#drive again or they will shoot me. I will take the subway

[pteropods]

this is horrifying . i dont think you should be on roads i think the peacocks around your hosue should just take you everywhere . this ks so fucked up

I AGREE WITH THIS cars are an affront to humanity and every one of them is born with the intent to harm as many living beings as possible

[lilacxquartz]

Don't Make Me Feel Alive I Chapter 9

Kenjaku (Pseudo-Geto) × Fem!Reader

ABOUT: Diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: With Satoru Gojo sealed, you try to remove yourself from your involvement, however he stops you and actually shows you what he can be capable of.

Trigger warning: Violence and also he’s just scary

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Chapter 9: Danger

Stumbling off to the bathroom, the toilets casted an oddly dim, yet warm light in comparison to the rest of the station, leaving you to wonder if this was an isolated fault or if it was just how it was. Considering that his whole plan left the city in a state of crisis, you figured that it was the latter. In a way, the dark provided comfort.

Desperate to distract yourself while plotting away at the same time, you locked yourself into an adjacent stall, swivelling the lock shut in a flash. You screwed your eyes shut as you pulled at your hair, doing your best to force that image out of your head but it was already burned into your memory.

But that much was too late already.

You thought initially that maybe it could have been something similar to the case of that kid who ate one of the cursed fingers, an incarnation appearing in the body was a vessel instead, but somehow this sort of reality felt bleaker, leaving you feeling uneasy with his very existence.

Another point—if that was how his brain looked like now, with all of those teeth in tow, then just how long has he been around really?

You didn’t want to think about it too much though, not unless you truly wanted to drive yourself mad. In an attempt to ground yourself, you leaned forward while sitting on the toilet seat, attempting to get up and try to escape, while you still had time. Instead, you anchored to your knees, turning to flip the lid, coughing up the contents of your stomach as the nausea came back to hit you once again.

Stumbling out of the stall, you attempted to clean yourself up and dragged your eyes around the bathroom, finding that there was not a single window to crawl out from. You supposed that much made sense given that you were technically underground but it still felt insulting to realise.

Splashing water on your face a final time, you hastily exited the toilets and headed towards the opposite direction that you arrived from and thinking that you were in the clear, you hurried your pace, only to feel a firm hand clamp against your shoulder, shooting down to your wrist and pulling you back into a sickeningly familiar hold.

Hot breath rolled down your neck as you heard him whisper something right into your ear, leaving you recoiling with a deep sense of unease, “You know, if you really want to go outside and get torn apart by whatever is crawling around on the surface, you can be my guest,” he pulled you even closer, his lips pressed right against you, “or, you could stay down here with me, right where you are. I’ll keep you safe, but you have to let me do that and not wander off.”

“I’ll stay-“ you gasped within a flash, taking heed of his threatening tone.

“—good, because that’s the correct choice,” he said, cutting you off before you could finish your sentence, letting go of your wrist and allowing you to take a step back.

Your freedom seemed to be an illusion though. Or at the very least shortly lived as he then spung you over to face him, pushing you back against the subway wall. Your back absorbed the hit and you grunted, feeling your breath catch as you failed to adjust to the pressure he applied against your body.

In an attempt to push him back, you found that you couldn’t. He simply did not budge at all and kept pushing you hard against the concrete to the point that it felt like your bones were about to crumble—about to cave in from an almost crushing display of strength at his hand.

He didn’t stop though, seeming to find the humour in the situation at hand (or perhaps, not at all, because if he was being honest, he had been too lenient on you), finding it almost peculiar that you didn’t seem to take his threats seriously at all, “Oh…? In pain are you? I know this hurts you, but what if I were to go even further?”

You couldn’t reply; it felt as though your voice got torn out from your throat.

He kept you secured while slowly pushing you back, keeping up the unwavering pressure for as long as you could take it, “Oh and, try not to struggle, at least not too much,” he whispered, his head dropping forward, his lips pressed against your forehead, “this is your fault, not mine.”

“F-fine, it’s my fault…” you gasped, “c-can you take a step ba-“

“—if only you did what you were told, then you wouldn’t be in this situation at all,” Kenjaku continued to seethe, “of course you couldn’t keep up with something so simple, though. Maybe that one is on me, since I should have known better by now.”

“It’s my fault,” you repeated.

He backed off for now, his smile falling flat on his face while his eyes adopted a look that practically drowned in contempt. It wasn’t too often that you got to see him so serious and it was unnerving when he did so, because how exactly were you supposed to react when he looked at you with those eyes? So devoid of care, watching you still back away into the wall despite your freedom, desperate to breathe again as you recovered from the damage he inflicted.

How were you supposed to exist around him at all, knowing that there hasn’t been a single day at his side where he had left you alone? In an attempt to step to the side, he stopped you—grabbing you by the collar of your top, throwing you hard across the tiled floor like a rag doll—your teeth gritting as you tanked such a powerful blow, blood smearing the floor as scarlet tracks formed, shaking with dreading anticipating as he slowly walked forward, crouching at your side.

How were you supposed to do anything at all…?

You attempted to back away but he held onto you once more, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezed the life out of you, but not just yet. Keeping you just barely holding on, because that’s what he allowed. His eyes continued to stare you down with disdain and the tone in his voice remained still so very cold.

“You’re lucky though, that I..,” he spoke, squeezing at your throat as he did so, laughing a little at just how ridiculous this whole thing really was, “that I even lo… like you, you ungrateful idiot… because if I didn’t, then you would have been dead the first time you tried something as foolish as this.”

Trying to speak against his choking hand, he loosened his grip just a little to allow your words to come out, “Maybe you should have followed through the first time, then I could have been peacefully dead instead. Away from someone like you.”

“Ah, is this what this whole thing is about?” he laughed, “I’m sorry if I somehow deluded you into thinking I had been a saint. No, I believe I was being quite clear when I gave you the opportunity to live again. Call it a deal with the devil of sorts, I’m sure you probably see me the very same, but, I never lied about who I was.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you continued to say.

“Oh, is that so?” he snorted, his mood suddenly becoming playful again—the fire returning to his eyes as something kindled within. He wanted to mess with you forever if he could, but before that, he needed to teach you a lesson or else you would never learn.

You nodded at his question.

His hands then tightened, his words taking on a mocking edge, “Your life isn’t up to you anymore though. So whether you were to live or die, that’s not a decision for you to decide for yourself and as it turns out, you still do have some use left in you.”

“I can still probably just kill mys-”

“—oh that’s a good one, [name],” Kenjaku promptly interrupted you, his smile widening into a toothy grin, seeming almost manic—unhinged, even, “let me just ask you though, do you really think that death would be the end for you?”

You stared at him with a confused gaze, your brows furrowing in response, “What do you mean?”

He hummed in amusement, seemingly quite enjoying himself, “Oh, you know. I wouldn’t let you do that, for one, but I could kill you instead if you’d like? I’d take it slowly, just for you. So many deaths that I’ve caused all happened in the blink of an eye but for someone so special, maybe I could make an exception. I’d take my sweet time, dragging it on until your senses fail you. Maybe I’d save you in the last second though just so that I could do it all over again.”

“You wouldn’t waste your time on that,” you replied, attempting to call his bluff.

“And who said it would be a waste?” he said, retaining that same sort of feral smile, “I could do anything to you. That’s my given right as someone who owns your life. Even so, death wouldn’t be the end of it for you. Tell me, do you know what my vessel’s cursed technique is?”

You shook your head, somehow he never told you. He told you the other two. There was gravity and then there was his ability to transfer vessels. Was there something more?

“My vessel had a particularly unique cursed technique,” he began, “being able to take in cursed spirits through a process called uzumaki and keep them in a collection of sorts. Now, let’s consider the possibility of corrupting your soul with cursed energy as you die. What would that turn you into?”

“…A vengeful spirit?” you dared entertain.

“Good job!” he praised with a mocking edge, letting go of your neck but still keeping you close. “Now, it hasn’t been tested whether uzumaki could let me absorb a vengeful spirit or not, but if you want to die as a volunteer and let me find that out, then I wouldn’t say no either.”

“Is that… possible?” you asked, momentarily confused.

“That’s the fun part! I have no idea,” he smiled, “but wouldn’t you love to find out? Hell, I’d bet you that you would be a hundred times more useful as an absorbed vengeful spirit than you are now. Full capabilities and techniques, not a single thing dragging you down.”

You sighed, feeling a bit worse for wear than before. You didn’t like the implication that you couldn’t die without potentially being brought back as something else or that it didn’t seem to be an option at all.

How incredible in a way that after wanting to live so desperately for so long, that you now longed for an end instead.

Kenjaku then backed away from you, finally calming down just a little. He seldom lost control, maintaining his cool for centuries on end and then you came along.

“But I won’t go that far just yet,” he assured you, running the back of his hand down your cheek, “I’ve been giving you so many chances, I’ll admit it. Of course you don’t think my threats mean a single thing, but, worry not, I’ll remind you physically, painfully now. My words weren’t working before, so this one’s on you.”

You recovered your breath again, feeling something electric thrumming in your body but the symptom (nor cause) was visible just yet.

Continuing, he took a deep breath, calming him down for your sake, just like he had done for everything else. If only you could understand what a compliment that was though, “You won’t mess things up for me again will you?”

You gulped, shaking your head as he finally succeeded in silencing you—rendering you as pitifully dormant and docile from before. He didn’t honestly mind having to remind you however many times he had to do so, finding that he actually enjoyed instilling fear into your eyes; gradually retiring all the remaining hope you had left.

“Good,” he added again, “because you belong to me, whether you like it or not.”

Finally calming down, he let you go as his eyes scanned over your body, seeking out to settle and soothe any injuries caused by his own infliction, determining that while your body did take a hit—maybe more so than he had intended for you to do so, that you were otherwise fine and the pendant would at least keep you running for however long it could.

But then just as you hesitantly followed him up, the battery jittered and sent a jolt pulsating through your body causing your condition to seemingly worsen, sending you down to the ground against your will.

Kenjaku paused, misinterpreting your actions as the fault of potential injuries as the cause of why you were unable to continue, figuring that since everything else was already underway and happening just as planned, that he could spare a few moments to get you running again.

Sitting himself back down with you on the ground to aid in your recovery, he made an internal commitment with himself that no matter what, this particular moment between you and him would remain private.

So regardless of who passed you both by.

Be it friend or foe.

He would simply dispose of them with no questions asked.

[writerrinthedarksblog]

You're okay | Pedro Pascal

TW: depression

Y/N pov:

These last few days have been hard. There's just so many things going on inside my head, I can barely focus on anything.

It's currently 7 pm here in New York and I swear I just want to scream. I'm supposed to memorize my lines for my upcoming movie that starts shooting in a few weeks but I simply can't. Everything is so messed up right now. My mind is driving me insane. I've been locked up in my apartment for 2 days by now, my phone was somewhere in my place but I didn't give a fuck about checking my messages or answering the calls. I just want myself back, I don't want to feel depressed again, I'm so freaking scared. I even lost my appetite because of how nauseous I've been feeling. Everything inside of me was hurting.

I've been struggling with my mental health since I was a teenager because of some bad traumas, but I haven't had a relapse for a long time. I really thought I was getting better, but I guess I'm not. All I can think about is how insufficient I feel. Why can't I just feel good for once?

I'm laying on the floor and July by Noah Cyrus was playing in the back. My head hurts because of all the stress and anxiety. I feel so mentally drained.

My self destructive mind is destroying me slowly. I feel like everyone is sick of me, why would they even like me if I'm such a mess? What would my boyfriend think of me? He's such a lovely, sweet person and here I am, a living disaster. I'm not good enough, how is he in love with me? Am I even a good actress? What if the people on the internet are right about me? I'm so sick of myself.

I started sobbing, trying to let go of my bottled up emotions. Why is everything so hard? I don't want to feel like this anymore.

Suddenly someone started knocking at my door and I panicked. I don't want anyone to see me this weak and vulnerable.

"Y/N, please open the door" Pedro said, "Amor please let me in" he said in a worried tone.

"I- I- I can't" I said with a broken voice.

"Baby what's going on?" he said with a sad tone

Pedro's pov:

I've been trying to reach my beloved girlfriend since yesterday, it's extremely rare of her to just go missing. I thought she was busy working on those lines she told me about, but this was getting very weird, so I decided to call her best friend Florence to ask her if she knows something.

"Hey Pedroouu, what's up?" Flo said in her british accent.

"Hii Flo, I was just wondering if you know something about Y/N, she hasn't been answering my calls or texts since yesterday and I'm getting very worried" I said.

"She didn't answer me either, I just hope she's not..." Flo said in a worried voice.

"She's not what?" I interrupted her.

"I don't know if she talked to you about this, but Y/N gets this depressive episodes sometimes and she gets to isolate herself as a coping mechanism because you know... it's hard. It's really weird though, it's been a while since the last one" Flo explained.

"She never told me about this" I said.

"Well, it's probably because she doesn't want to feel like a burden. You should go to her place, let her know that you're there for her. At the beginning of our friendship it was really hard for her to open up with me. She really hates showing her most vulnerable side to anyone, especially people she really cares about. I would visit her but I'm shooting in Scotland right now" Flo said.

"Oh and let me tell you Pascal, Y/N gets extremely sensitive when she's going though some deep shit so please be patient, and take her some sweets, it will help to lift up her mood" Flo told me.

"I'm heading out to her place now, thank you so much Flo, I'll let you know how she's doing" I said.

"Please take care of my best friend, byee" Flo said ending the call.

I ran out to buy some of Y/N favourite's sweets and some pink tulips before heading to her apartment, luckily she lives close to my place here in Manhattan so I didn't have to take the subway.

When I got to her door, I heard some music and loud sobs. It broke my heart. I started knocking at her door, but she didn't answer.

"Y/N, please open the door" I said extremely worried.

"Amor please let me in" I begged.

"I- I- I can't" she said with a broken voice.

"Baby what's going on?" I said.

"Please go away" she said sobbing.

"I'm not leaving you, Y/N. Please just open the door, I'm here for you" I said putting my forehead in her door.

A few seconds later, the music stopped and she opened the door. She was wearing a big Fleetwood Mac shirt that she probably stole from me, some shorts and her favourite avocado socks, looking like a homeless man as she would say... Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks and nose were a bit red from all the crying. The view broke my heart.

"Amor" I said in a low voice.

She broke down crying again covering her face with her hands. Immediately I left the grocery's bag on the small side table, to hug her right there. She just kept sobbing on my chest.

"Shhh, everything's okay, you're okay" I said trying to comfort her.

"I- I feel so drained and it's so overwhelming" she said crying.

"I know baby, I know. But I'm here for you and I promise that everything will get better, you will feel better" I said kissing her forehead.

I carried her to the couch and I sat her in my lap. She cuddled closer to my chest feeling a bit calmed. I caressed her face with my hands trying to clean the dry tears while she played with her fingers nervously. I left a kiss in her forehead and in the peck of her nose making her giggle.

I came close to her lips to finally kiss her gently, and when I felt her smile during it, I felt the happiest man alive. She's the most perfect girl I've ever seen. Even at her worst she has me mesmerized. I wish she could see herself from my eyes.

"Why are you staring? I know I look awful" She said.

"I'm admiring how gorgeous you are, mi vida. Thank you for being vulnerable with me, I know it's hard for you to let someone see you like this" I said.

"Thank you for being here for me even at my worst, it really means a lot" she said.

"I will always be here for you, amor. So don't try to push me away because I will always stay close to you, on your good days or bad days. I will never leave your side, Y/N. I love you so much and I really wish I could take all your pain away. You have the prettiest soul, and I wish you could see how everyone around you is completely mesmerised by you, especially me. You're like a ray of sunshine in a cloudy day". I told her.

"I know your mind can play you wrong sometimes, but I promise that you're worth of all the good things and I'm so lucky of calling you mine. Everything will get better baby and I will be here by your side, always." I said putting my forehead against hers, caressing her cheek.

"I love you so so much Pedro" she told me tearing up a bit.

"I love you more, mi vida" I said leaving a kiss on her lips.

"Do you wanna see what I brought you?" I said cleaning her tears with my hands.

"What is it?" She said smiling.

I stood up to get the sweets and flowers out of the bag. I walked to the couch and I saw the way her eyes glowed when she saw what I had in my hands.

"You didn't have to, they're beautiful" she said hugging me. I wrapped my arms around her waist.

"I will never lose a chance of spoiling my favourite person, you deserve so many beautiful things, te amo más de lo que puedes imaginar" I said.

She left a small and cute kiss on my lips, before saying that she loves me too.

We spent the rest of the night watching some funny videos on tik tok and eating the sweets, eventually Y/N started feeling a bit better. We even called Flo and she showed us how her precious dog Billie was wearing her wig from the movie she was filming, making us explode in laughs.

_

ok so I didn't know how to finish this... I hope it's finee. pls let me know if I wrote something wrong, english is not my first language and sometimes i get confused with the grammar. anygays enjoyyy💗

xoxo,

mills.

[dreamycinnamongirl]

The Long and Short of It

You have been watched from a distance for some time now and now you are being watched from even farther away. Anyway, you’d like to believe it’s true. Who wouldn’t? Just because a thing’s invisible doesn’t mean it don’t exist, you think to yourself, but still, there is no valid way to test it. And then one day you fall asleep on the train on the way home but you get home anyway. You close your eyes and nothing happens. You close your eyes every now and then, just to test the waters, and find you’re still moving, being moved, walking through the tunnel with your eyes closed, held up and carried along by the crowd. Not love or joy in any traditional sense, but a gentle kind of peaceful rocking that gathers together the single flowers to make a garland.

The lights flicker and the wheels clack. No one on the train can tell who’s driving, so you let go of the imaginary wheel. You lean back in your plastic seat and let your shoulders relax. In the seat across from you, a man is reading a newspaper. His ears look familiar. And the woman standing by the automatic doors—her wrists, how she moves her wrists strikes a chord deep inside you. Look at the teeth in the mouth of that little boy in the parka! You know those teeth! You’ve seen those teeth in somebody else’s mouth! All these parts trying to assemble themselves in front of you, as if to say Let me in, I’m still here, hello hello, you know me, you know…

Here I am in a rabbit run, here I am in a valley of pine, waiting for you to find me. I could pretend I’m speaking to everyone—assume a middle distance and transcend myself—but I’m taking to you and you know it.

There was one time, we were on the subway then, and I had just gone somewhere inside my head—Where did you just go? you said—and I had come here (buzz buzz) and didn’t need no static offa you. It doesn’t always matter where we are but here I am and I say hello, sitting next to you this time, just pretend I’m sitting next to you this time. You would like it here. Maybe you would like it here. I think that maybe you would like it here.

I work my jobs, I take my pills. Knot the tie and go to work, unknot the tie and go to sleep. I sleep. I dream. I wake. I sing. I get out the hammer and start knocking in the wooden pegs that affix the meaning to the landscape, the inner life to the body, the names to the things. I float too much to wander, like you, in the real world. I envy it but that’s the dealio—you’re a train and I’m a trainstation and when I try to guess your trajectory I end up telling my own story.

But you are my nomad and I love you sideways daily. Sideways because I have to beam my love in all directions, hoping it bounces off something and eventually finds you. You and all the other secret agents carooming underneath the radar, sending your documents back to Mission Control—which is me, I guess, because I have a permanent address.

I’ve been rereading your story. I think it’s about me in a way that might not be flattering, but that’s okay. We dream and dream of being seen as we really are and then finally someone looks at us and sees us truly and we fail to measure up. Anyway: story received, story included. You looked at me long enough to see something mysterios under all the gruff and bluster. Thanks. Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.

So here we are again: me being here and you being off the map and me sending it out across the wires and being overheard. You’re making me work for this—the whisper system—and that’s okay, too. I was shooting my mouth off and you called me on it and yes, it’s been the plan all along, my great invention, a place for all these voices to land, the airport of someone else’s listening.

The question for this issue was Do you have a human soul and can you prove it? And, of course, there was no definitive answer. A robot can do the math. A robot can spit out an answer. People, they make it up as they go along. They find connections between things where there aren’t any. They get moody, they refuse things, they take it deep inside themselves and fold it into something unrecognizable and then they set it down on the table.

I had a tape recorder. I poked and prodded. I said your reports on my desk now, moles. I give you permission, I give you immunity. I give you these freedoms—even if freedom means animal spirit guides and probation officers. I wound them up and broke their mainsprings. There are limit-ations and there are protocols and I’ve been warned that I’m not supposed to threaten or beg for pieces of someone’s soul. Theme issues are creepy anyway. Drew said pick something easier, so we ended up going with long poems and short short stories.

You said if people wanted to change the world, they would. You said most people like it this way. Too bad for them, I say. I want something else. But you know how I am. I push too hard. I get ahead of myself. I keep ruining everything I touch by turning it into gold. But I’m learning how to be gentle. Even to the vampires, poor little things. Save me save me love me love me there’s a hole in my bucket etcetera. They don’t know what they want but I give it to them anyway because why the hell not? Love, love, go ahead and have another plate of it, it doesn’t run out.

Of course, I wonder if they love me back, which is, really, besides the point. I don’t do it to be adored, I do it because my love keeps getting bigger and that’s what happens.

So here we are again, words on a page, the voice that wants to be a hand, the bridge with no opposite side. Of all the people reading this, are you one of them? I have to believe you are. Sure, we invent each other. We agreed to that a long time ago. Train and trainstation, force and field. We do what we do and what I do is put the pies on the windowsill.

So here you are, reading this, expecting something. A story perhaps, or someone singing themselves to sleep. You’re ready and I’m ready too. Have you been waiting long? I’ve frankensteined it for you, bundled it all up, because it’s nice to put pictures inside people’s heads, like frogs and ronin and Cleveland and Deloreses. Here is a place for it to happen. A place where I can love you. The letter delivered, the year decembered, the river swum.

-Richard Siken

[skepticalkoi-catastrophe]

|Come Closer| Kuroo Tetsurou x Blackfem!reader

The following fanfic is an inspired spin-off of Deciphered by @hoeneymilktea, The Sunrise, and Your Sins by @leia505 , and fanart by @aikk00 . Pls, check them out as well as other spin-off authors. Comments, Reblogs, and Shares are heavily appreciated. I hope you enjoy~ ♡

Words- 2,001

Chapter [005] Wish it More

Subway doors clang shut at the Toranomon Hills Station via the Hibiya Line. Kuroo texts you and says he's waiting at the next station's platform. You have your headset on one ear, the other somewhat hanging off to hear any upcoming announcements. Your mouth quirks at its corners as you notice a toddler sitting across from where you are, babbling and reaching for you.

Sunlit clouds drift through the clear skies, casting radiant lambency out the windows of the train. Its beams turn your irises into sunny versions of themselves. When Kuroo said he'd see you today, you didn't think you'd wake up to brunch delivered at your doorstep from your favorite café you thought closed many summers back. He first took you there after his morning practice as a thank-you for accompanying him during volleyball training camp.

You’re pulled out of your reverie as your stop, Kasumigaseki Station, is announced as the next stop. You wish the toddler goodbye with a wink and a wave, seeing their teeny tiny hand wave bye back to you. Waiting by the candy cane-striped line for safety at the edge of the track, train schedules and map routes are posted on the wall along with digital signs announcing the estimated arrival time for the next train.

"Y/n!" Kuroo stumbled to a halt. "I'm so glad you had some time to do this with me."

"Lucky for you I've got all the time in the world, Tetsurou."

He's decked out in a white Chicago Bulls jersey and khaki cargo pants, an acid wash jean jacket wrapped around his waist. Red, white, and black retro Jordan 6's on his feet as he ushered you inside the train. You both tromp along, taking baby steps into the sardine can-like compartment alongside dozens of strangers. Attempting to snag an empty seat, the train lurched unanticipatedly at its next stop.

Had the last person boarding not rushed inside the train, Kuroo -adding to his now brought-on discomforting sense of dread- blunders about nearly crushing you between him and the train doors at your rear. He catches himself even though there wasn't a handle to grab ahold of. Till he realized his large hand was on your hip holding you upright.

You raise your chin, pursing your lips. "You good? You almost busted your ass there for a sec."

"Uh- yeah sorry about that, Shortcake. Can I uh...?" He trips over his tongue, the forced proximity making his heart play double dutch. "I'm gonna put my arm above you, okay? To steady me."

"Right, uh, go ahead." You said, folding your hands at your sides and holding your ruched red Prada mini bag. His gold cuban link chain dangling within the modest gap between you both. He's not far off from an overprotective boyfriend with his right forearm stiffly propped onto the train doors. Kuroo turned his head sideways, throwing his focus elsewhere.

You both bring your attention as the speaker crackles to life, announcing the next platform. Seven stops left.

You press your foot down on the gas controller, only for your avatar to place fourth once again across the finish line. Kuroo takes pleasure in his victory, even going as far as to one-up you by driving one-handed just like in real life. Yet he had another thing coming as you got to your feet on the old thin patterned carpet, blowing out your cheeks.

"Best two outta three?" He insisted, stretching his arms above his head.

"Tell yah what, you may out-drive me but I mos def can out-gun you." You taunt, leading him away from the seated racing games to the loud bomb blasts and gunfire emanating from the nearby shoot-em-up games.

Rows of machines with colorful pictures on the sides filled Gigo Shinjuku Kabukicho. Players jab at buttons, some frustratedly slamming their hands against the side of them. Recorded crowds cheering and bellowing out the basketball/hoop games. Inserting your tokens, you hold the shotgun controller, squeezing the trigger.

Kuroo practically bent over backward narrowly keeping up with your kill streak. Marveled, he watches as you gun down hordes of zombies . The Annihilation–each zombie barely made it a step through the graveyard before you blew them to high hell with seconds left in the round.

You size him up, grabbing a quick slurp of your blue raspberry slush before the next level kicks in. "Quittin' already?"

"I'm all outta tokens, smart ass. Imma be right back." He simpered, gingerly bumping your side.

You give him a half-shrug, mowing down more zombies as Kuroo jogged out of view to the token exchange. At the final boss level, you chuck a grenade, adding another S-rank win to your belt. Level three loaded as you pumped your fist in the air, jamming your hand in your front pocket for what's left of your tokens.

"Here, you can have mine." Your head jerked in the direction of the voice, his stack of tokens resting on the game cabinets' console. He held out his arms, wrapping them around your shoulders, yours around his torso squeezing a bit.

"Where have you been at, Tangie? Last we spoke, you were leaving for Brazil." You pull away, the ginger barely concealing his delight. "You were shorter, too."

"Says the one who hasn't grown much since then. Last I saw you, you were catching your flight back to the states."

Hinata's tan is evident of his time away. His short-sleeved shirt revealed elaborate tattoos down to his wrists. "I'm taking some time off. I got homesick. I've missed you, Mi Querida."

"Oh, so we're bilingual now?" Your hip juts out amused. "I missed you too. Sorry I wasn't calling you as much. I had my number changed recently. "

Inserting his stack of coins, you wait on the countdown to the next stage of zombies. You hand your blue flip phone to him, a Calpico charm with a small four-leaf clover inside hangs from it.

"I can't say much right now, but add your number to my contact list. And don't tell Blondie Miya. I want it to be a surprise."

Hinata taps away at the number keys. "That's if his brother didn't tell him first. Word travels fast 'round here. Wait, you're here alone?"

"Who says I'm alone?" You ready your stance, cocking the plastic shotgun and adjusting your aim. "I'll give you the deets later."

Hinata snaps your phone shut, sliding it into your mini bag. He side-hugs you once more, starting to quicken his pace en route to the prize counter.

"You might wanna head out pronto." His flip phone chirps reading off a message. "Blondie and Grey will be here in a few minutes. I'll message you a meeting place by Friday."

You wave him away, putting the plastic gun down in the console's holster. Searching for any signs of the twins, you bump into a medium-sized toast and skeleton cat plushie won from the claw games held in Kuroo's arms.

Somewhat peeking around his shoulder, you notice the twins now battling in air hockey while Enigma was by the dance pads.

"Careful y/n. What's the rush?"

You take his hand, hastily leading him to the exit doors. "I'm craving something sweet. Let's get ice cream. My treat."

Colorfully painted walls and an ornamented chalkboard menu board lists various ice cream flavors and their correlative prices. Jolly décor and customers peer into glass-covered cases holding buckets of creamy confectionery nestled in ice as they ask for samples. Tubs filled with candy toppings and pump containers of chocolate, caramel, butterscotch, and strawberry syrups lined the display cases.

Seated in a booth, you take spoonfuls of your parfait as Kuroo tries desperately to keep his waffle cone from melting in his hands. Both of your plushies are seated beside you.

"We're gonna spoil our dinner because of your sweet tooth."

"What do you care? Do you have reservations planned for us somewhere? " You rocked back and forth, brushing your palms together.

"Does Thai Take-out count?" Kuroo bites into his cone, licking what he could of his three scoops. "In all seriousness though, why were you so quick to leave the arcade? Did something happen? "

You shook your head. "No. Nothing like that. I just saw some familiar faces and I didn't want them to know I was out and about."

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Why? Scared I'll ruin your rep?"

"For starters, you still haven't told me what your rep is nowadays. Apparently, you race and you have money as far as the eye can see. Am I wrong to assume the worst? "

Kuroo laughs bitterly, crunching more of his waffle cone between his teeth. "Assume the worst huh? I'd say I'm living the dream. Fast cars and fast money all the while I'm my own boss."

"And your Chem degree is still in the picture?"

"Working on it as we speak. Part-time, obviously."

Wrapping a curl around your finger, you lean back into the cushioned seat, wiggling your foot.

"If life's so carefree, then, please do tell me whose nine millimeter that is in your glove box."

There's a beat of silence as his shoulders slump and he massages the back of his neck. "How did you-? Look, I never said I didn't have enemies, y/n. It comes with the territory."

Across the way, a girl your age waited afar. You realize you know her, red and white ink formed a chrysanthemum norigae on her right bicep.

Exhaling, you rise from your seat. "I'll be in the bathroom."

Shim Ya Naoki. Da Vinci was once her name. Nothing more than a talented tattoo artist who visited your old place of work for flowers and coffee. You hated where things left off between you both. She's the one who disappeared. She had no right to blame you.

Her black platform lace-up boots entered, heavily pacing to the stall you stood within. She leaned back against the wall, hanging her head and crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'd apologize but I know you don't want to hear a word I have to say."

"Yeah, well, you shut everybody out. I won't take it personally. Never did." You quipped, glancing up at the ceiling.

"Spades, you can't- " She retorted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "You cannot avoid me forever."

"How much do you wanna bet ?" You opened the door of the stall. Naoki steps back, granting you enough space to stand straight.

"I don't want an apology, 'Vinci. I didn't ask you to nose around in my business with the Miya's. If you wanted Kuroo so bad back then, you should've opened yah fuckin' mouth and told him."

"It was pointless. He used me as a rebound the same way you used him."

"Kuroo and I were strictly just friends. Him and I dating was out of the question."

"Guess he didn't quite get the memo. He moaned your name while he fucked me." Naoki tenses, her expression pinched and eyes narrow.

"You're lyin'." Your head drew back quickly. Disbelief audible as you shakily replied. "It doesn't matter, you two weren't officially together. Having a 'fuck buddy' dosen't equal having a boyfriend."

"Neither were you and the Miyas either."

Naoki shoved her hands in her pockets bumping your shoulder to get by. She cracks the bathroom door, looking back at you, her acrylic nails like talons.

"He's not who he's cracked up to be. From one girl to another, stand down. He's more trouble than he's worth, Spades."

With that, she exits, leaving you frustratedly speechless. Touching the base of your neck, your other hand grips the sink in front of you as you grimace.

You never called to mind Kuroo looking at you in a lovey-dovey way. He was a player, a delinquent who could have any girl he wanted back then and even now. Everything you both did together was totally platonic. No strings attached. Naoki's warning repeats itself back as a question from your lips.

"More trouble than he's worth?"

If you enjoyed this chapter, make sure to follow me for more. If you'd also like to be added to the tag list, comment below.

Taglist: @blissfullyrhea @nanastie @peachjaem00 @melbugs1 @jfoxxarts @s-1-xx

[archersxartxblog]

I Am Emmet, I Am a Watch Dog

Hey new Fic drop.

this one is a crossover between Pokemon Submas and Watch Dogs Legion. Focusing on Emmet.

so this isn't up on A03 yet, mostly because I'm not sure about it just yet. If I'm able to get the second chapter of it done, I'll post it there. I chose to go with a legion storyline because it allows me to kind of have Emmet in the action and learn about stuff with the reader. I have changed stuff so that it takes place in the Pokemon universe.

this will probably be a little more adult than some of my other stuff. so there will be swearing, take of drug/alcohol use and there will be violence.

everything will be kept under the cut so it's not in everyone's face.

Summary:

While Ingo has ended up in Sinnoh's far Past, Emmet has ended up in Unova's far future with no memory of who he is or where he's from, Where Nimbasa City has suffered serval horrible bombing attacks causing the region of Unova to be put under the strict control of a Mercenary group known as Albion. After being taken in by the local resistance group Dedsec, Emmet and his mentor, an eccentric mask-wearing man who calls himself The Wrench, must not only free Unova from Albion's control but find out who was behind the Nimbasa bombs.

----

(Hope you all enjoy this little prologue. and let me know if you want to see more of this.)

He was Emmet.

He was a Subway boss.

And his head hurt verrrry badly.

A wet nose came close to his cheek, sniffing him closely before releasing a loud bark, drawing the attention of someone nearby.

“Houndoom, which di you-Hey! we got someone over here!” a voice called out, loud and echoing, causing a throb to shoot through his skull with every word. “Holy shit! They're still alive!”

More footsteps came, but Emmet couldn’t be sure how many people were there now. His whole world was nothing but pain and he could hardly think let alone move.

“He’s got one of the uniforms on, do you think-”

“No way, probably some vagrant that’s been hiding out down here. Probably found one of the old uniforms and used it to keep warm.”

“Doesn’t look like he has an Opkit either.”

“Bind his hands and get a Machoke in here to take him up to one of the cars, then search the place to see if anyone else is hiding down here.”

Within moments, Emmet was roughly grabbed around the wrists and he could feel the cold metal of handcuffs against his skin. Then he was passed off and carried away by a pair of large hands that could only belong to the Superpower Pokemon, only to be dumped a few minutes later into the back seat of a car. 

Alone.

He was Emmet.

He was Subway.

And he had no clue as to what was happening.

One moment he and his brother had been checking on a disturbance in the tunnels. then the next thing he knew he was in pain and unable to open his eyes, being dragged away by people who didn’t seem to know who he was.

And worse…

There was no sign of Ingo anywhere.

One of the doors to the car opened and close, and Emmet felt the car shift slights as someone got in.

A Key was turned and the engine roared to like.

“Dispatch. This is unit 1832, en route to holding center 83 with a possible vagrant found at Gear Station Bombsight. The subject is unconscious and heavily injured, and is without an Optik. We found him dressed in one of the old uniforms.”

“Possible Dedsec connection, Unit 1832?”

“Can’t confirm.”

“Understood. Holding Center 83 is waiting for your arrival.”

“Over and out.”

Slowly the car started to move, pulling away from where it was parked and then moving forward toward its destination. 

He was Emmet.

He was a Subway Boss.

And he verrrry disliked cars.

It was a slow drive, one that felt like hours to the Subway boss in the back seat, but soon all that changed.

The car had stopped moving for a bit, a red light Emmet had guessed, the moment they started to move forward again the car lurched forward and the front tires squealed but the vehicle was unable to gain any ground.

"What the!" The driver sounded confused and almost panicked as he tried to once again try to force the car to move. "Shit!"

Something hard hit the side of the car, causing it to shake, and Emmet heard the sound of claws scraping against metal. 

"Dispatch! I need backup! I've got hostiles attacking the car!"

"Unite 1832, what is your location?"

"I'm at the intersection between Main and- Oh Fuck! It's Aidon Pierce! It's the Zoroark!"

"Unite 1832 do not engage do not engage, backup is on its way."

The car shook again hard as something threw its weight against its side again. Emmet heard the tires screech again as the car started to speed forward.

"Fuck that. Like hell, I'm sticking around. What the fuck does Dedsec want with this guy that they'd send Aiden funding Pierce out to- What the Fuck Is That!"

The brakes screamed.

And Emmet managed to open his eyes just in time to see the seat in front of him grow closer just before his head slammed into it…

And everything went dark.

—

"Are you sure we should be moving him before Sean and Jackson get here with the Ambulance?"

"And just leave him in the smoking car? Are you serious? This hunk of junk could go up at any moment."

"And who's fault is that?"

"Hey! You're the one who told me to 'stop the car'!"

"So you got Miraidon to hit it with a discharge, and then slammed it with your hammer?"

"It was in the middle of an intersection."

"Wait…I think his coat is caught on something. Help me get him out of it."

"Nah, that'll fuck up his back. I got a knife, I'll just cut it."

"Hurry. I hear Albion reinforcements coming our way."

"There. Get 'em in your car and head towards my hideout, while me and Miraidon give these bootboys the run-around."

"I'll get Bagley to send Sean and Jackson that. Try not to get shot."

—

"So how bad is he?"

"Well goodness is there does seem to be any damage to his back or neck, so you and Aiden got lucky there. And only a few minor brakes in his arms."

“And his head?”

“Aside from the broken nose, I’m seeing some serious damage around his temple. Don’t think it’s all Wrench’s fault-”

“Oh Thank Fucking Arceus.”

“But it certainly didn’t help. Sadly without the proper equipment, I can’t tell how bad it is. If he at least had an Optik we could have Bagley keep an eye on his vitals…”

“We could-”

“No way. I know the rest of us were technically forced into getting an Optik but at least we had the illusion of consent. We’re not gonna rip this guy’s privacy away just to make our lives easier.”

“But-”

“I don’t care, this is my hideout and I say no.”

“I agree with Wrench on this one. The last thing we want to do is screw around with someone's optical nerves while they’re out cool.”

“I’ll run out and see if I can’t scrounge up some drugs and equipment we can use.”

“Right, I’ll message you if I can think of anything we might need.”

—

“Hey…Uncle Aiden? You said it Albion dragged him out of the ruins of Gear Station. Do you think he might actually be a survivor of the Bombings?”

“Can’t say. He would have had to of been living in those ruins for the past two years. Seems unlikely. But if he is, he might have seen who did it.”

“That could help us clear our name.”

“We’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.”

“Where do you think he got the old Subway boss uniform?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen a uniform like that in 33 years.”

—

A groan escaped his lips as he started to slip back into consciousness, his mind slow to start up like a steam engine whose furnace was just being lit.

There was a pain in his head but it was nothing more than a dull ache, but still, he slowly brought a hand to his temple only to find his head completely covered in thick bandages.

“Wha-”

Slowly he pushed himself up with his free hand, grunting slightly with effort, and looked around the room. 

It was fairly dark, the light-fixures attached to the walls around him not really producing much light, the brightest spot seemed to be the workbench a few feet from the bed he was lying in. but even then he could see wires and tools and boxes littering the floor, or hanging from the ceiling, the walls were covered in graffiti from pictures to writing. A rug was thrown on the floor that looked covered in paint.

There were no windows to see out of, there was hardly a door that separated the rooms, just a half wall that looked like someone had knocked it down in a brutal fashion. Even the bed he was in, wasn’t a bed, but a pile of mattresses tossed on top of one another.

What there was, was a table and chair next to his ‘bed’ with what looked to be the contents of a first aid kit, spread out across its surface.

He had no clue where he was but it seemed like someone had found him and taken care of him at the very least.

Suddenly he heard movement from just past the wall, the sound of metal clanking against cement growing closer and closer until a head poked out from around the corner.

It was repetition in nature, though it looked to have been made of iron, with the top of its head looking to be made out of some kind of black material, its eyes were a bright blue but looked digital.

“H-hello.” he greeted, his voice quiet and rough sounding like he had not spoken in some time.

“Oh, Shit!” there was suddenly a voice from the other room and he heard someone scrambling to get up, followed by quick footsteps that came to a sliding stop. “Your awake!”

A masked person stood at the end of his ‘bed’ panting heavily and clad only in a pair of loose pants. His body was covered in what looked to be a random assortment of tattoos, the only clear one he could make out was the word Wrench just below his navel. He was unable to see the person’s face but something told him that they were shocked to see him awake, with it be the two large circles displayed just where their eyes would have been, their body language or maybe he was just good at reading people.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Wait…fuck. Forget that. That was dumb.” The person spoke again, shaking their head as they cut themselves off. The spiked mask flicked quickly through what appeared to be different icons. “Course, he’s not feeling great, Wrench, he just woke up after being out for almost a week. 

Hold on, they gave me questions I’m supposed to ask you.” they wandered over towards the workbench, tossing things off with little care for where they landed, the whole time muttering to themselves as they looked. “Now where the fuck did I up that clipboard?”

The sound of clanking metal once more drew his attention, and he looked up in time to see the Pokemon from before walking up behind the person. Its whole body was now in view allowing his muddled mind to be able to recognize it as some kind of dragon type. 

It walked up to the human, a clipboard in its mouth and carefully nudged its trainer to get their attention. 

“Huh? Oh! Thanks, bud!” clipboard now retrieved, the person…Wrench he thought he heard him call themselves, picked up the chair next to the bed flip it around and sat down; leaning heavily over the back of the chair.

“Okay, so for starts you were in a car crash that was totally no one's fault but the driver’s. Aiden said you were already out of it before then so, I won’t bother asking about any of that,” they explained, looking at him with a pair of Xs instead of eyes. “Question One! What is your name?”

“I am Emmet,” he answered quickly the answer coming to him easily.

“Nice! Just gonna mark that one off. I’m Wrench, by the way, encase you didn’t get that from my deranged ramblings. And that beast over there is Miraidon, My partner in crime.” Wrench introduced himself and the pokemon, ticking off the question on the clipboard. “Next Question. What is your occupation?”

This was an easy one too.

“I am a-” but nothing came. It felt like it had been there a moment ago like he could just reach out and touch it, but then it just slipped through his fingers. “I-I…I don’t know.”

“Ah…don’t worry about it. Next question. You gave me a first name, How about a Last name?”

Emmet tried to wrack his brain for an answer, but nothing came. 

And after waiting a few minutes without an answer Wrench simply shrugged. “Phbbbbb, Who needs a last name? Maybe you're like Cher.” Emmet felt like this was meant to make him laugh or to make him feel better, but the brief flash of upward slashes on the mask seemed to show that even Wrench found this lack of information worrying.

“How about the current Year?”

Emmet shook his head.

“Any idea who the current champion is?”

He paused, feeling like he should know this one, but once more it just came up blank.

Why?

Why couldn’t he remember anything?

His hands shook as he carefully grasped at the bandages around his head.

“Any friends? Or family we might be able to call?” Wrench wasn’t even looking at the clipboard anymore.

Once more Emmet tried to search for an answer, only seeming to get a feeling of missing someone close to him.

Fleeting images of a man in black with a stern face.

A choked sob escaped his lips, and a hand landed on his should, giving him a soft squeeze. 

“Hey. we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

[leopoldainter]

No body laugh I have battle ship

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Then whats this water fountain for

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That never fixes it, mom tries something in her other hand at the same time always.

Do people go underground in there own homes or what

Pull that fence back let me see your permits my kid can fall and drown into a pool behind a house with at least a toe I'm the yard

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Eventually he looked like a tube of tooth paste

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Well it's got to be Prescott Russell of course

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I'm in grade school during the days. Are you ever here

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If I ever get these unzipped will you fuck me like the secretary of head of counterintelligence

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Stan pops his head in checks out auto safety center.

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She took it from that platform by the looks of it

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Mykia!

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[sixofpomegranates]

Would you write a one-shot where the girl is Spencer's student and somehow he hears a girl talk that she's a virgin (and also that she writes FICS about him), and something happen between them? I'd like her to be inexperienced, but not dumb about sex, nor bratty ❤️❤️ thank you so much for your fics btw, they're amazing

Fanfiction

Pairing: Professor!Reid x Virgin!Student!Fem!Reader

Word count: 14.4K (it's a long one | That's what she said.)

A/N: Quick PSA: A real person might not be a fan of you writing fanfiction about them... But writing this was fun! It never crossed my mind to have one of Spencer's students write a FF about him.

CW: Smut, Fluff | Mentions of Age Gap/Sexual Experience/Fanfiction/academic pressure/financial struggles/Parents not supporting your dreams, Oral (F), Fingering, Masturbation, Virginity/Loss of virginity, Penetrative Sex (unprotected, creampie), Nicknames (Bunny, Daddy, Sweetheart, Good Girl)

"The cold rain made the clothes cling to our bodies as we ran into the faculty building. I should've never agreed to interview my professor for the college paper. His class schedule was all over the place, and I struggled for weeks to find a place in his calendar to do it.

Stupid stubbornness had made me insist on him taking time for me tonight after classes. I had sat there through all his stomach-turning lectures and then waited for him to pack his stuff.

"Professor Collins, you said I was supposed to wait for you to find a free day on your schedule." I looked around the empty class. "Now seems to be the time."

"Miss Rivera, it is past eight, and I'd like to go home now. Why don't you do the same, and I'll send you a mail with dates that would be convenient for me."

Handsome but unattainable. He was known to be the most attractive professor on campus, clothed in secrecy and a need to keep his private life hidden. No wonder, a man working part-time as a teacher and part-time as an FBI agent needed to keep his secrets, I assume.

But tough luck. He'd been voted to be the most popular professor in our college, and therefore, this man was going to, at least, give me something to write about him.

"With all due respect, Professor, I have been running after you for weeks. I need this interview."

A loud thunder interrupted his try to back out of it, making him brush a hand through his hair.

"It's starting to storm soon. I assume you're taking the subway, just like me. I'd like the come home at least semi-dry, don't you?"

He tried to push past me, his hand on the strap of his leather satchel. I stepped in his way, his firm chest bumping against mine. I hadn't realized he was so much taller than me.

Another thunder made me jump. "I- I have a car."

He nodded, taking a nervous step back. We had stood too close. "That- That is good for you. The streets and public transport aren't safe for a young woman alone at night."

"I can drive you," I offered without thinking.

"Pardon?"

"You give me my interview, and I'll drive you home. We don't even have to have the interview here. I can drive us to a cafe. You once mentioned you never turn down the chance for coffee."

He raised his eyebrow. "You're not going to stop bothering me with this interview, am I right?"

I shot him a smile. "My persistence is one of my greatest assets, Professor."

He sighed, nodding. "Okay."

Clapping my hands, I lead the way to my car. I searched for my keys.

Pockets, handbag, bookbag,jacket.

"Is everything okay?"

I nodded, shooting my professor another smile.

Now, where were my keys?

"Are you sure?" He asked me, making me hear a smile in his voice. "It seems like you can't find your keys."

"No, no, no, I know I put them in here somewhere," I rambled, going through my bookbag again.

That was when one of its straps snapped and sent my books flying.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, quickly sinking to my knees and picking my books up.

Of course, it wouldn't be my type of luck if I didn't also dump my handbag's contents in the same move. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Here," Professor Collins handed me one of my books. He had kneeled down next to me, helping me pick up my things.

Okay, maybe I saw his appeal. He was good-looking, his hair long enough to run your fingers through it and play with his curls and cheekbones that could cut glass. Kneeling down on the dirty floor for me, dirtying his always perfect suit, even when he detested everything that could suggest bacteria.

"Thank you."

As I took my book, our hands touched, and an electric shock ran straight through me. The sky opened, and it began to pour. Right, Professor Collins had predicted that it would rain...

A stupid laugh escaped me at the sudden decision the universe had made to make all of this look like a stupid rom-com.

Stuffing all my things into the bags, not carrying what I put into which, I looked at his now wet hair.

"I assume my ride home is canceled?" He joked, and my face became hot.

"Right..." I mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

He waved me off, standing up and lending me a hand. By now, we were both soaked.

"Let's go to my office. Maybe you'll find keys once we're dry and in a well-lit environment."

I nodded. "Please.""

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

"Penelope, explain it again, please," I asked of her for the third time now.

My bubbly, blonde friend sighed. "A fanfiction, Reid. Or should I say, Professor Collins?"

The clear question mark on my face made Luke laugh. "Some girl from college has the hots for you and writes about a fantasy world in which you both are an item."

"No," I shook my head. I did not need to hear that. "Not interested in hearing about that."

This would only make the relationship with my students more complicated than it already was. The young women in my classes, especially those auditing them, made me nervous. Their looks were inappropriate, to say the least. And now I was supposed to have a head for one of them writing erotica about her and me as well?

Where would this nonsense end?

"But you should. Its publishing level good. Like, I read this in one night, and now I am constantly checking my phone to see if she updated her story," Penelope continued, gushing. "And honestly, except for a few quirks and that he works for the FBI, Professor Collins does not sound like you at all. He's such a dreamboat. Seriously. A man written by a woman."

"Thanks," I spat, taking the hint at my undateablility. Of course, a real person couldn't compare with a completely made-up man. Written ones never truly struggled with their problems in a way that would ruin the romance.

"Oh, boy. I didn't mean it like that," Garcia said.

Luke stared up from Penelope's rhinestone-covered phone. "Honestly, that story is spicy. Hey, from man to man, do you like BDSM?"

What the hell? What was this lunatic writing about me?

Penelope looked at her phone and smiled. "Oh, that isn't even the best one. Right now, there is this just hooking-up thing going on. The real fun starts once he falls for her and finally tries to have a real date with her."

Luke shook his head. "No chance. The alley scene where he tells her he can't touch her because it would be unethical, and they still have this absolutely animalistic-"

"You are making me uncomfortable," I exclaimed before I could hear any more of this.

"Sorry, man, but that stuff is good. And the side plots? How Adriene becomes a journalist, and they keep running into each other?"

Tara came in, coffee in her hand. "We talking about 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'?"

Ridiculous name. Stupid story. How old did I need to get, and how many titles did I need, to finally be taken seriously?

"Please tell me you're not reading that garbage," I practically begged, but Tara started laughing.

"That you call it garbage shows that you haven't read it. The author writes made-up cases that sound so real; I was convinced they were until I asked her on Tumblr."

Maybe I could ban auditing my classes, but what if this obsessive fan of mine was a student of mine? This story needed to vanish as promptly as it appeared.

Standing up, I fixed my tie and grabbed my satchel. "I'd be very thankful if you guys stopped reading it. Penelope, please take the story down."

*****

Which one of them?

The classes this week had me spinning. Every single one of them could've been the one writing in these indecent ways about me.

I knew all their faces and remembered all their available information. I was able to figure out which one of them wrote this garbage.

"Professor Reid?"

My head snapped up from my notes. "Yes?" I looked at [y/n], one of my thankfully normal students of mine.

"I just wanted to bring you Mrs. Perkins's invitation to the charity library sale. We were sorting out the books when she realized she forgot to hand you yours."

The girl handed me my invitation and smiled as I studied it. The college's library hat previously got a lot of new editions donated and now sorted out its stock. The books no longer needed would be sold for a bargain, and the money would be used to repair some of the old shelves.

I lacked the space for any more books, but how could I resist this feast? I made a mental note to ask Morgan to help me build another bookshelf for my apartment.

"Mrs. Perkins also told me to tell you that she would hold back some first editions for you."

I nodded thankfully. Helena Perkins was a little old lady in her eighties. The librarian and somebody I regularly brought tea and borrowed books from in my free time.

"Great. I can't wait," I smiled at [y/n] [y/l/n], who was one of the volunteers for this event. "Have you already got your eyes on something?"

This girl was almost as obsessed with books as I was. I often met her in the library. We never really talked, but we would smile at each other and then go on with our book hunt.

"Totally. I already have a box I'll have to figure out how to take home."

I furrowed my brows. "The sale is two days away."

She nodded. "That's the perk of helping organize it. I get to call dibs on the books I want."

I chuckled. "So that's why you helped."

She shook her head, laughing. "No? I help because Mrs. Perkins asked me to. The books are literally just a sweet bonus, and how she bribed me into helping."

"Yeah, she really knows how to bribe. I sponsor the buffet at the sale because of those first editions she's holding back."

"You know, since I started helping, I actually had to get rid of my dining table so I could fit in more books ins my apartment. I mean, I never have any visitors anyway, but still."

I nodded. "I'm having to ask a friend to build me a new shelf. Given the amount of books I own, I should really consider opening my own library."

Playing with her hoodie strings, [y/n] smiled. "See it as a positive thing. 'Doctor Spencer Reid's Library for the Book Addicted' has a nice ring to it."

"I might be going to steal that name," I joked back, loving how she bit into the pillow of her bottom lip while laughing.

She waved me off, pulling the hood of her hoodie back over her head to cover herself from the rain outside. "No need to steal; I gift it to you," she said sweetly. "Okay, I'm gonna leave now before Mrs. Perkins breaks her hip again, climbing around on those ladders."

"Have fun. Don't buy too many books," I called after her, hearing her yell back through the hallway, "You're not my boss!"

Silly girl. I liked her.

*****

""You are my student, Adriene!" He almost yelled. Only seconds before, he'd taken me on his desk, and now he shut me out again. "You can't seriously believe that this can be more than some random hook-ups."

I shouldn't have let it slip that I love him, but as he had looked into my eyes, it had been all I could think about.

I shook my head while fixing my disheveled clothes. "I- I am not your student. I am studying journalism. I only audit your class to-"

"You're still in my class," he insisted. "We can't meet anymore. This had been going on for too long anyway. You're having your exams soon, and they're more important than whatever this is anyway."

"But- It's not just a random hook-up for me," I admitted, feeling my heart sink as his face turned to stone.

"I'm sorry you caught feelings. I should've been more open about my intentions."

He didn't mean that. He couldn't. How were his intentions solely to fuck me? What a lie.

He could've done that and left, but he came back every time. He took me out to fancy dinners, watched movies with me, took me to bookstores and museums, and showered me with gifts and the stories of his past.

I thought there was more. There had to be more."

*****

God, that was a lot of drama.

Couldn't the two of them just finally get together and be happy? It wasn't that hard. Even if it was unethical at the moment, they only needed to wait a month. Adriene was soon going to finish college and get a job as a journalist.

I hated that I was able to understand where Zane came from, though.

She was so much younger. She had the chance to become a great journalist and see the world. Adriene deserved better than having a boyfriend who would probably get shot on a case.

She would understand and be thankful that he tried pushing her away over and over again once she was older. But right now, she clearly loved and accepted Zane.

I would've loved to have someone like Adriene.

She was caring and funny. She was addicted to books. Dreaming big but always counting Zane in.

Fuck. I wasn't falling in love with a fictional character, now was I?

*****

""Do you have any idea how angry I am with you?" He growled, while I only nodded.

"I'm sorry," I whispered while he made me stop by the car and helped me out of my kevlar vest. He ran his hand over the bullet hole in it and withdrew his hand as though he had burned his hand on fire.

"You could've died. Did you think even one second about that?" With anger, he tossed the vest into the backseat. "And this fucking vest is way too big for you."

"I'm sorry," I whimpered, flinching at every single one of his words.

"How could you be so reckless? A stunt like this could've cost my team or me our lives, and worse, it could've cost yours. Are you aware of that?"

I nodded, but that didn't seem to be enough.

"Adriene, I swear to god, you better answer me," he hissed, and I looked up at him, tears finally running down my face.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, making him sigh and look me up and down.

"Are you hurt?" I shook my head, my whole body still trembling.

That was when Zane pulled me into a hug. "Thank god," he whispered. "Don't ever do that to me again. This story isn't worth your life.""

*****

She had daddy issues. Definitely.

The author was a girl with daddy issues that needed an outlet for her fantasies about an older man that could care for her.

She was most likely not in a relationship—if she had ever even been in a real one before.

I was nothing like Zane.

Just a little like him.

Okay, Zane was a carbon copy of most of my characteristics, even my bad ones.

The author had a talent for analyzing me.

At least our names and my hair and eye color were different. However, that seemed to help very little to hide my identity. Penelope had caught up on it in a heartbeat.

*****

"No. I am sick of this cat-and-mouse game, Zane," I yelled between tears and sobs. "You keep pushing me away, saying I'm too young for you. Yet, you are the one always coming back and never making up your mind. I may be young, but you're the one of us acting like a child!"

"Addy, please just listen to me."

I wiped my tears away, trying not to scream and wake my neighbors. "No, I am done listening. That's all I did until now, and it brought me nothing but heartache. It was always, 'Come here, Sweetheart.', 'Stay away.', 'Please come back.', 'I love you.' I'm done."

Zane took a step towards me, hand running over his stubbles. "You have the chance to become a great journalist and see the world, Adriene. You deserved better than having a husband who will probably get shot on a case."

"Then why are you always coming back?"

"Because I am selfish. I can't live without you."

I looked at him. His ocean-blue eyes were filled with tears he refused to let out. Where did this confession leave us?

"Can I please come inside, Sweetheart?"

*****

Wait, that was it?

Where was the rest?

The fuck did the author mean by 'To be continued'?

No. No, it was good that there wasn't any more of this. I didn't like how the author portrayed me anyway.

Pulling out my phone, I called Penelope. It rang a fair share of times before she picked up.

"Hello?" She sounded like she had a mile sprint behind her just to get to her phone.

"Garcia, it's Reid. I need you to tell me which of my students wrote the story."

"Why? What are you planning?" She asked suspiciously.

"I'll ask her to stop writing this and spare me from any more humiliation."

After a while of silence, Garcia answered simply, "No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to let you be mean to this talented girl!"

Was she for real?

"Penelope, if somebody's mean, then it's her. This is humiliating. She literally wrote about my dick and the many uses I seem to have for it in her fantasy," I told her with a hoarse, aggravated voice.

The call of reality seemed to have finally reached Garcia. I knew I was right, and now, so did she. This girl was openly projection this picture she had of me on the internet. Openly displaying me being called 'Daddy,' manhandling her like she was nothing more than my little toy.

I wasn't a man like that, and I surely didn't need somebody to think I was.

"Okay, fine. Take away one of my hobbies and crush a girl's spirit," Penelope huffed, annoyed. "Her name is [y/n] [y/l/n]."

"No, it's not," I replied almost instantly. "She- No. You're wrong."

"Genius boy, I am a lot of things. I am beautiful, sassy, a wonder woman, a natural talent in anything technology, but I am not – and I can't stress this enough – never, ever wrong about something so simple as uncovering the person behind a username."

I thanked my friend and hung up.

[y/n]. I had already crossed her from my list of suspects. She was sweet, quiet, and a good student. She never stared at me like the other woman in class, and she never seemed distracted or daydreamy.

She shared jokes with me, and I liked her... This annoyed me.

[y/n] was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and I had fallen for it.

Why did it have to be one of my good students? One that even was respectful and well-behaved when coming to my office or wrote me a mail when she wouldn't be able to make it to my class.

Somehow it would've been less insulting if it would've been a girl auditing my lectures.

Shaking my head, I looked at [y/n]'s user profile.

Her username was 'SixofPomegranates', an innuendo to Hades and Persephone. The king of the underworld had made his wife eat six pomegranate seeds to ensure she'd have to return to his side for six months of the year.

Her profile picture was a digital drawing of a little jackalope bunny surrounded by flowers. The little bunny reminded me of her, sweet and innocent looking.

She had the same look on her face coming to my office one day, as it had rained, and she was soaked, freezing. After handing her the materials she had missed, I'd made her stay until the rain had stopped, giving her my jacket as she started her way home.

The next day the coat had been returned to my office, a coffee from Starbucks next to it and a little flower-shaped sticky note on it thanking me.

I had kept that stupid sticky note in my wallet. It still was in there. It had this stupid joke on it that always made me laugh.

"*knock knock* Who's there? Thank you! Thank you, who?

Thank you for lending me your coat! Enjoy your coffee! — [y/n] ♡"

If that had been the day she started fantasizing about me?

Even if it was, it didn't give her the right to post erotic stories about me online. However, I hated the feeling those scenes now gave me, knowing that it was her.

Her profile's bio solely held a quote:

"My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary."

Wuthering Heights. Did she see the book as dramatic or romantic? Did she see Catherine and Heathcliff as star-crossed lovers and soulmates or co-dependent fools who couldn't get over each other even after death?

Why did she have to write this fanfiction about me?

I kicked my desk like a disgruntled child. Now I could never ask her for an answer. Could never look at her again without thinking about her fantasies.

These lusting, needy fantasies I shouldn't relate to.

I never had any normal fans.

Seriously, was it me? Was I the problem?

*****

"Miss [y/l/n], can you stay behind, please? I'd like to have a word with you."

I had just excused the rest of my students fifteen minutes earlier than usual. I couldn't seem to focus, my eyes always falling back to [y/n].

She had an astounding poker face. What was she thinking about while writing her little notes?

Was she thinking about me, asking her to stay behind after class?

About me, throwing her onto my table and fucking her on the assignments handed in by her classmates?

As she walked up to me, her side bag thrown over her shoulder, books clutched in her hands, she looked at me with a smirk.

"What is it, Professor Reid? I'm sorry to tell you, but you're not getting the Wuthering Heights copy we both hunted for from me. I got that one fair and square." She bit her bottom lip.

The night I learned about her alter-ego 'SixofPomegranates', I had been at the charity sale before. We had both reached for the same book, her beating me in Rock-Paper-Scissors and having me back off from the copy.

The rest of the night, I had thought of her fantasies, her being the subject of my desires, pulsing cock in my hand as I masturbated to the idea of playing those fantasies out with her.

The fact that I was mad at her had only fueled my longing for her before the feeling of post-orgasm clarity had brought me back to my senses.

I licked over my lips, checking if we truly were alone. "That's not what this is about. I-" I cleared my throat. "It had come to my attention that you wrote a little piece of... fanfiction about me. Us."

I hadn't thought it to be possible, but her eyes became even bigger. She looked at me like a frightened little bunny. Her big eyes filled with worry, and mortification was written all over her face while I was able to hide mine quite well.

Looking down at her feet and back up at me, she played coy, "I- I'm sorry?"

"A little story called 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'. Sound familiar?"

She swallowed harshly, "I- I- I don't- I didn't..."

As I, just like her, didn't know what to say, I decided to go with the truth. "See, I thought a lot about how I would handle this situation yesterday, and I've frankly got to admit that I am in unknown water here. I never thought about the possibility of a student of mine falling for me and certainly didn't think about one writing erotica about me and sharing it online."

Our eyes met, and I ignored the little infinite universes that formed between them.

"Listen, I would like to tell you that I feel flattered, but I don't. It is humiliating and makes me extremely uncomfortable. My colleagues at the FBI caught wind of it."

A frown popped up on the little bunny's face. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't- I didn't think-"

I nodded, going for the kill of this crush. She shouldn't think of me in any other way than me being her teacher. "Yes, you didn't. And it's very apparent."

She raised her eyebrows, looking like she was building momentum to talk back at me. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I snarled. "Nobody with at least the rarest bit of common sense would do something as stupid as this. Your little amateur work has the power to ruin my reputation on campus. Have you thought about what this weird little fantasy of yours could insinuate?"

"This is a little harsh, don't you think?" She asked, bottom lip shivering. "I changed enough that nobody would ever draw any connection-"

I interrupted her. "And yet it wasn't enough. Else neither my colleagues nor I would've realized your little obsession with me."

"Obsession?" She mumbled.

"I am asking you politely to remove your work from the internet and keep those fantasies in your diary – where they belong. Should I catch wind of something like this happening again, I'll need to report you to the dean. I cannot have my character ruined solely because of a horny young girl."

She nodded, "Okay. I'm sorry for the inconvenience I caused you, Professor. I didn't mean it."

I turned away so I wouldn't see her little bunny eyes. "Just don't let it happen again."

[y/n] nodded a couple of more times and hurried out of my class. Hopefully, I had been condescending enough to have her leave those feelings behind and be a normal student again.

Maybe then, I could pretend this whole ordeal never happened. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel like running after her and apologizing.

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

On an idiot-scale from 1 to 10, I definitely was a 14.

"Yeah, I am just going to write about my hot criminology professor and all my kinks and post it online."

"I just change names and hair colors. Nobody's gonna know."

"How will they know? Impossible."

Dumb, dumb idiot. Stupid. No brain.

I'd known that I would never have a chance with my professor and therefore had created a world in which we shared more than just a smile at the library.

What was wrong with me? Professor Reid wasn't even that handsome... I mean, yes, he was, but he had been very clear about being uncomfortable because of me and somewhat called me a dummy.

Humiliated and on the verge of either throwing up or crying, I crawled into bed, ready to let the day end before I could embarrass myself any more.

But I still had to do something. I opened my notebook, opened my social media – the one I decided to use to embarrass myself and Professor Reid with – and opened 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'.

I really liked the story. Yes, I had thought about my professor when writing Zane Collins, but after a while, the lines between fiction and reality had blurred so much that the story had developed a life of its own.

It had no longer been Professor Reid and I in my head; it had been Zane and Adriene. Two fictional characters I had made up and related to so much during their adventures that it was therapeutic to write about them. It had become my comfort activity.

Well, either deleting this or kissing my academic career goodbye.

Such stupid bullshit.

My mouse cursor hovered over the delete button.

Yeah, no chance. I couldn't do it. Deleting it was so final—such a waste.

Instead, I decided to just archive my story. I would be able to keep the comments I had gotten on it, but it wouldn't be viewable anymore—a good middle ground.

I just couldn't upload any more stories. Not even the ones without my crush in it. He would see it and think of me as a crazy stalker, a yandere that was obsessed with him... He probably already thought of me like that.

But okay, I wouldn't let that ruin my semester. Two more weeks until my finals, I would just not take criminology with Professor Reid as professor next semester.

Yes. That sounded sensible. I'd write my finals and then ditch.

I'd hope Professor Reid would forget about it, but that guy had an eidetic memory. If asked, he'd probably be able to tell me what he had for breakfast ten years ago and what weather it was.

Well, no sympathy for dumbasses – That was me. I was the dumbass.

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

She'd taken it down. No more 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink'. Yet, it didn't really feel like a win for me.

Now I would never find out if Adriene and Zane got back together. Penelope and Tara definitely had given me their peace of mind about it as well.

And [y/n] didn't smile at me anymore. She stayed away. It was sensible given what happened between us, but still. I missed the smiles and short conversations.

I wondered if the little bunny would return to my classes next semester. She had amazing grades. It would've been a shame, although I probably scared her far enough away to never see her again.

Maybe I should've just stayed quiet about the story.

The last couple of free days I spent in Vegas, visiting my aunt, and now sat there in the hotel's restaurant eating dinner. I had read a book, so I hadn't noticed it right from the beginning, but as I put it down when the waitress appeared to bring me my soda, I saw her.

[y/n] was sitting there, playing with her phone.

What was she doing here?

She was dressed in this tight-fitting black dress, her hair and makeup all dolled up. She was clearly dressed to impress somebody, yet she sat alone. Just like me.

What a suspicious coincidence that she was at the same time in Las Vegas as I was, in the same hotel, eating dinner at the same time, and only a few tables away from me.

I didn't like the feeling in my gut. Not at all. Too often had I been the victim of insane women. I didn't want to – I couldn't – go through something like that again.

Sitting there and watching her for over ten minutes, she still sat there on her own. Why get dressed up like that if you're all on your own? And even if clothes didn't matter, why didn't she already order?

No. That was it. I would confront her. I grabbed my phone and sent her a mail.

***

"Miss [y/l/n],

I don't know what is going on inside your head, but following me to Vegas is undoubtedly not going to help you to get anything other from me than a restraining order.

– S.R."

***

I watched her looking at her phone, frowning. Then she looked around, and her big eyes met mine, looking like a frightened bunny. She shook her head and typed something on her phone. Then mine rang.

***

"Professor Reid,

I can assure you that this is merely a coincidence. I wasn't aware that you'd be here.

– [y/n]

***

Shaking my head, I replied.

***

"[y/n],

Are you sure? Because this seems like a rather substantial coincidence, don't you think?

Almost seems a little too much like a romance novel.

– S.R"

***

An angry sigh left her lips.

***

"Professor Reid,

I'm lacking the time, interest, money, and skills to stalk you.

Trust me, I won't pull an Annie Wilkes on you.

– [y/n]"

***

A reference to Stephen King's Misery. Macabre little thing. I missed her jokes.

***

"Adriene,

So you're trying to tell me you're not my number one fan?

­– Zane"

***

I watched her roll her eyes and lick her lips.

***

"Very funny. I'll laugh next week.

Now please leave me alone. I am waiting for my date.

– [y/n]"

***

My fingers were faster than my common sense.

***

"Your next victim?"

***

An angry gaze now burned itself through my clothes. I seemed to have been crossing a line with my teasing. Only fair since I had pushed her away as far as I had and now seriously started to pull jokes.

***

"Dear ostentatious prick,

'He felt as he always did when he finished a book — queerly empty, let down, aware that for each little success, he had paid a toll of absurdity.'

I liked you. I was crushing for you harder than I thought possible and childishly wrote a story I didn't figure would hurt anybody because I knew I'd never stand a chance with you.

I apologized for it and took it down. I am not going to visit another one of your classes ever again. I even planned that we'd never have to see each other again.

Tonight, that we met, is a coincidence since – surprise! – those happen to exist.

I now regret all the months I spent fantasizing about you and falling for you since I clearly was wrong about everything I thought about you. I feel silly, dumb, humiliated, and I'm clearly braindead.

Apparently, the only thing nice about you is your looks.

So now please leave me alone, as I told you before, I am waiting on my date. And no, it is not a man I needed to stalk, kidnap, drug, or anything else. It's somebody who I met online, who's interested in me, and asked me to come here to meet.

– [y/n] [y/l/n]"

***

Message gotten. Loud and clear. Great, now I felt like an asshole.

***

"Apologies, [y/n],

I did not intend to hurt your feelings. I'm well aware that you don't need to commit crimes to get men to be interested in you.

Have a nice evening.

– S.R."

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

Ten more minutes later, I still sat there alone. Kyle had clearly stood me up. I came all the way to freaking Las Vegas, and he didn't even have the balls to write me a text.

If he would've, I could've just... I don't know. I wasn't a big fan of Vegas. I had only come here because Kyle told me to.

I probably looked like a hooker waiting for a customer to approach and ask for my prize, dressed up like I was. I had been so sure he'd been interested in me.

This had been a waste of money, make-up, time, and shaving.

As my phone rang, I quickly looked at it, sighing as I noticed that it was only my professor. He probably thought I made up my date, so I had an excuse to stalk him.

***

"He stood you up, didn't he?"

***

I put my phone aside. I couldn't reply because I'd probably start crying. That's what I got for having expectations. Concentrating on my hands resting on the white tablecloths, I noticed a tear dropping onto one of them.

"Now, don't cry because of that guy, little bunny." I looked up at my professor standing there with his drink. Little bunny? "It's his loss that he didn't show up."

He sat down across from me, telling a waitress to bring a lighter for the candle in the middle of the table.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. "I'm not in the mood to force you to write a novel right now."

He looked at me, sighing jokingly, "Don't be silly; you're the author of us both, [y/n]."

As the waitress returned, she lit the candle between us, and Professor Reid ordered a bottle of wine.

"Seriously, now, what are you doing?" I asked him again. "You were pretty clear about your opinion of me, and I don't need a pity dinner with you."

"It's not a pity dinner. I just thought we'd both look less pathetic when not having to sit and eat alone."

"Aren't people in Vegas usually meeting up with escorts when they want company?" I asked sarcastically, staring at my phone and still hoping for a text.

Accepting the bottle of wine he ordered, the professor started to fill our glasses, chuckling, "Well, I am from Vegas, and although lonely, I've never chosen that type of company."

I looked at the menu the waitress had brought and at the wine bottle. One glass of wine already cost enough; I couldn't even imagine how expensive an entire bottle was.

Shit, I definitely seemed like a hooker.

"The bottle looks expensive," I mumbled, staring at the shiny letters on the label.

Professor Reid nodded, chuckling, "I hope it does. It's a two-hundred-dollar bottle."

My eyes went wide. "Two- Two. Hundred. Dollars?"

He waved me off, "Don't worry, I'll pay for it."

Running a hand over my head, I sighed. "People will think I'm a hooker or your sugar baby."

A pretty smile spread on his lips, paired with his cheeks starting to become pink, "I- I didn't intend it to appear like that. I- I've been stood up more times than I can count and just thought-"

I laughed at the way he started to fidget with his fingers, trying to explain himself. "So we're lying now?"

"I- How am I lying?"

"You have three PhDs, Professor," I reminded him. "I'm pretty sure you can count the times you've been stood up."

He nodded, smirking, "Yeah, true. I also don't date a lot, so the number is so small, they would revoke my Ph.D. in mathematics should I not be able to remember it."

Lifting his glass, my professor held it up.

"To your idiot of a date. If he would've shown up, I'd have to eat on my own."

He made it sound like a light-hearted joke, and I honestly believed there wasn't even any ill intent behind it. Still, it upset me.

"I thought he liked me," I mumbled, lifting my glass as well and clinking our glasses together. While taking a big sip, I hid my disappointment and hurt face behind the glass.

"If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day," he replied, taking a sip as well.

"Quoting 'Wuthering Heights' to me does not make me feel better," I said, yet smiled because as we both had reached for the book weeks ago, things had still felt normal between us.

"Then what would?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Uhm... You're here to visit family?"

"My Aunt and her husband," my professor answered. "What about you?"

"You already know about my date."

His hazel eyes widened. "You really just came to Las Vegas for a man you've met online?"

"Wow. I wonder how you feel about that?" I snorted sarcastically, taking another sip of wine. Judgemental bitch.

He chuckled at my pout, "Come one, Bunny. Don't look at me like that."

There it was again, this pet name. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You just called me 'Bunny.' And I'm very sure you called me 'little bunny' earlier," I confronted him.

Professor Reid began to blush, looking around to avoid my gaze.

"I- I- Uhm... Yeah. I did," he admitted stuttering, and I nodded.

"Okay?" I replied. Now, who seemed a little like Joe Goldberg?

"You remind me of one," he explained after taking a sip of wine. "A little bunny, I mean. Your profile picture was a jackalope bunny; since then, I can't help but make that connection all the time."

He had seen my entire profile. No wonder he thought I was nuts. Still, I liked the nickname. I'd never been given one before, and he said it with so much adoration I could almost think he liked me a little.

"I guess there are worse nicknames," I whispered, making him chuckle in reply.

"Like ostentatious prick?"

I nodded and deadpanned, "Among others."

Staring at the candle between us, I reached out for its flame, playing with it without burning myself as long as I stayed focused.

"Can I ask you a question about... what you read?" I asked, avoiding his eyes while my face burned as hot as the candle was bright.

"Of your works?" I nodded. "Well, I read all chapters of our little story. I didn't read your others, though. Are you planning on becoming an author?"

"God, no," I snorted, self-deprecating. Looking at my phone, I repeated my parents' words, "Can't feed a family with childish dreams."

"Those are definitely not your words," my professor noted, and I frowned.

"How'd you know?"

"Profiler. And your gaze went down to your phone while saying it. I assume your family is your screensaver?" I nodded. "What do they want you to be?"

Thinking of all the pressure on my shoulders, making me shorter than I was and my dreams even duller, I started counting, "Doctor, nurse, lawyer, CEO... Do I need to go on?"

He shook his head. "So you're studying to please your parents?"

"And to make sure I'm in deep debt before ever even fully starting to live."

"Would you want to be an author if there wasn't all that pressure on you?"

That was the first time somebody asked me that. Asked me what I wanted in general.

I gifted him a stupid grin. "Can you imagine holding a book in your hand and knowing that you're the one who wrote it and can live off of it? I mean, I wouldn't do it for the money or the fame, of course, but it would be nice not to feel the urge to cry every time a bill arrives in my mail."

Professor Reid stopped my fingers from playing with the flame. Holding my hand instead. "If you're really serious about it, you should pursue this hobby and make it your job."

"And if I fail?" I asked him, my eyes probably giving away the fear of taking that risk.

"Stephen King is one of the best-selling authors of all time, with a net worth of 500 million dollars. Yet it took years of countless rejections before 'Carrie' was published, and as it was made into a movie the following year, they didn't even write his name right in the credits."

But Stephen King didn't write fanfictions about his professor fucking him. I assumed. "So, I should risk becoming a writer because I could be the Stephen King of embarrassing, obsessive little stories I write, although they should stay in my diary?"

I pulled my hand away and wrapped it around my glass instead.

"I- [y/n], I needed to be harsh so you'd understand the troubles your fanfiction could cause us. It had nothing to do with your talent."

Why the hell was I doing here? I couldn't sit here any longer with the man I was head over heels for and listen to him giving me a pep talk about how my fanfiction wasn't as bad as he initially had said.

"I need-" I grabbed my phone and threw it in my purse. "I really should-"

I stopped trying to explain myself and stood up.

Professor Reid stood up as well, hand running through his curls. "Please don't leave. We haven't even ordered yet."

I shook my head. "I- I need to get a hotel room. It's getting late and- Yeah. I- Thanks for the wine."

As I bolted to the elevator, I could hear quick steps behind me. "Hey, [y/n]. Wait," he called after me. "God, your fast in those shoes."

As he reached me while I frantically pushed the elevator buttons, his hand touched my arms. "Hey, what did I do wrong?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I- I'm awkward, and you're nice to me, and telling me my writing didn't suck, and I really can't crush on you anymore. So I'm running."

The elevator doors opened, and I quickly got in, pressing the button for the lobby and then the one closing the doors.

Just as I thought I had officially ended this strange meeting, Professor Reid reached between the doors, holding up the elevator and getting in with me.

He pressed the buttons again. What was he doing?

"What- I- Go back to the restaurant. Did you even pay? Oh my god, did we just dine and dash?"

He began laughing, shaking his head. "It's added to my bill, don't worry. I just..."

"You just, what?" I asked before he could actually finish his sentence.

"Wanted to make sure you're not running off and... Do you really not have a room?"

I shook my head, watching the floor numbers go down. "I was planning to stay with Kyle," I admitted.

"You- Bunny, you didn't know that man. You can't just stay with a stranger from the internet. Even if you'd hit it off from second 1, this is rushing things and risking your health," the professor lectured me.

"Please don't call me Bunny," I mumbled, feeling like crap. As always, when I got lectured.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

As we reached the lobby, I got out, Professor Reid grabbing my arm again and sighing. "[y/n], I- This is going to sound so condescending, but I don't think you'll be able to afford a room here."

Yeah. Condescending was a fitting word. Like, I'm sorry, I'm a broke student, but it's not like I can't afford the broom closet for the night.

I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" "You said you want to cry when having to pay your bills, and you almost threw up because of a two-hundred-dollar price tag on a bottle of wine. The cheapest rooms here cost 300$, and they're most likely all booked."

Oh. Okay. Yes, maybe he'd been right. 300$ was a lot of money in my world. I didn't even think my credit card would work at such a high price tag.

"Oh, okay. I- I'll just- I'll find a motel," I almost whispered to myself, grabbing my phone and opening a booking site.

I wasn't helpless. I was capable of taking care of myself. Worst case, I would change my flight home and sleep at the airport.

Taking my phone from me, my professor sighed. "This is ridiculous, [y/n]. Please just come upstairs with me. I have a suit. I'll sleep on the couch."

"You have a suit?" I asked, astounded.

This man had at least five COMME des GARÇONS cardigans. Of course, he could afford a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine and a suit here.

"I rarely travel, so I like to spoil myself every once in a while," he explained himself, and I nodded in broke-bitch.

"Thank you, but I can't take you up on that offer. It's- I- This-"

Professor Reid interrupted me. "I promise I would never try anything indecent. I simply want to know you are safe."

The indecent had been exactly what my mind wanted. I thirsted over this man since I had first seen him ramble about stressors and aggressors. He was so passionate about everything he talked about. I liked that passion dangerously much.

Even thought about how passionate he would be about sex, would he be with somebody that caught his interest and was worth his time.

But now he stood there, trying to ensure me that I was safe, almost like I was made from glass.

"The whole bunny thing, huh?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Innocent, fragile, little thing. If you feel too uncomfortable to share the suit with me, I fully understand, but then at least let me pay for a separate room for you."

I shook my head, having to giggle. He was so oblivious. How was he so oblivious? It was kind of cute, to be honest.

"I think, in general, we both have a very different impression about why I'd be uncomfortable sleeping in the same suit as you."

His lips formed a little o, "It's because of the crush?"

"Obviously," I giggled.

"I- I'm sorry. Sometimes things like that fly right over my head."

I nodded. "Yeah, noticed."

"I'd enjoy your company, though, and maybe we could order room service, and you'd tell me if Adriene decides to give Zane another chance?"

Rolling my eyes, I looked at him. "Now you're teasing me again."

He shook his head. "No, I really want to know. See my invitation as a bribe."

I'd been willing to sleep at a stranger's place who I saw as a rebound for my crush on Professor Reid. I could might as well stay with the man I knew I wouldn't have gotten over in the first place.

"Kay. I'll get my bag."

*****

☀︎ POV: Spencer ☀︎

Opening the suit's door with my key card, I stepped aside and let [y/n] walk in first. She looked around, mouth open and astounded.

I had judged her and called her obsessed, yet here I was, thinking about how I could spoil her with everything I had to give just to see her in this state of awe some more times.

Stepping out of her heels, she shrunk a fair bit. She let her bag fall to the floor and began looking around. The view over Vegas had caught her interest.

She instantly walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked outside.

"Wow," she mumbled. Turning around to look at me, she asked, "Have you seen your view?"

I nodded. "Since I came here a couple of days ago. If you like that, you're gonna love the bathroom."

Raising her brows, she darted away, only to storm to my side again. "Holy shit. You have a jacuzzi bathtub. I- That thing is bigger than my bathroom."

"Feel free to take a bath later on," I offered.

She nodded. "Oh, don't mind if I do."

I took off my suit jacket and threw it over a chair. Grabbing the room service menu, I sat down on the couch.

"What would you like to eat?" I asked [y/n], jumping a little as she hopped over the couch's back to sit next to me.

*****

Dinner and dessert later, I found myself still captivated by this little bunny. She had been, as always, herself. The girl that made me laugh with her sarcastic tone and bad jokes.

"You should publish that book after reviewing some of the changes again. It has potential," I now told her, making her shake her head and giggle.

"You're just saying that because you enjoy the high praises you get throughout the story."

"That's only a little true." I grabbed the bottle of champagne, pointing at her flute. "More champagne?"

Emptying her glass, she shrugged. "I already feel and look like a hooker, so sure. Hit me."

How often was she going to make that joke?

"Stop saying that. You're extremely beautiful," I told her.

A sassy grin appeared on her face. "I didn't say I wasn't beautiful. I'm just saying that I am dressed extremely provocatively – more than I'd like to – and am drinking champagne in a hotel suit more expensive than my entire apartment's furniture,  while sitting there with a man almost twice my age. These jokes write themselves."

"You can go change into your pajamas if you'd feel more comfortable," I offered her, rolling up my sleeves and opening the first few buttons of my dress shirt.

"Yeah..." she mumbled, looking away and biting her lip.

Did she forget to pack them?

"You didn't bring clothes to sleep in? Seriously, what did you plan on—Oh." Realization set in my bones. She hadn't brought them because she'd planned on sleeping naked or in the clothes of this other man.

Clearing my throat and ignoring the picture of her naked in my bed, I offered, "If you want, I'll get you some of my clothes to sleep in?"

She shook her head. "You don't have to. I'll just sleep-"

"Naked?" I interrupted her with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, correcting me. "In my dress."

I shamelessly stared down her figure and then snickered, "You have to admit that I wasn't that far off then."

"Prick." She hit my arm playfully before laying down on the fuzzy carpet before us, staring at the ceiling full of gold accents.

She was so beautiful, eyes shining brighter than the Las Vegas strip.

"Can I ask something that will definitely cross the line?" I asked, making her look at me.

"You read erotica I wrote fantasizing about you. I think we're long past crossing a line."

She said things with so much character I always had to chuckle. "You came to Las Vegas to sleep with this guy, didn't you?"

Her intentions had been very obvious by now. An internet date that had made her come all the way to Vegas dressed like a daydream, no pajamas... I didn't judge her, she was a young woman that had a right to explore her sexuality, but I also detested the thought of this man running his hand all over her.

He would've probably didn't even know what she liked.

Propping herself up, she looked a little surprised, proofing that I was right with my assumption.

"Huh, I was wrong. There's the line." She still spoke with humor in her voice, laying back down, hand in the air, following the folding drawings on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry. I just- I just really don't understand that. He's an asshole that didn't even care to cancel your plans, and you flew out here, probably spending more money than you can afford, just to give him a night he would most likely not even know to appreciate," I explained myself, voice laced with envy.

"We talked for a while and got along. I think I was just getting sick of only ever fantasizing about things and thought he would do."

"You came to Vegas to give that guy your virginity?" I blurted out in disbelief, and she looked at me again.

"Virginity is a social construct made up by man," she told me, then shrugged. "But yeah, kinda."

"You-" My brain struggled to function a little. It surely didn't change my opinion of her, but the way she had written, leaving these fantasies in my brain for weeks... "You write pretty well about sex for somebody you never had it before."

She nodded, a smile on her lips. "Well, I'm not stupid. Also, it's not like I have zero experience, and I read a lot too."

That loser had almost taken her virginity, absolutely undeserving of it.

Looking into my face, she giggled, "You look so shocked right now."

"N-Not shocked, just... really, really glad he didn't show up," I stuttered, making her raise her eyebrows.

"Why?"

"I- I don't know," I lied, and she saw right through it.

Of course.

"Back with the lies again, Professor?" She smiled, and I was certain she knew I'd been envious.

The most interesting thing was that she didn't care about it. I wondered just how deep her feelings for me were.

Feeling the urge to join her on the floor, I backtracked. I didn't want to lay on the floor. This carpet was probably dirty.

I hid my longing to be close to her behind a topic-changing question. "How did you come up with Zane's backstory?"

She shrugged. "Made it up."

"Yes, but how did you get inspired?"

"I watched you and thought of why you do the things you do."

I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "So you profiled me?"

"The amateur version of it."

"Do it again. Tell me what you profiled," I urged, leaning onto my knees and watching her.

"Well, You have lots of PhDs and BAs. That made me think, why? Yes, having them is nice, but it seems more like you have to prove something.

"You're not talking about your parents, but you're very protective and respectful of the women around you, which made me think you're close to your mother and-or grew up in a very female-dominated household.

"Yet you're single and have no children, although having told us before that you're the godfather of your friends' children. Given these facts, I assume your father left you and you're mother, and since then, you try proving to yourself and him that it's his loss and that you're worth sticking around. It's just hard believing it yourself at times, and the thought of being too much like him messes with your love life because what if you run away too?"

I nodded, hiding behind my poker face how close she came. "Go on."

"You got very passive-aggressive as you saw me at the restaurant. You feared being stalked by me, which made me think of trauma a woman forced upon you since she was obsessed with you.

"You realized your reaction to me being here was too much and backtracked with awkward humor. You blush at times, which makes me think you're shy, were even shyer when you were younger, and women, sex, and family became interesting for the first time when you were in your mid to late twenties.

"You're still nice to me, very sweet actually, which tells me that somehow I did not embarrass you as much with this story as I recognized you in a very weird way. You're just very caught up in norms and uncertainty about this situation, so you do what you do best, and that is removing yourself from the situation."

So she saw me – just like Adriene saw Zane – and still, her pupils dilated, and she was interested in me.

"You're good at that. Are you sure you didn't stalk me?" I joked, and she giggled.

"I'm a writer. I can't even watch a movie without being able to predict the ending."

Maybe I would test that theory sometime and take her out for a movie. If she were up for the challenge, maybe even a Russian one.

"Want to even the square and profile me?" She offered.

"I have an unfair advantage since your fanfiction let me into your head and what you already told me," I told her, but she shrugged.

"It's okay."

Taking a deep breath, I started. "You're a young woman that clearly has a thing for older men. I'd say, growing up, you were always more mature than the boys in your classes. Everyone else around you began dating, but you couldn't find the idea of those drama-ridden boys entertaining enough to do so too. Instead, you read, maybe even more adult books than somebody your age should've."

Her big eyes captivated me, and so I sunk to my knees, crawling towards her while continuing.

"It made you realize that once boys became men, meaning they no longer were as childish as to solely think of a woman's looks and were ready to take care of someone and be responsible, they become interesting to you."

Her breathing became heavier as I leaned over her, one arm holding myself up, the other's fingertips dancing on the skin of her upper arm.

"Dating men older than you is, however, difficult since most of those who use dating apps are the same boys you didn't like in your teenhood, only older. Yet, you're somebody who depends on dating apps since you are too shy to ever see a man in public and just flirt. Some hard rejections while growing up, I assume.

"So you stopped looking for somebody for a while, and when coming to my classes, you found the type of man that spoke to you. I was your professor and therefore off-limits, I also blame some insecurities for your thinking, but that didn't stop you from fantasizing about it, so you began writing about all the little what if's.

"The fantasies felt good because, in them, you could develop not only me in the way you wanted it but could also write yourself to be the truest you there is. Adriene has a dream she can follow without struggle because she has the support of her family and the means to pursue it. [y/n] has a dream and talent, but your family has plans for you, and the academic pressure they put on you keeps you from pursuing what you actually want.

"This fanfiction is actually a very genius form of self-therapy for you. Whenever Adriene or another character struggles, it's actually yourself, and by resolving the struggle in your story and reading the comments that relate to it, you start to understand that you're not alone with them."

Now completely on top of here, I could see every micro reaction she had to me and my words. Had I crushed on her so badly myself before the fanfiction that I didn't realize how obviously she felt for me?

"I'm sorry I took that away from you," I whispered, knuckles brushing over her cheek and feeling the heat of embarrassment on them.

"You probably think I'm pathetic. Come on, say it. I can handle it," she urged for my rejection, but I wouldn't give it to her.

"I think you're the most real person I've ever met, [y/n]. People, including myself, hide their guilty pleasures away from everyone. We're taught who we can and cannot be and how much we are allowed to dream by society without feeling guilty.

"You just continued to dream with a username and a little jackalope bunny profile picture and decided to share your pleasures with others so they can dream as well. Without feeling guilt."

"You're romanticizing how weird our situation is," she mumbled, thinking I didn't notice her back arching so she'd be closer to me.

"It's a guilty pleasure of mine, then. Because I also enjoyed your fantasies more than I should've," I admitted, her eyes searching her face for a lie she wouldn't find.

"That almost sounds like you enjoyed reading about us being together," she whispered.

"What if I did?" I exhorted.

She swallowed thickly, licking her beautiful lips. "Then you're really playing with my fantasies right now."

I stood up, giving her her personal space back. I was not manipulating more of this situation. I knew my words and the effect they had on her. The next step had to come from her.

And if it wouldn't come, I would accept it as well.

Grabbing my jacket, I used it to hide away just how badly I wanted this situation to turn into more and walked to the bathroom.

After a cold shower that only barely helped, I dressed in my pajama pants and an old shirt, laying out my too-big, oversized hoodie for her to wear.

If nothing else, hopefully, it would smell like her in the morning.

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch," I told her, putting a blanket and pillow on the couch. Before she could protest, I told her, "It's only one night on the couch. No big deal. Take the bed."

She nodded, eyes gliding over my body, goggling a little since she'd never seen me dressed in less and as casually as this.

"Okay, Uhm... Thank you for the food and drinks," she said, taking in one last look and leaving me alone in the living room.

*****

☁︎ POV: [y/n] ☁︎

A quick shower later, I was dressed solely in panties and my professor's hoodie. It smelled like him, the bed as well, making me clench my thighs together.

I grabbed my phone, opened my emails, and began typing.

***

"Dear, Professor,

I think I've been wrong. You are a nice guy, after all. Thanks for the shirt.

– [y/n]"

***

"Little bunny,

You should go to bed. And please call me Spencer, at least for the moment.

– Spencer"

***

My breath hitched at the pet name and the fact he called himself Spencer Insisting I should do the same.

I was so desperate for this man. I didn't think he was aware of what his innocent words did to me.

***

"Spencer,

I am already in bed. Are you sure you're comfortable on the couch?"

***

"Why? Would you let me sleep in the bed if I wouldn't be?" He called through the closed bedroom door.

"Of course, I would sleep on the couch instead," I called back, a laugh in my voice.

The ping of a message from an unknown number made me look back at my phone.

***

UNKNOWN: "Well, then, I am perfectly fine here."

***

What the hell?

"How did you get my number?" I asked through the door, making Spencer chuckle.

"FBI, Bunny."

He had used his advantages at work to get my number, but I was the one getting teased. Biting my bottom lip, I saved his number.

***

ME: "Now, who's the obsessed stalker?"

SPENCER: "I am not obsessed. I am interested."

***

I was interested as well. More than I thought I would've been allowed to be, yet he continued to play on the same page as me.

***

ME: "That does almost sound like you're flirting, Professor. Do I need to remind you that I humiliated you in front of your FBI colleagues?"

SPENCER: "That's right. Maybe I should humiliate you back."

ME: "By all the things you know about me that are embarrassing, you wouldn't even have to try."

***

I was getting hot. This conversation's undertones had me all over the place. Stripping off the hoodie, I threw it aside, the cold air making my nipples pucker, which in return, egged on the heat between my legs.

***

SPENCER: "There's something I'd like to know about you."

ME: "What?"

SPENCER: "Are all the things in your story based on fantasies of yours?"

ME: "Wouldn't you like to know, Spencer?"

SPENCER: "Answer the question, and I'll answer one of yours."

***

Through my humiliation, I gave him the answer he wanted. Only getting rewarded with wetness pooling between my legs.

***

ME: "Okay. Yes. My fantasies."

SPENCER: "Interesting. Go ahead; it's your turn to ask something."

ME: "Why did you want to know?"

SPENCER: "Because I want to know what going on inside your head."

ME: "Why?"

SPENCER: "My turn to ask a question. Is your obsession with calling Zane your daddy based on your fantasies about men in general, or is it because he's a substitute for me?"

ME: "Are you asking me if I'd like to call you daddy?"

SPENCER: "Yes."

***

My eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I sighed. Clasping the covers between my legs, I couldn't help but rock against them to ease some of the pressure I was feeling.

If I was going to answer him, I really needed to substitute his name.

***

ME: "I thought it was strange at first, but Zane has certain aspects of himself that make it hard not to want to call him daddy when thinking of sex with him."

SPENCER: "Do you often think about it?"

ME: "Counter question: Do you ever?"

SPENCER: "I'm afraid that this story of yours tapped into fantasies I didn't think I had."

ME: "That's no answer."

SPENCER: "Fine. At first, I was weirded out, but it finds its way into my head over and over again."

SPENCER: "Why that guy?"

***

In which universe could I have the luck of my professor being jealous over my choice to have sex with another man?

Grinding harder against the covers, I wondered if he felt like me, wanted it as badly.

***

ME: "I'm tired of waiting, and romance clearly doesn't work since my taste in men is unattainable authority figures that are almost old enough to be my father."

SPENCER: "I'm not unattainable."

ME: "You are. It would hurt your reputation to fuck one of your students."

SPENCER: "You're no longer my student, though."

***

A whimper escaped my mouth, and for a second, I watched the door to make sure Spencer hadn't heard me.

He hadn't, which made me cocky enough to kick the covers away and spread my legs. The cold air felt good against my hot body.

***

ME: "Did the idea of my date make you jealous?"

SPENCER: "I have no right to be jealous, little bunny."

ME: "I would like you to be."

SPENCER: "I'm afraid you're making me lose my mind if I let jealousy take over."

***

One hand wandered down into my underwear. If nothing else would happen tonight, I could at least indulge in this feeling.

***

ME: "Do you wanna sleep in your bed?"

SPENCER: "Don't tempt me like that."

ME: "Why not?"

SPENCER: "Because I'd take something from you that I have no right to have."

ME: "Isn't that for me to decide?"

***

I let the offer stay right there. I wanted him, and I knew he knew it anyway. If he decided to act on it, I would be welcoming him.

As he didn't reply, however, I placed my phone on the nightstand and continued to rub my clit, now more eagerly since there was nothing more to wait for than the glorious feeling of a so desperately needed orgasm washing over me.

My breathing became louder as I tried not to moan, hips lifting. I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of Spencer and imagining him administrating those touches that lit me on fire.

"Does your offer still—" Spencer asked and immediately stopped in his tracks when coming in.

"Fuck," I gasped as I lay there on full display, quickly scrambling myself up, pulling my hand out of my panties, and covering my breasts.

Staring at me for a long while, Spencer's eyes became darker, his breathing heavier.

"Now, don't let me stop you from what you were doing, little bunny. You seemed to enjoy yourself," he told me predatorial, stepping closer with me caught in his gaze like a helpless rabbit.

Crawling onto the bed, he made me realize the full extent of his pet name for me. "So that's what you're doing when you're all alone in bed?" He asked, and I let him back me down onto the mattress.

He grabbed my hand, forcing it to let go of the try to cover my breasts, and chuckled darkly as he inspected the wetness on my fingers.

Inhaling sharply, he brought them to his face and took them into his mouth, cleaning them from my arousal.

"Please," I whimpered as I thought I would die from excitement.

"You really want that?" He asked teasingly, and I began nodding.

"Since that stupid day, you borrowed me your jacket. I- I kept it on when I..." My words got caught in my through, and another whimper left me.

An animalistic groan escaped Spencer as he growled, "You fucked yourself wearing my coat?"

"It smelled like you," I explained, hips trying to invite him to come closer. "I- I closed my eyes and imagined it to be you touching me."

"Can I kiss you?" He questioned, eyes carefully searching for my consent.

I nodded eagerly. "You can do whatever you want to me."

The second his lips collided with mine, I thought I had died and gone straight to heaven. He was careful at first, but it wasn't long until he couldn't hold back his lust anymore.

As his tongue swapped over my bottom lip, I allowed it into my mouth. Meanwhile, he gently pressed me against the mattress, one leg between mine, putting pressure exactly where I needed it so desperately.

"Oh my God," I whimpered into the kiss, and he backed away. His lips were flushed from our kisses, but that didn't stop the cocky smile of his from spreading on them.

"And there I thought you'd just call me Daddy," he chuckled, moving a hand between my legs, touching me over my soaked through underwear. "Oh, wow. You're dripping, my little bunny. Is that all for me?"

I nodded, rubbing myself against his hand. "All yours."

Spencer got off me, grabbing my underwear, waiting for me to lift my ass and allow him to take it off. As I did, he pulled it down with such a hurried force the flimsy material ripped, making us both laugh gently as he threw it over his shoulder.

"Did you ever have somebody go down on you?" He asked, pressing a kiss onto my knee and lowering himself between my legs.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I shook my head. "You- You don't have to. I know it's more of a women's fantasy that-"

Spencer interrupted me, kissing my inner thigh, "Don't stop me unless you don't want me to touch you, okay?"

I nodded, letting him guide me back down. He began placing kisses on my inner thighs, and his curls tickled between my legs.

The anticipation was driving me crazy, making a loud moan escape me as he finally dragged his flat tongue through my folds.

Liking my reaction, he did it again and again. Then began focusing more on my swollen clit. Spencer's tongue played with it, flicking from side to side and drawing circles onto its sensitive skin, which made my eyes roll back.

"That idiot would not have known what to do with a woman so gorgeous," he said, fingers moving towards my slit, coating themselves with my natural lubricant.

As he carefully entered me with one, I gasped. The instruction was new, filling me with excitement.

"Is that okay?" He asked, cautious of my reactions, and I nodded while he gently began moving his digit in and out of me at a slow pace.

Tongue back on my clit, he began moving his finger faster. The pleasure I received left me breathless, helplessly clawing my hands into Spencer's hair to make sure he'd stay right where I needed him the most.

As he added a second finger, my hips began moving more frantically, making him start to hold me down while eating me out. I moaned and cried in pleasure, trying to stay alert enough not to smother his head between my legs.

With a final swipe of Spencer's tongue, I came, crying out his name, deliciously humping against his mouth as he fucked me through my high.

As my breathing became more normal again, he chuckled against my skin, sitting back on his knees and taking off his shirt.

I hurried myself up as well, hands quickly all over him. Wrapping his arms around me, he let himself fall onto the bed, pulling me with him.

As I lay partially on top of him, his hand moved under my chin, bringing me closer and kissing me softly. The faint taste of myself on his lips drove me to the rim of madness.

Greedily gripping the waistband of his pants, I tried to remove the final barrier keeping him from me. Spencer chuckled, helping me with it and catching me as I almost fell off the bed while throwing his clothes across the room.

"You are so fucking eager," he laughed as I claimed onto him, straddling his lap.

Kissing him roughly, I rocked my his against his hard cock, feeling the precum rubbing itself between my folds and adding to the wetness there.

"Wa- Wait. We need a condom, [y/n]," Spencer spoke breathlessly. His arm wrapped around me so I couldn't move anymore and make his rationality sign out.

"I'm on birth control. We- We don't have to use one," I suggested, knowing I'd dreamed of this moment in so many facets, yet it was always raw, with him claiming me.

Staring into my face, he became stern, lecturing almost. "I hope you didn't plan to be so reckless with the loser you wanted to fuck," he said, almost like a question.

I quickly shook my head. No. Never. Only with him, I wanted it to be this way. "I have a whole box in my bag but- but I'd like..."

As embarrassment killed my voice, he nodded, placing kisses on my cheek and neck. "It's okay, Bunny. I know. I read it."

Before I could feel any embarrassment due to his words, he grabbed my face and pulled me into a rough kiss.

As he pulled away, he growled with a dangerous smirk, "Daddy's going to come inside you, so you fucking know who you belong to."

A high-pitched moan left my mouth. He'd just quoted my story and looked like it had been the greatest thing for him ever to say.

"You wanna stay on top?" He asked, and I thought for a second and nodded.

"Yes, please," I said, lifting my hips.

Letting a hand glide between us, Spencer dragged his cock through my folds, coating it in my wetness. As his head then placed itself at my entrance, I felt the earlier nervousness rush through me again.

I sank down on him, becoming too eager to think of how much I could actually take.

As he was completely inside me, I realized my mistake, the burning between my thighs making me inhale sharply and whimper, "Shit."

I hid my face in the crook of Spencer's neck. I would've jumped off him and rolled into a crying ball on the bed, but I was too afraid to move. It burned.

"Are you okay, Sweetheart?" Spencer asked worriedly, and I sat back up properly, hissing at the stinging feeling between my legs.

"Hurts," I mumbled. "Didn't think it would be that bad."

Wiping away a tear that had freed itself and ran down my cheek, he kissed me gently before resting his forehead against mine.

"It's different for every woman. We can stop if it's too much."

I shook my head abruptly. "N-No. I wanted this for so long. I- I just need a second."

Spencer nodded. He moved one hand to my lower back and the other to my hair, holding me close. "It's okay. We have all the time in the world," he whispered softly. "Just try to relax. You're doing so well already."

The more time passed, the more the pain ebbed away. I became aware of his length and grid stretching me, how he pulsed within me, his head resting firmly against my cervix.

He was so close to me, stroking over my hair, kissing me, and letting me feel him.

I moved a little, bringing his hand down between my legs. His forehead rested against mine as he slowly started to rub my clit in circles.

"You like that?" He asked quietly.

I nodded breathlessly. "Uh-huh."

We smiled at each other softly, stupidly. And as the lust returned, the pain was nothing more than a faint memory that was already blurred.

I began slowly rocking my hips, his hand still working on me.

As I picked up more pace, Spencer searched for my eyes. "Does it still hurt?" He asked, concerned, but I quickly shook my head.

"So good."

Bouncing on him like a little bunny, my moans became unhinged, fed by his low grunts. I threw my head back just to let it rush forward against his lips or his shoulder, kissing him roughly or nibbling on his skin, marking him with my bite marks.

"Keep your eyes on me, [y/n]. Eyes on me, Baby," he ordered after a while, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him while he began thrusting up into me.

"Is this what you thought it would be like?" He asked with a hoarse voice.

I shook my head, squealing excitedly. "It's so much better."

With one swift motion, he turned us around, having me lay on the bed. As he began pounding into me, my delirious mind slipped up. "Fuck, Daddy," I moaned loudly, not knowing how he'd feel about it in all seriousness.

His hips staggered for a second, and he met my gaze with a praising smile. "Good girl. Such a good fuckin girl."

He growled deeply, arms caging me in underneath him as his pace picked up again, our skin slapping loudly against each other, my thighs hurting most deliciously due to the impact.

"Fuck, fuck," I cussed, rocking against him as I felt my second orgasm approaching. "Daddy, please, I-" I interrupted my own, begging for release with loud moans.

Spencer's hand moved down between us, rubbing me again. "That's it, come for me, Bunny. Come for Daddy."

The crashing wave hit me suddenly with an unstoppable force. I threw my head back, arching into his final thrusts as he came inside me.

Dropping to his elbows, he kissed me softly, and his thrusts came to a halt. His knuckles brushed over my cheek as he looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I let out a deep, satisfied sigh, "Fuck, that felt good."

He pulled out, laying down next to me. "I know virginity is just a social construct created by men, but thank you for letting it be me."

I nodded, deadpanning, "Charity work for the elderly."

He gasped in fake appall. "What?" He asked, starting to tickle me. "What did you say?" He asked again, not stopping as I laughed. "I think I didn't hear you correctly."

"Stop it," I begged through my giggles. "Stop, Spencer." As he finally stopped, he pressed another kiss on my lips.

"You wanna try out the jacuzzi tub?" I asked, and he sat up.

"How many bubbles do you want, little bunny?"

I pushed myself up, declaring, "A lot."

*****

"How do you feel?" Spencer asked once we lay in the tub, me between his legs, his arms wrapped around me.

I shrugged. "Strangely enough, the same as before. Except that I now know how it feels to fuck you."

He leaned forward for a second to kiss my cheek, then made himself comfortable again.

"Are you mad at me for writing that story?" I asked, not daring to look at him. Should his face give the answer away, I didn't want to see it.

"No," he sighed. "I was never mad. At first, I was extremely uncomfortable, not knowing how to react, but now, I'm actually glad for it."

"It's still weird, though, right?" I asked, making him chuck and pull me closer.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But I can live with a little weird. Normal would be boring."

I pressed the button on the side of the tub, turning the jacuzzi function on. Turning it up some more, I sighed relaxed, stretching. I was sore—a nice kind of sore.

For a while, we just lay there, listening to the sounds of our own breathing.

"Should you ever decide to turn 'Paper Hearts & Printer Ink' into a novel, I'd love to proofread it, do some of the jobs you'd need an editor for, or answer your questions about working for the FBI," Spencer spoke into the silence between us.

I chuckled, "You're not just being nice now because we had sex, right?"

I practically heard him shaking his head. "No. I- I guess I just like your type of weird. The way you wrote about Zane and Adriene... If being with you is like being with Adriene, I'd like that."

"So you're crushing on the fictional character I created?" I asked, turning around.

"I love how she loves Zane, although he's an idiot at times. If you're anything like her, I need you."

The shit-eating smirk on his handsome face said it all. He knew it was a self-insert. He just wanted to play it cool. Dork.

"Who says I'd need a Zane, though?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

He shrugged. "Wishful thinking."

"Now, wouldn't I just make an amazing profiler," I giggled.

"What makes you think that?"

Laying back against his chest, I simply said, "I was right about us fitting together."

"I'm in Vegas until Thursday. If you'd like, I'd want you to stay with me," Spencer offered. "We could go on a couple of dates, I show you around, and we'll test your hypothesis."

Okay. This was a permanent thing. No one-time thing. If I was dreaming, I definitely didn't want to wake up.

"I'd love that," I said, adding sassily, "But I don't get why people love coming to Vegas, though. So I hope you're not planning on taking me to a casino."

He was silent for a second, then reluctantly said, "I'm banned from casinos in Vegas. I- I might've pushed my luck when I became a young adult."

"You counted the cards?" I snickered, hearing him snort behind me while trying to defend himself.

"In my defense, it came naturally to me." As our laughter ceased, he added, "I hope you're okay with boring museum and bookstore dates."

He had read my story, so I answered, "You know I am."

Turning on the bubbles some more, I looked out the big bathroom window while Spencer figured out how to turn on the bathroom TV, putting on an old black and white movie with Marilyn Monroe.

He sighed happily, handing me my water bottle since he insisted that I needed to stay hydrated. Taking the bottle from me, he kissed my cheek and cackled, "And all of this because of a fanfiction."

[kayuripax]

Submas Autistic Joy Week 2022, Day 6: Special Interest/Teaching

A group of school children and their teacher take an excursion to Gear Station

"Now kids, remember to stay in line and listen to what the people at Gear Station have to say, yes?" The voices of the teacher and her class of children are loud enough to rival Ingo. It makes several Depot Agents look up, one raising her hand in a signal to inform the bosses.

"Hello and welcome to Gear Station!" She calls out to the teacher, putting on her best child-friendly smile. "You are the group from the Nimbasa Primary School, right?"

"Yes! Thank you so much again for making this possible." The teacher replies cheerfully, keeping all twenty children in check.

"The bosses will come in a moment. Until then, I'll be your guide. Come, I can show you the way to the meeting room." The Depot Agents clasps her hands behind her back. "For you kids, I'm Depot Agent Hana." A chorus of squeaky voices tells her hi, before she leads them into a Ducklett's March. "Boss Ingo? Boss Emmet? Your visitors are here!" 

"We will arrive in a moment!" 

---

Emmet claps his hands in delight.

"Alright, children. I am Subway Boss Emmet Carril. I work here, and I run the Subway with my brother Ingo." 

"I am Ingo Carril. It's good to meet you all." Ingo gives a quick nod, making the children giggle a bit. "Your teacher told us that you are here today to learn about trains and how to ride them."

"That is verrry good!" Emmet nods. "Ingo and I know a lot about them! So we will try our best to teach you." His eyes swerve around, landing on a child with a raised arm.

"Yes?"

"Why do you talk so funny? You stretched that word all weird!" The child swings his legs, gap-toothed grin on full display.

"Is it weird? It's how I talk. I have done it for a long time." Emmet tilts his head. "That was rude of you."

"Sorry." It's a bit flippant, still earnest though.

"Apology accepted. Now, we have derailed! Ingo, if you would?" Emmet's smile stretches further.

"Ah, certainly. Now, let me tell you about Gear Station. Tell me if I use too many big words, I am not always aware I do so." Ingo hits a button on a remote, activating a projector. "This is Gear Station. You entered here when you came here, right?" Ingo taps a bit of the image projected onto the board. "That is the entrance. I'm sure you saw it while Depot Agent Hana led you here, but Gear Station is round." He switches the image. "We did not build Gear Station, and we have worked here for a long time now, but even we don't quite know why it's round." He winks at the children. "We have a few platforms inside Gear Station, and it's easy to know which is which. Does anyone have an idea why?" A few arms shoot up. "You there, please." Ingo points at a little girl.

"Do the trains have different names?" Her question makes a few children snicker.

"Not a bad idea! Some trains do have names, but we don't usually drive them here." He nods. "How about you?"

"Are there signs?" A boy this time, with hair sticking up wildly.

"There are! Very good. We have eight platforms here, and every platform has signs. There is another helpful thing though. Do you see these stripes here?" He zooms in on the picture. "Every stripe means something different, and they help you find where you need to go." Ingo nods, before stepping back and allowing Emmet to take over again.

"Now, Ingo said we have eight platforms here. Did you know that the subways here are not just for getting somewhere? We also have battle trains." Emmet starts, hands moving about as he talks. "There are two trains that you are not allowed to battle on. The train to Anville Town, and the Blue line." He hums for a moment. "These trains are not able to hold attacks! It's verrry dangerous."

"Now even a tackle?" 

"No, not even that. Do you know why?" Emmet leans closer, a spark in his eye. "Pokémon are all verrrry strong! I saw a young Rattata defeat a full grown Charizard." Murmurs of awe.

"And that was only a small Rattata. Now imagine if a Bouffalant tackled the train! That won't be good. The train might fall over, and that will injure people." 

"And we don't like having accidents. It's very bad if one happens, so always be very careful." Ingo adds.

"Yes! Not just in the trains! Also in Gear Station, but that is for later." Emmet taps his foot. "I said there are six Battle Lines. In every Battle Line, you can find Pokémon Trainers to fight against while the train moves. In two, you can only fight single battles. Ingo runs these trains! I run the Double lines, where you fight with two Pokémon at once. And together, we run the Multi lines, where you fight with a partner." 

"So can you only ride those trains if you're a trainer?" 

"No! You can ride them even when you aren't a trainer. But you are not allowed to enter the battle cars." 

"Because it's dangerous?"

"Exactly!" Emmet nods again. "The Battle Lines are all normal trains as well. We have a small book for each of you. In there is a picture of our train map, and an explanation."

"Thank you, Emmet." Ingo takes over again, leaving Emmet to hand out the booklets. "Let me ask a question. Who here was already on a train once?" Three hands shoot up. "Tell us about it, if you feel like it." He nods to a girl with pigtails and glasses.

"When we visit Granny, we have to get to Anville! So we took the train there a lot. It's a lot of fun, I like watching from the window."

"The way to Anville is verrry pretty, yup." Emmet agrees, handing a small booklet to the girl.

"How about you?" He gently taps the next child.

"My cousin took me here when there was this reeeaaally old train once! It smoked! That train was huge!"

"I remember that day." Ingo hums, eyes closed in thought.

"That was last year during the introduction of the Heritage Line, wasn't it, Emmet?"

"Yes! That was an old steam locomotive you saw. They are old, and don't get used a lot anymore. It's always fun to see one."

"Can I go now?" The last child wriggles their outstretched hand in the air.

"Of course, go ahead."

"Mom and Dad both come from Opelucid, and we take the train there every weekend to visit my aunt and uncle! It's so fast!"

"That is a very fast train, yes. It makes the journey quite short." The corners of Ingo's mouth curl up. "It seems we have a few children who know how to ride a train already. That is very good. Now, Emmet has some more, very important things to tell you."

"My favorite topic!" Emmet grins. "Safety checks!" He claps once. "It's best if I show you! Everyone, line up!" He waits until two neat rows form. "Now, stay close. We are now departing the station!" In a mirror of how Hana led the children before, Emmet Now leads them to the platform of the Singles train. "And halt!" He turns around, coat swishing. "This is the Singles platform. Do you all see this yellow line?" Nods and shouts of affirmation. "It is verrry important that you never cross it." An uncharacteristic frown is on his face. "Let me show you why." He moves closer, arms swinging. "If I stand here, I am close to the tracks! That is not good. If someone shoves me while I stand here, I will fall onto the tracks." He stretches his arms, as if to prove the short distance again. "Do not cross the yellow line!"

"Yes Mister Emmet!" A rather enthusiastic chorus echoes back.

"Perfect!" A happy smile grows on his face.

"Now, promise me to tell that to every adult who wants to cross it. You can only go behind the yellow line if there is a train here." He steps away from the line.

"Mister Emmet, where is Mister Ingo?" Another child pipes up, looking around.

"Just wait a moment!" As if summoned, the noise of an incoming train begins to sound. "He is on the train!" As the train pulls into station, Ingo started to lean out of the window, a single hand pointing out.

"What's he doing?"

"Point and call!" A child hollers before Emmet can. It's the kid who talked about the steam train before.

"Bravo!" Ingo calls back, volume staggering.

"That is correct! It helps us be safe while we work. If I cannot point at this plate when the train is stopped, that means I did not park it right, and people will fall!"  "Now, we have one last treat for you." Emmet grins, standing inside the door to the train.

"All Aboard!" The children file in, vibrating in excitement. As the doors close, Emmet briefly walks up to Ingo, handing him three spheres, before joining him in announcing them departing the station. "As Emmet already said, we have one last treat for you all. Emmet and I will demonstrate how a fight on the single line looks, and you will be allowed to watch." Ingo can't help the chuckle at the screams of joy. "This is my Singles train! So I am the Subway Boss here. If you do not like the battle, please tell me afterwards. Until then, please stay in your seats while Emmet and I conduct our battle."

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Season 2 Summary (Volume 7: Ch 22 - 25)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from S2 🍒

This is an official feature called “Plot Review” which contains bullet-point summaries of S2 chapters~

Volume 6 Summary: here

[ CHAPTER 22 ]

Note: @keliosyfan​ has done a translation of this chapter here!

In the subway, you hear an announcement searching for someone. When you rush to the broadcast room, you see Kiro, which results in a flood of countless emotions

Shortly after, Savin drives over to pick the both of you up. Beneath the warm sun of this winter day, Kiro tells you frankly that he’s unable to hear. However, he’s planning to hold a concert

Savin instantly rejects this suggestion, but you feel that Kiro isn’t suggesting this out of impulse. As such, you go around asking several experts in the industry, and decide to bring this suggestion to life

When you ask Kiro about his thoughts on the theme for this concert, he expresses that he wishes to call this concert: “Full of Stars”

After confirming the theme, the concert officially enters the operation phase. During a committee meeting, Kiro requests for the assistance from those responsible of various departments, hoping they can help him complete this concert

But just a few days later, an anonymous whistleblower reveals that Kiro was an experimental subject in the Twin Leaves Orphanage 17 years ago - and that he’s a man-made Evolver monster. Amid the shock and sense of loss, you arrange for countermeasures based on your experience. After dealing with everything, you immediately rush to Kiro’s side

Kiro seems to know what you’re thinking about, and he takes you to the roof. He admits these truths, and also says many, many things that he’s never told anyone before

Just as always, he doesn’t let you down, and fulfils his promise.

You can’t bear to watch him continue speaking, so you gently cover his mouth

“Does this version of me frighten you?”

He asks you several questions, and you shake your head forcefully to deny every single one of them. You tell him loudly that none of this was his fault. He’s already the best version of himself. You do your utmost best to prove to Kiro that your reason for liking him is definitely not because of Evol, but because of himself

He looks at you, remembering every word in his heart

As public opinion continues to fester, Kiro’s concert officially begins. Kiro kneels on one leg on the ground sincerely, waiting for the flag to rise slowly

“The love from all of you - is it truly fake?”

Kiro sings one song after the other. After that, he walks to the farthest end, and gives another sincere bow

“Thank you for listening to my songs.”

The curtain falls on the “Full of Stars” concert. You and Kiro talk about Evol-related toipcs, but he ends up saying many things with a deeper meaning behind them. When he sees that you’re worried, his gaze gradually turns gentle

“There’s no need to worry. No matter what happens, I’ll face everything with you.”

On the lookout station of BS, Kiro watches the man in front of him as his pupils get coated with a layer of gold

At the same time, a shooting star streaks across the horizon, and the world comes to a sudden standstill. A young man collapses onto the ground, his body spasming

In the office, you chance upon a video clip of last night’s meteor shower, and it involuntarily brings up memories of that doomsday scene

You head over to BS and locate Anole, asking him to “help” you change your appearance into a cleaning auntie from NW

Taking on the identity of a cleaning auntie, you successfully enter NW. You’re aware that the most pressing matter is to locate CORE

Just as you enter the K Section Break Room, you spot Shaw! You realise that he’s probably disguising himself as a member of NW to slip into the internal department of NW. In order not to disrupt his plan, you decide not to acknowledge him for now

When you enter the NW Archives Room, you meet Shaw again. Unfortunately, others eventually walk in. In your haste, the both of you squeeze into a narrow bookcase. Then, Shaw “reveals” your disguise

“Sure enough, it’s you.”

Two NW members engage in idle chatter, expressing that the recent mysterious meteor shower wasn’t anything threatening, and it was simply scattered light. After they leave, the both of you restart your search for resources. Very soon, you find a manuscript - “No records of Experimental Subject No. 0 from 17 Years Ago”. Shaw seems to have found what he was wanted

Despite some small interruptions, the two of you successfully escape NW thanks to Shaw’s preparations. Even so, neither of you completely escape from those people. Given the urgent circumstaces, Shaw takes a cap and puts it on your head

“...hey, could you stay like this quietly for a while?”

After a while, Shaw releases you. In order to avert NW’s attention, he shoots you a wave, and leaves from your side

[ CHAPTER 23 ]

On the way to work, you bump into a girl, and she collapses onto the ground in a fit of spasms, and you send her to the hospital. At the hospital, you learn that since the day before yesterday, there have been incidents of sudden spasming and patients stricken with brain injuries. You meet Gavin, who has just saved a patient with brain injuries

[This scene happens in a flashback] Gavin recently found a large paper box in his house. After the huge fire that killed his mother, this paper box was the only thing left. He retrieved his father’s laptop from it, and found a set of passcode-locked documents related to investigations pertaining to Experimental Subject No. 0 from the Twin Leaves Orphanage 17 years ago. The participant’s name turns out to be yours. Gavin felt slightly confused, and he returned to his previous home. That was the first time he returned since his mother’s death. He told himself that he’d definitely protect you

[Back to the present] After answering Eli’s call, he brings you back to STF. Turns out that today is the day he’s reinstated to his post. Gavin tells you that there are abnormal electromagnetic waves affecting people’s brain cells. This time, the ones who are affected are ordinary civilians. He realises that you don’t have any Evol fluctuations. For your safety, he tells you to stay in the STF. At night, he returns to the office and keeps you company as you fall asleep

“I need you to stay here.”

Early the next day, Gavin is already gone. Your phone screen flickers for a moment and you suddenly faint. Before fainting, you catch sight of an abnormal yet magnificient meteor shower. Tang Chao happens to see you regaining consciousness, and he tells Gavin about how you fainted. At this point, a squadmate calls Gavin away urgently. You also receive Kiki’s call. She tells you that Willow isn’t feeling well, and that strange pamphlets have appeared all around the city, claiming that the radiation from the meteor shower only affects ordinary civilians

You immediately arrange for related work. After doing a checkup, you return to your office, but bump into the overall-in-charge of NW - Xiao Yue. He was the man in the glass room on the second floor when you were undergoing experiments in NW! Just as you’re feeling nervous, Gavin kicks the door open, and gets the man to leave the office. He tells you that the STF will hold a press conference regarding the pamphlets tomorrow

“The strength of every STF agent provides a barrier to protect all the civilians, and to enable every bullet to be fired only for justice.”

The press conference goes very smoothly, and Gavin is busy once again. Eli takes you to a simulated training ground. Here, Gavin has to constantly fight against simulated enemies in order to have Evol pellets distributed. This way, the goal of protecting ordinary civilians can be reached. Gavin faces constant battles. Unexpectedly. his final opponent is himself. He surpasses the fixed style that he has fettered himself with, and clinches the victory

“You’ve lost.”

After the successful distribution of the Evol pellets, the both of you sit on the stairs in the park. He leans against you and falls asleep. Feeling very distressed about his fatigue, you hope that the snow will be a little lighter so that he’d fall asleep on your shoulder with ease. In your heart,  you hope that he could be a little more selfish. He tells you that this is his duty.

“Someone is bound to make sacrifices in exchange for a complete resolution.”

Before parting ways with Gavin, he tells you that the CORE is with him. He tells you not to do anything dangerous again before he returns

Upon reaching home, you discover that the Infinite Team has expressed statements that can easily give rise to controversy. You call Gavin to cheer him on. You also notice that the starlight in the sky seems to be related to the Lighthouse. At this point, you receive a text - it’s an invitation from BS to attend a meeting

[ CHAPTER 24 ]

Early the next day, you attend the BS meeting. However, it doesn’t proceed smoothly. After leaving the BS Tower, a hand suddenly appears and controls your car. You end up plummeting into the sea

At the bottom of the sea, you spot the familiar stone tablet with thistles and thorns over it. You successfully enter the Lighthouse. However, Joker, the young man, and Lucien appear at the same time!

Under these urgent circumstances, you recall the “19″ from the Lighthouse from your previous experience. As such, you decide to try your luck. The artificial intelligence in this Lighthouse is called “502″. You request for it to help you, but end up stuck with Lucien

When Lucien sees that you’re completely drenched, his brows furrow slightly

“Why have you landed yourself in such a sorry state again?”

When you meet up with Lucien again, you're at a momentary loss. Given the special circumstances, you present yourself as a “friend” to Lucien in front of “502″

Lucien is clearly very interested in everything about this place. You briefly tell him about things related to the Lighthouse. Very soon, “502″ brings you to the “Cockpit”

Lucien senses that this place doesn’t contain the technology of the current age. Under Lucien’s sequential questioning, “502″ reveals the truth that it was once a human too

Amid your shock, Joker barges in and tells you that you’re CORE

Joker tries to persuade Lucien to continue working with him. Between you and Joker, he chooses you

“She probably still has a friend.”

With the tacit understanding between you and Lucien, Joker is eventually sent away by Lucien. However, there are a few questions waiting to be resolved by the both of you

Faced with such a Lucien, you give Lucien a reason that he can’t evade, and where he has to take the initiative to find you

All of a sudden, “502″ interrupts the present atmosphere. It tells you that it has to welcome the end of time

Closely after, you feel the entire Lighthouse swaying, and it finally emerges from the surface of the water. During your final conversation, you learn that the starlight is indeed related to the Lighthouse. The previous civilisation stored data in such light. You receive a tiny white sheet of luminous paper

In the end, amid the well-wishes during the farewell, the structure erodes into a huge heap of ashes

Lucien takes you to an unfamiliar house. After changing into a clean set of clothes, he suddenly asks you if Dionysus was the one who caused you to plunge into the sea

You respond to him honestly. His expression turns icy, and he props you between himself and the window frame

“Are you aware of all the predicaments around you right now?”

You remain insistent on the choice you made from the start. After teling Lucien the thoughts from your heart, he presses your hairband against your lips

“I’m really looking forward to that day’s arrival.”

[ CHAPTER 25 ]

Note: @perhaps-in-anotherdream​ has done a translation of this chapter here!

You wake up at night. After tidying your train of thought, you spend the night contacting various media partners, requesting for them to deny the relationship between the radiation and the meteor shower. After hanging up, your phone flickers to black again. An image appears before your eyes - Victor lying in a pile of rubble. You feel both shocked and worried, and head to Victor’s house to check up on him. The door opens, but no one’s around

The Victor from the past has travelled through time, and has arrived at the present. Despite the acute sense of pressure, he painstakingly opens the door for you. He had been warned multiple times that he’d face punishments for breaking the rules. However, he doesn’t care

You search Victor’s house. Then, he appears before you, his forehead drenched with sweat. Although you find this a little strange, you’re convinced by his reason of “testing your judgment”. You keep him up-to-date regarding information pertaining to the meteor shower and the Lighthouse, and he also discovers that you were almost assassinated

During a meeting with the Twelve in BS a few days later, Victor wears a badge on his chest which has a mini camera on it, which allows you to observe the meeting from afar. Victor uses information of your “fake death” to lure out the perpetrator who wanted to assassinate you. In the end, Thanatos commits suicide by swallowing a pill. At night, you prepare to sleep in Victor’s guest room, and he brings you a cup of milk

“I forgot to say goodnight.”

You tell him about the frightening image of you saw - the one of him lying in a pile of rubble. In order to console you, he lies down and keeps you company while you fall asleep

"You could have a little more faith in me.”

By the time you wake up, Victor has already made breakfast for you. Your conversation reveals the rumours and doubtful points regarding the starlight and radiation, and the two of you decide to return to the time of the first meteor shower. The both of you realise that the clues point towards the BS Building. Returning to reality, Victor seems to have formulated a plan. At night, you see Victor’s back view, and he appears to be in some pain. He doesn't say anything about it, and simply gives you a pudding

You return to the BS Tower again, and participate in the Meeting of the Twelve. This time, Victor reveals his identity in the open! He expels the extremists in BS, and also chases you out of BS. After the meeting, you wish to clear the air with him. However, the BS Building starts to collapse! Because of you, Victor stops time and seizes an opportunity for you to escape. You once again see the image of Victor getting injured. You can’t help but kneel on the ground as a massive sense of rejection strikes you. You hear Victor’s voice, and watch as he offers you a hand.

“I said it before. That will not be our ending.”

The person who has arrived is Victor, and he brings you into his arms. Just as you heave a sigh of relief, you notice a gigantic clock dial immersed in a black vortex behind him. A black coloured hand reaches out towards Victor, and you hear his incomparably determined voice -

“I have no regrets.”

Volume 8 (Ch 26 - 29): here

More S2 content: here

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

I’m Not the original anon but I want to hear your thoughts on the movie

Bless. (And if you were the original anon, that would've been great, too!)

Okay, so basically, I went in expecting to hate it, and I did not! Did it dethrone LEGO Batman? Not even close. Was I glad I saw it? Yep! Will I ever watch it again? Doubtful (but not impossible.)

There were things I LOVED and things I hated and things I loved for what they were but wished that they were different, but those will all be discussed under the cut, because spoilers.

Okay, so, I was surprised by how much Battinson delighted me. I still maintain that I would have preferred a BatDad and not the early 20s emo loner Bruce, but if we must have that era Bruce, Battinson was a good choice. (I don't write a lot of that time period for a reason, but they did it well.) He was very awkward and weird and dramatic and I liked him a lot. His children are going to tease him mercilessly someday.

I am neutral on Serkis as Alfred. He was a nonentity for me. But I was going to fly out of my chair if they didn't hold hands in the hospital, so I'm very glad they did.

Am also neutral on Kravitz as Selina. I don't care. (Also? V uncomfy that Carmine was 100% hitting on his own daughter for the entirety of the movie without realizing it!)

I was surprised/impressed that even though they went with the same boring washed-out and dark color palette, I could actually? follow? the action?? Marvel, take notes.

I physically, literally rolled my eyes every time Riddler appeared. You're a disenfranchised pouty white boy who no one understaaaaaands, I get it, I'm bored. As the Riddler, I hated the character. Loathed. That said, I was totally down for the utter skewering of that specific brand of 4chan man. (I out loud under my breath muttered "Ooooh look at all them white boys" in the stadium scene.) I just wished they'd used someone else to make the point they were trying to make. The thumb drive was the only part that made me go "Oh hey, Eddie." Also could've done without the Zodiac stuff.

It was too long. It was way way too long. But it didn't feel like three hours the way a Marvel movie would, so I appreciated that as well.

I loved the journey from Battinson not being afraid to die at all to at least being afraid for other people, like Alfred. (The freakout in the car? AMAZING.) Now we just have to get him to care for himself for the sake of other people.

I. AM. SO. SICK. OF. THE. JOKER. THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY I WILL ACCEPT THE JOKER ONSCREEN AGAIN AND I DON'T THINK THEY HAVE THE GUTS TO DO IT. TAKE AWAY THE CLOWN I DO NOT WANT HIM.

The realism of the acts were... hard. I do prefer my superhero blockbusters to be a little less grounded. As someone living in a city with a marked rise of violence against Asian-coded folks, the attack on the subway was hard. The natural disaster that likely killed many many people? Hard. The mass shooting in a stadium modeled off a center that I have been to before? Hard. Those were all very difficult to sit through.

I also understand that the director was going deliberately noir and that does come with specific tropes, but the way the movie treated women was... bleh.

I LOVED that they did what they needed to do to pay homage to the Nolanverse aesthetic but then by the end levered Batman/Bruce out and away from vengeance as a motivator. Batman! Is! About Hope!

Overall, I was mostly whelmed while watching and moved to slightly positive after thinking about it some more. Really, what gives the movie the biggest points in my book is its potential. I want to see Bruce continue his trajectory out of darkness! I want to see him embrace HOPE! I want to see him grow out of his mopey emo phase out of necessity because a small acrobat child needs him to. I want to see him build his family and his allies!! I want to see this franchise build Bruce into the Batman we know he can be!!!!

(But I am also leery of many of the potential pathways they set up with the Hush nod and the Venom nod and of course the Joker nod, so we'll see.)

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

[buriedinbaltimore]

Imagine the foxes playing two truths and a lie...

The upperclassmen start playing it as a drinking game one night and Neil is intrigued. Andrew is also intrigued but doesn’t show it and refuses to play.

They are all already pretty tipsy, with Kevin, Matt, Nicky, and Aaron pretty much drunk.

Allison goes first, she has an amazing poker face and calmly says all three statements with no facial twitches or vocal cues. “my first car was a Toyota Camry (truth), my prom dress cost over $10k (lie), and I once made out with Miley Cyrus (truth)”

Renee, Neil, and Aaron guess right, Matt, Dan, Kevin, and Nicky have to drink.

Then it’s Matt’s turn and he is terrible, he starts snickering before he opens his mouth. “I’ve swam with sharks (truth)” he says, but he cannot control his face and it keeps contorting as he tries to maintain a neutral expression. He takes a deep breath to try and control his giggles, “my favorite flower is sunflowers (truth)” then he can’t hold it in anymore and starts hysterically laughing and chokes out, “My favorite city in the world is Newark, NJ (lie)”

Everyone gets it right and Matt has to drink.

Dan is next, she goes for the “one of these is so out there and crazy it can’t be a lie...or is it?” method.

((It is.))

“I’ve never shot a gun (truth), as a kid my favorite food was celery with ranch dressing (truth), and when I was 18 I won the lottery but the ticket was ruined and I couldn’t claim the money (lie)”

Aaron jumps in with “Obviously you never won the lottery, how would you even know if the ticket was destroyed”

Dan has her story ready. “When I first turned 18, I played the same numbers every week. It went on for a few months when my numbers were picked, but by that point playing was more of a habit than anything else and I wasn’t too careful with my tickets. I searched for it everywhere and found that I left it in my jeans pocket when I did my laundry.”

Allison asks what the numbers were, and Dan answers with no hesitation, which makes Allison tilt her head and stare into Dan’s eyes. Dan looks back without guile, totally relaxed.

Nicky is looking at her with his eyes wide and mouth slightly open and asks how much money she would have won

When Dan answers $53 million dollars Nicky gasps and Matt groans.

Neil, Renee, and Allison get it right, but everyone else falls for it.

When its Nicky turn he forgets to say a lie.

He is sitting there trying to come up with something for what feels like forever while every goads him for taking so long.

Finally, after waiting 5 minutes, Kevin says “I’m going because Nicky obviously can’t come up with anything” and Nicky jumps across Kevins lap and goes “No no no no no, I’ve got it!”

Without moving off Kevin he says “I’m allergic to shellfish, I died my hair green once, and I’ve read all the twilight books three times“ He moves back to his spot looking pleased with himself.

Everyone starts discussing theories until Andrew says in his bored, flat voice, “Nicky, those are all true”

Nicky starts to protest, thinks for a second, then just says “Fuck!” and takes a shot.

Kevin rolls his eyes so hard that his entire head rotates then says, while slightly slurring, “Okay, my turn! I’ve played a game of pick up basketball once (lie), I know all the lyrics to We Didn’t Start the Fire (truth), and I’ve traveled to over a dozen countries (truth).”

Matt starts hysterically laughing again, “You know all the lyrics to We Didn’t Start the Fire! oh my god Kevin you are such a nerd!” everyone else starts laughing at Kevin too.

“Maybe I do, maybe it’s the lie!”

“Everyone knows you’ve never played a sport besides Exy in your life Kevin” Dan says, “Will you sing it for us? Please, please, please!”

Allison, Nicky, and Matt join Dan in asking Kevin to sing. Renee even says, “It would be lovely to hear you sing it Kevin” to which Kevin blushes a little and answers, “Maybe later” and then takes his shot.

Aaron is drunk enough at this point to spill some truths he otherwise never would, and will wish for the rest of his life that he never had.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a figure skater when I grew up.(truth)”

Everyone goes completely silent and stares at him unsure whether to laugh or not but he doesn’t realize and continues

“The first time I got high I thought the squirrels in the tree wanted to adopt me as their squirrel king (truth), and I hate Taylor Swift (lie)”

No one says anything at first, and just when Aaron starts to realize something is up, Nicky says “Nah man, you LOVE T. Swift, you can’t deny it!”

They collectively make a silent agreement to ignore this new information about Aaron until he sobers up a bit and can either defend himself, or will be more fun to tease.

In the end, everyone but Renee guesses right, but she guessed wrong on purpose because she didn’t think that Aaron should be having any more to drink.

When it’s Renee’s turn, she smiles sweetly and says, ”I can juggle up to 7 balls (truth), I have never drank diet soda (lie), and I once had a pet turtle named Vincent (truth).”

No one is confident about which is the lie and it is the longest the foxes debate after anyones turn. It doesn’t help that Renee refuses to answer questions, and whenever someone tries to ask her anything she just smiles and shrugs.

It comes out to Neil and Aaron getting it right, while everyone else has to drink.

“How the fuck has it never come up that you’re a master juggler?” Allison asks angrily

“It wouldn’t be appropriate to do it at practice, and we’re not really around balls much otherwise.”

Everyone asks for a demonstration, “I will juggle later if Kevin will sing.”

Everyone looks at Kevin who sighs but says “Okay, fine!”

They all cheer then wait eagerly for Neil to go.

Neil sits quietly for a little while, not as long as Nicky, but long enough that Aaron says, “Come on this should be easy for you! You lied to us all for a year, what’s the problem, the truth?”

Neil shoots him a dirty look but doesn’t respond for a few more seconds then says,

“My mom and I once helped deliver a baby at a truck stop in Alberta, I’ve been bitten by a camel, and I can speak 7 languages”

Everyone just stares at him.

“Two of those things are true?” Matt finally asks

“Yeah.” Neil says, shrugging. Everyone is silent again.

Nicky turns to Andrew for help, but he refuses to say anything. His eyes are bright with interest though and he looks at Neil for a long time. Internally, he thinks the one about helping birth a baby has something off about it.

After much debate, Allison, Kevin, and Matt guess the baby, Renee, Dan, and Aaron guess the camel, and Nicky says the languages, “No one can know SEVEN languages!! I won’t believe it!”

They all turn to Neil expectantly and he says, “It was the first one, we were just outside Vancouver, in British Columbia, not Alberta.”

“But you, Neil Josten, have helped deliver a baby?” Allison asks incredulously.

“Technically I wasn’t Neil Josten yet…”

Everyone groans. Everyone takes a shot.

Cut to 15 minutes later, Renee is juggling an exy ball, some apples, and Matt’s phone while Kevin sings. Nicky tries to sing along with Kevin but definitely doesn’t know the right words, Aaron is watching Renee wide eyed, Dan and Matt are playing air guitar behind Kevin, and Allison is looking for more things for Renee to juggle. Neil and Andrew sit quietly on a desk holding cigarettes, observing their idiot friends.  

Stories Behind the Truths and Lies

Allison

My first car was a Toyota Camry (truth) - Allison’s parents wanted her to learn how to drive in a safe car that wouldn’t draw a lot of attention, so they got her a Camry. She only drove it for 3 weeks before demanding an upgrade.

My prom dress cost over $10k (lie) - This was almost true. She had ordered a custom Zac Posen dress but before it was finalized she made her decision to go to PSU and play Exy, and her mother canceled the order. She ended up wearing something she found in a vintage store that she altered herself. She ended up enjoying it a lot, which led to her decision to study fashion. (In my hc she played professional Exy for 3? seasons but was injured and then started her fashion line.)

I once made out with Miley Cyrus (truth) - While out clubbing one night she met Miley through mutual friends, they were attracted to each other, they made out. Miley asked for her number but Allison wasn’t looking for anything more than a hook up.

Matt

I’ve swam with sharks (truth) - He did this with his mom on a vacation and they both loved it. They also have a tradition where they watch at least one night of shark week together, or at least call each other to talk while they are both watching.

My favorite flower is sunflowers (truth) - No story lol I just think he would like sunflowers.

My favorite city in the world is Newark, NJ (lie) - I love thinking about New Yorker Matt. Raised on the Upper East Side, dad a top plastic surgeon, mom a public figure? Child grew up surrounded by serious privilege. HC that in fifth grade he made friends with a boy who was on scholarship at his school. Let’s call him… Metin. He lived in Queens? He took the subway? Matt goes to his house one day and it is 1/8th the size of his apartment and there are 9 people living there; Metin’s parents, two grandparents, his uncle, his two sisters, and his cousin. They all speak Turkish in the house and it’s loud and crowded but so full of life and love and Matt loves it. He and Metin grew apart when Matt started using, but before that they were best friends for years and explored the city together, Matt learning about and experiencing so much culture that for the first 9 years of his life he didn’t know existed. When Nicky wanted to go to Times Square for New Years Matt knew he had to be a good host and take them but inside he was DYING. I’m getting off track. No New Yorker could ever like Newark. I’m not convinced anybody could like Newark. It is indeed, very laughable.

Dan

I’ve never shot a gun (truth) - Dan hates guns and refuses to shoot one.

As a kid my favorite food was celery with ranch dressing (truth) - Idk I just thought this was cute. And also thinking about young Dan who didn’t have a lot of access to healthy foods getting celery sticks and ranch with her free school lunch and getting SO excited. Trading her cookie to a classmate for their celery.

When I was 18 I won the lottery but the ticket was ruined and I couldn’t claim the money (lie) - I like to think this is part true. After Dan turned 18 but before she was recruited for the Foxes, she played lotto a lot, always with the same numbers that she got from a fortune cookie that said, “Failure is not defeat until you stop trying.” She stopped playing once she signed with Wymack.

Nicky (all truths)

I’m allergic to shellfish - Mostly I love that Andrew knew all these things about Nicky, especially his allergy because he’s always looking out to make sure Nicky doesn’t eat something he can’t.

I died my hair green once - At first, when he took custody of the twins and started showing up for them at school at stuff, he hated the looks he got. He was a 19 year old kid who was supposed to be their guardian? Not to mention the way people eyed his skin and hair when he said he was family. One day he decided to dye his hair blond and he asked Andrew and Aaron to help, to try to bond. Aaron wanted nothing to do with it, but surprisingly, Andrew seem enthusiastic about the idea. He bought the dye and did everything for Nicky in the kitchen. When he was finally done roughly washing the dye out of Nicky’s hair, Nicky went to the bathroom to see how he looked and saw that Andrew had died his hair green. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at the prank or cry because he foolishly thought he might be getting through to Andrew. When he went back to the kitchen, he tried to laugh it off and said maybe he should go to a salon to get the color right. Andrew told him he was stupid to try and change how he looked just because people were dumb enough to think that families needed to look alike. Besides, they weren’t a family anyway.  “Family” is a toxic excuse for things people put up with, a reason we accept the tragedies and inconveniences forced upon us. (Nora’s words) Nicky was upset, and dyed his hair back to his natural color once the roots started growing in, but he reaffirmed his commitment in that moment that he would show the twins what Erik had shown him, what a family could really be.

I’ve read all the twilight books three times - Nicky was a huge fan of twilight, even going to the midnight release party for the last book. He was disappointed in the movie adaptations but loved the casting and watched for the eye candy. He is loving the twilight renaissance especially the twilight is gay discourse.

Kevin

I’ve played a game of pick up basketball once (lie) - Kevin has never played a game of basketball, or soccer, or tennis, or baseball, or any other sport for that matter and can not understand why anyone would want to.

I know all the lyrics to We Didn’t Start the Fire (truth) - Kayleigh Day was a big music fan, she loved everything from classical to country, but one of her favorite artists was Billy Joel. After she died and Kevin moved into Evermore, he almost forgot about her music because the music at the Nest was all chosen for pragmatic reasons, like its BPM and ability to pump the players up. One day, when Kevin was around 15 years old, a rebellious Raven played his own music while training in the weight room. He and his partner were the only ones in there until Riko and Kevin showed up, and they turned it off as soon as they realized they had come in, but Kevin heard some of “Only the Good Die Young” and for the first time in a long time had a vivid memory of his mother. He asked the boys what had been playing, and Riko scoffed at the name Billy Joel. That night while Riko was sleeping, Kevin downloaded Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits and listened until he feel asleep, and he continued listening to it for weeks until he started remembering more of his mothers songs from his childhood. We Didn’t Start the Fire was one of his favorites because history.

I’ve traveled to over a dozen countries (truth) - Between travel through Europe with his mom while she spread Exy and professional appearances he made with Riko, Kevin is the most well traveled besides Neil.

Aaron

When I was little, I wanted to be a figure skater when I grew up. (truth) - When Aaron was around four or five, he watched the winter olympics on TV and fell in love with figure skating. Tilda never bothered to get him skating lessons, but one day, when Aaron was seven, there was an attempt to revive the Ice Capades. Aaron never thought he would get to go, but Tilda surprised him with tickets. It is one of the few really good memories he has of his mom.

The first time I got high I thought the squirrels in the tree wanted to adopt me as their squirrel king (truth) - I just imagine Aaron trying his mom’s drugs for the first time alone in the back yard, laying flat on his back looking up at a family of squirrels, saying, “I’m king of the squirrels!!!”

I hate Taylor Swift (lie) - Katelyn is a HUGE Taylor Swift fan. When they first started hanging out, Aaron didn’t really like her music but didn’t want to say anything. Eventually he started associating her with Katelyn though, and he loves watching Katelyn sign and dance so much that he now genuinely enjoys her music.

Renee

I can juggle up to 7 balls (truth) - Renee always had a natural juggling talent. She never really tried to learn, it was just always something she could do.

I have never drank diet soda (lie) - She does prefer non-diet soda, but she has tried diet before.

I once had a pet turtle named Vincent (truth) - Vincent was a gift from one of her mother’s boyfriends, the only one Renee ever remotely like. He was horrible to her mother, but had a soft spot for Renee and treated her kindly. They broke up after a couple of months, and he gave her Vincent as a parting gift. She had him until she got arrested, she couldn’t go back home to get him and when her mother went to prison he died.

Neil

My mom and I once helped deliver a baby at a truck stop in Alberta (lie) - This happened while Neil and his mom were on the way to Seattle. It was the middle of the night and they stopped to get gas a few hours out from Vancouver when they heard a woman screaming. There was nothing around for miles and only one other car in the lot that had been there when they pulled in. His mother immediately dropped the gas pump and Neil was already back in the car when the screaming stopped and his mother hesitated. Neil had never seen his mom hesitate with a potential threat around before, and he listened closely to try and understand why she stopped. All he heard was a woman panting harshly, but it sounded almost as though there was a rhythm to it. Mary signaled for him to get out of the car, and ordered him to grab some blankets, the first aid kit, and water bottles and follow her. They walked behind the locked public bathrooms, and found the woman squatting, with tears running down her face. Mary wasn’t very gentle or comforting, but she told the woman in a calm and confident voice that they were going to help. Neil didn’t do much, but he let the woman hold his hand and squeeze until he thought she would break it. He gave her sips of water between her contractions and did anything else his mother said. Once the baby was out, wrapped in a blanket, and in its mothers arms, Mary grabbed Neil and they left without another word to the woman. She stared after them, confused and grateful. Neil and his mother never spoke of it again.

I’ve been bitten by a camel (truth) - Neil and Mary spent a few days in Dubai to get some papers from a specialist there before traveling back to North America. The man did his business out of a racetrack where they held camel races. To get to his office, they had to travel through the back part of the track that the jockeys used to get the camels into position. Neil got too close to one of the camels and it bit his arm, luckily (or not), the jockey was in the middle of beating it and before it closed its mouth too tightly, landed a blow that caused the camel to immediately open its mouth again. Once he was freed, Neil was out of reach in a millisecond.

I can speak 7 languages (truth) - English, German, French, Russian, Hebrew, Czech, Greek. (To clarify he can speak 7 languages but he wouldn’t necessarily call himself fluent in all 7) We all know English, German, French, and Nora had a hc that Andrew and Neil learn Russian so they can talk to each other even with the cousins around which I love. Hebrew - In my hc Neil is jewish, as are Mary and Nathan. After running away, Mary didn’t know where to go once she had left her brother. She didn’t speak any other languages besides English, but she could understand Yiddish from hearing her grandparents and sometimes her parents speaking it growing up, and she could understand Polish from her time married to Nathan. She didn’t want to go to Poland in case any of Nathan’s contacts recognized her, so she decided to go to Israel. She knew there were communities there that spoke Yiddish and she was familiar if not comfortable with Hebrew from going to temple when she was younger. But most importantly she knew Nathan didn’t have any regular contacts there. While they were there, along with learning Hebrew, Mary pretended to be interested in converting to Greek Orthodox in order to get secret Greek lessons for her and Neil. After a while but sooner than she had hoped, Mary got a warning that Nathan had figured out where they were. She didn’t think it would be wise to go directly to Greece so she decided to move them to Prague next, since Czech and Polish are fairly similar and she really had no other ideas. While in Prague she continued her and Neil’s Greek lessons, and they went on to Greece eventually. Mary didn’t want them to lose any of the languages they learned, so she came up with a system that on certain days of the week they would speak to each other in certain languages. After Mary died, Neil pretty much gave up on Czech and Hebrew because he hadn’t been surrounded by them in so long and he hadn’t used either except with Mary since they moved from Prague or Israel. They had lived in Greece for longer than they had in Prague or Israel though, moving to a few different cities, so he felt stronger with Greek.

Fin. 

This is my first time writing anything fanfiction, my first time doing any creative writing at all really, and I would love any and all feedback!! Thanks for reading this long ass post, I hope it wasn’t terrible!!

[mae-gi-writes]

Safe With Me | Hyunjae (The Boyz)

Requested by anon! Your trashy ex wants to get back with you, but he’s got to go through Hyunjae first. 

Genre: mentions of sex, lil angst, fluff, supportive bf! Hyunjae. 

-------

"What was he doing here?” 

“I don’t know,” you grab a fistful of your hair and try not to tug it entirely out of your scalp as you stare down at the coffee table, “I don’t know Jaehyun. It was--It felt like a nightmare.” 

Your boyfriend’s body is tense next to yours on the couch, jaw clenched in dismay and eyes glazed over with repressed anger as he considers the words you had blurted out just a few minutes prior: that being your encounter with your ex-boyfriend, who had been waiting for you outside the building where you worked at. 

“Y/N,” he’d called out when he spotted your figure sliding through the double doors. Your mind had blanked out at first, just gazing at him with your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before reality had come crashing down on you like ice cold water thrown in your face. 

“Joong,” you’d muttered, body instantly tensing up at the prospect of him being in such close physical proximity, “what do you want from me?” 

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he leaned against his motorbike -- probably from the amount of extra cash he made with those drug exchanges -- while his eyes raked over your form with barely restrained hunger, “wanted to see whether you worked at the same place.” 

“Well for your information, I do,” you shifted uneasily from one foot to another, a protective hand clasping your bag against you just in case you had to swing it in his face, “now what do you want?” 

“He wanted to just catch up?” Hyunjae lets out an empty laugh, one that makes your heart twist inside your chest at how hurtful it sounds, “really? That’s the best he can do?” 

“Look, I don’t care. I just--seeing him just reminded him of everything he did to me and I--” you can feel the tears slowly clogging up your throat and almost instantly you feel Hyunjae’s arms around you, a comforting cocoon of an embrace that allows you to melt into his chest.  “I’m not going to let him touch you,” Hyunjae’s murmur holds a threatening undertone as it echoes against your temple. He presses a kiss there then, holding you a little tighter, “never.” 

“What if he keeps coming back though?” you look up at Hyunjae’s doe brown eyes while biting the inside of your cheek, “what if--what if he wants something from me?”

"He won’t be able to,” Hyunjae pushes a strand of hair away from your face, “he’ll have to get through me first.” 

You bite your lip, “I--I’m scared.” 

Hyunjae’s eyes soften at your murmur, like a scared child whose worst nightmare is turning into reality. Sighing and pressing another chaste kiss on the side of your head, his hand starts rubbing comforting circles along your spine.

“Don’t worry,” his alto is soothing, almost enough to make you forget your initial worries, “watch, I’m going to kick his ass so hard he’ll barely be able to drive that bloody motorbike of his.” 

One might think that Hyunjae is just being an overprotective boyfriend. But having known your history with Joong had how the latter had fallen into the pits of drug dealing, and how he’d dragged you into the dark world of illegal trading, all while using up your funds and wasting them all onto cheap alcohol, there is no way in hell that Hyunjae even wants you within ten metres from the said guy. 

Not to mention the fact that Joong had left you scarred, scared to trust any man who genuinely wanted the best for you. He’d left you incomplete and fearful of the opposite sex, and you would’ve stayed that way if Hyunjae hadn’t come along.

In contrary to your first excuse of a boyfriend, Hyunjae had been patient, and kind, and more than understanding every single step of the relationship. He’d respected your boundaries until you had declared you wanted to move things further, was always around to remind you how lovable you were, doing small things like get you a coffee and doing your laundry when you were taking a nap, too tired out from the day’s events. Hyunjae was the type of boyfriend that would watch you sleep while trying to come up with pranks, all the while being supportive and understanding of the difficult life choices you’d faced. 

So it was no wonder that you had fallen head over heels for this man.

And now, Joong is here to ruin it all.

True to his word, Hyunjae’s promise that he’ll be there after work to pick you up is one that he keeps. Relief floods through your veins the moment you step out and spot his figure, arms crossed over his chest and leaning back into the building’s outer wall. He doesn’t realize how effortlessly handsome he looks, or the various giggles that ricochet from the group of girls passing by every once in a while, and that fact that makes him even more attractive. Your heart swells up with pride. 

Before your eyes land on another familiar face on the street. Joong grins up at you with that smirk you had once found earth-shatteringly attractive. Now though, it only makes your stomach twist into knots. 

“Hey Y/N,” Joong starts making his way over to you, a panther in search of his prey, and you stumble back upon instinct while your heart ricochets up your throat. That is before you feel the warmth of Hyunjae’s hand cover yours, causing you to look up and see the serious set of your boyfriend’s face. 

Joong, slightly confused, stops a few strides away while blinking, “who’re you?” 

“Her boyfriend,” Hyunjae shoots right back. 

Joong lets out a dry laugh, “you’re kidding.” 

Your heart picks up a nervous pace. Hyunjae responds with a scowl, which makes Joong realize he’s not kidding at all. 

The latter straightens up in defence, his eyebrows arching in amused curiosity, “so you’re actually her boyfriend. What? Did she tattle tale on me?” His eyes find yours and you almost wince at the coldness you find there, “Didn’t take you for such a wuss, Y/N.” 

Your lower lip trembles, "Joong, I really don’t think you should come here again.” 

“I’ll do whatever I want--” 

“She’s scared of you,” Hyunjae cuts in, taking a step forward so that he acts as a physical barrier between you and your ex. Warmth trickles through your chest at his concern, “and she’s right. Why wouldn’t she be? After everything you did--” 

“You told on me?” Joong’s alto rose, nostrils flaring as he threw you a glare.

“You stole from me!” you say, “you took everything I had and gave it to--to those--those thugs of yours! And then you’d come home and try to have your way with me even though I didn’t want to!"

“You slut,” Joong hisses as he moves forward. Hyunjae responds by his shoving you behind him, though it’s clear that in terms of size, Joong is definitely the one that has the advantage, “how dare you say this out loud? You’re the one who wanted it so bad, you told me you wanted me to fuck you--” 

“But she’s not yours anymore,” Hyunjae’s eyes are narrowed, fists clenched against his sides.

“Oh move out of the way pretty boy. You probably can’t even get her to moan like I do--” 

Hyunjae’s punch is rapid, too rapid for Joong to register. It bashes him straight in the jaw and the force knocks him back with such vigour that he can’t help but stumble, toppling right onto the side of the street. Hyunjae lunges like he’s ready to pound into him a little more, but you make a grab for his arm at the last minute. The small disruption has definitely caught passeby’s attention, and when you hear another voice shout, you swivel your head to see a security guard jogging up to you.

“What’s going on here?” the guard glances back and forth and, probably from the terrified grip you have on Hyunjae’s coat sleeve, he deduces the situation for himself. Turning towards Joong, he says, “Sir, this is private property. You’re not allowed to park your motorbike here--”

Joong scrambles up, “I’ll park however the fuck I want, asshole!”

“Sir, I’ll have to tell you to leave the premises. Otherwise, I have no problem in bringing you down to the police station.” 

After that, Joong doesn’t hesitate to scramble back to his vehicle and you quickly recount the story to the security guard, while Hyunjae butts in to tell him that he should really keep an eye out if ever Joong comes around again. After thanking him and turning back towards the subway station, you don’t hesitate to grab onto Hyunjae’s wrist, clucking your tongue when you notice the redness of his knuckles.

"You shouldn’t have done that,” you tell him, fingers gently caressing the back of his hand before you look up at him, into those soft doe eyes that are currently gazing down at you like you’re worth it. The warmth in his pupils causes your throat to tighten with emotion.

“He was asking for it.” 

“I think I might have some medicine back home.”

You wait for his agreement, only to be met with silence. Trying to search his gaze for any indication, you let out a soft yelp when his arms suddenly lace around your middle to pull you into a hug. 

“Jae?” you murmur into his ear, only for him to tighten his hold in response, “what is it?” 

It takes a moment for Hyunjae to answer. When he does, his voice is choked with anger. 

“He hurt you,” he grovels out, warm breath against your neck, “he hurt you and he doesn’t even fucking care, Y/N. He stole from you, and he touched you when you didn’t want to--” 

“Hey, hey,” you pull away to gaze at the pain brimming in his irises. Your hand brushes away a strand of his hair, “he can’t hurt me anymore, okay?”

Hyunjae just searches your face for a moment, as if wanting to console himself that you’re alright, and that tender action is enough to make a small smile dance across your lips. 

Softly, you reach up to press a kiss against his cheek, “thank you.” 

That’s when his mouth tugs up at the corners, expression mirroring your own as his orbs soften with care, naked affection reflecting in his own pools of brown.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he whispers, “it’s my job.” 

You answer him by pecking his lips, pulling back to see his eyebrows quirked up in amusement. 

“That’s your reward,” you grin.

“That’s all I get?” 

"Should’ve broken his nose then,” your hands quickly pull him back when Hyunjae makes a move to turn away to finish what he’s started, bubbles of laughter erupting from your lips as you slap him jokingly on the shoulder, “I wasn’t being serious, you idiot.” 

"Do I get a bigger reward?” 

Cheeks flushing, you answer, “maybe.” 

That’s all it takes for Hyunjae’s face to break into that charmingly handsome grin that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He grabs your hand then, before tugging you towards the subway, “let’s go home then!” 

"Perv.” 

“You’ll be eating your words later,” he winks. This man. 

[jingabitch]

Adhesion ch.2

SUMMARY: As a new stylist for Blackpink, you need to focus on doing your job well. If only your assigned idol weren’t so distracting.

PAIRING: dom!Jennie x sub!reader

GENRE: slow burn smut, idol AU

WARNINGS: D/s relationship dynamics and negotiation, sexual tension, smut in later chapters

WORD COUNT: 7.3k

A/N: major thanks to @mingyuistall​ for helping me go over this!

series index

Even before you opened your eyes, you knew something was off. Why were you wearing a bra? And pants? You felt a little sticky all over, like you hadn’t showered last night, which you always made sure to do. And were you half-dangling off your bed?

Confused, you cracked your eyes open… and came face to face with Jennie.

Fuck. You bolted up, blinking the last of the sleep from your eyes. The two coffee mugs were still sitting on your foldout table, and Kim Jennie was… lying on your bed next to you. The light streaming in your window let you know that it was way later than your usual wakeup time too.

“Unnie…” You patted her shoulder to wake her up. When she just murmured and turned her face into the mattress, you shook her again, a little more insistently. “Unnie, wake up.” As cute as Jennie was, you had to get to work.

“Stop,” she whined. “Five more minutes.”

You rolled your eyes. You’d heard that she was a difficult person to wake up, and it seemed the rumours were true. Instead of continuing to badger her, you got up and went to the bathroom, picking up the mugs and depositing them in the sink to take care of later.

It was only when you were rinsing the soap off your body that you realized you had made a crucial mistake. Since you lived alone, you usually didn’t bring your clothes with you into the bathroom, preferring to choose your clothes and get dressed in the main area of the studio.

Shit.

Maybe it would be okay, you thought, trying to calm yourself down as you turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. She’d probably still be asleep, and you could just grab your things and run back into the bathroom to get dressed.

After drying yourself off, you wrapped the towel around your body and left the bathroom…

Only to come face-to-face with Jennie, who’d turned away from the kitchen sink where she was washing the mugs to greet you. The words died on her lips as she took in your current state of undress, and the deer-in-headlights look you were giving her, your eyes wide as your hands clutched at the edge of the towel over your chest.

Unable to help herself, her eyes drifted over your body slowly as her teeth sank into her lower lip. Indecent thoughts about tearing the towel off your body and pushing you back on the bed – or against the wall – flooded her mind, rendering her speechless as she clenched her fists so hard her nails bit into her palms.

“Um…” your voice was small. You’d definitely noticed her staring at you, and you were trying your best to move past this awkward moment. “Sorry, I forgot to take my clothes with me.”

“Right…” Jennie recovered, turning back to the sink. “No problem.”

Feeling like she’d given you permission to move, you scurried across the studio to your closet, hastily picking some clothing from one of the racks before rushing back into the bathroom to get dressed.

Jennie, not daring to turn around until the sound of the bathroom door shutting echoed through your tiny apartment, braced her hands against the edge of the sink and let out the breath she’d been holding. It was definitely too early in the morning for that kind of temptation, yet she couldn’t be anything but grateful about the eyeful she’d gotten.

As she rinsed the dish soap out of the mugs and placed them on your dish rack, she couldn’t help the small smile that stole over her face. Your wide-eyed, surprised expression had been so cute, she was honestly torn between wanting to give you a cuddle and her desire to absolutely ruin you.

You re-emerged from the bathroom, now fully dressed, looking slightly sheepish and apologetic. “I’m sorry again,” you said as you crossed the apartment to your dresser, plugging your hair dryer in. “Do you want to freshen up?” you asked, looking at her in the mirror.

Jennie shook her head as she took a seat on the edge of the bed behind you. “What do you have on today?” she asked, settling in to watch you get ready. This all seemed so domestic, and she loved it.

“I have to go to the YG building for a meeting with the other stylists, and then Jiyoon-unnie wants me to follow her to some meetings with fashion houses about sponsors and stuff.” By this point, you were yelling over the sound of the hair dryer.

“Okay, I’ll drop you off on my way home then.”

You turned off the hair dryer and set it on the dresser. “You don’t have to, unnie, I don’t mind taking the subway,” you rushed to assure her, turning to face her.

“It’s fine,” she responded firmly, and that was the end of that.

You ran through your morning routine quicker than usual, since you were running late, drying your hair, putting on your makeup and then choosing accessories. Working in fashion meant you always had to look flawless, and as much as you enjoyed the primping most days, it did get a little annoying when you were in a hurry.

Standing up once you were done, you walked over to the belt rack you’d mounted on the wall and picked one, buckling it around your waist.

“Okay, let’s go,” you said, picking up your bag, and you left the apartment together.

During the drive to the YG building, conversation flowed easily, and Jennie was struck by how well you got along together -- when you weren’t a blushing, stuttering mess, that was, although she couldn’t help but enjoy that too.

She dropped you off a block away from the YG building, so that no one would see you exiting Jennie’s car. The gossip mills were ferocious at YG, and both of you had to keep your reputations squeaky clean for the sake of your respective careers.

“Thanks for the ride, unnie,” you said as you unbuckled the seat belt and picked up your bag. Just before you opened the door, however, a burst of bravery led Jennie to reach over impulsively, grabbing your sleeve.

You looked over at her questioningly and she tugged on your sleeve hard enough that you leaned over towards her, and she eagerly shifted to meet you halfway, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Bye bye,” she chirped once she’d pulled back, letting go of you.

Stunned, you left the car on autopilot, standing on the sidewalk with your hand pressed to your lips as you watched her drive away. What just happened, you wondered.

-----

Jennie had barely shut the front door behind her when Chaeyoung popped up in front of her, smirking.

“Where were you all night, unnie?” she asked, though the twinkle in her eye indicated that she was fairly sure she knew the answer.

“None of your business,” Jennie tried to brush her off as she toed off her shoes, but Chaeyoung just stepped even closer.

“Unnie, don’t be like that!” she pouted. “We just want what’s best for you.”

A slight pause. “Wait a second, ‘we’?” Jennie asked, raising a brow.

Lisa popped her head out of the corridor. “Unnie, you’re home!” she cheered. “How was Y/n-ie last night?”

The implications of her question weren’t lost on Jennie. “Nothing happened last night!” she cried, flushing pink with embarrassment.

Chaeyoung took the opportunity to zero in. “But you did spend the night at her place?”

Caught now, Jennie slumped her shoulders as she sidestepped the younger girls on her way to her own bedroom. “We were just talking and fell asleep,” she mumbled.

Chaeyoung and Lisa clutched each other as they squealed in excitement. “Unnie, that’s so cute!” They followed behind Jennie, eager for more details, but Jennie firmly shut the door behind them, ignoring their protests.

Leaning against the door, Jennie raised one hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers against her lips lightly. In the privacy of her own room, she couldn’t help the small smile that stole over her face, nor hold back the slightly breathless giggle.

----

Given how much Jennie adored that wide-eyed expression you got when she unexpectedly teased you, you really should have expected this.

Still, you thought to yourself as you braced your weight against the bathroom sink, this was surely too much. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, wide-eyed, as you tried to calm your racing heart. In just a couple of minutes, you were going to have to step back out there and do your job again, and you needed to get your shit together now.

Blowing your breath out, you pushed yourself off the sink and turned away, grabbing some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. You were sure that Jennie hadn’t really needed all that help getting into her dress for the photo shoot, but she’d insisted, and you weren’t really in a position to say no.

Which had led to the two of you squished together in the semi-private space behind the privacy screen, which was really only big enough for one person. Jennie, dressed in only the skimpiest lingerie you could imagine – under the guise that it was all that was suitable for the clothes she had to wear for the photo shoot – stood in front of you, her hands on her hips as she told you that she couldn’t zip up her dress by herself.

Why she couldn’t have gotten into it before calling for you was a mystery to you. You wound up helping her into the dress, before she turned around so her back was to you, pulling all her hair over her shoulder and asking you to help her zip it up. It was technically your job, so you gulped and, with trembling fingers, acquiesced.

“All good,” you announced when you were done, in a voice that trembled. Jennie turned back towards you, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, and leaned in.

“Thank you,” she breathed, close enough that you could feel her warm breath ghosting across your lips.

“Unnie,” you managed to get out, keenly aware of the fact that despite the relative privacy of the corner you were sequestered in, you weren’t actually alone. On the other side of the screen were the rest of the stylists and members.

“Y/n,” she responded, leaning in even closer.

You couldn’t be blamed for what happened next, you thought, leaning against the bathroom door to delay your return to the dressing room for just a second more. You were sure everyone had noticed the way you’d bolted from the room, with a muttered excuse about needing to use the bathroom really bad.

Steeling yourself, you opened the bathroom door and left, heading back to the dressing room. You entered shyly, preparing yourself for a barrage of teasing, but to your surprise, none came. Yuuki shot you a smirk over Jisoo’s head, but the others didn’t have much of a reaction. Emboldened, you walked back to the makeup table where Jennie was sitting.

“Feel better?” she asked as you stood beside her, reaching for the primer. To anyone else, it might have looked like she was just concerned and enquiring about your wellbeing, but you knew better, seeing the half-smirk she was directing at you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, squeezing some of the product on the plastic sticker on the back of your hand and beginning to apply it with a brush.

“Good,” Jennie murmured, her hand resting on your hip. You could feel the warmth of it through the thin fabric of the sundress you were wearing today. You looked down at her hand, and then back at her, but she just smiled sweetly at you and turned her face upwards so it was easier for you to reach, and you figured she must be done tormenting you for the day.

You finished applying her makeup and moved on to her hair, curling it slightly and fluffing it. “There,” you said when you were done, admiring her reflection in the mirror as you rearranged some pieces of her hair over her shoulders. As you looked down to meet her gaze, you found yourself getting lost in her eyes as she watched you in the mirror with a small, soft smile, so different from the smirk earlier. It made your heart skip a beat as heat rushed to your face, warmth suffusing your entire being.

“Thank you, Y/n-ie,” she said, standing up and turning to face you as she straightened her dress, which had bunched up slightly from when she was sitting. Automatically, you started fussing with her clothes, tugging it down to smooth out any wrinkles.

You bent slightly to get a better look as you ran your hands over her body to make sure it was perfect, so absorbed in your task that you didn’t realise the way Jennie had stiffened, her arms out slightly as she looked down at you. It was only when Jennie made the tiniest whimper as you smoothed your hands over the swell of her ass that you noticed how close you were to her, and the way you’d been touching her.

Startled by the noise, you jerked away from her, apologies already falling from your lips, but when you straightened your back and looked up at her, you found her with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, her eyes dark.

It was then that you realized the power you held over Jennie. She might be able to fluster you with just a look, but she was definitely not immune to you, and the knowledge filled you with confidence.

“Unnie,” you said reproachfully as you reached up to touch her bottom lip with the tips of your fingers, “You shouldn’t do that, you’ll mess up your lipstick.”

Stunned, she released her lip to gape at you, and you tutted. “Look, it’s all over the place now. It’s okay, I’ll fix it for you, unnie.” You reached past her for the lipstick on the table, but instead of grabbing a lip brush, you used your finger to reapply the product, blending it in by patting her lip softly. “There you go,” you cooed, smiling in satisfaction.

As you reached back around her to put the lipstick back, your body just a hair’s breadth away from hers, her arm wrapped around you, trapping you in that position. “Be careful,” Jennie breathed next to your ear. “Don’t make me have to punish you.”

She felt, pressed against you as she was, the shudder that ran through your entire body. You dropped the lipstick back on the table and pulled back slightly, your body sliding up against hers as you straightened up. “Unnie…” you whispered, and her head was just starting to descend towards yours when Jisoo cleared her throat loudly.

“Jennie-yah, can you help me get my phone? It’s in my bag,” Jisoo said. Her voice was like a bucket of iced water being poured over your head as you jerked away from Jennie, stunned that you’d let things get to that stage. In a room full of your colleagues, no less!

Jennie blinked, looking bereft at the sudden loss of contact, before looking around and remembering where she was. “Right…” she murmured before making her way over to the couch where all the bags had been tossed and rummaging around for Jisoo’s phone.

When she walked over to Jisoo and handed her the phone, Jisoo took it before shooting Jennie a warning look. “Keep it together,” she hissed. The two of you were being incredibly obvious, and if any of this got leaked, you would be reassigned to a different group at best, but it was more likely that you’d be fired, and Jennie would lose whatever freedoms she’d earned in the past few years.

Chastised, Jennie nodded. She knew as well as Jisoo what the stakes were; it was just that whenever she was with you, it was so hard to remember that the world outside the two of you existed. Still, she had to try harder – if not for her own sake, then for yours.

Time to find a different solution.

-------

You didn’t think you’d been so tired in your life. The members had had on-location shooting for music videos, which meant tons of travelling on your part, while carrying makeup, clothes, shoes and accessories around. On top of that, Jiyoon was busy preparing for Seoul Fashion Week, which was in a couple of months, which meant running around with and for her, and picking up all of her slack.

As if that wasn’t enough, you’d had three deadlines for articles almost back-to-back which ate up your free time. You didn’t think you’d gotten more than five hours of sleep a night all week, but as you dragged your feet up the stairs to your apartment, you rejoiced in the fact that you finally had a day off tomorrow. A real day off, one where you didn’t need to do any work.

You unlocked the front door with your thumbprint, flicking on the lights as you stepped into your apartment. It was a mess, and you knew you’d have to do some deep cleaning tomorrow, starting with the giant pile of dishes in your sink. You were hungry, but too tired to cook, and your fridge was empty, anyway.

Oh well. You figured there’d be tons of time to eat tomorrow. For now, you toed off your shoes, leaving them where they were as you stepped out of the genkan. Time for a shower, and then bed.

You were pulling your pajamas out of the dresser when your phone rang, and you hurried over to pick it up, frowning when you saw Jennie’s name on your screen.

Sighing, you swiped and put the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi Y/n-ie, are you hungry?”

“Um…” You pulled the phone away from your ear to look at it, then put it back. “Unnie?”

“Yeah, you looked really beat today at the shoot. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet, I just got home… I was just going to shower and go to bed.”

You could feel the frown radiating down the line. “Have you eaten?”

“Uhh, no, the fridge is empty.” You walked into your bathroom and put the toilet cover down, placing your pajamas on the lid. “It’s okay, I’ll just eat tomorrow morning.”

“Y/n, that’s not healthy. I’ll come over with some food.” Jennie’s tone brooked no argument, but you tried anyway.

“Unnie, that’s not necessary, I’m really fine—”

“Y/n, please take care of your health. I’ll worry,” Jennie said more gently, and with a sigh, you capitulated.

“Okay.”

“Great! I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” Jennie cheered, then hung up the phone. You looked at your home screen bemusedly, then shook your head. Since you’d come to Seoul, no one had ever tried to coddle you as hard as Jennie. It made it a little weird when she was also threatening to punish you, but honestly, you were here for it.

Humming absently to their newest release – it was a real earworm, and you’d been listening to it all day on set – you got undressed and stepped in your shower. It felt so good to scrub all the dirt and sweat from your body, the warm water loosening your muscles as you worked shampoo into your hair, massaging your scalp.

By the time you emerged from the shower, wrapped in a fluffy towel you’d gotten on clearance at a department store, you felt much better. You’d taken your contacts out, put on your pajamas and were towel-drying your hair when the doorbell rang, and you wrapped the slightly damp towel around your shoulders as you went to let her in.

“Hi,” Jennie greeted, smiling at you as she came in. Her hands were full of food, and you looked on, surprised, as she placed it on your foldout table.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, helping her unwrap everything. The stew was still piping hot, so you didn’t need to put it on the stove, which you appreciated.

“The restaurant just down the road,” Jennie explained. “Come eat,” she gestured, and you sat down eagerly, taking the lid off the bowl of rice as she watched.

“Mmm,” you groaned around the spoon as you sipped some of the kimchi stew. “This is so good.” Having a hot meal after a long day really was the best, you thought as you picked up some of the eggplant side dish from a little plate next to the bowl of stew.

Jennie had gotten enough food for the both of you, but she opened her lid of rice far more leisurely, distracted by watching you. Besides, she’d eaten a couple of hours ago when she got home from the shoot, and she knew you hadn’t had anything to eat all day.

You didn’t say much, being busy stuffing your face, but Jennie didn’t mind, taking pleasure in the way you were eating. She didn’t usually get to indulge since there were so many restrictions about her appearance and weight, but you were so expressive in your joy that it felt like she was living vicariously through you.

“Thank you, unnie,” you said when you’d cleaned out your bowl of rice, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a satisfied sigh. Jennie, who’d been eating the various vegetable side dishes while nibbling on her rice, smiled at you.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly. You were adorable, dressed in a beat-up old t-shirt from fashion school and pajama shorts, your hair damp and messy. You always looked put together at work, even on days when you weren’t really trying, and she supposed it was part of being in the fashion industry, but getting to see you looking so relaxed in your own space felt like a privilege, like something rare and special.

It also wasn’t something she was going to get to see for much longer, she thought as she caught the jaw-cracking yawn you tried to no avail to hide. You blinked sleepily at her. “Sorry, unnie,” you apologized, your voice soft.

“It’s okay,” Jennie said. “You worked hard today; you should get some sleep.” She started gathering all the dishes to take them back to the shop, and you picked up your bowl and utensils to help, but she stopped you. “Go get ready for bed,” she shooed you into the bathroom.

When you re-emerged after brushing your teeth, Jennie was all packed up, and you ran up to her. “Please, let me help,” you said, trying to take the bucket from her, but she twisted away from your grasp.

“No, I’ve got it, don’t worry,” she reassured you.

Helplessly, you walked her to the front door. “Okay, good night, unnie,” you said, clasping your hands in front of you as she put her shoes on.

“Good night, Y/n. Sleep well.” One hand let go of the handle of the bucket and came around to rest on the back of your neck, her fingers burrowing into the roots of your hair near your nape. You looked at her with wide eyes as she did that, before she pulled you closer and leaned up to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your hand came up and wrapped around her wrist, and your gaze lifted to meet hers. A breathless second later, you watched as, seemingly in slow-motion, Jennie’s lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she closed her eyes, leaning in for a kiss that you eagerly tilted your head to meet.

Her lips were pillowy soft, something you knew from touching them a couple of days ago, and she kissed you gently, almost hesitantly, like she was afraid to scare you off. Her fingers flexed against your nape, telling a completely different story, however.

Unable to keep yourself from goading her, you whispered against her lips, “I thought you were going to punish me, unnie,” referring, of course, to her threat earlier this week.

Startled, Jennie pulled back to regard you, but you just smiled up at her innocently, batting your lashes at her. “Good night, unnie,” you giggled, before releasing her wrist and stepping back.

As Jennie looked back up at your window from the street, she couldn’t help but smile, remembering the minty taste of your mouth from earlier. She’d thought that you would be shy and quiet, because that had been how you’d been before, but this new side of you, the one who talked back and thought you could take her on… it was intoxicating.

The light went out, and Jennie smiled as she turned back to her car. You were so interesting, and the more time she spent around you, the more time she wanted to spend with you. Preferably naked, and with you on your knees, that smart mouth of yours occupied with more… productive endeavors. After all, she couldn’t have you thinking she didn’t keep her promises.

-------

You were playing with fire, and you knew it.

To everyone else, everything seemed normal. You were dressed in a plain, V-neck t-shirt half-tucked into a black and white plaid miniskirt, with thigh-high suede boots. A little much for any workplace, sure, but then again, Yuuki had worn two different eyeshadow colours on each eye today, so you were in the clear.

The interesting thing about this shirt was that apart from being cut low, it was a little loose, which meant that when you bent down, the neckline gaped open. You knew that when you’d bought the shirt, of course, figuring that sacrifices had to be made for fashion, but now it hardly seemed like a hardship.

Under the shirt, you had on a floral lace bralette which was mostly sheer, and you knew it looked good. The shirt was opaque enough that no one could see your risqué choice of underwear today, but Jennie was currently getting a good look down your shirt, which had, of course, been the goal of the entire endeavor.

You were currently standing in front of her, bent over with your left hand bracing against the edge of the chair she was sitting on as you peered at her face. Completely unnecessary, of course, but you loved the expression on her face when she realized that she had an entirely unobstructed view. One that she was, based on the laser sharp focus of her gaze, enjoying.

“Unnie,” you called after a second, watching as her eyes snapped towards yours slightly guiltily. “Your makeup looks good,” you told her, before standing up and moving behind her so she could look in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, sounding slightly dazed. This was new – Jennie was really into fashion and beauty, and often had tons of comments and notes on her makeup and hair, both before and after you did it. It appeared you’d broken her, and you had to bite your lip to stifle your triumphant grin.

“Unnie, are you okay?” You came back around and bent down again to look at her more closely.

“Stop it,” she hissed under her breath at you. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, unnie,” you purred, leaning a little closer. Then you came up right next to her ear, and whispered, “Stop staring, unnie. People are watching. I’ll let you have a proper look later, if you like.”

Then you got up and walked away to speak to another stylist, leaving Jennie to look thoughtfully at you. She wondered if you truly knew what you were getting into with her. In the same vein, she didn’t quite know what she was getting into with you. As you grew bolder and leaned into the flirtation with her, it was getting harder to ignore the fact that what she felt towards you wasn’t the sweet, romantic desire of the novels.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was that, and she did think about holding your hand and walking down the street together, or cooking with you in your little studio apartment, but when it came to intimacy, it was a completely different story. She almost didn’t want to examine her own feelings too closely, because she didn’t know what she would find. Was it normal to feel this way about someone? To want to pin them down, make them do exactly what she wanted?

Even thinking about it made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, and she averted her gaze from you, looking down so that no one would see the way her cheeks heated.

Though she knew she was doomed to fail, she resolved to stay away from you. For both your sake as well as hers.

--------

It worked about as well as she’d expected. That day seemed to mark a change in your attitude, as you became more overtly flirtatious. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it, but she worried, even if you didn’t, about the consequences to both your careers.

Well, that and the fact that she was still struggling with all these newfound desires. Google searches had been… well, she’d love to say she was scarred, but in reality, it appeared that she’d discovered something new about herself. Not something she’d ever thought she would be into, but, well… here it was.

Today felt like a particularly bad day, rather ironically. They were debuting their new song at Inkigayo today, and no matter how many times she did this, Jennie was always nervous.

You knew that, which was why you’d backed off today. Instead of the teasing, flirtatious demeanor that Jennie had grown to love and dread simultaneously, you were dressed normally, in a long-sleeved shirt and leggings, murmuring encouraging things at her as you helped her get ready, complimenting her outfit, her hair, her makeup.

It made Jennie want to scream in frustration. How was she supposed to keep her hands off you when you were so perfect? She watched you puttering around in the mirror, eagerly ogling you as you bent over to pick something up from the suitcase open on the floor and riffled through the racks, biting your lip in concentration.

You disappeared from the room for a second and Jennie looked down in relief, before turning to the side and seeing Jisoo smirking at her. “What?” she asked defensively, her shoulders drawing up.

“Nothing,” Jisoo drawled, but winked in a way that let Jennie know she’d noticed.

Before she could respond, you hurried back in, a sandwich in your hand. “Here,” you said, holding the sandwich out for her. “You should eat something.”

Holding the sandwich like an idiot, she stared up at you, her mouth slightly open.

You pressed your lips together to hold back a coo at how cute she looked, and patted her hair, being careful not to mess up your own hard work. “You’ll be hungry later if you don’t eat,” you cautioned.

“Right, right.” Looking down, Jennie focused on peeling the plastic wrapper off the sandwich. You smiled at her as she started eating, then turned around to respond to a question another stylist had asked.

As she nibbled on the sandwich, being careful to avoid messing up her lipstick, you turned back and smiled at her in the mirror, before going back to your conversation. There was still some time before their item, but waiting was normal at these events, and everyone was prepared for it.

At some point, you got chilly and went to put on your jacket, picking it up from the back of the couch where you’d slung it carelessly. You were zipping it up when you realized that if you were cold, Jennie, in her revealing outfit, must be freezing. Looking over your shoulder, you saw her rubbing her arms with her hands, while pressing her legs together and hooking her ankles around each other.

Really, you thought as you went to get a blanket, if revealing outfits were going to be de rigueur for idols at stage performances, the buildings should have better heating.

Standing on tiptoe, you reached up to get one from the shelf, oblivious to the way Jennie watched in the mirror as you stretched on your tiptoes.

“Here, you must be cold,” you told her as you unfolded the blanket and draped it over her lap. You leaned over, tucking the blanket under her thighs, your braid draping over your shoulder.

So focused were you on your task that Jennie’s hand wrapping itself around your wrist startled you slightly. Your eyes lingered on her long, slim fingers for a second, before your gaze flew up to meet hers. “Unnie, are you okay?” you asked, surprised by the intensity burning in her gaze.

Jennie pinned you with a scrutinizing gaze for a second, sweeping slowly over your face. Were you really not doing this on purpose? She couldn’t see any trace of the usual mischief that would brighten your eyes whenever you teased her. Even when you acted innocent, you couldn’t stop the slight smirk on your face, like you were biting back laughter. None of that was apparent today, however, and she found only sincerity as you stared back at her.

“Nothing,” she mumbled finally, releasing you. “Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

You beamed at her in response. “It was nothing, unnie.”

With that, you picked up a curling iron and started fussing with her hair some more. Jennie pretended to look at her phone, but while you weren’t paying attention, she was watching you in the mirror.

--------

This had to be their most successful Inkigayo performance yet. The song they were debuting today was about longing, that magical feeling of anticipation right before falling in love. Jennie poured all the emotions she’d been feeling all day into the performance, stealing glances whenever she could at you, standing in the wings waiting with a bottle of water and a little towel for her.

The lip bite before the hip roll that would break the Internet was completely unintentional, but the look of rapt attention and wonder on your face as you watched her performance, and the flush that stole over your face when you made eye contact with her, made her feel powerful and sexy in a way that having the adulation of millions of fans around the world couldn’t.

When the song was over, the girls went back into the wings, heading straight for their stylists, who wiped their sweat, adjusted their clothes, and fiddled with their hair. You tried to do the same with Jennie, handing her the bottle of water and reaching up to pat her face with the towel. In the months since you’d started working for her, you’d picked up quickly.

Jennie was hardly in the mood for any of that today, though. She knocked your arm away from her with one hand while carelessly pulling off the mic and earpiece with the other, dropping them in the hands of the sound support staff who approached. Once she was free of all the equipment, she grabbed your hand and started walking. The adrenaline from the performance was still rushing through her veins, and she could almost hear her own heartbeat.

Initially, you stumbled a little, confused about what was going on. “Unnie, where are we going?” you asked, almost running to keep up with her pace.

She didn’t answer, instead dragging you down corridors until she found one that was sufficiently dark and deserted.

“Unnie, are you okay?” you asked when she stopped, then turned to face you. Concerned, you reached out to press the back of your hand against her cheek, but she caught your hand in hers before you could make contact.

Her gaze was almost searing in its intensity, and seeing it, you couldn’t help but squirm a little, having a pretty good idea of what was going on now. Still, you were surprised by how forcefully she pushed you back against the wall.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” she snarled. “Do you know what you do to me?”

And then her lips were on yours in a bruising kiss, her body pressing yours into the wall, her hands on your hips. It was glorious, everything you’d wanted for the past months, since the second you’d laid your eyes on her.