouth flaps like a fish and Yoongi sighs, coming over to take his place. “Come on, you’ve been up here for hours.”

Hours? What time is it? You reach for your ComGear and find that it’s not in your utility belt.

“No, but Jimin is supposed to-” 

Oh, there it is. Plugged in, resting on your night table. Maybe Jungkook saw that the battery was low. That boy is way too considerate.

“Why don’t you go check on him, then?” Yoongi doesn’t give Taehyung any room for argument, staring him down. “I think he went to the practice room.” 

Why is it on the settings screen? Shouldn’t it still be in your emails from earlier…? Weird.

Taehyung reluctantly stands up and takes a few steps towards the door, shifting his weight with uncertainty. He looks to you, then back at Yoongi. “But she was about to ask me something.”

You put aside your ComGear, pushing away any prior thoughts to focus on your mission. “It’s okay, we’ll talk later,” you assure him with a nod, your mind whirring into action.

You have to remind five men of your place as their personal sex slave, if all goes well. The order in which you remind them of this is inconsequential. Plus it might be more effective to go for Taehyung later. He may be less eager to fuck you after nursing you back to health.

But Yoongi… you haven’t seen him since earlier in the day. Yoongi doesn't have feelings for you. Yoongi’s only ever known you as a slut, which makes him an easy target.

Taehyung doesn’t look happy about leaving, but he nods, retrieves his shopping bags from the floor, and gives both of you a final glance before shutting the door.

You wait just long enough to know Taehyung is out of earshot. Yoongi walks over to your vanity, takes off the jacket he’d been wearing and drapes it over the back of the chair, leaving himself in a plain black t-shirt and black sweatpants.

While he isn’t looking, you carefully sit up and shed your oversized hoodie, leaving you topless. Time to get back to business.

You take a deep breath and slip into your persona. It feels good to wear it again, you feel less dizzy, more focused. Ready to fuck.

“Did you miss me, Master Min?”

Yoongi freezes, his back to you. You suppress a laugh. You know you’ve caught him off-guard.

“I’m sorry?” He tugs down his face mask and turns around, only to see you in nothing but a pair of leggings, perched prettily on the edge of your bed. His eyes widen only marginally, but it’s a big reaction, coming from him. "What are you doing?"

You tilt your head to the side and cover your breasts with your hands, groping and squeezing them together. “What do you think I’m doing, Master?” You bite your lower lip, keeping eye contact with him while you feel yourself, rolling a nipple between your fingers. “You always tell me to show off my pretty body.”

Yoongi looks off to the side, averting his eyes to your actions, but the tent forming in his pants tells you he didn’t look away soon enough. “Stop fucking around. You're suspended.” He says, echoing your words from earlier in the day.

You hum in agreement, a pout forming on your lips. “Mm, but I don’t want to be.” You let out a desperate, breathy sigh. “I want to be filled with your cock, Master. I need it.”

You watch his adam’s apple bob. His weight shifts. His lips press together. Every movement you analyze for signs of weakness. It’s like playing chess.

“I know you want me, Master,” you purr, sprawling back onto the bed. You bring one hand down to your core, massaging your mound through the stretchy material. “I’m yours for the taking. No one has to know.”

"Is that what you really want?" He asks with a distinct note of skepticism.

You bristle, but try to hide your irritation. Here they go again with their fucking consent.

“Yes, of course, Master.” You mold your face into submissive desire. “It's my dream to be a good little slut for you. Being stuffed with your thick cock, pounded into the mattress, and pumped full of your seed,” you whine, grinding against your hand for effect. It feels good, better than usual, and you come to find that you mean what you said. 

Sex actually sounds good right now, if you’re being honest. A good fucking might be just what you need to forget your worries, so it’s really a win-win.

You sense Yoongi’s hesitance, and you try to think of a way to convince him that you’re serious. The only off-the-clock sex you’ve had so far was with Hoseok, and that had been… far too intimate. But maybe some of the same principles could apply here. Hoseok had wanted you to want it. He’d asked you to use his name.

“Yoongi,” you breathe his name, dropping your character for just a moment. His eyes snap to yours. “I want you.”

He stares at you for a second. Two. Then he’s hovering over you, hands planted on either side of your shoulders.

“You want me?” His breath is warm and heavy, and you can see the way his pupils dilate when he looks at you.

Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected intensity. You nod, your lips slightly parted as he holds his body only inches away from you.

He seems at war with himself, his jaw working as his eyes roam down to your chest, then travel slowly back up, settling on your widened eyes, your pink bitten lips.

"Fuck it," he mutters, and surges down to crush his lips to yours.

It's unexpected. He's never shown any interest in kissing you, he's always preferred shoving his fingers in your mouth.

But you're grateful for that, because if he'd ever tried to kiss you before, you don't think you would've been able to keep your composure.

Yoongi is like fire. His lips are searing with passion, his tongue flickers and licks into your mouth. It's a stark contrast to his icy fingers as they brush against your ribs.

He's full of contradictions. His kiss is greedy but controlled. He grinds his thigh between your legs, causing you to moan, but his hands are feather light as they caress your breasts. He's fire and ice.

You feel yourself getting hotter by the minute, and all too soon, he breaks away from the kiss, leaving you gasping as he trails his mouth down your neck, biting a bruise there.

"Ah! Yoongi…" Your fingers twine through his hair of their own accord, and you're appalled at how easily you've given in to your desires. But it's all for the cause. You're saving careers.

He groans, his voice low and tempting as he kisses and licks your skin. "You really want me, princess?"

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. "Yes. Fuck, yes, please…"

"You want me to fuck that greedy cunt of yours? Fill you to the brim?"

His words light a fire in you, and you writhe beneath him. "I want it so much, Master. Please fuck me…"

He grabs your jaw. "You're my slut."

He says it more like a question than a statement. You nod as much as he'll allow.

He drags his thumb across your cheek and dips it into your mouth. "You're mine. I can use you however I want…"

You didn't think he'd be so easy to convince. Well, mission accomplished, you suppose. One down, four to go.

You suck greedily on his thumb in answer, widening your eyes to draw him in. He hums, pressing down on your tongue and making you gag around the digit.

"Good girl." His eyes are half lidded as he looks at you. Then something changes, a sharp glint appearing in his gaze as he removes his thumb and squeezes your jaw, forcing your mouth open.

He licks past your lips in a kiss of complete dominance. Despite his control, he's gentle, savoring your taste, praising you for it between breaths.

While your mouth is occupied, his other hand snakes down to cup your heat, palming you through your frustratingly thin leggings. His dexterous fingers find your clit faster than you would expect, and he circles the pads of his fingers there intently, nothing but the thin material separating him from your skin.

You buck into his hand, though you hope he doesn't keep you there for too long. You know the ache between your thighs will only get worse with no release.

"So fucking wet…" he mutters, pulling back from exploring your mouth to lick a possessive stripe up your cheek. "Tell me how much you want me, slut. Beg for it."

"Please!" You whine, falling into the familiar routine. "Please, Master, all I want is your cock inside me! I need it, I want it so badly…"

Yoongi exhales through his nose, and soon he's up and off of you. "All fours."

This is what you're used to. The familiarity of being told what to do, knowing what's going to happen next, it makes you relax. You get in the position he asks, wiggling your ass towards him.

But Yoongi needs no encouragement. He spanks you hard, rubbing his hands all over the smooth material covering your ass. "Fuck, so juicy…"

He's silent for a moment, and his hands still. You're about to say something to provoke him when there's the distinct noise of ripping fabric behind you. Your hips jerk towards him as he tears the seam of the leggings right down your core, exposing you.

"Yoongi!"

But he's already digging in, dragging his tongue along your folds and sucking at your dripping cunt. His hands grip your ass, spreading you apart for him, and you quiver, his tongue igniting sparks as it plunges within you.

You try not to let it get to you, but the lack of constant sex must have made you extra sensetive. Every thrust and flicker of his tongue has you breathless, squirming, needing more. It was never like this before, you have to pull yourself together. Keep control.

But Yoongi seems to like your enthusiasm. He hums, and the vibrations buzz at your clit, sending tingles straight up your spine. You let out a shriek of surprise as he sucks on the overly sensitive bud and you feel yourself throb.

Fuck, he's too good at this. How did he get so good at this? Your arms give out, and you fall onto the bed, your face buried in the duvet as Yoongi fucks you expertly with his tongue.

"S-stop…" you plead weakly, trying to avoid the inevitable disappointment that will soon follow if he keeps this up.

"What? I didn't hear you use your safeword, slut." He growls, landing a warning spank on your rear ashe rises onto the bed behind you. A shuffle of fabric as he pulls down his sweatpants. "You like this, don't you? You like being exposed. Being treated like a pornstar? Dirty girl."

You do. Fuck, you do. Especially when Min Yoongi happens to be the actor starring with you.

You feel him tap the head of his cock against your ass, slide the thick length along your center. "Look at how fucking wet you are already. So desperate... pathetic."

You feel a flash of heat at his assessment. Yoongi's always enjoyed a little degradation, but his choice of words hits a little too close to home in this particular scenario for you to fully embrace it.

You cover your embarrassment with a thicker cloud of pretend. "Of course I'm dripping, Master. I'm your fuck doll. I live to service your cock..."

"Damn right, you do." He shoves into you without warning, and you gasp for real. Fuck, you've been denied dick for less than twenty-four hours, and you're already off your game? Come on, shake it off. Get in the rhythm of it.

But Yoongi sets such a relentless pace, it's impossible for you to keep up. It's as if he's got something to prove. He fucks into you so hard it hurts. You moan and try to relax, try to cling to the familiarity, but you feel a weird pressure building in your chest. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to focus.

He takes your moans and gasps as a sign to go harder, and he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back. His hand slips around your neck, holding you in place while he growls against you, his nose digging into your cheek. "Gonna fuck the living shit outta you… yeah? That's what you want? Gonna make you see stars and beg for my cock, over and over until I say so."

You moan in gratitude. You're grateful he's so easy to convince. You're his slut, and he knows it. This is where you belong. You feel happy. Safe. You smile, closing your eyes as Min Yoongi fucks into you like a freight train, and you finally get a moment’s peace from the past day’s turmoil.

He suddenly grunts, lifting himself off of you. "This cock belongs in your filthy mouth." He pulls out of you and takes you firmly by the shoulder. You hastily follow his implications to sit up.

He grabs his cock at the base and guides it to your face, nudging your cheek and spreading the coated wetness across your skin. You get a glimpse of his length - rock hard, nearly purple, and leaking - before he stuffs it down your throat. You relax, humming and taking all of him and gagging obediently upon request, just like always.

"Such a good whore, yeah…  just like that," he moans, bracing his hand behind your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. "This is how it should be, yeah?"

You hum around him in confirmation, glad that you're both on the same page.

"You're our slut. Nothing will ever fucking change that… " he starts rutting into your mouth, and you obediently let him fuck your throat.

He huffs, his voice dropping lower, “No use pretending you can be anything else.”

The change in his tone of voice is so stark, it gives you pause. You almost lose your concentration. He sounds almost... sad? Why would he be sad? Are you doing something wrong?

You redouble your efforts to please him.

"Look at you. So filthy." He praises you softly as you gurgle around him, drool starting to leak from your mouth. His roughness starts to return at the sight of you, and you beam with pride as he resumes his filthy dialogue. "This is what you want, isn't it? To choke on our dicks all day, huh? This what you signed up for?"

He pulls out to let you gasp in a breath, then shoves right back down. He does this a few more times, letting the blowjob get sloppy. You nod desperately between thrusts, assuring him of your devotion. You graze your hands over his clothed thighs, caressing him while he fucks your throat.

“Nothing else matters.” Yoongi huffs, and as his face swims back in forth in your vision, he looks resolute.

You surge forward to hold his length down your throat, swallowing around him, your nose touching his abdomen.

He groans, pulling your hair taut and holding you in place. "Yeah, that's it…. You were built for this, weren't you?"

He finally lets you come back for air, but no sooner do you take a messy gasp than he pushes you backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of you.

"Say it." He grabs you by the jaw again, and his voice is low and soft, his eyes like hot coals. "Tell me what you want."

You sputter and gasp, still reclaiming your breath, but obediently say what he wants to hear. "I want you, Yoongi. I want your cock..."

He let go of your face and hoists your legs up, bending you in half. "You're gonna get it, too," he mutters, grabbing your calves, keeping them up and out of the way as he shoves his thick cock into you again.

You moan compliantly, gasping and staring up at him. This is all going according to plan, you just have to hang on and not let your throbbing pussy distract you from the goal.

"You want to be a whore, huh?" He asks, maintaining a gravitational sort of eye contact as he slowly slides in and out of you, torturing you. "Cum for me. Cum around my cock."

You shiver and within a few moments, clench around him convincingly, letting your eyes roll back as you moan in delight.

"Cumming on command, within seconds... look at that." He braces your legs with one arm and starts rubbing your clit with his other hand as he picks up the pace. You feel a jolt as his thumb circles the little bundle of nerves, and you actually flinch.

"So sensitive." He growls, reading your mind. "What a needy cunt."

You can't form any words, the way he's kneading your clit has your head thrown back, your breath coming in gasps. It’s never felt like this.

Yoongi picks up on your arousal, and quickly gains speed, fucking you relentlessly, with little grunts of his own as he keeps you spread wide open for him, watching as your pussy takes his cock over and over again.

After endless minutes of stimulation, your core is swollen and aching, but still somehow desperate for more.

Yoongi's hips buck and stutter, and without warning, he leaves you painfully empty, clenching around nothing. His cock in his fist, he pumps himself to completion, letting his seed cover your puffy, aching pussy.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it…" he grunts, using his cock head to smear his release along your folds.

You start to relax, trying to overcome the disappointment your body feels at getting frustratingly uselessly stimulated.

But before you know it, Yoongi is lining himself up with your entrance again. "You thought we were done?" He chuckles darkly, using his cock to collect cum around your entrance, then he sheathes himself to the hilt with a low groan.

It feels so fucking good, you can't think straight. You cry out, your body desperate and screaming for more but knowing it's not enough, and it'll never be enough.

"Yeah, you want it deep inside you, don't you, you little cum slut?" He mutters, shoving his fingers into your mouth, and you're grateful that he's muffling your embarrassing noises.

"Gonna fuck you like the worthless little whore you are," he barks, ruthlessly slamming into you, and you moan with every thrust.

You would have said something if you still had an ounce of coherent thought in your brain, but the sensations are quickly taking over. Your whole body is wound up, desperate for something. His fingers reach down to rub hastily at your swollen clit and your vision blurs, your pulse pounds in your ears - are you going to faint again?

No.

You peak.

A scream catches in your throat, broken and gutterel as pleasure takes over your entire body, coursing through you in waves, lifting your body off the bed, convulsing, throbbing through you, inside and out.

It feels so good it hurts. You want to stay in this moment, extend it for as long as possible, but you know there's something wrong. Your mind is so addled, you're scared, terrified, before you even remember why.

You shouldn’t be capable of climax. Something’s wrong.

Yoongi keeps fucking you, grunting as you clench around his cock, but you're clawing at him, begging him to stop, tears leaking down your cheeks. Something’s wrong.

He realizes you aren't moaning anymore, but wailing. Sobbing. Something's wrong. He pulls out of you, shouting to be heard above your panic. He looks scared. Guilty.

Just then your door bursts open, and Jimin enters the room with a shout, quickly followed by Taehyung.

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

Taehyung’s mouth falls open, and he appears too alarmed to speak, apart from a very small, “Fuck.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What’s your fault?” Yoongi’s shouts at Jimin and Taehyung are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears as your shoulders shake from dry sobs. Your eyes flash between the two younger members, their guilty expressions, and you remember your private conversation with Jimin just yesterday.

"There is a way to turn it off, in case of emergency side effects. But I can't just turn it off for fun. You have to understand that.” You rest your hand on his shoulder again, hoping he now comprehends the reason for your earlier outburst. “It's a part of my job."

"I understand. Sorry,” he says, giving you a small nod. He twists his mouth to the side, chewing over the revelations. "That must really suck. Not being able to cum."

He’s the only one you’ve ever told.

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-”

Your ComGear. The settings.

You're too shocked, too betrayed, too sore to get up on your own. You feel some of Yoongi’s release drip down your leg, and a robotic voice fills your mind, drilled into you from the hours of safety lectures you’d had to sit through during training.

… If at any point the user experiences orgasmic sensations before, during, or after sexual activities, then this may be a sign of malfunction in the Opticon Miracle Implant, rendering the user susceptible to sexually transmitted disease and/or pregnancy. Side effects of a malfunctioning Opticon Miracle Implant could become severe, or in some cases life-threatening, if left untreated. Please consult your local physician and refrain from any sexual activity until the Opticon Miracle Implant may be examined by a specialist.

They’re all shouting now, and you feel your throat constrict in horror at the implications of what just happened. The words get caught in your chest, bubbling up with your mounting fear, and finally fall from your lips in a raw cry for help.

"Someone call an ambulance!"

[rosezure]

Songbird 1 - A Mission

Songbird - Chapter 1

A/N: This is sort of an AU kind of thing. It’s gonna mix fanon and canon info, so bear with me. It also contains spoilers for a lot of the BNHA/MHA plot (manga and anime). This is also very self-indulgent. The main character is an OC of mine, so I'm sorry if you're not into that.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the BNHA/MHA universe, nor its characters. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only. My own characters are, however, of my creation.

Content Warnings: Mentions of death(s), including of family members. Some violence. Blood. Mentions of sharp objects such as knives, swords, scissors, etc. Tattoos. Swearing/strong language.

The sun shined down on Asa's wings, causing her white feathers to reflect the light into her opponent's eyes. This gave her the advantage she needed to send them flying backward, causing his back to hit one of the gym's walls. 

"Another bloody training session, my Commander," Caique chuckled, handing Asa a bottle of water and a towel. The warrior was drenched in sweat, red in the face, and her ponytail was quickly slipping undone.

"Thanks, Caique," She thanked him, taking the bottle and gulping half of the content in less than 3 seconds.

"Wow, intense cardio today?" He teased, covering his smirk with a heavily tattooed hand.

"Why, yes, actually," Her eyebrows were raised as she patted the towel across her neck and face, "Will you be joining me for muscle training?" She set the items on a bench to her left.

"Unfortunately, we have a meeting in fifteen minutes with the parliament. You should get ready," He frowned, a grave tone lacing his words.

"Fuck," Asa groaned. If there was one thing she hated more than forced cardio, it was parliament meetings. Those old, white-headed people were a bore and downright entitled. This was going to be torture.

"You should avoid repeating that word during the meeting," Caique's sarcasm fell to deaf ears. Asa was already marching to the showers to make herself at least presentable for the meeting.

"We'll meet at the emerald doors?" Once again, he was ignored. The tall male smiled at her back with fondness. He felt sorry for the parliament members.

The truth was, the members were afraid of Asa. They often had to walk on eggshells around her, especially during meetings. Her herculean resolve to make sure the decisions being made would cater to the people's needs led her to - for lack of a better word - passionate verdicts. Until, eventually, Caique would swoop in and help them find a middle ground solution.

That was the only reason he was allowed into these meetings. He was only the Captain of the Royal Guard. But Asa, the Commander of Her Majesty's army, was a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to the people. And she only listened to him.

In the parliament meeting room, the members were silently talking amongst themselves. You could say they were preparing for a storm. Kind of like we prepare ourselves before a gruesome class with a tyrant professor.

"I swear! That woman is too temperamental for her position. We don't need a Commander that'll lose their marbles every time a minor crime occurs. This is why I would've preferred the Queen had chosen Yara to be Commander." One of them grumbled as they all took their seats.

"I agree. But Minister Yara is doing a fantastic job! Farmers have never produced so much in such a short time! Her openness to new and sustainable practices is what brought our crops back to life!"

"True, but she would have made a fine Minister of Security. Though I believe perhaps Domi's warrior background would've also made a perfect fit!"

"Yes, yes!" They chorused in agreement. Yara and Domi listened to their whispers with frowns. They knew Asa better than anyone. Although she could be hard to deal with, she deserved her position more than anyone. 

"Good morning," Asa's voice echoed in the large meeting room. The ministers took their seats, greeting her back with low voices and bowed heads. Caique and her scoffed as they sat down.

Not a minute later, the doors opened again. Santos, the Queen's right-hand man, came in. He was dressed in a long royal blue coat with silver trimmings, dark leather pants, and a white chemise. His black books clicked as he made his way to the end of the large table in the center of the room. 

"Let's try to be as concise and objective as possible," He gave Asa a pointed look and sat down. She smiled back at him mischievously. The two had a brother-sister relationship. Santos often had to scold her for some of her escapades, so to speak.

The meeting began, and Asa tried her best to behave. Whenever he noticed her wings flutter, Caique would softly nudge her so she'd calm herself. It wasn't her fault these old farts were about as wise as a rotten egg. Oh, how she wished she could just sink her sword in-

"Minister Asa," Asa lifted her eyes from the table. "Please present your diplomacy strategies." Santos raised an eyebrow, urging her to do as he said.

"Right," Asa cleared her throat and stood up.

"Dear members of the court," She greeted them, "For our diplomatic measures and to ensure peace throughout the kingdom, I have a few strategies." 

Two hours later, the meeting ended. Santos asked Asa to stay behind to discuss some plans they had, so she dismissed Caique. 

Once the Hand of the Queen and her were alone, Asa took a seat closer to him and grabbed one of the papers stacked in front of him.

"If we could just convince Minister Isaac that the anti-rebellion plan is too extreme mayb-" Santos raised a hand, interrupting her.

"Asa, I didn't ask you to stay behind to discuss politics."

"You didn't?"

"No, I did not."

"Okay... Then for what? I have some training to conduct."

"I'm aware," Santos chuckled. "The Queen is coming to talk to you. It's somewhat of an urgent matter." He trailed off, unsure of how to explain the situation without alarming Asa. It was too late for that.

"The Queen?!" Asa all but shrieked. "What's going on? Are we under imminent attack? Have my scouts returned with grave news?" Asa stood up abruptly, ready to leave and prepare the army for an attack. Her wings were preparing to take flight when she felt a hand on her wrist.

"Calm down, Asa, please!" Santos tried his best to hold onto her.

"My child," Asa stilled at the Queen's voice. "Please calm yourself. You are Commander of the Royal Army, act as such."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Asa immediately answered, bowing in respect.

"Now, Santos, please explain why Asa isn't holding the usual training session right now." The Queen asked as she took Santos's seat.

Her Majesty, Queen Yeba of Pindorama, was a powerful and intimidating woman. She had brown skin, with a red undertone, pale yellow eyes, and white hair. Her facial features were always schooled to be serious, but the lines around her lips showed how much the Queen truly enjoyed life. She had full eyebrows, a slightly flat round nose, plump lips, and high cheekbones. Queen Yeba represented the richness and power of her land, and Asa had always admired her.

"Asa, as her Majesty had entrusted me with telling you why you're here," Santos began, "Please listen until the end. If you have any questions or objections, you can ask them once I'm done." Asa nodded for him to continue.

"Her Majesty has received an urgent message from the Prime Minister of Japan." Santos took the vacant seat to the right of the Queen. "They have recently dealt with a powerful villain, with a quirk named All For One. Unfortunately, the results of the confrontation were devastating. Many of their champions, or heroes as they call them, were lost in battle or severely wounded. Physically and mentally."

Asa furrowed her eyebrows. She knew that kingdom from the hours she spent reviewing war tactics and diplomatic agreements. They were on good terms, and she hoped they stayed that way.

"They were, however, able to capture the dangerous quirk owner, as well as some of his followers. Most importantly, they managed to capture his would-be successor, a man with a decay quirk." Santos looked at the Queen to confirm he could go on.

"Continue, Santos."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Santos cleared his throat and continued. "They believe our healing assistance would be of great help. We are known for our many powerful healing quirks. And our natural resources are valuable assets in the medical area."

"This is a wonderful idea, Your Highness," Asa smiled. "If we lend them a few of our healers and send some resources for their hospitals, our alliance will grow even stronger!" 

"That is one of the points. But, I'm afraid you have a specific role to play in this part." Santos fiddled with his fingers, afraid of what Asa's reaction to what he was about to say would be. 

"I don't understand," Asa frowned, "I'll prepare a team to escort the healers and equipment. Right?" She looked from the Queen to Santos back and forth.

"I shall tell her, Santos. Thank you for your help." The Queen smiled at him and stood up, her royal blue dress cascading down her frame.

"Asa, my child," Queen Yeba stood behind her chair and placed her hands on Asa's shoulders. "You are being sent as a healer. And you will stay as a show of our alliance."

"What?" Asa's voice dropped to a whisper. "Your Highness, I'm not a healer. I'm a warrior, a soldier at best. I live to serve you and the army." Her words were pronounced clearly, strongly. Her wings were puffed out.

"We need a spy there. The Prime Minister needs someone to keep an eye on their Hero Commission. It's an organization that has been causing nothing but trouble, and he fears what will happen should they get their hands on the decay quirk. Or worse." The Queen explained.

"Oh," Asa sighed in relief. "So I won't really have to act as a healer?"

"Not quite..." Santos intervened. 

"Oh boy."

"Oh boy, indeed, Asa," Her Majesty chuckled. "You'll have to brush up on those healing techniques books."

"With all due respect," Asa pursed her lips, "The last time I practiced healing, I was six years old. It was before I lost my parents to the War of Clouds. I don't think I'm the right person for this mission." She bit her lip, trying not to think about her family. 

"I understand." The Queen then did something unexpected. She kneeled next to Asa's chair and looked up at her, holding her hands.

"Listen, my child," She began. Asa's and Santos's eyes widened as they gaped at their monarch on her knees. Asa's entire body, including her wings, went rigid.

"You have to let go of the hurt and the wounds of the past," She squeezed Asa's hands in her own, "You can be the kindest and most talented healer of all times. It's in your blood. Allow yourself to reconnect with your roots, rediscover your quirk. Bring honor to your family, Asa of the Kuatamunato tribe."

"My Queen, I'm not sure. I don't want to cause issues if I can't perform any healing."

"That won't be a problem. You'll have plenty of time to prepare."

"Really? That's great! I'll start studying right away."

"Uh, Asa? Her Majesty meant you'll have plenty of time there."

"Wait, what?"

"Indeed, Asa," Queen Yeba stood up. "You're leaving tomorrow."

"My Queen!" Asa began to protest, but the Queen interrupted her.

"I won't hear your excuses anymore, Asa. Santos will explain the rest." The Queen left after that, not giving Asa a chance to object. 

Asa turned to Santos, eyebrows almost touching her hairline.

"Well?"

"Right, I should probably explain it a bit more."

"Yeah, you should." Asa crossed her arms.

"Okay," Santos took a deep breath. "You now know about their situation and the kind of help they need. And you heard the Queen herself ask you to go and act as a healer."

"Yes, I'm almost painfully aware of that burden."

"Less sass, please. Just listen," Santos pointed his finger at her. "What Her Majesty means is that you'll be sent there as a healer, but also as a spy. Your actual mission will be to gather information on the Hero Commission and their illegal, borderline cruel activities. We have a few files you can go over during your trip."

"Okay, everything makes sense except for the healer part." Asa sighed. "Santos, you and I both know I am incapable of healing a freaking plant, let alone a bunch of champions from another country. I'm afraid this will be a disaster."

"Here's the thing: Your cover is going to be as healer and teacher at a hero high school."

"You're demoting me to school nurse?! I'm the fucking Commander of the Royal Army! I'm no school nurse!" Asa bellowed indignantly, her wings flapping behind her aggressively. Santos resisted the urge to snort at her outburst and continued.

"At the school, you'll also be lecturing music classes-"

"Ah, the classic Siren method." 

"That is your quirk, Asa."

"Whatever. This still sounds insane."

"Asa!" Santos reprimanded. "Her Majesty is doing this for you. We considered sending other soldiers, spies, and healers for this task. We chose you because of your abilities, your training, and your quirk. You have to start letting go of the past. Her Majesty believes this will give you a chance to embrace your quirk." Asa felt her shoulders tense. He had no right speaking about her past like that.

"It's stopping you from developing. Your wings are growing weaker every year, and you know this. You know you need to use your quirk to keep your whole body strong. Why are you torturing yourself like this?" Santos was grasping at straws, hoping to get any sort of reaction from her. 

And he did. Asa stood up, her icy blue eyes dark and glazed over. Her wings were wide open, intimidating him. She looked into his eyes and sneered.

"Because I wasn't enough. I couldn't save anyone." Asa gritted out. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Asa had to calm down. She couldn't lose control now. 

"What time do I leave?"

"Tomorrow after lunch."

"Who's to take over after I leave?"

"Caique."

"Good. I've done my best to train Caique."

"I'll make sure to keep him in line."

"I hate that you're right."

"I know. I love you, too, my little sister." Santos walked over to her and pulled her into an embrace.

"Where in Japan am I going to?"

"Musutafu."

"I hate it already."

"Of course. It wouldn't be you if you didn't."

Chapter 2

[lordseochangbin]

lordseochangbin’s jype series smut: music producer

requested: daddy kink 

you shoved your face into the pillow, crashing onto the couch as you seemed to fail yet again at making a beat for the new track you were walking on. you dressed well today, a tight black skirt with a black denim skirt that hugs your waist but it didn’t change your mood nor your ability to make music.

honestly speaking you were new to the studio, starting off other producers saw your potential and decided to have you be the main producer for one of jyp’s newest girl groups.

this was an amazing job, considering you had left america to pursue a career and you felt you had zero confidence in actually making it in. but now here you were, having a mental breakdown in the studio after getting two hours of sleep trying to cram in a nice track before the deadline.

it was stressful.

you managed to keep your eyes open in front of the computer screen fiddling with some last minute adjustments before you could here one of jyp’s music directors come in.

considering he didn’t speak proper english and it had only been your second week into your korean class, it was hard to communicate back and forth.

“how is your work?” the director asked confidently.

you turned around in excitement from the english, not sure if you understood correctly due to the accent.

“i haven’t finished it yet, im so sorry. just give me another 2 hours ill get it done!!”

the director glared at you in confusion but by your expression figured what had happened.

“argh!” he exclaimed, “i can’t work with these american producers!”

your eyes started to tear up. this was the downside of being in korea, you always felt left out. of course korea is open to visitors but living here felt like an outsider in a different world and the fact that you had no time to do your korean classes didn’t help much.

as you whipped your tears you felt a tall blonde enter the room, his confidence gleaming almost as if he owned the room. “did you need my help?” he peeked in whispering to the director.

his hair was wet, his shirt damp of sweat from practicing with the rest of his group. it was bang chan, the leader of stray kids. part of the musical group 3racha, whose beats you had always admired.

the director came to chan and whispered a new words into his ear before turning back to you and waving goodbye. “take care...”

chan stood there for a few seconds, then walking about to the couch and sitting down. you turned around to view him from the front of your recording set.

“hi, my names y/n”

“haha, i know. i’ve seen you around! nice to meet you”

“you too!! wow im really sorry to interrupt you during practice i know it’s probably hard to cram in all this stuff an-“

“don’t worry about it. id love to help you” bang chan interrupted, pulling out his laptop.

you sat next to him as he pulled out some tracks, “here let me show you some 3racha tracks that i have.. just the music”

one of the tracks started playing causing your jaw to drop, “dude!! that beat is sick!” you praised.

bang chan’s eyes widened as he tried to pause the song, “wait this track-” you listened attentively, wondering why bang chan wouldnt be proud of it

“chan what’s the problem?” before chan could pause the track you heard the sounds of heavy moans added to the background, causing you to bite your lip

chan shut down the laptop, looking towards you in embarrassment. 

“i..i’m sorry about that y/n”

you laughed as his cheeks turned red, “pfft, sorry? that’s exactly why girls are on their knees for you chan. you’re literally the hot shot of stray kids”

chan raised his eyebrows at your response, “you think so?”

“pfft.. don’t get too flattered. that’s everyone else’s opinion”

he placed a hand on your knee, pulling himself closer to you almost inches away from your face. “maybe i could change that”

you placed a finger under his chin, pulling him even closer. “the only thing i need help with...” you pushed him to the side before continuing, “is my music”

“oh come on!” he exclaimed, grabbing your hips making you fall onto his lap.

chan pulled back from hair from your face before staring lustfully into your eyes, “y/n.. i think the first thing you need to do is get rid of that stress.”

you pulled away from his lap, lying on your stomach as you buried yourself into the pillow. you were unconvinced that chan could help you with just that before he gripped his hands onto your shoulders, massaging them gently. 

it was a few seconds of heaven as he rolled his palms on your back, “chan.. that feels so good..how did you-”

chan removed his hands, laughing as you turned around. “chan.. why’d you stop?”

“i dont think i can continue to help, you said i wasn’t the hot shot of stray kids” he shrugged, putting his laptop away.

you watched as he stood up, is he being for real?

“no wait chan-” you sighed, rolling your eyes. you approached him slowly, covering the door so he couldn’t leave

“you are.. the most hottest, sexiest, cutest member of stray kids” you continued sarcastically

“i think you forgot talented.” he said

“i think we can leave that out for today” you grabbed his hand, guiding him back to the couch.

“now help me.. pleaseeee” you pleaded.

“honestly speaking, i think you need to find some sort of inspiration”

“what’s yours? sex?” you spurted out

chans jaw clenched, making you stutter a bit. “l-look sorry i tend to be a little-”

“no..” chan interrupted, his voice low. “i get it. you think you’re funny right? flirty? with you skirt so close to your cunt.. i could fuck you over in seconds. i’m gonna tease you everyday until you break”

you laughed, slapping your hand onto his chest. “chan.. or chris. i know i’ve only been here for a few months and you might think of me as inexperienced in music, but i have to confess i am much more experienced in other things.”

you grabbed his hand, placing it under your skirt as he grabbed your thigh. “so if you think you’re ‘turning me on’ right now, or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing chan, try again” you smiled widely before standing up to grab your things and left the room.

perhaps you could say you took chan’s breath away. he had never met a girl as sexy as you. compared to the way you looked when he came to now, it was almost like you had a switch to you. you realized it to, how did his presence bring you such confidence? 

chan kept his word. with every interaction he found some way to get his hands on you, some way to keep you distracted, some way to get you riled up. but you contained all of this distress until you got home, determined to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants. 

but the dildo didn’t help.

should you give him a shot? you wondered to yourself

the question got you thinking about bang chan all night in bed until you decided to text him.

me: chan.. it’s y/n 

bang chan: aw babygirl, feeling needy now?

you read the message smirking as you imagined bang chan at your door. you thought about it, maybe he was as sexy as his fans put him out as. 

your reply said nothing of the sort.

me: no, i just needed up with music

bang chan: are you sure it’s just music y/n?

your legs started the grab the comforter, no longer being able to take the heat in between them

me: no.. i

me: i just cant stop thinking about you in between my legs. i want you so bad

bang chan: y/n.. now thats what i like to hear

bang chan: i swear to you one night i wont stop fucking you until your legs are shaking and the neighbors know my name

you gasped at the text, throwing your phone on the floor and grabbing your pillow. your cheeks flushed red at the thought of bang chan, what he was capable of. that night you went to bed thinking about him right next to you, he was even in your dreams. you had fallen in love with bang chan.

~~~

the next day around 8 am when you arrived at the jyp building you walked down the hall full of studios, interrupted by a hand that slammed you hard against the wall.

“missed me?” bang chan asked

you scoffed under your breath, “you wish” you replied before continuing the walk. once you opened the door to the studio you were off the floor and inside the arms of bang chans’. 

“this outfit of yours is really nice, for whom? i wonder” you wore a white crop top with a black and red plaid skirt, along with some combat boots to complete a cute school girl look, which obviously turned him on.

“chan..chan the music” you responded, realizing the director might come soon.

“ok i finished editing the track you need to show to the director, he should be here in 30” he said, carefully putting you on the black leather couch. 30 minutes...would that be enough?

the second he sat on the couch you couldn’t hold back anymore. you trapped him against the cushion, thrashing your lips against his, rolling your hips on him, your hands exploring all over bang chan. you wanted it all.

the kiss took him by surprise, his hands picking you up from the bottom of your thighs and lifting you onto his lap. 

your core felt like soaring fire at this point, and it being pressed against his cock didn’t help a single bit. 

“daddy please.. i need you right now. all i can think about is you. you teased me enough please” you whimpered.

“i’m sorry.. what did you call me?”

“d-daddy. please fuck me” you panted, the feeling of member growing under you was taunting. you couldn’t stand it anymore, and bang chan loved that.

“fuck.. look at my babygirl” he said, his thumb sliding across his cheeks before he could harshly grab your chin. “y/n is so good and submissive.. and its 8 in the morning, i can only imagine how much sleep you lost last night”

he forced two digits to pass your lips, “suck”. his thumb held your face straight, his eyes dark and full of need as you grind on his hips, him jerking into you every once in awhile.

soon he dragged his fingers away from your lips, leaving them to part as he removes his t-shirt and soonly after both of your clothes and thrown onto the hard floor. 

“chan.. he’s coming in 25 minutes we’re gonna get caugh-”

chan sealed your worries with a kiss, his fingers playing around your folds as he felt your bare skin against his. 

it was weird, you thought, to see him bare naked under you. his member was massive as well, the thought of it inside you leaving you to drool.

chan’s member brushed against your entrance making you grip tighter on his arms. “chan” you pouted, “just fuck me already”

your actions resulting in a few spanking from chan however, “what did you call me babygirl?” 

his voice made you whimper, your voice stuttering as you replied, “d-d-daddy... please i need you so bad”

chan smirked, “you’re not such a good girl anymore huh? always in need of daddy’s big cock”

“my daddy is the bestest” you replied innocently, taking chan by surprise when you get on all floors, yourself in between in legs as you lick a strip of his member.

“y/n...” he softly moaned your name, giving you motivation to suck on his dick. 

his hands grabbed your hair, pushing you closer to him and fucking your mouth. chan smirked as you looked up to him, the way you made him feel, like he was the most blessed man on this planet.

“you’re so beautiful” he praised as you sucked on his tip, his hips bucking as he fucked you harder. you leaned back this time, your core throbbing on inactivity, your fingers not helping a single bit. 

it was about time when you got on top of chan, sinking down on his member slowly. your teeth gnawed onto chan’s neck as you felt your walls being stretched to his size, “you’re so big daddy”

chan sped up his pace with no warning, giving you no time to adjust. your hands gripped onto his shoulders as your heard chan say, “i-i think i’m gonna cum. you sucked me off so well babygirl”

“let’s ride it off together” you said in a shaky voice. seconds later, both of you released on each other before you could hear a few knocks from the door. frantically you jumped from chan’s lap, throwing him his clothes and putting on yours.

“i’m coming!!” you replied.

“that’s what she said” chan replied with a smirk, you sending a deadly glare at him as you forced on your skirt. 

“help me with this?” you asked chan, gesturing at your zipper.

“are you wearing no underwear?” your eyes glowed as you shut his mouth, running over to answer the door. you felt relieved almost, despite your job being at stake if the music wasn’t good enough. you opened the door to see the tall man with a suit on. 

“how’d she do?” the director asked chan as he walked into the studio.

“y/n.. she was perfect.”

[mycupoffanfiction]

His Second Chance Part 1

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: Language, anxiety, angst (maybe closer to just sadness rather than angst tbh), sliiightly smutty thoughts, fluff.

I suggest checking the HSC Masterlist for a full list of warnings for the series. 

Word count: Approx 1900

Masterlist

Hi! Here’s the new series! The next part of A Real Sweet Guy is coming up within the next few days, maaaybe tonight if I can get on with the finishing touches this evening! I reeeaaaally hope you all like this one, I had the idea a while ago and I’ve had the concept floating about for ages!

Please let me know what you think since this is a new series! Please don’t hesitate to leave suggestions or thoughts! TAG LIST IS OPEN!

_____________________________

Small footsteps padding down the hallway, a soft hum to a rock song that blasted in your ears, occasionally mouthing the words as you walked along. Your mug from earlier was clutched in your hands, now empty and ready to get an evening hot chocolate. You’d had to borrow Sam’s mug because someone had stolen yours. Definitely not Sam…

Soft black leggings, your butt shaped beautifully with the garment, a little crop top on your top half. A large oversized Captain America hoodie over your shoulders, the sleeves shoved up to your elbows. It had been a secret Santa present, but you’d be lying if you said you hated it. You fucking loved it. So cosy and warm and it had the shield of your favourite and only super soldier printed on the front.

 You walked out into the living space of the floor you shared with Steve and Sam, your two best friends. You looked down, threading some of your hair behind your ear as you walked across the wooden flooring to the kitchen. You looked up, two hulking figures in the shadows of the unlit room and you paused, mug tumbling to the ground, smashing at your sock clad feet. The light flicks on and not one, but two super soldiers stand in the living room.

Bucky.

Steve and Bucky were finally home. “Steve?” You asked, voice small and quiet as you pulled an earbud out of your ear. “Sorry we scared you sweetie.” He chuckled walking towards you. You glanced down to see the mug in pieces at your feet and back up at the two soldiers. Shit, Sam’s gonna hate you. “Sergeant Barnes.” You greeted him, small smile on your lips. “Bucky.” He corrected, voice gruff and low, almost too quiet to hear. “Right, Bucky.” You nodded, awkwardly looking away from his intense stare. His bright blue eyes bore into you, it made you feel like you were exposed to him, naked, like he could see everything about you just by staring at you like that. You swallowed thickly as you studied his messy long brown hair tucked behind his ears, the way his shirt hugged his muscles, the glint of that beautiful metal arm in the artificial light.

 “Bucky is staying on our floor.” Steve announced, smiling softly. “Oh, okay.” You nodded before kneeling down to pick up the remains of Sam’s mug. Serves him right for stealing yours. “Next to your room.” Steve added, pointing in the general direction of the spare room that was situated right next to yours. “I hope you like your room, Bucky.” You smiled up at him as you collected the mug pieces into your hands, careful not to hurt yourself before you turned away to bin the pieces. You had no response from the soldier and you stood in the kitchen doorway as you watched the two men leave the room, that icy cold stare lingering on you for a moment until Bucky had to catch up with Steve.

 Damn she was cute. Bucky trailed after Steve. You stared too much, you idiot, she probably thinks you’re weird. He huffed, causing Steve to look over his shoulder at him. “You alright, bud?” He asked as they passed your bedroom door and approached his. “Yeah.” He mumbled a reply. No, you just made a fool out of yourself in front of a cute girl. What was she wearing? Right, a Captain America Hoodie. God how he wished it was the only thing you wer- Stop! Stop it Barnes! Jesus, get your head out of the gutter. “Here we are!” Steve announced, pushing the door to his room open. The room was simple and clean but decorated nicely. Bucky took a tentative step in, eyes instantly flicking to window, the bathroom door to the right, his intense stare scanning the room for possible entries and exit ways. “Remember to ask FRIDAY if you need anything.” Steve patted his shoulder, taking a few steps back. “I’ll let you settle in, I’m opposite you, (Y/n) is next door. I really suggest you get to know her, she’s quiet, sweet, very fun shy girl.” Steve grinned as he talked about you, looking down the hall at you. Bucky peaked around the doorframe to see what Steve was looking at.

 You. He didn’t recognise the song you were half humming, half singing along to, but you were really getting into it, your butt swaying a little as you moved to lean against the back of the sofa, the grind and whir of the hot drinks machine in the background could be heard as you waited for your drink to pour. Pretty little butt. No, stop it Barnes. Before Bucky realised, he’d made a little grunt and Steve was looking at him expectantly. “Just be gentle with her.” Steve went on. “She’s really shy sometimes, get’s very anxious, she sometimes gets panic attacks and is quite sensitive to confrontation and loud voices, just be careful, alright?” Steve smiled, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “Night Buck.” He said over his shoulder as he returned to his room, Bucky’s stare lingering on you for a moment.

 “Morning!” You beamed at the long haired super soldier as you sat at the island in the kitchen, hugging Steve tightly. You had missed your best friend so much that now you just wanted to catch up on the attention you’d missed, not to mention the slightly panicky feeling you’d woken up with, so this was a good way of helping you to calm down. “Uh.” Bucky stared at you both, Steve chuckling at Bucky’s confusion. “We usually cuddle in the morning.” Steve smiled at his best friend as Sam entered the kitchen. “Right.” Bucky nodded. He just wanted you on his lap hugging him the way you were hugging Steve, your sweet little giggles and smiles as you enjoyed the attention. Maybe if he got closer to you, he could have that too. No. You’d just hurt her, Barnes. Look at her and look at yourself, she wouldn’t want to be like that with you. Bucky growled at his thoughts, startling you. He hadn’t realised you’d sidled up beside him to get a mug from the cupboard and now you were backing away, eyes wide. You thought he was growling at you. Great. Fucking. Job.

 “Anyone seen my mug?” Sam asked, walking around the kitchen as he peered in all of the cupboards. You blushed a little, glancing over at Steve and Sam, trying to hide the guilt on your face. You opened your mouth to say something, but your voice didn’t come out, someone else spoke for you. “I broke your dumb mug.” Bucky said gruffly, slamming his bowl down onto the counter top. You looked over at him, surprised he’d taken the blame for you and you mouthed ‘thank you’ to him, a little nod of his head said that it was alright. “You’ve been here one night and you’re already breaking my stuff?” Sam scoffed. “Half my stuff breaks because miss clumsy over here can’t not break things to save her life.” Sam said sarcastically and over dramatically, throwing his arms up. You looked straight ahead at the counter, Bucky’s heart aching a little when you started to react like you were actually being told off. “Sam.” Steve’s voice was stern as he noticed your behaviour. “She’s always so clumsy-.” Sam went on, playful tone in his voice as he teased, thinking you knew he wasn’t actually mad. You couldn’t help that you were clumsy. “Sam.” Steve raised his voice, head nodding in your direction. You stood silently, bright red cheeks, breathing slightly uneven, lips parted. “I broke your mug, Sam. I’m sorry.” Was the only thing you said, just above a whisper before you reached into your pocket and pulled out your earbuds, popping them both in and blasting music to drown out the people around you. You weren’t exactly tipping over the edge of anxiety, but had it not been for your panicky feeling that morning, perhaps you wouldn’t have reacted so badly. You hated the idea of disappointing people, of making them mad at you and while you knew Sam was joking, it still got to you.

 “I didn’t mean to…” Sam trailed off, gesturing loosely at you. “I know, she knows that.” Steve reassured him. “You know she’s a little fragile about that sorta thing.” Steve went on, knowing you couldn’t hear him judging by the muffled sound of Red Hot Chili Peppers from your earbuds. Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave your figure. You slumped over yourself. Steve hadn’t been lying when he said your anxiety was bad.

 Bucky sat at the island, you opposite at Steve’s side, shoulders touching as you were almost leaning up against him. You seemed a lot calmer now, sipping on your coffee, your pink lips pursed around the rim of the mug, your large, fluttery eyelashes, the way your hair fell so beautifully. Bucky just wanted to reach out and touch it, it looked so soft, so smooth, but he knew he shouldn’t. It had taken everything in him to not pull you into a crushing hug earlier when your anxiety reared its ugly head.

 “(Y/n).” Sam put his hand on your shoulder, but you just turned in your seat and wrapped your arms around him. “We’re all good.” You whispered. “I’m still sorry that I broke your mug.” You said quietly. “That’s okay, I kinda stole yours, so I guess we’re even.” He chuckled, hugging you back. Bucky loved how touchy you were, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for that, but he really wanted to be. He really, really wanted to have you greet him with warm hugs, cuddle with him the way you do with the other two boys, hold his hand like he’d seen you do with Steve earlier when you were trying to calm yourself down.

 “Did you have enough to eat?” You asked, voice still small as you looked up at Bucky. He hesitated for a moment. “Bucky, you can eat however much you want, when you want, promise no one will get mad. Well I might get a little annoyed if you don’t tell me when you finish something because I’m the poor gal who’s gotta go grocery shopping for three soldiers.” You giggled, pushing items of breakfast food towards him. “I know how much a super soldier eats and I know from your tiny bowl of cereal that it wasn’t enough.” You pointed out. You were right, Bucky knew it. But he appreicated your efforts with him. A scowl rested on his face. He wanted to say thank you, but all that came out was a gruff grunt and you looked up at him confused. “Right, I- I’ll just go.” You backed away, leaving Bucky alone in the kitchen. Bucky sighed as he poured more cereal into his bowl. Well done Barnes, she probably thinks you hate her.

 “Hey, you alright?” Steve asked, poking you in the side as you sat curled up on the sofa. “I think Bucky doesn’t like me too much.” You spoke quietly. “Oh.” Was all Steve could say. Yep, she definitely thinks you hate her. Bucky overheard from around the corner. “I know I shouldn’t, but I really just wanna give him a hug and tell him it’ll be okay.” You sigh, Bucky’s heart swelling as he listened from the hallway. How is she so goddamn sweet? Can’t get too close to her, you’ll hurt her Barnes. She’s too sweet and fragile for you. Bucky thought to himself, moving away to his bedroom before he could overhear more.

He wished he could be close to you. But he couldn’t.

______________________

Permanent Tags:

@shygirl-00 @swanlakemikey@scuzmunkie @paintballkid711@lovelylilia @mapreza1 @love-bucky-3000 @cals-cigarette

[kathyprior4200]

Helluva Boss Pilot: Gender Reverse

 Not too far away from Pentagram City lay a shady place in the bowels of Hell. “Welcome to Imp City: est. 1981” was posted on a worn wooden sign with a white painted eye toward the top. Under a crimson sky, a wide array of buildings made up the city, some with spikes on the roofs. Downtrodden imps of various colors and sizes mulled around the streets and ghettos. Mugging, sex, drugs, poverty, and murder were common aspects of their everyday afterlives. Indeed, being considered “lesser demons” and the “lowest of the low,” not very many had opportunities granted to them.

 Well, save for a unique family of imps, trying to get their business running.

 Just who were these imps?

  A nearby screen showed old fashioned numbers ticking down, 3, 2, and 1 against red.

 Elektriza, a red and white faced imp appeared on stage in front of purple curtains. Elektriza smiled in front of the camera with a row of sharp yellow teeth, her eyes yellow with orange irises and black pupils. The left side of her face was red and the right side was white. A prominent black mark was visible on her forehead, looking like an upside down lotus. Her long curved horns were black and white, the horns curving inward toward her face like a ram’s. A dark navy blue business dress graced her form, orange-pink buttons going down the center of it. The collar of her dress was white and her red undershirt had a round pink pin with a stitched up face on it. Her dress had several tatters in it. Navy blue gloves covered her hands and wrists, with a yellow eye decoration on each one. She also wore matching cowgirl boots, the tips of them the same pinkish color as her pin. A red pointed tail with a few white spots on it excitedly swished back and forth behind her.

 “Hi there, I’m Elektriz, the “a” is silent, and I’m the founder of I.M.P.!”

 The logo appeared in red sparkles over her outstretched left hand. “I.M.P.” was shown in bold black letters, the “M” shaped like black and white imp horns. Down below were words in red: “Immediate Murder Professionals.”

 “Are you a piece of shit who got yourself sent to Hell?”

 A small screen in the right hand corner showed Elektriza wearing a black cape and two black pointed hats on her horns. A monocle rested near her left eye. She was grinning in front of a burning house. The sign beside her read “orphanage for disabled neglected children.”

 “Or are you an innocent soul who just happened to be fucked over by someone else?”

 The next slide showed Elektriza in a white angel costume throwing a styrofoam cup into a waste bin next to a recycle bin. An old clerk with large glasses was working behind a desk in the background. Red pentagrams decorated the walls.

 The next clip showed a video of a tall muscular red demon talking in front of a camera. She was wearing a white shirt that read “Ohio” on it in red. A 666 News billboard was in the background along with a “Hella” sign and a beer poster. An imp held a wooden sign that read “Some person who hired us!”

 The red demon spoke, “After lovingly killing my husband for fucking a delivery lady, you can imagine my surprise when I wound up here, after the state of Ohio killed me.” She punched one of her hands with her meaty fist. “I really wish I could just stick it to that yapping charter who saw me hiding the body!”

The scene cut back to Elektriza who was shown holding an ornate Satanic ritual book. She was in a room full of white candles and skulls scattered on the floor and a white clothed altar with a round mirror on it.

 Behind her were her two employee imps, Moxxia and Millard. Moxxia had white messy hair and black and white stripped horns curving back in a zig zag look. Several white tuffs of hair rested beside her cheeks on either side. She wore a similar dark navy blue business dress like her boss, with the pink buttons in the center and the cuffs of the sleeves white. Moxxia’s face was red, and her eyes were big and yellow. White freckles dotted near her eyes and an orange-pink bow rested on top of her head between her horns. Her red and blue curved hooves were visible, as was her red pointed tail with a couple of black stripes on it.

 Finally, there was the other imp, Millard. Millard had a red face like his wife Moxxia, and also had big yellow eyes. His hair was short, black, and wild on top of his head. A white spot in his hair took the shape of a skull. His tall long horns were black with faint white stripes on them. The horns curved slightly past the back of his head. Unlike the other two, he wore torn black jeans and a black crop top shirt that exposed his red shoulders. His clawed feet and red tail were visible as well.

 “Well luckily for you,” Elektriza mentioned, referring back to the red demon desperate for revenge, “Thanks to our company’s special access to the living world…”

 She grinned and wiggled her fingers.

 Fwoosh!

 A fast explosive sound was heard and a flaming portal appeared inside the candle circle. The impact sent the other two imps scurrying away. She walked over to the portal.

 “We can help you take care of your unfinished business by taking out anyone who screwed you over when you were alive!”

 She smiled and fell backwards into the portal.

 The next image showed a white figure with an angry expression, arms crossed. A thought bubble was above the head with a red x over another figure. A red monster fell next to the startled figure. The camera panned up and showed the three imps arriving in a red circle. Millard stood with a spear in his hands, Moxxia held a gun and Elektriza stood with both her arms out. Elektriza’s arms made the “M” in the I.M.P. logo.

 The commercial jingle began:

 “Who you want somebody gone

And you don’t wanna wait too long

Call the Immediate Murder Professionals”

  Moxxia threw a grenade out the window, Elektriza and Millard covering their ears and smiling as it exploded. A picture of a growling Moxxia hung on the wall.

 In an office room, Elektriza grinned manically as she hung a struggling human from the ceiling. Millard held a piece of paper and showed it to Moxxia, who was sitting on a chair. On the wall was a flat screen TV, a rocker poster, and a drawing of Madam Zmeya, the snake inventor.

 Elektriza shocked a bond and gagged victim, Millard used a mace on another victim, while a scowling Moxxia choked a third.

 “Whether grenade or cyanide

We’ll make it look like suicide

The Immediate Murder Professionals”

 “We do our job so well

Because we come straight up from Hell”

 The next clip showed Elektriza mentioning for her partners in crime to follow her through a flaming portal in the wall. Millard happily followed, along with Moxxia, who tripped on a book as she ran through. The three imps appeared through the floor and did poses after Moxxia quickly stood back up. They fell silent as humans in a church service stared at them in shock.

 “We’ll kill your husband our your wife

We’ll even let you keep the knife

The Immediate Murder Professionals

 Kids die for free!”

  Millard was shown greedily eying a pink pair of ladies underwear while stabbing a naked couple having sex in bed. Moxxia groaned and looked away. Elektriza found a pair of boxers and help them up for a closer look.

 Elektriza repeatedly stabbed another victim’s head in a chair at a circus in Hell. “The Elektriza Extravaganza” was shown in bold black letters on a sign.

 The imps killed more people, torturing people with Medieval stretching, chasing victims with a shark, roasting them with gasoline and fire, smothering them with pillows, dropping a piano on them, and electrocuting them.

 A little kid with white skin, brown curly hair, black pants and an orange shirt with a ringed planet on it was strolling along licking a pink ice cream cone.

 Bang!

 The kid fell to the ground after Moxxia shot her in the back. The imps looked at each other in shock, believing they had killed the wrong target. The kid was rushed to the worst hospital in the city, one where the doctors carelessly treated the kid and only cared about insurance money. The girl was rushed into the emergency room.

 “Doctor, she’s not responding,” said a pink haired male, rapidly shaking the girl’s still form.

 “Who ordered a stat?” asked a female with glasses. She gave the kid hard chest compressions. “It didn’t do anything!”

 The doctor came in. “Damn it! We’re not losing another one! Clear!”

 The kid received a shock to the heart and she gasped for air.

 “Holy shit that actually worked,” the blonde spectacled doctor muttered.

 The imps sat in the waiting room, just outside door 66. The doctor came out to see them.

 “She’s in stable condition, but she’ll need surgery. Now what kind of insurance do you freaks have?”

 “The fuck is insurance?!” asked Elektriza.

 The imps, kid and bed were promptly sent crashing through a window, glass flying everywhere. Everyone screamed as they fell. Thankfully, a flaming portal was underneath them, sending the group back into Hell.

  Moxxia and Millard later sang a murder love song in their living room before the meeting. Moxxia played on her purple guitar as Millard watched her with love in his eyes. It reminded them of the good times when they would shoot at demons together in the streets, when they dragged a bloody sack behind them and when Millard got a grenade as a present and used it to blow up a building.

 Moxxia began:

  “Oh what a thrill when the crimson starts to spill

And my Millard goes in for the kill

He takes away my breath

He’s the angel of death, Millard

Oh Millard”

 “Everything is like a dream

When I hear his victims start to scream

When I go for the attack

He’s always got my back, on guard

Oh Millard”

 “When the blood starts dripping down the sides

And the bodies start to fall from the skies

My heart skips a beat

When my Millard’s guns a blazing in the night

He makes me feel alive in every fight

Through blood and tears, we’ll never be apart

He makes the murdering fun from the start”

  Both of them hummed before Moxxia finished,

  “Of all the imps in Hell…it’s for him that I fell…”

 Millard joined in at the same moment, “It’s for her that I fell…”

 “Oh Millard.”

 They leaned in for a kiss.

  They paused. Moxxia yelled, while looking out the window. Elektriza was pressed against the window with a video camera.

 “Are you fucking filming us right now?!” she yelled.

 Millard glanced over and sighed, as a smiling Elektriza held up a sign which read “Meeting in 2 hours: nice job banging yo’ wife!”

    Just before the meeting, Elektriza walked into the receptionist room.

 A white and grey male Hellhound was already there, Chandra the grumpy receptionist. He wore a grey-blue shirt with black strings making a downward Pentagram design at the top. His jeans were torn and black, his paws visible. He wore a spiked collar around his neck and rings on his pointed ears. His eyes were red with white irises and black pupils, eyes that seemed perpetually angry or bored.

 The rotary bone-shaped phone made barking sounds as it rang. The hound picked it up.

 “Hello, I.M.P.” he said in a gruff monotone.

 “Me and my wife got stabbed! Somebody help…”

 Chandra abruptly hung up and continued reading a Hellhound Monthly magazine in front of him. His breath smelled like meth and cigarette smoke. A hidden “to do” list in front of him read: “terrorize the werecats,” “go get a drink,” “hang out with cute Sobtiny at the hound rock concert.” He already imagined himself back in the comfort of his home, punching a punching bag with Moxxia’s face on it.

 Moxxia stomped over to the Hellhound’s desk, holding a “chub be gone” paper in her hand. “Did you just send me an ad for weight loss?”

 “No,” he replied.

 “Why would anyone send me this?”

 Chandra let out a small smile. “Come on. You know why.”

 Moxxia sighed, “You’re just awful!” before she wondered over to get water.

 “Hello Chandy!” Elektriza beamed at her adoptive son as she came over. “Did you enjoy my adoption anniversary present?”

 “I already fucking told you,” Chandra growled. “It was a bunch of spiders and not a cure for syphilis. So no.”

 “Aw don’t be such a liar,” Elektriza remarked in a playful tone. “Although I’m sorry that it happened, regardless.” Chandra growled out loud, clenching his claws.

 The phone rang again and Chandra answered it.

 “Elektriz!” he called. “That clingy rich asshole’s on the phone! Says it’s urgent and wants to talk to you!” Then he muttered, “Sounds a little D T F y.” (Down to fuck).

 Moxxia walked back in, standing by Elektriza next to the water cooler.

 “Oh god that was one time!” Elektriza called, spilling water everywhere. “We wouldn’t be able to have access to the living world, if I didn’t sleep with that privileged asshole!”

 Moxxia paused, confused. “You what?”

 “And…I may have stolen her book after we fucked. Man it was heavy. Yeah, I then fell off a balcony and landed in the king owl’s cake. Then I was like, ‘Sorry I fucked your wife!’”

 “Elektriz!” Chandra bellowed.

 “I heard you already!” Elektriza shouted back.

 The head imp walked over to another desk and gulped down a cup of iced coffee. She took a breath and sighed in satisfaction. “Ah, this stuff never gets old! My horse Thumbtack agrees with me.”

 “Your horse doesn’t exist,” Moxxia remarked.

 “Don’t you be mean to our boss like that,” Millard piped up as he walked over to Moxxia.

 “Don’t tell me that you believe her?”

 “I just find it amusing that she changes her horse’s name every day!”

 “That’s more like it,” Elektriza responded. “You see, we need more of Millard’s good spirits in all of us. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a certain someone to talk to before the meeting.”

 Elektriza left and opened the door to her office, the one where “Elektriza” was written with the “a” crossed out.

 Moxxia huffed. “Great, now I don’t have my avocado salad for lunch because someone decided to eat it.”

 She glared at Chandra who flipped her the bird. “I was hungover and hungry, alright?”

 “Why would you get drunk on a workday anyway?” asked Millard to Chandra.

 “Dumbass! I was hung over from this morning!” he replied.

 “At least I don’t go around kicking babies in strollers,” Moxxia scoffed.

 “Just admit it, everyone knows you’re a white-haired loser, Moxxia.”

 “So…” drawled Elektriza as she played with bobbleheads of Moxxia and Millard on her desk in her office. A circus poster hanging on the wall reminded Elektriza of the times when she performed with her two brothers, Tillo and Barb Wire. She was sitting in her chair holding her cell phone. “What can I do you for, Stola?”

 An owl princess lounged on a couch in her palace, holding an old rotary phone with wings on it. Her eyes were large and red, her round black hat had a gold crown on it. The hat also had red markings similar to her eyes. Long silky black hair fell past her shoulders, brushing her grey feathery wings. Her chest was fluffy and a silvery grey. A portrait shown a picture of the royal family: Stola, her husband and their son, Prince Octavius. A red robe with a fur collar was draped over her.

 The princess spoke in a British accent. “There’s a doctor that’s causing trouble up on Earth for a few of my associates. He’s trying to convince people that the Covid 19 Pandemic exists and to take extra precautions.”

 “Doesn’t it?”

 “Well, yes, but more people die when they’re being careless and nothing’s done about it. And though I hate being lonely…it’s getting overcrowded here. Frankly, the global warming issue seems easier to deal with.”

 “Okay well now that makes sense,” said Elektriza. A mug with “#1 boss” was on the desk.

 “You know what happens when I’m lonely or stressed, Trizzy?”

 “God fuckin damn it,” she muttered.

 The owl grinned, her eyes glowing red, she spoke a lot of curse words and terrible things. “When I’m lonely, I become hungry. And when I’m hungry, I want to choke on that big red…of yours…lick your…bite with more teeth…until you’re screaming…like a fucking baby!”

 A stunned Elektriza hung up from the “one night stand bird dick,” broke her phone in half, banged another phone on top of it, then mixed the pieces into a blender.

 “Here, eat this,” Elektriza said to Chandra who came in. The Hellhound guzzled it down.

 “And you know that bridge over the freeway?”

 “Yeah?” asked the hound.

 “Shit off it.”

 The imps currently resided in a tall office building that seemed to stand out among the other structures. Along with spikes jutting from the roof and sides, there were a pair of giant black and white imp horns attached to the sides of the building for decoration. The lights inside near the top floor were on.

 Posted on a door were the words “I.M.P. Headquarters” with “IMP Meeting in Progress” written on a piece of paper taped to the door, a smiley face off to the side.

 On a white board was a bar graph and a line graph, the line graph pointing lower at a drawing of a raging horned demon. “Fix this shit!” was written in big bold letters that took up much of the board. “Elektriza is the best, by Elektriza” was scribbled off to the side. Several tall chairs with spikes jutting from the top boarders were set near a brown table in the center of the room. A white pentagram was drawn in the center of the table.

 Elektriza began to speak, pacing back and forth. She looked toward her audience of two imps and a hellhound sitting on chairs around a table.

 “All right, now I know business has been…a bit slow, lately.”

 She mentioned to the board at the downward sloping line. “In fact, there seems to be less people seeking out our services; 1,056 in comparison to the 1,066 from last month. We’ve basically spiraled from the True Blue Market to that of the Raging Bull.” She pointed at the roaring demon head drawing on the board.

 “Shouldn’t it be the Bull Market is good and the Bear Market is bad?” said a voice.

 “Moxxia, nobody cares what you think,” Elektriza said, before continuing.

 “Any decrease could spell disaster for us, not to mention how lots of people use our services and yet look down on us.” Elektriza cleared her throat and spread out her hands. “Now, I’m not saying it’s, *cough* Moxxia’s or anyone’s fault…”

 Moxxia raised her eyebrows.

 Elektriza continued, “…but let’s discuss how we can improve. Now does anyone have any ideas on how to get business drumming up again?”

 Millard, raised his hand with a grin and shining eyes.

  “What…about…a car wash?!”

 “This is Hell, Milliard, no one cares about cars being clean here, okay?!”

 Just then, there came a coughing from the other room. A small cyclops demon with hot pink hair with a patch of yellow opened the door and walked in. He brushed off soot from his white shirt and waved at the group, who stared in surprise.

 “Hi, I’m Preppy! It’s nice to meet you all.”

 He darted around the room and began removing cobwebs from the windows. “It looks like there are two women, a man and a dog here, a nice balance.”

 Chandra, the grey hellhound glared at Preppy, narrowing his red eyes. “What was that, you little shit?”

 Preppy stopped in his tracks. “Now, did you guys need any cars to be washed?”

 Elektriza shook her head. “We don’t have any cars here, we’re broke as fuck.”

 Millard stared at Preppy and cupped his own cheeks with his hands. “Oh my Satan! He’s so adorable! Can we keep him?!”

 “No!” Moxxia and Chandra shouted at the same time. The two workers then glared at each other.

 Moxxia crossed her arms. “We’re in the middle of a meeting right now. Do you mind?!” She pointed to the door.

 Preppy laughed nervously, “Oh okay, sorry about that, hehhehheh. I’ll be outside if you need me!”

 He scurried out of the room.

 Elektriza paused for a moment, then said, “Oh right! Ideas for our company!” She waved her hands, eyes shining. “How about a billboard?!”

 Moxxia crossed her arms. “We can’t afford a billboard, mam’.”

 Elektriza rushed over and held Moxxia in a headlock. Her voice was rushed and sarcastic, “So helpful, Moxxia, I’m really glad you’re in the room right now.” She shoved Moxxia away.

 Elektriza stared in frustration. “Have you guys forgotten what service we provide?!”

 She picked up a remote and turned on an old fashioned TV.

 After static appeared on screen, the footage showed the group killing off individuals.

 Elektriza bashing a red demon’s head with a mullet.

 Moxxia shooting a blue person tied up to a chair.

 Chandra grabbing a red person in his mouth and shaking the person side to side like a wolf.

 Millard beheading a blue person with a spear and laughing.

  Elektriza watched with a relaxed smile on her face, holding up a blue bowl of popcorn. Chandra sat on the table, popping popcorn pieces into his mouth. Millard perched on the table, enjoying the show, but Moxxia stood off to the side with a grumpy face.

 Posters hung from the walls, one showing Elektriza and her two brothers, Tillo (an imp with short black hair) and Barb Wire (a smiling imp with ram-like horns.) It was a picture of them at a circus, the banner reading “The Amazing Imp Siblings!” Elektriza remembered the good times she had with them when they performed on stage. Barb Wire would balance on a tightrope, holding a pole with flames on either end. Tillo tamed and evaded manticores, dragons and other beasts that were released into the arena. Elektriza would sing songs about murdering people and they would all pose and bow at the end as the crowd cheered.

 That was before Elektriza moved on to form I.M.P., recruited Moxxia and Millard, and adopted Chandra.

 Elektriza moved a hand toward her chest and sighed with content. “Ah, those were good times.”

 Moxxia spoke up as Millard ate a piece of popcorn. “We don’t need any reminding, mam’, considering you blew most of our salaries on an obnoxious TV ad last week, one that you then additionally paid to have run for a full three hours on a channel, nobody watches!”

 Elektriza turned her head, insulted. “Hey, uh, excuse me?” She stood up. “What’s “obnoxious” about a super fun jingle, all right? It’s a fun distraction when an advertisement’s spitting bullshit.” She walked across the room.

 “People love musicals, mam’,” Millard added.

 Elektriza smiled. “Exactly, Millard, and we’re basically doing a musical.” Elektriza did jazz hands before pointing rapidly at Moxxia with a scowl.

 “Are you gonna crush my musical theater dreams like my mom did?” She lowered her head.

 “Mam’…” Moxxia began, but her boss cut her off.

 “Because right now, all I see is just my mom’s asshole talking to me, crushing my dreams of being, who I truly am inside.” She turned his head away.

 Millard leaned in toward his wife and spoke with a teasing tone. “Are you trying to crush her dreams, Moxxia?”

 “I…what?” she asked, looking at him. Millard leaned in close and stuck out his tongue, tail curling. “I thought I knew you.” Moxxia rolled her eyes; her husband loved to annoy her.

 Elektriza turned back to Moxxia, tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe you, Moxxia. And after I made you Employee of the Month.” She held a picture of Moxxia with her mouth open in a roar, snake tongue showing.

 Moxxia threw up her hands, “Okay, mam’ I’m sorry, but a commercial jingle is not comparable to musical theater. Nobody actually likes the jingles.”

 “I liked it!” Millard pipped up.

 Moxxia turned to him, finger shaking, “Do not…do not agree with her in front of me.”

  Chandra sat, bored, playing on his phone. Moxxia’s head appeared on the screen but was crushed by a weight and then blown up by a bomb. At one point her face was sliced in half as “boom!” flashed across the screen.

 Moxxia spoke, hands forward in front of her. “I’d like to go on record and say that incident with shooting the kid was Chandra’s fault. Dispatch is supposed to give us the right info on the target. It’s very simple.”

 “Oh sit on some boobs, Moxxia,” Chandra replied without looking up.

 Moxxia stuttered angrily, looking for a comeback. “You sit…sit on a…a…do your job!” She slammed her palm on the table.

 Elektriza scolded her. “Hey, now we don’t blame our screw-ups on Chandra, okay? He didn’t do anything wrong.” She hugged him and nuzzled her head against his cheek, the hellhound growling at her to get off.

 Moxxia stared in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, mam’? He’s awful!”

 “The point is, Chandra is a valued member of our family and we don’t get rid of families.”

 “We aren’t a family, mam’,” Moxxia pointed out. “You are the boss. We are the employees. You treat him like he’s some troubled teenager. He’s more like a meth-addicted homeless man you let run the phones.”

 Chandra flipped her the bird.

 “Now, that is offensive,” remarked Elektriza, walking to the window, pulling open the blinds. “Without homeless people, I wouldn’t have half the joy and laughter I do in this life.”

  Outside, a homeless imp with a broken horn and ragged grey clothing held up a sign that read “Monee helps. Satan Bless.” An imp man with black clothing and little bat wings blushed at Elektriza who waved and did a playful raise of eyebrows before closing the blinds.

 Moxxia crossed her arms. “While we’re on the subject of “family,” can you stop finding me and Millard outside of work?”

 “Come on, it’s not that big a deal,” Millard said.

 Moxxia’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me…what?! She was in our fucking fridge! She was spying on me while I was asleep. And worse, she fucking filmed me and you while we were singing and about to kiss!”

 Elektriza giggled. “I still have it on camera.”

 “It’s fine, honey,” Millard replied to Moxxia, patting her shoulder. “The “spoiler alert, butter’s spoiled!” was a funny use of wordplay Elektriza used.”

 “No way,” Moxxia countered. “I had a great dream about my parents being murdered and Elektriza interrupted it.”

 “I was just curious,” Elektriza responded.

 “Just…stop…doing that,” Moxxia growled.

 “I don’t see what the issue is,” said Elektriza with a mischievous grin. “Something you don’t want me seeing?”

 “No!” Moxxia spat.

 “Your shaggy flower blossoms?” Elektriza asked.

 Chandra giggled under his breath.

Moxxia was fed up. “Mam’, what you say and how you act is totally inappropriate!”

 Millard pulled her down gently. “Calm down, Mox, you’re gonna have another panic attack!”

 “I am calm!” she yelled.

 Millard rubbed her head and soothed her. “Shh, there, there.” Moxxia whimpered.

 Elektriza spoke again with a childish grin, making a hole with two fingers and tapping the opening with one finger. “Look, I don’t judge the boring couple stuff you do outside of work hours, so don’t judge me.”

 Veins popped out of Moxxia’s yellow eyes. “Oh I do judge you, mam’. Quite a lot, actually.” She crossed her arms as Millard gasped in horror.

 “Mox, she’s our boss!”

 “No, it’s fine, Millard,” said Elektriza with a wave of her hand. “Your wife is just…how do I say this without being offensive…retarded.”

 “Does immaturingly insulting me make you feel better about your sad, single, life?”

 Elektriza leaned in toward Moxxia. “Yes it does, actually.”

 Chandra appeared to agree, because he added to Moxxia, “The only reason you have a husband is because you’re easy to manage.”

 “No she’s not, you turd!” Millard yelled, holding up two middle fingers.

 “Do not talk to my assistant that way!” Elektriza demanded. “He’s sensitive!”

 “Yes I am!” Chandra barked.

 Then a squeaky voice sounded from nearby: “You guys are all fucking assholes.”

 Everyone turned and stared at a girl wearing an orange shirt with a planet on it. She had curly brown hair, white skin and was connected to a monitor.

 Elektriza pointed at her. “Oh shut up, kid, you’re lucky to witness this.”

 Moxxia pinched her nose and sighed in frustration. “Ugh, this company’s such a mess!”

 “Did someone call me?” Preppy’s voice rang from the hallway. He opened the door a crack. “I can clean up any messes you may have!”

 “No!” Moxxia called. “Go away!”

 Preppy slowly closed the door.

 An awkward silence…

 “Alright, let’s get back to talking about my outfit!” Elektriza said out of nowhere.

 “Nobody was talking about that,” Chandra mentioned.

 “Which is why I’m trying to get that ball rolling, so how does it look? It’s good, right?”

 The kid ripped off the wires from her stomach.

 “It was hell pretending to be paralyzed so you fuckshits wouldn’t kill me, but now? I want that. I want death. You!” she pointed to Elektriza. “You’re a selfish, greedy clown. And I’m a kid! We’re supposed to like clowns…even the creepy ones!”

 Moxxia scoffed. “Hey now, that’s not very…”

 The kid cut her off. “If I wanted to talk to a spineless jackass bitch, I’d rip out your spine and ask you some shit.”

 Moxxia shivered in fear.

 “That’s my wife you’re talking to!” Millard yelled.

 The kid snickered. “That’s your wife?! I figured you for a man whore, but I didn’t know you needed it that bad! Fucking with an old lady, ha!”

 Millard fumed at his wife being called ugly and weak. To think that he would have sex with anyone else at random…

 “And you!” The kid pointed at Chandra.

 “Yeah? What about me?” Chandra asked.

 The kid crossed her arms and smirked. “Nothing. I don’t talk to dogs. I’m a cat person.”

 Chandra whined before turning back to his phone.

 “Wow,” said Elektriza. “You know, kid, you kind of are a piece of shit.”

 “Oh you gotta admit, she’s good,” Moxxia muttered.

 A ding came from Chandra’s phone. He smiled. “Oh fuck guys, I just got a text from our client. Guess she was the right target after all.”

 “Who?” Elektriza asked.

 “Her.”

 “Me?” asked the kid.

 “Yep,” he confirmed.

 “They wanted us to kill an actual child?” Elektriza asked.

 “That’s what they’re saying,” Chandra said.

 Elektriza grinned and twirled a gun in her hand. Her job just got more fun and easier. “Well Christ on a stick, I guess there is a god!” She fired and shot the girl in the chest. She flopped down dead with a yell in a pool of blood, smoke and sparks lingering in the air.

 Elektriza spoke about I.M.P.: “You know folks, with this company, I really wanted to prove that we’re capable of doing the same things anyone else can, like killing people. So from us here at the Immediate Murder Professionals group, we promise to settle your unfinished business or your money is gone and you’re never getting it back and you can write us a bad review but we’ll play dumb to it because it’s Hell and no one fucking cares.”

 Elektriza, Moxxia and Millard kicked the dead kid on the floor, enjoying themselves. Blood coated the floor and walls. Chandra snapped a picture with his phone. After the imps left with the body, Preppy came in and gasped.

 “Well, time to clean this up. What a mess!” He hummed a happy tune as he mopped up the blood at rapid speed.

 Elektriza and Moxxia wore gas masks and green suits as Elektriza sawed off the girl’s arm and Moxxia sawed her chest, organs spilling out into a sack below. Millard tossed an arm into the sack and Chandra held it open. Moxxia dropped the girl’s severed head inside and shared a loving smile with her husband.

 Etched in red graffiti on a dumpster behind them were the words “Devil,” “Hell,” “Happy Hotel,” and “I’m always chasing rainbows.” A pentagram, and wide smiles were also doodled on the surface.

 Elektriza embraced the entire group in a forceful hug, knocking the phone from Chandra’s hands.

 “You know, even though this kid was a target, she’s still a child. It’s important that we’ve handled this going forward, respectfully.” She wrapped her long tail around the group, all of them smiling genuinely. For despite all their problems, they were still a company family.

 Back in the human world, a crying blonde father wearing a pink shirt held up a paper saying “missing girl.” Below in large letters on the news was: “Dad sucks at drawing own kid!”

 The father spoke into the microphone, “Please, if anyone has seen my little Ellie…”

 He gasped as a sack dropped into his hands. He and the news reporter looked up to see a smiling Elektriza, Millard, and Moxxia through a portal up above.

 “You’re welcome!” Elektriza called with a wave before the portal closed.

 The father looked inside the bag and screamed. “My daughter! She’s dead! Noooooo!”

[theguardianyaksha]

Surname, Given Name: Shimizu, Kasumi Birthday: December 20th (Sagittarius) Age: 21 Height: 140 cm (4 feet 7 inches) Weight: 52 kg (115 lb) Pronouns: She/Her Blood Type: A Marechi: No

Rank: Hashira Kasugai Crow: Fei the Bluejay

Weapon: Magenta Nichirin Axe Breath Style/Blood Demon Art: Breath of Hummingbird - derived from Breath of Insect.  This breath style utilizes quick twists and movements to leave an opponent in a daze.

First Style: Twelve Beat Flutter - The user dashes around in a zigzag pattern to confuse their opponent before attacking with a powerful swing.  

Second Style: Wind Tunnel Push - The user dashes forward at a quick speed and strikes their opponent.

Third Style: Mid-step Hover - The user’s movements cease to a slow and enter a defensive state to block other attacks.

Fourth Style: Pitched Dive - The user dives down at a high speed from above to attack their target.

Fifth Style: Whistling Feathers - The user attacks with a quick succession of swings.

Stats:

Breathing Technique - 5/5

Speed - 6/5

Strength - 3/5

Stamina - 4/5

Intelligence - 3/5

Charisma - 4/5

Abilities:

Skilled Swordsman

Enhanced Strength

Enhanced Speed

Immense Reflexes

Flexibility

Unique Weapon

Demon Slayer Mark

See-Through World

Personality:

Caring, big sister vibes

Sweet person, but is secretly a sadist

Will toy with her opponents until she gets bored

Enjoys fighting

Sees it as a fun activity

Talks to her “crow” a lot and encourages it to do a good job

Like Brownie Deluxe ice cream

MBTI - ISFP

Appearance:

Magenta eyes

Green hair that turns pink at the tips

Hair tied with purple ribbon, rests on her right shoulder

Feather earrings

Small, short arms and legs

Wears a pink haori that has some green feathers on the ends

Knee high socks

Voice Claim Japanese: Shiina Natsukawa (Gin Akutagawa, Bungou Stray Dogs)

Voice Claim English: Xanthe Huynh (Marianne, Fire Emblem Three Houses)

Background: Kasumi grew up with her mother(Kyo), father(Koichi), and older sister(Keiko) in a lakeside home.  The family made a living catching and selling fish to a nearby village.  Kasumi believed it had all been perfect.  Her mother fell ill when she turned 12.  With each passing day, there was no sign that her mother would get better, so her father set out to the village to get the doctor.  However, there was nothing the doctor could do to help.  Her mother passed away the very next day.

Kasumi’s father was distraught by the death of Kyo, and he blamed Kasumi and Keiko for the death of their mother, saying that she overworked herself looking after them.  He was never the same father they had known since.  He would get angry more often, and he threw things.  Kasumi worried about him, but Keiko decided that it was no longer safe there.

Keiko took Kasumi and fled the home when night fell.  The two siblings lived together in a secluded farm home.  Each day, they would wake up to tend to the crops.  They sat together at the table and prayed for a good life in the future.  Kasumi soon forgot about their father, and began to enjoy a life with just her sister.  She never wanted to let go.  Keiko was the world to her now, and she didn’t want anything to happen to her.

However, life took a turn when a demon came upon their home one night.  16 year old Kasumi wished it to be a nightmare when she saw a demon attack her sister.  There was nothing she could do to stop the demon.  “Maybe we’re being punished for being bad children...” she had thought as the demon towered over her.

Kasumi closed her eyes and braced for the pain that was to come, but it never happened.  She opened her eyes to see the demon fleeing through a hole in the wall as a demon slayer appeared in the doorway.  She would have thought the demon slayer would head after the demon, but they hadn’t.  Instead, the demon slayer scooped her up in their arms and carried her away from the home.

She had been taken to one of the wisteria homes demon slayers were allowed to rest at.  There, she learned about the kind of dangers a demon slayer faced.  Kasumi made the decision to become a demon slayer and began training.  It took her 2 years of training to master Breath of Hummingbird, but she knew she was ready for final selection.  She thanked her teacher and headed off with the promise to return.  The promise was never broken.

After receiving her Nichirin Weapon, Kasumi set out.  She sent letters to her teacher to update them on how she was doing and of the people she met.  She was always happy to get a response back.  With each assignment, she grew more anxious.  She was still trying to track the demon that had killed her sister, but she never found them.  She still kept the vow to avenge her sister.

Taisho Secret(s):

Kasumi used to have floor length hair, but it got chopped off during an encounter with a demon. She actually did it herself since the demon had managed to catch her by her hair. When she returned to her friends after the mission was over, they freaked out.

During her free time, Kasumi likes to tend to her garden.  She grows a wide variety of fruits there.  Some fruits are from a foreign country, but she will not tell anyone how she got them.

Something about Kasumi is off putting to other people.  It is only seen when people are assigned to work with her.  To them, it is like they are with a whole different person.

Relationships:

Amaya Kawaguchi - “Amaya-chan is so adorable and powerful!  She doesn’t have to talk to get her point across.  I just wish she would remember to eat… how is she still alive?”

Makoto Kawaguchi - “He doesn’t like me… or anyone for that matter.  I wonder what happened to make him like this.”

Atsuko Suzuki - “She called me pathetic…”

Misaki Fujimoto - “I think she is a good person!”

Ren - “Ren-chan is so cute!”

Sayuri Yukimura - “She needs to learn how to be more open!  It would help her make friends easily!”

Yuka Yukimura - “She is adorable!  I hope she does her best!”

Yoshi Yukimura - “He is really determined.  If he keeps trying, he will do it!”

Yusuke - “He is… interesting.”

Kiku Inoue - “Annoying child.”

Tsubasa Kurahawa - “I think he is a good person… even if we don’t talk much.”

Ishikawa Rei - “He seems intimidating at first, but he is pretty nice once you get to know him!  Unfortunately not many people know that.”

Nomura - “Nomura is a special person!  I think she is really cute…”

Tsukasa - “I think of him as a friend.  But I don’t know if he thinks the same.”

Akira Sato - “He’s um… something?  He keeps forgetting my name…”

Minoru Maki - “Minoru-kun is always nervous for some reason… He refuses to look anyone in the eyes.  Did something happen in his childhood?”

[kazosa]

A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement - Part 3

Summary: All you wanted was to use your skills in automotive engineering and design to open your own custom car shop. When the rug gets yanked out from under you, one of your regular customers offers you a job that you just can’t resist. Will it stay a mutually beneficial arrangement, or will something unexpected bloom?

Pairing: AU Dean Winchester x Reader

Appearances by: Bobby Singer, Ellen (Harvelle) Singer, John Winchester, Ryan

Chapter Synopsis: The trip to Kansas and meeting the Singers and John Winchester. Will they believe that the reader is really Dean’s fiancé, or will they see through the ruse?

Word count: 5550

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, awkwardness

Tagging: @coffee-obsessed-writer   @closetspngirl   @sorenmarie87   @adoptdontshoppets   @parinarain   @his-paradox   @babykalika2001   @docharleythegeekqueen   @22sarah08   @flamencodiva   @mirandaaustin93  @collette04   (if you want to be added to the tags, holla)

    You were in the Impala waiting for Dean. He had stopped at yet another gas station. Baby was a great car, but she didn’t sip gas, she guzzled. You got out your phone while you waited.

    “This is beginning to be a bad habit,” Ryan said when she answered the phone. “How is it going?”

    “It’s good,” you were trying to keep your excitement under control. “The day I told him, we had dinner at his place, and we drank all of his booze.”

    “Thank God,” she was fully aware of how you were wen you were drinking. “Did ya get it?”

    “Get what?”

    “Oh, come on. You know exactly what I mean. Impala Guy is HOT. Please tell me you at least let him round the bases.”

    “You’ve been hanging out with Donna too much,” you observed.

    “Well?”

    “No. He fell asleep on the couch. We were talking ‘til really late,” you explained. “I… had to sleep in his bed.”

    “That’s kinda hot… what happened yesterday? Did you get the jewels yet?” Ryan wanted to know.

    “Oh my God, yes. They’re these gorgeous emeralds in gold. Amazing,” you confirmed. “We’re about 70 miles outside of Lawrence. He’s been going slow this last leg. Oh, and we got fake engaged last night.”

    “What?! That’s the stuff you need to lead with! How did that happen?!”

    “We posed as a married couple for the earrings and it was…” you sighed, “SO good. He fell into it naturally. I think he might have actually liked it. He’s letting me borrow his grandmother’s ring.”

    “You need to send me a picture of that as soon as we hang up. So, why’s he taking so long to get there? How long have you been on the road?”

    “Getting close to eight hours,” you said. “Stopped for gas twice and lunch. This time is a top-off and a pee break.”

    “TMI honey. Maybe he just wants to hang out with you and not his family,” Ryan suggested.

    Ryan probably wasn’t far off. Dean hadn’t out right expressed hesitation, but you could feel it.

    “Yeah, maybe. Finally. Here he comes, gotta go,” you told Ryan when you saw him crossing to the car.

   “Picture!” Ryan reminded. “Bye!”

    Dean opened the door and got in the car.

    “Bye!” you hung up. You’d already taken a picture of the gorgeous ring and quickly sent it to Ryan.

    “Who’re you talkin’ to?” Dean was curious.

    “My friend, Ryan, I told you about. She was checking up on me,” you answered.

    “Did you tell her how handsome I am and what a perfect gentleman I’ve been?” he aske with a hint of mischief.

    You laughed, “Um, yeah, actually, and she’s a little disappointed.”

    He started the car and pulled out of the gas station.

    “Disappointed? Did you not sell this?” he moved his hand up and down by his face as he drove.

    “She’s disappointed for… other reasons,” you couldn’t believe you were even hinting at sex with Dean.

    “Oh?”

    You raised your eyebrows at him and nodded.

    “Oh,” he grinned. “Well, keeping it professional.” He mocked being serious.

    “Absolutely,” you agreed.

    A few moments passed and Dean’s demeanor went to real seriousness.

    “I think I should warn you about my dad,” he saw he had your attention. “He’s… a jerk. There aren’t a lot of people that like him. Bobby only hangs around because they have a history and because Dad keeps his nose out of the dealerships.”

    “Does Bobby like him?” you were a little concerned.

    Dean took a beat to think on it.

    “I think Bobby respects him,” Dean said, but didn’t say but I don’t think he likes him. “Anyway, he’s gonna say things to you, because of me, that you probably won’t like.”

    “What kind of things?” now you were really concerned.

    “I told you I used to ‘date’ less than reputable women…”

    “Wow. Your dad seems so charming,” sarcasm was your reliable friend in times of stress.

    “Yeah, he’s a real peach. Just don’t let the facade fool you.”

    “What about your brother and his fiancé?”

    “Sam…he’s as smart as they come. Lawyer. Bit of a stick in the mud… grammar nazi… thinks he’s doing the right thing though he’s wrong half the time. Jess is a piece of work. She doesn’t always mean to be a bitch, but she really can come off that way. It’ll just hit you later.”

    You bit your lip, then said, “My how you paint a picture.”

    “They’re not so bad once you get used to ‘em,” Dean offered.

    After he let you in on what his family was really like, you thought maybe you should let him in on a little secret you’d been keeping.

    “I have something I need to tell you, too,” you began. “It always comes up when people find out what I do. It’s like some weird compulsion to ask. Like the validity of my chosen career is dependent on it…”

    “Just rip off the band aid.”

    “I drive a Tesla,” you blurted. The words came out more like one long word than an actual sentence. You cringed waiting for his reaction.

    “I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” Dean looked like he was going to be sick. “How do you get anywhere long-distance?!” He wasn’t yelling, but he was fully horrified at your choice in car. It was almost comical.

    “I fly,” you said, finding his behavior amusing, “or I drive my other car. But my Tesla has really good range and hauls ass.”

    Dean had a pained look on his face. He hadn’t expected the band aid to sting so much. “Oh God, what’s your other car?” Don’t say hybrid. Don’t say hybrid. Don’t say hybrid.

    You were getting the giggles, “An… Altima,” you said between giggles, “hybrid.”

    “Goddamnit,” he hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “I can’t talk to you right now. No more talking.”

    “Dean…”

    “Nope!” he put his hand up and shook his head, “Shh…”

    Dean listened to the deep rumble Baby produced as he pressed the gas pedal. Good, American muscle car. Now that’s what a car should sound like, he thought.

    “Alright,” he broke the silence. “What’s your top speed?”

    “Two-fifty.”

    He snorted in disbelief. Admittedly, he hadn’t seen a Tesla in action, and he hadn’t been keeping up on the new car specs. That was an impressive top-speed.

    “What’s the zero to sixty?”

    “You know, I’m kind of excited to meet your family,” you were desperate to change the topic.

    “What’s the matter sweetheart, embarrassed?”

   “No. I just feel like we’re playing ‘whose sword is bigger’.”

    “Oh, I know my sword is bigger,” he was goading you, but you resolved not to take the bait. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” you mumbled to the window.

    “Any time, darlin’,” he heard you.

    “Okay, but I wanna drive a GOAT or something comparable,” you countered.

    “You are so on,” Dean said and made a mental note to check into Telsa.

       Th closer he got to the house, the more he wanted to turn around and head back to Bemidji. Life was normal there. No one gave a shit about him. He could do his work and fade into the background. No stupid gala’s he had to attend for a company he wanted but would probably never have. He looked at (Y|N) to gauge her mood.

    “I can handle them, Dean,” she tried to reassure him.

    “I know you can,” he answered back. He made the turn into the lane and slowly drove up to the house.

      The drive up the lane was a sight you hadn’t expected. Dean always called it ‘the farm.’ All the farms you had ever been to had livestock and crops. The Winchester ‘farm’ was more like an acreage with out buildings. The house itself was two-stories, quite old, and massive. The wrap-around porch had a swing secured near the ceiling. The house had to be at least a hundred years old and you couldn’t wait to see inside.

    Dean came around the front of the car to where you stood by your closed door. He looked slightly apologetic as he approached you. He swung his arms out wide, his palms slapping his thighs as he let them drop. Dean leaned on the car in front of you, his arm propped on the roof.

    “Last chance to back out,” he offered.

    “A deal’s a deal,” you put your arm between him and the car and around his back. “I’ve got your back.”

    He put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him. For the tenth time that day, he wished the week were over.

    “I’ve got you, too. If it gets too much, you let me know,” he said, his lips brushing your temple.

    You could feel yourself melting into him despite the frigid air.

    “Alright,” you squeezed him, “showtime!”

    You were nervous as hell thought you were trying to put on a good face for Dean. It didn’t take a psychologist to realize he was wary, too. For a second, he held you just as tightly before letting you go and taking your hand.

    “Leave the bags, I’ll get them later. It’s too damn cold out here,” he looked back at you, his eyes crinkled, squinting against the bright sun.

    He led you up the steps, your hand in his. At the door, you stood close to him as he opened it and stepped through. There was no turning back now.

       Dean had to give the front door a fir push to open it. It still stuck in the same spot it always had. The house was warm inside, and a fire was going in the fireplace. It surprised him, a little, that that house had Christmas decorations and a tree. (Y|N) was hesitant behind him, but she followed a moment later when he stepped further into the entryway.

    “El, would you look what the cat dragged in?” Bobby saw Dean first and got up off the couch to greet him. “Damn good to see ya, son! We weren’t sure you’d show up.”

    “Hey, Bobby,” the two men hugged tightly, Bobby slapping Dean’s back. “Good to see you, old man.”

    The two broke their embrace and Bobby warned Dean, “Watch it, son. I may be an old man, but I can still whoop your scrawny ass.”

    Ellen had come over from her spot on the couch to say hello to Dean and hug him as well.

    “Good to see you, Dean. It’s been too long. Me ‘n’ the old man wasn’t sure you’d be coming,” Ellen said.

    You smirked at the glare Bobby gave Ellen.

    “Ah, well,” Dean shrugged, “it’s Christmas.”

    “Exactly,” Ellen implied it was why she thought he wouldn’t show up. “Still, glad you’re here.”

    The greetings out of the way, Bobby and Ellen turned their scrutiny to you.

    “Have you finally brought someone home to meet the family?” Ellen asked first. Clearly, she was surprised at your presence.

    “Boy, don’t just stand there like an idjit, introduce us!” Bobby was shocked at Dean’s poor manners.

    Dean had a half-smile on his face. You were still nervous, but excited to finally meet them. Dean had said nothing but good things about Bobby and Ellen Singer. The only pressure you had was to look like Dean’s fiancé. They didn’t have to like you, only Dean did, but you knew it was important to Dean that the Singers liked you.

    “Bobby, Ellen,” Dean was looking at you now, “This is (Y|N), my fiancé.”

   You fought the urge to laugh at the shocked expressions on their faces, but you waited for them to say something in return.

    “You’re a fine one for secrets!” Bobby grumbled to Dean. “Hello, darlin’, nice to meet you.”

    The Conway Twitty song immediately got stuck in your head.

    “Forgive our shock, but we didn’t even know Dean was seeing anyone, let alone a fiancé.” Ellen explained.

    “He did only ask me last night,” you offered.

    Dean put his arm around you again, “Wanted to make sure she said ‘yes’ before she met my crazy family.”

    Ellen gave Dean a look that said she heard what he said but couldn’t decide of how much of it she believed. Dean had always been good about keeping his mouth shut, even in the toughest of circumstances. She just couldn’t believe she didn’t notice a change in Dean. A change that usually happens when he’s seeing someone new, but not this time.

    “The house looks beautiful,” you observed, breaking the tension and taking off your outerwear.

    Dean followed suit while Ellen explained.

    “Thank you. I came out here yesterday and did all this,” she said. “Scrooge likes to put on a good show, he just can’t manage doing the house,” Ellen rolled her eyes. “Come on in, honey. Getcha anything to drink?”

    You gave Dean a quick glance and he gave you a barely detectable nod.

    “Yeah, that sounds great. What do you have?”

    “Everything under the sun and an assortment of holiday standards. C’mon into the kitchen, take a look,” Ellen didn’t wait, she just swung her arm for you to follow and went to the kitchen.

       Dean was still appreciating the view of (Y|N) disappearing into the kitchen when Bobby started in on him.

    “What in the hell has gotten into you? Have you lost your damned mind? Your daddy is gonna flip his lid when he sees his mamma’s ring on her hand.”

    Dean didn’t know if Bobby was angry or if he was trying to protect him.

    “Well, normal people would be happy if their son got engaged,” Dean mused.

    “I’m sorry, son, of course I’m happy for you, it’s just all so sudden,” Bobby explained.

    They moved into the living room and sat down near the fire to talk.

    “You better tell me. Who is this girl and why are we only finding out about her after you get engaged,” Bobby wanted to know.

    Dean half-laughed. (Y|N) was right, it was good to get everything down before.

    “She’s actually my mechanic. I asked her out about a year ago. We just hit it off,” Dean shrugged. He thought about the last few days, “She just makes me a better man. I like who I am when I’m with her.”

    “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Sam and Jess and your dad thinking about retiring, would it?”

    Nothing in the world felt as heavy, or hit harder, than Bobby’s gaze in that moment. The man seemed to always know when something wasn’t as it appeared. For as much as he wanted to tell Bobby the truth, he just couldn’t, not yet.

    “See? This is what I’m talking about. I tell you what’s going on and I still get questioned. I love her. That should be enough,” Dean wasn’t yelling, but he was getting upset. He took a breath and steeled himself and wondered where that sudden feeling of protecting (Y|N) came from.

    “I think the ladies had a good idea getting a drink,” Bobby said.

       “What’s your poison?” Ellen asked as she pulled glasses out of the cupboard.

    You told her your favorite and she grabbed a bottle to pour one for you and one for herself. Ellen eyed you with suspicion but admitted, “You have good taste,” and raised her glass. Giving her a nod, you raised your own and you both took a drink.

    “Why do you suppose Dean never told us about you?” She cut right to the chase.

    Dean had filled you in about what you were up against. You remembered that he said Ellen could sniff out bullshit and to just be as truthful as possible.

    “Dean told me about his past. I suppose he didn’t want to disappoint you all again,” you said.

    You could almost see the gears turning in Ellen’s thoughts. She was weighing your words against what she knew to be true.

    “Did he take you to some dive bar on your first date?”

    “No, actually, we were supposed to go out to eat. He didn’t show up to pick up his car like he was supposed to, so I hunted his ass down,” you chuckled at the memory. “When I found him, he had the mash and juice all over him. He ended up taking me to his place and we ordered in. It was really nice. We drank all of his booze and talked until he passed out.”

    Ellen cocked an eyebrow at you, “You… drank Dean Winchester… under the table?”

    “What?! When?!” Dean walked into the kitchen with Bobby.

    “Our first date,” you told Dean as he reached up to get two tumblers out of the cupboard.

    Dean opened a bottle of Jonnie Walker Double Black and poured two fingers in each glass, handing one to his adopted uncle and keeping the other for himself.

    “I was tired,” he stressed, like he’d had to explain himself more than once on the subject. “I didn’t get much sleep the night before and I made it to 3 AM, thank you.”

    “All I’m hearing is excused,” you teased.

    “One time. It hasn’t happened since, but she won’t let me forget it,” he played along.

    Dean gave you a grin and sipped at the whisky.

    “Ohhh…” he caught his breath, “Nectar of the gods.”

    “Warms the soul dudnit?” Bobby said, sipping his own.

    “Yeah,” Dean’s voice was raspy.

    The whisky looked good and you’d never tried it.

    “Can I have a taste?” you asked.

    Dean did a slow mosey over to where you’d sat at the kitchen island. His fingers lightly brushed yours as he handed you the glass. The dark liquid swirled in the glass as you held it, the smoky aroma hitting your nose. Taking a moment to appreciate the whisky, and the close proximity of Dean, you became aware of the heat that seemed to radiate from his body.

    When he’d give you his glass, he rested his arm on the back of your bar stool. Your instincts told you to put your arm around his waist like you had at the store. Dean moved closer, still chatting with Bobby.

    “Where is Dad, anyway?” Dean asked.

   You brought the glass to your lips. Th smooth liquid took a few seconds to make its presence known with it’s familiar burn. You let it rest on your tongue to get the full flavor and effect. Smoke. Vanilla. Fruit. Spice.

    “Oh, he’s in town brow-beating the caterer,” Bobby said, enjoying his own tumbler.

    Finally, you could no longer take the burn and let it numb your throat.

    “Holy moly,” you rested your head on Dean’s shoulder.

    Dean responded to your comment and movement.

    “Finally met your match, sweetheart?” he asked reaching for the glass.

    You expertly moved it out of his reach.

    “Mine now,” you teased, then handed it back. “Man, that’s good. Not sure I’ll be able to taste dinner now.”

    “Ellen’s cooking, probably best,” Bobby said softly, but everyone heard anyway.

    “Robert Singer!” Ellen whipped a wet dishcloth at his face. The “splat” sound it made when it hit made everyone laugh.

    None of you heard the door off the kitchen open and close. It made the sudden appearance of John Winchester that much more startling.

    “What’s going on in here?” John’s voice boomed in the kitchen, making everyone fall silent.

   “My husband was just embarrassing me in front of Dean’s… new lady,” Ellen grumped. “My cooking is not that bad.”

     “Not that good, either,” Bobby said into his glass.

    Ellen moved from behind the island, not looking at John, and collected her husband.

    “Alcohol makes you bold, Robert” she said as she pushed him out of the room.

    You sat in stunned silence as Dean and his dad had a mini stare-down. John wasn’t unhappy to see his son, but he wasn’t overly excited, either.

    “Hi Dad,” Dean said.

    “Dean,” John crossed he space and hugged him. “Good to see you, son. I’m glad you’re here. Didn’t know you were coming.”

    You elbowed Dean.

    “You invited me,” he said. “Thought it’d be okay.”

    “Of course, it is, you know what I mean,” John looked at you, a half-smile on his face. “And a plus one, I see.”

    John seemed nice. You were expecting someone different. Dean took a breath to brace himself and turned to you.

    “(Y|N), this is my dad, John Winchester,” he said waving his hand between the two of you. “Dad… (Y|N) is my fiancé.”

    John’s eyes went to your left hand where his mother’s ring was clearly visible.

    “It’s nice to meet the woman who has stolen my boy’s heart,” he said, extending his hand to you. You jumped down form your barstool to take his hand.

    “Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about all of you, it’s nice to meet everyone in person,” you were almost gushing and reminded yourself to reel it in.

    “Hmm,” John released your hand. “It’s funny you should mention that. I don’t remember Dean saying anything about you.” He eyed you, “You must be the real deal. Dean’s never brought one of his lady friends to the house before, certainly not for the gala.” He paused a beat, “You are here for the whole week, right?”

    You nodded.

   “Well then, whisky be damned, we need a bottle of champagne! Not every day my oldest son gets engaged.”

    Dean couldn’t believe his good luck. He thought his dad would have something bad to say about the bombshell he thought he’d dropped. Knowing his father, he didn’t want to get too excited, it still might land…

   You watched John disappear down a staircase behind a door you’d assumed led to the basement wine cellar. He seemed nice enough, but there was something not quite right about him and about what he’d said, you just couldn’t put your finger on it…

    “So,” you began, “your dad seems okay, so far.”

    Dean was standing very close.

   “Yeah, it’s weird. He doesn’t usually like the women I date,” he admitted. “But I kinda did that on purpose, too.”

    “Bring home a lot of winners, did ya?” you teased.

    Dean shrugged, “More like sneak ‘em out.”

    He saw you giving him a look.

    “When I was a horny teenager,” he covered.

    “An as a horny adult?” you asked.

    “Haha. Those were more just meetings in passing,” his voice was low. “And it helped it irritated him.”

    “Such a charmer,” you said.

    Dean slipped his arms between yours and around your back. Moving half a step forward, you left no space between you. His arms felt nice as you ran your hands up the back of them and over his shoulders. He felt so good pressed against you, warm and firm under the soft flannel.

    “I do have my redeeming qualities,” he grinned.

    Yeah you do, you thought. Dean seemed happy and you were glad of it. He’d been tense the last hour of the drive to the house, which reminded you…

    “Dean, what about the bags? We’re staying here, aren’t we? It seems like no one was expecting to see us…”

    “Of course, you’re staying here,” John seemed to have a knack for suddenly appearing.

    Dean let go of you suddenly, like he’d gotten caught sneaking kisses. Wish he would kiss me, you thought.

    “Dean grab some champagne glasses,” John instructed and moved into the living room, pulling off the foil top as he walked. “Ellen, what the hell were you doing in my kitchen?”

    John’s voice faded off as he went into the living room were Bobby and Ellen were again seated. Dean had moved to another cupboard and was pulling out plain glasses.

    “Dean, honey, no,” you put your hand on his arm.

    He watched as she put the glasses away, appreciating what the stretch did for her body. She, instead, took out the long, skinny glasses and put them in front of him. All things considered, she was doing just fine with his family, but he was still concerned about his dad. He knew better than to think he’d turned over a new leaf.

    It had been so easy to fall into his loving fiancé role with (Y|N). He had to remind himself that at the end of their week together, it was all over and to not get used to her being around. There was a job to do and he was going to do it. The plan was working so far, and she wanted to get her own shop going. She had her own incentive to make sure everything played well… but it definitely didn’t suck having her in his corner, or on his arm.

    “Should I get out seven?” she asked.

    “No. Sammy and Jess will be in tomorrow,” he answered. “C’mon, I’m sure they’re dying to tell you embarrassing stories about me.” He grabbed four of the glasses, leaving her the remaining one to carry. From the living room, they heard the telltale ‘pop’ and cheers from Bobby and Ellen.

      Not willing to risk eating Ellen’s dinner, John ordered pizza be delivered. They drank the bottle of champagne, gorged on pizza, and finished of the bottle of Jonnie Walker. Everyone was having a nice time, talking and telling stories about Dean and Sam when they were growing up.

    A full stomach, adult drinks, long drive in the car, laughing at their stories, had made you very tired. Dean was sitting on the corner of the sofa, one arm resting on the top of the cushion, the other on the armrest. You were past drowsy and had almost dozed off a couple times, the couch was so comfortable, and you were leaning against Dean…

    You put your hand on Dean’s knee to help pull yourself up off the couch.

    “I’m sorry, everyone, it’s been a long day and I can’t keep my eyes open,” you regretted to tell them. It had been an enjoyable evening and you hated for it to end. Dean followed you as you stumbled your way to the stairs while you and Dean said your goodnights to everyone.

      “There are so many stairssss,” (Y|N) was taking each stair like she was summiting Everest.

    “Keep moving,” he encouraged with a hand on her lower back. “Are you drunk?”

    “No…” she paused to think, “I’m not, but I’m buzzing pretty hard. Suuuuper close, though.”

    He chuckled, “Yeah, okay.”

    At the top of the stairs, he pointed out Sam’s old room but said that Bobby and Ellen would probably stay there for the night. He guided her around to the front of the house where his room was and led her inside, closing the door behind them.

    (Y|N) stood in the middle of the room just looking around. It didn’t look much like it did when he was growing up. His dad had finished renovating the upper floor after he and Sam had moved out for good. When he came back after his mom died, that was when he’d seen the first changes and it just slowly became his dad’s house after that. It looked more like a fancy hotel room than his boyhood home.

    Dean went to the bathroom and reached inside the door to turned on the light. He did a quick check to make sure there were towels and toilet paper.

    “Dude, your room is huge. You could fit two and a half of my room in here. This is amazing,” she was walking around, looking at things. She went to the windows and looked out, “Wow. This is really nice. How many times did you sneak in and out?”

    The room had three large windows that were at the front of the house and overlooked the wraparound porch. It had been so easy to climb down, or up, when he needed to get away.

    “Not as much as you’d think, but enough. Way more than my parents knew about,” he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.

    “Looks cold out there,” the light from the front yard showed that it was snowing and blowing hard.

    “Do you ice skate?” he asked looking out the window with her.

    She turned to him with a smirk on her face, “Do you?!”

    “Hey, I asked first,” he countered.

    “I can,” she said, “not well, or graceful, but I can scoot around a rink… mostly. Why?”

    He went back to the bed where he and Bobby had put their bags and unzipped his duffel bag, pulling out his pajamas. (Y|N) went to hers and pulled out a shockingly similar set.

    “Dad likes to have something planned for each day. Tomorrow is skating,” he said undoing the buttons on his flannel.

    “You skate?” she asked again.

    “Not on purpose,” he threw his shirt on the floor.

    “Uh-uh,” she shook her head, “after a year together, no way I let you throw dirty clothes on the floor.”

    He sighed and picked up his shirt and put it in the basket in his closet. It surprised him that it was still there along with some of his things. He pulled out a shoebox and brought it back to the bed.

    “I’m gonna…” he grabbed his kit and pajamas and went to the bathroom.

       Quickly, you changed out of your clothes and got on your pajamas. Dark blue, green, and black plaid flannel set. You were buttoning your shirt when you heard the water shut off in the bathroom and the door opened again.

    He stepped out holding his clothes and ready for bed. You noticed the smell of mint as you passed by with your toothbrush and paste. You moved as quickly as you could because you were dying to see what was in the box.

    When you were done in the bathroom and went back out, Dean was under the covers and propped up with the pillows looking through the contents of the box. It struck you suddenly about how adorable he was. He only had a small grin on his face, but he looked happy, too. The tension was gone as he looked at his memories.

    Apparently, he’d assumed you’d be sleeping with him. You supposed it didn’t matter much. It was a king-sized bed, after all. Plus, you’d practically been sleeping on him downstairs… Just thinking about it gave you butterflies and a body shudder.

    “Sorry,” Dean noticed your shudder, “Dad likes to keep it cold up here.” He stopped to look up at you then flipped the covers back on your side. “I’ll be a gentleman, I promise.”

    How disappointing, you thought.

    “Better than raging hellfire,” you said. “My grandpa would always keep the house so hot on holidays.”

    You climbed into the bed with Dean and scooted to his side so you could see what he was looking at. He dug through the box showing you the items he’d saved and the stories behind them. While it was great to see what was important to Dean, there were pictures at the bottom of the box that had caught your eye.

     When he quickly tried to skip one, you snatched the stack out of his hand an looked at he picture in all it’s glory. Your mouth dropped open at the sight. The red sweatband and sunglasses would have been enough to catch your attention, but there was more, so much more.

   “I can explain,” he said.

    You fought of a round of giggles and kept your eyes riveted to the picture. You had so many questions.

    “I think you’d better,” you chuckled.

    “The school needed a gym teacher. It was a few years after mom died. I needed to do something.”

    “Is that the uniform the school gave you or did you pick it?” It was so hard not to laugh, you were almost crying.

    “It’s the school uniform,” Dean was less amused.

    “Oh God,” you sighed, “it’s all so tight…”

    “The whistle made me their god,” he was reverent.

    “Look at your cute lil knees!” you took a cleansing breath and look up at the ceiling.

    “You done?” he asked.

    You fanned yourself with the pictures.

    “I think I have a crush on Coach Winchester,” you said, beaming at him.

    “Alright,” he grabbed the pictures from your hand and started putting everything back in the box, “you clearly need to sleep.”

    You turned off your bedside lamp when Dean was putting the box back in the closet and got your pillows situated. Your heart was racing as you looked at the t-shirt stretched across his broad back, causing the wicked pace. You were very much enjoying the thought of him in that uniform, but you were also going to be sleeping next to one of the most attractive men you had ever seen in real life.

    Finally, you were both settled, and Dean had his light off. You couldn’t tell if he was facing your or not, but there was one last thing you had to know.

    “Hey, Dean?” you began.

    A loud sigh came from his side of the bed. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark and you could see his profile.

    “Yeah?” he answered.

    “Do you still have the uniform?”

    You could see him smile and turn his head to you.

    “Maybe. Go to sleep, ya freak.”

[eye-raq]

Ember 4

Erik [code name Golden Jaguar ] x Black OC [name is Kimora but her code name is Ember]

Warnings: SMUT NSFW kink Phone sex cam sex SLOW BURN.

Summary: Erik becomes infatuated and obsessed with a live cam girl by the name of Ember, and all the way in NY, Ember is feeling the same towards Golden Jaguar.

This is gonna be a slow burn, so that means the anticipation is REAL between these two. I hope you guys enjoy and thanks so much for the reviews.

Ember Ember 2 Ember 3

“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees” - Grace Willows

Splash!!!! *honk honk*

“You fucking asshole!!!” Kimora wouldn’t have been so upset if she would have watched her footing, face buried in her Stephen King IT book while walking down W 50th Street. It had just stopped raining and she decided to leave her job at the MET early to get home and rest up. She wore a thrifted pleated plaid skirt today with a black sheer holographic top with a cropped denim jacket, no bra. Her legs all the way down to her platform dock martens were drenched and she stopped to take a minute to breath, the other New Yorkers around her not paying any attention.

“I just really wanna go home now...” she made her way to the subway station as quick as she could, hoping to catch the A train to East Harlem in enough time. Making her way into the subway station she speed pass the crowd of people just 2 seconds away from missing the train. Relief washed over Kimora as she entered, squeezing pass a group of tourists. She decided to travel to the furthest cart to avoid bumping into wet people.

Kimora tiredly sat down near a window seat watching the train fly through the tunnel out of her graffiti stained window. Her mind wondered to Golden Jaguar as she relaxed, that being the 10th time it happened to her since two days ago. She thought about him living all the way in LA before they’re line cut, body still aching from the heated conversation. She bit at her glossy plump bottom lip, blush creeping up her neck making her hot.

{I love sucking some pussy miss Ember}

She opened up her live cam account on the train, noticing automatically that she had an inbox full of about 200 messages. Her interest was only on one person who ever he really was, scrolling through 30 new messages landing on about 5 of his. She chuckled at his eagerness, reading them in her head:

-Miss Ember I’ve been thinking about you heavy...I wonder how you treating that pussy right now...I miss you on live cam today.

-Damn girl is it embarrassing to say I dreamt of you last night? It was some wild shit too.

-I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you live in NY, why you gotta be so damn far? Do daddy gotta come to you?

-Am I being pushy...you can be honest with a nigga. It’s just you do things to me ma...you got me in my feelings forreal lol

-Is it possible if I could have your number? I’m being bold right now and usually I don’t beg but I really wanna hear your sweet little voice again outside of this live cam shit. I promise, you don’t have to show your face or tell me who you are if your not ready baby girl.

She pondered, blood red tips tapping at her phone screen wondering if she should do it. Finally shrugging her shoulders letting out a quiet laugh, she sent him her number, nervous feeling creeping up almost instantly. It didn’t take long for a reply, only 5 mimutes later he sent [ 😈 ] and she was afraid to know what that meant exactly. Golden Jaguar being the demanding guy he is called her, and she knew it had to be him because of the area code. She looked about her, noticing an elderly man slumped from sleep diagonal to her. She had a little time so she picked up the phone letting out a sigh.

“So you just couldn’t wait to hear me speak again huh?” His baritone voice laughed tiredly on the other line before he groaned moving in the background. “Nah, you should be glad you have that kind of affect on people girl.” She smiled brushing a curly strand from her face. “ I am glad...is there anything I can help you with Daddy..”she spoke that low, “I’m kinda tied up right now I’m on the train.”

“Shid, so what?” She laughed louder now, “Oh so you REALLY bold all the way in LA huh?” “Just ease your mind that’s all I’m saying...let daddy do the talking okay?” Kimora paused, nervously looking about hoping that no one peaked through to watch her. “Okay...this how you wanna do it, ’ll play along to your little game Daddy.” There was silence for a second then his raspy commanding voice spoke out in her ear, “Watchu got on right now? I wanna picture it.”

Kimora scanned her body quick, “a see through top with a plaid skirt” Erik hummed in approval, leaning back in his swivel chair at his office in the shop he owned. “When you say see through what the fuck that mean?” She ran a single finger over her left nipple, feeling it stiffen before speaking low and clear into the phone, “No bra, just my bare chest against the fabric.”

“Mmm. Let me picture that shit...you got some big ass titties too and I bet they straining against that top you got on, begging to be free...free in this fucking mouth. You just love teasing people don’t you?” “You loving it though Daddy...” Erik nodded his head, a smile gracing his lips, “I’m doing more than loving it miss thing..stop tryna change the subject though, how short is that skirt?” She stroked the hem of her skirt pulling at it longingly, “it’s really short...if I bend over on this train right now this juicy ass and pussy would be out for everybody to see.” Erik had to sit up in his chair, booted foot knocking down rough scetches of car engines.

He ran his hand across the top of his braided dreads, eyebrows raised and dick causing his cargo pants to grow uncomfortably. He could see that shit now teasing him like a naughty school girl. “Fuck-FUCK. Girl you lucky I’m not there witchu. The fuck you doing walking around with a little skirt on and no panties? You asking for it. Is that shit wet?”

Kimora bit down on her lip, slowly lifting up one of her wet legs, feeling her moist center spread apart from the stretch. She dipped a single manicured finger into her slit, bringing it to her face seeing her slimy wetness. “Let’s just say that tongue of yours would have a lot of slurping to do; my shit is dripping right now...and it’s only from talking to you.” She sucked on her finger before smiling hard, nail grazing her plump bottom lip.

“You a nasty little slut you know that right Ember? For now on I’m gonna start calling your fine ass my NASTY LITTLE SLUT. How’s that sound?” Her heart tightened and her pussy quivered, almost wetting the seat under her. “I can be your nasty little slut, your nasty little freak, your nasty little whore, your nasty little bitch, what ever you want Daddy I can be.” Erik slouched in his seat, legs spread bringing his hand to cup his erection.

His eyes were lowered in lust, and his teeth gripped his bottom lip hard. “Let’s finish this game then...I want you to play with that pussy. Spread them fucking legs and dig in that pussy. Your gonna cum too I don’t care where you are my little slut.”

Kimora went to spread her legs but stopped suddenly when the door to the train opened and in came a tall guy with deep brown skin, hair cut with his curly top colored blonde, basketball shorts and muscle T-shirt on like he care from the court. His eyes landed on her for a second, scanning her with a soft smile before seating himself facing her near the door.

She freaked out for a second but his voice brought her back to attention. “I hope your doing what daddy told you to do.” She cleared her throat speaking low, “um... there’s somebody here...they can see me.” Erik kisses his teeth on the other line, chuckling low, “They wanna sit there give them a show, I don’t care Daddy wanna hear you moaning in my ear. DO IT my little fucking slut..”

Kimora raised her right leg over the top of the seat, hand slowly lowering to her pussy. The guy in front of her lifted his eyes to her doing a double take when he saw her with her leg stretched, a look of lust on her face. Kimora spread her lower lips with her fingers, taking her middle finger to rub at her stiff clit quickly. She met the guys eyes, and saw him giving her a gaze that dared her to stop, taking his earphones out of his ear. Erik’s voice brought her back to attention causing her to jump.

“Does it feel good? Answer me yes baby...” “yesss” Erik moaned in her ear, “that soft wet pussy. Stroke that clit baby. Imagine me tweaking that clit with my fingers. Are you quivering? Is your guest enjoying it?” Kimora bit at her lip, moaning hard, eyes stuck on the cute guy in front of her, she scanned him noticing his stiffness becoming even more wet. The guy bit down on his lip, adjusting himself, lifting his shirt a little showing his tattoo covered abs. He tilted his head up some, trying to peak at her motions and it turned Kimora on even more, having his voice in her ear and this strangers eyes on her. She aloud the guy to see, spreading out more so that his tall frame can get a glimps. She took note of his flustered skin and her body couldn’t take hearing Erik talk dirty while this mysterious cuties eyes roamed her body like prey.

Her belly fluttered from her overworking, head falling back and right leg loosing balance on the top of the seat. She needed to cum fast and now, her stop almost coming up. “Dig in that pussy my little slut, fuck up those walls. You wanna fuck me dont you?” Kimora nodded her head, “yes daddy... fuckkkkkkkk” She placed her fingers in her pussy, stroking fast causing the guy in front of her to dig his hands in his pants, rubbing at his dick.

The scene was intense and it was suprising that the sleeping man didn’t wake up. She placed her right hand on her outer lips spreading herself further to get more access, it was a euphoric high and she was about to cum. “I bet that pussy about to leak isn’t it? Damn I wish I was there to drink it up...make that pussy cum on that train...leave that messy shit there for people to see.”

Kimora tilted her lower body off the seat, limbs shaking as she whimpered, squirting all over the seat and floor. The guy in front of her sat shocked, face stuck on her. She breathed out quick, placing her fingers in her mouth, sighing. “Fuck babygirl. How does it taste? I know your nasty ass sucking on them fingers.” Kimora laughed, hearing her stop coming as she lifted from the seat, “yeah I love the taste of my pussy.” She adjusted her skirt and hair, walking to the exit. She turned to the guy still stuck in shock, cum stain in his pants giving him a wink before exiting to the platform.

—————————————————————

Kimora was in the middle of doing a yoga stance, finally washed after being in that sticky rain. She put her wet hair up in a top knot, body covered in a tight body suit with her plump ass hanging out. She needed to relive her body from tension and after hanging up with Golden Jaguar she needed to clear her mind. She never publicly pleased herself with someone watching. It was the most intense thing she had ever experienced and she craved for more, definitely planning to give him another call tonight before bed.

________________________________________________

Erik was in his home gym doing pull ups while his music blasted in the background. He needed some kind of workout that he missed out on lately because of Ember, more than ready to take a bath and talk to her again. He went to work out his chest now, watching his sweaty body flex in the mirror.

—————————————————————-

“Where are you right now Daddy..” Kimora sat cross legged on her bed, clad in a white baby tanktop and high waist cotton panties. She looked refreshed and beautiful as always. “I’m taking a bath right now baby girl..” she moaned licking at her lips, picking up her glass of Alize sitting on her night Stan. “I bet that killer body you got is all glossy and soapy...I can’t help that I wish I was there to join you...” “close your eyes and imagine you sitting between my legs, hair pinned up and my lips French kissing down your neck and my tongue, leaving a trail of bites and spit.”

Kimora closed her eyes, an angelic look of longing overtaking her black beauty. “I can see that Daddy...your hard body pressed against my back, dick rubbing against my ass...imagine me grinding on it, bringing your hand to grip my pussy.”

Erik picked up his bottle of Henny, smile plastered to his lips and dreads crinkled and messy all over his head. “What you want me to do next? You want me to finger you deep or you want me to rub at that clit?” “I want you to finger me..fill me with those thick fingers you got I wanna feel full.” Erik ran his soapy hand across the back of his neck tongue wetting his lips, “have you always been this freaky? Like damn you a freaky bitch... I like that shit though.”

He ran his hand along his dick under the hot water, “I wonder how deep that pussy go, I plan on burying my shit inside you deep girl. I can see you now riding my dick in this jacuzzi tub...you like to ride dick? Or you like back shots?” Kimora pondered that for a moment, “I really like back shots more...I like my man to control my motions and the feeling of my ass clapping against him feels so damn good. The stretch of my pussy around the dick is fucking amazing. I haven’t been fucked like that in a while.”

“Damn it’s like that? Shit when you with me you’ll get fucked whenever you please...Fuck that pussy up as many times as you want, make that pussy cum as many times as you can give me. I don’t give up, and I damn sure don’t disappoint. That’s why you need this dick girl I’ll have that pussy straight in no time.” Kimora was so intrigued by this dude and she didn’t even know him, she wanted him so damn bad it felt unreal and she couldn’t stand it. “I want you to stroke your dick for me daddy. Cum for me like my pussy wrapped around that big dick.” Erik smiled, gripping his dick tight and stroking it slow. He closed his eyes longingly, mind stuck on Miss Ember as he worked his dick, hips grinding causing the water to shift and splash.

“How does my pussy feel daddy? Is it holding that dick in a vice grip? Is it wet and slippery? Tell me daddy I wanna know how I’m making you feel right now.” Kimora picked up her bullet vibrator, turning it on the highest speed to stimulate her clit. She didn’t bother to take off her panties as she pressed it to her center, automatically arching from the bed. “It feels so fucking good my little slut..your fucking daddy dick just how I like it...please go faster, I want that pussy to glide quick across this thick dick.”

Kimora felt her stomach tighten and she cursed from the intense pressure, “mmmmm Daddy that damn dick, I love daddy dick. Does daddy love his little sluts pussy? Is it the best pussy you ever had huh?” Erik moaned, head falling back against the wet wall, “I love this slick tight pussy...daddy loves it so much you got that good kitty kat. Fuckkkkk-shitttt” Erik couldn’t fucking take it, the friction from the water was giving him the best stroke and he couldn’t contain his jerking body. “Only your pussy can make daddy feel like this, only your pretty pink pussy can grind on this dick deep and long like that, fucking slut...FUCKING NASTY SLUT....oh shit..”

Erik was out of control, legs lifting from the soapy depths toes curling along the tub. “Cum with me daddy, cum with me please...I want you to cum deep in this pussy...I promise I won’t let it drip out, I will let this pussy take every single drop Daddy.” Erik was lost in her words letting out loud streaks of curse words before cumming in the bath, watching it swirl with the vanilla scented soap. Kimora pressed the vibrator in further, feeling her wetness coat her fresh panties. Erik struggled to gain his breath, while Kimora layed back in awe, smile gracing her lips.

“Do you always have this affect on women?” She asked, finally lifting to remove her panties and drink her Alize. Erik snorted a laughter which made her heart flutter, taking up his Henny again, “Yeah, I cant help that y’all women love me.” Kimora rolled her eyes into her head at his arrogance, “Yeah well I’ll have you know that I steal the hearts of mean and women mr Golden Jaguar.” Erik lifted a messy eyebrow, a half smirk gracing his beautiful mouth littered in gold, “oh so you put those pretty lips on pussy too?” Kimora blushed, “only my best friend...but I’ve had some pretty lips on me several times..it’s nothing wrong with that.” Erik stroked his beard, approving this new information about Miss Ember.”

“Okay...I have a request ma...and I want you to think about it before you decide to shut it down aight?” Kimora finished the rest of her drink, clearing her throat before speaking, “Okay...what do you wish.” Erik thought about what he wanted to say, finally finding the questions hoping she would answer them. “Aight..so every time we talk..I get to ask two questions about you and you do the same for me. It can be any question and you have the choice if you wanna answer it. How’s that sound?”

Kimora didn’t answer right away, chewing at her bottom lip nervously. She liked him, and she couldn’t lie that it didn’t make her mind wonder who he was and what he liked...she accepted, putting her faith into this but not wanting to give too much away, not now. “Okay, I accept your request, but I get to ask you first okay?” Erik couldn’t contain the child like excitement within him as he sat up in his jacuzzi tub, prepared for whatever she wanted to know, “I’m ready, ask me anything princess.”

“What do you do for a living?” This was an easy one, Erik answering with no hesitation, “I’m an engineer, graduated from MIT. I have my own shop where I design engines, give paint jobs on cars, upgrade cars, that’s about it really. I enjoy it, it’s pretty popular here in LA and I’m good with my hands so why not right?” Kimora instantly liked that about him, he was a college grad and he was good with his hands? She couldn’t help the new rush of wetness that came knocking at her velvet walls. “Hmmm that’s very impressive and so sexy, I love a guy with brains and craft.” Erik felt his skin go hot that he impressed the one girl he saught out while stroking his dick for the past month.

“Okay, so my next question is...what’s your name?” Erik felt his stomach flutter with butterflies? He wanted her to ask him this question and it was like she read his mind. “My name is Erik.” Kimora closed her eyes, trying to picture a face with his name, struggling and finding it annoying. She didn’t want to ask to see his face yet because she wanted to know more before she went further. “Wow, you actually sound like an Erik too, you have a nature of a King, an eternal ruler of sorts. Very dominant, I like that shit I can’t lie...sorry I’m so excited you probably find it cheesy.” Erik was impressed that she dug deeper into his name and picked at him like she knew him well. He liked her more then. “Miss Ember, I could never scold you for feeling the same thing I’m feeling right now.” She couldn’t hide her blush it was so damn big.

“So, now I gotta know two things..” she felt nervous then, fighting to hide it. “So, your an artist? I noticed from your sessions.” She paused, shock evident on her face, “You..you noticed? Really?” Erik could read the shock and fondness in her voice and he knew then that he hit the jackpot. “Yeah..you have easels and paintings littering your room.. so your an artist then?” She smiled bright, hand covering her mouth daintly, “yes! omg yes I am. I’m a painter, I do pottery, and I’m a photographer as well.”

Erik was impressed and definitely interested holding back from asking her more because then that would be two questions. “Wow, I’m not gonna lie I’m fucking pissed I’m not in NY right now.” He laughed then, causing her to laugh. “Okay okay lets stay focused your distracting me.” Kimora laughed hard, finally containing herself for his next question.

“I wanna know if I can see your eyes?” Kimora was shocked but very turned on by that. She rubbed at her knee, blushing again, “Yes, I can send you a picture of them if that’s okay?” Erik’s anticipation was off the charts as he waited for her picture. The notification popped up with her number and Erik went to click on it, watching it come into view. He paused, his eyes burning into the pretty brown orbs of hers, taking in her eye brows and luscious eyelashes that fluttered over her soft eyes. He was stuck, and it took for her sweet voice to bring him back to attention.

“Erik? Hello? It can’t be that amazing.” The Alize was getting to her.

“Well maybe you should take time to study them more when you look in the mirror, are you sure you don’t need company in NY right now?

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[oh-so-scenarios]

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʀʀᴏɢᴀɴᴄᴇ [1]

Word Count: 3.3K

Genre/Warning: Angst, fluff, Jungkook x Black Female Reader, Prince AU, Royalty AU

A/N: Please excuse the errors.

⇾ Y/n Djan, Princess of Ghango, didn’t think much fun could come out of this trip to Korea. But oh how wrong she was.

Next ◀ ▶  Series Index | Masterlist

People look at rain in two different ways. At least that's what I've noticed. This separates people into different categories. Some people see rain as a hindrance. Rain kills people's plans and brings a grey cast on the day. While there are others who find the rain relaxing and peaceful, those same people often listen to rain sounds to sleep or sit by the window with a book in a cliche manner.

Then there's those like me. I believe I am at my best when there is rain falling from the sky. My mind is clear, my heart is lighter and my thoughts flow better. The rain speaks to my soul, whether it's a faint drizzle or violent thunderstorm, the rain speaks to me.

My mother often says it was raining the day I was born, though I can't say I believe her, seeing as everyone's recollection of that day differs. However, moments like this are what I appreciate the most. Sitting out on my balcony watching the rain falling from the sky in a strong and direct force. A cold wind like mist sprays my way, where I sit just out of reach of the raindrops. My red cedar swing bed swaying with my every movement. I only break out my daze when the music in my ears changes. The music switches from Sam Smith's soothing voice to the booming 808 of an afrobeat hit by Davido. The music in my ears was just background noise. Or at least it became background noise when my brain focused on the book in front of me.

Now the blaring afrobeat love song with repetitive lyrics was a distraction, conflicting with the tame and quiet atmosphere the rain was creating. At that moment, my urge to read disappeared. I closed the book, taking note of the page I ended on. Though, I highly doubt I'll remember it. I'll probably wind up reading the same chapter again.

I stare at the cover of the book, not really sure what made me pick this title from my father's big but old book collection. 1984 by George Orwell was the title and frankly while gazing at the torn cover, with pieces of the image chipping away, I made a mental note to find a different book to read. The premise and concept of the story leave me uneasy and uncomfortable.

There isn't too much disturbing about the plot of the book, but rather the self-placement I constantly do when reading a novel. The thought of being set in such a world as the one created by George Orwell in this novel leaves me irritated.

There's a saying that there can't be much growth without discomfort and that saying is true. But I know from experience, that forced growth brings even more discomfort which causes one to shrink away. Which is why I've stuck to reading sappy love stories that involve some generic and basic catch. Cause that's where I'm comfortable.

I chuckle at myself. Where exactly am I comfortable? In my own mind probably, in which I make everything seem less annoying and less burdensome. I set the book on the swing beside me, and proceed to stare out at the layers of rain pouring forward. Once again, the music becomes background noise as a ping echoes from my iPhone. I look down in time to see the notification for a text message.

(7:23 PM) Glaids: Y/n.

I can't help but feel irritated by the single text, but it's just so Gladis. I can't be mad since I know Gladis. Gladis' personality cannot be translated over text message. Being as she is my older sister, I've spent enough time with Gladis to get used to her ways, but it's often that I get tired of her simpleness and strictness.

Who needs parents? I had Gladis. Everything my parents were lenient about, Gladis made up for it. I always saw her as more of a nanny than a sister, and can't say our relationship is any more than that. I can't say I know much about her as a person. Sounds cold, doesn't it?

I don't know her favorite color, favorite food or even what she likes to do in her spare time. My parents began shipping me off to different countries for school, and she wasn't one to call or check up on me. The few times we did speak over the phone, it was a stiff conversation.

"How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Well, that's good. Are your classes okay?"

"Yeah."

That was about it. It was awkward, but straying outside those things brought discomfort, so I never bothered to reach out to her.

I type back, Yes?

I stare at the text conversation for a few moments, expecting a quick response and I was right, The bubble with three dots appear quickly and a text bubble appears with the words, We're needed in the dining room.

My face scrunches up in confusion. The dining room? My parents usually don't call for dinner till 8pm. Have things changed in the time I left? That's what being sent to study abroad for years will do to you. The norms of your home are suddenly foreign and small changes seem to trigger a feeling of missing out or loneliness.

I pull the earphones out of the phone, standing up to smooth out my black running shorts. I take my phone in my hand and slid the glass door open to enter my room. My bare feet are greeted by the soft and expensive feeling carpet. I close the glass door behind me and slip on my house slippers.

My long sleeve mustard gold crop top rode up as I walked to the double doors that led out to the long hallway. I step out, unable to suppress the shiver that passes through my body. Unlike my room, the hallway had the AC blaring. The cool air harshly smacks my bare legs and gains the reaction of goosebumps instantly. I stroll down the wide hallways of the palace, the same red and gold carpets spread all about. The tacky dark green walls haven't changed, though I wish they would. I make a turn down the hallway and see a group of servants and maids huddled up, giggles ripping through them.

My steps slow and my ears tune into their conversation.

"Did you see her?" One of them chuckle, "she hasn't changed a bit. Stiff, quiet and angry looking." She crosses her arms over her chest as she speaks.

"You don't know that!" one protested, "Maybe London did her some good."

"Be real Jewel," Another maid exclaimed, "nothing could get that girl to open up. Everyone in the kingdom knows the only reason his highness sends her abroad is to get her to lighten up. There is no one in all of Africa willing to wed that guarded prick Oli-"

"Princess Y/n!" Another maid chimes in panic. She looked up and locked eyes with me, shouting out a greeting to conceal any other careless words that were spilling from her peer's lips. I could almost physically see the sheet of terror floating onto the servants and maids. They froze and their shoulders become stiff.

They slowly turn around and show me faces of embarrassment and fear.

"Ms. Y/n," The one called Jewel says, curtsying slightly, "I-I...w-we-"

I yawn casually and cut off her words, "have you seen Gladis around?"

They throw glances at each other and shake their heads, "No. we haven't." Jewel answers. It seems that she is the leader of this clique.

She is a beautiful girl. Jet black box braids twisted in a fancy updo that compliments the shape of her face. Dark flawless skin without a pore in sight and though her eyes were tired, it didn't take away from her beauty. She can't be any older than 19, what is she doing being a servant?

"Any idea why I'm being called to the dining room?" I ask another question. They all shake their heads no and I sigh.

"Thanks anyway," I say beginning my stroll past them. I am contemplating whether I should say a sly remark, but before I know it I'm too far away. I continue down the hallway, glancing at the same painting and pictures that haven't moved so much of an inch since my absence.

Paintings of relatives and those who came before us. Though all the portraits are of family, I can't say I recognize a single face. My face sure isn't on there and I don't expect it to be. What impact have I left on this country?

My thoughts are cut off when my body crashes into something warm and unmoving. My phone falls out my hand and tumbles onto the ground. My gaze drops to my phone before looking up to see what cause they clash.

"Princess Y/n," A kind voice says while familiar eyes gaze at me. My lips turn up in a genuine smile and I take a small step back from the tall man towering over my 5'4 stature. I bend down and scoop up my phone, shoving it into my pocket.

"Uncle Kwame!" I exclaim. I move to hug him but notice the books and papers that filled his arms.

"Princess Y/n! I heard you've been back for a few days now! My, how you have grown." He smiles that same smile of his and I snicker.

Kwame has been assisting my father since they were children. Though my father has the power and assertiveness, he never really had the brains. Kwame was the brain behind my father. Every decision and choice my father makes is run by Kwame first. He has wisdom beyond his years, being 5 years younger than my father, he looked older.

The stress of his job turned his black hair grey and his smooth skin to many wrinkles with bags under the eyes that won't disappear no matter how much he sleeps. His hairline has receded some and he now suffers from weak knees, made clear by his urge to sit down while groaning. He often unconsciously rubs his knees while he face scrunches up in discomfort.

"Yes, I've been around." I reply simply, "But I haven't seen you. Where have you been hiding?"

He chuckles as if remembering a funny joke, "I've been on vacation because my wife gave birth."

My mouth opens wide in shock, "Wow that's wonderful! I didn't know she was pregnant, congratulations."

"Thank you, Princess, we are thankful for our healthy baby boy. We certainly were not planning for another child."

I laugh, "I'm sure you weren't. But that's good to hear that he is healthy."

"Oh excuse my rudeness, how was London?" Kwame askes. I let out a tight sigh.

How was London? Ugh I want to say awful, but I don't want to worry Kwame. It's always like this, it's always been like this. The question stays the same and the places change. How was America? How was Germany? How was Sweden? Now it's how was London?

I can say I've been studying abroad more than I've been at home in Ghango. Started with a few years in New York where I stayed with some distant family for a few years of elementary school. I was back home for a summer before being sent to Germany from elementary to my second year of middle school. I started and finished high school in Sweden and just graduated from a university in London. Despite all the time I've spent abroad, my accent when speaking is still slightly noticeable.

Now here I am, back home or a place that is supposed to be home. My father's excuse was always that he wanted me to have a more global outlook, but what is the youngest daughter of a King going to do with a global outlook? Am I not just going to be married off to the prince of another African country?

"London was good. I've returned with my bachelors in English and World Languages and it's so good to be home."

"I'm sure it is. Now if you'll excuse me, Princess, I have travel plans to make." Kwame takes one step forward, but I quickly step in his way.

"Travel plans? My father is traveling?" My brows furrow.

"It seems so."

I roll my eyes, "Another pointless meeting?"

Kwame shrugs, "Who knows? I must be on my way, Princess." Kwame swiftly leaves making me groan in annoyance. Not at Kwame, but at my father.

"What a fool," I whisper to myself.

For a man that wants his daughter to be global, he sure wishes the opposite of his nation. Ghango is a country sitting on the west coast of Africa.

A country of many resources. Gold, diamonds, coal, cocoa and much more. We have been blessed to have land that is fruitful in its results yet my father, like his father before, refuses to share this with any nations. The country of Ghango does practically no exporting or trading.

My father does not trust countries within or outside of Africa, so we fend for ourselves and provide for ourselves. My father speaks of how he will not export to any country because they do not and will not offer him what he wants. I can't be sure I know what he wants.

However, my father, King Anthony Djan decides to entertain meetings with various country leaders although his mind is already made up. Wasting people's time and money is what I say. His narrow thinking will get this country nowhere.

Yet, he wants me to be global? For what?

I hope my eldest brother Kofi will be that one to change such a stiff policy.

I walk ahead to the double doors that lead into the dining room. I push them open and find Gladis and Kofi already seated at the table, that was lacking for by the way.

"Hey, Kofi. Gladis." I greet as I entered the room, walking further in and taking a seat across from Kofi at the large rectangular table. He sat beside Gladis who showed me a small smile.

Kofi has changed so much in the last four years, though I saw him when I initially arrived days ago, I still cannot bring myself to believe that this tall man in front of me is my older brother. He's gone from looking like a young man to a full grown King.

"You know," He begins, "For someone who has been gone for years, it doesn't seem like you've missed the family at all."

I roll my eyes at his childish tone. "Oh yes! That's right! I called every week because I can't stand you poor people of Africa with thick accents and dirty hands! I think I am above!" I let my sarcasm ring through the dining hall earning a snicker of amusement from Gladis.

Kofi leans back in his seat with a small grin. That grin hasn't changed much. Kofi was always the perfect balance. He was kind and fun when needed and serious and focused when needed. With him being the oldest child and the only boy, he was always loved more. No matter how my father denied it, there was no doubt about it.

From birthdays to treatment around the palace. It was clear he was favored not only among my parents but among the people of Ghango.

The doors swing open and my mother and father proceed inside. This is about the 2nd time I am seeing my father since being back. I don't have much to say so I simply watch him with void eyes.

I caught my mother's eyes and grin widely at her. My mother has been the one to call me every chance she got, send me letters and gifts on my birthday. She has been in my face since I've arrived back and was kind enough to give me this day to myself.

We spoke no words because nothing needed to be said.

They take their seats and we sit in silence for a moment. My father, thin grey beard and all, turns to glance at me. I almost expect him to say something. A hello or "we've missed you, Y/n." Although I know better than to expect such treasure from him.

He looks forward, his eyes trained on nobody in particular as he speaks.

"As the royal family of Ghango, we all have a duty. We have a duty to the people who respect us and even those who hate us. It is our job to do what is best for Ghango and to continue to see the growth of this wonderful nation." He spoke in our native language.

"It is our duty to do our parts, whatever they may be, to raise this country to up to its greatest potential."

Where is he going with this?

"I want nothing more than the best for all you. You are my children after all. I want all of you to take part in molding Ghango for the generations ahead of us, I don't want any of you to be spectators, simply watching as change happens. You all will be active participants in any way seen necessary." He pauses, glancing at my mother who nods encouragingly.

"I am considering trading with South Korea." He says.

His words echo in our minds for some silent moments. The first giggle escapes from my brother before Gladis and I follow suit. Our laughs ring through the room as our father watches in serious silence. Our laughter dies down and my father grimaces before sighing.

"I am being sincere this time. King Hyungsik Jeon has been able to sway me." He announces.

"Wait," Kofi says, "seriously?"

"Very seriously," He confirms.

"So you'll be traveling?" I ask before I could think about it. Of course, I already know he's traveling, Kwame told me so.

My father sets his eyes on me, "No. You will Y/n."

My heart dropped at his words and my shoulders sunk, "What?" My voice comes out shaky with anger.

"You can't be serious, I just got back home!" I protest.

"I will not trade with just any country, Y/n. I need to know the people of the nation, the royal family of the nation and just how society is in that place. South Korea's King has made a good offer. So you and Gladis will stay in South Korea for six months to-"

"Six months?" I shout, "Isn't that a bit much?"

"And why do I have to go too?" Gladis' voice was steady and calm but anger was burning in her eyes.

My father stays quiet for a second after our outbursts, "You and Gladis will stay in South Korea for six months to fully understand how the people of the country are, how the royal family functions, and just what the country stands for. After those six months, you will report to me. You and Gladis will ultimately be the ones to decide the fate of this deal. You'll leave in a few days."

I scoffed, "So this is why you made that fake deep speech about all of us shaping this country for future? So you could ship me off again?"

"Y/n!" My mother hisses. I shake my head, laughing humorlessly.

"This is an important deal for your father, so he wants to make sure he is taking the right steps." My mother explains.

"Then he should send Gladis or Kofi! I just got home, why do you all hate having me home so much?" My voice grew thin and strain while tears started to burn my eyes and blur my vision.

"Kofi has his place here." My father says sternly.

I stand up from my seat, "And I don't?"

"Y/n, it's not like that." My mother pleads.

"Your mother is right," My father says, "you're taking this wrong."

I shake my head in disbelief and walk towards the door.

"Just say I'm your least favorite child and get it over with." I spit before opening the door and storming down the hallway.

A/N: I am also posting this same Fanfic on Wattpad, except on Wattpad, there is a OC in place of Y/n. 

[mynameislangdon-blog]

If You’re Still Breathing

This story involves Michael, Mutt, Jeff, a main original character and some minor original background people. It attempts to fill in some of what happened between the Apocalypse and Michael’s arrival at Outpost 3. I’m a fan of being inspired by music, so each chapter (and IYSB) are named based on what I was listening to when I wrote it. There is also smut, but it’s pretty soft, I think. This is not complete, needing at least 2 more unwritten chapters to resolve the story.

Characters: Michael Langdon, Mutt Nutter, Jeff Pfister, mention of Ms. Mead. Original main character because I don’t like first-person. Tag requests: @thelangdoncooperative , @ccodyfern

Word count: 5,073

Chapters 1-4 Warnings: some sexual content, blood, gore, death. Chapter 1: “You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid”  Outpost 2 was easily the largest, most technologically advanced of the bunch. The inhabitants wanted for nothing. Expanded from the historic Greenbrier Bunker in White Sulphur Springs, Outpost 2 had private rooms for 25, and dorm rooms for another 50. There were two 250,000-gallon water tanks, and 2 50,000-gallon diesel fuel tanks. All ventilation had radioactive particle filters and clean air circulators, plus there was water filtration, bunker to surface vault doors that needed 50 pounds of pressure just to unlock, and even recording and broadcasting equipment. The upgrades from the 60’s included hydroponic agriculture & livestock annexes, solar power, hydroelectric power, an armory, and for some reason a bowling alley. You name it and they had it. Unfortunately, it had a little too much of some things. And by things, I mean people. And by people, I mean two individuals in particular. Mutt Nutter and Jeff Pfister. They were the outpost designers, and they never let any of the inhabitants forget that they were alive because of them. “You want me to what?! Check the irrigation drains under the northwest crops? I don’t need to do anything; those fucking freeloaders can do it. I already saved humanity once!” They weren’t any better with each other. “You see this coffee, asshole? Tanzanian Golden Black Sky Desert Roast! If it wasn’t for me, you’d be eating nutrient cubes back in California!” “You’re the one who fucked up and put us here after I SPECIFICALLY said to put us in the Bahamas! I should be balls deep in Jennifer Lawrence right now, but instead we’re trapped with these fucking gremlins!” And that was just banter over breakfast. The others chalked it up to the price for surviving in splendor, and left them to their drugs and robots. The Outpost was light on entertainment personalities, but heavy on scientists, politicians and inventors. Many of the people who were meant to be there hadn’t made it, but certain people, mostly Cooperative members, had been given a heads up, and were already underground when the bombs hit. Grace had been one of the first people to arrive, but she wasn’t in the Cooperative or a billionaire. She was just a special education therapist who’d moved to White Sulphur Springs from California 3 years ago.   *********

There at the base of the stairs, Grace smiled. “I thought it had to be you. You sent me the card with the Cooperative ID, didn’t you?” “I did. I wish I could have collected you myself.” “But why?” “I needed you. There wasn’t time then, but there is now.” Grace watched his eyes. The bright blue she’d grown so accustomed to now looked like moonlight on an ocean. “What’s happened to you? Are you okay? Where’s Ms. Mead? Did she… oh no. She didn’t make it did she?” “No.” He stared straight ahead, pretending he didn’t feel; a move she’d seen before when he was trying to not cry. A tear slipped out and she watched it roll down his newly chiseled features. She reached out her hand to wipe it away then stopped. He had never liked surprise touching.  In a soft voice she said, “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask first. I won’t touch you without your permission again, I promise.” But he wasn’t the same boy next door she remembered that was full of anger, swinging from sweet to vicious with no warning. Surprisingly, he stepped closer and enveloped her in his arms. Suddenly buried in his cloak, she relished the embrace. It felt good to be held, and it felt good to know that Michael had become more comfortable with touching. There, in the folds of his cape, she breathed him in, inhaling the scent of burnt wood mixed with something metallic. Electric. Grace realized he smelled like a battery tasted. She had to fight the urge to lick him to see if her tongue tingled. Instead, she laid her cheek on his chest and sank into the hug. Then her former boy next door leaned in and whispered, “But you want to touch me, don’t you?” His lips brushed against her ear and she reeled, feeling like she’d just been sucker punched in the libido. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she could barely restrain herself from grabbing at him, pushing him to the floor, wrapping herself around him and eating him alive. Her hands tightened on him for a moment, threatening to tear his skin right through his clothes. Then she forcefully pushed him away, succeeding only in pushing herself back against the stairs.   What was happening here? Grace thought she might faint from her sudden need for him, but he simply stood and observed her. It was clear that he was relishing the sight of her feeling so many things at once, her former role of protector wrestling with her baser instincts. She was literally clinging to the banister for support when he ran the tip of his tongue over the edge of his upper lip. With the cool nonchalance of tossing a valet the car keys, he cocked an eyebrow and said, “You have my permission”, then turned and walked into the conference room.

Shocked, she ran scurrying down the hall like a mouse chased by a cat. She could almost hear Michael’s laughter following her. Once she had reached her room and locked the door behind her, she collapsed on the bed and whispered to herself, “What the fucking fuck was that?!!” She replayed the reunion in her mind. Instead of finding answers, she found herself reliving the moment his lips touched her ear, over and over again. 

Without even realizing it, she had pulled up her dress and begun touching herself. Her body ached for more, and Grace obliged, putting one, then two fingers inside herself, thrusting and rubbing, involuntarily moaning, “Oh yes, please, please, more!” Her hips squirmed, and the memory of Michael sent a spasm through her, pushing her over the edge into climax. Unaware of anything existing but Michael’s touch, she cried out with pleasure and release. “Oh! Oh fuck! Oh my god! yes! Yes! OH FUCK YES!!!!” She brought herself to orgasm over and over again until she lay on her bed drained, unable to move, aftershocks of pleasure still rolling through her in waves as she fell asleep on her bed, half undressed and limp like a doll.

******

The meeting with Mutt and Jeff was predictable. Them being overly solicitous to Michael with just enough questioning and doubt to show they still thought they knew better. This had been coming for a while.

“So, what’s going on out there, dude?”

“Most people are dead, the ones that aren’t are mutating and dying. Outpost One has been overrun and destroyed.”

“What?! No way, man. New York had a great defense system. Almost as good as this one!”

“Apparently not good enough.”

“Shit. So, what do we need to do to keep it from happening here?”

“There’s nothing you can do except… are you prepared to fight?”

Jeff started making Pew! Pew! Blam! noises and pulled a gun out of his waistband. “Oh, we’re ready. POW!”

Michael looked at Mutt. “I need to report back to the rest of the Cooperative of course. Why don’t you show me around so I can get an idea of where we stand supply-wise?”

Clearly uncomfortable, he said, “Oh, sure. But, uh maybe we should stay here, make sure everything’s ready for your dinner.”

Jeff chimed in, “We’re doing a special dinner to celebrate your arrival, man. Like, top of the line.”

Michael observed them both, having expected nothing less than avoidance. “M-mm, I see. Of course. Shall I just, wander about on my own then? See what I can find?”

Jeff gave a panicked, “No!” then added, “What I mean is, you wouldn’t want to miss anything important. You should totally have a guide. You want your special friend to take you around?” He exchanged a knowing look with Mutt.

Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the nobody who you put in here with us, the one with no money or special talents who had a priority entry clearance? Come on, dude. We’re not stupid. Obviously, she’s somebody special to you. I didn’t even know the Son of Satan could have personal attachments. Beyond the Battlea…. Ms. Mead, I mean. So, what’s the deal, you two getting it on? Did you save her to be like, your post-apocalyptic sex slave, or what?” Michael’s eyes grew black, and the lights flickered. “That’s not your concern.”

Mutt looked around nervously. “Okay, we were just curious. So, you don’t want her to show you around? We can find…”

“It will be fine.”

“Yeah, okay. We’ve got some... stuff to take care of.” Before Michael could even leave the room, the boys made a beeline for the drink cabinet, and opened it to reveal a giant crystal skull half full of cocaine, several syringes, and the bar sink full of robotic arms clutching bottles of alcohol. As the door shut behind him, Michael heard a gunshot and a round of hysterical giggling. He put his hand over his face and sighed.

****************

Chapter 2: "The Distance”

The intercom in Grace’s room buzzed, startling her from her unplanned nap. Once she got her bearings, she went over to the speaker. “This is Grace, what is it?”

“Got a job for you, sweetheart.” Ugh, it was Jeff. Grace rolled her eyes at the intercom and prayed it wouldn’t be something humiliating.“What kind of job?”

“Langdon wants a tour of the bunker.”

The butterflies started in her stomach, and lower down her parts clenched in an agonizing ache. “Can’t Josie or Henry do that? I’m kind of busy right now.”

Mutt chimed in, “Nope. It’s gotta be you babe. Try not to have too much fun. We need him back for the big dinner at 6.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. He just left the conference room so get your ass up here pronto.” Grace hurriedly changed out of the rest of her clothes and into jeans, a t-shirt, and work boots. A full tour would include the livestock pens, and she didn’t want to look seductive anyway. She grabbed a hair tie on her way out the door and pulled her hair into a ponytail as she hurried down the hall. She rehearsed in her head giving a firm “no” if he tried touching or whispering to her again. But she also couldn’t help imagining what could happen if she didn’t.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Michael once again standing at the bottom of the steps, writing something in a small black notebook. Not knowing what to expect, nervous with anticipation, she walked up to him and tried a casual, “Hi.” Her voice came out hoarse and she began to cough. She thought back to all the screaming she’d been doing recently and grew warm with the thought. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.  

“Sorry about that. Air gets pretty dry in here.”

Michael tucked the notebook into his jacket, then looked at her coolly. “Please lead on. We have a lot to see.”

“Okay, well you’ve seen the decontamination entrance and the overview/conference room, so let’s go down to the big stuff at the back.” As they walked down the corridor, Grace kept talking. She told herself it was because he would want to know as much as possible but truthfully, she was just trying to avoid thinking about what happened earlier. Michael either didn’t notice or chose to ignore her, as his only contribution to her running dialogue was the occasional, “Interesting.”

She pushed open a set of glass double doors. “This is the ER.” They walked past hospital beds and Michael peered into one of the operating rooms. There was everything a regular operating room would have: bone saws, ventilators, shock paddles, EKG machine, IV drips, and so on. “You’re quite prepared.”

“Mostly. And here’s the pharmacy. We have everything one needs for typical stuff, we even have a setup for chemo. But they went heavy on the painkillers and didn’t stock a lot of long-term meds, which I think was a mistake.”

They took a walk through the pharmacy rows, and as Grace talked, Michael would occasionally pick up a bottle or package. “If you have questions about any of these, we’ve got a basic guide and I still remember a lot from school so you can always ask.”

“These aren’t locked up? Anyone can access them?”

They’re unlocked now because I’m showing it to you. There’s a code on the room and on the shelves, plus the cameras are simply everywhere.” She pointed up and waved to the camera. “Josh is probably on camera duty tonight. Hi Josh!”

Michael glared at the camera, and in the observation room, Josh grabbed his heart and collapsed to the floor.

They left the medical area and walked down to the power room. Keying in another code, Grace opened the heavy door and they were greeted with a wall of noise. “They’re pretty loud. Sorry.” She flipped a few switches and the actual size of the room became apparent. “These are the diesel generators and tanks. We actually don’t use them much since gas is a finite resource, but the sky isn’t very bright some days thanks to the fallout, so… yeah. See these two tanks with the staircases attached? That’s all of our fuel.”

“And how full are they now?”

“What?”

He leaned in closer. “How full are they now?!”

“One hasn’t been touched at all, and the other has...” She walked over to the tanks. “This one’s at 89%.”

“And where’s your water source?”

“Oh, most of that is filtered and recycled. This was a great place to build a bunker because there’s also a naturally occurring deep spring underneath. The radiation levels for that are still holding, but we predict they’ll eventually succumb to runoff from the surface. The good news is even contaminated water can run a hydroelectric generator in a pinch.”

“You know a lot about this. Special interest?” Grace raised an eyebrow and smirked, “You mean survival? Yeah, I’m pretty interested in that. It’s in the best interest of the group that we all know as much as possible. We’ve got experts in certain areas, like the two chuckleheads and their robotics…”

“You mean Nutter and Pfister?”

“Oh, no offense, I know you three work pretty closely.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well… you saw them alone in the conference room, and they talk all the time about how they’re very influential with the Cooperative leader. That’s you, right? The leader? What’s the deal with The Cooperative? What’s the common goal?”

Michael hesitated, trying to avoid the topic

“Look, if you can’t talk about it, I understand, but how did that happen? Leading the Cooperative is a long way from lessons in my basement. I’m glad for you, I always knew you were too strong willed to let anything hold you back but…”

Michael rushed in and closed the gap between them pinning her against the tank. “You have no idea.” Then he kissed her, roughly. His lips mashed up against hers and she never even had a choice. She opened her mouth to him, nipping at his bottom lip, hungry and uncontrolled. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and they fought, her need matched by his hunger. Her hands ran through his long golden curls, grasping and tugging, trying to bring him closer. The kiss broke, and she sighed as he bent down to kiss her neck, licking and biting his way from her collarbone to her ear and back again. His hands roamed over her body, her skin burned hot wherever he touched her. It was too much for Grace, and she had to cry out, “Stop!, I can’t! I... Please, it’s too much!” Tears leaked from her eyes, not because she was in pain, but because she’d never wanted something so much in her life and for some reason, she couldn’t just let it happen.

Michael looked at her, glassy eyed and drunk on her need. He watched her hands opening and closing, grasping at the air instead of him. She wanted this. She needed this. This was rich, thick desire that he could taste and hear and smell and feel. The tension between them made the air shimmer with heat. Like magnets, they could only get so close to each other before they touched out of sheer force. He experimented, raising his hand to her waist and bringing it closer and closer until he felt the pull, breaking free only to do it again. She held her breath, afraid of what she might do if he touched her again.

A door alarm blared at the end of the hall, breaking the spell. Michael clenched his fist, ready to set ablaze the person who interrupted them, but remembered where he was and restrained himself to avoid an incident. Surprisingly, it was Grace who composed herself first and suggested, “Shall we move on?”

They walked through the kitchen, avoiding the hot pans and sharp knives, chopping and slicing, sizzling and flashing. The kitchen crew couldn’t help but stare as Michael strolled through with his blonde shoulder-length hair and elegant black clothes, nodding approvingly at one thing or another. He dipped his finger into the creamy mushroom soup and tasted it, saying simply, “Not bad”, giving a rare glimpse of his full-wattage smile. With that, he could have stabbed every member of the crew with their own knives and they would have thanked him for the privilege of dying by his hand. Grace was impressed. He had come a very long way.

She chimed in to say, “Almost everything you’ll have tonight was grown right here. The animals aren’t ready for breeding, but when they are, we’ll have fresh meat as well.”

“What kinds of animals do you have now?”

“Oh, you know, chickens, a cow and a steer, a pair of pigs… It’s like Noah’s Ark down there. But not all the animals are for eating. Come on, I’ll show you.” They walked through the green mist of the hydroponic vegetables and herbs, past the fruit trees in pots, past the composting, and entered the husbandry through an honest to god split-rail fence.

The animals came crowding around and at first Grace thought it was for her, but then she realized that they had all gone to Michael instead. And the oddest part was that they weren’t crowding him, they all just… sat there, as if in a trance. “Like they’re asking to be spared” ran through her mind. What a strange idea.

“You’ve got a way with animals.”

He looked a little uncomfortable. “Not really, I think they’re just interested in me because I’m new.”

“That must be it.” Grace knew better, but if Michael didn’t want to talk about this particular weirdness, that was okay. “But you haven’t seen the best part.”

“Am I going to have to walk through more mud?” His fancy Louboutin boots were looking quite muddy.

“Mud, no. Dirt, probably.”

Michael seemed to stop and consider his options. He sighed, “Fine.”

She led him around the side of the enclosure and whistled. Two beautiful black horses came trotting up. “Aren’t they amazing? Do you want to feed them?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it will make them happy.” Michael seemed a little confused by the idea of making an animal happy, but took the shiny red apples that Grace gave him and held one in each hand for the two beauties. They gently nuzzled his hands and then methodically chomped away on them until there was nothing left. “Huh.”

“Good babies”, cooed Grace. And to Michael, “You see? That wasn’t so bad. Oh!” She suddenly beamed. “I forgot, check this out!” She led Michael into the enclosure and waved her hands dramatically. “Ta-da!” There stood a black carriage, like the ones you’d see in old movies. His eyebrows raised in quiet approval. Wooden wheels, curtains on the windows. He peeked inside. Leather seats, too. “What’s this for?”

“Well, Henry’s logic was that if the day came where we needed to venture out for supplies, that having a carriage would make much more sense than a car because we wouldn’t need to carry gas for it or rely on finding any later. If the horses can eat what we eat…” She was interrupted by an announcement blaring from the speaker in the ceiling. It was fucking Jeff again.

“Ladies and gentlemen! The time is now 5:00 and in an hour we will be having a celebratory feast in honor of Mr. Langdon. Please make sure you are tastefully attired and on time! Over and out!”

Grace and Michael shared a look.

“I guess the tour’s over.”

“We’ll finish it later.”

**********

Chapter 3: “Belief In God Is So Adorable”

The dinner was unnecessary, but Michael had learned that these kinds of things were easier to get through than call off. And besides, it would give him a chance to try an experiment. He looked around the table at the scientists, intellectuals and politicians and military men. He stood and raised his glass in a toast. “Fellow Cooperative members, as you may have heard, Outpost One is gone.” People nodded their heads and tried to look broken up about it. “But let us not ignore the fact that we are still here.” More thoughtful nodding. “I would like to raise my glass to Outpost two, and your efficient and sustainable colony.” Mutt and Jeff let out a “Yeah! Damn right!” and stood up to chest bump each other. Then they stepped away from the table to do a few lines and argue about which bottle of wine to open. Everyone else applauded politely, raised their glasses in return and drank. Individual bowls of soup were being placed before each person. “What do we have here?” asked Michael. The person serving said, “Mushroom soup, sir. Made from mushrooms grown right here. And fresh cream, too.” “Well, it looks delicious.” He winked at the server, who from that moment on would have gladly cut his own eyes out with rusty razor wire then sautéed them with rosemary and eaten them if Michael had asked him to. Michael dipped his spoon into the bowl and brought it to his lips then stopped, putting his spoon down and simply sitting while he watched the guests eat every last spoonful while they talked about some garden pests or fortifying a support girder or something else equally pointless. Michael frowned. It hadn’t worked. He wondered if it was a dosage problem or if it was the rate the pills dissolved in hot soup. But then, Henry started to drift. He looked so tired. Then Josie, then Doris too. They could barely hold their heads up. The three senators soon followed suit, then the General. The other diners were slumping in their seats and Michael began to smile. “Good to know”, he whispered to himself. Mutt and Jeff continued to argue in the corner, oblivious to anyone else’s condition. Michael sighed internally. No one appreciated subtlety anymore. Once everyone had succumbed and was face down in their soup or puddled on the floor, Michael stood up. “Gentlemen, since our companions seem to resting, I wonder if you could help me with something.” “Yeah, sure. Whoa, what happened? Are they going to be okay?” “Oh, yes. They’ll be fine. Just… napping. I still need a tour of the armory and I wanted you two to take me since I know it’s your area of…” Michael hesitated, barely able to say the word, “…expertise.” “What? Oh dude! Absolutely! Let’s go!”Jeff whooped and hollered the whole way there, Mutt egging him on. They unlocked the shooting range and took Michael to the armory. “We’ve got everything you need, man.” “I don’t need anything, I just need to know what you have.” “Oh. Well, you mind if we shoot off a few rounds first?” Michael waved his hand at them, “Of course.” He sat back in a green plastic chair, putting his feet up on the rail. He knew what was coming. “So, uh, let’s just do a few lines first, ok?” They opened up yet another unimaginative cocaine stash inside a target dummy then laid out a pile and bulldozed their faces through it. As they brought their heads up, they realized something was off. Weird. “Dude, you feel that?” “Like, that buzzing? What the fuck is that? OW!” Blood began to run out of Jeff’s nose. He turned to look at Mutt, who had sunk to the floor holding his head in his hands. He turned to Michael and yelled, “What is happening?!” Michael gave the most sardonic of smiles and said, “Oh, it’s quite simple really. My father has revoked your privileges.” Jeff’s eyes bugged in disbelief. He screamed hysterically, “What do you mean fucking revoked? We paid our dues man! We sold our souls!” Behind him Mutt began to rhythmically beat his head on the floor. “Yes, you did. But you haven’t exactly upheld your end of things, have you? Did you think I wouldn’t know?” “Auuugh! Fuck!” The nosebleed was hemorrhaging, leaving Jeff soaked in his own blood, woozy and thick-headed. “Wouldn’t know what?!?!! We gave you the apocalypse, dude!” Michael stood up, clasping his hands behind his back and cocking his head to one side. Speaking in a voice that was all gravel and bitterness he said, “You lied to me. You tried to manipulate me.” Jeff fell to the floor next to Mutt, trying to stand but slipping in the blood that was spreading around them. Michael continued, “You programmed Ms. Mead to say what you wanted to say. You used her. You took away her memories and gave her ones that you liked better. You changed her. And in doing so you worked against me.” He slowly walked his way over to the miserable pair. “You.” He looked at Mutt, who had slammed his head into the floor so many times that his eyes had rolled back into his head and pieces of his brain were flapping idly at the edges of his skull. He stepped closer, hand clenched. “Used.” He watched Jeff try to hold his head up, blood now flowing from his ears, eyes, and skin. He stepped closer, clenching the other hand. “Me!” He threw his hands open and they held roaring fire, flames licking and jumping in anticipation. “And my...” His face went ghostly white, black holes where his features should be. His voice boomed so powerful and angry it could have toppled mountains. “…MS. MEAD!!!” The flames shot to the ceiling and curved back down, igniting Mutt and Jeff. They wailed and screamed, slowly and painfully burning to a blackened crisp. Michael snapped his hands shut and stood stone faced, watching the ashes swirl across the floor. He casually brushed a stray lock of hair off his face and straightened his jacket. One last loose end to tie up. ******** Beginning of Chapter 4: “I Am a Rock”

Grace thought back to when she first met Michael. When a boy of 16 comes knocking at your door and he isn’t selling something for school, one gets nervous. And here was this boy, all ripped black jeans and combat boots, unsure of how to say hello to a stranger. He stood there on her doorstep, just looking at her, as if she was supposed to just know what he needed. “Where’s your mo…Ms. Mead?” she asked, looking around. The tall boy with icy eyes and curls like an angel looked around too. “I don’t know, I mean she was here, but now she’s not and the car’s not here…” The boy was clearly not comfortable being alone, and seemed anxious. “Is there someone I should call?” He looked sheepish and said, “Can I just wait here?” “Sure. We can do that. Let’s wait outside so we can see her car when she gets back.” And she thought to herself, “And so Ms. Mead doesn’t skin me alive for having her boy in my house unsupervised.” “Okay. Thank you. May I have some water?” Grace brought out some water for the boy and tapped him on the shoulder. He flinched, swatting at her hand. She took a step back then sat down on the steps at a respectful distance, putting the glass of water in the space between them. “Sorry, I’ll ask permission next time, okay?” Michael stayed silent, looking doubtful. “I will ask permission before I touch you. I promise.” They sat awkwardly until he finished the water. He handed it to her saying, “Here’s your glass. I’m finished.” “Thank you… I don’t know your name. What should I call you?” “Michael. Michael Langdon.” “How old are you Michael?” “16.” “And where do you go to school?” “I don’t like these questions.” Dammit, she had pushed too hard again. In her head, she admonished herself. “Listening skills, Grace! Come on!” “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you not want to talk? Just wait?” “Just wait.” Grace was trained in working with special needs kids, and this young man Michael, with his specific ways and rigid preferences, acting a little younger than his age would suggest, seemed to have some delays. She wondered if there was some kind of developmental disability there. She desperately wanted to ask more, but there was no point pushing him. They sat and watched the cars pass and listened to the summer insects buzzing.   Michael broke the silence. “Why are you always playing music and hitting things?” “What? Oh, I’m practicing. Practicing martial arts.” “You listen to music for that?” “Well, I do. It helps keep me motivated. It’s not too loud is it? I don’t want to bother anyone.” “No, it’s not loud. Well, Ms. Mead doesn’t like it but I think she just doesn’t like that kind of music.” “Well, it’s not for everybody. I’ll try to keep it quieter so she doesn’t have to listen.” “You practice fighting? Can you teach me fighting?” Grace had an inspirational idea, but it would require some coordinated effort and planning. “That… would be up to Ms. Mead. If she says it’s okay, then I can certainly try.” “She’ll say okay.” And just like that, her car came pulling into the driveway.Michael’s face lit up, and he ran off, calling out over his shoulder, “Bye! I’ll see you tomorrow!” “Tomorrow?” Grace thought, “Oh, boy.”

[ontherockswithsalt]

A Made Man

/1/ /2/ 

A/N: The name of the game is adult content. The adult content is back. This is where I warn you. Okay, proceed.

Chapter 3

I had felt my phone buzzing against my thigh all evening while I was at my dad's house. But I wouldn't let myself look except once to verify the messages were from Noble. When I saw the number of alerts, assuming what he was up to, I quickly darkened the screen and put it away, a jumpy heat in my heartbeat.

I made it home, showered and put on clean clothes before I decided to find out what he was so eager to tell me.

It starts with a picture and for a second, I hold my breath because I don’t know if I’m ready to see it, even though I’m alone in my own house. But it’s simply a picture of him, a look on his face as if he’s confused or annoyed at his sister whose chin is propped on his shoulder beside him. She wears sunglasses and a wide grin and the two of them appear to be on some sort of restaurant patio. I read the message beneath it:

Noble: I tried to crop her out but she wouldn't let me.

Noble: So hi, we miss you. But I miss you more. Come back.

I laugh softly, a little tug in my chest when I see his face, the way his eyebrow arches as he glances off to the side, his lips parted like he’s in mid-sentence.

That message had come earlier, and after about a two hour gap another string of them begins.

Noble: I guess it’s been a week right? For some reason, in my head, I thought I’d be chill about being apart from you for longer. But guess what I’m not and I miss that butt so if you could get it back down here, I’d appreciate it.

Noble: Actually, I had a dream that you did. That you were in my bed. So imagine my disappointment when I woke up and you weren’t there. But damn it felt real. And I was hard just thinking I heard your breath in my ear.

I feel my eyebrow twitch at the last sentiment. I hadn't so much had dreams about him -- I rarely remember my dreams. But at night I'd lie in bed and think about him there. I hated that he wasn't. I spent one night with him last weekend and now I want it again so bad, my body was restless for it.

I’ve endured way longer -- shamefully longer -- stretches of time in my adult life where I wasn’t getting laid. But now I’ve gone a week and I’ve never been so damn incessantly turned on. The constant arousal had me jumpy. And it’s all because I know how good it could be and I craved it again, especially at night when I try to sleep.

Glancing down at my phone, I tap the screen to reply.

Jamie: So what are you going to do about it to make it real?

Then I toss my phone on the covers of my bed and head back out to turn everything off in the rest of the apartment. I make my way to bed and throw myself heavy onto the mattress, backing up against the pillows and retrieve my phone.

Noble: I’d get on a plane right now if jobs and shit weren’t an issue.

Jamie: I know, what the fuck?

Noble: You tell me when you have a free weekend and I’ll get there if I can.

I swipe to my calendar app and look at my schedule. Typically, I work one Saturday shift a month. I’d also promised Erin I’d spend an afternoon helping Nicky learn to drive. So I settle on a couple of the soonest weekends around the ones that are already booked.

Jamie: I could do the 19th or the 26th.

Noble: Alright. I’ll get back to you.

Jamie: So what else happened in this dream? You can’t just throw it out there and not expect me to need details.

Noble: It was just a feeling.  No sequence of events, just like… you were there next to me.

Jamie: Just laying there? Kinda bummed I wasn’t on top of you.

Noble: I save those thoughts for when I’m awake.

Noble: I am a fan of you on top of me.

Jamie: Yeah I am too. I think about that a lot.

Noble: I’m such an ass grabber with you so it’s a good position for me to be in.

Jamie: You are pretty handsy back there. That’s not a complaint.

Noble: You should see your ass, though. You can’t blame me.

With a shake of my head, I laugh softly, sinking further onto my back before I reply.

Jamie: I’ve seen it, but I’m glad you appreciate it.

Noble: I don’t know… the memory is fading… Maybe I need a picture.

Jamie: I’m not sending you a picture of my ass. Don’t even try.

Noble: One buttcheek.

Jamie: Considering your sister’s habit of helping herself to your phone? No way.

Noble: Dammit. What can I get a picture of? Like your knee or something? I can work with that.

Amused, I run the edge of my finger along my bottom lip. On the screen, my thumb hovers the icon to call him over video and I quickly tap it, waiting while it connects.

In a moment, his face is there, soft in the glow of dim lamp light. His brow furrows and with a guilty glance to the side, opens his mouth.

“Dude,” he greets me. “I was just trying to sext this hot guy. I’m busy.”

I smirk. “Yeah? Well he’s probably lame and a tease. Talk to me instead.”

“Are you in bed?”

Holding my phone over my face, I arch my brow to peer back at my pillows. “Yes.”

“It’s like, nine o’clock. ”

“I'm tired, bro.” I chuckle, sliding a hand up my face to rub my eyes. “Gotta be at work early tomorrow.”

“I know, me too.”

“But I figure if you want to see something, you can see my face while I talk to you.”

“I miss your ass and your face equally, so I'll take it.”

I have to shake my head. “You get no ass pictures.  You have to come get it in person.”

Tipping his head back against his couch, he lets out a frustrated moan. The way it rumbles, the way his throat clenches when he does stirs my already eager arousal. “God I want it so bad,” he murmurs his complaint. “I'm definitely coming for it, so I hope you're ready.”

Sucking my antsy bottom lip beneath my teeth, a smile twitches my cheek. I shift on my bed, my insistent hard on urging me to tilt my hips down against nothing. Fuck, why can't it be him?

I arch a questioning brow. “Ready how?” I know what he means. That night in Miami I was drunkenly determined to take it all from him, to have him inside me only to freak out and not go through with it. I could have shut down, been traumatized by it all. But I wasn't, because Noble didn't pressure me or make me feel ashamed or like I was a disappointment. And that whole night solidified my trust in him.

Chalk it up to my drive to excel, but I came home pretty damn curious about ways to ensure I'd be able to go through with it if we found ourselves trying again.

“Whatever you are game for doing, I'm coming for it,” he tells me. “Even if we just make out for forty-eight hours, I'm down.”

I scoff. “You would not be.”

“Yeah, forget that. But seriously, I think about you every fucking night, Jamie--”

The low urgency of my name in his voice, god that voice, it's such a turn on. His confession makes my stomach flip.

“More than that,” he adds. “But definitely at night. I get hard thinking about everything we did, remembering everything. Even by myself this week--” He laughs softly, arching his head back again. “I come so damn hard when I think about you.”

“Fuck--” I mutter in a whisper, reaching down to stroke a hand over my shorts. Then clearing my throat, I reach over and flip the lamp off beside my bed. “Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Noble’s low chuckle rattles through the phone. “You going to sleep on me?”

“Hell no. Keep talking.”

“Oh, my god. Did you turn off the light to jerk off?”

“Maybe I did.”

“That’s really cute and Catholic of you.”

“Shut up. Want me to keep the light on?”

“I mean, I can’t really see you, but that’s okay,” he says. “I can sort of see you, and it’s hot. So please continue.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Go get in bed,” I tell him.

He cuts me an amused gaze and then I see him get up from the couch. I see the inside of his house before he turns the corner and he’s in his room.

“Oh hey, I remember that room,” I muse, catching a glimpse of his dresser in the background. “It knows all my secrets.”

“Oh-ho, yeah it does.” With a smile, he reaches for the lamp and turns it off.

In the darkness, I see him set his phone on the nightstand. Then the faint jingle of his belt and the sound alone makes my throat hot. I hear him shift, getting rid of his jeans before he falls back on the bed and picks his phone up.

“You wanna hear one of my secrets?” His coy question sparks a heat deep in my core.

I stretch back and close my eyes. “Mm-hm. Preferably one that involves what you plan to do to me when you come back to New York.”

“Ah god,” he says in an exhale. “What I plan to do? I want to shove you down on the bed, get on my knees and suck you off--”

“Shit--” I hiss in a shaky whisper. Then I can’t help blow out a breathy laugh at the blatant confession. Shifting, I dip my hand beneath the waist of my shorts and grasp my aching hard on and I waste no time with a needy tug on it.

“That's all I can fucking think about.” His hushed voice is raspy through the phone. I look and we can hardly see each other, but depending on how he moves, I catch the outline of his neck, the strong edge of his jaw in shadow. It heightens all the other senses and it’s just his voice and his intentions shooting my pulse straight to my cock.

My hand holding the phone just lets it slip onto the pillow beside me and I reach down. I adjust my shorts down and work myself in my fist, with the added sensation of my other hand. I’m not even trying to idly stroke and make it last longer. “Fuck,” I breathe out. “I wish you were here.”

“I am. I’m right there.” He murmurs his assurance and his it’s like I feel his hard exhales on my skin.

I imagine my hands are his. Pressing my lips together, I hum a broken grunt in my chest. I tip my head back, letting the noises that he makes seep inside me, the vibrations of his subtle moans shaking there.

I swallow hard and we just listen to each other’s heavy, determined breath before I tell him, “I don’t think you know how bad I want you to fuck me.”

All he can do is swear in a hot breath before another groan sneaks out of him. “Oh, my god, Jamie.” And then he starts to say Please but the word gets lost in a defeated sigh.

We both just mutter a string of fucks before I can tell he’s about to come. Seconds later, I am too. We’ve only finished at the same time while we’re talking on the phone and it’s an intense sensation, each of us consumed with our own release but provoked by the other hitting his limit. It builds until it breaks and together, we come undone.

It takes a while for my twitching muscles to let go, to finally collapse, hopeless and spent. After a moment of just listening to each other’s panting breath, it begins to even out. I have to smile when I hear that lazy laugh of his.

“I don’t really know why we’re on FaceTime,” Noble’s voice floats into the air above me.

An exhausted chuckle rumbles in my throat before I reach for my phone on the pillow beside me.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m into it,” he adds. “But I wasn’t… exactly paying attention to my phone screen. Let’s just say that.”

“I wanted to see you initially, but then-- Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Who cares?” He reasons. “You’re hot.”

With another laugh, I drop my free arm up and behind my head. “You’re so sick.”

“I know. Don’t judge me.”

“I like it.” A smirk flicks the corner of my lips. “I like that damn mouth of yours.”

“Yeah? Well you’ll get it soon enough.”

“Good. I’ve got plans for it.”

A soft laugh blows out of him. “You’re sick too, you hear me?”

I breathe deep and let the calming air fill my chest. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You want to hear something pretty gay?” He wonders.

Amused, I absently running my tongue along the ridge of my teeth and blink my dark bedroom into focus, “I’m fairly certain this entire conversation has been pretty damn gay, but go ahead.”

“I was really sad to wash my sheets last weekend after you left,” he admits. “That pillow still smelled like you and--” Then he pauses and I see him turn his head before he huffs a deep sigh and adjusts again on his bed. “Feel free to hang up now. Because I’m gross and apparently sentimental. But I miss you and you smell good and whatever.”

I bite into my lower lip, fighting a smile over his effect on my heart. “That’s super gay,” I tease him.

“I did wash my sheets,” he clarifies. “I’m not pathetic. But I’m just saying.”

“Fuck, that’s cute, Noble.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.”

“I haven’t washed that sweatshirt,” I tell him. “The one you let me borrow after our run. It’s in my drawer and it still smells like you.”

“Oh damn,” he groans. “Why, do you have a crush on me or something?”

“You know your sense of smell is the only one that has a direct connection to the part of the brain associated with memory? That’s why… y’know, people can recall specific events and emotions just by smelling something--”

“Oh, my god. Look, I’m cool with jerking off on the phone together, but I’ll pass on this kinda talk.”

I crack up, my head tipping back into my pillows.

“You nerd.”

“Sorry,” I laugh. “Alright, I’m going to get ready for bed. Fucking deviant.”

“Go to sleep,” he tells me and I can hear the sleepy smile in his voice. “I’ll see you soon.”

[squishysvt]

"A Lot, Actually”

Request: Hi! Could I request a Jeno imagine where y/n (couple years older) is a well-known back up dancer for SM and also works in the SM Cafe. Jeno has a crush on her and was spotted by fans in awe while talking to her in the cafe. His members encourage him to tell her his feelings and he does so backstage of SMTown. Thank you 🙂

Member: Jeno (NCT)

Words: 2,832

A/N This one took me...really long lmao. Sorry that I couldn’t 100% write in all the details you gave me because the way the story was going Just Wouldn’t Let Me, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! -Admin Ay

Warnings: profanity, Jeno has teenage boy thoughts about his crush :/

  Yes, perhaps it was true that Jeno had a slight crush on you. However, he was not going to admit that out loud for the whole room to know as Jisung and Renjun circled in on him trying to get some form of confirmation.

  “Jeno, c’mon! If you tell us who your crush is on we’ll leave you alone.” Renjun whined as he nudged Jeno’s shoulder.

  Jeno was now beyond exhausted, not from the soon-to-start dance rehearsals, but from the shenanigans that his friends-slash-coworkers found such pleasure in. He now regrets his offhanded remark about Jisung being “a mere child that knows nothing about love” after getting in an argument over which girl the main character in a show should have ended up with. To be honest, Jeno barely even liked the damn show, so why he let himself dive head first into a conversation about his own love life with his nosy friends in the first place, he did not know.

  The sound of a door slamming open and a hoard of footsteps following caused the interrogee and his interrogators to flinch.

  “Alright everybody! Rehearsals have officially started. Jeno, Renjun, and Jisung stop talking and get into positions.” Taeyong’s sweat pant-clad figure marched into the practice room, the rest of NCT marching behind him. Jeno had never been so happy to dance for four hours straight.

     Rehearsal had gone well so far. NCT Dream had brushed up a few choreographies, and the unit was now on standby as 127 practiced a few of their own songs. Normally, Jeno would be monitoring the older members as they danced and he rested. Do not get him wrong, that was what he was doing for a bit. He was until all the background dancers filtered into the room to prepare for the special performance with all eighteen members.

  A fluttering feeling was felt as Jeno anticipated for a particular figure to flow in with them, you. He knew that you would be working on this specific performance with NCT beforehand, thankfully. Jeno had zero confidence that he would be able to conceal the wave of emotions hitting him now as you walked in wearing a crop top and leggings had he not known.

  Mark, who had just finished up perfecting Cherry Bomb with the rest of the 127 unit, shot a knowing look towards Jeno through the mirror, knowing full well that his dusted-red face was not caused by dancing. Past Jeno was stupid to think that Mark would have anything helpful to say to him at two in the morning after spilling his guts about his feelings for you.

  Taeyong cupped his hands around his mouth as he barked orders. “Everybody, hurry up and get into your proper positions for the special stage. We can run through the choreography and then fix our mistakes after.”

  A clash of hums and “yes sir”s were heard throughout the room as everyone moved where they were supposed to be. Jeno was placed in the very front for a majority of the dance while you stood along the walls awaiting your turn to come out along with the rest of the background dancers.

  Jeno was doing his best at ignoring you as you stood by the wall, somewhat out of his point of view. But as you stepped out away from the wall and started to dance, all of Jeno’s resolve flew out of the window. All brain power usually used to remember upcoming moves instead was used to totally not admire how your leggings wrapped around your thighs and how cute your navel was.

     Two bumps into Jungwoo as the group changed positions and a scolding from Taeyong later, Jeno was finally able to make it through practice.

  Once the original choreographer was pleased with everyone’s performance she had told everyone that rehearsals were done for the day. Jeno watched as you slowly picked up your duffle bag and dabbled in small conversations with the other dancers.

  “You should go talk to her,” a voice none other than Mark’s whispered into Jeno’s ear.

  Jeno did not move his gaze from the curl of your lips and the crinkle in your eyes as you laughed at something Yuta had told you.

  “What would I even say?”

  Mark huffed, “I don’t know dude! All the stuff you gushed to me about? She’s a great dancer, she has a nice smile, she has some amazing legs--ow!”

  Jeno brought down his hands from Mark’s shoulder where he smacked him. “I never said that,” Jeno hissed.

  “Anyone that knows you would know that you were thinking it,” Mark said, a sly grin on his face.

  “I regret ever trusting you.” Jeno was starting to regret many things today.

  A shocked gasp escaped from Jeno’s mouth as he realized the same thing Mark was.

  “Shit, dude, she’s walking this way you need to say something.”

  The only thing Jeno could feel at the moment were Mark’s excited taps on his back and the beating of his heart as you slowly inched closer. No, he could not talk to you. He knew that the only things that would probably come out where nervous groans and stuttered “i love you”s.

  “Hey, Jeno, right?” You said, smile engulfing you face.

  Jeno aggressively questioned the universe as to why it wanted him to die today of all days. SMTown was just in a few weeks but in the next day Jeno was going to be lying six feet under with an enormous “Death By Crush” tombstone at his head.

  “Uh, yeah. Jeno. That’s me!” If only the ground could open up and swallow him whole. Mark’s giggling could be heard not far behind him.

  “Good job today,” you frowned, “But I saw you made a few mistakes, which is very unlike you?”

  Great, Jeno thought, now you probably thought that he was just some kid that never takes his job seriously. Maybe you would choose to never talk to him again. Oh God, or maybe you would spread how “that one Jeno guy sucks at dancing” to the other breakup dancers and then eventually the word would make it up to Lee Soo Man and all the big choreographers and he would be put in the back during every performance. Unlikely, but in his head anything was possible.

  “Well, I didn’t get much sleep last night...been a little out of it since I woke up.” The fact that Jeno did not get much sleep was true, but that was routine. Honestly, he could get two hours and bounce back as soon as he ate breakfast. Jeno mentally applauded himself for pulling an excuse out of his ass so quickly.

  Your hand seemed to float as you rested it on Jeno’s shoulder.

  “Make sure to get some good rest tonight then.” Your voice was laced with worry as you looked directly into his eyes.

  An angel. You were an angel.

  Jeno watched you walk out of the practice room hesitantly as the rest of the backup dancers called to you to join them.

  “That’s a wife,” Mark, who Jeno barely even remembered was there, said.

  “Believe me, I wish.”

     A week before SMTown and Jeno and the rest of NCT Dream had just finished practice together. Jeno hummed as he walked through the doors of the SM Cafe, the rest of the Dream unit zooming past him to order snacks. He zoned in a couple of cupcakes on display that his diet strictly banned as he waited in line, Chenle already at the very front.

  “Oh, Y/N! I didn’t know you had a shift today?” Mark’s conversation faded into Jeno’s thoughts, and suddenly the cupcakes were not as interesting as the person working at the cashier. Jeno lifted his eyes from the desserts, and sure enough, there you were in all your glory. He could already feel the dopamine running through him as your head tilted like that of a confused puppy.

  “I thought I told you that during our last rehearsal?” Your voice sounded sweeter than that of the cupcakes and Jeno felt like it was not normal how hyper fixated he got on it whenever you spoke.

  “Anyway,” Mark avoided clearing the confusion, “the water is all I want.” Mark turned and winked towards Jeno to where only he could see.

  “Jeno, it’s your turn!”

  And suddenly Mark was gone Jeno was standing in front of you, the glass counter separating the two of you.

  Jeno’s throat went dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Jeno! What do you want to order today?”

  “Uhm,” Jeno urged himself on, he got the same order every time he came to the cafe, “Can I just get a lemonade?”

  You hummed as you tapped the price of the drink into the cashier, “Okay, I’ll get you that in a bit.”

  Jeno didn’t even like lemonade. He meant to get the apple juice, but the cursed drink was the first thing he saw when he directed his eyes towards the menu so “lemonade” was, unfortunately, what word had decided to form from his lips.

  Your hair was tied back, revealing your neck, and Jeno found himself ogling at the way the skin on your nape folded as you bent to pour his drink. Jeno wanted to touch it, smell it, and maybe even kiss it if his heart would let him one day.

  Then, you turned around, wretched drink in hand, and without notice your eyes were meeting his. Your stare was both parts intimidating and captivating, and it took your abrupt clearing of your throat to bring Jeno back into attention.

  “Thanks, see you...during the concert.” He said, mid-transfer of the cup of lemonade from your hand to his. Jeno was proud of himself for not letting a single filler word slip into his speech.

  Just as Jeno was about to turn around and finally let every nerve that he suppressed while in your presence out, you called out to him.

  “Make sure to get some good sleep by then.” You smirked, punctuating the sentence with a wink.

  Just because of that, Jeno knew an hour of sleep would be replaced with tossing and turning in bed thinking of that wink and irresistible smirk on your lips.

  “I--uh, yeah. Of course.” There goes his no-fillers accomplishment. Not knowing what else to do, Jeno awkwardly nodded and waddled towards the table the rest of members. He could not register that the loud bickering between all six of them was about him until Jaemin had practically yanked him down into a seat next to him.

  “You’re confessing to her next week.” He ordered, leaving no room for discussion.

  Jeno’s eyes widened into large circles. “I’m what?”

  Jisung rolled his eyes. “Y/N? You have a crush on her, and that’s exactly what you’re telling her next week when we see her at SMTown.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, hold on! How did you guys find out,” Jeno violently turned towards Mark who sat diagonally from him, “I swear to God if you told them I will pour Nair into your shampoo bottles.”

  “I swear I didn’t,” Mark let himself loosen as he thought more on the threat, “And you wouldn’t, you know the company would murder you for that.”

  Renjun’s voice cut through the air as he slammed his hands onto the table. “Shut up, Mark knew!?”

  The whole cafe’s attention was directed to the seven boys crowded around the way too small table at the noise. Jeno bristled at all the possible ears listening in on their conversation. From the way a group of girls giggled and uttered several different variations of “cute,” fans were definitely watching as well.

  Donghyuck laughed nervously as he turned around and addressed everyone with a mouthed “sorry” before proceeding to smack Renjun in the back of the head.

  “Keep it down dimwit! We don’t want non-idols hearing this.” Donghyuck violently whispered.

  Jeno slumped himself down into his chair as the rest of his members conversed as if he was not there to hear them discuss his love life.

  Mark sighed, “Yes, Jeno told me one night. But, I’m sure he would have told you guys when he was ready.”

  Jaemin smiled as he poked Jeno in the cheek. “And yeah, Mark didn’t tell us, so please spare his already dying hair. We sorta figured it out.”

  Jisung hid his laughter behind the cookie he bit into. “You’re just that obvious.”

  Jeno tried to hide the scowl making its way onto his face as Chenle continued the teasing further.

  “I have no idea how we couldn’t tell any sooner.”

  Donghyuck waved his hand in front of his face, signaling everyone to be quiet.

  “Anyway, we have officially decided that you are going to confess to Y/N at SMTown.” 

  Splutters of confused protests left Jeno’s mouth until Mark raised an eyebrow at his antics.

  “I get no say in this do I?” Jeno gave up, opting to drown his sorrows in disgusting lemonade.

  A resounding “nope” was heard from all six of the members, a devilish grin littering each of their faces. Sometimes Jeno wished that he had never met the rest of NCT, and this was one of those times.

     Screams and excited cheers filled the stadium as NCT were on standby for their special stage. Jeno went over the choreography, purposefully looking down at his feet to avoid the glares from the youngest unit that expected him to confess within the next five minutes. He had probably went over the same step sequence for the twentieth time before rough hands had grabbed both of his shoulders.

  He was startled to see Doyoung’s encouraging smile barely inches away from his face.

  “You know, we go up in a few minutes. You should probably go do what you need to do before you miss your chance.” Doyoung advised, looking in, to Jeno’s horror, your direction.

  “What? How do you--”

  “Chenle spilled the beans in the groupchat.”

  Jeno fumed. “You mean in the groupchat? Like, the one with all eighteen of us?”

  “Yeah,” Doyoung shrugged at the raw look of both confusion and horror that Jeno directed towards him, “Maybe if you didn’t put us on mute so much you would have known earlier.”

  Taeil, who had been listening to the whole conversation, shoved Jeno towards you.

  “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

  Jeno counted to ten in his head as he tried to calm his nerves while simultaneously thinking of all the ways he could kill the rest of Dream without suspected homicide with him in question.

  By the time Jeno had made it in front of you, he was oddly calm. He had accepted that if you were to reject him, he could just try to avoid you. SM Entertainment was big enough for him to manage. Also, NCT were supposed to go on stage in literally one minute, so he figured he could give the whole “hey, I like you” shabang and dip right after without having to deal with your answer.

  So, Jeno took a deep breath.

  “Y/N?”

  You smiled, a question forming in your eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I tell you something?”

  You looked past Jeno, eyeing the stage manager that shot directions for everyone to get ready.

  “I mean, sure? I’m not sure if you’ll have much time--”

  “I like you.” Jeno cut you off, warily watching for your reaction.

  You coughed, eyes wide open as you took in what Jeno had said.

  “You what?”

  Jeno stepped up closer to you. You could feel his minty breath fan out on his face as he began to speak again.

  “I like you,” Jeno gulped down the butterflies that he had somehow been able to subdue for so long, “Like...a lot, actually.”

  You listened to Jeno chuckle as he tried to fill the air with something other than just your silence. Jeno shifted, ready to trudge away in disappointment and plan his next week with movie nights with just him and tubs of ice cream, until you opened your mouth.

  “Well, I mean--” Jeno realized this was the first time he witnessed your smooth-talking self stutter, “I...I like you too?”

  Your confession came out in the form of a question, almost too low for Jeno to catch.

  “Wait, pause. Did you just say what I think you said?” Jeno tried his best to push down the excited smile that forced it’s way onto his face. But as you could see, it failed as you watched his lips pull back and his nose crinkle in the way that you loved. And God, his eyes, the way they formed into those popular crescent moons of his that fans worldwide would not shut up about.

  You could not stop the corners of your lips from pulling up, reflecting the way Jeno had confirmed his feelings for you earlier.

  “I like you. Like, a lot, actually.”

[psychokittyd]

Get to Know Me (Tag)

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people. (Idk if I’ll tag 20 but I will tag my 3 friends on this site lol) *thanks for tagging me @comfortablysarcasticslytherintj LAST: 
1.Drink: Coke 
2. Phone call: I don’t remember, I don’t talk on the phone much. 
3. Text message: My significant other 
4. Song you listen to: The saw is the law by Whitechapel 5. Time you cried: When watching “A silent voice” last week. HAVE YOU: 
6. Dated someone twice: No. 
7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Nah. 
8. Been cheated on: Nope 9. Lost someone special: Recently. 
10. Been depressed: For a long time now. 
11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: I don’t drink like that and I don’t ever care to. LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 
12. Black (yeah I know, but fuck your rules) 13. Blue 14. Pink IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 
15. Made new friends: A few. 16. Fallen out of love: Nah. 
17. Laughed until you cried: I believe so. 
18. Found out someone was talking about you: I guess, but I don’t really care. 
20. Found out who your friends are: I already know there aren’t many. 
21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Yeah. GENERAL: 
22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Probably about half or so. 
23. Do you have any pets: No, I wish I could have a kitty tho. 24. Do you want to change your name: Nah, my name is cool. 
25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I don’t really remember. Probably hung out with Rico. 26. What time do you wake up: It varies depending on if I have work that day or if I feel like getting up early or not. 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Youtube. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Getting a job that pays better so I can move on with my life. 
29. When was the last time you saw your mom?: A few minutes ago. 
30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: My financial status. 
31. What are you listening to right now: Background noise. 
32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Probably, but why does it matter? 
33. Something that is getting on your nerves: People’s misguided ideas. 
34. Most visited website: YouTube. 
35. Mole/s: A few, not including my freckles. 
36. Mark/s: Self harm scars and acne marks, mostly non permanent. 
37. Childhood dream: A ballerina, cartoonist and paleontologist. 
38. Hair color: Bluish green. 
39. Long or short hair: Kinda short but I want it cropped shorter or buzzed off. 
40. Do you have a crush on someone: Nah, fuck crushes, they never work out. 
41. What do you like about yourself?: My style and demeanor. 
42. Piercings: Earrings and a septum ring. 
43. Blood type: Idk 
44. Nicknames? Dizzy, Charmy, Lonnie, Kitty, Illy, Psychokitty 45. Relationship status: None of your business 46. Zodiac: Scorpio 
47. Pronouns: I’m used to she/her but it’s not a big thing to me. 
48. Favorite TV Show: Adventure Time 
50. Right or left hand: Right handed. 
51. Surgery: Wisdom teeth but that’s it. 
52. Hair dyed in different color: Yeah. It’s bluish green now but it’s been all different colors before, including dark blue, pink, purple, half black and half pink, half brown and half blonde, gold, black. 
53. Sport: Practicing martial arts. 
55. Vacation: I wanna go to Japan, or Canada. 
56. Pair of trainers: Chucks or Vans. MORE GENERAL: 
57. Eating: I like ramen from the ramen shop and Korean BBQ. 
58. Drinking: I love Coca-Cola even though it’s not good, coffee drinks and bubble tea. 
59. I’m about to: Watch nisekoi season 2. 
62. Want: To find a better job and get my drivers license so I can travel and eventually move out of this place. 
63. Get married: Nah, I don’t really care for the idea at all. 
64. Career: I wish I could have the music career of my dreams but I feel discouraged about that. I wanna pursue the arts but I also feel discouraged about that. Those are my only dreams so I hope one of them works out. 
65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs from people I know well and kisses only if you’re a good kisser. 
66. Lips or eyes: Both, but eyes. 67. Shorter or taller: I don’t care about height. 
68. Older or younger: Whoever is more mature mentally. 
70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Both can work, depending on the person. 
71. Sensitive or loud: I can’t do overly sensitive or too loud and obnoxious so either in moderation would work. 
72. Hook up or relationship: Relationships are long term drama with a strong payoff and hookups are typically short term drama with a weak pay off, so it depends on my mood that day. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant. HAVE YOU EVER: 
74. Kissed a Stranger: No. 
75. Drank hard liquor: Yeah but it’s not really my cup of tea. 
76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: Don’t wear them. 
77. Turned someone down: Yeah. 
78. Sex on the first date: I’ve never been on a date. 
79. Broken someone’s heart: Don’t know and if I don’t know about it I probably don’t care either. 
80. Had your heart broken: I’ve felt the sting of rejection but it’s never been full on heartbreak. 
81. Been arrested: Nope. 
82. Cried when someone died: Definitely. 83. Fallen for a friend: Yes. DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 
84: Yourself: Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t know. 
85. Miracles: I’m not sure. I haven’t seen one personally and I’m skeptical. 
86. Love at first sight: I don’t think so. You have to unconditionally care about someone to love them and I don’t think that can happen without really knowing the person. 
87. Santa Claus: Not really, I mean I didn’t really believe as a kid, so… 
88. Kiss on the first date: Sure, if it comes naturally. OTHER: 
90. Current best friend name: My best friend is my significant other. 
91. Eye color: Brown 92. Favorite movie: Anything by Tarantino, and cult classic bad movies like Showgirls, Troll 2, and The Room. So, if you want to participate, I tag you: @umami-fists @theblissful1 @furfilledfang

[cinderscoria]

(if i time it right) the thunder breaks

Pairings: Maxine/Paula, though it’s not the focus Warnings: Small one for depression, not nearly as prominent as my other fics tho Spoilers: Through the season 3 finale Title: (if i time it right) the thunder breaks Summary: (i wanna love you, but i don’t know how)

or, Maxine struggles to understand Five’s aversion to antidepressants and comes to realize she doesn’t really know the Runner at all.

-

Dysthymia, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder…

Maxine presses her lips into a thin line, dark eyes scanning over the personnel file in her hands. It’s been three years since Five came to Abel and about that long since she’d read through the file Mullins had sent over on their “temporary loan.” Truth be told, she’d barely glanced at the background and psychological portions, more interested in what she had to know about the Runner’s body in order to treat her properly. But years later, Five’s physical well being isn’t what’s concerning her now. It’s been three months since that awful day in London and Runner Five… hasn’t been doing well.

The doctor had to seriously dig to find this damn file, and reading through it now she’s wishing she’d paid better attention to it. The time stamp is dated almost four years ago—Five would have been fifteen when Mullins took her in. Maxine closes her eyes and tries to imagine the Runner that young and already dealing with the imbalances in her brain. She’s good at hiding it. Five can wipe her face cleaner than anyone Maxine knows—including Janine. Maybe that’s why it’s taken this long for Maxine to look up exactly what is wrong with her Runner.

She skips the background like she always does—everyone deserves some privacy, although what Five could have possibly been up to at fifteen she couldn’t imagine—and peers at the list of medications Five had been on. Trazodone, Zoloft, and Lamotrigine.

“Two out of three ain’t bad,” she murmurs to herself.

“Maxie?”

Maxine jumps but manages to hold onto the file, whirling to find Paula standing in the doorway of the lab, dark eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing up so late? It’s past curfew.”

“I know,” Maxine admits, crossing to her so she could give her a kiss. “I was thinking.”

“About what?” Paula places a hand on Maxine’s belly and they stop a moment to grin at each other, amazed all over again they’re going to be mothers, before Maxine kisses her again, softer this time.

“I’m happy,” she says quietly, moving to put her hand on Paula’s. “I am here, with you, and our baby, and nothing is wrong.”

Paula smiles into her mouth. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there.”

Maxine draws back to look into her eyes, serious for a second. “Did you know that Runner Five has brought in more antidepressants than any Runner in Abel, ever?”

“No?”

“She has. I’ve been keeping track.” Maxine holds up the file. “Mullins diagnosed her with multiple mental and emotional disorders. She had been on medication before coming to Abel, but as far as I know she hasn’t taken any since.”

Paula catches on immediately. “You’re worried about her.”

“I’ve been worried since Moonchild made her hurt Sam,” Maxine tells her. The memory of it is still so raw—she’d been woken from her pod to Janine attempting to hold down a damn near hysterical Sam insisting through a half-strangled voice that they needed to find Five, Jody lying unconscious on a cot and Five missing in action, again. She hadn’t known what to think, couldn’t even get the full story out of Sam until she’d threatened to tie him down so she could treat him. Even then, his story made no sense: Five sneaking back into Abel, opening the gates, knocking out Jody and then confronting him in the comms shack where they’d hidden the ZRD; how she’d smiled as her right hand crushed his windpipe and her left raised her ax to deliver the final blow; how she’d stopped, eyes widening, spilling over with tears, and then she’d dropped her ax and sprinted from the room, leaving Sam distraught and hoarse and baffled in his shack.

“And then Simon,” Paula guesses, breaking Maxine from the memory. “He and Five were close, even after everything.”

Maxine nods. She’s seen Five on the roof of the bunkhouse, fingering the rosary beads and cross Simon had given to her before he’d put on the helmet. “Living an apocalypse is traumatic enough, but come on, Paula. The girl’s not even nineteen yet.” She draws a breath. “I wanted… to find a way to thank her. For not giving up on me, for bringing you back to me, for everything she’s done for us—for Abel, for the world, really. With all the medication she brings in on every mission we have more than enough to get her started. I want her to be happy, too.”

Paula smiles at her and runs a hand through her hair before kissing her again, one more time, lips gentle. “It’s a wonderful idea,” she tells her.

“Why thank you, darling,” Maxine teases with a laugh. “Go on back to bed. I’m going to write a formal request to Hiram Mulligan and then I’ll join you.”

“All right, love.” Paula’s hand lingers where it rests on Maxine’s stomach before she slips out the door and into the night.

Maxine grins, breathless all of a sudden, wondering how the hell she got so lucky.

-

It takes two days for the request to go through, but Maxine knows Hiram likes to be thorough. There’s a lot of danger in prescribing medication nowadays, especially for the mentally ill, because there’s only one professional psychiatrist in the entire township and the man has a lot on his plate on a good day. Monitoring closely is a thing of the past now—but trial and error could be disastrous when some of the medications could literally kill you.

Maxine has a little more faith in Five than that. She’s survived everything life has thrown at her so far, after all. Maxine just hopes she can make her a little more comfortable doing so, that’s all.

Luckily, it’s Five’s rest day when the request goes through, so Maxine sets to tracking her down.

Where does Five go when she isn’t running? Maxine grins to herself and heads straight for Sam’s shack.

Only to find their head radio operator sprawled out on his cot, dead to the world and snoring—decidedly alone. Despite herself, Maxine has to smile softly at the sight. Paula may be her soul mate but Sam Yao is undoubtedly her best friend in the entire world, and seeing him finally able to sleep makes her heart hurt a little bit.

They almost always schedule his rest days with Five’s, so the fact that she isn’t here with him is kind of puzzling, though if the Rice Krispie Treat wrappers are anything to go by she’d been in at one point. Maxine eases the door shut again and gnaws on her lower lip, deciding to check the track next.

Five’s only satisfied when she’s doing something to help the Township. If Maxine had been paying better attention, she would have caught onto her Runner’s self worth issues back when she’d seemed convinced that they would kick her out of the Township if she didn’t bring back a certain number of items out on her run. Maybe that’s Maxine’s fault, for making her swing by the hospital that first run in—the same hospital their previous Five, Alice, had been caught and killed in—before they’d granted her sanctuary. But that was before she’d gotten to know the girl, barely seventeen then, so young and so hard and angry and violent. Her brief flashes of mischievous humor, her gentleness around children and animals, how Sam made her soft, how Sara made her strong. How she’d understood that one day at the damn barn, when Maxine had to see if the message was from Paula, enough that she willingly put both herself and Five in harm’s way just to know. By all rights and purposes, Five should have been furious with her. But instead she’d nodded and gripped her arms and saved her life and eventually, finally, brought Paula home to her.

Unexpected tears spring to Maxine’s eyes thinking about it, and she brushes them away, surprised and annoyed. There’s no reason to feel guilty about it years later. Five was doing her job. She’d been there when they’d found Paula’s “last” transmission. She’d been used as a hostage to lure Maxine out after being captured that first time by Van Ark. And when that was all over, she’d dropped at Maxine’s feet out of sheer exhaustion, her body pushed to the limit, and Maxine had realized suddenly and with violent clarity that Jade Black, Runner Five, was her friend and she was terrified she was never going to see her again.

Maxine shakes herself of the memories and promptly blames all this sentimental nonsense on her rampaging pregnancy hormones.

The track is really just a carved out loop in what must have been a crop field, though it’s been paved now and the dirt has been packed to make it more even. There are bleachers—wooden and hand built. They have to improvise in an apocalypse, after all.

There Five is, jogging at a steady pace, earphones stuck in her ears as she circles the track. One of Simon’s quirks—he liked to pick up ipods, mp3 players and walkmans and hand them to the other Runners (after Jack, Eugene, Phil and Zoe had ripped them of their tracks, of course). They listen to the music as they train until the battery runs out, and then onto the next one.

Five’s the only one who still does it now. Maybe she’s trying to keep something of Simon still alive in the aftermath. Maxine’s not one to snatch away a person’s coping mechanisms.

She waves Five down on her next go around, fingering the pill bottles in her pocket, feeling oddly excited about this entire thing. There goes that sentiment again.

Five is wary as she slows and takes her headphones from her ears. She signs a quick, one handed What’s up? at her as she approaches.

“I’ve been doing some reading,” Maxine starts out, trying to shove her sudden nerves to the side so she can get this done. “Your file, actually, the one Mullins had on you? Anyway, I saw that you used to be on medication before you came to Abel and you stopped, so I dug around a bit.” She draws the bottles from her pocket and offers them to the Runner. “I only got 50 milligram tablets of Trazodone and 200 milligram tablets of Zoloft, so monitoring is going to be weird. We’re going to have to be creative to make it last, but it should be okay if we go slow, I think.”

She beams, waiting for Five to respond. The teen stares at the bottles for an uncomfortably long second before shaking her head. I don’t want it, she signs.

“What?” Maxine blinks, trying to figure out if she read her hands wrong. “Why not? It’s all right here, Five, I don’t—”

And Five cuts her off with a set jaw, signing, I’m fine. I don’t need it.

“Five—” But the Runner has already stuck her headphones back in her ears and takes off again, at a faster pace this time.

Maxine stares dumbfounded at her back as she puts distance between them.

-

“I can’t believe this!” Maxine rages, pacing the length of the comm’s shack. “Do you know how much negotiating I had to do to even snag her spot with the highest dose? Because I know that she has a high tolerance for medication, I knew that from experience! I knew she’d want to work her way up to 200 mg, I knew that about her, and she doesn’t even want to try!”

Sam, sleepy-eyed and decidedly unhappy about being awoken from his nap, says, “Maxine, I really think you might be overthinking this—”

Maxine whirls on him. He startles backwards, eyes widening, as she leans into his face and hisses, “I am not overreacting.”

“I said over thinking!” he protests, hands up. “Listen, Maxie, it’s really nice that you’re doing this for her, but you have to understand that Five isn’t the type to accept help from anyone. She thinks it implies that she’s weak.”

“I just wanted to help!” Maxine says incredulously.

“I know, I just—” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “You tell her that, you could probably get her to take the meds, but Maxie, it’s taken her this long to even think that we might actually want her here at Abel.”

Maxine glares and breathes hard through her nose. “What the hell does that mean?”

“She told me once,” Sam says, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, “that she is okay with being needed, even if she isn’t wanted. She thinks that if she has a job to do she has to do it, no exceptions, or we’ll cut her.”

“I… what?”

“Yeah.” Sam looks up at her from his cot and smiles a little, though the expression holds no mirth. “If you imply that the medication is to help her do her job, she’ll take it, but she’ll also think that she’s failing and that probably won’t help at all. So.”

Maxine, floored, drops into the chair at his desk and stares at the wall for a long moment. The anger dissipates immediately, leaving her tired and sad. “Okay then,” she utters. “How do I get her to not think that?”

Sam ponders on it. “I don’t know if you can, to be honest Maxine. She’s always been that way. It’s taken me a long time to get her to understand that she’s enough by herself for me, regardless of what she does or doesn’t do.” He grins, self deprecating. “Actually I think it took her almost killing me to get it through her head. That I’m her friend and I accept her for who she is.”

Hurt floods through her. “She doesn’t think we’re friends?”

“No, it’s not that. She holds herself to a certain expectation, who she thinks you approve of.” Sam runs a hand through his unruly black hair. “She’s good at it, I didn’t catch it for months. It’s like she conforms to whoever she thinks is best for you. Like how with me she’s gentler, with Janine she slips into an almost military persona, with Simon she would pull pranks and joke around, you know?”

“Well yeah, obviously,” Maxine says, furrowing her brow. “We all experience varying levels of comfort around the people we’re closest to, how much of ourselves we can reveal depending on who we’re talking to.”

“Yes but Maxine, you’re not hearing me.” Sam leans closer, dark eyes bright. “She does it with everyone. It’s like those flip books, yeah? The ones where you can change the outfit by flipping the pages? Except I don’t think she has a base, Maxie. Like all of these different masks make up her face. I don’t think she even knows who she is at her core.”

“You seem to know,” Maxine points out.

“Yes, but it took three years and a near death experience to get us to where we are,” he counters.

“So you’re saying I should get her to try to kill me.”

“No! Oh, you’re joking,” he realizes, before giving her a light smack on the arm. “That’s not funny, Maxie! You’re one of the mothers of my child, I need you to stay alive! Good grief,” he mutters to himself. “Anyway, listen, Five is just a really tough shell to crack, but what you’re doing for her is good. You should keep at it.”

Maxine studies him for a second before it dawns on her. “You want me to get her to want the meds,” she says.

Sam winks at her. “Got it in one.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

The radio operator shrugs and grins. “Convince her you want her instead of need her.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“You can do it, Maxine,” he says sincerely, “you’re the most stubborn person I know.” He reaches out so he can snag her hand and squeezes it once. “If anyone can convince our Runner that she’s loved, it’s you.”

Maxine sighs. “As if anyone can say no to that face. All right,” she concedes, giving him a small smile as she makes her way to the door. “I’ll try.”

“That’s my girl.”

-

Maxine stands at the edge of the track, worrying her lip and gazing at the far end of the Township. The walls they erected have spread the bigger Abel grows, so what was once a straight cement wall is now a winding ridge that curves alongside the treeline, providing some additional cover.

Five is long gone, of course, probably took off the second Maxine stormed off to find Sam. Maxine just needs a second to process all of this. All… of it.

On one hand, she’s hurt by Five rejecting the medication. She can’t help but feel resentful—her going out of her way to help her friend, all of that work for nothing, Five dismissing it with barely a glance had stung and she isn’t entirely sure why. But at the same time… she remembers being young and angry, unable to be herself around the people she cared about. Growing up gay, black, and female at the same time as being the daughter of a wealthy business tycoon did not coincide with the picture of the ideal Midwestern teenager. Maxine had to fight for every good thing in her life, and she’d had to fight everyone doing it. So she understands, sort of, where Five is coming from. That at least warrants some measure of patience.

A hand appears on her shoulder. Maxine jumps a mile and whirls to find the subject of her thoughts standing behind her, looking inappropriately abashed—be it from her earlier behavior or the fact that she’d scared Maxine just now, the doctor isn’t sure.

“Five,” she exclaims. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

The teen flashes her a grim smile, no teeth. Maxine wants to kick herself. Of course Five can’t call out a hello. Off to a fantastic start already, Maxie.

I’m sorry, Five signs to her. Thank you for the pills.

Maxine stares at her. “You’ll take them?”

Five watches her with a furrowed brow, like she’s trying to read between the lines. That’s what you want, right? she signs with a shrug. Doctor’s orders?

Maxine wants to tear her hair out. This is like trying to navigate a minefield! She inhales deep, keeping a lid on her emotions. “What do you want, Five?”

Five doesn’t have to sign this one—the startled look on her face speaks for itself. Maxine elaborates, “Do you want the meds or not? If you don’t want them I’m not going to force them down your throat. I just figured it would be nice to balanced again. I know you’re going through a hard time, especially lately—”

And at that Five snorts and throws her hands up. Everyone is going through a hard time right now. She spreads her arms wide, indicating the apocalypse as a whole probably. Everyone has something wrong with them.

Maxine holds the teen’s eyes. “I don’t care about everybody else. I care about you.”

Brief incredulity crosses Five’s face, and doesn’t that just hurt more than the barbed words the Runner is signing? Does she really not believe that she’s her friend?

Five seems to read her face, because she shakes her head and looks away. It’s not that, she signs. I know you care.

“You just don’t believe me.”

I believe you think you care, Five counters.

“You don’t think I know you well enough to know?”

I think I lie well.

It’s said so simply Maxine is startled into silence. Five is very matter of fact stating it, almost cold, but Maxine knows what she’s doing.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she prods softly.

Five sighs, caught. She has to think about it, looking anywhere but Maxine’s face. It’s not that I don’t want it, she allows finally. There are so many other people, they need it more.

“And you think you don’t need it.”

I’m alive, right? It’s signed with a sardonic grin, such a spot on reflection of Sam’s earlier self-deprecating smirk it’s eerie. Maxine suddenly understands exactly what Sam meant when talking about Five’s masks.

She shakes herself and carefully maps out how to tread going forward. “Five, you’re not a robot. Nobody expects you to keep going when you reach your limit—”

But they do, Five corrects. I do have to. Or the world ends, remember? Or people die? And her face crumples. People die anyway.

Maxine knows that’s for Simon. She pushes the pang back. “Five, death is not your limit. You know that, don’t you? You don’t exist just to keep other people happy. You do it really well, and I will forever be grateful for that, but I’d rather have you happy and failing than—”

Happy? Five’s brows shoot up, and she huffs a laugh that’s all air and no voice. “Happy” isn’t real. I cannot fix me not being happy. I cannot be happy for you. It doesn’t work like that.

She seems to be on the verge of something. Maxine studies her. Her shoulders are rigid straight, her almond shaped eyes bright and wide, her lips pursed, her fingers fists. It’s then Maxine realizes, all of a sudden, that nothing she says is going to help Five.

She doesn’t understand the girl at all.

That said, she can listen. Five needs to get this out. She doesn’t talk much, Maxine knows, outside of mission reports and whatever conversations she has with Sam. And it can’t be nearly enough to get out everything the teen feels on any given day. That’s unhealthy even without them being smack dab in the middle of an apocalypse, where they can die at any moment and lose people they care about. Maxine doesn’t know a damn thing about where Five came from and who she’s lost, and that’s hardly fair. The least she can do is provide the outlet Five sorely needs, even if she doesn’t realize it.

So she waits, and sure enough, Five’s hands come up again. Maybe before, it would be okay for me to have pills, she says, fingers trembling. Before, when I was not the majority and I was sick and I deserved special treatment. But now, everyone is sick and broken and wrong. I can’t complain about it hurting because everyone hurts. It doesn’t make me special.

Maxine has to bite back her argument. Nothing she says Five will believe, but God that’s so wrong Five is special she is important she is allowed to hurt and get help for it and to be treated like she’s precious—

But Five isn’t done. If I can do my job, I can stay. I can protect the people I care about and it will be okay. I have made it this far without pills.

“But unhappy,” Maxine points out, unable to help herself, unhappy too.

Five smiles again. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Did you read the background in my file? And when Maxine shakes her head: I was diagnosed when I was eight. I didn’t get medication until I was fifteen. I had pills for seven months before D day. I will not take away medication I don’t need from people who do. I won’t.

The admission makes Maxine’s mouth go dry. Eight. Eight years old. She can’t even imagine Five being eight years old. She tries to picture a scowling child, hardened already by life’s hardships and the glitches in DNA she can’t control, and can’t quite manage it.

Five nods once, as if confirming Maxine’s thoughts, but the doctor gives her a small smile. “Five,” she starts, gently, “I can’t even begin to understand what it’s like.” The teen remains guarded, sensing a catch—even though there isn’t one. “There was a time when I suffered through a few depression episodes myself. And I know it’s not the same, I know “once upon a time” doesn’t even come close to how you feel every day since you were eight.”

As long as I can remember, Five confirms.

Maxine takes a breath. “That said, you have to know that Dr. Mulligan and I discussed it and we can afford to part with the medication you need. We have balanced it, compared notes, determined probabilities. Between you and the other Runners, we have and will probably continue to have the resources to spare, with plenty left over, to get you started on Zoloft and Trazodone. And if we run out, then we run out, and I will let you know far ahead of time so we can either replenish supplies or wane you off it so you don’t have to cold turkey it, but the point is, I am offering you this because I can afford to, because I have the ability to and because I want to. Because you are my friend and I care about you, and even if you can’t be happy I can at least help you stabilize.”

Five’s still waiting for the but, and Maxine smiles. “So what do you say?”

You’re sure. You’re sure it won’t hurt anybody. Five holds Maxine’s gaze as the doctor nods, and her eyes suddenly fill with tears. Okay, she signs, okay, okay, okay, okay.

Maxine opens her arms, and Five—so adverse to touch—throws herself into them.

Eight years old, Maxine thinks, stroking Five’s hair as the Runner cries soundlessly into her chest. Jesus.

-

Two months later and Five shows up in the lab, rapping her knuckles to grab Maxine and Paula’s attention.

“Five!” Maxine exclaims, getting up off the bar stool. “Come on in, honey, we were just discussing names for the baby.”

The teen arches her brows. Without Sam?

“Oh no, he’s given us his input,” Paula says with a laugh, holding up the list of names the radio operator had scrawled out. “I can’t even read most of these.”

Five grins—the expression lights up her entire face, and even though Maxine’s had months to get used to it the change still surprises her. She looks so much younger smiling like that. Maybe I can help, she signs, pulling up a stool herself. I can read anything.

“I don’t know, Five.” Paula clucks her tongue and turns the paper towards her. “This chicken scratch is worse than Maxie’s when she’s rushing.”

“Unkind,” Maxine says, giving her girlfriend a smack on the shoulder. She smiles at Five. “Anyway, we still got a ways to go before we have to worry about that. How are you doing? Really?”

The teen ducks her head, a show of bashfulness that usually comes from people showing they care about her. She still hesitates, unsure of anything that appears to be free and without consequence, but around Maxine she’s relaxed exponentially. I’m good, she signs, one-handed. Very good. I think they’re working.

“Well that’s good,” Maxine says, beaming. “Dr. Mulligan told me that you seem brighter and more regulated, too, so score one for us, right?”

Five nods, somewhat jerkily, glancing up and then away in the same second. Maxine doesn’t press, and sure enough the teen continues haltingly. I wanted to say thank you. I’d forgotten what it was like to be this high. I’m sorry I fought you on it.

“Five,” Maxine starts gently, “I can’t fault you for not wanting to take away resources from people. That was really noble of you. But you know that even if we were low on medication, I still would have given it to you, right?”

That brings out a spectacular frown of disapproval from the teen, but Maxine holds up a hand so she can finish. “Because regardless of you being important to the Township, you are important to me. And I want you to be okay. Actually I want you to be happy, but, you know. Baby steps.”

“The same goes for me too, Five,” Paula adds.

Five smiles at floor. Maxine reaches out and squeezes her arm once, aware that a good chunk of her mothering towards the teen is pure hormones—but honestly, if she can get in good practice and give Five a piece of the childhood she’d never had at the same time, then she isn’t complaining.

And neither is Five, despite the awkwardness that comes with accepting gifts she doesn’t think she deserves. But they’re working on it, and that’s all that really matters.

Five reaches again for the paper and glances through it. Then she points at a name and fingerspells it for them.

“Sara,” Maxine reads, trying it out. Warmth spreads through her as she ponders the name. Paula grabs her hand, soft and sweet and real and here. Maxine smiles at Five.

“It’s perfect,” she says.