#and now with this looming overhead and my job stressing me out

[skinreflectsthesun]

.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

dionysus vi, m | jjk, ♂wiyllt

pairing(s): jungkook x reader x male wiyllt other pairing(s): yoongi x male wiyllt, jungkook x male wiyllt — important: contains m/m pairing — male OC is male whatifyoulivelikethat aka me, the author ;)

summary: Life is made of moments. Moments with people. Sometimes, the real moments happen when you're not fucking. Wild, huh? Ah, but, other times, exams are looming near and you need to de-stress. What better way to relax than being ordered to make out with your ex-boyfriend from a guy you met on Twitter while both of you are tied-up and having back-to-back orgasms?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; important! male OC and Yoongi are pansexual and Jungkook is (at this point) bisexual; fluff and awkwardness; smut (m/m and m/f pairing, D/s dynamics, begging, praise kink, vibrator use, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, m-and-f receiving oral, choking, handjob, edging, hyung/oppa kink); non-idol!BTS - sub!reader x dom!male OC x sub!JK, sub!Yoongi; switches between yours, Yoongi’s, and Jungkook’s POV; PTD On Stage in LA Yoongi and JK (their changing hair colors become plot points XD)

the yoongi x ♂wiyllt x jungkook love triangle intensifies

--

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

-

“I need you to help me with something.”

“But I can’t–”

“Shh.”

Those mauve lips shut you up with a kiss, his fingers gripping your cheeks, forcing your head still. He drew back slowly, your protests in his inhale, claiming your gaze with dark, dark eyes that told you could do anything.

“It’s just Jungkook. You’ve kissed him before.”

“B-But… I don’t know if I can keep him q-quiet with my kisses… Only you can do that.”

A devilish chuckle as he caressed your jaw. He pressed the pad of his thumb into your lower lip.

“You need practice, don’t you?”

Rolled his thumb up and down, toying with the softness.

“Practice being a good girl, hm?” the man named Dionysus on Twitter purred, low and sensual, his long black hair drifting down and covering part of his left eye, full of danger and desire. Turning your head with his hand, to the left where your ex-boyfriend-turned-sex-friend was laying on the bed. Big brown eyes wide, his silver eyebrow piercing gleaming in the overhead light, a hand that was not his own clamped over his mouth. His hands were bound at the wrists and chained to the silver ring of the black leather collar around his neck, preventing him from using them.

Just like you.

Still, his fingers were reaching up, stroking the wrist of the other man, begging for attention.

“J-Jungkook…” you whispered.

Jeon Jungkook whined, his black hair messy and framing his temples.

The other man clicked his tongue, not yet looking at Jungkook, fixed on you. Leaning down, placing a light kiss on your temple, whispering your name into your hair. You could smell him, herbal and warm, green tea and toasted marshmallow.

“It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t speak,” he murmured, his index finger rising and stroking Jungkook’s cheekbone. “Do a good job and I’ll reward you.”

A hot shiver slid up and down your spine.

The long black hair lifted and light streamed down. His hand on your chin gracefully turned, cupping the back of your head, pulling you closer to Jungkook, those dark brows and big brown eyes you knew well, long fingers leaving his lips, familiar pink lips now adorned with a silver ring. The other male’s head lowered again, but this time to an ear with three silver hoops, white teeth biting the curve, causing Jungkook to whimper against your lips.

You could hear that husky, warning whisper.

“Let us see your obedience.”

He was meaner to Jungkook.

You felt a surge of envy.

You could see that he wanted it too, his pupils dilating at the order.

Then Jungkook's lips pressed against yours and the vibrator in your pussy surged to life.

“Mmmphf!”

You immediately clamped your thighs together, intensifying the vibrations, and Jungkook shoved his face closer to yours, his lip ring indenting the side of your mouth, hungry and desperate kisses, his hands reaching out, clasping tightly and interlocking his fingers with yours. You moaned, shaken from core to lips, and his tongue slid inside your open mouth, rubbing against yours, his clean scent filling your nose, your whimper mixing with his, holding onto him, eyes sliding shut at the waves of pleasure, steady and deliberate, wetter and wetter, building the fire, clenching around the pulsing sensations.

Movement.

Jungkook squeaked, almost breaking the kiss, but you sucked on his tongue roughly, determined to keep him in place, peeking slightly to see his lashes fluttering in ecstasy.

You heard the sound of tongue on skin.

You glanced down.

Dark, dark eyes greeted you with a cocked eyebrow between Jungkook’s spread open legs.

The other man’s hands were on your ex-boyfriend’s thighs, pinning them down. Flexible pink tongue snaking out between dark mauve lips, slowly and leisurely licking the dark red head, lapping up the leaking pre-cum, saliva dripping down the length of Jungkook’s already hard cock, lewd and obvious, not looking away from you.

Your eyes widened, drenching yourself at the sight.

His left thumb slid up and you saw the remote of the vibrator right before you felt the setting abruptly change to a stronger three pulse beat with a breath of stillness in between each one.

Now it was your turn to almost break away, but Jungkook followed, tugging you back, feverish kisses and intense sensations juxtaposed with a second of anticipation before starting again, over and over, falling into a reverie of euphoria. Your thighs squeezed together, your juices leaking between them, drinking in Jungkook’s moans and your eyes drifted down again, seeing his hard length being swallowed all the way to the base.

That piercing gaze caught you again.

Quirked eyebrow, smug and amused.

The tip of that pink tongue flickered out, licking around the curve of Jungkook’s balls, one side and then what you assumed was the other, tipping his head a little to let you see more, so calm as Jungkook was falling apart in your mouth, depraved groans and desperate whimpers, nearly making you wish that you had a dick and balls that could be licked and sucked like that.

Was that what dick envy meant?

The left hand holding the remote raised. A flare of burning desire and want as he waved it in the air, caressing the button, wordlessly asking you if you wanted more, all while leisurely sucking Jungkook’s dick.

Soft, dirty sounds, his cheeks hollowing out in a slow pulse.

You tried to nod, but Jungkook thought you were trying to break free. He clutched your hands and kissed your harder, deeper, more and more kisses, his brows furrowing and eyes closed, unaware of your silent conversation.

Could a man smirk with a mouth full of dick?

This one could.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter pressed the button and began to actually blow Jungkook.

Holy…

Shit!

That was the only thought you could fathom as you were suddenly attacked with furious vibrations, your slick walls clenching around it and sending you into shivering flinches, squirming on the sheets, whining and moaning into Jungkook’s throat, and he was no better, maybe worse, you were too far gone to know, barely able to see him through the haze of forced pleasure, on the brink, your eyes and his eyes rolling back, drunk on the high, core and spine trembling with thudding hums, pumped full of ecstasy, tightly grasping Jungkook’s hands, messy clashes of tongue and open lips, leaking moans and frantic cries, too speechless to form words. Terrible at keeping silent, but it was too much, too much, and that was just enough, hitting your peak and tumbling over, muffling your wail by fiercely kissing Jungkook, his lip ring pressed to the side of your mouth, clenching your thighs together, and still it didn’t stop, it kept going, throbbing and pulsing and wave after wave, unstoppable and not wanting it to stop, pleasure incarnate, sensitivity rising and orgasms melding into each other, slippery between your legs, slick and sweet and strong, soaring higher, higher, into a dreamlike daze, there, right there, oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes...!

Unbreakable heaven.

Jungkook jerked violently and gasped into your mouth.

It sounded a whole lot like the other man’s name sliding into your throat.

The harsh gulping sound matched Jungkook’s whimpering, squeezing your hands, pulling you to him, stubborn, firm kisses, on your lips, on your cheeks, struggling to hold in his words, your eyes opening as the vibrator in you was turned down several notches, leaving a constant low hum that soothed your aftershocks. You saw Jungkook’s half-lidded eyes ransacked with lust, reflecting your own fucked-out gaze in his blown-out pupils.

You could hear the swirling tongue and wet kisses, feel Jungkook jolt and moan with every one, releasing your lips, his own swollen, puffy, and you felt it too, the soreness of your own, but it felt so, so good, watching him go down, down, blanketed with the afterglow of orgasm.

The vibrator inside you hummed to a stop.

You relaxed your legs, sighing contentedly.

Then you yelped, feeling two fingers sliding in and pulling it out, suddenly replaced by a hot mouth. Instant burst of gratification, at the cusp of speaking, but those fingers that had been in your pussy snapped up, shoving themselves between your lips. You gasped, tasting yourself as a soft tongue slid between your quivering pussy lips, saliva mixing with your juices, drinking you up, burning heat and gentle sucking. Your hips involuntarily bucked upwards to that inviting mouth, dainty licks on your clit sending a mind-numbing buzz all throughout your system. The fingers in your mouth flexed, rubbing against your tongue and it moved on its own, wrapping around those fingers, sucking on them messily, desperately, sanity crumbling away. Plush lips closing in, sucking lightly, pushing you on the edge of oversensitivity.

Consistent licking, coaxing another out of you.

It didn’t take long.

You wailed behind your stuffed mouth, flooding those lips and chin with another sweet, sticky orgasm.

The warm tongue slid down, pressing flat against your shivering slit and licking upwards in a fat stripe, trickles of satisfaction joining the rolling current of your climax, forgetting anything else. Your mouth opened, barely registering the fingers sliding out, tugging on your bound hands and pulling the chain taut against the collar, choking yourself a little, trapped in sensual bliss.

“O... Oppa…”

Jungkook nudged you abruptly with his elbow, big brown eyes wide with surprise, and you started, realizing your mistake.

The warm mouth left you. Black hair rising, curling around his jaw and over his left eye, his smirk smeared with your release, licking his mauve lips slowly.

“Oh, no, someone forgot they shouldn’t talk.”

He tilted his head, grinning like the devil.

“That means one stays tied up and the other one gets to be free.”

-

He kissed your wrists.

It made you laugh a little, embarrassed at intimacy of it, but he didn’t seem bothered. Those mauve lips continued, flickers of tongue, and suddenly it was no longer chaste, but rushes of exquisite pleasure that demanded to be savored. His fingers were now readorned with sterling silver rings. He held your wrists as he massaged them all over, dotting kisses on your knuckles like a prince.

“Did I go too hard on you?” he murmured to your skin.

“N... No, I’m good.”

Those dark, dark eyes shot upward, questioning.

“I-I mean, it was everything I a-asked for and more… ah…”

Your lower half was still throbbing thinking about it, now trembling even more because of his penetrating stare. Jungkook was already gone, saying he had an early call time for work.

Well, actually, he did not mention anything – it was the other male who yanked him up and told him he was going to be late to work, and Jungkook immediately complained, blurting out that he was intending to call in sick, but his hyung flicked him in the forehead and told him he could not.

“You will not be irresponsible on my watch.”

He had grabbed Jungkook’s face and dragged it down.

“And you want to be on my watch… don’t you?” he had growled.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter was scary.

He was very kind when it came to you, even after he untied Jungkook.

He was very kind when it came to you.

It made you jealous.

“What are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours, hm?” he mused, nudging your cheek lightly with his nose, dancing smirk on those mauve lips. “Stressed from exams?”

“Ah, well… yeah, I have to study all day today…” You frowned, nestling in his lap, breathing in his warmth and the scent of tea and marshmallow. “And I really needed this break, so, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You almost laughed. He had such a playful, self-assured expression and the response was so quick that some people would probably find it insufferable. The unlucky ones that had never experienced an orgasm from him. Not you, of course, because you were right here.

“Is that all?”

He watched you closely, black strands curling around his jaw and over his left eye.

You stared into the darkness.

“How come you aren’t as mean to me as you are to Jungkook?”

Immediately, uncharacteristically, he broke eye contact.

“Hah… what are you talking about?” he mumbled, clearing his throat. The walls came up in those eyes. A pause. Small puff of air, his shoulders relaxing, his thumbs resting on the back of your hands, caressing them as if he was reminding himself that you were with him. Slowly, those dark, dark orbs came back, hazed with sheepishness. “Ah, maybe… it’s my internal bias to be nicer to women. I don’t want you to think I'm mean.”

“But I’m saying you can.”

He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll work on it.”

You stared at him.

“Oppa, do you think Jungkook likes you?”

A crow cawed loudly outside your window.

Those dark, dark eyes stared back and you felt the sudden awkwardness, not from you, but from him.

He ticked his head, exhaling slowly as if he was carefully considering his answer. “I assume he does. I don’t know why else he would agree to have sex with me, but perhaps he likes you too, since he has continued being your sex friend even after you both stopped dating.”

You shook you head quickly. “We only have sex together when you command us to. We’re just friends.”

He blinked slowly at you.

“Oh. I see.”

You tilted your head. “I think he likes you.”

“Ah. Is that so?” A small smirk and you felt he was hiding something from you despite the clear discomfort he was having about this topic. Still, his tone was lightly teasing, playful, not upset. “And why do you think that?”

You scrunched your face.

“Jungkook always thinks a lot about what he’s going to say before he says it, but when he’s really nervous, he pauses often and stumbles on his words…”

-

“Thought we were going out to eat?”

“Just give me a second.”

The man with the long black hair put his thumbs in his pockets and leaned against the wall. His jacket was flashy, a black leather biker-style jacket with spikes all over the shoulders and collar. Matte black hardware. Tight fitting to his slim frame along with his black turtleneck. Black jeans, black boots with the same matte black hardware that matched his jacket. There was a new sterling silver ring on his right middle finger, a gleaming emblem with a black crystal.

Min Yoongi could see it from where he was sitting on the couch in his music studio, his fingers on his black acoustic guitar as he gazed at the silver-ringed fingers that were splayed across those familiar, denim-covered hips.

He let his hands find the notes. Let his eyes travel up, up, up to dark, dark eyes that looked at him with faint amusement, ghost of a smirk on mauve lips.

“What?”

His deep voice was playful, lightly teasing.

Yoongi didn’t respond, letting his fingers go and playing whatever came to mind.

The head tilted, swoop of black hair over the left side of his face ghosting his cheekbones and eye, devilishly sexy and attractive. Yoongi did not look away. The melody he was playing was foreign yet familiar, something that had been on his mind for a while now, but he couldn’t get it to sound quite right.

Not until he saw those dark, dark eyes and devious smirk.

The man who named himself Dionysus on Twitter.

He let the melody slow, memorized it. Knew it by heart, but he had a feeling it would be like that. It seemed natural, falling into place like black hair slipping through his fingertips.

Yoongi stopped playing the guitar, looking down so he could set it aside.

“That’s nice. Did you come up with that?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to write it down?”

He zipped up the guitar case. “Don’t need to.”

“Ho. Such a genius.”

He placed the guitar back in its spot by the desk. Yanked on his black parka and picked up his beanie before looking up, now close to him. The scent of his cologne filled his nose, herbal and sweet, green tea and marshmallow. Did he inhale Yoongi’s cologne too? Did he remember the notes and smell the spicy and woodsy scent and think of Min Yoongi standing beside him?

The other male smiled, dimples on display.

That kind of thing only happened when he was around.

“I don’t need to write it down because I don’t release love songs,” he said slowly.

An eyebrow raised. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Yoongi stared into those dark, dark eyes and breathed in, the now-familiar scent soaking into his memories and his heart. Leaned in, towards those mauve lips. His eyelids felt a little heavy so he lowered them, barely maintaining eye contact.

“I’ve never written one,” he murmured. “Never had a good reason to.”

The other man tilted his head, black strands dancing across Yoongi’s skin.

“It’s annoying though,” he continued, stepping into the warm shadow of the other male. “Once I get a melody in my head, I can’t get it out unless I play it all the way through. And I couldn’t play this one all the way through.”

He closed his eyes.

Not afraid, but nervous all the same.

“Not without looking at you.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to those plush mauve ones and felt a silver-ringed hand grip his shirt, pulling him closer. Passion and intensity, holding onto the fabric very tightly, shuddering exhale on his lips, breaking the kiss.

“Don’t say stuff like that to someone like me,” the deep, husky voice breathed into Yoongi’s mouth. “I’ll start thinking I mean something.”

They both chuckled dryly, hiding under heated breath.

Yoongi moved to step away, but the hand in his shirt remained, tugging him back.

Pulling him into kisses of fervor, spinning them around when Yoongi tried to back away again and pushing him against the wall, shallow breath and warm kisses, down his neck. Fingers dancing under his shirt, metal and soft pads grazing his skin, hooking under the waistband of his trousers and forcefully yanking Yoongi towards him, crotch to crotch, thighs to hard thighs, skillful tongue tracing back up, lips on his ear.

“Let’s go eat.”

Hot whisper making him shiver.

His hardness was pressing against his leg. Yoongi could feel it even through the black jeans.

“I’ll treat you this time, Yoongi.”

He turned his head and looked into dark, dark eyes. They avoided him a little, but tentatively slid back to look at him. He was till stroking his skin with silver-ringed fingers underneath his shirt. He didn’t say anything more. Neither did Yoongi.

He just unbuttoned his pants and let those silver-ringed fingers be tempted downwards.

-

"Open that mouth."

His ears burning, his lips opening and tongue lolling out. Neck straining under sterling silver and long fingers wrapped around his throat, cutting off the blood to his head. Strands of long black hair brushed against his right cheek, over his eyebrow piercing. Mauve lips, plush and inviting. Hot breath sending shivers over his skin. Green tea and toasted marshmallow filling his nose.

Sweet saliva dripping onto his tongue.

Ricochet of lust, that sinful pleasure in enjoying something that was dirty and wrong, moaning as he swallowed the slick liquid, drunk on it, whining, begging for more, gratifying flares of a punishing grip shooting up his abdomen, locking his hips so he couldn’t move, so he didn’t interrupt the fierce, tight pace of a silver-ringed hand wrapped around his throbbing, stiff cock.

"Hyung... please... take off... your clothes..."

The man named Dionysus on Twitter ticked his head and grinned like the devil.

"Nah."

Jungkook whimpered, keeping his hands firmly on the sofa like he had been ordered to.

"I'm not going to change hands either," the other male drawled calmly. "Sucks for you that my left hand isn't as strong as my right, Jungkook."

Liar.

Fuck, he was lying, because it still felt so fucking good, so good it was driving him insane, lightheaded, on the cusp, wanting more but not getting it, causing the desire to rise and rise and rise, overwhelming pleasure in denial, hyung, please, the world turning into a mess of ecstasy for Jeon Jungkook.

"Please what?"

Tone light, octave deep.

Teasing him.

"W-Wanna cum, please..."

"Why should I let you?" he scolded, ticking his chin and stopping for a half-second, smearing the pre-cum over the dark red head and Jungkook's eyes rolled back, his body involuntarily jerking at the oversensitivity, wanting to cry in frustration and satisfaction at the same time, cut off from climax once again, how did he always know, it was so aggravating, but so, so fucking hot.

"It's too good, you're too good, I'm going crazy, p-please, wanna cum so b-bad, please..."

"I'm not going to let you cum on my rings," the other male snickered, starting up again, hard and fast and punishing.

Jungkook broke the rule.

His right hand flew up and gripped that hand around his cock, sterling silver rings cutting into his palm.

Those dark, dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

He begged with every fiber of his being, stroking himself with the other man's hand because it had stopped moving, putting on his most pleading, desperate tone.

"Please, hyung."

The grip on his neck tightened but he only held on tighter, shallow breaths and soft cries, pushing himself closer and closer to the edge. His hyung surveyed him closely, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

The faintest hint of a dimple.

"Do it yourself then."

Jungkook whimpered, almost protesting.

The fingers constricted around his twitching cock again, making him gasp.

"Just like this," those mauve lips whispered, eyes so dark they were almost black, deft tongue tracing his teeth, grinning down at him. "Jack yourself off with my hand while I'm choking you, dirty boy."

Jungkook was going to lose his mind.

Bucking his hips, depraved groan, his eagerness making him chaotic, so close, but his erratic pace was prolonging his own orgasm, fuck, crying out the other man's name in a thin moan, and those dark, dark orbs were so calm, so composed, that body still hidden from him, still wearing his black long-sleeved shirt and black jeans with a silver chain, taking his breath away and squeezing his cock, so tight, a-ah, core tense and burning, yes, oh, f-fuck, staring into those devilish eyes that commanded him and his dirty desires, compelling him to go, go, go, throwing his head back but not looking away, hoping he looked sexy, hoping he looked as good as was feeling from those silver-ringed hands, airless and in unbreakable heaven, staring down at his tattooed arm and fingers holding the other man's hand, the purple-red head of his cock a glistening blur from an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leaking everywhere.

"I'm g-gonna cum, please, please, can I cum?"

A dark eyebrow rose.

"Please, hyung?" Jungkook whimpered.

Amused smirk on those wonderful lips.

"Cum for me."

And he spat on Jungkook's chest.

"Oh, fuck!"

He yelped at the wet spray igniting his skin, stunned and violently aroused, unexpectedly smashing into the peak, gasping, his eyes widening as his orgasm shot out in thick white strings, over his thigh and crotch, onto his black hand tattoos and leaking down between his fingers, his cum now clinging to silver rings. The hand let go of his neck and he felt another surge of euphoria as the blood rushed back to his head, moaning the other man’s name unabashedly.

Unbreakable heaven.

He thrust into their joined hands again, whimpering, seeing more dribble out of the throbbing tip, his cock shivering, his release dripping down, down, removing his own hand from the mess to see his orgasm painted all over those prominent knuckles and sterling silver, even sticking to the large onyx stone he wore on his index finger.

His cum.

His cum, on that hand.

The cum-covered hand rose and planted onto the head of his cock, the palm smearing the residual orgasm everywhere. Jungkook cried out, trembling all over, flashes of hypersensitivity almost painful, snapping his head up, his cries turning into soft whimpers as the other hand cupped his chin, silver rings against his skin, and pushed it up to meet those dark, dark eyes, leaning in to own him.

“Can’t take it?” Whisper dark, possessive. “You dirty me up, but you can’t take a little punishment?”

“I c-can,” he gasped into mauve lips. “I can, hyung, please…”

The other male’s head tilted, brushing his lips against his lip ring.

“Don’t let me go…”

A soft chuckle and he captured Jungkook’s mouth, rough kiss cutting off his wail as he squeezed the overstimulated head of his cock.

-

“U-Um…”

“Hm?”

They were standing in the bathroom of Jungkook’s apartment. He watched as the man named Dionysus on Twitter carefully polished each and every one of his rings that he wore on his left hand after washing Jungkook’s cum off of them.

“Do you… want anything?” Jungkook asked awkwardly.

“I’m fine with just pleasing you.”

He felt his ears burn at the other man’s reply. He gulped as each ring was slid back onto their respective fingers. He watched them flex, shimmering with gleaming silver.

“A-Are you sure…? I could, uh… suck you off or something…”

“Sounds like you’re really into it.”

Now he frowned, detecting the hint of dismissiveness. “Wait. I didn’t mean it like that.”

The older male shifted and faced him. Small, playful smile on those plush mauve lips that didn’t reach those dark, dark eyes. He was still wearing his clothes. Hadn’t removed them the entire time.

“Like what?”

His tone was light, but something about it was hurting Jungkook.

So indifferent and unfeeling.

“I…”

He stepped into the bathroom and he sensed the other man’s guard was up, his shoulders shifting, the stance of a cornered animal waiting to strike.

“Wait, no…”

Searching for those eyes, and they were avoiding him slightly, backing up, the rings clicking as they touched the edge of the sink counter, no, no, this was not what Jungkook wanted, how could he let this happen, no, don’t close yourself off to me, reaching forward, lifting his head, pressing his body against his hyung, wearing nothing but his underwear against all those layers of clothing.

“I gotta go, Jungkook,” came the deep, throaty murmur, those lashes lowering, hiding those eyes from him, that safe darkness Jungkook wanted to be on him, now, since yesterday, in all his tomorrows.

“I don’t want you to go.”

A small puff and humorless smile. “All that edging wasn’t enough for you?”

“I want you to stay.”

Quietly.

With loneliness.

He stunned himself with his own tone. Those dark, dark eyes finally locked with his, staring intently, searching for the lie, but Jungkook didn’t know how to lie about something like this. When put on the spot, he ended up blurting things out and hoping he got his point across.

Maybe not the most effective, but it was honest.

“Please don’t go, hyung.”

Jungkook pressed his nose against the other man’s cheek, breathing in and shuddering softly, herbal and warm, green tea and toasted marshmallow, his addiction, rolling his body into the leaner, thinner frame, barely a few centimeters taller. A moment of silence. He refused to move away, stubbornly, and then all of a sudden, a touch, gasping as he felt a heavy hand on his head, cracking open his eyes to see himself in the mirror, his washed-out mint-blond hair tangled in fingers and silver rings, holding him close to a head of jaw-length black hair, half-tied up in a ponytail, beside each other.

Together.

They looked good together, or at least Jungkook thought so.

“Don’t say things like that.” Gentle whisper caressing his ear. “I’ll start thinking I mean something.”

“But–”

The head of black hair turned and mauve lips silenced him, shutting him up for the rest of the night with kisses.

Jungkook eventually got those pesky clothes off.

-

"You can come in. I unlocked the door earlier. I'll be out in a sec."

The black leather jacket with the matte black spikes was sprawled messily on the back of the couch. He took a moment to re-lock the door before taking off his shoes, stepping inside the apartment. It smelled nice, as usual. Herbal and warm, like green tea and toasted marshmallow.

He could hear noise in the bedroom.

An annoyed grunt in the attached bathroom.

"Is it that safe to leave your door unlocked?" Min Yoongi mused out loud, approaching the open bathroom door.

"It was five minutes, I just finished blow drying my fucking hair–"

Pause.

Yoongi froze.

The man was half-turned, fiddling with something on his wrist as he was in the midst of talking. Yoongi noticed several things about him at once. His black hair was still long, but it touched his cheekbones now instead of his jaw. It was not in its usual ponytail. Loose and wild, revealing the clean fade on the sides of his head. He was shirtless, which was something Yoongi had seen before, wearing slim-fit black jeans with rips in them, the twist of his waist leaving his back tattoo exposed, what if you live like that, his lyrics on the other man’s body.

Even if he had seen him shirtless before, it still made him stop.

What Yoongi hadn’t seen before was the large chain-link bracelet draped over his wrist. It looked heavy and expensive. He appeared to have been in the middle of putting it on before interrupted, turning his head to look at the entrance of the bathroom, suddenly stilling.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

The man named Dionysus on Twitter looked taken aback seeing him, staring at his face.

"You... You changed your hair."

Now it was Yoongi's turn to suddenly feel taken aback.

"Ah... yeah."

It was a deep red-orange now, slicked back except for one stray lock over his forehead.

"I... I had the hair appointment today," he mumbled awkwardly. "Felt like I wanted a change. I didn't style it like this; the hairstylist did."

"It looks good."

Yoongi found that he couldn't look at the other man without his face getting hot. "Thanks."

"Cool with the bomber jacket too. You should do it more often."

He made a mental note of it. Yoongi coughed, ticking his head to the man's wrist. "Need help?"

"No, I, uh... got it..."

He began to struggle again, clicking his tongue and raising his wrist to his face, balancing the end of the chain against his lower lip and trying to hook it. Yoongi shook his head and stepped forward.

"Let me–"

"Got it."

Click.

He wasn't wearing his silver rings yet.

He already smelled nice though, although not quite like his cologne. Still herbal, softer, comforting, like the embers of a dying fire. Yoongi was right next to him, hand outstretched. The other man turned his head and smiled at him, raising his arm. The chain bracelet slid down a few centimeters from the weight. Yoongi noticed the details from their closeness.

Custom chain links covered in stars, a silver galaxy decorating his wrist.

Every time Yoongi thought he couldn't be more attracted to him, he did this shit.

His eyes shifted to the man’s face.

Those dark, dark orbs darted away quickly, lowering his arm. “Let me put on my shirt and we can get going–”

Yoongi grabbed his arm and spun him around to face him before he could back away.

“Yoon–”

He shut him up by kissing him.

If he didn’t, Yoongi would sure he was going to embarrass himself by blurting out how cute he thought the other male was being right now and he wasn’t ready to make a fool of himself at the moment when later they were supposed to be at a public concert.

Being sappy made him uncomfortable.

“We still have some time.”

Yoongi shoved him against his own sink and unbuttoned the jeans.

“What are you do–fuck, Yoongi…”

He squatted and let his tongue do the work, onto warm skin, running over the sensitive spots, pressing his lips and inhaling that clean scent, smirking as he felt that length rapidly swell and grow in his mouth, those hips thrusting forward, engorged head filling his throat, thick and hard and almost too much. He spied one of the hands rising, but it retreated, clutching the counter edge instead.

Yoongi looked up, raising an eyebrow in question.

His safe darkness looked down at him, breathing hard.

“Don’t wanna mess up your hair when you look so good.”

Yoongi felt his heart race in his ribcage.

He wasn’t hugely experienced in sucking dick, but Yoongi knew what he liked, so he did that. Helped that he had a strong, flexible tongue as well. Maybe rapping was a more beneficial career than one might originally think.

If you were actually good, anyway.

“Fuck, Yoongi, fuck…”

Swirling his tongue around, up and down, straining a little to reach the entirety of the length from head to base, choking slightly, but holding back his own gag reflex, lapping at that pocket right above the balls, closing his eyes to focus. He felt a shift and a hand came to press the balls to his lower lip, granting him better access and more surface area to lick, hearing the encouragement of sultry praise.

“Mmm, your tongue feels so fucking good…”

It turned Yoongi on more than he liked to admit, but thankfully he didn’t have to admit anything because his mouth was full of dick.

Back and forth, lips soft, mouth tight, everything he loved when those mauve lips were on him, probably not as perfect, but Yoongi was sure he would become better at it, determined to be, moving his tongue in time with his lips engulfing that impressive girth, glancing up, seeing that head tipped back, long black hair grazing his shoulders, flexed chest and arms, rocking his hips in time with his pace, back to his work, fast and warm and wet, deep, tight, bracing himself with one hand on the cabinets and the other grabbing a handful of that ass, shapely and filling up his palm, savoring the taste and the way his mouth was filled repeatedly, over and over again, addictive, wanting to hear those wanton sounds coming from that mouth that always gave him the most pleasure.

He wanted to be good.

He wanted the man named Dionysus on Twitter to want him more and more.

Yeah, okay. Yoongi felt a bit pressured to care about his appearance because Jeon Jungkook was so damn hot. He wasn’t going to say it out loud or anything, but it was a thought, plus the man with the silver rings was jaw-droppingly handsome in his own right and a small part of Yoongi was vain, a very small part.

Alright.

Maybe bigger than small.

What?

He wanted to look good, be good, suck and take dick better than anyone else so those dark, dark eyes would always want him.

This was his own personal ambition.

He took that perfect cock as deep as he could into his throat, holding his breath, fast, tight, and now achingly deep, looking up to see those eyes nearly black with lust, jaw tense, smirk wide, dimples flashing, something that only happened around him, all his.

“Hah, fuck… I love your eyes, Yoongi.”

So, he kept his gaze upward, watching that expression unravel, black hair curling around his cheekbones, pleasure painted all over, nearly out of breath.

“So close, so fucking close, fuck, you’re so damn sexy…”

Yoongi decided he didn’t care if he passed out or not, too intoxicated on the breathless husky tone praising him to think about bodily functions.

“Gonna cum, ah, yes…”

He felt it, the sudden twitch and hot liquid shooting into the back of his throat, forcing him to stop and swallow, grasping at wisps of air before another jerk and stream of cum coated the back of his tongue, thick and delicious, drinking greedily, curling his tongue around the shivering length and licking it off with every flinch, savoring those soft, delicate moans in that deep voice, and this, this was it, this was theirs.

Unbreakable heaven.

He felt fingertips brush against his cheekbones, stroking his skin.

“Your face is perfect.”

He felt his ears burn.

A teasing smirk.

“It’s even more perfect with my dick shoved into your lips.”

Yoongi growled and was about to pull away but that hand gripped his chin and held him in place, slowly rolling his hips to his mouth, deep dimple on display with that smirk.

“Just a little longer.”

Lowering the octave, purring, confident.

“Please.”

A submissive word, and yet he said it was such sternness that Yoongi felt his cock twitch with want.

He obeyed the command and stayed still.

They ended up being a little late to the concert.

-

“Jungkook, you should call before–”

Dead silence.

Jeon Jungkook was frozen, jaw dropped and staring at a naked chest with crisscross lines of red. The door was open and the left hand holding it had a large chain bracelet hanging on the wrist, no rings, disturbingly attractive with his messy black hair and swollen mauve lips.

Dark, dark eyes wide, taken aback.

“You… dyed your hair back to black…”

Jungkook jumped and his right hand flew up to his head, brushing it back hastily. “Er, yeah… The mint was a lot to keep up and I got lazy, hahah…” Maybe he shouldn’t have shown up unannounced to the apartment of Twitter user _yourowndionysus, but…

Jungkook missed him.

And maybe he wanted to show off his hair as soon as he could.

No, if he was being truly honest, Jungkook just wanted to see him.

Those eyes shifted, looking from side to side, and the right hand left the doorframe – also missing all the sterling silver adornments, Jungkook noted – reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, yanking hard.

“Fuck, just come in.”

And he stumbled, yelping in confusion, dragged into the apartment and the door slamming, gasping as he was shoved up against it, suddenly hot all over, too warm in his distressed black jacket of colorful paint splatters, abruptly confronted with the arousing scent of green tea and toasted marshmallow, a heavy exhale, and an intense, stern gaze.

Jungkook was so turned on that he could feel his pant seams stretch.

Those dark, dark robs locked on him, black strands over dark brows.

“H-Hyung…?”

“Yeah?”

Jungkook jumped at the unexpected third voice, smacking his ass into the wood in surprise, and whipped his head to his right, to the space behind the door, so absorbed in the reason he was there that he didn’t think even for a second that he possibly, maybe, perhaps, might have…

Orange-haired, shirtless Min Yoongi cocked an eyebrow at him.

Interrupted something.

“Yoongi-hyung…!”

“Yes, that’s me. Thank you for remembering my name.”

His brain short-circuited.

“B-But, you… and he… w-what?”

Yoongi shrugged. “We went to a concert together.”

Jungkook felt his ears burn hot, snapping his head back and forth between his two hyungs.

“A d-d-date?”

Now neither of them looked at him or each other, and quite frankly Jungkook couldn’t look at them either, even after he was let go, hurriedly reaching up and sweeping his new black hair back and tucking strands behind his ears, over and over and over, trying to hide the obvious flushed heat that was rapidly creeping to his cheeks.

“We were both interested in the artist… I got lucky and happened to get tickets easily from work…” Yoongi mumbled.

“I can pay you back, you didn’t have to...”

“You can pay next time. It’s not like we won’t go out again.”

“R… Right.”

An awkward pause.

No one looked at anyone.

The décor of the apartment was suddenly more interesting than usual.

“Can… Can I come next time…?” Jungkook squeaked, looking from one to the other.

Yoongi stiffened, glancing at the other male, who ran his fingers through his long-ish black hair, and Jungkook could tell it was cut shorter now, to his cheekbones, the sides freshly trimmed down.

“Well, Yoongi got the tickets from his work, so I suppose it would depend on if his work allows it,” he finally replied, giving Jungkook an apologetic look, who looked at Yoongi pleadingly, who looked at the taller male in the silver chain bracelet, and then it became a three-way staring contest where everyone refused to acknowledge what was clearly there.

Right there.

There, in the fact that both Yoongi and the man with dark, dark eyes were shirtless, the latter’s chest all scratched up, and the massive tent in Jungkook’s pants.

Yoongi coughed.

“Ah… sure, I’ll get another ticket next time.”

Silence.

The orange-haired man narrowed his eyes at Jungkook. “Why did you come so late at night?”

Jungkook felt his whole face burn.

“Oh, um, well, I was wondering… if…”

He desperately waited for one of them to attempt to fill in the blank for him, but looking from one to the other and both raised their eyebrows at him, giving Jungkook the distinct impression that he was not, in fact, going to get any help in explaining himself. “If… h-hyung was f-free… to…” He jerked his head away in his mumbles, unable to look at who he was talking about, choosing instead to give Yoongi a helpless, wordless plea to have mercy on him.

Yoongi tilted his head, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. His hair was mussed up as if someone’s hands had been all over it earlier. “To do what?” he prompted in a monotone voice.

Another awkward pause, but only for Jungkook.

“Suck his dick?” said the deep, husky voice of the man in front of him.

Jungkook wanted to choke himself and not in a sexy way.

“W-Well, maybe this t-time, I could… b-because last time, t-there was a m-misunderstanding–”

He was speaking so fast that he might as well have been spelling out a keyboard smash. That was about as much as his brain could compute at the moment, his tongue colliding with the words and turning them nonsensical.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his chin and shoved him back against the front door, forcing him to look into dark, dark eyes. A piercing gaze with hint of displeasure that sent an inappropriate and violently arousing fire blazing up Jungkook’s spine.

“Say it.”

Octave low, dangerous.

“Say what you want to do, Jungkook.”

His eyes shot towards Yoongi, but the other hand grabbed the front of his shirt and knocked his shoulder blades into the apartment door, making him gasp, his breath hitching into a faint whine. He snapped his eyes back, hot all over, burning, scorching, needing it.

“I am speaking to you.”

“B-But, Yoongi-hyung…”

“Is going to suck his dick, get fucked, whatever he wants,” Yoongi coolly interjected, sliding into Jungkook’s view and looking at him over the toned and elegant shoulder, daring him with his dismissive gaze and slight frown.

Unlike him, Yoongi was not afraid to say it.

Jungkook felt a surge of blistering envy.

Pale hands appeared on that chest in front of him. Yoongi’s arms wrapped around that torso, dragging his nails down on that skin. Tight exhale right in Jungkook’s face, the other male sucking in a breath, parted lips and lust, that agile pink tongue tracing his teeth at the touch. Yoongi’s face disappeared, only a single dark brown eye watching Jungkook, shrouded by strands of dark orange.

“And you?” Yoongi drawled, raspy and possessive.

He shouldn’t be angry.

But Jungkook was.

Later, Jungkook realized Yoongi was provoking and teasing him on purpose, but in that current moment, he did not notice. Instead, he grabbed the hand on his chin and pushed it away, furrowing his brows and stepping forward, towards the man with long black hair and dark, dark eyes, the one who generally wore too much silver jewelry, the man who made him want to get on his knees with his mouth open, all so he could show him how much he wanted to improve, all so he could learn, and be the perfect sexual partner and more, excessively more, only the most for the one who named himself Dionysus.

Jungkook could share with Yoongi. He respected him and his wishes.

But he wasn’t going to lose to him.

Jungkook stared into darkness, his safe place.

“I want to serve you, hyung.”

Tilting his hand, his hands closing in, one joining Yoongi’s on his chest and the other trailing down, inhaling deeply, herbal and warm and sensual, lowering his lashes, his lip ring brushing against mauve lips as his palm cupped the hardness underneath the front of those loose black pajama pants.

Diving into the heat, consumed by it, craving the flames.

“I want to make you feel good and I’m going to, right now.”

-

dionysus vii

--

masterpost

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 6.4k

TW: Death, sickness, blood, violence, typical Criminal Minds stuff, specifically from the episode “Amplification”

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Spencer as your relationship grows. But, the calm is just before the storm and your job puts you in more danger than you signed up for. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @green-intervention​ @eevee0722​

Spencer made it easy to fall in love. You had little knowledge of romantic relationships besides a couple of elementary and middle school “relationships” that were barely romantic, just a couple of kids attempting to find their way in the world. Your experience with relationships, in general, had been difficult. Your father was estranged growing up and your mother was loving but constantly busy with work and her duties as a diplomat. She made time for you, though, and in the end, you wish you had made more time for her. 

Death is a fickle thing, it is the only thing that makes life worth living, and yet even as a forensic scientist, you wanted to figure out how to evade it. When your mother died, your relationship with death was complicated because you felt cheated. That she deserved so many more years of life and that you should have done more to help. You know that in your heart, you feel a deep passion for Spencer, that you want to get to know him and to cherish him as he should be cherished, but death still loomed overhead and it terrified you. So you hold Spencer at an arm’s length. While he had no problem hugging you and holding your hand occasionally, you made sure he remains cordial and platonic with you. Such a task was difficult, though.

Your feet ache as you walk over to the elevator, sniffling in an attempt to calm your runny nose. Spring had officially set in and so had your allergies; it seemed as if all the pollen in the world was coming for your sinuses. Pulling out a tissue to blow your nose, you barely register Spencer standing next to you. 

“I’m going to see Ponyo in theaters tonight, it’s a limited run and they’re playing it in Japanese. You could come with me, I could even simultaneously translate it to you,” he states and you jump slightly in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

“Sounds like fun, but I desperately need Claritin and I wouldn’t want you to miss the screening,” your voice is nasal as you speak, the pressure in your head making it pound with every step you take once you exit the elevator.

“It’s no problem, we can both head home and I’ll just pick you up with my car,” he suggests, and you look over suspiciously.

“You hate driving.”

“But I’d drive for you,” you sigh as the two of you make it out of the building and start toward the metro. “I’d just really like to see it with you, I think you’d enjoy it.”

You huff as the breeze picks up slightly, hitting you with another face full of pollen. Looking over at Spencer, his eyes were bright and full of mischief. He holds onto the strap of his bag as the two of you walk down the stairs and you try your best to read his face. Only pure content and joy, oh how this man has ruined you.

“Fine. Only if you pay for dinner,” you mumble, blowing your nose into another tissue as the train approaches. 

“Of course, it’s my turn anyway,” he states, a satisfied look on his face. The two of you often paid for each other when it came to food, remaining constantly indebted to each other. But this way, you always knew he would come back. Because he owed you.

Getting home was a relief, it truly serves as a place to escape and decompress. After being stuffy all day and having to work through several reports as you reviewed the evidence and possible threats, it had truly been a test of your patience. After taking Claritin and changing into something a little more suited to the weather, Spencer arrives right on time. The rest of the night goes off with a hitch and more often than not do you find yourself looking over at Spencer as his eyes take in every single little detail of the movie. True to his word, the two of you order cheap nachos and pizza from the movie theater and munch on it during the movie. He speaks translations to you in a low whisper, adding intonation and inflection to distinguish between the characters. Spencer never ceases to amaze you and while you love Ponyo, there’s just something so alluring about watching Spencer talk about things that interest him. At the end of the movie, he continues to process and talk about every little detail left to his whim. 

“While Ponyo is essentially a movie about a child’s innocence and familial love, there is an underlying theme that comments on the pollution of our oceans, as seen in the character of Fujimoto who is afraid of humans and constantly criticizes them,” Spencer says as the two of you walk into the foyer. 

“The ramen looked amazing, though. It makes me hungry for some real food,” you state as the smell of popcorn makes you crave even more food.

“Food in film, specifically films directed by Hayao Miyazaki, are a tool to show togetherness and family as well as human nature. The details of the food tell their own story in many of the other movies. We’ll have to check them out if they even come to the theater,” he continues and you smile, shaking your head.

“Or we can just watch them at my apartment. I’ll buy the whole box set and we’ll just have a whole binge,” you tell him as the two of you make it out onto the street, walking back to his car.

“That’s also good too,” he says as you bark out a laugh. “It’s a date.”

While such trivial words shouldn’t insight fear inside of you, it doesn’t stop you from spending the rest of the night thinking about it after Spencer drops you back home. It remains in your mind the next day when you go to work and find your way to the BAU during lunch, only to find that they were called away on a case. So, the rest of the week is spent thinking about the words “it’s a date.” Obviously, he meant a physical date, like the one on a calendar. But what if he wasn’t? He hadn’t been over to your apartment before and you had never gone to his. It was like a platonic line the two of you hadn’t crossed so that your relationship would stay strictly on the down-low. What did it mean that he wanted to come over to your apartment, then? On a so-called “date?” There wasn’t even an actual day you planned to have your movie marathon on, so technically it couldn’t even be considered a date. Just a plan. 

That Friday, you were getting ready to go home and crash on the couch after ordering take out when Penelope texts you.

From Penelope (5:46 PM):

I’m gonna need some reinforcements up here, the team is just getting back.

To Penelope (5:46 PM):

Hard case?

From Penelope (5:47 PM):

Like you can’t even imagine.

Sighing, you get up out of your chair and head to the elevator, going a couple of floors up to the BAU. When you get out, Penelope stands there with a face of anticipation as she sees you walk out. 

“Oh good, they’re almost here. Spencer’s not doing too hot,” she says and you frown, turning to face the elevator.

As if they were summoned, the second elevator opens up to reveal the team in several different states of fatigue and disappointment. Spencer stands in the back, hunched over slightly as he frowns and follows the rest of them out once the doors are fully open. You smile at your dad and pat him on the shoulder as he leans down.

“The gelato place downtown is still open,” he whispers and kisses your cheek before walking into the offices. You walk in front of Spencer and gently bump into him to break him from his stupor. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask and look up at him, seeing the furrow in his brow and the dark circles under his eyes that look even darker. 

“Nothing, I have to work on my reports,” he mumbles and walks past into the offices.

“Why don’t we go get food and you can come back, just to help clear your mind,” you insist, following him as he collapses into his office chair, rubbing his temples to relieve a bit of the stress built up over the past couple days.

“I have too much to work on,” he brushes you off and turns to stare at all the papers stacked up on his desk.

“You can work on them this weekend,” you state and push the spinny chair so that he faces you. “I know something is wrong, we’ve known each other for several months and I can tell when something is bothering you. Now, I’m not going to ask, but I do know that you can complete reports faster than everyone here and that you can take them home. So, I declare today backwards day. Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

You smile your biggest smile in hopes of breaking him out of his spiral and the reference to Ponyo definitely helps. He smiles slightly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes, and shoves a couple of folders into his satchel before standing.

“Lead the way,” you smile at him and loop your arm around his in hopes of helping to keep him grounded. The two of you walk out of the BAU in silence, but you can feel a change in Spencer already. Hunting the worst types of people every single day as a job constantly gets to you, especially when it comes to this team who constantly look at the mind of unidentified subjects to catch them. With your father, he deals with it through good old compartmentalization and expensive alcohol. For Spencer, you would guess it’s not as easy. His mind was endlessly thinking and analyzing so any mistake made would be remembered and replayed. The best you can do is let him know that there’s a world around him other than everything going on in his head. 

After getting on the metro, you engage in simple conversation, telling him about what you’ve had the luxury of working on and the most recent book you had been reading: The Awakening by Kate Chopin. When you see the stop for downtown, you pull him off the train and begin to walk toward your favorite family-owned gelato establishment. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, looking around at the nightlife of D.C.

“It’s a surprise,” you wink and pull him toward a small shop full of freezers filled with gelato. His eyes light up at the sight of the gaudy decorations that are over the top depictions of Florence and Rome. 

“Gelato?”

“It’s backwards day!” you remark and order a medium stracciatella. 

“I’ll get a medium mint chip,” he asks and you reach out hand over your card before Spencer can get to the cashier. 

When the both of you have your gelato in hand, you both slowly meander down the street as you devour into your delicious treat.

“Did you know that the word stracciatella comes from the Italian word ‘stracciare’ and is also the name of the famed soup that is popular in the Lazio region of central Italy? The same technique is applied to the ice cream but instead of chocolate and ice cream, it’s broth and an egg-based mixture. It’s a western variation of the Chinese egg drop soup,” he gets out before spooning some of the gelato into his mouth. You can only smile at him as you admire how beautiful he looks in the dim lighting, rambling on and effectively getting him away from the horrors of the world, even if for a moment. He continues to talk about soup and how often eastern traditions are westernized and taken over, but all you can do is stare at him and think about how head over heels you are for him. 

Perhaps it is love. But your heart is stored in a box away from harm. Its defenses were weakening, though. Every word spoken by Spencer was like a small chisel working away at the precious marble box, artistic and masterful. You love him, yet in your mind, keeping it from him meant keeping him safe. Or, keeping yourself safe.

Quiet weeks are always appreciated at the FBI. Quiet weeks for you meant simple research and few reports, just enough to keep yourself busy. Quiet weeks for the BAU were just simple consultations and writing up all their fieldwork into manageable reports. But, before a tsunami, the ocean always rears its ugly face. 

You knew something was wrong when your director called you before dawn. A shrill noise jerked you from your sleep and you pull your phone to your ear even before checking the caller.

“Agent Montgomery,” you reply groggily, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you check your digital clock.

“There’s a suspected attack, we’re sending an agent to pick you up. The FBI is under strict media blackout rules so do not inform anyone,” Director Chase states. “There’s Cipro for you on arrival.”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the mention of anthrax. You had just started college when the Amerithrax attacks happened, it had been one of the reasons you wanted to become a toxicologist. Never in your life did you ever expect to face an actual anthrax attack head-on. 

Getting ready is a blur, you pull on suitable clothes and meet the other agent when they arrive. During the drive, you are given a very quick debrief. Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms with black lesions and lung failure after they had all been at the same park after 2 p.m. The strain of anthrax used was weaponized and reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs, odorless and invisible. At the moment, there are eleven dead with the number quickly rising. All remaining patients were moved to a special wing in Walter Reed Hospital with Dr. Linda Kimura from the CDC and her team overseeing the treatment of all victims. You memorize this information and how you would apply your skills, finding any evidence and analyzing it. The thought of working with the BAU is both exciting and terrifying. Your father would be at risk, and so would Spencer. The only peace of mind is the fact that you would be working with them so any harm that comes to them would go through you first. 

Once at the Bureau, you swallow the Cipro dry and take the elevator up to the BAU where several military scientists have gathered and move around the busy offices. Your director approaches you as you enter and glance around at all the chaos.

“Dr. Kimura’s already in the conference room with Agent Jareau and Agent Hotchner. You’ll be accompanying them to any possible active sites to try and gather a sample as well as oversee the response,” he states and you nod, climbing up the stairs and trying not to throw up the pills you just swallowed. Seeing JJ and Hotch helps to ground you a little but your heart still beats quickly.

“Dr. Kimura, it’s nice to meet you,” you smile weakly and shake her hand.

“You too, I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,” she replies and you nod, turning to look at the file full of evidence. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, less than twenty-four hours and already fourteen people were dead. 

The rest of the team shuffles in and you meet Spencer’s gaze, seeing the worry build up in his eyes like tiny storms. You were sure that your face shared the same fear. As they are debriefed, you find yourself looking through at the lesions and pictures shared, trying not to grimace at the sight. College had its fair share of gross photos, but those people were either dead or safe. Time was not your friend.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura and Dr. Montgomery to the hospital, interview the victims,” you tune in at your name and look up at Hotch as he delivers assignments. “There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura huffs out as she raises the tray for everyone to take.

“This is really happening?” Emily asks. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can such a weapon be real?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch speaks the words as if they are a mantra as if the FBI knows everything. And while he’s right, the FBI does not know everything about this strain of anthrax. The unknown kills people, you just hope you can get to it before it kills more civilians. 

“Jin dan,” your father says. “May you live one hundred years.”

Your jaw clenches as you watch both your father and Spencer takes the pills. Your father is on the older side, you know that and he’s lived through a lot, but something like this would take him out in a matter of hours. And Spencer, he’s young and healthy, but this spore had killed fourteen people. What was another victim? 

As you follow Dr. Kimura and Spencer out of the conference room, your mind is full of statistics and chemical concoctions that could help you. It moves quickly and swiftly, distracting you from the escalation of the current situation.

“Why didn’t you take the Cipro?” Spencer asks as you stand in the office. 

“I took it when I arrived, I was here before you,” you respond monotonously, sighing as you turn and give him a reluctant smile. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. Never really been ‘in the field’ before.”

“You’ll be great,” he offers you a look of encouragement and squeezes your hand as you follow Dr. Kimura to the cars, waiting for Spencer as he grabs files from JJ. 

The car ride is spent talking about treatments and other specific details. You focus on trying to break down the creation of the spores as well as possible antidotes to combat it. Because there are no know samples just yet, you work through from the other angle. How does one weaponize a regular bacteria? Well, increasing its ability to quickly become activated and multiply would do the trick. To fight against it, our white blood cells would need to work just as quickly to get rid of the foreign bacteria that attacks our immune system, therefore an antidote would be able to target this bacteria and destroy it at the same rate. Just as a vaccine would. Arriving at the hospital is a bit jarring, you walk with Dr. Kimura and Spencer up to the wing where you break off and look at blood and toxin reports to fully understand what parts of the body are being attacks as well as what kind of chemicals makes up this specific toxin. 

“What’s causing her aphasia?” Spencer asks as they make their way back over to you. This piques your interest as you take notes on a separate piece of paper, jotting down everything you can think of to help understand.

“The poison is infecting the parietal lobe, impairing her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died,” she states solemnly, and you sigh as you speak out.

“The only thing that can help them is if we find the antidote because unless we do a molecular analysis of the specific strain, we’re unable to understand how this works,” you grumble, the want to lash out angrily growing. “This can’t be his first attack, especially if he was a scientist. You run small trials before getting to human subjects.”

You continue to work with Spencer, sifting through ideas as Dr. Kimura makes calls and inquires about possible previous victims. It made sense in your little science brain, that one would not test on a bigger group before ensuring it was deadly with a smaller group--like vaccine or drug trials. As Dr. Kimura brings over a list of other patients, Spencer goes into another area to call the team as you cross-reference your notes with her. 

“So far, all we know is that this is anthrax. Do you think I can use blood and tissue samples in your lab for analysis? Maybe I can refine the strain and get an antidote or perhaps see how quickly it multiplies,” you ask and she nods.

“Of course,” she calls over another nurse and asks for blood and tissue samples from an already deceased victim and asks for it to be delivered to your lab.

As Spencer steps out of the closet, you look over at him and try to memorize every part of him. The revolver that sticks out of his hip, the badge, the long unruly hair, his violet shirt, just everything that makes him Spencer. Your heart was racing with nerves and all you wanted to do was take him out of harm’s way. 

“How are you feeling?” he inquires as you shake your head. 

“I feel useless. I’m no medical doctor nor am I any closer to finding the antidote,” you mumble and look up at the ceiling to try and stave off the tears. 

“You’re doing great. It’s a waiting game until we get more answers about the profile, you’re doing the best you can,” he reaches out and wraps an arm around you as you hug him, sighing as you deeply inhale his cologne. 

“Yet my best can’t stop all these people from dying,” you look over at the young girl that Spencer was talking to, watching as every breath in her lungs feels like the last. 

“You’re one person. And I know that when it gets down to it, you’ll be brilliant,” the two of you pull away slightly and you look up at him, your noses almost touching. You could kiss him right now if your lives weren’t being threatened, but the voice of Dr. Kimura breaks the two of you apart. 

“How’s she doing?” Spencer asks as the three of you walk over to the window, Dr. Kimura pulling up her charts.

“She’s a fighter. She’s held on this long because she’s young and strong. But she’s started to bleed into her lungs,” Dr. Kimura states and you stare through the glass, wanting to will this young girl to live. 

“One of four left,” you mumble and look over at Spencer. 

“We’re running into another problem. When next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?” you look back through the glass as you ponder another unanswerable question. 

Once the samples are ready, you and Spencer go down to the hospital lab where you try to isolate the spore in each of the samples and look at them underneath the microscope as well as streak them on Petri dishes. Spencer helps with tools and supplies so you aren’t running around, but the most that the microscope tells you is that it is anthrax and the dishes won’t be ready for analysis any time soon because they need to incubate. Once done, you clean and sterilize everything before sitting down on one of the chairs and looking up at the fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“This is useless,” you mutter and shake your head.

“No, it’s not. They’re delivering the profile right now and then we’ll be able to find a suspect,” Spencer tells you as you look over at him, a small smile on your face. 

“Are you always this optimistic, Dr. Statistics?” you ask as he chuckles.

“No, because I’m usually running and forming statistics, but you distract me enough from the looming threat of death,” your eyes widen as he speaks as you let out a short laugh before his phone begins to ring. The conversation is short, but you gather that you finally have a suspect worthy of bringing in.

“That was Morgan, we’re going to a suspect’s house. His name is Dr. Lawrence Nichols and he tried to lobby for money to fund his anthrax preparedness plan but failed because it wasn’t feasible,” he says as the two of you grab your things and make your way down to the bottom floor, Derek meeting you as the three of you take off toward his house. He fills you in on Dr. Nichols’ past, his adamancy about wanting all families to have protection against anthrax as well as his inevitable job termination. Your hands shake with nerves as you think about having to be around people, specifically people that could potentially pose a threat to your life. This wasn’t what you did, nor was it who you were. You were far out of your comfort zone, but at least you could be helpful instead of sitting around in a lab. 

The three of you wait outside the small suburban house, waiting as the hazmat team goes through and ensures that there are no traces of anthrax that could threaten your life. 

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Derek states and you look over at the house, it was painted a robin blue. You would never suspect a serial killer to live in such a normal house. 

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Spencer suggests as the three of you head toward the garage and behind the house. 

You stayed quiet and observed from a scientific view, looking over at the rose bushes and reaching over to touch the delicate flower. Though even the most beautiful flowers have thorns and you wince as a sharp point pricks your finger. Following Spencer, you stick the finger in your mouth to get rid of the blood. 

As you maneuver around the many plants, Derek’s phone rings and he puts Penelope on speaker as Spencer listens in. You, on the other hand, continue to look around for any evidence pointing toward him being the suspect. Perhaps a lab of some sorts. As you enter the smaller building behind the house, you instantly see the makings of a lab with the fumes hood and the surplus of beakers and Petri dishes. Stepping into the lab, your heart jumps in your chest when you see a shattered test tube on the floor with white powder. 

Behind you, Spencer calls out your name and you rush over the door to close it, the chill of the air conditioning blasting behind you.

“Spencer, get back! Get back right now,” you fumble with the lock, shutting yourself into the lab with the vial. 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he asks and pushes against the door.

“No, please, Spencer. Get away from the door,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Open the door,” he persists as he stares at you through the glass. Was it enough? Was he infected? You couldn’t know for sure. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you mutter, a tear dripping down your cheek as you step back from the door. 

“Kid, what’s going on?” you hear Derek call out from behind Spencer as he backs up from the door.

“Call Hotch. Call an ambulance. Call everyone,” he tells Derek as the fear fills your veins. Your hands are so cold, why are they so cold? Spencer’s sweet voice isn’t enough to talk you down from the anxiety building up. This was the tsunami and you were caught in the tidal wave.

Spencer stands away from the door as you wrap your arms around yourself, staring silently out at him. Your phone rings as he calls you and you put it on speaker. 

“Tell me what’s going on, everyone’s on their way. You need to describe everything to me,” you can see Spencer’s mind going a million miles an hour and you could see the blame he put on himself. This wasn’t him, this was all you. At least you were right about anthrax getting through you before it did him.

“There’s a body here, I think it’s Nichols, and he’s dead. There’s also a tube that’s shattered. It’s full of white powder, I’m pretty sure it’s anthrax--Spencer,” you pause, staring straight at him. “I don’t want to die, please I’m so scared.”

You hear all the sirens as they approach and you shake your head, more tears falling down your cheeks.

“Sh, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he says and you can see that all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you. “This is where you can help, remember? It’s your turn to be the hero.”

You look up to him, the tears blurring his figure as you wipe them from your cheeks, nodding. 

“You’re right,” you mumble and take a deep breath before beginning to go through the lab. “You’re right.”

First, the body. 

Reaching down, you feel the skin of Dr. Nichols and see the blue-ish tint to his skin as well as the way his blood has pooled. He appears to be dead at least for a day or two, Livor mortis has already set in.

“Spence, he’s been dead for maybe one to two days. Blunt force trauma to his head,” you say just as Hotch and another man join Spencer and Derek. 

“Doctor, we need to get you to the hospital,” Hotch speaks and you shake your head.

“No, I can help. I’m the only one who can work the case here. I’m already exposed, there’s nothing they can do but give me morphine. I can do this,” you state and turn to the lab, looking around for any important information.

“Just get out of there, you need to go to the hospital,” Spencer insists as you continue to search his desk.

“She’s already infected. Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure,” the general says and you grab the papers off his desk, reading through his notes. 

“If I’m in here, I can find the cure, or I can make it. If I figure out how he made this strain then I can make the antidote with his notes,” you reply, hearing Spencer sigh with exasperation. “I can also try to see who killed Dr. Nichols, the answer is in here somewhere.”

“Say something to her, order her. She can’t stay in there,” Spencer’s voice cracks and you shake your head, now was not the time to get distracted.

“She’s right, her best chance is to be inside,” Hotch replies and you set your phone down as you read through his writing. “We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, I’m already infected,” you mumble and break apart all his lab reports. 

“Your dad is going to kill me,” Hotch tells you and you sigh, shaking your head. 

“He does his job, I do mine.”

Your mind reels at the information, but you force yourself to focus and read through the reports and how Dr. Nichols managed to make such a potent spore. In your mind, your best bet is a combination antibiotic and antibody treatment to combat the toxins and ensure that any remaining bacteria is killed off.

“I think there was a struggle, there’s glass spread out and clutter all over,” you tell them, looking around and finding another desk in the corner. “There’s also another desk in the corner that’s smaller and organized. It appears there are two sets of handwriting as well as instructions on how to sterilize and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that,” the general states. 

“He has a partner, maybe even a protege,” Spencer suggests as Hotch and the general run off to go follow that lead. Your phone begins to vibrate and you see that your father is calling you. Picking up, you put the phone to your ear.

“Papa, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, feeling the tears well up once more. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, piccolo. This is not your fault. How are you doing?” he asks and you inhale deeply, beginning to feel sharp pains in your chest. 

“I’m fine. I’m working,” you let out a sad laugh and shake your head. “I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be okay,” he tells you and he says it with such conviction that you almost believe him.

“If I’m not--”

“Don’t talk like that,” he cuts you off and you shake your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“If I’m not okay, I just want to tell you that you were the best dad in the whole world and that I love you so much. I’ll tell mom ‘hi’ for you,” you hold in a sob as he begins to protest. “I love you.”

You hang up the phone and sob into your hand, breathing in as deeply as possible to try and stay afloat. Quickly, you call up Penelope as something crosses your mind.

“Hey, you,” Penelope mumbles solemnly.

“No funny quip?” you bite your lip nervously as she sighs.

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she says.

“Hey, Penny. Do you think you can record something for me?” you ask, glancing out the window to where Spencer is staring in.

“Anything,” you hear her type. “Alright, you’re good.”

“Hey, Spence,” you bite back another sob as it shakes through your chest. “This isn’t how I intended for you to hear this, but here it goes. I love you. So much. And I’m such a coward for not saying it to your face, but, if I’m gone then I want you to know that your brain and your smarts are so incredible, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you so much.”

A woman in an orange suit steps into the room and you quickly hang up your phone, smiling at Dr. Kimura.

“Dr. Montgomery,” she says as does her best to walk in the suit.

“You look nice,” you say and let out a shaky laugh. “How is everyone else doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she states and you nod as Spencer calls you back. You answer and put him on speaker. 

“Hey, it’s me and Garcia,” he tells you as a tickle in your throat bubbles up and makes you cough. “I think the cure is in there somewhere. Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist so he’s secretive and paranoid. Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a coworker.”

“Can you look for the cure while I help them?” you ask Dr. Kimura and she nods as you look around the room. “I’ve been through everything, Spence.”

“I know you’re not thinking straight,” his voice cracks. “But, we need you.”

 You clear your throat and nod.

“You’re right,” you rush over to his desk and look through his items. “There’s a picture of him teaching and a syllabus.” 

You think back to the instructions and think for a moment.

“Hold on,” you run over to the other desk and look at the content. “It’s a student, it has to be if he went through the trouble of writing lab procedures.”

Picking up the thick stack of paper, you instantly recognize it as some sort of thesis. Years of curating your own, you would never forget it. 

“A thesis, his partner was a doctoral student,” sweat drips down your hairline as you sift through the papers.

“He wouldn’t have let just anyone in there so perhaps he opened his lab to a student,” Spencer formulates as you read through the paper. “Check the sciences.”

“Uh, cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore.” Penelope types away at her keyboard as you read through the paper, it mentions things like preparedness and less about the spores itself as well as scientific findings. “Nothing, my doves.”

“This doesn’t sound like a science student, this is all about city preparedness, and response,” you cough and try not to stress about the taste of blood in your mouth. 

“Check the social studies,” Spencer states. “Public policy, urban planning.”

“Hot to trot. There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M. matches a Chad Brown, former employee at the book front. I’ll tell Hotch,” Penelope hangs up as you stifle another cough, the pain in your chest worsening.

“You did it, now get out of there,” Spencer says and you turn to Dr. Kimura as you let out another cough. Blood splatters on your hand and you wipe it on your pants.

“You said the cure would be hidden somewhere we wouldn’t suspect. What about Nichols’ inhaler?” she walks up with the inhaler as you put Spencer on speaker. 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you out here,” he says and you hang up as the two of you walk out of the lab and into the tent where people are ready to spray you down. You let the tears flow freely now that you’re out and the water rolls over you in an attempt to get rid of all the powder that might have stuck. Spencer is outside the tent speaking to Hotch and your father as you get naked and hosed down. Once they’re finished, you’re toweled down and put into a gown as you get on the gurney and are wheeled off to the ambulance. 

“Hey, you,” you mutter weakly to Spencer as he walks alongside you. Another cough bursts out of your chest.

“I’m seeing you off to the hospital, the team doesn’t need me,” he states and you nod, taking his hand as they get you into the ambulance. There is a sharp pain in your lungs every time that you move and you cough up blood more and more. The lights in the ambulance are too bright and you feel so hot as Dr. Kimura places her stethoscope on your chest.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Montgomery?” she asks as you fail to hold back another cough.

“I’m obey,” your eyes widen as the words in your head fail to come out of your mouth. “Obey. I fleel fin.”

Your eyes water as you look over at her and then at Spencer who watches you in terror. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” she mutters to you before calling out to the driver. “Driver, faster.”

The sound of your heart beating echoes in your head is nausea and dizziness loom over you, making you close your eyes. All the sounds, including Spencer who seems to be calling out to you, dissipate as you drift off into the darkness. At least he would know. 

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Can we get uhh joker with an girl who's afraid of loud noises like yelling, thunder, ect?

Hello, anon! Thank you for the request, you’re my first one! 💖

I took a guess on what genre you preferred and figured fluff would be a good choice. A bit ooc for our clown but hey, it’s fluff. I hope it’s what you were looking for and that you like it!!

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader (no other details on appearance, etc for your imagination to complete)

Word count: 1,611

Warnings: noise phobia, shouting/fighting, thunderstorm, flash back about attempted mugging, adult language, graphic threat of violence (it’s still nice, I promise 😂)

Phonophobia

Not again.

The neighbors were at it again. At least once a month, the couple next door would spend the evening screaming at each other. Your old apartment building on the edge of downtown Gotham was far from sound proof, the near paper-thin walls serving as a mere sieve for their harsh words spat at full volume. And what made it even worse was that a storm was brewing in the dark outside.

You’ve had a problem with loud noise since you were young. It’s difficult to explain, but the anxiety it could trigger was sometimes overwhelming. Fireworks, concerts, construction sites, storms, it feels like your ears amplify the sounds even more. It vibrates your skull and closes in on you, weighing heavy and making you feel so small to a point where sometimes you felt like you could barely breathe.

You thought about doing something, saying something, to the people next door to get them to stop but the idea of confronting them only made the anxiety worse and you curled into a little ball on your couch in the small living room.

A rumble from the sky carried the threat of impending thunder to your ears and your chest tightened. Oh no, no, no, no. This has happened a few times before, too many sounds at once and you shut down in a full blown panic attack, your head pounding with each and every vibration.

You really didn’t want to be alone. You were in your late twenties but didn’t really have friends. You’d left home when you were sixteen out of necessity and since then focused on fending for yourself for so many years in this unforgiving city until you’d finally gotten off the street and into this ramshackle apartment. Then six months ago, you met him.

The Joker, terrorist, mass murderer, psychopath, the Clown Prince of Crime, came into your life one night when you were coming home from a late shift at your job as a clerk at the bus station. You preferred night time, it was quieter. You rounded a corner on your usual route back to the apartment building and found yourself at gun point, threatened to give a man in a ski mask whatever he wanted, “or else”. Before you could react, a purple-clad arm wrapped around the man’s chest as his throat was cut in front of your eyes. You knew who he was and you were no stranger to violence in your life but you’d never seen anything like that. Ever since then, he’d taken an interest in you. He used your apartment as a hideout and occasionally gave you small jobs like picking up unmarked packages or driving a car to a random address and leaving it there in exchange for cash. You were in no position to refuse for obvious reasons. You’d even contemplated at one point whether the mugging was staged to get you to trust him or owe him something. The time and place seemed all to convenient. You waited for the day when he’d ask you to repay your debt but it hadn’t come yet.

Whatever you were to him, he was really the only person you knew or cared to talk to. You had been afraid of him at first, of course, but that began to fade a few months ago. Whether or not letting your guard down around him was in poor judgement, you had reached a point where you didn’t care. You hated yourself for it, but an attraction was growing in your belly, nervous fluttering of your heart when he looked at you adding to your frustrations. He really didn’t care about much of anything, free from the stress and worries of life that everyone else was subjected to. You were fascinated by that and your mind eventually spun it around into some sort of crush, to your dismay. It’s not possible, you told yourself. He wouldn’t want you, some regular girl from the streets of Gotham. But why did he keep you around?

Your fingers twitched toward the burner phone he’d given you on the table. He always called you, you’d never called him, if that was even possible. But at the first crack of thunder over the screams of “fuck you, asshole” from next door, you grabbed the device and hit the call button before you could think better of it. Too late, it was ringing.

You shakily brought the receiver to your ear as each ring twisted your stomach into tighter knots. Another crack of thunder.

“Well, well. Hello there, doll,” you heard Joker’s raspy voice croon over the speaker.

Your breath hitched in your throat before you forced yourself to speak, “H-hi, Joker. Um, I, uh wanted to know if you w-were planning on staying here tonight.”

The two or three seconds of silence that followed felt like an eternity before he answered, “Ahh afraid of the storm, are we?”

Stunned and unable to speak, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You were never able to hide anything from him, even when he couldn’t see your face.

He giggled and said, “Lu-cky for you, I need to, uh, lay low tonight. Ten minutes.”

The line went quiet and you lowered the phone from your ear. Ashamed of what you just did, you wished the earth would swallow you up in that moment but you were stuck here. At least you’d have a distraction.

Right on cue, every sixty seconds, thunder sent your body trembling harder while the apartment next door continued to echo with blame and insults for what felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. You had been resisting, but finally covered your ears with your palms just before Joker’s ghostly face suddenly appeared in the window as another crack of thunder stung your ears. Your eyes widened and you let out a yelp before your face flushed and you hurried to the window to jerk it open. Joker climbed in from the fire escape, his hair wet with rain and greasepaint smeared a bit more than usual. He looked down at your shaking hands and sweat beading on your forehead and asked, “What’s the matter with you, hm? Called me here didn’t ya?”

The sound of shouting and glass breaking from behind the wall made you nearly jump out of your skin as you stared at him and he raised his eyebrows.

“Hmmm, what do we have here? A little phonophobia?” he hummed, leaning toward you.

He was always right. This you definitely couldn’t hide from him. Your breaths with short and huffing as you nodded meekly. He was most definitely the wrong person to seek comfort from but you had no one else to turn to.

He liked his lips and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling for a moment when the man next door screamed obscenities once again.

Suddenly, Joker turned toward the wall and growled at full volume, “Keep doing that and I’ll cut your tongues out nice and slow so the last thing you taste is your own blood filling up your mouth!”

The resulting silence made your ears ring and he slowly turned back toward you, tongue flicking out over his lip. His voice was incredibly loud but as soon as it was over, your breathing began to slow.

“Better?” he asked with a sly little smile.

You swallowed and swiftly nodded before thunder practically shook the building, the storm now looming overhead. Your eyes involuntary squeezed shut and a whimper escaped your mouth as your trembling legs barely held you upright. Joker sighed and slid his water-logged coat from his shoulders along with his gloves, draping them over a chair. He wasn’t supposed to be someone who had much, if any, empathy for other people. Why should he help you?

Maybe he knew what you were going through.

“You need a, uh, distraction, hm?” he asked.

You opened your eyes and looked into his. They weren’t dark and cold as usual but you still couldn’t read what was going on behind them. You never could.

You blinked and he stepped closer to you until you could feel the heat coming off his body. Your heart raced and you couldn’t hear anything anymore as the lump in your throat tightened with anticipation. Your mind raced with irrationalities. Was he finally about to kill you?

Suddenly he grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you forward to smash his lips into yours. You took a sharp inhale, the smell of greasepaint and gasoline flooding your nose as you drowned in the sensation of his warm lips against your own. Was this real?

Your eyes fluttered closed and you kissed him back, involuntarily lifting your arms to wrap them around his neck. This was real. He hummed against your mouth as he dropped your shirt collar and took your face in his hands, deepening the kiss. His scars made it that much more intense as he hungrily devoured the taste of you until your lips were practically swollen.

He took your bottom lip into his mouth before releasing it and pulling away for you to catch your breath.

“Dis-tracting enough for ya?” he purred, still holding your face.

Your expression of shock and surprise morphed into a wide smile and you giggled as you nodded your head at him. He smirked back and locked lips with you once more before he staggered to bring both of you toward the couch where he pulled you down to flop on top of him as he chuckled.

Thunder rumbled overhead but you didn’t hear it. You were too busy kissing the Clown Prince.

[snakeboistan]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 1:

Waking up restrained I Shackled I Hanging

TW: SUICIDE

The door of Nagisa’s apartment building creaked as Sugino opened it, it’s sound reverberating off of the darkened hallway. The dim hanging overhead lights buzzed with every flicker, casting the corridor with a pale golden haze. Sugino entered the building, the soles of his favourite trainers squeaking against the smooth cold tiles of sandstone. He closed  the door behind him with a sigh to the phone that was pressed against his ear, resuming the conversation he had on the group call with his old Junior High classmates, “he just hasn’t been himself, you know.”

“I totally understand you,” Kayano said, “it’s like he has stopped talking to us. He used to send us a text on the group chat at least once every three days. Now it’s been a week since we’ve last heard from him.”

“I mean, there’s a chance that he’s just swamped with university work,” Maehara offered, “plus he does volunteer at that elementary school as well so he might not have the time to chat anymore.”

“But it’s not just chatting,” Sugino argued, climbing up the staircase that led him to the blunette in question’s apartment, muscle memory driving him forward, “he barely responds to my texts and when he does it’s one or two word answers. Everytime I invite him to go somewhere he just shoots me down. It’s clear something’s wrong with him but whenever I ask him he just does that thing where he tells you that he’s fine but it’s really obvious that he’s lying.”

Nakamura scoffed, “sounds about right. Oh, Nagisa you haven’t changed much, have you?”

“You know,” Isogai mused, “now that you mention it, there was something that was concerning. About a week ago I tried calling him for something - I can’t really remember what exactly it was - but when I did the call wouldn’t go through, it kept saying that his phone was switched off.”

“What, Nagisa?” Okano asked, the confusion embedded in the lilt of her voice not going unnoticed, “but that guy never turns his phone off.”

“Yeah,” Okajima butted in, “remember how back on our field trips in middle school he would bring about three of those portable charger things so that his phone would never lose charge. He always said that he wants to be able to be contacted at all times in case of emergencies.” 

“I remember that,” Nakamura said fondly, “it was one of the many reasons why we called him the class dad.”

“Isogai’s right about being concerned with his phone being off and him being unreachable,” Karma said, “it’s not like him to just refuse to speak to people. Even when he’s upset he still answers and does a terrible job of acting like he’s fine.”

“Karma, you saw him last right?” Isogai asked, “did you notice anything off about him?”

“Apart from the fact that he seemed stressed with studies, he seemed alright,” the redhead answered, “I mean he clearly wasn’t eating enough and looking after himself properly but he’s always been like that. He was smiling and none of them looked fake - and trust me I know when he’s faking it. But then again…”

“Yes,” Sugino urged impatiently, the worry that was gnawing at his mind was now full on devouring it, sharp tingles of disquietude bombarding his body with every concerning word his friends said. It was common knowledge that although Nagisa was the epitome of emotional intelligence and stability, with his capability of providing comfort and reassurance to those that came to him, he was incredibly closed off about his own feelings, more often than not caging himself within his own walls to prevent anyone coming to close. As trusting as the petite mild-mannered boy was when it came to receiving orders and his conviction that everyone is capable of doing, his mind was an unsolved mystery, shut off from prying eyes that would ask too many wrong questions. Nagisa portrayed himself as an open book - always ready to give out information when asked - but in reality he was like a sealed vault with an access code that no one would ever be able to even attempt to get right. 

‘Actually,’ Sugino’s head supplied, ‘he’s more like a bomb. He’s building himself up with so much pressure that one day he’s going to break. Hopefully, my intervention is not too late for that.’

The whole reason he was walking up the stairs of his best friend’s apartment block like a man on a mission was actually because Nagisa’s sudden hermit-like behaviour was noticed not just by him but also his school. He was in his college’s changing rooms, packing up after an hour of baseball practice, when he got a call from Keisetsu University informing him that Nagisa hadn’t showed up for classes in two days and was unreachable (yeah, he made himself Nagisa’s emergency contact for everything - let’s just say an incident happened in high school that involved a hospital and he did not want to repeat it). And then, later, when he called his little brother to tell him that he’s going to come home later, his sibling made a comment that his classmate, Sakura (yep, turns out that the girl that Nagisa tutors and hangs out with is the same age as his little bro and they both go to the same school - which has lead to a lot of interesting stories) has mentioned that Nagisa was ‘acting a bit sad’ when he was helping her with her research essay last week. 

“Well,” Karma’s voice cut into his thoughts like a knife, “we went out for drinks and he got a bit tipsy - okay well, a lot tipsy-”

“You got him drunk?” Kataoka asked disapprovingly.  

“What? It’s not my fault that he’s such a lightweight that one shot makes him stagger. Well, anyways, I asked him what he wanted to do and - this was after like two drinks - and he said ‘I don’t mind as long as I can sleep.”

There was silence after that.

“Well…” Maehara started.

“That’s concerning,” Okajima said.

Kayano sounded horrified, “why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I thought he was talking about his insomnia. We all know that he's had that since junior high and I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks at that point so I didn’t really know what was going on. I knew I had to be concerned but usually pushing him and cornering him only ends up with him pushing you even further.”

“Well, at least Sugino’s there now, right Sugino?” Yada tried to cast a ray of hope onto her friends, “I’m sure that once you speak to him, he might tell us what’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I’m just about to enter the apartment actually,” the black haired boy replied, “the plan is to invite him to a sushi restaurant, he never says no to sushi.”

“I think he’ll like that,” Kayano’s voice displayed her smile, “be sure to look after him for us, alright.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” all of a sudden, he felt every hair stand on end, he felt on edge as he stepped in front of Nagisa’s apartment door, an impending sense of doom loomed over him like a stubborn grey stormcloud, “actually can you guys stay on for a bit please, something feels off.”

“Uhh,” Maehara said, “sure?”

“Is everything alright there, Sugino?” Isogai asked.

“I don’t know,” he buzzed the doorbell. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. He knocked on the door with a call of Nagisa’s name. No answer. He then began pounding onto its wooden surface with his fist, “Nagisa! NAGISA! NAGISA IT’S ME SUGINO! LISTEN, I HAVE THE KEY YOU GAVE ME SO IF YOU DON’T OPEN THE DOOR IN THREE SECONDS I’M COMING IN!”

Ignoring some of his friends’ complaints of him bursting their eardrums, he rummaged through his pockets, procured the spare key Nagisa gave him and turned the lock. He stepped inside to find himself greeted by nothing but the sound of stillness. Everything in his field of vision appeared orderly, no sign of mess apart from a few scattered couch cushions. The many potted plants that Nagisa loved to collect stood slumped, their foliage green but wilting under the institutional white ceiling lights. 

“Sugino, what’s going on?” Maehara asked.

“He’s not here. I can see his shoes and jacket but it’s too quiet.”

“Maybe he’s just asleep,” Kayano supplied.

“Yeah, I’ll go check the bedroom.”

He walked towards Nagisa’s bedroom door with trepidation, his heart drumming like thunder against his chest. It seemed like every second of complete silence caused another tidal wave of fear to crash over him, making his breathing shallower, “Nagisa! Nagisa, buddy, where are you?!”

Slowly he reached towards the door handle, carefully pulling it down with shaking hands before opening it. He looked in front of him and-

Nagisa was there. He was there, alright - with his head slumping loosely from it’s position around a noose. Slivers of glassy blue glinted in the tiny gaps between heavy eyelids. His abnormally pale body, now tinted with light blue hung stock still in the centre of the room and his blue and purple mouth was parted, but no breaths were going to be released anytime soon.

Sugino’s phone felt like water as it slipped through his slackened fingers, it’s screen cracking as the many concerned voices of his former classmates shouted from the device but he couldn’t hear them, couldn’t hear anything apart from the blood rushing past his ears. His eyes focused on his best friend’s suspended form like a movie camera, fading the background and every other surrounding into a blur of nothing. Only this wasn’t a movie, this was real - if the chocked up coughs spasming in his throat and the biting nips of the chilly apartment were anything to go by. 

He screamed.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Side Effects ch.4 (baon)

Summary:  Jeff wasn't in California for the attack, but it doesn't mean he's unaffected.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Mentions of Collars

CH1 | CH2 | CH3

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

...Lawyer, Spy

Jeff(Andy), Antwan, Red, Sans

~~*~~

Jeff could hear the shower running and that more even than any jangling alarm was a sign it was time to get up. Antwan was a stickler in the mornings, he had a routine to go through and he did it like missing out on a proper moisturizing would ruin the day.

Not that Jeff was judging or anything; he couldn’t exactly argue that he didn’t appreciate the efforts. His own daily regiment tended not to have quite so many steps but even so, Jeff’s mental twin, Andy, was wishing that they could skip it all and stay in bed for the day, have a fierce game of ‘Word With Friends’ with Stretch be his most challenging task ahead.

He wasn’t complaining about the workload, hell, no, especially not with so much on the line. Ever since the whole California disaster came down, the entire Embassy had been working feverishly. Public Relations in particular took a hard hit with Humans yet again questioning the safety of having Monster’s living among them.

Jeff didn’t have a problem working hard. He’d spent a long time going to school full time and working alongside it, there’d been plenty of long days in his past. No other job had ever made him want to try so hard as this one. No days of dropping French fries in hot grease or shelving books could compare to knowing he was helping the people walking the streets of New New Home. Monsters who knew his name, who took the time to stop and chat with him or helped him out the time he got a flat tire. All of them depending on the Embassy to ensure they were able to live in this world.

He couldn’t pretend it all wasn’t a little daunting. Before taking Edge’s job offer, his biggest concern was finding an antique book in time for some birthday or a special anniversary. But now he had the neighborhood kids to think about, the ones Stretch was always teaching experiments or playing games with. The stress was getting laid on thick and the past few nights his sleep had been interrupted by nightmares.

Jeff sighed and rolled over, one hand absently settling over his abdomen where the scars were still pink and fresh. The dreams didn’t even have the kindness to be accurate and instead gave him exaggerated memories of pain and blood, of nightmarish men with grinning faces and knives for fingers with the sign for ‘Golden City’ hanging overhead like a bloated moon.

He’d woken in the darkness of the bedroom, tasting sweat and tears. As tired as Antwan was, he seemed to have a spider-sense for those bad dream nights. He’d wake up and turn on the light, the dim yellow glow illuminating the room and showing Jeff that he wasn’t on a dirty sidewalk with cigarette butts getting squashed into his clothes. Nothing around them but furniture and shelves, surrounded by orderly life. Next step was to pull Jeff into his arms and soothing his fears away, murmuring over and over that he loved him, that he was safe, that everything was okay, until he was able to sleep again.

It gave him a hell of a case of the guilts to keep Antwan up, but he still did it, settling into his arms, hoarding every single ‘I love you’ into his mental scrapbook. But the whole nightmare thing was stupid, and frustrating. Really, he hadn’t had this many problems when the whole stabbing actually happened. Why it was bothering him now, Jeff didn’t know, but if it had to be crawling out of the dark corners of his psyche to bother him, at least he could be grateful that Antwan was with him.

The shower was still running. Jeff reached over to grab one of Antwan’s pillows, burying his face against satin. It smelled like him, his cologne and shampoo that came in expensive-looking unmarked bottles. But not sex, not even a whiff of it, because they hadn’t done anything of the sort since the last time the sheets were washed. Mind and body were too tired, they both fell into bed, slept (or woke up to stupid nightmares), woke up, headed in to work. Wash, rinse, repeat.

But.

Jeff didn’t think he’d ever shared a bed with someone who was content just to sleep. Sex was usually a given, expected and doled out. Without it, the best he would have gotten in any of his past relationships was a weak offer to pay for an Uber.

It was…nice. To be able to lay in Antwan’s bed and not worry that the first thing out of his mouth would be ‘are you still here?’, but could be ‘I love you’ or ‘morning, baby,’ or even a quick question about going out to dinner before they came home.

Huh. Home.

Jeff wondered what Antwan would think if he knew Jeff was calling it that in his head. He didn’t think he’d mind. He hoped he wouldn’t.

That made him think guilty of Blue’s house. He only ever stopped in lately to change his clothes, stubbornly refusing to bring more than an overnight bag to Antwan’s. It felt cruel, they’d only been roommate for a couple of months and already Jeff was yearning to leave. With everything that happened, that painfully close call, all Jeff wanted was to pull Antwan closer and he kinda thought Antwan felt the same way. Plus, there was so much he had to handle right now, the Legal department was flooded with work and he wasn’t sure if Antwan even made it to see Edge yet.

Of anyone, Edge would understand but it probably didn’t make Antwan any happier about it.

The bathroom door opening interrupted his wallowing, Antwan wandered in from the shower with the towel his hips dangerously low. Made for a hell of a nice view, especially when instead of beelining to the closet, he detoured to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning in for a kiss. “Morning, baby.”

“My breath is awful,” Jeff protested weakly.

“Don’t care.” But Antwan let Jeff keep it to a closed-mouth peck. When they drew apart, Antwan’s grin widened slyly. “I could give you a kiss someplace that won’t mind morning breath.”

“If you had time for that, you wouldn’t have taken a shower already,” Jeff said dryly, firmly instructing all places below the belt not to give in to the tease.

Antwan leaned away with a groan. “You’re right, we have depositions this morning and I need to get in. Take a rain check, sweetheart.”

“I’ll add it to the collection.”

It was meant a as a tease, but Antwan swooped down on him again and his mouth was as fierce as his words, uncaring of morning breath. “You better. Once things get settled down, I expect you to call them in. When do you have to go in?”

“Not until this afternoon,” Jeff admitted. His lower half was starting to…ahem…raise a protest about all the teasing. A dirty pun, Stretch would be so proud. “Catty told me to sleep in a little.” What she’d actually said was it looked like he was trying to smuggle luggage under his eyes, so he better get a little more sleep before coming back in before he ended up with a full set of fake Louis Vuitton.

One thing he was quickly learning was that the whole taking care of thing? It wasn’t just the skeleton Monsters who did it, plenty of others gave it their best shot. Perfect example, Janice, Edge’s assistant, brought muffins or treats down to the break room at least once a week. It hadn’t escaped Jeff’s notice that since Edge was out of commission, the style of those baked goods changed. Like maybe they were coming from a different kitchen, one attached to the Bun bakery, from a kind-hearted Bun lady who would feed up the Embassy for her boss until he returned.

And then there was Catty, brash and boisterous behind the scenes, but amazingly good at knowing the right thing to say in a press release or a speech. There was no hiding his exhaustion from her keen eyes and so he’d meekly agreed to come in later and sleep away his looming eye bags. If he was going to get any Louis Vuitton, he wanted it to be the real deal.

Still sitting on the bed, Antwan hummed thoughtfully. “This afternoon? Then can I get you to do a quick favor for me before you go in?”

That was unexpected. Curious. “Sure.”

Antwan went into the closet and when he came back out, he was regretfully wearing trousers but also carrying a small box, not much bigger than an Altoids tin. “Swing by Red’s place and drop this off. He’s out sick right now so he won’t be at the Embassy. It might have more impact coming from you, anyway. You know how to get there?”

He didn’t, but the address Antwan gave him wasn’t far. “What is it?”

Yeah, okay, that smile was kinda grim and evil. “He’ll know.”

Jeff took the box, warily. “I’d like to say now that I am opposed to getting in the middle of some kind of prank war between you and Red.”

“No pranks,” Antwan reassured him. “Fuck, no, I wouldn’t do that to you without hiring a bodyguard first. Ask him what they are.”

Yeaaaaah, that probably wasn’t gonna happen. Antwan disappeared back into the closet and Jeff rolled back over, planning on getting a little more of that sweet, sweet morning off sleep. Dealing with what was in the box could wait.

~~*~~

The address Antwan gave Jeff was for the neighborhood that everyone called Old New Home. He drove down the road curiously, tires crunching on the barely plowed pavement. From what he knew, not many Monsters still lived here. Stretch told him these houses were ones put up hastily when they’d first arrived, not much more than a roof over their heads and nothing like the nice, spacious homes everyone was living in now. Some Monsters hadn’t wanted to move, though, and Asgore didn’t force a new place on anyone. But it did mean that the streets were emptier than any others Jeff had seen. The houses weren’t falling down or anything, but most of them did give off an aura of disuse.

The house with the number plate that Antwan gave him was only a step up. Nothing was shoveled but there were footsteps through the snow, leading up to the sidewalk and porch. The driveway was empty; come to think of it, he wasn’t sure Red owned a car, and the curtains were drawn tight over a picture window.

There was no one on the street, the neighboring houses sat with empty, staring windows and untouched snow on their walkways.

Yeah, wow, no Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibes here.

Jeff parked his car on the street and got out, box in hand. There was no way Antwan sent him on a morning death trip, Jeff told himself sternly, following the tamped down path to the door. For one, if Antwan wanted to get rid of him, there had to be easier ways than death by the semi-creepy skeleton gremlin he’d smoked weed with once.

He made it to the door and knocked lightly, hesitantly. Antwan said something about Red being sick and much as he wanted to shove the box at him and hightail it out, he didn’t really want to wake him if he was sleeping it off.

What he did not expect was an entirely different short skeleton to answer the door. Jeff readjusted his perceptions from red to blue as Sans looked up at him.

“heya, andy,” he yawned. He stepped back and held open the door “c’mon in.”

If Red had answered the door, Jeff probably would have shoved the box at him and left. He was Edge’s brother and he worked for the Embassy, so he had to be a good guy, but something about Red was so damned intense. Their private chat a little while ago in his office had been…illuminating and Jeff wouldn’t mind chatting with Red again, but only on his own turf.

Sans, though, he was something else. Jeff liked Sans; they’d done some work together a while back in Stretch’s old lab. Well, okay, Sans did the science and Jeff cleaned up, but still. He seemed a little like Stretch, all puns and hoodies, but Jeff wasn’t really convinced.

He had a bead on everyone else; Edge was a stoic knight in need of some shining armor, and Stretch was the cuttingly brilliant court jester/magician. Red was wearing his secret agent gear and Blue was the caretaker, ready to hop in at any given moment with plenty of tea and opinions. Papyrus was the kid brother Jeff never had and always wanted and that left Sans as…what?

And enigma that was what, hiding secrets behind that permanent smile, and Jeff followed him into the house, asking, “Helping out Red while he’s sick?”

“somethin’ like that,” Sans said agreeably. He was wearing fuzzy pink slippers, socks sagging down his ankles. “want some coffee?”

“Um.” Jeff looked around. The house was…well. Jeff had lived in the college dorms and recently with four other guys crammed into an apartment, and none of those places had been quite this level of trashed. The sofa was sagging at an odd angle, standing despite what was probably a few broken struts. There was a fine litter of trash everywhere, the few clean places like islands with filled garbage bags in the middle. A tabby cat was on the coffee table, tail swishing as it stared at Jeff with deep, all-seeing eyes that made him want to shiver. Hell, if that was what cats were like in New New Home, no wonder Stretch didn’t like them.

Sans’s grin widened, clearly unoffended by Jeff’s lack of enthusiasm. “don’t worry, the kitchen is clean. c’mon, handy andy, caffeine is the best social lubricant they ever came up with.”

He was right about one thing, the kitchen was a lot cleaner and on the counter was a Keurig, the newest looking thing in the whole house. Sans brewed a cup for Jeff and handed it over, leaning against the counter while he started up a second.

Sans waited long enough for Jeff to doctor his coffee with sugar and cream, then asked, “so what can i do for you?”

“Um, Antwan asked me to bring Red this box.” Jeff pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the table, plain and innocuous. Sans hummed curiously and grabbed his cup of coffee, wandering over to the table.

He poked the box with an idle finger, “antwan did, huh. normally, that wouldn’t worry me too much, but he and red were squabbling not too long ago.”

“Squabbling?” That was news to him, he’d always thought Antwan and Red were at least okay friends. They had a regular outing on Wednesdays at the bar, talking about who the hell knew what, maybe only watching a game? Jeff wasn’t much into sports and a couple times, Jeff went to bed without Antwan on a Wednesday and got woken up by whiskey-sweet kisses that turned into some great sex. Hanging out with Red relaxed Antwan, usually, and Jeff had a vested interest in hoping those two weren’t on the outs. “About what?”

“oh, you know,” Sans said absently. He reached up, those bony fingers settling at his throat and for the first time Jeff noticed that over the collar of Sans’s shirt he was wearing what looked like a choker of some sort.

He’d never seen Sans wearing anything but his normal hoodie and shorts, with the only exception being Stretch and Edge’s wedding. Something that pretty on him almost seemed out of place, delicately tooled leather with an intricate buckle.

“Wow, that’s really nice! Detailed work, is it new?” Jeff reached out without thinking and Sans slid back a step so smoothly it hardly looked like he moved at all. That woke his stupid ass up; for crying out loud, Sans was wearing a collar with a heart buckle and he didn’t twig to it? A hot blush flooded his face as Jeff stammered out, “Oh, fuck, sorry! Of course, it’s personal, that was so stupid of me!”

“nah, it’s okay, andy, you didn’t know,” Sans’s easy grin didn’t fade one iota, perfectly cheerful. “it is new, still getting used to it.” Jeff nodded so hard his neck joints popped and Sans picked up the box, shaking it lightly. “any idea what it is?”

“Antwan told me to ask Red,” Jeff admitted.

“huh. why don’t we find out?”

Curiosity overwhelmed Jeff, drowning any guilt and leftover embarrassment. Hey, he wasn’t the one opening it, right?”

Sans slit open the tape holding the box closed with one bony finger, lifting the lid. His eye lights flared, a mini supernova of white, then dimmed back down, showing nothing but amusement. “heh, okay, hint taken.”

Jeff only frowned, peering at the contents. They looked like thumbtacks, cuff-links? He wasn’t sure, weird rounded bits of metal with pokey-looking ends. “What are they?”

“all the surveillance devices red hid in your place.”

Sans said it with such ease that it took a second for Jeff to actually hear the words. “Wait, what?”

Sans offered a lazy shrug. “it’s just audio and he keeps ‘em to the common areas, no bedrooms or johns. look at it this way, red has unique ways of showing he cares. he doesn’t even listen to ‘em, really, it’s more like…just in case.”

That seemed like a whale-sized understatement. But Antwan clearly wasn’t too upset about it if all he was doing was returning them to the sender.

Probably he should be pissed off about this. At Red, Antwan, even Sans, it was obvious he knew about them and no one bothered to give him a heads up. It was a huge damned invasion of privacy and if Jeff found them in an AirBnB he probably would have the police on the phone.

But instead he found himself weirdly touched, almost giggling at the mental image of Red creeping through the patio door to plant listening devices in their kitchen, sneakers creaking with every step like an old-timey cartoon.

He wondered a little giddily what the first signs of Stockholm syndrome were.

Bemused, Jeff shook the box. There were a lot of them. “So, how many are at Edge and Stretch’s place?”

“heh, i’m not even sure he knows anymore.”

“i know exactly how many, and where they all are, thanks.” That voice came from the doorway and Jeff jerked, almost spilling his coffee as he turned to see Red standing there, hands tucked into his pockets, grinning at them both with sharky teeth.

He was wearing a ratty sweatshirt and shorts, his trademark jacket missing and his bony feet bare. It made him look smaller and maybe most people would seem more vulnerable like that, stripped down to their basics. Jeff didn’t think much could make that word apply to Red. Instead, it made him think of the way a mongoose could fight a cobra.

Red wandered in and Jeff was pretty sure the surprise on Sans’s face was mirrored on his own when Red gave Sans a kiss, stealing his coffee cup in the process. He kept an arm slung around Sans, who looked positively frozen, sockets wide, his eye lights extinguished, wow, that was the face of someone who needed a processor reboot, stat.

“like the new gear, huh.” Red smirked, licking his teeth as he ran what could only be called a possessive thumb over that smooth black leather. “he finally has my name all over him.” And before Jeff could come up with anything to say to that, Red looked him over, assessing. “you’d look good in one, too. maybe i should mention it to antwan.”

Okay, holy shit, back this way the hell up. “I…uh…I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Red licked his teeth again, those crimson eye lights glittering with fiendish humor. “don’t play those games, huh?”

Well he wouldn’t say that--”Um…I think Antwan might be grouchy with you.” He reached out and pushed the little box in Red’s direction and it was not in desperate self-preservation, thank you, he was only making sure he could tell Antwan honestly that he’d given it to Red.

“no sense of humor,” Red murmured. He peered into the box, poking into it with one sharp finger. “huh, looks like he found all of ‘em. good on him.”

Yeahhhh, like he didn’t believe Red was just saying that while there were three other ones were still tucked into the ceiling fan or something. “You’re going to sneak more cameras into his…our house. Aren’t you.”

Red and Sans both had an awful shrug addiction and Jeff was slowly starting to figure out to how to read the subtitles attached to them. Red’s most recent shrug held an undercurrent of defensiveness, proved by the way he said, “i keep a close eye on shit. especially my family, kid, you get me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” From the way that made a flutter of warmth rise in Jeff’s chest, he’d say that his Stockholm syndrome was coming along nicely.

Red nodded. “good. remember it and you’ll do fine.” He tapped a finger against Jeff's coffee mug, the pointed tip tinging against the ceramic. "you done espresso-ing yourself now?.

Sans looked like he was starting to slowly recover from his shock, eye lights back, but still a little dazed. Not that Jeff could blame him, Red was still stroking that collar, his fingers grazing the bone above the leather and Jeff was pretty sure he was in danger of overstaying his welcome. Whatever Red said he had when he called in sick, Jeff thought it might be the better side of staying alive to not spread it around it was actually for a booty call. A booty call that was getting dangerously close to being on speakerphone.

He hastily downed the last of his nearly cold coffee and stood, blurting out, “Um, yes! Thank you.”

“thanks for what, andy?” Red purred out, right next to the little ear hole on Sans’s skull. Sans’s eye lights dilated down to pinpricks and yeah, this was starting to feel like a bad invitation to early foreplay. His own body was perking up, fuck, he wasn’t attracted to Red or Sans, but it’d been days, he was young, and he was used to some pretty regular orgasm time. Thinking about any kind of sex was putting him at risk; the absolutely last thing he wanted was to pop an accidental boner in front of the all-seeing spy here.

“For everything,” Jeff blurted. “For, um, taking the box. I’ll see you later at…somewhere!”

He was halfway to the door when Red called out, teasingly. “see you around, handy andy. next time the coffee is on you, brewtiful.”

So damned knowing. Jeff ignored it and his flaming cheeks, hurrying out the door, nearly slamming it behind him as he ran out to his car. There were still a few hours before he had to be to work. Plenty some time for a little personal handling.

Hm, might even be a chance to try something a little risqué. Jeff never was keen on nude pictures or videos; he’d seen way too many people get screwed over with those. But those recording devices gave him an idea; audio only.

With a little effort, maybe he could come up with something for Antwan to listen to on his ride home, to help stave off the exhaustion. Probably not the outcome Antwan was expecting, but hey, Jeff had a few rain checks to call in.

Might be time to get started.

tbc

[angrylizardjacket]

compound regret {Nikki Sixx}

Summary: You’re always the one cleaning up after Motley Crue, that was your job. You didn’t expect an apology, or anything really, but some reassurance that they liked having you around, that they didn’t just think of you as some hard ass or buzzkill would be nice once in a while. Except when that reassurance comes around, Nikki doesn’t exactly remember giving it. In fact, he’s worried he’s told you something far more incriminating. 

A/N: 2701 words. @yourqueeniac sent me a message about Douglas!Nikki and honestly the writing demon reached through the screen and possessed me I guess. this is not the direction i thought it would go.

“Fuck,” Nikki wakes up in the middle of the afternoon on couch seat at back of the tour bus, his stomach lurching as they’re speeding down the highway. He doesn’t remember how he got there, just knows that he needs to get to the bathroom before everything he drank last night ends up on the floor of the bus. You’re almost knocked flying where you’ve come to offer a bottle of water in his mad dash for the bathroom, while Vince and Tommy are already laughing, and Mick takes the now vacated space, opting for a nap in the sunlight.

“Good morning!” You sing, loud and purposefully off key to the obviously hung over musician, and though he tries to tell you to shut it, he can’t get the words out before he starts retching into the toilet. You seem... far more cheerful than usual, well, compared to other mornings where one of the band members wakes up puking and drenched in sweat and regret. 

By the time he staggers back out, looking marginally more human and alive, you’re thankfully drawing close to the next destination, and he’s just glad he’d managed to sleep through most of the travelling, because what little he has left already feels like hell. 

“How do you feel?” You ask sweetly, sitting at the table beside Doc, who’s reading the paper and pointedly not looking at Nikki. The bassist is confused for a moment, frowning at where you’re smiling so brightly up at him, obviously pleased, though the reason as to why is a complete mystery to him. 

“Like I never want to drink again,” Nikki grumbles, taking a seat beside you, reaching for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the other side of the table anyways, ignoring the water you offer him. 

“You smell like a dumpster, which is surprising since you didn’t even throw up on yourself last night, how do you do it?” You smirk, your nose wrinkling a little, but you seem amused by this more than anything else. Doc huffs out a laugh but doesn’t look up. 

“How the fuck should I know?” Nikki unscrews the lid of the bottle and flicks it at Doc, who dodges out of the way easily. He takes a long sip. “The fuck even happened last night?”

“So you don’t remember drinking that rocket-fuel vodka shit and declaring yourself King of Hell?” You give him the biggest shit-eating grin as he grimaces and takes another swig of whiskey. “I’m pretty sure you’d already gone hard on the zombie dust so I don’t blame you.” 

“Fuck,” Nikki grumbled again, averting his gaze. That sounds very believably like something he’d do, though he must have drunk a lot more than usual to have him knocked out for so long, and for him to have received such a metaphorical kick to the balls the moment he woke up. And that still didn’t go about explaining your cheery mood, you, Doc’s long suffering assistant who often had the unpleasant job of wrangling the rowdy stragglers of the band into bed when they found themselves, on the off chance, sleeping by themselves. 

So he’s pretty sure you’re the reason he’d ended safely back on the bus, but by the sounds of it, he’d made you work for it- so why weren’t you hating his guts like usual after a night like that?

“You’d make a terrible King.” Mick interjects from the back of the bus in all his deadpan seriousness, though when you chance a look back at him, he’s got one eye cracked open, smiling ever so slightly.

“Fuck you,” Nikki snaps back, holding his head in his hands. 

“’be a great King of the Jackasses, maybe,” Doc adds, and turns the page of the paper. Nikki doesn’t even have it in him to reply. 

It’s five, around the time they get to the next tour stop and they’ve checked into the hotel for the night, that that a sinking suspicion creeps it’s way into Nikki’s heart. 

He’d said something.

He must have. The secret he’d been keeping essentially since the first moment on tour, when he’d begun to spend time in close proximity to you, the stupid little crush that had been festering away in his heart since you and he had joked about while carrying a pantless, passed out Tommy to bed after the very first gig. Last night, Drunk Nikki must have said something. 

On paper, it sounds like it would be a good thing, except that Nikki was well aware that he would be profoundly disappointing in a romantic capacity, despite what his heart wants. He knows his self control is garbage, and that he’d end up screwing up somehow, in any number of various ways, and god he loves the way you’re smiling right now, but he can’t help but fear it’s from false hope.

“You okay? Everything sorted and ready for tonight?” It’s like a routine, everyone gets their hotel rooms set up before heading to the venue for the night, and you, like clockwork, would always go around to every room and make sure each of the boys was sorted.

“Did I say something to you last night?” Nikki asks, sitting at the edge of his bed, frowning with a surprising intensity. To your eye at least, he’d managed to mostly recover from the morning, and you stepped into the room.

“You said a lot of things last night,” it came out amused, but did nothing to quell the nervousness in Nikki’s chest. 

“Like what?”

A long pause follows and you step into the room, letting the door shut gently behind you. He’s looking at his hands, can’t bring himself to actually turn his gaze upon you, but when you finally speak, your voice is surprisingly soft.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” And as you say it, he can feel the fear rising in him, finally looking up to where you’re regarding him with a look of concern. “I was trying to convince you to put your pants back on,” already a bad way to start a story potentially about feelings, Nikki considers, and you continue, “and I apologised for being a hardass and a buzzkill-”

“You’re not.” Nikki’s response is automatic, and his heart lifts as your expression automatically brightens.

“Yeah, that’s what you said then.” There’s a silence that follows, and your regarding him with an almost fond sadness, lips parted like there’s something else you want to say, but you seem to think better of it, just giving him a small smile. “You did insist I stay with you, which I did; I didn’t realise you were a clingy sleeper.” You half laugh, and Nikki feels himself turn red, averting his gaze once more. 

“Why the bus? I had a room-”

“You lost your room keys, and honestly it was just easier.” You shrugged. After a beat, you took a deep breath, smiling brightly at him. “So you ready for tonight?”

The show goes great, goes incredibly, screaming and cheering from the fans, lights blinding overhead, a mind almost whited-out with pre-show blow, and his body’s on autopilot as he plays to the adoring crowd. But there you are, side of stage, cheering and beaming and all he can think about. 

Something about your conversation earlier had been playing in his mind, you’d been telling the truth, but part of him knows it’s not the whole truth, and something tells him that it’s part of the truth that you’re keeping hidden that’s making you smile so bright, that’s responsible for the new, relaxed set of your shoulders.

The surprise, however, comes when you’re at the after party; he knew it was your night off but you usually spent it catching up on sleep. But here you were, chatting with some groupie, a drink in hand, looking like you’re actually enjoying yourself.

Nikki tries not to bother you, to let you enjoy yourself without the thought of your work looming in the background. He manages for about an hour, maybe a little less, but eventually he spots you heading for the door and he’s moving without thinking; if you’re leaving, he needs to say something, even if he’s not sure what. 

“Are you- you okay?” He’s surprised when the words stumble out of his mouth, and you seem surprised to see him there at all.

“Yeah- I- do you need anything?” Brow furrowing, you step towards him where he’s still holding your wrist. It’s immediate, despite the buzz you’ve got going on, your mind immediately snaps into work mode, worrying about him even when you don’t need to. It endeared you to him without you even realising.

“Sorry,” he frowned for a moment, trying to get his words together in his mind, and your expression was already softening, “about last night and everything; I don’t know what happened.”

“You’re a rockstar, you don’t need to apologise, it’s part of the job,” you try to alleviate his stress, hand coming to rest on his chest, though the contact surprises him.

“That’s fucked- that’s fucked up. Like I know we do fucked up shit, but to not expect an apology? Fucked.” He finds himself rambling, and he sees on your face that he’s just drunk, spouting the first thing that comes to his mind, “What else did I say to you last night?” His thoughts then come to an abrupt halt as he watches you for an answer. 

“Doesn’t matter, Nikki-” you try, but he’s frowning now. You just seem... tired.

“Yes it does, okay, I’m worried that I told you I love you or some shit and I don’t wanna fill you with false hope or any garbage like that!” The words spill out too fast for him to stop them. “I was out of my fucking mind, I just-”

“You told me you were grateful to have me around.” You scowled, wrenching your hand from his grip. “That’s all.”

He watches you go, weaving through the groupies who had spilled out into the hall, and something about it has his heart sinking. He tries, god he tries to enjoy the after party, but his drunk mind is traitorous and decides to now discover the concept of guilt, and drown him in it.

When he knock on you door, you ask who it is, and immediately tell him to fuck off once you find out who it is.

“It’s an emergency.” He tries, and he hears your loud, begrudging sigh, and then footsteps, and then the sound of the door unlocking.

“What?” You sigh; you’re wearing pyjamas, specifically an oversized Motley Crue shirt and little silk shorts.  “It’s my night off, Nikki, what’s the emergency?” You raise an eyebrow at where he’s giving you a surprised look over. He’s got half a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Go to bed,” your voice is gentle but you go to shut the door anyhow.

“You’re good to me; better than anyone like me fuckin’ deserves,” he starts, and already your breath is caught in your throat. It’s moments like this, affirmations that the rockstar you’d come to adore actually spared you more than a passing thought, might actually like having you around, instead of the just thinking of you as the nuisance that tried to make him sober up and put on pants, that made you feel a little warmer inside, as stupid as that may sound from the outside.

The thing is, it’s not that you’re blind to the bassist’s exploits, quite the opposite in fact, but there was a small part of you that had developed feelings for him, for the almost admirable way he tries to prove himself to be hardcore, to the softer, goofier side you only saw brief glimpses of when he didn’t try so hard to be the person everyone thought he was. 

You were under no illusions regarding who he was, you wouldn’t trust him as far as you could throw him; you’d spent too much time with him to think differently, but your heart had been traitorous from the outset.

In all honesty, you knew why he’d said what he’d said earlier, about false hope, both of you too self aware to expect this to go well for more than a day or so before something terrible happened. And you knew he knew this too.

But he’s here, in your doorway.

“I’m paid to clean up your messes, Sixx,” you try, but you step back into the room, gesturing for him to come inside.

“You and everyone else on tour,” Nikki rolls his eyes, “none of them care half as much as you.” He paused, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it, watching as you took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to stay with me last night, anyone else would have just told me to fuck off, handcuff me so I couldn’t get away,” and he’s got you there.

“I am too good to you,” you’re still trying to keep up your annoyed front, but it’s crumbling quickly, “shouldn’t you be at the after party?”

“Thought I’d cut out the middle man, come to you instead of getting you to pick me up from some gutter in a few hours.” He’s smiling a little at that, taking a swig from his bottle. Part of you wants to argue that it’s your night off, but you both know his assumption is fairly spot on. You can’t help but laugh a little, shooting him a look that is both somehow exasperated and grateful. 

His answering smile has relief at the edges, and he steps forwards, putting the bottle on the counter of the kitchenette, and walking around to flop down on the empty side of the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Why’d you really come here?” 

He looks at you, frowning slightly, hesitating like he doesn’t want to admit the reason, perhaps breaking his tough-guy with no real feelings facade.

“Felt bad seeing you leave like that.” It’s far more honest than you were expecting, which must show on your face because he’s smirking. “I don’t feel bad about a lot of shit so you must be a special case,” and oh, okay there’s a fluttering in your chest and he’s grimacing like he regrets admitting that much.

“I suppose you’d probably collapse if you started feeling regret for everything you should,” you half laugh, and he makes a noise of indignance. But then you’re laying on your side beside him, propped up on your elbow, grinning at him. “Hey, can I -?” You’re gently holding his chin, just enough that his gaze meets yours.

“Should I regret this?” He asks, a scoff in his words, but your grin just widens in response. 

“Should I?” You tease in response, and he can’t keep up the annoyed act, his expression turning to a cheeky smile as he props himself up, out of your grip and into your space. He’s so close to you, you can see the smudge of eyeliner still around his eyes, black streaks across his cheeks where he hadn’t managed to wipe all of his makeup away, and you can’t help but smile softly at the sight; it’s surprisingly humanising. And he likes watching the way you smile.

“Probably.” He snickers, but that’s when your gaze meets his, surprised and bright in equal measures, but he leans in. He tastes like whiskey, and something else a little heady that you can’t quite place, perhaps a fruity cocktail, maybe the remains of some pills or tabs he’d had once the show had ended; he tasted like something you knew you should regret, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“We all like having you around,” he grins sharply, pulling back, “but me especially.” 

“You’re such a suck up,” you rolled your eyes, laying back against the bed and huffing out a laugh, as if trying to come to terms with everything that was happening. And then he’s shifting to hover above you, still smiling, though it’s fond this time.

“Is it working?”

The way you pull him in to kiss him again is answer enough.

[hungline]

everything led to you

pairings: jihope, side namyoonjin and taekook  genre: fluff, mild smut, developing relationship au, rated m  warnings: implied sexual content  words: 6000 

summary: At first glance, there was nothing really spectacular about the boy. But after months of just watching him, Hoseok knew that the orange haired boy was quite extraordinary. 

Of course, back when Hoseok first caught a glimpse of him, his hair hadn't been orange. Instead, it’d been a dark brown, but it wasn't like Hoseok didn't like the boy’s new orange hair. The color quite suited the younger boy. It made his features more softer and when he smiled at the cashier, his eye smile appeared to be even more larger than before. Hoseok couldn't deny that he absolutely adored the color on the boy.

//

Or, when Hoseok finally gained the courage to ask for what he wanted. 

The first time Hoseok and Jimin talked to one another, Hoseok was drenched to his core in the rain.

It was after Hoseok had entered the cafe that was a few blocks down from his company’s building. He'd only just stepped through the door when the heavens opened up. He watched as rain began to pour relentlessly down onto the Earth’s surface.

He turned his back on the heavy rain soon after and approached the counter, ordering a sandwich and soup before paying and taking a seat at his usual table. Then he waited.

Waited for what, he wasn't sure about. He could've been waiting for the rain to let up. Or for the rain to increase in frequency instead. In reality, however, Hoseok knew he'd been waiting for the orange haired boy with soft features and a lean body to walk through the cafe doors, shaking the rain off his purple umbrella as he went. He slipped his umbrella into the umbrella stand by the door then approached the counter with a broad smile that took Hoseok’s breath away.

At first glance, there was nothing really spectacular about the boy. But after months of just watching him, Hoseok knew that the orange haired boy was quite extraordinary.

Of course, back when Hoseok first caught a glimpse of him, his hair hadn't been orange. Instead it’d been a dark brown, but it wasn't like Hoseok didn't like the boy’s new orange hair. The color quite suited the younger boy. It made his features more softer and when he smiled at the cashier, his eye smile appeared to be even more larger than before. Hoseok couldn't deny that he absolutely adored the color on the boy.

And, well, the boy wasn’t really a boy, but more of a young man. Perhaps a year younger than Hoseok at most, though most of the time, Hoseok felt like a forty year old man due to his stressful job as an architect’s assistant. He was really only twenty five, and in comparison, the orange haired boy seemed like a child with the aura of naivety that surrounded him, which was only complimented by his bubbly-like personality. Hoseok had been wanting to ask out the boy for months, yet it was the apparent contrast in their personalities that held him back.

This never stopped him from staring though and, apparently, it never stopped the orange haired boy from staring back as well.

At first, Hoseok had thought he'd been sneaky with his staring, but it was clear that he hadn't been if the brown eyes staring back at him with a half-smile accompanying them was anything to go by. This had been going on five days a week for five months and with the springtime storms rolling in, Hoseok had grown increasingly restless. He wanted to ask out the orange haired boy, and he wanted to do it soon, but it was their differences that discouraged him.

So after finishing his lunch, Hoseok promptly stood up, threw away his trash and dropped a tip into the cashier’s jar before he approached the cafe’s door. Rain was falling heavily outside, misting the air and making everything about the city appear gray. Hoseok let out a quiet sigh before zipping his jacket up the rest of the way and quickly stepping out into the pouring rain.

Hoseok was immediately drenched. He made the mistake of looking up towards the sky and was greeted by a face-full of freezing rain seeping into the pores of his cheeks and dribbling into his hairline. He could hear the thunder booming in the background and felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. Hoseok let his head fall back down and started walking, keeping close to the side of the sidewalk to gain some coverage from the rain by ducking under the eaves of shops.

Hoseok jumped when the lightning began. At first, the flashes of light and booming sounds of thunder were bearable, but after Hoseok had taken a few more steps and the weather had only gotten worse, he felt his resolve begin to crumble. It was no secret that Hoseok was deathly afraid of storms, and usually he was able to handle it very well. But out in a storm, drenched in rain with the cold rippling down his back and the lash of the bitter wind biting his exposed skin he couldn't help but lose some of his resolve when another streak of lightning flashed across the sky.

He wound his arms around himself and held on fiercely to the sleeves of his jacket. Hoseok completely missed the fact that underneath the sound of the crackling thunder, was the sound of the cafe door opening and closing shut a few feet behind him. He missed the sound of hurried footsteps slapping against the wet pavement, approaching him quickly. He didn't realize that there was another person beside him until the purple fabric of a large umbrella hung over his head, shielding him from the harsh, relentless rain that fell all around them.

Hoseok looked to his side and found the orange haired boy beside him, a timid smile spread across his face as he stared back at the elder.

“H-h…” Hoseok trailed off, unable to continue due to the constant clattering of his teeth.

“I saw you leave without an umbrella. I was worried,” the boy bit his lip, his tone nervous and his voice sounding just as soft and melodious as Hoseok had thought it would be.

A shiver rolled down Hoseok’s spine, making it seem like he was spasming. A warm arm was suddenly around his waist and he was quickly being pulled into the boy’s side. Hoseok let out a small noise of indignation, not wanting to get the boy wet with his soaked through clothes. The boy’s response was rubbing circles into Hoseok’s waist and holding him even tighter to his side.

“My name’s Park Jimin, by the way,” the boy’s voice was somehow softer than before, almost crooning to Hoseok.

“J-Jung Ho-Hoseok,” he responded, his teeth clashing together maddeningly.

“Where you headed to, Hoseok-ssi?”

Hoseok pointed a finger in the direction of the architecture company’s building that loomed overhead and wasn't far from where they stood. Hoseok jumped when another boom of thunder sounded in the distance and lightning flashed across the dark sky. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fought to take it out, his fingers shaking and the cold of the rain still seeping into his skin.

“May I?” Jimin’s voice rang out beside him, one hand gripping onto the handle of the umbrella and the other clutching onto Hoseok’s waist, but his head inclined towards Hoseok’s cellphone.

Hoseok took the handle of the umbrella that Jimin held out to him and handed his phone off to the orange haired boy. Jimin deftly unlocked Hoseok’s phone (Hoseok had never really seen the point to putting a password on it) and read the email notification that had made Hoseok’s phone vibrate in his pocket beforehand.

“Hoseok-ssi, your boss says that you’ve got the rest of the day off. Your boss sent a email out to all the employees saying that the storm is going to get worse and it'd be best for everyone to head home and wait it out,” Jimin said matter-of-factly while handing Hoseok his phone back and taking the umbrella handle from him.

Hoseok nodded. He still needed to get back to the building, his car was parked in the underground car garage.

“Thank y-you, Jimin-ssi,” Hoseok muttered, his teeth moving more freely now that his shivers had begun to fade away.

The warmth of Jimin's arm around him and his body pressed against his was soothing. Hoseok found himself clinging to the boy as another peal of thunder rang and the rain increased in frequency as they walked. Then finally, finally, they reached the company building. They paused under the large tarp that covered the entrance into the building and Jimin closed his umbrella, shaking the raindrops off it as he did.

Hoseok then tugged on Jimin’s hand, pulling him along behind him as they entered through the side entrance and walked down into the underground car garage. If Jimin had kindly offered his umbrella and something for Hoseok to hold onto as they stumbled through the storm, then Hoseok was going to return the favor by giving the orange haired boy a ride home. He cleared his throat as they came up to his car, a mid-sized sedan the color of emeralds that Hoseok admired very much.

“Can I give you a ride to where you need to go, Jimin-ssi?” Hoseok asked, his voice clearer than before and his eyes finally meeting the brown eyes that he usually only saw with the surroundings of the cafe as their background.

“It's alright, you don't need to go to the trouble, Hoseok-ssi,” Jimin responded, a bashful smile spreading his lips wide.

“And you didn't need to go through the trouble of walking me here, but you did anyways. So, please, let me do this for you. I wouldn't want you to walk in the rain right now and then catch a cold, Jimin-ssi,” Hoseok argued, a smile fighting its way onto his lips.

Jimin stared at him, his eyes lingering on the smile that Hoseok offered him before he grinned in response and nodded his head. “Alright, Hoseok-ssi. Can you drop me off at my place?”

Hoseok’s smile grew. “Of course, Jimin-ssi. Just point me in the right direction.”

Jimin nodded and Hoseok rushed to open his door for him. The younger stepped inside Hoseok’s car and Hoseok closed the door once Jimin was settled. In a flash, he was in the driver’s seat, turning the car on and swiftly driving out of the car garage and onto the slick, rain-soaked streets of Seoul. Hoseok didn’t care if the seats got wet and with his windshield wipers working like mad, Hoseok managed to follow Jimin’s directions to a fault. When he took the last turn onto his own street, he couldn't help the racing feeling of excitement that ran through him as he pondered over how close Jimin’s place might be to his own.

“You can turn into this parking lot here,” Jimin pointed to a parking lot opening beside the apartment complex that Hoseok lived in.

Hoseok drove into his designated parking spot and turned off his car, twisting into his seat to shoot Jimin a large grin.

“I live here too,” Hoseok mumbled.

"How coincidental,” the orange haired boy offered, a playful smile teetering on the edge of his lips.

But Hoseok didn't believe in coincidences. This was a sign from every deity out there that this was Hoseok’s chance. Hoseok was being pushed and prodded by the force of destiny itself to finallyーfucking finallyーask Jimin out on a date like he'd been wanting to for months.

“Uh. Do you...Would you w-want to go outー” Hoseok began, his voice shaking and the rain pattering onto the hood of Hoseok’s car causing another shiver to run down his spine.

Jimin cut him off before he could finish. “I thought you'd never ask. Friday night at eight?”

Hoseok nodded slowly, struck dumb and unable to speak as he rushed to the other side of the car to open the door for Jimin. Jimin stepped out and quickly opened his umbrella as another booming peal of thunder rang out and the rain continued to fall down harshly onto the Earth. Hoseok locked his car and took the hand that Jimin offered him as they stepped into the apartment complex.

Hoseok sputtered when he realized that Jimin lived on the same floor as him, and froze at the doorstep of Jimin’s apartment.

“You can stay, if you need company until the storm passes through I mean,” Jimin smiled, opening his door wide for Hoseok to step through.

Hoseok hesitated briefly before accepting and walking through. “I can't believeー”

Jimin laughed. “Yeah, you live right down the hallway, huh?” Hoseok nodded and Jimin chuckled again. “I know. I've known for months, just been waiting for you to notice.”

Hoseok stared at him, his eyes wide and mouth probably hanging open as well while Jimin only smiled sweetly at him. “Sit down. I'll go make us some cocoa.”

“You're very unobservant, Hoseok-ssi,” Jimin’s musical voice rose from the kitchen as Hoseok slumped onto the boy’s couch. “But you can keep me company until the storm’s over though, right?”

Jimin didn’t seem to care that Hoseok was dripping water onto his couch. Hoseok looked around him, surprised at the normalcy of Jimin’s apartment. He could hear Jimin rustling about in the kitchen, putting pots on the stove and opening the oven door, but all he could really focus on was that Jimin was asking him to stay. The fridge and cabinet doors opened then were closed shut, but the noise didn't draw Hoseok out of his thoughts. What brought Hoseok back to reality was the lights suddenly going out.

“Yeah,” Hoseok murmured as Jimin walked back into the living room, a tray of hot chocolate and lit candles in his hands. “I’ll stay.”

True to his word, Hoseok stayed.

Hoseok and Jimin didn’t have their first kiss that Friday. Or two Fridays after. Or the Saturday three weeks after that (Saturday because Jimin had come down with a cold on Thursday and Hoseok had thought it his duty to dote on him hand-and-foot on Friday).

Jimin and Hoseok had their first kiss on their fourth date, in the middle of a music festival, drenched in neon body paint while some edgy high schoolers in an indie-rock band muffled the world around them with their music.

They were both nervous, but that was expected when Hoseok had just asked Jimin to be his boyfriend.

Of course, Hoseok had tried his best to appear cool and calm, but in reality, he was jumping around and screaming like a madman on the inside. He’d known Jimin for over a month already and he wanted the younger to officially be his. So he took the plunge and asked.

At first, Jimin didn’t hear him, the music was too loud for him to decipher Hoseok’s mumbled request. It wasn’t until Hoseok had pulled the younger into his chest and let his mouth drop closely to Jimin’s ear that Jimin was able to make out what the elder was saying.

“Jimin-ah, would you like to go out with me?” Hoseok’s voice trembled.

Jimin smiled. “Sure, hyung! Where do you have in mind for next time?”

Hoseok drew back a bit to look Jimin clearly in the face, his brow scrunched together. Jimin stared back, almost going cross-eyed with the effort of looking at the elder while he stood so close. Hoseok drew him in again, tighter than before, and let out a small sigh right by Jimin’s ear. This caused a shiver to run down the younger’s back.

“No, Jimin-ah. I mean, would you like to be my boyfriend?” Hoseok formed the last word so that it sounded like a question when it left his lips.

Jimin stilled, not really expecting for Hoseok to ask this of him so soon. It had, after all, taken many months for Hoseok to ask out Jimin on a date. Jimin had thought that Hoseok would ask him to be his after at least three months of casual dating—six if he were really unlucky—but he hadn’t thought Hoseok would ask him after just a month. Either way, Jimin was beyond ecstatic.

Which was why he thought it’d be fun to watch the elder sweat a little before he said yes.

“Boyfriend?” Jimin asked, cocking his head to the side at just the right angle.

Hoseok visibly gulped. “Yes. Boyfriend.”

“As in, a committed relationship boyfriend?”

Hoseok nodded, sweat forming on his brow. He had expected an immediate yes, but now doubt was beginning to form in the back of his mind that the younger wasn’t as interested in him as he was.

“As in, going on cute, cliché, cafe dates boyfriend?”

“They’re not cliché…” Hoseok began, his voice trailing off when he realized that getting into an argument about dates wasn’t the ideal thing to do when he was asking Jimin out. “Yes.”

“As in—” Jimin had a large, teasing grin on his face.

“Jimin!” Hoseok exclaimed, indignant enough for the younger to see through his once calm mask. “Come on, stop teasing. I’m being serious here.”

Jimin smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like you’re being very serious.”

Hoseok blinked, dumbfounded. “Do you want me to scream it at the top of my lungs right here, right now?”

“Well, I suppose that would make your point more clear and make this super serious too...so yes!” Jimin smirked, staring down Hoseok who had begun to sweat nervously. “I want you to yell it at the top of your lungs that you are really asking me to be your boyfriend who you will be fully committed to and will take on cliché, cafe dates often.”

Hoseok gulped, then took a step back from Jimin. He smoothed down his shirt, patted his hair down, and wiped the sweat on his forehead away. The younger stared at him as he took a deep breath and raised his hands towards his sharply defined jaw. The elder’s gaze bore into Jimin’s sockets as he cupped his mouth and let out a piercing and deafening shout, “JIMIN-AH! WILL YOU BE MY BOYー”

The rest was cut off when Jimin nearly body slammed Hoseok to the ground as he rushed forward to clamp his hand over the elder’s mouth. Hoseok had decided to commence his shrieking when there’d been a pause in the music around them while one song ended and the next one began, which meant that almost everyone there had heard Hoseok loud and clear.

“Hyung! I was only just kidding!” Jimin spoke fervently, being loud enough for only Hoseok, and not the large crowd of staring people around them, to hear him. Thankfully, a song started then and Jimin didn’t have to worry about anyone eavesdropping on their exchange.

Hoseok gently pried Jimin’s hand off his mouth to quietly say. “I wasn’t. Jimin-ah, I meant it. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Jimin smiled, only just then taking notice of the mess of paint on Hoseok’s clothes, bits of his hair and his chin. “Honestly, I thought you would never ask, hyung.”

“I’d have to be stupid not to, Jiminnie.”

Jimin’s grin grew impossibly wide. “Well when you put it like that, then yes. I’d love to be your boyfriend, hyung.”

Hoseok’s responding grin split his face in two. “Holy shit.”

Jimin could only laugh.

“No, seriously I’m so incredibly happy I could just kiss you!” Hoseok exclaimed, capturing Jimin’s face in between his hands, then froze when he realized what he had said. “Oh! Um. I mean...Iー”

“It’s alright, hyung,” Jimin grabbed hold of Hoseok’s wrists. “I’d like that.”

Hoseok stared at him, his brown eyes blown wide and only partially covered by his paint-splattered bangs. Jimin being alright with the idea of them kissing so soon had surprised him. He hadn’t thought that Jimin would feel as eager as him to join together and delve deeper into the beginning of a relationship. But then again, Jimin had been surprising him since they had first met.

So Hoseok took in a deep breath and gave the younger a soft smile. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s flushed face only complemented the fading orange of his hair. Hoseok thought he was most beautiful when he looked like this.

Even if Hoseok’s palms were beginning to feel clammy against Jimin’s round face, even if his knees trembled in his green, paint splattered pants, and even if his mind raced a mile a minute from the thought of kissing Jimin, Hoseok hid it all under a warm and comforting smile that he directed towards the younger before leaning in. He closed his eyes as Jimin leant forward and within less than a second their lips had met together in a soft embrace.

Hoseok kept his palms on Jimin’s jaw and Jimin let go of one of his wrists to place it on Hoseok’s cheek instead. Like that they stayed, not taking notice of the loud music, nor the people around them, nor the fact that they were both covered in paint. Instead, all either Hoseok and Jimin could think of was the feeling of the other’s soft lips against theirs, moving in unfamiliar motions that they wanted to get accustomed to. Their breaths intermingled in the space between them and both were sure that they were floating.

When they broke apart, they only stared at one another. Hoseok absently noticed that his hands were still on Jimin’s face so he slowly let them fall, taking Jimin’s small hand so they could stay connected. Their fingers interlocked in a motion that felt surprisingly natural and Hoseok smiled at the younger before leaning in and kissing him again tenderly.

He wouldn't have minded kissing Jimin for the rest of his life.

If it hadn’t been for Yoongi, Hoseok theorized that he never would have asked Jimin to move in with him.

Yoongi had hinted at the fact that Jimin seemed to always be at Hoseok’s apartment instead of his own and thought that the younger may as well be living there. Hoseok had blushed, quickly changed the subject, and then ushered Yoongi out the door as soon as he could. Once Yoongi had gone back home to his two boyfriends, Hoseok had sweated through asking Jimin to move in. Then he swept the younger into his arms and twirled about the apartment when Jimin accepted.

Now after having been living together for six months, the two had fallen into a rhythm. They’d formed a pattern that allowed them to coexist peacefully within the same environment. They learned to deal with each other’s bad habits and to simply pick up the clothes that the other left around the apartment instead of nagging at them. Bills were easier to pay. There was more food in the fridge. Seokjin didn’t come over as often anymore because Jimin was a good enough cook that Hoseok no longer burnt up pots and pans. Jimin cooked and Hoseok cleaned and they were happy. Suffice to say, Hoseok was incredibly glad that Jimin had said yes to moving in.

Jimin was in his last semester of college now and Hoseok had been promoted at work. They were nearing their two year anniversary and Hoseok wanted to surprise Jimin with pictures of a new place they could move into: a baby blue, one-story, three bedroom house in the suburbs of the city. Hoseok had found it by chance the week before when he’d gotten lost trying to find Seokjin, Yoongi, and Namjoon’s new house that they had moved into. In his frantic searching, he had passed by the blue house with a for sale sign stuck in the middle of the front yard. He’d instantly been smitten, but moving into a newer and bigger place required a serious talk with his significant other. So instead of negotiating a price for it on the spot, Hoseok had written down the number on the for sale sign and continually checked to see if the baby blue house had been bought yet.

It hadn’t and Hoseok was determined to get the cute, blue house.

He knew the best way to get what he wanted was by pampering Jimin. So ten minutes before Jimin was due back from his last art class of the day, Hoseok had their takeout dinner on the counter, a purple bath bomb picked out, oils beside the tub, condoms and lube atop the bedside drawer, and rose petals spread out on the duvet. Hoseok was going to hand feed Jimin his favorite food, coax him into sharing a bath, then seduce the younger with a massage while he persuaded him into moving to the new place. They would then eventually end up on their bed by the end of it. Hoseok had a plan and he was going to follow it.

Then Jimin walked through the door calling out, “Hyung, I’m home!” and Hoseok ran towards the door to greet the younger.

“Jimbles,” Hoseok rushed towards Jimin with his arms open wide. “I missed you all day, baby.”

“Hyung!” Jimin flushed at the unbearably cute nickname Hoseok had begun to call him five months into their relationship, but dutifully stepped into the elder’s embrace after he took off his shoes and coat. “I missed you too.”

Hoseok nuzzled his nose into Jimin’s hair, breathing in his soft scent of lavender and soap. “I bought your favorite chicken from Bonchon, Jimbles.”

Jimin paused, looking over Hoseok’s shoulder to peer into the kitchen. “Why? Are you trying to get laid tonight, hyung?”

“Well there goes my plan,” Hoseok laughed.

Jimin smiled, his eyes scrunching together in that favorite eye-smile that Hoseok adored. “Hyung, you know you could just ask. You don’t have to buy my favorite food just to seduce me.”

“Seduce you with chicken, I never would have guessed that was a possibility,” Hoseok guffawed, maneuvering them into the kitchen where he began to open up the boxed-up food.

“Did you only have the chicken planned?” Jimin asked, taking the plate of food that Hoseok handed him before setting it down and pulling glasses out of a cupboard.

“Thanks,” Hoseok murmured when Jimin handed him the pair of chopsticks the elder had been searching for. “No. I was also going to hand feed you, then take a nice bath with you, and then give you a massage and a piece of this ass.”

Jimin almost choked on his Coke when Hoseok had finished talking about his plan. The elder had to lean over the counter to pat Jimin forcefully on the back before the honey-blonde boy was breathing properly again. He leveled Hoseok with a startled look before he decided it safe to pick up his chopsticks and start eating.

“Well that sounds nice,” Jimin mumbled past his mouth full of chicken.

“Aigoo, I said that I would feed you, Jiminnie,” Hoseok whined, leaning over the counter once more to take Jimin’s chopsticks from the younger’s hand.

He fed Jimin an approximate amount of two pieces of chicken before Hoseok returned to his own plate of food and dug in. Jimin smiled and shook his head amusedly before picking up his chopsticks once more and began to eat again, enjoying the silence that fell over them each time they sat down together to eat. It was comforting and always helped Jimin forget about whatever stressful day he might have had because at the end of the day, Jimin still had Hoseok. And if he had Hoseok, then everything else he might not have didn’t really matter then.

After Jimin had made a point of throwing his trash away (which guilted the elder into cleaning up the entire kitchen as they waited for the tub to fill), he walked towards the hallway closet to pull out the cleanest, fluffiest towels they had. He then met Hoseok in the bathroom and handed the elder the towels as he shut off the water.

Hoseok made a point of undressing Jimin slowly and provocatively. By the time the elder was done stripping Jimin of his clothing, Jimin couldn’t blame himself for being at half-staff already. Hoseok smirked at that.

They climbed into the bath with Jimin splayed across Hoseok’s chest and the warm water curling around them. Hoseok grabbed a loofah and squirted some body wash onto it before dipping it briefly into the water to wet it and rub against Jimin’s chest. He moved in slow, calculated circles as the younger turned into mush in his arms, nuzzling his head into the crook of the elder’s neck and humming a soft tune. Hoseok loved it when Jimin sang, his voice was soothing to listen to.

Jimin had hummed three songs by the time they were done bathing and had moved on to the massage in their bed. Hoseok was busy lathering oil onto his hands and soothing Jimin’s aching leg muscles when he remembered to ask about the cute, baby blue house.

“So, Jiminnie,” Hoseok began. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking about what, hyung?” Jimin’s muffled question rose from the space between his face and the pillows underneath him.

“Well you’re finishing up your last semester of college and getting your degree by the end of the next month, which means you’ll be working full-time soon and I got a promotion awhile agoー”

“What are you trying to get at, hyung?” Jimin asked, raising his head to look at the elder whose hands were making a smooth and steady trail down the younger’s back.

“You and I are going to be making more money and will probably need more space to accommodate both our work projects since you’re gonna be painting for that art gala and I’m finally the architect in charge of my floorー” Hoseok cut himself off when he realized that Jimin was staring at him with a look of confusion and exasperation. “I want us to get a new place.”

Jimin flipped over onto his front and sat up so he was facing the elder. “You want to find a bigger place?”

Hoseok smiled sheepishly and Jimin couldn’t help the amused smile that he gave in return. “You already found a place, didn’t you, hyung?”

The elder nodded, his hands clamping onto Jimin’s thighs as he continued the massage.

“Do I get to see pictures?”

“Later.”

Jimin laughed. “Alright, hyung. How about you describe it to me then?”

“Fine, but get on your front, baby. I want to finish this massage,” Hoseok smiled tenderly at the younger before kissing him briefly and letting the boxer-clad boy turn over and bury himself in the pillows once more. “It’s baby blue, your favorite color. One-story so you don’t have to carry anything up any steps. The most important thing though, it has three bedrooms and two baths.”

“Three bedrooms?” Jimin asked, his voice dropping an octave lower when Hoseok peeled down his boxers and began to massage the firm, round muscles of his ass.

Hoseok hummed appreciatively, slicking more oil onto his hands and moving down towards the younger’s thighs. “Yep. One room for us, one room for your art supplies, and one room forー”

“A child,” Jimin murmured softly.

Hoseok paused in his movements. “Yeah, a child.”

“The house sounds lovely, hyung,” Jimin sighed.

“But?” Hoseok questioned.

"But nothing, let's call about the house tomorrow and bargain a price.”

“Don’t you want to see pictures though?”

Jimin sat up and turned over once more so he was facing Hoseok. He then pulled the elder onto his lap and kissed him thoroughly. It didn’t matter that Jimin was naked and Hoseok’s fingers were still dripping in oil as he clung to the younger, completely breathless and anxious for his answer. When Jimin drew away, Hoseok let himself take a deep breath before he opened his eyes to meet the gaze of the honey-blonde boy that he was undeniably in love with.

“But nothing. You already told me enough about the house that I want it too, hyung,” Jimin smiled softly, pressing kisses down the column of Hoseok’s throat.

“So we’re getting it?” Hoseok asked, his voice thick and strained because Jimin was toying at the drawstrings of his sweatpants.

“Yes, hyung,” Jimin whispered, kissing the elder on his jaw.

Hoseok smiled and allowed Jimin to strip him of his clothes. “I love you, Jimbles.”

Jimin smiled and dribbled lube onto his fingers before he began circling Hoseok’s entrance. When Jimin’s forefinger broke through the puckered ring of muscle, Hoseok let out a small whimper that had Jimin quickly curling his finger before adding another. Twenty minutes later when Jimin had bottomed out in Hoseok, he pulled the elder closer to his chest and slowly began to rock his hips, relishing in every sound that Hoseok let out. Jimin would do anything for Hoseok, and if moving out and taking another step further in their relationship was what Hoseok wanted, then Jimin would do it. After all, he had Hoseok and that was all that mattered to him.

“I love you more, Hobi.”

They moved in small, slow and calculated circular motions in the middle of the dancefloor.

Hoseok’s hands were on Jimin’s shoulders and Jimin’s were on the elder’s waist. Their new golden bands glinted brightly in the sparkling light of the fairy lights that Taehyung had insisted would look amazing surrounding the dancefloor. Hoseok and Jimin had to agree that Taehyung, though prone to being spontaneous, had been right about the fairy lights. It was night time already and the lights were exactly what the couple wanted to shed light upon them as they twirled about in their first dance as husbands.

Hoseok could still remember the night he proposed. They were out at dinner, all seven of them, to celebrate Jimin’s first professional painting being bought. By the end of it, Taehyung’s drunk boyfriend Jeongguk had spilled the beans and Hoseok had been pushed down to his knees by an aggravated Namjoon who was tired of seeing his oldest friend beat around the bush and just wanted the two to be official in the most highest way possible already. Yoongi had reminded Jimin that he could always say no, but Seokjin had shushed him then pulled both his boyfriends to his sides and waited as Jimin stood before the kneeling Hoseok in shock.

By the end of that night, Hoseok had a sore knee, three drunk friends to tow home, and a bubbly, silver-haired fiancé under his arm.

Three months later, Hoseok now had his newly-declared husband in his arms as they spun around the dancefloor at their wedding reception.

The ceremony itself had been a blur and Hoseok only remembered saying his vows and accepting Park Jimin as his. Then he’d pulled the black-haired beauty of his husband into his arms and kissed him in front of all their friends, coworkers, and family. They’d been whisked into a black limo afterwards where they had sat in silence and only stared deeply into each other’s eyes. Hoseok didn’t remember stepping out of the car and being pushed onto the dancefloor where they were now, but one thing he did know was that he hadn’t stopped making eye contact with the younger since he watched him walk down the aisle hours earlier.

Hoseok barely noticed that other couples were joining them on the dancefloor or that the soft piano they had first danced to was now being joined by a small army of violins. Nothing really mattered now that he had the younger in his arms, twirling around without a care in the world because whatever they faced, they would face it together.

If there was anything that Hoseok was sure about, it was that his whole life had led him to that quaint cafe in Seoul, South Korea where he had met the love of his life in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Hyung, are you paying attention?”

Hoseok smiled at his husband. “I’m sorry. What did you say, Jimbles?”

“I said, I love you, hyung. I love you with all my heart,” Jimin smiled, his eyes scrunching into the eye smile that Hoseok knew he would love until the end of time.

“I love you too, Jiminnie. I’ll love you until the day I die, baby.”

Jimin smiled at him. “Adoption agency tomorrow, hyung?”

Hoseok’s answering smiling almost split his face in two. “Adoption agency tomorrow, Jimbles.”

“And also, drop the honorifics. We’re equals now, Jiminnie. Partners,” Hoseok added after a thought.

“Husbands,” Jimin smiled sweetly.

“Yeah, husbands.”

[bisexualstokes-archive]

A Walk in the Woods (1/2)

Chapter (1/2): The Show-Off in the Spotlight Rating: Teen+  Summary: Nick goes off the beaten path during the Annual Stokes Hunting Trip, and pays the price for it, going from hunter to prey as he falls into a trap that opens old wounds, which he discusses with his son, Parker.  Chapter Notes: Since this is about hunting, there is of course, some descriptions of it, but not in the usual level of detail that I tend to write, in terms of the uh, animal violence that comes with it. A bit short, but it's just the beginning. 

@letswaitforme​, @deltajackdalton​ this is probably up your alley ;)

Read on ao3

It was his first time traveling outside of Texas. His first excursion on the annual tradition of the Stokes men, a hunting trip in Colorado. “Where a boy becomes a man,” as his eldest brother, Todd put it to him. Todd was there to snap a picture of a young, eager Nick Stokes, age 12, when his father told him the great news. 

Nick hadn’t been able to sleep, he was too excited, one of his other brothers, Stevie equated the experience of going to Disney World—another trip the Stokes family would embark on later that same year. A year of travel, of exploration.

He was happy to finally be allowed to come on this trip, considering ever since three years ago, bad things happened while his father and brothers were on the trip. Last year, all of the women in the house were just...insufferable, to say the least, all coming down with the same illness, screaming at Nick one minute, then fawning over him the next. Year before that, Nick broke his leg, he was goofing around with his friends a little too much. 

The year before that...well, he doesn’t like to think too much about the night he spent in his darkened room, covering his body with a blanket, waiting for his mother to come home. 

His brothers always seemed a little happier after the trip, rejuvenated, the weight of the world off their shoulders. 

“Besides the hunting and hiking we just...talk. Hell, Dad doesn’t even care if we talk bad about the family, or him. Says it’s stress relief, whatever happens in the woods, stays in the woods,” Todd told him as he filled Nick in on what to expect. 

“I thought that was Vegas?” Nick asked. He always wanted to go to Vegas.

He had wondered if maybe this trip would be an opportunity to share what happened with his father. No way that...monster could know what he says in the middle of the woods somewhere in Colorado...right?

There was something about the deep, dark woods that made him believe maybe it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. He had never been in a forest like this one, never seen mountains that loomed far above him. He looked down over the edge of a cliff, licked his lips nervously. Long way down.

“Aw, is little Nicky scared?” his brother Steve teased in a mock-baby talking voice as they trudged through the woods to find their campsite. 

“No, Stevie!” Nick blurted out. “I’m not scared!” 

His fingers balled up into a fist, he was going to show Steve how not-scared he was. 

“Boys…” a warning tone, from Cisco. He shot his two youngest sons a warning glance. “Keep it up, you’re sleeping with the wolves tonight.”

He had said it sternly, seriously, but gave Nick a wink, which eased his anxiety a little. An empty threat, meant as a joke, but Nick would be lying if he said he tread carefully for the rest of the night, avoiding any more disputes with his brother. 

“He’s just jealous, he got all the attention last year,” Todd whispered to Nick. “Since it was his first time last year. Little Stevie loves the spotlight.”

“Yeah, he does,” Nick giggled. Stevie Stokes, the show-off in the spotlight. The alliteration made him burst into a fit of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked as Todd caught on to Nick’s contagious laughter. 

“Nothing...This is just...so awesome!” Nick exclaimed. His initial fear was gone, the once intimidating height of the trees turned to a challenge--he hoped he’d be able to climb them, despite the echoed warnings from his mother inside his head telling him not to. The looming shadows were exposed, wildlife hopping and running out of the darkness, he had never been this close to this many animals before. 

But it was the sounds of birds that really put his mind at ease, he looked up and saw birds he had only seen pictures of before. He stopped and just stared up at the sky for a few moments, allowed himself to be lost in the winding tornado of birds in the trees above.  

“Pancho, you coming?” his father called out to him. 

Nick didn’t respond right away, trapped in a weird sensation of disconnection from his body. An oddly elevating feeling, he felt like he was floating upwards, wings spread out beside him. He couldn’t even remember why they were out there, didn’t even care. He had never been so happy in his life, not that he could remember.

“Nicholas Parker!” his father shouted, and Nick fell back to the earth, the smile wiped off of his face, and he was worried again, his father only used his middle name when he was in trouble…

He nodded for Todd to go ahead with the rest of the boys, put a hand on Nick’s shoulder, reached behind a hand to his backpack. Nick’s eyes widened in concern, but his father revealed a pair of binoculars that he placed into his son’s hands.

“I was gonna wait until we started the hunt, but, what the hell. This might make it a bit easier to see.”

A smile spread from Nick’s face to his dad’s, if Nick didn’t know any better, it was like a Christmas morning, or his birthday. 

“Thanks, Cisco!” 

“Come on, let’s go catch up to your brothers. Uncle Mike is waiting for us to set up camp.”

The next morning, after Nick was given the talk on gun safety, he was given a shotgun. It felt heavy in his hands, but it made him feel powerful at the same time. A force to be reckoned with. A force that he was shown, first hand, as his Uncle Mike shot down a bird flying overhead with very little effort. Nick was shocked at first, though he had seen dead animals before, he never quite saw how they died. 

"It’s not a toy,” was the last thing his father told him, words that stuck with him long beyond the hunting trip, before they broke off into groups. Given that it was Nick’s first time, he stuck with his father and Steve, who was still in “training,” according to an eavesdrop of hushed whispers between his father and his uncle. 

Nick was a natural tracker, pointed out the small details that apparently flew over his father and brother’s heads. His father encouraged him to lead the way, an honor bestowed on only the most experienced Stokes men, from what Todd had told him. Pride filled Nick’s chest as he silently moved through the forest, focused on the task of tracking down a deer--considered to be the “training targets,” while his older brothers were tasked with tracking down an elk. 

“I see it!” Nick whispered behind him. “Shh--it’s right up there!” 

“Good job, Pancho!” Cisco exclaimed. “Now, take aim…”

He raised the gun, lined up the barrel with the deer that was too busy eating to sense the danger just a few feet away. Young Nick Stokes, with everything to prove to his brothers, to his fathers, to himself, was about to show that he was not scared. He was a man. 

“Steady, steady...put your finger on the trigger...and...pull.”

He had his finger on the trigger, but something stopped him from pulling it. Something made his entire body freeze, his heart felt light, fluttery, water was starting to cloud his eyes. If he pulled that trigger, the deer would fall. Fall like the bird did from the sky. All sense of life gone, motionless, its insides spilling out onto the earth. 

“What’s taking so long? Pull the trigger!” Steve whispered impatiently. It was annoying, Nick knew he just wanted his turn. 

“It’s okay, son, just squeeze your finger…” 

But Nick’s finger began to shake instead of squeeze, and he lowered the gun, shaking his head. 

“I can’t,” he whispered to his father in a strangled voice. 

“Figures,” Steve scoffed, and raised his gun, pulled the trigger. Cheers and whoops from the distance, intended for Nick, but as he always did, Stevie Stokes stole the spotlight. 

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

He didn’t want to go, not really. It was hyped up by all of his uncles, all of his cousins, but nothing about the “Annual Stokes Hunting Trip” appealed to him in the slightest. He didn’t particularly mind being outdoors, but couldn’t imagine being outside for an entire week, let alone a few hours, surrounded by men who cared about nothing but hunting down innocent animals, ending lives, drinking beer and “bonding.”

“I wanna gooooooo,” Madison whined, tugging at Nick’s shirt. 

“I toldja, sweetheart, it’s for boy’s only,” Nick replied, brushing her hair with his hand. “Don’t you want to go shopping with Aunt Catherine and Aunt Sara?”

“Yeah, but...Why can’t we all go together? You always talk about seeing all of the amimals!” 

“Animals,” Parker corrected his sister. Her childish mispronunciation always irked him. “Besides, we’re just gonna kill them, anyway, Uncle Stevie said so.”

“That’s not true, Park, we’ve been over this, buddy,” Nick started in a stern tone. Parker’s nostrils flared, lips twisted into a daring smile. Maybe if he got just a little more under his father’s skin, he wouldn’t have to go on this stupid trip. “I tend to stray off the beaten path on these trips…”

A knock at the door, and just when Parker thought things couldn’t get worse, he showed up. Madison seemed to forget about begging and ran to the door with a loud, eager gasp. 

“ELI!” she screamed, thrusting the door open and hugging Eli Brown, as he dropped his bags. 

“My, my, little Miss Madison! You grow an inch taller every time I see you,” Eli remarked, twirling the little girl in a hug. “You might even grow taller than Uncle Nick.”

“At this rate, it’s gonna be you who’s taller than me, Eli. You’re gettin’ to be as tall as your Dad was,” Nick chuckled, shaking Eli’s free hand. “Safe drive?”

“Of course, yeah, yeah. Mom says hello, and thanks, for getting me out of her hair for the week.”

“Causing trouble for your Mom again? Eli!” Nick scoffed in mock disappointment. 

Parker rolled his eyes. His dad always fawned all over Eli. An entire week of hearing Nick talk about how great Eli is, how much he reminds him of his dad, how he’s so proud of the man he’s becoming…

“Speaking of troublemakers, where is he?” Eli asked, he bent over the couch, loomed above Parker’s head, as Parker continued to focus on his GameBoy. “Yo, earth to Park.”

He didn’t have an older brother, but if it was anything like this, he didn’t want one anyway.

“Hi, Eli,” Parker responded in an uninterested monotone. 

“Alright, you ready boys? Sam! Where are ya, c’mon, boy!” Nick whistled. The grey-haired German Shepherd trotted into the room, nuzzled his hand under Madison’s head.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Madison cooed to him, rubbing his head. 

“I told you sweetie, it’s just for a week--”

“I was talking to Sam, I’m mad at you, Daddy!” Madison pouted, crossing her arms.

Nick just laughed, calling his daughter’s bluff. 

“Okay, I love you, too, baby. Have fun with Cath and Sara,” Nick told her, waving Parker and Eli out the door in front of him. He snapped his fingers and Sam broke away from Madison, positioned himself at Nick’s side.

Madison purposefully didn’t look at her father, her eyes closed and lips pursed, but peeked an eye open as Nick began to walk out the door.

“Be careful!” she blurted out, her bottom lip quivering. 

“Careful is my middle name, Maddy. Besides, with Eli, Park and Sam along for the ride, what could possibly go wrong?”

[lowmansgirl]

Happy Lowman x Reader

Happy Lowman imagine based on the song Sweet Child O’ Mine By Guns N’ Roses: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1w7OgIMMRc4

Y/N surprises Happy at the clubhouse and he’s grateful you’re there to comfort him after having a bad day.

If you enjoy this, check out my Happy Lowman fanfic on wattpad!

https://www.wattpad.com/story/162392428-the-kiss-of-death-a-happy-lowman-fanfiction

    I spent my day off from the office laid on the couch. It had been weeks since my last day off and even longer since I waited around the clubhouse to surprise Happy. He had dedicated so much time to the club lately and I knew the level of stress he experienced. I’ve tried my best to stay out of his hair, pun intended, but I missed my old man. I didn’t mind my new at the law firm, some of my coworkers are even incredibly supportive of my relationship with SAMCRO, but I missed my previous job at Teller-Morrow. I met Happy when I worked as a receptionist here and we’ve been inseparable since. He made our relationship official and asked me to be his old lady about a year ago. I couldn’t tell if my career change or an increased pressure from the club was the cause of our distance.

     I waited around for hours before the guys arrived, but I didn’t mind the alone time. I wasted time as I scrolled through my social media feed and read a few chapters from a new book I had picked up, activities I had sacrificed this past couple of months because of my job. The boys strolled in a few at a time, all surprised to see me. Chibs was the first to approach me. “Ay lass. Did Happy call ye here?” Instantly I had a strange feeling. I couldn’t think of any reason Happy would’ve called me when he thought I was at work today. “No. Is everything okay?” I tried my best to seem casual, but I knew Chibs sensed my concern. He hesitated for a moment then said, “rough day. Ye should talk ta him, he’s still sittin’ on his bike.” I thanked Chibs and excused myself to go find Happy. I spotted him seated on his bike from across the lot and flashed him a smile. I felt comfort as I stepped outside, like I had been hugged by the sun. The weather was just the right temperature to keep warm from the breeze. I couldn’t help but notice the vibrant blue colored sky, crystal clear besides one large, dark gray cloud looming overhead.

     I was more than surprised to see Y/N walking toward me, I assumed she’d be at the office. Regardless of the shit day I had, I knew Y/N could fix everything. I saw her smile as she walked toward me. She was blissfully unaware of her beauty. As I watched her, I remembered a time in my life when I didn’t feel incredibly overwhelmed. Y/N was the strongest woman I knew beside my own mother, but still graced life with a child-like intuition. If just for one moment, I felt the same when I witnessed her smile. I look away. I knew the long day I had endured took a toll on me and I didn’t want to seem emotional in front of Y/N. Now and then when I see her face, she takes me away to that special place and if I’d stare too long, I’d probably break down and cry.

     “Happy!” Y/N practically sang as she approached me. Before she could say another word, I gathered her into my arms. I would’ve never admitted it, but I thanked God she was there. I knew from the first time I met Y/N, she was my person and I hoped I was hers. I didn’t tell her enough, so I pulled back a bit to look at her directly and said, “I love you.” Y/N appeared confused. Her eyes were as blue as the sky today and I hated that they seemed so sad. I knew I had pushed Y/N away for a long time, but that felt safer than involving her too much into club business. I knew I should’ve continued to push her away and it was wrong to worry her more, but I needed Y/N. “I love you too. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m here for you.” I shook my head. I couldn’t say anything even if I wanted to, I am sworn to secrecy. Instead I pulled her into my arms again and I did not let go. Y/N didn’t say anything more, just stuck her hands under my kutte and rubbed circles into my back. I rested my head onto her shoulder, thankful she held me. I was intoxicated by her strawberry scented shampoo. Her hair reminds me of a warm, safe place where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by. “Do you see that big cloud? I think it’s going to storm tonight.” I smiled genuinely for the first time in days. “I hope it does Y/N.”

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery Part 37/? - Pilgrimage to Vesuvius Part 38/? - The Scent of Hell Part 39/? - She’ll be Coming Down the Mountain Part 40/? - Stowaways Part 41/? - Bon Voyage Part 42/? - Turnabout Part 43/? - The Apple Part 44/? - Vesuvius Wakes Part 45/? - Fire At Sea Part 46/? - The Real Jim Part 47/? - Return to Naples Part 48/? - La Mela Part 49/? - A Demonstration Part 50/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 51/? - Into the Fire Part 52/? - The Last Homunculus

It’s up to Nat, Jim, and Perenelle to put their plan into action

They came up with a plan.

“How do we get the stone to the ship?” asked Nat.  “You said we need wires to transmit it… and it’s a long way from the dock now.”  Even if they could find a cable that long – kilometres, surely – how would they hook it up and make sure it didn’t leak?

Sir Stephen, with his outsider’s view of the present day, was the one who came up with the solution.  “There is wiring throughout the city, is there not?” he asked.  “There are not many people here to be using the electricity, so perhaps we can use that to bring the stone to the waterside, and then we only need enough cable to connect it to the ship.”

“I could do that,” said Perenelle, “but I need a power source besides the stone. Newton was using some of the stored energy from the volcanoes, but that will be gone now.”

Behind them, in the building, the roof caved in.  The pale purple light of the philosopher’s stone shone out in a beam, lighting up the clouds overhead.  It looked like something off the Vegas strip, and gave Natasha an unpleasant mental picture of birds and communications satellites dropping out of the sky when they ran into it.

“They’ll have a generator on the ship, obviously,” said Sam.  “We could see lights on it from the mountainside, so that’s still running.”

“Somebody would have to go back out to the ship to connect a cable,” said Nat. “At least this time we won’t have to worry about anybody trying to stop us.”

“Those railings around the little piazza,” Perenelle said.  “Those will work as temporary containment.  It’ll leak a bit, but once those have been transmuted, they’ll keep it in place long enough for us to get off the ship again.”

Nat made up her mind.  “Then let’s get on with it,” she said.

“Wait,” Allen protested.  “We don’t even know how we’re getting on board the ship!”

“We’ll have to figure it out on the way,” Nat said, and glanced back at the slowly collapsing Palazzo Del Corallo.  “I don’t think we’ve got time.”

They headed down to a power plant at the water’s edge.  There, Perenelle got to work in the switching room, shutting off connections they didn’t mean, while Sam and Sir Stephen found a drum of heavy-duty electric cable that was labeled 1000 METRI.  That sounded like plenty, but to transmit the stone they would need a circuit, so two smaller drums, five hundred metres each, had to be attached together to form the route back.  Then they unrolled it into a single giant mess of cable so that the other end could be taken out to the Scorpio II.

Clint had left the grappling hook arrow behind, so another solution had to be found for getting onto the ship.  Natasha found somebody’s little fishing boat pulled partly up on land, and waved the others over.

“It’s not much, but I’ll have to do,” said Nat.  “Who’s coming with me?”  The boat could only fit two or three people.

“I am, obviously,” said Perenelle.  She was now wearing somebody’s old denim shorts, which looked very much like something Newton himself would have worn, and a burgundy tank top with Stanford on the front.  Her hair was up in a bun, held in place with an ordinary elastic band… and yet somehow, even when dressed like a slob, she still managed to look like a fashion ad.

“Me, too,” said Jim.

“Why you?” asked Clint, who’d been about to volunteer.

Jim took a deep breath.  “Because they might need another set of hands.  As many people should go as possible and… well, I’m disposable, aren’t I?  I’m not going to live long and I might as well do something meaningful.”

“No time to argue about it,” said Natasha.  “Jim volunteered first.”  If they had to stand around and find logical reasons to pick somebody, they’d never get it done.

So it was Nat, Perenelle, and Jim who set out in the little motorboat, heading for the looming shape of the Scorpio II, with Nat wondering if it were really a good idea to bring Jim along. Could this be the moment they discovered Newton had implanted some kind of programming in him after all, to prevent anybody shutting down the stone after his death?  No that couldn’t be, because Jim hadn’t stopped them from fiddling with the tubes in the volcano…

Jim really had been something Newton intended to use once and then throw away. He really hadn’t been meant to live beyond following them through Athens.

Was it a good idea to bring him, then, knowing that he knew that?  Maybe this was Jim deciding that if Newton could no longer help him and Perenelle couldn’t be trusted to, he might as well just die with a bang instead of a whimper?  Committing suicide would be very out of character for Jim, who so far had repeatedly stressed that he wanted to live, but maybe he’d reached some tipping point. In which case, shouldn’t they have left him behind?  Or was it better, knowing he was going to die, to just let him get on with it?

She would probably have kept turning this over in her mind all the way to the ship, except that they didn’t quite make it.  The Scorpio II had continued to drift, and their cable wasn’t quite long enough to make it.  They were less than a dozen yards away when it ran out.

Nat pulled out her phone.  She didn’t have much battery left but she texted Sharon anyway.

We need more cable, she said.

The reply came back: there isn’t any more.  The light from the stone is getting redder by the way.

Nat looked up, and Jim and Perenelle followed her gaze.  The glow from the philosopher’s stone was easily visible, now forming a halo over the city instead of a single beam – the rest of the Palazzo De Corallo must have fallen down.  It was pinkish in colour.  Nat remembered Perenelle saying that it was impossible to turn off a star… stars turned red before they exploded, didn’t they?

“Tell them to feed it something,” said Perenelle.  “Anything.  Now would be a good time to drive a car in.  Just keep it under control.”

Nat handed her the phone.  “Find a solution,” she ordered Perenelle, and stood up.

“You’re gonna swim?” asked Jim.

“Yep,” she said.  “The pulleys from the lifeboats are still hanging… grab one of the ropes when it gets close enough and let the ship tow you towards shore.  I’ll get as close as possible so we’ll have slack cable.” After getting it on board, they would still have to reach the ship’s generators to wire it up.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to go?” Jim asked.  “I mean, this is gonna be dangerous, and…”

Nat glared at him.

“I’m not trying to be chivalrous!” he said.  “I’m just saying, from a practical point of view, I seal back up if I get hurt so shouldn’t I be the one doing the dangerous stuff?”

“Can you steer a boat?” asked Natasha.

“No, but neither could he!”  Jim pointed back at the shore, meaning Clint.

Nat just kicked her shoes off and dived in.

The water was warm – the Mediterranean always was – and salty.  She spat out her accidental mouthful and swam to where one of the lifeboats had been lowered.  The end of the rope was within reach.  Nat grabbed it, and shimmied back up to the Promenade Deck.  From there it was only a short run to the bridge, at the far end of the ship.

She was nearly there when she realized she wasn’t alone.  There was a man sitting in one of the deck chairs next to the pool, staring up at the sky.  Who was that? The passengers should have all evacuated and as far as they knew, the rest of the crew had bailed out on the way.  A possibility occurred to her, and despite the need to hurry, Nat couldn’t quite stop herself from coming closer to see.

Sure enough, it was a homunculus.  This one was short-haired, and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.  Perenelle had said there were four on the ship – they’d thrown one overboard and fought off another, and Newton himself had destroyed the third.  This was the fourth, the last one that might be a threat to them, but at the moment he didn’t look like a threat to anybody. He was just lying there, as if he were asleep with his eyes open.  There was nothing to indicate that he’d been there all night, but there was nothing to indicate that he hadn’t.

“Are you okay?” asked Natasha.

He blinked, and then sat up to look at her.

Natasha knew she probably shouldn’t worry about him, but knowing that the homunculi were people, she couldn’t just leave him sitting there.

“You should get off this boat,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it’s going to sink,” Nat replied, though she wondered… did it matter? Like any of them, this one would only live for a couple of weeks.

The homunculus shook his head.  “My job was to keep Perenelle Flamel and the CAAP from leaving this ship, and I already failed at that.  Newton told me if I failed, I should stop and wait for further orders.”

“You’re not going to get any,” she told him.  “Newton is dead.”

The homunculus’ eyes widened, startled.  “He is?”

“Yes,” said Nat.  “He grabbed one of the pipes leading to the philosopher’s stone and turned to gold.  He doesn’t have any more orders for you.  You’re free.”

“Free?”  He stared at her as if he didn’t know what the word meant, and shook his head.  “No, he said if anything happened to him, I had to finish what he started.”  The homunculus stood up.  “What did you do with the philosopher’s stone?”

Natasha’s mind raced.  Newton hadn’t seemed to believe that homunculi could really be self-aware, despite what he’d had his duplicate tell them… but he must have been worried about it, because he’d taken steps to make sure this one wouldn’t wander off when his job was done. What should she tell him?  If she told him the stone still existed, he might take steps to protect him.  If she told him it was gone, there was no telling what he might do.

There was no time to lie, either.  Now that the homunculus was paying attention to his surroundings again, he could see the red glow hanging over Naples.  He moved towards the railing, and Natasha grabbed his arm, twisting his wrist so he couldn’t keep going without pain.

“You don’t have to do what Newton told you,” she said.  “Perenelle might be able to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” said the homunculus, and with his other arm, he swung at her face.

Nat ducked under the blow and flipped him over her back, dislocating his shoulder in the process.  He fell into a stack of deck chairs, landing hard, but not hard enough to do him any damage that would stick.  As he got up, he stretched his arm and the bone popped back into place, grabbed a folded chair, and ran at him again.

She vaulted up onto the poolside bar and kicked the blow aside.  “We don’t have time for this!” she protested.  Why hadn’t she just left him there?

“He told me to finish what he started!” the homunculus said.  “He said it was the only thing that mattered!”  He threw the chair aside and climbed up to get her.

She yanked a keg handle, spraying him in the face with beer.  “Did he tell you why?”  Jim was reasonable.  Hopefully this one was, too.

The homunculus staggered back, sputtering, then grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and broke it to make a weapon.  “Yes,” he said.  “And if he’s dead, then it’s up to me.”

[reallygottaremebermypasswords]

Tired. The dude that said he'll give me a phone got banned from the place for a month. My shoulder is wrenched. I'm sorry

Uh.....shit I Gotti's this for ~40 minutes.

We stayed at the station for an hour if guess, when they had called us again to be chained to one another. Again, Jhene had insisted that she stay with me. She found me funny, perhaps it was my mumbling, or the ridiculous way that I would squit. Who was to say, but as they piled all of us inside the bus, they had now brought along the male inmates. They had sat in front of us on the bus as we were issues to he back. We all sat in quiet at first. The joking banter that had slightly lighteng the stress of the inner cell no longer hanging it's head, now it's was the uneay tension. The quiets whisper. It's when one inamtes had spoke up, "Aye what y'all's name"

None had spoke or responded. It's when he continued, alright then I'm. Just give y'all names, the inamtes who had abused her husband snorted whitlw the one with multiple case disorder,(ie. Prostitution, Robbi Best It Murder ((she never ellicatky told)) had looked. "You cupcake," he had said to her, "You Cinnamon" he said to the other and to Jhene I couldn't recollect, I ha barely heard. I for one did not get a nickname. He sat here laughing as they all started sayin "He'll no! Excuse me? Cupcake???" Talking over one another till he broke the chaotic chatter with "You can call me coochie man"

"COOCHIE MAN??"

I said nothing watching as he asked for them to push it through he gate. I began to zone out as the girls had continued with their banter with him, at some point we all grew quiet as then men ry had continued on, speaking of their own cases and such. The drive to he court had usher another wave of anxiousness. We pulled up to the Pasadney court house, they taking us out bus cell buy bus cell. I had sneak my hands out of the cuffs while driving because of the tiniest of my worst, so to slide them back on before they had open the gate gave me some feeling of rebellion, in truth I had sat there contemplating the simplistic joy of havinbjustghat one ounce of control, to remove the cuffs without an authorizty figure looming overhead. As inald them back on, and made my way to the court back entrance, I began to find the joy that perhaps that I'd be released today under a trespass charge. I had even had someone talk to me about an O.r. release. And had taken into account my background, or so I had hoped. In college, lost my job to COVID. Simple.I knew the reality was that it wouldn't help

I said nothing watching as he asked for them to push it through he gate. I began to zone out as the girls had continued with their banter with him, at some point we all grew quiet as then men ry had continued on, speaking of their own cases and such. The drive to he court had usher another wave of anxiousness. We pulled up to the Pasadney court house, they taking us out bus cell buy bus cell. I had sneak my hands out of the cuffs while driving because of the tiniest of my worst, so to slide them back on before they had open the gate gave me some feeling of rebellion, in truth I had sat there contemplating the simplistic joy of havinbjustghat one ounce of control, to remove the cuffs without an authorizty figure looming overhead. As inald them back on, and made my way to the court back entrance, I began to find the joy that perhaps that I'd be released today under a trespass charge. I had even had someone talk to me about an O.r. release. And had taken into account my background, or so I had hoped. In college, lost my job to COVID. Simp I knew the reality was that it wouldn't but the eerie dream of Prison and San Quentin lied in my head. The infamous strike law, the consequences of this on moment. They had brought us into an area were they could search us, I had nothing in my pockets, but the pat down and the mouth search as they looked through our ever ounce of property, the little rhig that gave us the semblance of interpersonal humanity, immediately turned into a piece of property with prievelage if found to be subpar the appeal of the guards. After the pat down, they had again cuffed us, they time my wrist bruising red, as they began to take us to the holding cell that would await our cases. I sat, still unknowing of my charges. But watched as the girls got called. In total there were six of us, Jhene, Myself,. Jade, the one who had beat her husband allegedly, and three others who didn't say there names, Jade had already been there for nine month and was ready to hear te food news of time served, she was the first to talk to her lawyer who had been told that the da was suck and her case again pushed back til March. The disappointmenbt eteched into her her face, as just before she talked about going home and breaking free of the prison diet. I watched as another got brought through the gates of the steal green cell wall. As she was told that because of the inconsistency of her cases that they would have to reschedule. Another blow, the only neutral news that had happened was when Jhene had been told her DUIs had to be taken to another court. No guilty, no innocence but that the probability of probation was high. As each person was given the news form the judicial power that held out lives within their hands, the more the fact that the dynamic of the systems had left us all here to fend against the same laws that have been built off the commerce of blood, had now montized the suffering through ornate ways of psycholfi torture and misconstrued statics.

It was then, my all to see the judges face. I hadhad been given a lawyer thankfully, to some to dgeree to he other point of being I was still undratin of her own credibility. Though those in the plight had assured me that she was good, I still was on edge.

"So, you've been charged with first accoub bulgruary."

My eyes popped

"Bulgruary????"

"Yes,"

I paused, "And what he maximum charge in he state of California"

"She had taken her pen and pointed and circled the paepri, "Six years but you won't get that long. You can please guilty or fight tem for a lesser charge"

The urge to...I could barely explain it. The urge in knowing that....pause........Time Up......

Love y'all

Love you

[dangerousdragonflies]

The Harmoninomicon

Book 1 : WATER

Chapter I Cognitive Dissonance

 Part I

The entire world shook, the sky was red. A mighty wash of roiling water struck the boat. Several people were attempting to swim back to the log raft, a second and third raft was just barely visible through the chaos. A man bellowed calling out to the ocean, the words were lost beneath the waves. A wall of water that touched the sky came roaring overhead. Hold on everyone! The man yelled. The massive glowing object in the sky loomed over like a promise, two of the boats had now gone under the waves. No! You can’t! The man screamed at the ocean. Something glowing and red like a wall of liquid fire was bubbling up through the waves, the sound was hideous like a red hot sword slowly cutting though butter. The last of the log rafts splintered apart when the wall of water and the glowing bubbling horror met. A figure woke with a scream, are you ok Hun? A woman said in the dark. It was just a bad dream, go back to sleep I’ll be fine.

 We have an old saying on the island, If the island does not like you it will spit you out. What does that even mean exactly Jules questioned? Well you know its probably all the movies I’ve been watching and I haven’t been getting enough sleep, it just seems like the universe doesn’t want me to feel rested. Well maybe you should try something a little more esoteric man, like a Ouija board (it was pronounced Wee Gee Board) or tarot cards! Jules had his thumbs up in the air like some sort of 80’s car dealership commercial. Dude I had a weird dream and that’s it, there’s no such thing as ghosts or demons and don’t get me started on the whole heaven or hell thing that makes less sense than those flat earth guys. Come on Will we don’t just rot in the ground and that’s it once we die man there’s so much we don’t know but we are proving a lot of the occult things are real! Real? How can we prove anything about that, you said it best yourself we don’t know and there is more evidence that leads us to think this is it. But Science is proving it and Science is fact! No Jules Science is fiction, you are living in a fantasy land and I am sorry to be the one to tell you Santa Clause isn’t real, its time to wake up and see the world for what it is. With a heavy sigh Jules punched will in the shoulder. Fine, I see there’s little I can say to convince you Will. I have to get back to work here in a few minutes I really think you should look in to these things and see if it helps any. I know you don’t believe in any of that but whats the worse that could happen, I’ll send you some links. Laughing and with a smile “Sure, try to have a good day dude ill text you later”.  

The Rain poured like a blanket drenching the land to the bones. Thunder crackled and off in the distance a bright flash of light lit up by its after effects on the human vision. Something in the shape of a Dog was cowering and shaking, trying to hide under the two people. Margret I told you it was just a dream, I am ok! No you aren’t you’ve been up the last week having these nightmares and now im worried for you, Honey if you aren’t sleeping neither am I, You are to heavy to sit there Cassie; The Dog was trying to sit on the woman’s lap. Doctor Sanchez said one session with him and we will be able to tell whats going on with these dreams. Wills Sigh was exasperated, Ok if it means this much to you then ill go do this thing, Jules was trying to convince me to use; and I will use his words “A WEE GEE board” they both laughed. Well his heart is in the right place Will maybe a Ouija board isn’t what we need but I have some old tarot cards, How about we break them out? They guided my life pretty well until we met honey. I don’t know Margret I don’t think those cards will help me. William Edwards! I am sorry you had a few bad experiences with this sort of thing but im only trying to help. Where are those cards at? I think I have them upstairs in one of the closets. Ill go grab ‘em, the Dog nearly tripping the woman as she went up the stairs made a yipe, Fuh! Damn it dog! Go to daddy!

  Sit right there, Margret pointed at the carpet right outside the closet. Right here? Will said grinning. Yes right here! Come on Love lets see what the Spirits have to tell you!! As the rain came down like great buckets from the gods the couple sat pouring over the cards. What do the spirits say for Gemini? The words echoed off the walls. Both people yelled at the same time, Cassie! The dog had walked over the cards laid out on the ground. Picking up one card Will handed it to the young woman sitting across from him. It’s backwards, what does this card mean? Oh Hun, The four of cups in reverse reminds us to see all the good things being offered to us in the present. Thinking too far ahead, or dwelling on things long past can rob you of the now. What are you dwelling on love? Is everything alright? I don’t know Margret, I’ve been stressed due to lack of sleep but I don’t think there’s anything I’m dwelling on I mean I can’t think of anything I might be stuck on.

 Alright Mr. Edwards this is a safe place where no judgement happens just make yourself at home and try to relax. Honestly Doc I’m not sure about all this. Will looked around the room, I don’t know if this is the right thing for my insomnia plus I don’t think i can be hypnotized I mean I have a hard time even convincing myself to go to work some days. The clock was ticking so loud Will thought he would go insane if he had to sit here for too much longer. You would be surprised as to how many of my clients say similar statements, Mr. Edwards I assure you my practice is proven and sound. You are in good hands. Now one of our policies is we collect some information from our clients do you mind if I ask you a few questions pertaining to your physical and mental health? I guess, what kind of questions are we talking about? Our first question is would you say you’re a generally happy man? Happy? Y-yes I suppose, I have a great job a wonderful wife and a Pit-bull. My life has never been better, what does this have to do with my dreams Doc? My list has specially been designed to help for this circumstance Mr. Edwards I assure you, Alright Question two. Do you have any history with psychotropic drugs? Would a Antidepressant count as psychotropic? In most cases yes, don’t worry we don’t report any findings to any authority. Question three. How often would you say you brush your teeth? Will looked puzzled, Excuse me? Please Mr. Edwards these questions are important, Answer them as best you can. Alright I brush before bed every day. An eye brow raised a little bit, Doctor Sanchez adjusted himself in his seat. And how much Fluoride would you say you and your wife…? I assume, are in taking daily? The Doctor peered over his clipboard waiting for a reply. Margret’s allergic to fluoride so we found a place with a well and as for our teeth we use fluoride free toothpaste. The Doctor straightened, I think I’m beginning to have an understanding of the situation Mr. Edwards. These are a sedative for those who have a harder time going under the pendulum so to speak. The Doctor was standing there smiling but to Will it wasn’t a friendly gesture. Um do you think we can do this without the medication first? I’m not a fan of taking pills to be honest. Please Mr. Edwards these are all natural sedatives, they wont fail you on a urine screening and also they are hypoallergenic, anyone can take them even children newly born. Grabbing the little paper cup with the pills in it Will looked at them. I guess its OK, will I be able to drive when I leave here? The Doctor handed Will a glass of water. Here you go please drink the entire glass of water Mr. Edwards and yes you will be fully clear headed and able to drive when you leave from here. Alright Doc Will said with a face as he swallowed the medication, when will this hit me? Just lay back Mr. Edwards you should be feeling the effects almost at once, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up? As his vision began to blur Will started panicking, Doc whats going on? I-I cant move! At this time two other men entered the room, as the darkness enfolded around Will he heard the Doctor say tie him down.  

 Wake up. My son, Wake up! Class is about to start so wake up! What? Will sat up and looked around, what? Stop saying what young man and get to school! The woman demanded. Whats going on? Who are you? The woman's stance assumed that iconic stance that all woman get when patience is running thin. I am not playing games and neither are you! Get up! The woman yanked the bed covers from the young man. Hey! What are you…looking down Wills legs had tanned quite a lot since he remembered seeing them last and they were quite a bit smaller. What the!? A million thoughts raced through his head. Arawakan! Don’t make me get your older brother to grab you and drag you to class again and you know he cannot be bothered with this, he is going through Melody training today. Huh? What did you call me? Will was yanked from bed by what looked like a seven foot tall bronze god, help!! Oh there is no help for you today remarked the incredibly tall young man holding Will by the arm pits.

Arawakan your late, why don’t you give us the reason why? The man at the head of the class said with hands on his hips. Um…? I don’t think I should be here will stammered. The giant escorting Will pushed him so hard that he fell hitting his shoulder on the podium at the front of the class. I had to drag him down here out of bed because he thinks sleep is more important said the giant. Standing up Will looked around, why is all of this so familiar? Wills shoulder throbbed. Go sit down little Bro and learn something useful said the tall young man. Will walked down the aisles of seats and sat down, looking around his eyes met with a young man a few rows back. His face said a lot but it was as if he didn’t belong here either. The older man at the head of the class Boomed “We have an old saying on the island, if the island does not like you it will spit you out.” But? But? Exclaimed a girl near the back, then why are there so many people I don’t like!? By then the entire class had erupted into laughter and crude remarks. QUIET!!!! Bellowed Wabeno the teacher of the day and today the kids got the head of the fishing fleet. Alright class I suppose I could share the super-secret reason why Penutia seems to not like anyone. Wabeno says with a grin. Oh! Oh! A young man near the back of the class erupted, hand high in the air waving frantically. Its because she was out after curfew with Athabaskan doing naughty things!!! Please just once can you be serious? No class its because…. Both of you, eyes and ears up front! Penutia and another girl were whispering back and forth snickering. Watching this for as long as she could an older woman in the doorway chuckled to herself, stepping out of the warm noonday rain, Kids! Kids! She lowered her head and waves of thought hit the classroom as soundless as a small field mouse breaking wind and as powerful as a blue whale breaching, Wills head suddenly started to buzz. A presence filled his head and even though there were no words he felt a wash of calmness radiate over him. alright class please inform your parents and guardians there is a village gathering tonight and its wet outside so don’t forget your rain covers! Will was hit with a head ache so bad he almost fell out of his seat, Wills head swam with a flood of memories that weren’t his but felt like they fit. I must be going crazy! With a warm smile and open arms some of the girls ran over and embraced the woman. Alright children this is important, don’t forget about the gathering tonight, you are dismissed! The woman had almost yelled over the almost preteen crowds ramblings. Will was astounded. He remembered getting up this morning, this morning in his home with the Tv and his computer but now he also remembered going to bed last night in his home made from grass and bamboo, he had never been hunting in his life but now he remembered two days ago when him and his older brother successfully hunted down and caught and wild boar with their dads lucky bow. What the hell is going on he thought?

  Part 2

 When I woke up this morning I never would have thought I would be saying this, but I believe we have found him. And what makes you think this? The voice on the other end of the line asked. We have had an eye on this one for quite some time Sir, we have him in custody and right now we are doing several tests to verify this. Doctor Sanchez I am not sure you are aware of how important this is, there is a lot riding on this and you have no idea how much I have personally invested in you and your, The voice on the other end of the line cleared his throat. Methods and if you aren’t correct one hundred percent about this one the ceasing of your funding will be the least of your concerns. Do not let me detain you, the phone beeped marking the end of the call.  The man’s posture relaxed a little. Two men who were mumbling outside the door while he was on the phone knocked and came in the door, Sir we have a situation with subject number seven. As the three men rushed down the hallway the sounds of screaming and banging became louder and louder. Noooo!!! The voice of a young man bellowed. The banging intensified, I need 15 ccs of Benzodiazepine now! The two other men were in the process of tightening the tie downs that held the young man. The figure of a nurse came shuffling in from a side room, hold her down! No! No! No! The young man tried to flail, Nooo!!! He bellowed again but this time the voice rasped. The two men jammed a cloth gag in the young man’s mouth. There we are just breathe Daniel everything will be fine. The young man’s movements became sluggish and his eyes drooped. There we are see? Isn’t it easy to relax now? Get him hooked back up the Doctor demanded, why is the machine disconnected? Get this thing going and crack it to sixty five percent! Doctor he was going into cardiac arrest we had to disconnect him and administer an epinephrine injection, Doctor his nervous system can’t handle this level of stress. Breathe, just breathe. See isn’t it easy to relax now? The man’s voice echoed in Daniel’s head.

 A sound like a yak making its last noises before it died trumpeted right outside his window. Daniels eyes sprang open and he bolted upright. With eyes that were full of globs, he had guessed he had he had been drinking the night before and had a few bad dreams. What the fuck? A rather large pinkish courts crystal started to pulse when he looked at it. Am I still drunk? He said out loud. Holy shit! Looking around his eyes started focusing on objects in the room. He was really confused by this point, well whatever I did last night ill try to make it up to whoever lives here and I hope they will forgive me for using some of these clothes till I can find mine. A mirror made from what appeared to be like hammered and polished copper looked back at him, what did I drink last night?? He almost screamed. The face looking back at him was so young maybe twelve or so with a tan that almost matched the copper mirror, what the hell!! What is going on? The level of panic was at a whole new level and Daniel stopped cold. His head was starting to clear now. Walking over to the crystal he reached out and the pulsing intensified. The urge to touch the crystal was demanding him forward. The crystal flashed, the light was blinding. A second set of memories faded in to his thoughts. Sitting down on the bed he rested his head in his hands, his thoughts revolved around getting another drink or at least a drink if those weren’t dreams. It felt to Daniel like he was receiving a data download to his memories. I was born here he said to himself with tears in his eyes, this is my room. Well, I had better get to class I guess Daniel said with a grunt getting up. I miss pizza already.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I came home from work last night and just crashed.  I usually stay up and write something here.  I’ve been doing that maybe since last September every Friday night.  Which means pretty obviously that I don’t really go out much on the weekends.  It can be hard to get friends to understand your schedule.  But I find a lot of people don’t listen anyway.  I work a salaried job.  That’s hard for people to wrap their heads around.  Why you would make the choices you mae because you are gainfully employed.  I wake up to a two bedroom apartment by myself every morning and make coffee.  The train platform looming outside my window.  It takes me twenty minutes to get to work door to door.  Most of my life fluctuates between my apartment and my office.  I’ve been working there forever.  Every once and awhile I’ll make myself get on a plane and go to Korea and Japan.  People barely notice.  They sometimes think I just got back from Asia when I haven’t been there for a year.  I notice.  I notice a lot of things and they often get me down.  I came back a little depressed.  More than a little to be honest.  The last couple of weeks at work were stressful.  They ended with me sitting in a one on one meeting with upper management.  It went well.  I left that room feeling like I had grown in some way or another.  I’ve had to look away from a lot of things lately.  How broken people can be.  People lash out left and right almost in a desperate attempt to get a reaction from you.  They don’t think.  They don’t maybe even mean it.  But they do it.  And I don’t.  I’ve kept my cool through the last four or five months but it doesn’t come without a price.  When you see the way the world works it makes you want to shut down.  The only way I can fight back is by conserving my strength to.  And it’s not like I don’t get anything back in return.  I still have fifteen vacation days left to use until July.  I’m carrying over ten and I just took eleven to go to Asia.  I do all this because I work a day job.  And the bizarre realization that comes with it is that everybody in this city sort of treats me like a failure.

I can’t say everyone.  Maybe when faced with the reminder of what you could have been, failure looks very familiar.  I’ve failed enough.  It’s ok to experiment obviously.  I don’t think everyone experiments the same.  I got lost in literature, music and video games.  I still get lost in all of that.  I read comics in my kitchen at three am by myself and it’s quiet.  Maybe the faint hum of a fan overhead or the rumble of the train in the distance.  Maybe I never really thought too much about what I enjoy personally.  I was always at the whims of what other people thought or wanted to do.  I played along for a while.  Listened to people’s constant critique of who I am and what my motives are.  Disagreed a lot.  Did it my own way.  Failed to get the same results as other people.  Got angry possibly.  Then settled back into the futility of it all.  Now I’m experimenting with listening to my own intuition.  It’s quiet enough in my house to think.  Nobody but the Korean Yugioh poster on my wall judging me.  I don’t drink anymore so I’m not really prone to mood swings or erratic behavior.  I smoke weed and drink coffee at five in the morning and read the news.  I don’t know that I would suggest this kind of lifestyle to anybody.  But this is the America I know.  Living on a block where the oldest gang in Chicago still hangs out underneath the train tracks in my alley.  The police presence is so huge here that they actually film Chicago PD outside of my apartment.  By now none of it phases me really.  I try to make sense of it obviously.  It’s why I still write here.  Because I don’t feel part of any of it really.  I question myself sometimes whether I’ve failed or not.  Obviously I’m not married.  I don’t have kids.  I never said I would mind any of that.  But it’s not my reality right now and hasn’t ever been.  I get ignored a lot.  People just straight up forget about me.  I’ve learned I don’t like to say things twice.  And that is the problem.  Nobody is actually listening.  And that is the first and most systemic failure there is in all of this.

Maybe people are too wrapped up in their own narratives to care.  I don’t feel like a complete failure.  Nor do I feel completely isolated.  I meet people every day.  People smile at me still too.  Complete strangers or not so much.  The problem with the scenes I came from was everyone knew each other up front even before meeting.  It’s still the same way.  People gossip and talk about you behind your back for years that your legacy becomes this cancerous shroud you can’t ever escape from.  Nobody takes you at face value.  Nobody sees you grow.  They just reference the nostalgia.  I read this book by Svetlana Boym about the future of nostalgia.  It talks a lot about Russia and Soviet ideals of nostalgia.  That it points to certainty and nationalism.  A time when things were more predictable.  The Tim they all remember.  Not the Tim they grew apart from.  I grew apart for a lot of reasons.  I woke up and ran before work six hundred miles in six months.  Nobody cared other than my body.  I did that again this week before work.  The exhaustion of it all can be crippling.  Especially when people don’t want to understand what all goes into being you.  It’s like when I make a shirt out of my bedroom from start to finish.  I burn the screen in my bedroom.  I spray it out on my porch.  I print it in my spare bedroom.  And I wear it to work the next day.  People see it as magic.  And they expect far much more from there.  And if you get trapped into that process of constantly proving yourself, you won’t have time to do this magic show anymore.  People shit on me every day.  You wouldn’t believe how horrible some people are.  How utterly vapid, disconnected and thankless they are.  How their business and social networks operate on clout and fumes.  How nobody understands that having a job, benefits, and time off might be worth something.  What you sacrifice to maintain that.  They don’t have to worry about value.  They have all the money in the world.  Or they’ve cloistered themselves in the right scenes and social groups.  I see all that as failure now.  Maybe the truth is I’m mourning for what I’ve put behind me.  And the future hasn’t even started yet for me.  The weekend has and I’ll be in my kitchen shuffling cards and ignoring the world until it has something worthwhile to offer. <3 Tim

[lilmccoy]

Work stress is such a great time right now. Just love working a job advertised as “8-5 40 hours a week no overtime ever”. Then being required to work 50-60 hours per week, with 12 hours notice, every week, for $11/hour, with the threat of getting fired looming overhead and with it health insurance during a pandemic. The only time I have free to work overtime is after 10 pm, which means sleeping 4-5 hours per night, and I’ve been doing this since November. I don’t get free time during the week. And on the weekends I’m too sick and exhausted to get anything done. Like I couldn’t fall asleep last night, then had a dream that I was puking, woke up wide awake and incredibly nauseous, had to crawl out of bed to get meds at like 5 am, took a good while to fall asleep again, and woke up still exhausted on almost 9 hours of sleep. My sleep tracker shows I was in a single REM stage for less than 20 minutes. Within 15 minutes of waking up I got a gushing nosebleed. Now I’m on and off nauseas, exhausted, and have a tension headache. I’m supposed to work more this weekend, but I think I’m about to refuse to do it. I just feel like I’m about to lose it. Having to sacrifice my life, health, safety, and happiness, for a job that doesn’t pay me enough to live. Except it’s near impossible to find a job around here without a master’s degree or a license of some kind.

[olixerwoood-blog]

Study Breaks

Request: Hello! Are you taking requests? May I ask you for some fluff with Oliver Wood? ^^ But like in school, private, not on the quidditch pitch. Maybe some cuddling on the rainy evening or something? :) Love you!xx ( @bluegreyme ).

Word Count: 1378

Author’s Note: I love Oliver Wood so of course I loveeeeeed this request. I just hope that I did your request to your liking :) Also tagging the lovely @notgreengrass for always being so willing to edit my posts!

Disclaimer: Fluffffffff

The NEWTs was all Y/n could think about the for past two weeks. The end of term was approaching quickly, which meant that Oliver and Y/n had been studying from dawn 'til dusk. The morning sun was bright as it glistened against the water of the lake, though the air felt a little stagnate. Regardless, it was pleasant weather for studying underneath her and Oliver's favorite tree by the Hogwarts lake.

Transfiguration books were sprawled all across the ground. As Oliver's head was resting on Y/n's lap, he held a book in attempt to block the sun that was making them squint their eyes.

“Y/n–,” Oliver began to whine, “we’ve been studying all bloody morning. Can we please take a break? My brain is going to explode,” he said, dragging out "please." Oliver groaned as he rolled onto his stomach to face the Y/h girl.

She looked down at the brown-haired boy for just a moment before huffing and turning her attention back to her notes, dipping her quill into the jet black ink. She only sighed and shut her eyes in frustration.

“Oliver, I’m getting tired of explaining this to you again and again. I need at least an 'exceeds expectations' in Transfiguration. I can not afford anything less that, and at the rate I’m going, I will barely manage to get ac–”

“Acceptable and then there is no way you’ll get a credible job after Hogwarts. Blah, blah, blah. I know, but darling, it’s a beautiful day and we're busy studying again! When was the last time we had some real fun?” He raised his right eyebrow up in questionable manner.

“Well, the other day we had a nice laugh in the library when Fred and George tried to prank Madam Pince...”

“We were studying then, too!” Oliver playfully yelled while attempting to grab the book from her petite hands but only to fail miserably.

“Oliver Wood, leave me be and get back to your own studying! You know I care about you and want you to do well.” She playfully slapped him on the head with the book before throwing it aside and tackling him onto the rough ground.

Oliver’s mood instantly peaked as he wrapped his arms around the girl and began to tickle her sides, the spots he knew to be the most ticklish on her. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted and wouldn’t stop until she desperately gave in upon his request.

She gasped for air and flailed all about trying to get her breathing into a normal and steady pace which did not succeed because of the intense laughter escaping her mouth.

“Ollllliee! St–stop ii-iit!" she cried as tears caused from the sensation prickled the corners of her eyes.

“I won’t stop until you agree that we can take a break from studying!” he declared while tossing his head back with even more laughter. The witch began to hit him on his legs. “O-okay j-j-just pleeaase quit it!”

Oliver finally released the girl who scooted away from the Scot as quickly as she could as she smoothed down her hair and clothes in the process. She crossed her arms and began to pout while baiting her now wide and dewey eyes, giving her best shot at the puppy eyes she knew he couldn’t resist prior to late events.

“Oh Merlin, Y/n,” He ran his rugged hand over his face and chuckled, “you know I can never resist that gorgeous face of yours, but you make it exceedingly hard when you pout, love.”

He scooted closer to the girl and rested his forehead against hers. He ran his forefinger up and down her right cheek before cupping it gently and leaning in to plant soft kisses on her lips.

Y/n met him halfway and captured his lips onto her own while running her hands excruciatingly slow in his previously neat hair. Oliver moved his right hand to the back of her neck, causing her head to tilt back and her mouth to part ever so slightly granting his tongue access to explore the inside of her mouth.

The two were in their own little world of bliss when suddenly Y/n felt a drop of liquid hit her now flushed cheek. She broke apart the sultry kiss to look up to the sky. The sky seemed to have changed drastically. Ominous clouds were now looming over the lake and Hogwarts threatening to trap them in a great rainstorm.

“Uh, Oliver?” Oliver was busy planting kisses on her neck to bother hearing her. However, it was too late. In a matter of mere seconds, the clouds released their pressure and began to pour onto the couple underneath the tree.

“Oh bloody hell! Oliver, our books and parchments! They're getting soaked!” Oliver, paying no mind onto his belongings, grabbed all of Y/n's and stuffed them as quickly as he could into his bag.

“Y/n, just grab what you can and run back to the castle. I’ll get the rest! Now go!”

Her hands were full as she stumbled and giggled her way all the way back to the castle entrance. Oliver was not too far on her heels. Once they reached the entrance, the two dropped all of their belongings on the floor and fell into a fit of laughter. Oliver walked toward the soaking wet witch and grabbed her waist and pulled her into a tight hug before kissing her forehead lovingly.

“Hey, let’s go and put our things back in the common room before Filch finds us. I want to take you somewhere,” whispered Oliver. He stroked her back and motioned his thumbs in small sloppy circles. Goosebumps hidden under her clothes formed a trail following under his fingers.

“Please tell me it’s not the pitch. You’re always there, you know.” Oliver laughed and kissed her temple. “No, it is not. I think you'll like it.”

The couple began to walk down the hall after emerging out of the portrait dry and with a new change of clothes. Oliver grasped her left hand in his right one, tangling his fingers through hers so he could lead her up the stairs towards the top of the tower. He stroked her hand as they walked and Y/n's cheeks turned a light peach. Even after months of dating, they're hearts still beat fast from any sign of affection.

“Have I ever heard of the place we're heading to, Oliver?” She squeezed his hand knowing that he was taking her to the astronomy tower.

“Well, love, you’re a bright woman, and you’ve been in this castle for a long while now,” Oliver teased. He had always admired her cleverness.

Once they reached the astronomy tower, Oliver let go of her hand and placed them over her eyes. “Ollie, I’ve seen the astronomy tower about a million times now. It’s no surprise to me anymore.” She chuckled lightly and tried to peel his hands away from her eyes.

“Yeah, but have you seen this view before?” He guided her over to the railing that overlooked the lake before removing his hands from her face that revealed the mid-afternoon sky. The clouds were moving rapidly overhead as the rain poured against half of the lake while the other half was brilliant shades of oranges and pinks. The passing storm gave a beautiful and breathtaking glow across the remaining half of the lake. Everything looked bright green on the outskirts of the forbidden forest from the rain that was falling. The moss was more illuminated than ever before. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as she smiled. A fuzzy warmth filling her body.

“It’s... absolutely gorgeous Oliver. This... just, wow,” she breathed out as she leaned forward against the railing. She felt a pair of strong arms entangle around her from behind.

“Not as gorgeous as the lady I have in my arms,” Oliver whispered in her ear before placing a small kiss along the side of her neck. "Ugh, you're such a cliche, Oliver."

The couple stayed intertwined in each other’s arms spending some much needed time together away from the stress of studying under the mesmerizing warm sky. 

“I love you, you study-holic.”

“And I love you too, Keeper.”