#every day i feel like my brain just leaks out of my EARS from 9-5

[hourcat]

someone come snuggle with me. i am exhausted

[liberty-barnes]

Keep You Safe

Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Prompt: “I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath”

Warnings: slightly creepy Peter, but like the endearing kind of creepy, also Petey being a dork,,,as always, protective Peter Parker, Endgame related angst but only for a sec, cuddlesssss, and fluff, lots of fluff, because I’m a hoe for fluff... and Tom Holland’s biceps but that’s a story for another day

Word Count: 2167 words

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: School has officially closed which means that I’m now forced to stay home all day (which wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t locked at home with my dad and he’s getting on every single one of my nerves) and do the homework our teachers send us by email... I didn’t even know Microsoft Teams and OneNote existed until a week ago... so that’s something. I usually write stuff on paper during class cause let’s be honest, I only pay attention to what my teachers are saying when I’m forced to (don’t do this kids, listen to teachers, God I’m a such a bad example) so I’ve got about 5 stories written and I thought “Hey, since I’m too lazy to do my physics homework, why not post it all on tumblr?” So yeah, hi, this is my version of “quarantine is driving me crazy and I need an escape”. And before you ask, yes, I’ve succumbed to the toilet paper juggle thing already, it was not pretty.

Masterlist 

Peter Parker was not a creep, he was simply a worried boyfriend.

There is nothing wrong with following your girlfriend after school to make sure she gets home safe before going back to the Tower. Or asking Karen to alert him whenever you leave the house so he could follow you to make sure you were safe. Or gifting you one of those morse code bracelets that monitored your vitals and location because he knew you’d never take it off and that way he could constantly know where you were and how you were feeling.

Peter Parker was not a creep.

He watched from his vantage point on top of a building as you and MJ left the mall, Slurpees in hand and carrying at least five shopping bags each, most of them being from art stores and only a couple from clothing. The sight of your bright smile made his heart burst with affection and he listened intently, still able to hear your melodic laugh over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.

He followed you at a safe distance, losing sight of the two of you as you entered the subway. Karen kept him aware of your whereabouts though, and he saw you again when you exited the subway station, now alone.

You walked a couple more blocks and entered your apartment building, but Peter only truly relaxed once he saw you entering your bedroom, having a clear view through your window. 

He stayed for a few more minutes, admiring how beautiful you looked doing something as mundane as cutting tags off your newly bought clothes and throwing out the plastic wrapped around your new art supplies. 

He then made his way to the Tower, where the Avengers chose to live again, for practical purposes.

“Hey everyone!” He immediately greeted his teammates after walking into the kitchen, mask off and hair slightly messy.

“Hey Pete,” The twenty-year-old witch gave him a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, already knowing that the boy would be parched.

Peter kissed her cheek and did the same to Pepper, Carol, and Morgan who were all sitting at the table playing Uno, no doubt to make the young Stark happy.

“Where is everyone?” The young spiderling asked after downing his water bottle.

“Bucky and Sam are in the gym, Bruce is messing with something in the labs, and Sharon went grocery shopping with Rhodey.” Carol set down a blue five, not even looking up from her hand. For a superhero, she sure sucked at card games.

“Oh, okay. I’m going to my room, be back to help with dinner!” He called back before walking to the elevator and pressing the button to his and May’s floor. 

After everyone returned from the Blip, the Parkers lost their home and Pepper immediately offered them a floor at the Tower, not wanting her not-really-but-still-kind-of-feels-like-it son and his aunt to be living on the streets. Peter was very happy to be living with some of his favorite people in the world and very grateful for the opportunities it provided him.

He entered his room and pressed the button on his chest, the suit retracting to a simple spider pendant that hung around his neck, looking like an ordinary chain. He took it off and put it in his charging cradle before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants (your favorite though he still doesn’t understand why) and his blue Midtown sweatshirt.

He sat on his desk chair, ready to start his homework but a vibration from his phone made him postpone the task, choosing instead to open the messaging app on his custom made StarkPhone.

Princess 👑 ❤️:  heyy :) Princess 👑 ❤️:  can i meet you at the tower later? Princess 👑 ❤️:  i want cuddles :)))

He smiled at that and immediately texted you back.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: i’ll ask Rhodey and Shar to pick you up on their way home :) Baby🕷️ ❤️: love you <3 Princess 👑 ❤️: love you more <33

He texted Sharon and after receiving confirmation that you were in the car with them, he turned his phone face down on the desk to avoid any distractions and started on his English homework, hoping to be done with it when you got here so he could cuddle in peace with his beloved girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, he was almost done with his homework, fully engrossed in the words on the page that he had to meticulously read, highlight and analyze. He barely noticed when you entered the room, his spidey sense no longer detecting you as a threat, but took a much-needed breath of relief when he felt your hands around his shoulder, rubbing softly.

No words were needed as you kept rubbing his shoulders while he finished his homework, relishing in the soft kisses you left on the crown of his head from time to time. He finished the last sentence on his analysis and set his pen down, sighing. He closed his eyes and put his head back so it rested on your shoulder and you kissed his forehead, hands around his neck, hugging his upper body from behind.

“Cuddles now?” You asked, voice soft and soothing reaching his over-worked brain.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go.”

You kissed him on the forehead once more and took off your shirt, staying in your white lace bra and pastel pink sweatpants before laying down on the king-sized bed. You made grabby hands at him and he took off his own shirt, laying down between your legs and resting his head on your breasts. Your right hand made its way to his soft brown curls while your left rested on his upper back, hugging him close to your chest. His arms tightened around your waist and a pleased sigh left his lips, his lashes fluttering and tickling your skin as the tension rolled off of him in waves with every gentle pass of your manicured nails through his scalp.

Peter loved this position. There was really nothing sexual about it, he just loved hearing your heartbeat and feeling your colder skin against his naturally overheated one. He loved protecting the city and all of its inhabitants but here, in your arms, in this bed, he wasn’t Spider-Man, the newest Avenger. He wasn’t the Starks’ unofficially adopted kid that would take over SI alongside Morgan and Harley. He wasn’t the kid who brightened up everyone’s day and felt solely responsible for their happiness and well-being.

He was just Pete. Your Pete. Your fragile, vulnerable boyfriend who just really needed a hug, and you were more than happy to provide.

“How was your day?” He asked, voice slightly muffled because of his mouth’s position, buried in the valley of your breasts.

“Pretty good. I went to the mall with MJ after class and we bought a bunch of new clothes and art supplies for our trip to DisneyWorld.”

“Why do you need new stuff just to go to DisneyWorld?”

“I need Disney themed stuff.”

“You already have Disney themed stuff.”

“But I need new ones so that every time I see them they’ll remind me of our trip to DisneyWorld.”

He chuckled at your over-the-top-ness and nuzzled his face deeper into your chest.

“‘M hungry.”

“Must be cause you didn’t eat.”

“Did too!” He snorted at that.

“A Slurpee doesn’t count as food, princess.”

A silence enveloped the room and he felt your heartbeat quicken.

“I never told you I had a Slurpee.”

Oh shit.

“Y-Yeah, you did, you said you went to the mall with MJ to do some shopping and had a Slurpee after.” He was panicking but focused on playing it off as best as he could.

Spoiler Alert: he’s a very bad liar and can’t hide anything from you.

“No, I didn’t so how do you know that?”

He stuttered and incoherent sentence your way, trying and failing TRYING VERY HARD to defend himself. 

“Have you been following me?”

Shitshitshit.

“N-No?” He hated that he couldn’t lie to you, one look at him and all his secrets would come out like some kind of verbal diarrhea.

You pushed him off your lap so the both of you were sitting up, looking at him with nothing short of hurt, confusion, and betrayal swirling in your beautiful sparkling eyes.

“Have you been taking advantage of EDITH and your powers to spy on me?”

He didn’t answer, simply hung his head, closed his eyes and waited for the blow-up that was bound to happen next... but it never came, only a broken whisper followed by a heart-breaking sob reached his ears.

“Do you not trust me?”

“What?” His head snapped up and he stared into your eyes, seeing the tears threatening to leak and cursing himself because he caused that, he caused his babygirl pain.

“W-Well if you're following me it must be because y-you don’t t-trust m-me.”

Your words were punctuated by a particularly loud sob and he quickly gathered you up in his arms, nuzzling his cheek on the top of your head soothingly and threading his fingers through your hair.

“Nonononononono, baby that’s not it, I promise.” He took your face between his hands and kissed your tear-stricken cheeks, resting his forehead on yours. “It’s just that... with everything that happened with Tony and Beck and my identity being revealed, then almost going to prison, thank God for Pepper, I just... I’m constantly worried that someone’ll come after you because of me, because of what you mean to me, and that I won’t be able to protect you and I just need to know you’re safe, always because you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d without you, so I followed you and asked Karen to update me on your vitals every hour so I know you’re safe and alive, and real, and... I just need to know you’re safe.”

He took a deep breath after finishing his jumbled up explanation, finally shining light on the fears deeply installed within him for months.

“I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath. Cause you wanna protect me but you do it by following me and invading my privacy.”

“Wha- psychopath?” You both burst into laughter, foreheads still resting against one another.

“Well, you’ve been following me around for a while. Do you have a camera in my bedroom?”

“No! Of course not! Just... in the lobby... and one facing your apartment door... and on your fire escape facing your window...”

His cheeks were flushed red and he was looking everywhere but at you, seemingly embarrassed by his predicament.

“You said you had Karen monitoring my vitals... how?”

“Oh, um... remember the bracelet I gave you for our six-month anniversary?”

You lifted your right wrist, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘this one’.

“Yeah, so um... I actually made that. It’s got nanosensors that monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sugar levels, emotional state and a bunch of other things along with a tracker that’s constantly activated. It’s all connected to Karen, so she can let me know whenever you’re in trouble...”

“Is that how you always know when I’m having a panic attack or when I’m on my period?” Your eyes softened up and an adoring smile graced your face when he nodded.

“You’re a dork.” You straddled him fully and properly, then kissed him on the lips softly.”But you’re my dork, and I love you. And I love that you want to keep me safe and that you’d be willing to sacrifice your dignity and do something quite illegal to make sure I stay safe.”

He smirked at you.

“You know, out of context that sounds a bit twisted.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at him.

“What can I say? From time to time, I sure do love me a bad boy.”

He smiled and kissed you on the lips, slow and passionate, filled with all his love and adoration and relief, pure and utter relief because you’re here, with him, and you know, and you don’t hate him, in fact, you love him even more.

He fell back on the bed, taking you with him as you resumed your previous position, only this time with you on top.

“So are we gonna mention that when Tony did the exact same thing to you you threw a fit and had Ned hack into the suit?”

“Shut up.”

That night, when Peter got back home after dropping you off, EDITH alerted him to movement on your fire escape. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he pulled up the live footage but it all turned into a breathless chuckle when he saw the surveillance video.

You had put your whiteboard in such a way that it would be seen by the camera and scribbled a ‘Goodnight baby <3′ on it.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: goodnight princess <3

And this is what I do during my English and french classes... English because I don’t need to (perks of being trilingual) and french because the teacher spends the lesson talking about stuff I already know so I really don’t care.

With that said, please stay in school and listen to your teachers... do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, I hope you liked this little one-shot. Please don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog if you feel like it!

Love you all, Libby <3

[purplesurveys]

972

survey by karla-babyy

Do you know any Asians with American names? In my nationality’s case, nearly all of them. It’s a more common trend than this question makes it out to be. Spanish and Italian names are also common. Filipino names died out for a very long time with only much-older people having them, but it’s slowly seeing another surge over the last few years. Still mostly rare to find, though. Have you ever cut your own hair? I’ve trimmed my bangs with my mom’s help, but not my whole hair. What is something you're avoiding right now? Trying to cry. It was either getting distracted by this survey or staying in bed breaking into tears, so if this survey ends up getting posted it means I made the right choice for myself. What was the reason for your last detention? We don’t have that. I never got in trouble except in Grade 4 when I was caught snickering loudly at the back of the classroom with a friend. Do you eat your vegetables? Yeah, I’m not 5.

Have you ever taken Flintstone's Gummy Vitamins? I’m not sure we have those here, so I doubt I’ve tried that in particular. But I’ve taken plenty of gummy vitamins throughout my childhood and teenage years. Do you get side-tracked easily? Personal shit can sometimes affect my pace and my focus while at work, but I’m always able to shake it off in the end and choose to be more professional. But it does happen, and it can get really hard to like, fix a spreadsheet or do a Powerpoint or write up a cheery email while thinking about my trauma and continually swallowing lumps in my throat lol. When was the last time someone laughed at you, and for what? Cooper was being feisty in my arms last night and my dad laughed at how silly we looked. Do you know anyone who can play the violin? Yes, Ate Alyanna and JM’s sister. JM has also been taking up lessons, but I don’t know of his progress anymore. I haven’t talked to him in months. What's a word you do NOT like, one bit? Faggot/fag sounds so dirty to me. Are you taking or did you take any foreign language classes in high school? I didn’t. I think they offer them now but during my time they didn’t, so it wasn’t like I had the option to take them. As for college, foreign language electives also weren’t required for journalism students so I never took any. When was the last time you took a nap? Last Saturday. Does it piss you off when your parents treat you like a baby? They can be pretty overbearing, like the time they forced me to wear an extremely, painfully corporate look for an interview with a PR agency whose dress code was anything but. That grinded my gears quite a bit. But otherwise, I really do prefer them looking after me. Have you ever swallowed something you shouldn't have, like a quarter, etc? Some weird oil leaking from a battery. Do you know any Russian people? I don’t think so. What was the worst comeback you have ever received? I don’t know. It’s hard to be put on the spot and answer superlatives like this. Do you like Ed Hardy clothes? I don’t know how they look, but I’m guessing that I don’t. What shampoo did you use the last time you washed your hair? Dove. What was the last story you told someone? Dealing with a clumsy co-intern at work. I got tasked to transcribe a 30-minute audio file - which would’ve been no problem to do on my own, since taking up journalism made me transcribe a shit-ton of interviews - but I was doing other tasks for other superiors as well which meant that I had to use a lifeline and tap a co-intern for help. I split the file up and told her I would transcribe the first 20 minutes, while she can take care of the last 10 minutes. I breezed through mine and finished in 45 minutes while multi-tasking, while I never got updates on her end. I kept waiting, and after an hour I asked for her progress and she said she was only 4 minutes in. At that point I was pretty annoyed at myself for giving away a task I thought I was too busy to finish on my own. A little later she messaged me and said she couldn’t understand what was said at the “7:25 minute mark” I was aghast. I was like, “Do you mean 27:25? I said I was going to take care of the first 20 minutes,” and it turns out she never even read my message of me splitting up our parts. I was pissssed as fuck, because she took so fucking long transcribing and it wasn’t even the right part I assigned her to, and because she committed my pet peeve of people not reading directions. Knowing full well how slow she is with transcribing at that point, I just offered to do the rest of the file. Do you like surprises? And no, I dont mean presents. Just surprises. Pleasant ones, yeah. I don’t like surprises meant to scare me. Do you use mascara on your bottom eyelashes? Nope. I can’t remember the last time I used mascara. Do you pick at your fingernails when you're bored? Sure, if they’ve gotten kind of long. When was the last time you played a board game? Sometime last year would be a safe guess. I’m pretty sure I haven’t this year. Do you know anyone named Paul? Yeah, an alumnus from my org who comes around every once in a while. Who was the last person you touched? Not sure, I haven’t had any physical contact with another person in a while... maybe my sister, idk. Name someone who is younger than you. Laurice, Jo, Kate, and Blanch are all younger by a year. Who was the last person you kissed? Gabie. Does your best friend have her/his ears pierced? Yes. When was the last time you received something in the mail other than bills? A few weeks ago when one of my dad’s orders got delivered, and we had to receive it for him. Listen. What do you hear? There’s a new house being constructed in front of ours so there’s a lot of construction noises that we have to hear every day. The workers are nice though and they like seeing my dog and they haven’t cat-called me, so there’s little to whine about. Do you enjoy prank-calling? No. Who was the last person to annoy you? Gabie. Can you recite the alphabet backwards? Nope. I had it memorized at one point, but I guess my brain didn’t find it significant enough to want to remember. Do you own more than 10 pairs of earrings? No. I do want lots of earrings, though. I’d love to buy a few pairs once I’ve gotten my allowance, heh. Is the room you are currently in messy? No, it’s very organized now after my mom and I cleaned it up and redesigned it a bit during the weekend. Do you like correcting people when they say something wrong? If they’re being an asshole about their argument that turns out to have some errors, yes. Otherwise I don’t correct people every single time. Who was the last person to kiss your cheek? Not sure. A good guess would be Gabie though. Do you call people "babygirl"? I’ll use this to refer to my close friends sometimes. What was the last yucky thing you smelled? Cooper’s business. Is the time on your computer clock wrong? No. It has always been accurate from the time I started setting my laptop up when it was new. What should you be doing right now? I’m not required to start working until 9, so I’m good taking this survey for now.   Does it bother you when girls talk about tampons in front of boys? It will only bother me if said boys start to feel genuinely uncomfortable for some reason. But if they’re just boys that are being childishly whiny about periods, then those girls can talk their ears off about tampons as much as they want. Is in front one word, or two? Two. How many syllables are in the word "Koala"? Three.

[tessatechaitea]

Scarab #5

Scarab just learned how to use "whomst'd" correctly.

Maybe the sudden need for drugs was due to this character with my name trying to kill himself.

I hadn't actually gotten to the part where the guy notes he's on drugs or that he's surrounded by poppies so I think I just have to give credit to John Smith's writing for setting up a real "I'm fucking overdosing on pain killers" tone. Now I'm also jealous of a fictional nobody. If only I had too many painkillers right now, um, well, I'd probably never hit publish on this blog post and all five of my readers would be wondering, "When the fuck is Grunion Guy (or Tess (or Jeff (or whoever the fuck this asshole is))) ever going to finish reading Scarab?" According to my Non-Certified Sister-in-law, nutritionists have to report people for suicidal ideation. She told this to me because she's a nutritionist and I said to her one night at karaoke that my current retirement plan was to do whatever the fuck I wanted until my bank account was dry and then kill myself. But she never reported me so I guess she doesn't realize that's actually my retirement plan. Speaking of karaoke, I knocked another song off of my karaoke bucket list this week: "Like China" by Phil Collins. I fucked that song so hard on stage, some woman high-fived me and some other guy came up to me and thanked me for reminding him that the song exists. He was super drunk. Super drunk guys love me at karaoke. One time this guy whose name I believe was Creepy Kevin asked me, after I'd just sung "Everybody Knows," if I was doing it in the style of Leonard Cohen or Concrete Blonde. I said Concrete Blonde and he said, "Your voice really suits it." Which is when I stabbed him in the throat and tossed him in the dumpster out back with the leftover spring rolls from the night before because how dare he insult Johnette Napolitano! She has the voice of an angel and I have the voice of the person the angel walks on so that they don't have to get their feet dirty at the angel orgy. I know nobody is reading this and thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about?! What has happened to Scarab this issue?! Has Eleanor found her way home?!" How many people even remember that this comic book ever existed?! I just read four issues of it a week and a half ago and I almost forgot it existed! This issue is called "Paradise Defiled" which I just read although maybe my subconscious read it earlier (due to the comic being opened to that page and just sitting there on the scanner) which is why I was thinking about angel orgies. This guy Jeff is somebody Louis knows. An old woman — maybe his mother? — phones Louis to ask if he's seen him. So that's how Scarab gets involved with Jeff's suicidal problem. Meanwhile, Eleanor is sprouting ecotoplasmic rivulets. It's super gross. But this issue isn't about Scarab and Eleanor! At least I don't think it is. It's about Jeff waking up from his pleasant and relaxing overdose to find himself in an afterlife torture garden sex party. He totally hates it and I understand why. The place is first described as "a literal incarnation of a littoral world" and I have to stop myself from Googling "home lobotomy." The first tortured sex victim he meets is a guy strapped to a wheel with a bunch of knives in him spouting "Vertigo phrases." I explained "Vertigo phrases" in a previous commentary (or all of my previous Vertigo commentaries maybe?) but for those who somehow just stumbled upon this commentary because "every blog post is somebody's first" (although why Scarab #5 would be somebody's first is beyond comprehension), here's a nice example of "Vertigo phrasing."

It doesn't have to mean anything. It just needs to sound weirdly profound while making the reader feel like a real fucking smarty pants.

Jeff is taken to some Herod-like angel named Lord Colouris. He's also a bit like a cross between John Lennon and Jabba the Hutt. Did I just describe David Crosby? Lord Colouris declares he's going to make a new man out of Jeff and I don't think he means it figuratively. In the middle of the Garden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It bears the fruit of truth and whispers as skulls pile up beneath it from those feeding on its devastating pronouncements. Also, I sort of agree with what it's saying here:

Ninety-eight percent of this blog is me screaming from the anguish of losing the bliss of nonexistence.

Not that I think I'm evil. Nor do I believe in souls. But that whole anguish over the loss of nonexistence? That hits me fucking hard, bro. Look, it even made me call you bro. I'm hurting here, dude. See? I said dude too! The rest of what the tree says is meaningless gobbledygook. Something about sex tearing the flanks of God and a snake jerking it into a pot of clay like my junior high school classmate Chris Huff beating off in a breadbox. Maybe it makes sense to guilt-ridden Catholics but it's all wasted on me. I'm just wondering if I should do a Google search on a snake ejaculating. I've done it before for bats and let me tell you: there's a great video of a bat at a zoo sucking itself off in front of some kids! Truly a work of art. So privileged to live in this modern age and able to experience such wonders of this world! Lord Colouris turns Jeff into a monstrosity because he's trying to reform the lost souls that wind up in the Garden of Pain into his image before he fell from Heaven. But he can't do it because everybody who enters the Garden is tainted by their boring and uncreative lives. To finally make a work of art equal to his previous state of being, Lord Colouris releases all of his Frankenstein monsters into the world to hunt down a truly innocent and beautiful person who can provide the raw material for Lord Colouris's sculpture. Jeff is now one of them. Being uncreative morons, the monsters raid nurseries all over New York. Idiots. How many babies does it take to create an angel? Probably like millions! Some of the monsters seek out Eleanor because her leaking bodily fluids smell succulent and, I guess, virginal? I don't know. Like I said, she's gross. I hope they take her. Instead of Eleanor, the monsters accidentally take Scarab back to the Garden where he's quickly defeated by Colouris with a tree grown up through his guts. Then Scarab, like a true super hero, remembers that he can't be defeated if he just summons one last burst of strength and hope to overcome his enemy! Which he totally does by biting Lord Colouris's tongue off (because Lord Colouris was doing naughty things to Scarab. So naughty that I was embarrassed to discuss them). Then he punches Colouris in the throat and he barfs up the keys to all of his monsters' souls. Plus the key to his own soul which Monster Jeff helps Scarab find. Scarab recognizes him and thinks, "Fuck. Okay, I guess I'll just have to tell Jeff's mother he's dead." Then Scarab sticks the key in Colouris's head and the Garden dissolves into an empty room with a ticking metronome. That probably makes really smart people go, "Holy fuck! That's fucking brilliant! What a great reference or theory or idea or intelligent bit of philosophical scat!" And, um, that's totally what I said too. I'm not one of those morons who don't understand Vertigo comic books. Pshaw! Can you even believe uncool losers like that exist?! Scarab #5 Rating: You know how many things I had to look up on the Internet while reading this comic book? At least two! Maybe more but even two is a lot! Remember, I first read this in 1993 when most people didn't have Internet (and those that did were spending their time in AOL and Prodigy chat rooms with names like "Horoscope Lovers" and "Remember The A-Team?!"). So that's two things I definitely didn't understand when I read it the first time because you can believe that I was too lazy to pick up a dictionary in the middle of reading a comic book. And that's even assuming that I'm the type of person to own a dictionary! Man, stop embarrassing yourself with your lousy assumptions!

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: Slight mention of torture, mild cussing

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

**

No matter what position you tossed and turned to get comfortable in, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Your brain plagued you with imagines of that soft, frightened creature you met today being whipped, beaten, and electrocuted. The looks of pain that seemed forever etched into the faces of Junmyeon and Eighty-Eight mocked you from behind your eyelids.

Frustrated, you bolted up right and threw your pillow across the room, knocking your TV that hung from the wall out of its alignment. Giving up for now, you tossed your covers off of you and stomped out of the bedroom to the kitchen. The cold night air tickled your legs, sending goosebumps up and down your skin, but you were just too exhausted to care.

After searching your cabinets for your night-time tea, hoping that would be enough to get your system to shut down for a few hours, you sat at the counter and waited for the kettle to start whistling, informing you that the water was bubbling.

You looked around your apartment in the streetlamp light that leaked in through the windows. Since you weren’t one for decorating, there wasn’t much around you. The living room had a couch and a chair, the obligatory coffee table and a standing lamp. A hip-high bookshelf held the many movies and novels you owned and you’d paid a little extra to have your TV mounted on a swivel so you could adjust it for when you were cooking in the kitchen.

A round dining table that could only fit about two people comfortably (not that you ever had guests over anyway) took over the small area to the left of the kitchen.

The walls held only about three or four pictures of your family. In the middle of them was a larger frame outlining the photograph of a beautiful curly-haired girl in her early teens with sparkling eyes and a smile bright enough to light up a rainy day.

Would she be proud of what you were doing?

The high pitched squeal of the kettle saved you for the time being from answering that question. You poured the scolding water into your favorite mug, letting the tea bag soak for a few minutes before you started sipping away.

When you were done, you rinsed out the mug and triple checked to make sure the stove was off. According to the clock on your microwave, you had about five hours before you needed to be up for work. Well, at least that was better than no sleep.

Your eyelids were already becoming heavier as you shuffled back into your room. The sheets were cold from being exposed to the fan you kept at night. Curling up as tight as you could, you willed your brain to shut off, just for a few freaking hours.

After waking up to your alarm, you couldn’t exactly say that you were well rested, but you did finally get a few hours of shut eye.

Not completely caring about how you looked, you just ran a brush through your hair before tossing on a pair of tight fitting pants and a nondescript long sleeve shirt. While Nada just preferred to change into scrubs as soon as she arrived, you couldn’t stand the scratchy feeling of the material against your skin. There wasn’t much of a dress code beyond the lab coat and that most of your skin was covered. On other floors, you’d even seen some of the guys wearing character shirts with regular jeans. You tried to stay more on the professional side, but you still liked to be comfortable.

There was nothing special about the drive to work. Most people still didn’t know how to operate a motor vehicle and should have their licenses taken away. If only they knew how to use their turn signal.

At the front desk, you waved to the receptionist who simply gave you a nod as you headed for the elevator. Marcus arrived shortly after you did. A yawn stretched out his face and he moved his head side to side to stretch out his neck as the two of you waited.

“Long night?” you asked, trying your best to make some sort of small talk to fill in the silence. It wasn’t your strong suit, casual, shallow talking, but once you got Marcus started, he mostly filled in the gaps himself.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” he answered. “I think it might be time for a new mattress.”

The elevator dinged and the two of you stepped in. Thanks to the system, you both had to swipe your badges before the door would even close.

“Have you tried memory foam?” you suggested.

“Nah, that’s too soft,” Marcus waved the thought away. “I’m not a ‘sleep on a cloud’ type person. Hey, I heard that you’re holding some sort of therapy sessions with the patients down there? How’s that going?”

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized that that bit of information had become public knowledge. “I’m honestly not quite sure. They aren’t what I expected.”

“What? No gills or tails for you?” he teased.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t find it in you to laugh along. “No, they look perfectly human.”

“Well, they are.”

Marcus’s reply surprised you. Work was not a typical conversation the two of you had and you definitely had never spoken about the men living in the basement. Marcus wasn’t a bad person, but you were still taken aback by how sympathetic he sounded towards them. Most of the guards and orderlies - really everyone who worked on level sixty-six - just thought of them as experiments. They’d been desensitized to who they were. A path you might have taken if you hadn’t fought to speak with them or ever met Sixty-One at all.

The elevator arrived before you could continue the discussion. Marcus went left to the security office while you headed for the lab. Typically when you arrived, a to-do pile was already laid out at your station, put there by Dr. Wang who always seemed to be there earlier than you and stayed later than you did. Sometimes you wondered if she lived down here as well.

Today, however, there was no such pile for you. In a bit of a panic, you searched around your designated area thinking maybe it somehow grew legs and shifted its position just to mess with you.

“Good morning, Dr. (l/n).”

The sudden appearance of Dr. Wang startled you, causing you to hit your head on the edge of the table.

Rubbing the now sore spot, you greeted, “Good morning, Dr. Wang. Are you just now getting here?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve been here a while. Are you looking for something?”

“Oh, well, um,” you glanced around one more time, making sure you really didn’t miss it. “I can’t find the work I’m supposed to do today.”

Dr. Wang smiled. “I haven’t assigned you any. I’m curious about your findings in the subjects’ psyches, so I want you to spend the next few days finishing up your initial interviews. Everything else can be held off until then.”

“Okay.” You read Dr. Wang’s face, wondering – worrying if she was catching on to your empathy for the patients. But she was giving you free reign for the next two days to talk to them without worrying about making it back to the lab in between. “Are there any that are scheduled for tests that I should be aware of?”

“Zero-Four, Ninety-Nine, and Twenty-One won’t be available until this afternoon, but there should be no problems with the others.”

That left Sixty-One open for you to interview first just like you’d hoped. You wasted no time gathering up your notebook and heading out of the lab towards the other hallway. The orderly let you right into the cell without question. 

Sixty-One was awake this time, pacing back and forth the small length of his cell. At the sight of your entrance, he stopped.

“You’re back,” he said, shocked.

You were a little embarrassed at the fact that he remembered you, even though he was supposed to be in a drug-induced haze back then.

“Yes, I am,” you replied.

He folded his arms. “Are you back for more blood?”

Shaking your head, you sat down in the chair provided. “No, just to talk.”

Sixty-One frowned in confusion. “You want to talk?”

“Mhm,” you smiled, hoping he wouldn’t fight you too long. “Think of it as a first therapy session.”

“Thirteen years and they’re just now concerned if their tests have messed us up mentally?” he sneered.

“I haven’t been here the past thirteen years,” you said. He tilted his to the side, making his ears stick out even more than they already were. It was cute and it made your small, reassuring smile grow into an amused grin.

Accepting your retort, he sat down on the bed, his long legs out in front of him as he rested his arms on his knees.

“So, what exactly is it you want to dissect in my brain?”

“Tell me how you got here and what you’ve experienced so far.” It was the one question you’d been dying to know the answer to, but hadn’t felt it was appropriate with Junmyeon or Eighty-Eight. There was something different about Sixty-One. Something that wasn’t yet closed off.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s become blurry over the years. I just remember waking up in a large room. Back then, they kept the twelve us together. Occasionally, they’d drag one of us out for testing, and we wouldn’t see them for days before they came back. No one ever remembered where they went during those times. It was terrifying and we didn’t know what to do. Only Junmyeon kept us sane. He looked out for all of us.”

You wrote down shorthand notes, taking in every little detail, making sure to catch whenever his expression changed at each memory he recalled.

“But Kris wanted to do more than just sit around and wait. So, he took Luhan and Tao and staged a revolt.” Sixty-One’s face grew angry and his eyes began to water. “Idiots. They didn’t make it far. After that, we never saw those three again and eventually we were separated. ‘For our own good.’”

A silence fell between the two of you. You weren’t sure where to go with the conversation from there. There was nothing you could say that would be comforting and, as far as he was concerned, you were part of the enemy.

“Look, Sixty-One–”

“It’s Chanyeol,” he corrected.

You smiled just a bit, his willingness to tell you his name giving you hope. “Well, Chanyeol. I know that this is frustrating.” You paused. “Do you miss them?”

He nodded. “Every day. We weren’t just strangers thrown together. We became like brothers. We looked out for each other.”

The two of you were becoming more relaxed as the time went on. He told you of how the first time his temperature spiked, he thought he was on fire. He’d panicked and fought everyone to the point where they had to sedate him for three days. From then on, he was always warm. It was something he just had to get used to and live with. Sometimes his temperature would spike out of nowhere and he’d break out in a ceaseless sweat. The doctor’s insisted that his body had adapted to the changes and he wasn’t in danger, but he didn’t believe that. “It scares me sometimes,” he admitted, “when I have an episode. I was having one the first time you came.” He gave out one short laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Is it dumb that this is actually kind of working? I haven’t really talked to someone in almost two years.”

“No, it’s not dumb,” you reassured him. “The need to communicate and interact with other people is just part of our nature.”

He scoffed, leaning back on the bed so his back was against the wall with his arms crossed. “I think our natures are a bit different.”

“Not really. Even the lone wolf is constantly searching for a pack.”

Those large round eyes looked up at you. The corners of his lips pulled down as if he was trying to wrap his mind around something.

Your watch beeped at you and you sighed, knowing your time was up. You had to put a limit on the sessions today if you wanted to make it through them all.

“I have to go now,” you told him. Chanyeol’s eyes widened and he reached out, taking a hold of your right arm.

“No, please don’t go.”

Pity coursed through you as you took in the desperation in his eyes. Placing your free hand over his, you made him a promise.

“I’ll come back. You’ll still have someone to talk to. But now I have to talk to the others as well; your brothers.”

Seemingly comforted, he left go, nodding his head. “Goodbye, (y/n).”

“Goodbye, Chanyeol.”

You felt horrible as you left his cell and shuffled into the hallway. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. The more you spoke with them, the more your heart hurt.

Going over the list, you tried to decide which one to visit next when you heard laughter coming from the direction of Ten’s cell. The door was just slightly ajar, letting the sound escape. Running without thinking, you stormed into the viewing room, appalled at what you saw. The laughter was coming from the orderly stationed there as he leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head like he was watching a movie. On the other side of the glass were two guards standing on either side of Subject Ten, who was tied to the chair, shirtless.

The guards took turns cutting and stabbing at Ten’s skin, gleeful at the spilled blood. Your jaw dropped as each injury healed miraculously in front of your eyes. Ten’s face remained emotionless, staring at nothing while this torture took place. Your own blood was boiling in your veins.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The orderly nearly fell out of his chair, just realizing you were there.

“Oh, um, we were just–”

“I don’t even want to hear whatever bullshit is about to come from your mouth,” you barked, fighting the temptation to kick him right where it would hurt the most. “Open this damn door, unless you want me to have both your job and theirs.”

“Y-yes, doctor.” He slammed his hand down on the button to unlock the door and you marched into the cell.

The first guard saw your hateful glare and dropped the knife. It hit the concrete with an ear ringing chime. As soon as the other guard saw you, he ran behind his buddy.

“Tell, me,” you said in an eerily calm voice that scared even yourself, “did you have orders to do this? Or did you think you could just get away with this?” Neither of them answered. “You’d better say one way or the other, or I’ll make sure this goes on record. How do you think Dr. Wang is going to feel about this?”

“Th-there were no orders, Ma’am,” the first one stuttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then why did you think this was okay?”

For two grown men who had almost thirty centimeters of height on you and at least an additional hundred pounds, you took in a slight amusement at their cowering.

“We were just bored,” the second guard argued.

Disgusting. Your self-control was on the verge of disintegrating. “Bored? Well, then I guess the next time I’m bored, I’ll just tie you to a chair and see where the fun is in stabbing you over and over again. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

The first guard stepped forward. “Please, ma’am–”

You held up a hand. “Save it. From now on, stay away from all the subjects. If I catch you back here, I’ll fill out every single incident form I need to in order to get you fired. Got it?”

They both nodded and hightailed it out of there.

Once alone, you knelt down and untied the ropes that held Ten captive.

“Are you okay?” you asked, staying crouched down as you glanced up at him.

He said nothing, still not looking at you. His features were pointed and smooth and you wondered what his face looked like when he smiled. Just like the others, he was in top shape and there wasn’t a single mark that would have suggested he’d just been inflicted with wounds for who knows how long.

“My name is (y/n),” you said softly. “I’m a doctor here. I know it might not mean much with what I just said, but I’m sorry. Something like this isn’t supposed to happen. And I promise it won’t ever happen again.”

Finally, he looked at you. “Are you here to take me for more tests?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m more interested in what’s in here.” You gently tapped the side of his head. “There’s no poking or prodding involved.”

“Everyone says there’s nothing up there,” he said gloomily.

“Now, I doubt that.” You tilted your head. “I think there’s a whole a treasure trove up there that’s just waiting to be found.”

Something with what you said registered with him and he gave a small, crooked grin. It was enough to reveal a previously hidden dimple in his right cheek. The revelation made him seem so childlike, you wanted to protect him even more.

“Why don’t we both sit on the floor and start our session there, hm?”

He nodded, sliding off the chair and sitting down in front of you with his legs crossed.

“Now,” you placed your notebook in your lap, pencil ready, “why don’t we start with your real name?”

[rohobi]

Serendipity 04 | (M)

pairing— jeon jungkook x reader, friendwithbenefitsAU  genre/warnings— smut, fluff, slight angst, swearing NSFW AT ALL  words—7, 012 ↳ CHAPTERS → CHAPTER 5

chapter 4 summary: ❝O is for Oral❞ A/N: I’m sorry. Also, this is the last part of Serendipity and the following chapters will be called Reciprocity with a more detailed background of both reader and Jungkook. I was originally going to split this into two but thought against it because all of you are hell-dwellers anyway. In any case, happy reading/nutting. 

You haven’t seen Jungkook in two weeks. Which isn’t awfully different from your usual, being two working adults with parents who have exceptionally high expectations for your futures.

But this time, it was different.

You actually kind of miss him.

Jungkook, being the in demand academic, had been pulled into a rip tide of study, pulled under the murky waters of social isolation and into the perils of his education; a last minute assignment and a forgotten seminar on health and architecture that he had to attend. 

And you were left astray, turning to more immaculate reads through pages composed by Malorie Blackman instead of some 34 year old divorced woman discussing a dick drought during golden showers. 

Urban dictionary has this flip a coin feature of being on one side, completely comedic and on the other, bloody disturbing as it’s explanation of that saying has you immediately deleting your search history and leaving the fucking planet.  Humans are disgusting yet, creative and outlandish creatures. 

So in saying that, you hadn’t received any word from Jungkook until this very beautiful Friday evening, 6 hours post-hand in doomsday and 2 hours post-seminar where Jungkook had inhaled their hot horderves to the point of notice and had been kicked out in front of his superiors for excessive eating. 

And who did he call? Ghostbust-

-you. 

In pulling up to the side walk in your BMW, he hadn’t ushered another word about his shovelling adventures but you did ask him how many plates he had eaten when you arrived outside his apartment. 

“How many plates?” He had turned to you, a smirk accentuated by the orange hues of the streetlight. “All of them.”

And you were pleasantly not surprised this time.  

“You should’ve seen my professors face when I was dragged outside the seminar hall. He looked like he regretted ever forcing me to go,” Jungkook says, laying on his back, computer sitting hazardously on his stomach. “Seriously though. The system is fucking bullshit. Fuck them all. I just want to watch mindless movies and feel my brain leak out of my ears. If that’s okay with you.”

“People are dying around the world Jungkook, complain about things that matter,” You stammer. Laying next to Jungkook with a pillow under your knees, and his socks on your feet. You turn up your spotify playlist. “And, excuse you, what brain?”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

“Just watch a korean drama. You’ll waste 2 days of your life binging it and you would’ve lost some brain cells in the process too. I recommend any drama Suzy is in.”

“What have you got against her? She’s so hot,” He snorts, scrolling through his netflix account. “And this is coming from your experience?”

You kick his leg. “She’s the same character in all of her dramas and it’s getting pretty boring. And, do you want to die?”

Grinning sheepishly at you in response, he continues searching through his recommended tv shows, cursor falling short of season 9 Rupaul’s Drag Race.

“Have you seen season 9 of Rupaul’s?” he asks, and you shake your head. “No, not yet.”

Scrolling past it, he says. “I’m not impartial to watching it if you want….”

“Nah not in the mood today.”

“That’s fine. If you don’t love yourself, hell the hell you gon love somebody else.”

He rolls his eyes. 

“Um, hey Jungkook, can I ask you something?” you ask, scooting closer to his side. “Please?”

He nods without looking away from his computer screen. “You just did.”

“Beside that?”

“You just did again.”

You slap his chest. “Can I ask you lots of questions?”

He snickers. “Sure, shoot.”

“Don’t laugh at me but what is fellatio and why do guys beg for it? Is it good?” you ask him and you hate how serious you sound when the next thing that you hear is a condescending rupture of cackles.

“What?” You watch Jungkook choke on his spit before jerking up and coughing. “What did you just fucking ask me?”

Your cheeks heat up. “I was just reading and they were talking about their partners begging for fellatio …it’s gelato right? Unless of course it isn’t …then just ignore me and let’s pretend I never said anything.”

“What makes you think it’s gelato Y/N?”

“Remember when we went to that new gelato place in town and we got their new flavours, you got their staccio and I got their fellatio with crunchy nuts on top?”

Jungkook laughs so loudly, you aren’t sure how to react. “Omg, I can’t believe you,” Ripping off the covers, Jungkook falls onto the floor laughing. You watch him roll around with tears in his eyes. “Fucking fellatio, omg.”

“What?” you ask, “Did I say something dumb again?”

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he looks up at you on the bed. “Did you mean fragola?”

You shake your head. “No, of course not. I’ve had fellatio before! It was the one with the nuts”

“Are you kidding?” He laughs again. “I mean, you’re right about the nuts part but are you sure you aren’t thinking of pistachio? I don’t know if you’re joking.”

The realisation feels like you’ve been doused in warm water. “…pistachio?”

Jungkook cackles so loudly, he starts coughing again. “I can’t believe you thought fellatio was a type of gelato, you moron! You’re supposed to be a law student???????? How are you this dumb?”  

Sitting up in his bed, you lean against the headboard. “Well, are you going to tell me what it is or not you wanker?”

He wipes the tears away from his eyes. “Fellatio is oral sex Y/N, blow jobs you idiot.”

You make a silent ‘O’ shape with your mouth. “Oh, that makes so much sense. I was wondering why they were talking about techniques with your tongue. They even made a guideline. I didn’t even read it.”

“A guideline? I already sent you a load of information about oral sex?”

You nod. “Yes, but it all makes sense now.”

“For a smart person, you can be really dumb sometimes. And what were your other questions?” Jungkook asks, putting his phone on his side table to give you all of his attention.

“So if it’s not gelato and you haven’t found a movie and you probably won’t …can I do it on you?” You ask it so nonchalantly that Jungkook chokes on his saliva. Coughing into his pillows again, you pat his back. “Jungkook, you okay?”

He nods. “Yeaah, I am ffiinne,” he stutters, clearing his throat. “Just was not expecting that so soon. You want to give me a blow job?”

Hesitantly, you nod. “Right now?”  

“Hell fucking yeah, are you agreeing to have sex with me?”

You hold your hands up in surrender. “I said I’d give you a blow job and you go ahead and speed down the highway of jumping ahead. No Jungkook, just a blow job.”

Jungkook sits up, turning to face you. Grabbing your hands, he looks you straight in the eyes. “Y/N, you realise that if we’re going to do this every now and then, we need to make some rules okay. I don’t want it to feel like I am taking advantage of you.”

“Oh so, you’re in control of this?” Smiling, you say. “I don’t think so. You want to make rules? New Rules? Like… one, don’t pick up the phone …you know he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone….”

Sitting up, he frowns at you. “Don’t you dare sing that song. Can you please take this seriously for once in your life?”  

Raising your fingers in a peace sign, you serenade him with the song of your people. “Two, don’t let him in you have to kick him out again.”

“Stop singing you butt.”

Pulling his arms with yours, you sing louder. “Three, don’t be his friend you know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning and if you’re under him, you ain’t get-ting over him. I got new rule-

Slapping a hand over your mouth, Jungkook pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You’re a fucking cliche Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Is it a cliche because it works or because you feel threatened by my amazing talent?”

“I would hardly call that amazing,” he objects. “By rules, I mean, to keep you safe and to keep me safe. If we were to do this, it could become unhealthy. Almost all friends with benefits relationships don’t end well.”

You slap his hands away from yours. “Someone gets attached and if you think that is going to be me, I’m sorry to tell you first that I have a deep and intricate relationship with your netflix account only, not you. I’ve seen all the movies Jungkook I know all the possible endings, like-

“You’re going on a tangent Y/N, just sto-

“-you could get me pregnant or I drown you in the bathtub.”

Staring at you in horror, he sighs. “Rightio …which part of your small brain did that come out of.”

You smirk. “The same part that remembers when you used to like wearing my makeup and being called princess.”

“Okay,” clearing his throat, he holds his chin in a vice grip. “Let’s make some rules. First rule: Good communication. We tell each other what we’re feeling even if we think it’s stupid. Sound good?”

You hold your hand up to high five him. “Yasss boi, communication is the key to all good and healthy relationships.” He high fives you back. “Rule 2: Purpose. Sex is only happening if it’s for an educational purpose, for example, you think fellatio is a type of gelato and I want to show you why it definitely is not.”

You pout. “Fuck you, it sounds like a type of gelato though.” “It does but only you would think it actually is. Rule 3: No sleepovers after sex. I love having you stay over but it would make me confused if I were to wake up and you had your arms and legs all over me indisposed. So only sleep over if we’re watching Stranger Things or something.

You blush at the thought. “Rule 4: Reciprocity. You do for me what I’ll do for you. If you want to stick a plug in my ass, I’m sticking one in yours. And, we only sleep with each other. We want to keep this both emotionally and physically safe, I don’t want to use condoms if I know you’re on the pill and that we’re both free from sexually transmitted infections. Again, this is a recipe for an emotional disaster.”

You hold your finger up in the air. “And we both know that you’re a horrible cook.”

Frowning he shakes your comment away. “Those rules sound good?”

“Aren’t you going to say, Rule 5: No one falls in love with each other or this thing is over?”

“I’m not going to police your emotions and I hope you don’t police mine either. We are two consenting adults and we communicate together, if that’s something that ends up happening, we’ll deal with it then. Sound good?”

Sitting in front of him with your legs crossed, you push out your hand to shake. “Sounds exceptionally mature of you Jeon Jungkook.”

He puts his hand into yours. “So, to summarise this relationship. You can do whatever you want with me so long as I can do it back to you. You’re uncomfortable with something? Me too. I am uncomfortable with something, so are you.”

Tightening your grip on his hand, you grin. “It’s a deal. Want to start tonight?”

The smile that crawls across his face, is a one you haven’t seen before. It’s a mix between being given an early christmas present and wanting to steal your neighbor’s gopro when they’re on vacation. “Sure,” says, laying back down. “Ladies first.”  

“First to what?”

He laughs softly. “I’m going to eat you out first, ladies first.”

“Ew. Can you not say it like that you ugly mole rat?”

Jumping out of bed, he rips off his shirt before jumping on you. He falls on your knees, trying to wiggle himself between you legs.

“Um, Jungkook?”

“What?”

You push him away from you. “Ya girl is having a shower first. There’s things a lady needs to prepare okay?”

Jungkook groans before rolling back onto his side of the bed. “Well, will you hurry up then. It’s past midnight and I want to sneak an episode of something in.”

“Oh shut up, I need to prepare myself physically and mentally. I’ll be right back.” you snap. Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he watches you storm off towards the bathroom.

And he doesn’t say anything for the half an hour you take in the shower. He all but strips naked and starts watching the pilot episode of Dark while you do acrobats in the shower trying to get a perfect landing strip with his razor.

He doesn’t even notice you come back into the room until a slippers been thrown at his face when he feels the bed dip.

“Don’t fucking look! I’m moisturising my legs!” you shout, throwing your other slipper at his face. “Give me some privacy.”

“I wasn’t even looking at you and you’ve taken so long that I’m nearly finished this episode.” He grits his teeth, closing his computer and putting it on his bed side table.

“I won’t be long, I just want to make sure everything is right.” you whisper, moisturizing your neck.

Groaning behind you, he falls back into the bed sheets. “Stop being high maintenance, you always smell nice to me.”

“Who the hell said I was doing this for you?”

Turning to face you, he watches you dry the ends of your hair with the corners of his towel before letting the strands dangle down your back. You were wrapped in one of his old white towels sitting at the end of the bed.

“I’m just waiting for my legs to be dry now okay? I don’t understand why you’re in a hurry. Good things take time.” you mutter, feeling nervous. You had shaved your pubic area in the shower and had shaven a nice landing strip before your neck got cramped and then you sat on the shower box asking yourself why you even bothered with your pubes.

You’re a woman. Women have hair.

“Okay, I’m ready. How do you want me?” you say, turning to look at him over your shoulder.

“In the bed beside me please.”

“Your manners are sure nice, why can’t you be like this all the time?” Standing up, you slowly drop your towel down your body. You can tell Jungkook watched every inch of that towel disappear from your body, how could you not, you could feel his eyes scour down your body like two probes.

“Damn,” he whistles.

Ugh. You weren’t even trying to be sexy, just efficient.  

Slowly turning around, Jungkook stares wide eyed at your body. You cover your breasts, insecure of what he might think of them. “Can I wear a shirt?”

Jungkook stutters. “N-no, ggeett in. It’ll be too hot for a shirt.” Jungkook doesn’t know where to look. He hadn’t expected your body to be so feminine.

Walking to your side of his bed, you slip under the sheets, one hand still covering your boobs. “Would you stop staring at me? You’re making me feel insecure.”

Laying on his side, he smiles softly. “You really shouldn’t be because damn girl, you have a nice ass.”

“And it’s off limits Jungkook. Thanks though.”

“For now,” he laughs. “And, you’re welcome.”

An awkward silence hangs between you before you lean over to the bedside table and press play on the playlist you had been listening to in the shower. It hums softly on Jungkook’s speaker, filling the silence between you. Jungkook leans onto his side to turn off the lamp and turn on the fairy lights wrapped around his curtains.

The silence hovers uncomfortably as you grip the sheets up to your chin. You hadn’t thought of this part. Who makes the first move here? Do I? Should I just lean over and tickle his chin or something.

“Y/N,” he whispers, leaning his head on his arm beside you, face hovering above your. “You okay?”

You nod. Please make the first move, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Jungkook closes his eyes, feeling suddenly intoxicated by the smell of your passion fruit shampoo. It was his favourite, something he wouldn’t tell you on a normal basis but one he remembered to buy every time he shopped just in case you stayed over. He had used it before but it had only ever smelt good when it was on you.

Collapsing on top of you, he digs his face into your neck. “God, you smell so good, what the hell.”

You laugh as your rub his bare back. “Didn’t know this was apart of our agreement.”  

Pulling away from your neck, he stares down at you. There are no words for the feeling he suddenly has but other than the feeling of electricity tingling beneath his skin, he feels comfortable.

And all he knows is that he wants to kiss you.

“Didn’t know you being a smart ass was apart of the agreement either, but here we are?” he whispers, brushing his nose against yours. Filling the small space between you, he slides his soft lips over your warm ones without warning. You relax underneath him when he cups your cheek tenderly.

Separated by the thin layer of folded sheet, you can feel his cock begin to harden against your pubic bone.

Running your hands down his bare back, you imagine what Jungkook would look like with back tattoos. You didn’t want to tell him but ever since you saw him shirtless 4 months ago, you wanted to pin him down and tattoo a dragon on his back and across his shoulder blades. Nothing says sex appeal like muscles and tattoos. At the time, the morally good part of your brain shook that one right out of the nest and you decided that maybe just manipulating him at a later date would be more conventional. Jungkook remains on the fence with that idea.

Brushing his nose against yours, he tilts his head to deepen the kiss and if there is one thing you like about Jungkook, it’s the way his mouth is shaped and how you think his lips fit into yours like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. It’s a lame piece of poetry but when something feels right, it might just be right.

Jungkook begins to kiss the hell out of you. You aren’t sure what he’s thinking about or what’s gotten into him but you refuse to french kiss him when you know he hasn’t brushed his teeth. You can already smell his morning breath and it’s enough to make you reconsider this whole thing.

So when Jungkook tries to stick his tongue into your mouth, the most you do is suck on his tongue and then push it back into his mouth while clamping your lips shut. Shops closed Jungkook, I’m not taking any customers at this present time. Please come again at a later date when you learn what a toothbrush is.

“Jeon,” Angling his face, he kisses across your cheek, latching his mouth onto the skin behind your ear. “Why do neck kisses feel so good? It makes my fanny feel like a fire hydrant.”

He laughs against your neck. “What? I’m serious, you just kiss my neck and pow, I’m ready to do the boom boom.”

“I’ve only kissed your neck like once, who else has kissed you here enough for you to think that?”

You shrug. “Irene Bae in 7 minutes of Heaven at Taehyung’s party last year.”

“Wait,” He hovers above your head for a second. “You and Irene? Did you guys do anything else…”

You look at him in thought. “We just kissed, she tried to do things but yeah …I’m not interested in women.”

Jungkook looks at you in new found interest. “Did you guys use tongue? Was it super hot?”

“Not really, I had too much too drink and vomited all over her.”

“Are you serious?”

You stare in disbelief at him. “Of course not. We made out like normal people, admittedly, there was a lot of tongue I think but yeah, you’re still the best kisser I’ve ever had, now keep kissing my neck.”

You turn your head away, allowing him to work his magic against your neck. You don’t give two shits if he gives you hickies, you wore turtlenecks on the regular anyway.

Jungkook returns his lips to your neck, slowly dragging them across your sensitive skin. “Hey,” you moan, feeling it ripple desperately from the bottom of your throat when he rolls his tongue over your pulse points. “That feels so good.”

You can feel his growing erection against you as he grinds softly into you. Rubbing your feet together at the feeling of electricity, you’re embarrassingly wet already and you hate it.

Jungkook presses kisses down your neck, to over your collarbone before grabbing one of your breasts and lightly squeezing. Kissing around your areolar, he flicks his tongue over your nipple.

You slap his hand away. “Hey, what are you doing with my boobs.”

He looks up at you, tongue still touching your nipple before he quips “Relax hagrid, it will feel good.”

Latching his mouth over your nipple, he rolls his tongue and boy be damned. It actually feels good. Weaving your fingers through his hair, you hold him close to your chest.

When you were 14 years old, you had watched this film called Angus Thongs and Perfect Snogging and you and your friends had sat on your hands for 10 minutes before fondling your own boobs. Jungkook had been on the end of the couch, completely confused as he tried to fondle the skin of his own chest.  Sure, it felt like someone else but when someone else actually touched you, nothing else compared.

And the feeling flowed straight down to your groin.

Lowering himself, Jungkook grinds his cock through your folds and the feeling is like electricity striking you down and melting you against the bedsheets. That’s a pretty shitty metaphor but there’s no other way to describe it for you, it just feels so good.

Scratching down his back, you open your legs wider for him. “Jungkook, I’m so wet, I’m sorry.”

He ignores you, as he grinds into you harder.

You wrap your feet around his waist, moving your hips against his. “Oh shit, not this again,” He bites into your shoulder, sensually rolling his hips against yours. “Jungkook, we need to reconvene, I’m too hot and you’re not eating me out and at this rate, we’ll have sex because your dingaling feels so good rubbing against me like that, that I’m very close to saying fuck this all and sitting on it. I want you but not like this.”

Jungkook moans loudly at your words, gradually halting his hips. “You make me feel like a 16 year old boy, I’m so close to coming already.”

“God, ew.”

Pushing him off of you, he falls into the sheets beside you. Perspiration drips down his forehead as he pants.  His erection stands at attention, pre-cum already leaking out of his slit. “You have a filthy mouth Y/N, a filthy goddamn mouth.”

Ignoring him, you gasp. “Christ, what is wrong with my vagina.” Looking under the sheet, you frown at just how wet you had become. “Hey, how about I get you off first?”

Putting his hands underneath his head, he whispers. “I’m not against that. Do as you please boss.”

Sitting up, you rustle beneath the sheets, sitting between Jungkook’s thighs. “You aren’t going to like that I’m going to take it slow so remember to take some deep breaths okay?”

With his eyes closed, he nods. “Did you want me to talk you through it?”

“Only if you think I’m doing a shit job.”

He whispers. “You won’t, but I can make you the queen of blow jobs if you want?”

“Fuck off Jungkook, i’m only doing this once.” Rolling your eyes, you lay down between his legs. You’ve always imagined being that person who takes it slow but considering how quickly you get turned on, you don’t think you’d ever have the patience.

Taking a deep breath, you start slow. “I’m just gonna get to know your body okay?”

He hums his response. “As you wish.”

Kissing the area above his knee, you press soft kisses up to his inner thigh. Jungkook hums with approval already feeling skittish when your hot breath hits his balls.

Caressing his thighs, you ask. “Can I suck on your balls? You can say no.”

“Fuck yeah, do whatever you want. Why would I say no to that.”

“I don’t fucking know. You were the one that emphasised asking because consent is important.” Kissing around his penis, you press open mouth kisses on his balls, taking each one into your mouth and sucking. You’re cringing as you do it because not only does he smell bad but because you’re so goddamn close to his butthole and you aren’t ready for that yet.

The reaction from Jungkook is explosive as he jerks against your face. “YoU’VE DONE THIS BEFORE WHAT THE FUCK.”

You cower at his expression. “Username Davidismydick94 told me to never neglect the huevos.”

Falling back onto his pillow, he says. “Well thank you Davidismydick94.”

“Can I continue…?”

“All night long.” he whispers and you lean back in. Pressing your fingertips on the underside of his cock, you lightly run your finger tips over the veins of his penis. It’s the first time you’ve been able to look at his penis in the eye but it’s enough to notice the slight curvature of it and the protruding ridges you think might feel good inside of you.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, leaning up on his elbows to watch you. “Are you teasing me?”

“Are veins good or bad on a penis?”

He looks at you with an alarmed expression. “Why? are they ugly?”

You look up at him before wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock and using the tip of your tongue to lick his up his veins. “Not at all. I like it, very sexy like your arms.”

Flattening your tongue, you don’t stray from his eye contact when you lick from the underside of his balls to the tip of his leaking head. His eyes are hazy from the feeling of your wet hot tongue and his heart is pounding at the innocent doe of your eyes.

“Jesus.” he moans.

“Why are you thinking of a man when I’m licking your balls?” you ask, blowing hot air on his balls. “Got something to tell me?”

“Says the one on her knees.”

“Touche and hell no am I trying to make you soft, getting you hard again would give me neck strain.” Swiping your tongue across the tip of his cock, Jungkook hisses at the feeling.

You focus your mouth on the tip as you hold the shaft with both hands. You’re confused but you don’t want to admit it. “How the fuck do I …do I just shove it in my mouth and suck on it?”

“Basically.” he replies.

“Well okay,” you reluctantly, open your mouth taking him in until your nose hits your fingers. Sucking, you hollow your cheeks before bravely moving your head down on him like how the movies do it. You massage his shaft with your tongue as you do it and Jungkook hums as you do it.  

“Oh fuck.” he whimpers.

Taking your mouth off of him with a pop, you begin pumping his shaft as you lick down to his balls again, sucking on them gently. “Y/N, seriously fucking hell. You’re doing so well baby, so well.”

Licking back up to his head, you suck on him again, bobbing up and down to a nice rhythm. You’re thinking about what food to eat after this and why blow jobs are called blow jobs if you’re sucking on and it not blowing, when Jungkook moans your name loudly, pushing on your head to take more of him in. Sinking down to the base of his cock so your nose hits his pubic bone, his dick painfully hits the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck, your mouth feels so fucking insane, so good, so fucking good.” Tangling his fingers in your hair, he fucks into your mouth.

You continue to bob up and down his shaft and for a terrifying second, you think you might vomit on his dick.

Abort. Abort. Abort.  

Quickly returning your hand to the base of his cock, you continue to safely massage your tongue around his head. Keeping a nice rhythm, you pump his shaft while sucking on the tip.

“Use your tongue. Like you’re sucking on your thumb, try that.” He suggests and you do exactly that.

He quivers against you, feeling a desperate need to fuck your mouth again. “I want to fuck your mouth so badly. Can I?”

Pumping him harder and faster, you stammer. “No way on this planet will you be fucking into my mouth again Jeon. I will vomit on your dick.”

“I don’t care what you do baby, you’re so damn beautiful when you do anything.”

You cringe at that. “So bloody entitled.”

Rolling your eyes, you lower your mouth to swallow him down to your fist. You feel comfortable with this as you let him thrust into your mouth. You never signed up for this amount of exercise and your body was beginning to ache at the effort but if you just lay like this and let him do all the work, it still counts right? Pulling a leg over Jungkook’s leg, you grind against his leg, desperate for some form of friction as you suck on his dick.

“Fuck, Y/N. I want to cum.” he chokes. He sounds like he’s tethering across a threshold and everything inside of you just wants to push him off already, no matter how insanely fucking sexy he sounds moaning your name.

Jungkook looks like a mess. You’ve never seen him so desperate to cum in his life. Then again, you haven’t seen him desperate to cum before.

He whines, stuttering his hips.

“I think I’m going to cum.” he says, wrapping your hair up into a ponytail and pulling tightly on it. You hum around his cock and Jungkook moans loudly, making you grind harder against him.

Removing your hand, you take him in as he thrusts down your throat. In a perfect world that wouldn’t be painful but as tears fall down your face, you can’t wait for this to be over.

“I’m going to cum. I’m coming.”  

He tries to take his cock out of your mouth, but you slap him away, letting him finish in your mouth. He doesn’t deserve it but you know for a fact Jungkook would cum on your face if you didn’t.

He’s moaning recklessly before he cums down your throat and you’re goddamn thankful you didn’t eat before this because the taste of Jungkook’s abandoned children is not one compatible with the residual afternoon food in your stomach.

Falling into the sheets, he twitches in oversensitivity when you pull your mouth off with a pop. Patting his shaft goodbye, you roll over Jungkook’s leg to climb into the sheets beside him. Your heart’s pounding and you think you can hear Jungkook’s heart pounding too as he lifelessly lays beside you.

“You okay?” you ask.

Jungkook turns to you. “You’ve got cum on your face.” Wiping your face with the back of your thumb, you suck the residue off your finger. All Jungkook can do is stare at you as you do it.

“Why did you let me cum in your mouth? Not many girls like doing that?”

You roll your eyes, didn’t he want a compliment or something? “I can see why they wouldn’t. Did you know that you’re cum tastes fucking awful. I can already feel my blood pressure rising from how salty it was.”

“Really?”

You watch insecurity wash over his face. “Why are you looking at me like I kicked your dog?” 

“Does it really taste bad…”  “It just tastes …different from the inside of a kinder surprise is all,” you smile, trying to reassure him. “I swallowed because I read in this random academic text that semen was full of protein and I think I’m deficient because I keep saying really dumb things so I thought, why not two birds with one stone.”  

He laughs before turning on his back. “Man, I’m pooped. I’m glad you got off too though, I nearly blew my load when I felt you grind your clit against my leg.”

“Who said I got off? You moved your leg when I was about to. Don’t judge me, I just like it when you moan and I needed some good o’l friction on me private parts, your leg was all I could reach. You sound so hot right before you cum by the way. I feel good about myself when you’re vocal when it feels good.” you admit, smiling at the ceiling.

“Speaking of,” Jungkook grins, before jumping between your legs. Grabbing his duvet, he pulls it over his back, before settling on his stomach between your thighs. “Rule 4: Reciprocacy. My turn.”

“You don’t have to Jungkook, seriously,” you push his sweaty head away from you. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, I want to. I want you to feel just as good as you made me.”

“Fine,” you sigh, grabbing his pillow, you put it under your knees for him. There’s a moment of pure silence as Jungkook stares at your lady flower.

“What are you doing?” you ask, unable to decipher the look on his face. “Jungkook, why do I feel like I’m getting my pap smear?”

“Please don’t take offence to what I am about to say,” Jungkook looks up, staring at you. “But did you shave your vagina for me?”

Your cheeks glow red. “What? The vagina is the entrance, you know, the inside of the pink part.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, running a finger through your labia and over your clit. It makes you jolt. “But you did right?”

“I tried my best. I didn’t know if you liked pubes or not and frankly, I don’t give a fuck if you do or not. I wanted to be neat and fresh for myself and if you don’t want to eat me out because of my hair than you’re already missing out because she’s-”

“-shut up, will you. It’s your pussy, your rules. Just, be you and that is all I can ask for.” he smiles up at you and you cower away from his expression.

It was too intimate.

His hands were hot. Two furnaces as he pressed his palms on knees, slowly caressing up the soft skin of your thighs. Leaning his chin on the pillow half way under your ass, he presses soft kisses on your pubic area -much like how you did to him.

Pulling your legs wider, he plants your feet outside of his shoulders. Making himself more comfortable. “Yeah go on, make yourself at home down there.”

“I plan to,” he admits. “You smell good.”

“Those comments make me feel awkward.” 

Shoving a fist in your mouth, you whimper against your knuckles as he tenderly kisses just above your slit. “Don’t be.” 

Dipping his tongue between your folds, he cups his mouth around the top of your slit, pushing his tongue against the hood of your clit.

“Oh good lord,” you whisper. He repeats the movements of his tongue in figure 8s when your hands fly to his hair as you quiver beneath him. You like this image, his head between your thighs, his large hands around your thighs. “Right there, keeping doing that thing. Spell out Micky Mouse or something.” 

Rolling his tongue up and down, you buck your hips against his mouth in a loud half whimper half meow. Obviously, you hadn’t expected to make such a noise and when Jungkook looks up at you with your juices glistening on his chin, you get embarrassed immediately at that stupid look on his face. 

He grins. “What was that?”

“No idea,” Biting your lip, you shake your head as you look left and right. “Wasn’t me.”

Smiling in amusement, he adjusts your legs, so each one sits on his shoulders now. With both hands gripping your thighs, he dives back in. It’s more passionate now, he wants you to finish just as good as you did to him. 

You stare at the ceiling, never wanting this feeling to stop. It feels like you’re breaking and you don’t ever want to get fixed if this is how good it feels being broken. 

He licks every part of you in every pattern and motion your brain can be bothered to form in your mind. If you focus hard enough, you think he might be spelling out his name but who knows, who cares anyway.

“Jungkook.” you moan, closing your eyes. Sucking your labia into his mouth, he twirls his tongue all over it, trying to find the spots that make you moan the loudest.

He growls when you whimper his name again.

Arching your back off the bed at a particular spot, he tilts his head to the side, bringing your lips into his. Gently sliding his tongue all over it. He looks up at you, eyes clenched closed, hands grippin the sheets for dear life. It was the hottest thing he had ever seen and his heart fucking implodes at the sight. 

Flattening his tongue again, he dips his tongue between your folds. Incoherent high pitched moans flutter aimlessly from your lips, slipping past the fist you shoved into you mouth trying to make yourself shut up.

“Does this feel good?” he asks, and you shove his head back as a response. 

“Of course it does.” you whimper, biting down hard on your bottom lip.  Using his other hand, he trails his finger down your clit. “Can I finger you?”

“Like, put your fingers in my vagina?”

“Yes.”  

“Be my guest homeboy.”

Slowly pushing in his index finger into your entrance, you quiver at the weird feeling as he pumps into you. Keeping a rhythm with his tongue, he suddenly flattens it, you grind your hips against his wide flat tongue as he inserts another finger into you.

“Shit, that’s a weird feeling.”

“Is it bad?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Nope, it’s a good kind of weird.”

Hooking his fingers up inside you, he slowly pumps into you with a smile on his face. It’s messy and it’s loud and you’re thankful that you put on music because you’re so wet and the sound is gross and you don’t want to remember it when you wake up from this stupor.   Leaning forward, he moans as he covers your clit with his mouth, sucking on it gently. Massaging your g spot, he pumps his fingers into you faster and harder as he licks, feeling your walls clamp down on his finger. God, you’re so tight. He can only imagine how you might feel when he pounds you into his sheets and even that thought is enough to make him hard again.

“I think I’m going to cum. I think.” you choke, becoming restless beneath him.

Jungkook groans against you as you whine, bucking your hips against his face. Using his thumb to massage your clit, he thanks the heavens for his gamer fingers as he pulls his fingers into a “come here” expression inside of you. He puts all of his energy into doing that quick and hard inside of you as he watches your hands grabs out to your breasts, squeezing them for dear life.

“You close? God, you look amazing.” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit. You pant, feeling your orgasm sneak up behind you. You’re so close you can feel it breathe down your neck.

“If this is what you’re like with my fingers, oh man, I want to fuck you so hard, you’ll see stars.”

“Jungkook you fuck.” you scream, arching your back as high as you can, reaching a blinding white peak of your high. You quiver underneath him as he removes his fingers, gently suckling on your clit. 

You whimper his name again, writhing beneath him as you cum on his face.

Falling back to the bed, your thighs shake as Jungkook laps at your juices. Feeling oversensitive and gross, you languidly push him away. 

You’re still on that high when he pushes himself off the bed, standing up to grab one of his clean basketball shirts.

Wiping your thighs, he licks his lips as you watch him through tired eyes. You’re still panting. Your heart is still racing. And your groin is still recovering.

Falling onto his side of the bed, he says. “I’ll let you stay over just because I know how wrecked you are but if you fuck me up tomorrow morning, just know that it was because you stayed and broke the rule.”

Punching his arm, you frown heavily at the brown haired boy. “Shut the fuck up Jungkook, don’t ruin this for me.”

“Did it feel goood?”

You nod. “More than good. I think I just had my first orgasm. I mean, I don’t know if I did but yes, it felt really really good.”

“You had an orgasm?” Raising his eyebrows, he pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Well, I am that good.”

“Fuck, you can’t be humble for even a second of your life,” you twist yourself out of his bedsheets, sitting up on the side of the bed. “I’m getting an uber.”

“Hey,” he asks, sitting up behind you. Placing little kisses over your shoulder blade, he whispers into your skin. “It’s late, just stay here. We can have cold pizza in the morning and we can make out in the shower.”

“As much as I like the sound of that idea …I’m going to pass on that,” grabbing your phone, you open up the uber app. “I like kissing you and if you keep doing it, I’m going to want to do it all the time.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning his chin on the junction between your head and your neck.

You nod.

“I’m fine with that.” Jungkook slaps your phone out of your hand and you watch it fall to the floor before you could even confirm your pick up destination. Pulling you back to the mattress and against his chest, he quickly grabs the blanket and throws it over you both.

“You’re staying,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against your cheek. You turn to him, rubbing your nose against his. “Oh my god Jungkook, you were the one who made the rules. What are you doing?”

You can feel him smile before he closes the space to kiss you. “Rules were meant to be broken anyway.”

“Oh for fuck sake Jeon. Get your shit together.”

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again P10  Peter x Reader

Author’s Note:

I have maybe good news, maybe bad news:

I might update again tomorrow! Honestly, this will depend on how much time I’ll have to edit and how motivated I feel. (Feedback from you guys might help here 😉, particularly about the fic as a whole since this chapter is so short) 

So: maybe this weekend will be back to double updates! If you’d like to be tagged, let me know :)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Without further ado, the last angsty part (well, kind of, it’s complicated):

Then Again, Part 10

(Words: 730)

I know Peter won’t be back, not after everything. That’s the worst bit. Even after we finally confronted each other, things aren’t fixed - if anything, they’re worse than ever.

I love my friends, all of them, beyond words… yet even though I’m overjoyed to know that I still have Ned and Michelle, my friendship with Peter is undeniably in immediate decay and it’s almost unbearable. I’m half in love with him and he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. Not to mention, I still don’t know why they were all ignoring me in the first place.

Like a child, I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the bed, the sound of the door slam echoing around in my brain, replaying over and over and over. My thoughts are reaching and clawing at every insecurity I have. Within minutes my head is aching again and I have to wipe the tears leaking from under my eyes. I’ve stopped shaking for the most part at least.

It’s not the end of the world, I tell myself.

I won’t be able to go to May and Peter’s anymore though, I realize. I push that thought away immediately. I can’t - I really can’t - think about that right now.

I glance at the clock. It’s 11:13 p.m. I might as well try to sleep.

I change into some pajamas, fingers still trembling. I turn out the lights and climb into bed. The air is a bit too bitter, so I pull as much of the comforter around myself as possible. If I close my eyes and focus enough, I can imagine the weight of the blanket is my mom’s embrace. I wish I could call her. It’s not too late that she wouldn’t answer, but I’ve kept this Peter-crush a secret from everyone and it would be too obvious if I tried to explain what’s going on. Plus, I just don’t want her to worry about me - especially when I’m away from home.

Part of me wants to call May. That’s certainly off the table, too, and for the same reason. But man, I really, really want to.

A sheltered part of my brain nags me, whispers that I should reach out to Peter or Michelle or Ned. Again, off the table for obvious reasons. I can’t talk to anybody about this without making it complicated. Plus, I’ll start crying again and I don’t want to deal with that twice. The urge alone is driving me insane.

Why is Peter still the first person I wish I could talk to right now?

I need to stop thinking if I’m going to fall asleep.

I huddle deeper into the blanket and pick up my phone. I tap Instagram to numb my brain.

Dumb idea. Most of the team has already posted something from today and Peter and I are often in the backgrounds. We look miserable in the majority of them. There are a few that aren’t too awful. A handful are of the entire team and all of us look rather happy. (It’s impossible not to smile and laugh while Ned is being petty enough to put bunny ears on Flash.) Then there’s one from the pool, taken by Cindy. It was when Michelle first called Liz. Peter’s got this look, this expression, as he stares at the phone leaning against the wall. Some sort of longing. I know he must miss her. It’s been almost a year and he’s probably missed her every day since. I know it.

All of my insecure Reasons Not To Keep a Crush on Peter Parker are confirmed by this photo. Peter is still hung up on Liz. He likes Liz. He likes people like Liz. I’m not Liz. I’m not even like Liz.

I’m halfway in love with my best friend and he’s halfway in love with someone who isn’t anything like me. The little tiny piece of hope I’d kept hidden away like a lightning bug in a bottle is now extinguished. Or dead. Whichever makes metaphorical sense.

I zoom in on the picture and force myself to stare at it. This is reality. It’s time to let go and accept the fact that my friendship with Peter is nearly finished. Nothing will change as I blindly imagined; it will only get worse from here.

I exit the app and set my phone on the nightstand. Arms wound tight around a wet pillow, the night is swallowed up by black, heavy, deafening silence.

Part 11

Next Update: Maybe November 4, maybe November 10

As always, please let me know what you think! I haven’t gotten many responses the last couple weeks, so I have no idea how you guys feel about these updates. Yikes.

Thank you to my new followers and those who have commented, I really appreciate you guys! Also, if anyone ever just wants to talk - whether it’s about Then Again or anything else in the world - I’m always available!

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, you can reply to this post or send me a(n) message/ask!

Tagged:

@jriles124 @avzuzu @5-seconds-of-sarcasmm @britdiandra @gotnotfeature @theconscientiouswriter @the-redthread @strangerwesley @i-love-superhero @ohgloryy @nicunt @pxrrished @shugr12110629 @look-how-far-i-come @beardedsteveslut @thehanneloner @lionfart @tmrhollandkay @tryn25 @slythergirlimagines @peterparkerismybeing @littlekay15 @anxiousteengeek @profmmcgonagall 

[reader-imagines-blog]

Vows [Part 3] (Jaime Lannister x Reader)

a/n: hey! hi! hello! here's the third part to my jaime story which i am Very Much enjoying writing lmao. im such trash for this character and i just wanT A SOLID REDEMPTION ARC. sigh. anyways. enjoy! 

PART 1 PART 2 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9

 WORD COUNT: 1,533 

 *********************************** 

The Flower in The North's marriage to the Lion of Lannister was the largest source of gossip in Westeros since Cersei's marriage to Robert. Two great houses marrying was practically unheard of, much less a Stark and Lannister union. 

Weeks into the new Lady Lannister's marriage found Y/N rather content, if a bit lonely. She hadn't had very much time to spend with her sisters or her father, being constantly watched by Lannister guards. Y/N had been invited to several luncheons of tea and walks through the gardens with Cersei and she had come away from every one of them uneasy and feeling threatened. 

Y/N was itching for interactions with her family, feeling as though she had been thrown to the lions with no hope of rescue. Y/N missed the frosty air of the North, she missed Jon's constant quiet wisdom, and she missed her twin. The distance between Robb and Y/N was excruciating and no amount of letters back and forth could fill that void. 

About a month into Jaime and Y/N's marriage, word that Jaime had taken a group of Lannister soldiers and was currently seeking 'negotiations' with her father reached Y/N and caused her heart to drop to her feet. 

She had saddled a horse immediately after she received word and rode as quick as she could to Littlefinger's brothel, where Varys had said they'd be. Y/N was furious. Word had spread through the Kingdoms like wildfire that Catelyn Stark had kidnapped Tyrion Lannister and was accusing him of Bran's attempted murder. Jaime had been furious all morning, hardly looking at Y/N and not listening to her pleas to calm down and to not do anything rash. 

Obviously, he had not listened. 

Y/N stopped her horse in front of the brothel and came upon her Lord husband questioning her father on the whereabouts of Tyrion, his sword in Ned's face. Y/N didnt wait for her horse to stop before she had jumped off of her saddle, immediately unsheathing her sword as she stumbled. 

"What in the Seven is going on here? Jaime?" 

Jaime regarded his wife with his signature cocky façade, grabbing her upper arm and dragging her in front of her father. There was a reason Jaime hadn't brought Y/N out in public. He wasn't a fan of who he had to be in the eyes of Westeros, and he knew Y/N wouldn't be either. 

"According to your father's guard here, I was threatening him. And you'll address me formally." Jaime looked at the sword in Y/N's hand and quickly took it from her, tossing it to the side. Y/N's eyes, ablaze with unabashed fury and shame of her husbands current treatment of her, briefly moved to Jory Cassel, and then back to Jaime. 

"Well did you, my Lord Husband?" 

Jaime smirked. "Well let's see, dear wife. I told him that I am going to cut him open, balls to brain, and see what Starks are made of. Does that classify as a threat to you, my darling?" 

Y/N glared coldly up at her husband. Jaime felt his heart drop but kept his smirk firmly in place. 

"Well we'll just have to see what Lannister's are made of first, then?" 

Jaime threw one last glare at Ned before again looking to his wife. Even without a sword, she was willing to threaten him. In a way, Jaime was proud. 

"Tread carefully, dear wife. You are a Lannister." 

Ned chose this moment to intervene, worry for his eldest daughter hardening in his chest and showing in his eyes. "If you kill me, you'll never see your brother again." 

Jaime laughed humorlessly, turning from Y/N. "You're right," He turned and nodded to his soldiers, "Take him alive. Kill his men." 

Y/N immediately began struggling against Jaime, watching his men kill her father's, men she had grown up around. Jaime growled, frustrated, and passed her off to one of his men, his eyes on Lord Stark. "Hold her." 

The second that Y/N was out of Jaime's grasp, she broke away from the Lannister guard holding her, taking his sword and running him through in the process. 

Catelyn hadn't wanted her to train, but Ned and Robb made sure Y/N knew how to fight. Y/N had trained with Jory her entire life, against her mother's wishes.

Jaime rolled his eyes, his glare focused on the body of the guard who had let her get away. Y/N held her own well, fighting off and cutting down three men before Jaime put an end to it. He disarmed her when she was distracted and grabbed her arm roughly, dragging her back to her horse. He brought his face close to hers, his gaze hard as Lannister green met Stark grey. 

"Go back to the keep. We'll discuss a punishment for this later." 

Y/N didn't hesitate before slapping Jaime across the face, a small trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth when he turned back to her. 

"You do not get to threaten me with punishment! What in the name of the Gods has gotten into you?" Jaime didn't speak, noticing the lull in battle and his men watching him, waiting for a reaction. Jaime swallowed as he realized that he needed to keep up with the charade he had created for himself over his years at Kings Landing. Cold. Dishonorable. Cruel.

"I don't do anything in the name of the Gods." 

Inwardly agonized but steeling his expression, Jaime raised his hand to strike her back when Jory Cassel kicked him in the side. Jaime stumbled, eyes blazing when he turned them on Jory. 

"You'd raise a hand to my Lady, Kingslayer?" 

Y/N was immediately grabbed by two Lannister soldiers as Jory continued to fight Jaime, the younger man losing quickly as Jaime shoved his dagger through Jory's eye. 

Y/N's eyes widened as she attempted to lunge forward, rage filling her to her core. She had just stood witness S Jaime ruthlessly kill her childhood friend and mentor. Y/N wasn't quite sure that it was really the kind, witty man she had been married to for a month that she was seeing do these things. 

"You bastard! No! Let me go!" 

Y/N struggled against the soldiers who held her, unable to stop the tears streaming down her face. She could do naught but watch as Jaime approached her father, sword raised in a silent challenge. 

Y/N prayed to the Seven for her father to just submit, to just end this fight and this day, but her prayers fell on deaf ears as her Lord father and husband began to lunge. 

Jaime smirked as he fought Ned and it disgusted Y/N to watch. There was no honor in enjoying battle. 

Y/N cried out when one of the soldiers holding her twisted her arm back too harshly in an attempt to cease her struggling and the sound caused both Jaime and Ned to pause their fighting search for the source of Y/N's distress. 

Another Lannister soldier took her father's distraction as an opportunity and shoved a spear through his leg, causing him to scream as he fell. 

"Father!" 

Y/N broke away from the soldiers holding her and ran to her father, taking his face in her hands. Her arm was throbbing, most likely broken, but all Y/N could process was her father's pained expression. 

As Y/N knelt weeping in front of her father, Jaime approached the soldier who incapacitated Lord Stark and hit him across the face with the hilt of his sword. He then turned to the soldier who had broken Y/N's arm and ran him through, kicking the body off of his sword, sneering. 

Jaime grabbed Y/N's uninjured arm as he passed her, pulling her with him toward his horse. Her struggling and strings of curses became too much for him to handle on his own. He had a guard tie her hands behind her back as they placed her on the horse. At that moment, if Y/N's looks could kill men, she would have made sure that Jaime and every single one of his soldiers suffered before dropping dead. 

Jaime addressed Ned as he climbed on the horse behind Y/N, his arms enclosing her so she stayed on the horse. 

"My brother, Lord Stark. I want him back." 

========================= 

When Jaime and Y/N arrived back at the keep, Jaime immediately set about untying his wife and trying to scan her for more injuries. 

The moment Y/N was free, she scrambled off of the horse and struck Jaime again across his face. Jaime remained passive, watching as tears gathered in his wife's eyes. 

"How dare you?! How dare you speak to me that way in front of your men? In front of my father! How dare you raise a hand to me?! You swore to me that you wouldn't treat me this way! You swore to me that this wouldn't be that type of marriage!" 

Jaime watched as her chest heaved in his fury, his hand coming to try and rest on her cheek. Y/N slapped it away harshly. Her next words, whispered brokenly, broke Jaime’s heart. 

"Am I just another vow to be broken, Jaime?" 

Tears were streaming down Y/N's pale cheeks. Jaime wanted her to be angry, to yell, to lash out as she had been. Jaime had no words for his wife. He just stood before her, watching passively and feeling his gut clench. Guilt replaced his previous anger and Y/N's words played unyieldingly in his thoughts. 

Am I just another vow to be broken? 

Jaime was unable to find his voice, watching with his eyes and throat burning as Y/N waited for an answer. 

When Jaime was unable to provide one, another sob tore from Y/N's throat. She brought her hand up to her mouth, trying to stifle her cries. 

Y/N turned and began walking with as much grace as she could manage back to their chambers, her ragged breaths echoing in the halls and back to Jaime as she did.

“Where are you going, Y/N? We share chambers, you’ll only see me later.” Jaime’s voice shook as he spoke.

Y/N didn’t answer as she turned a corner, out of Jaime’s sight.

[texanredrose]

I just read the Freezerburn Arranged Marriage AU in one go, and I. Need. MORE.

Yeah, haha, I got a little distracted with other projects, so part 11 isn’t done yet, but- WAIT. SHIT. AFTER CHECKING, I APPARENTLY DIDN’T POST PART 10 YET. I AM SO SORRY.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 (here)

Yang awoke with a curse caught in her throat and a thickness in her chest that promised to take a week’s worth of coughing to dislodge. Although extremely well versed in using her chi to deter grievous wounds, the blonde had yet to master keeping herself free of illness, which meant her trek through the freezing rain the night before had left her facing the mundane nuisance of a minor cold. Her head felt cloudy, as though she was wading through a swamp just to reach the next thought, and the pressure above the bridge of her nose hinted at built up mucus clogging her sinuses. With a groan, she pushed herself into a sitting position, suddenly aware she was on her back but not quite sure why that set off alarm bells in the back of her mind until she managed to get herself upright. Forcing her bleary eyes open, Yang cast a look around for her wife, an apology replacing the curse as she remembered not only her propensity for snoring but the position which seemed to cause it. Dull lilac searched the immediate area but Weiss was nowhere to be found, though a few things had changed since she’d fallen asleep the night before.

The slim blade had disappeared, likely with its owner, but her gauntlets were laid with care above the orange cloth as always, the fabric looking freshly cleaned rather than simply dried after being peeled off her the night before, and the gleam to the metal spoke of a recent polish applied to it rather than the water spots and mud from when she’d stumbled on her way back home. At first, guilt washed over her, the obvious explanation being that she’d driven the woman from their bed in the wee hours of the morning and the Atlesian had taken to occupying her time with cleaning up after Yang rather than sit idle, but she could see the sliver of bright sunlight peeking past the bottom of the blinds on the window, indicating that it might well be afternoon rather than morning. She’d obviously overslept, which gave her hope that she hadn’t rolled onto her back until sometime after Weiss had awoken naturally, but it didn’t bode well for her; the messengers from the day before had brought with them enough news to nearly bury her, meaning she’d already lost far too much time to slumber. There was too much to do for her to stay in bed, succumbing to a simple cold. She needed to get to her study immediately, pour over her maps and wrack her brain until a solution presented herself, and she only had about two days to do it by her guess, considering the dire situations presented to her.

Honestly, Yang wasn’t even sure if she could find a suitable solution- one that would solve every problem presented to her- but lying in bed certainly wouldn’t help her one way or another.

Throwing off the blanket and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, the curse she’d bitten back earlier slipped from her lips as her chest and throat protested the movement, followed by a coughing fit that shook the frame beneath her.

That was as far as she got.

“Yang?” Her wife called from down the hall, entering the bedroom a moment later and scowling when blue eyes fell on the scene before her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I- I have- my study-” The blonde fought valiantly to silence her cough, drawing forth the warmth of her chi to try calming her stuttering lungs, but to no avail. Eventually, she stopped trying to speak, hoping that if she allowed the fit to run its course, she might be able to get her point across before receiving an earful for proving the woman right about her reckless actions the night before. The rain and wind certainly hadn’t seemed so bad when she left the tavern’s warmth, but the walk home felt longer than ever as the heat was leeched from her body. She pounded on the center of her chest with one closed fist, hoping to loosen the phlegm she could feel clinging to the inside of her lungs and making every breath a battle, the mucus in her nose starting to leak out instead and making the whole situation that much worse. Before she could think to curse her luck, though, slim hands landed on her shoulders, guiding her to lay back down, the covers pulled up to her chin a moment later. From the brief contact, she could feel Weiss’ cool chi flow into her, just enough to settle her cough and give her much needed time to catch her breath, the cadence quick and labored. Still, she could at least breathe, so she turned a small, grateful smile to the woman now hovering at her bedside. “Thanks.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” her wife said, blue eyes flashing with determination as her jaw set, the hard expression being directed at the warrior Queen promising no easy way out. “You are in no condition to do anything more than lay there and rest. Going out in a storm like that would’ve killed lesser people and I’ll not stand idly by while you work yourself to the bone trying to meet that end yourself.”

Yang opened her mouth to argue but paused. She couldn’t ignore her duties, true, but that didn’t mean she had to start a fight over it either. Another time, perhaps she’d press the issue and test which of them could be more stubborn, but at present she merely wanted to preserve the warmth she’d felt the night before when they laid down together, at peace with each other for the first time in far too long. The affirmation that she could one day hear the woman sing… she didn’t want to push her chances quite yet. “Would you be willing to help me?”

Clearly surprised- either at the lack of rebuttal or the offer, it was tough to say- her wife blinked for a moment before speaking, choosing her words carefully. “What, exactly, do you want help with?”

“The messengers who came yesterday; they need my help.” She sighed, wincing at the wheeze that replaced her normal exhale. “Well, two of them do, and a third requires our presence, but each is pressing. I need the maps from my study, a pen brush, a… lot of scrolls, and enough ink to write out my replies.” The blonde paused, drawing in a deep breath that nearly sent her into another coughing fit, her chest tightening once again. While Weiss’ touch had calmed her before, it hadn’t healed her nearly enough to take away the ache of congestion and the lethargy of her body requesting more sleep and sustenance to combat the illness certainly didn’t help matters in the least. Yet, she managed to offer a small smile, noting the worry on the Atlesian’s face. “I promise, I’ll do nothing but rest after I’ve figured out a way to help them.”

Weiss watched her for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re eating breakfast first. Or lunch, whichever you prefer. After that, I’ll bring you whatever you need.”

“Deal.” Settling back against the headboard, Yang gave a passing thought as to her absent appetite before admitting defeat; food rarely seemed appealing when she was sick, and now proved to be the same, but her wife probably wouldn’t accept that explanation as a good enough reason to skip a meal. It seemed better to cede the fight and force down what she could rather than try and talk her way out of it. “It’s about lunchtime, right? What’s Dad cooking?”

“Stirred noodles, with chicken and vegetables, and a side of fried rice. He mentioned that it’s one of your favorite meals and we both thought you could use a pick-me-up considering your health.” Blue eyes darted away briefly, drawing Yang’s full attention. She could see how the Atlesian seemed torn between speaking more plainly and keeping her thoughts to herself, that age old habit she seemed reluctant to break but also put noticeable effort into doing so, like now. “Our cooking lessons have been quite… enlightening, recently. He’s told me more about your favorite foods than you have.”

“Well, he’s been our resident chef for a while now,” she replied, fighting back the tickle in her throat. Swallowing thickly- and handed a cup of warm milk tea that had likely been hot when it was first brought up- Yang fought to keep her cough under control, grimacing as she drew in a slow, steady breath. She found it a tad curious- cooking lessons with Dad, although it brought a smile to the blonde’s lips, hadn’t been something they’d talked about before- but kept that much in check for the time being, opting to address what other enlightening activities the two were getting up to while Yang attended to her duties. She’d hoped the two would get along despite past misgivings and this seemed to be a sign that they were doing just that, but she didn’t want the learning to be entirely one-sided. Perhaps Weiss could teach one of them how to make her favorite dishes from Atlas- but that would be something she’d have to address later. One thing at a time. “Lunch sounds delicious.”

“I’ll bring you some when it’s ready.” Weiss stood, straightening out her dress- this one was an older Valen style, with another robe beneath it, the cool blue hardly showing through the white outer robe- and then helped tuck the blonde in with quick, gentle tugs on the covers. “Would you like another blanket?”

“No.” She wanted to say more, to express her thanks, but she could feel the cough building in her chest and just waiting to burst forth. The last thing she wanted to do was cause the woman to worry further.

“Are you sure?” The skepticism in those blue eyes hinted that no amount of misdirection on the blonde’s part would dissuade Weiss but she tried anyway.

“Yep.” Yang smiled, silently proud she’d managed the single word without devolving into a coughing fit.

Although wary, her wife accepted her response and left the room, allowing the blonde to quickly grab one of the pillows to bury her face in, muffling the sounds as her lungs began the arduous task of breaking up the phlegm within. The last time she got sick like this was during the early days of the clan war, when she’d yet to master her chi and the fighting took them farther north on the mainland. The cold mountain air had nearly frozen her lungs, burning with every breath in a way that brought pain- nothing like the warmth of a fire or even the sometimes overbearing heat of summer. Back then, she’d tried using her chi to heal herself quickly and got even sicker for it; something about her inner fire simply wouldn’t cooperate when it came to illnesses like this.

“I can take an ax to the back and walk away without a scar, but a little cold and I’m suddenly invalid,” she said once the fit passed, wincing at the wet sound in her voice that promised more of the same if she continued pressing her luck. It helped, she thought, taking a moment to acknowledge the irony before turning her attention to the dire problems she needed to solve. Her body would take care of itself in time but she had an obligation to help her people when she could, especially when asked directly for assistance.

The matter of how to accomplish that remained to be seen, though; attending to everyone’s woes herself would be her default option, of course, but it also proved to be the least feasible- at least, as far as she could remember. Organizing the clans would take a bit of bartering on her part, too, seeing as many had their winter harvest coming up the same as Patch, but those who didn’t would likely have the hands to spare. Unless they had a festival devoted to the Winter Maiden pending, which would require extra help to call forth the blessings. She wouldn’t want to impede either event, partly because it would impact whoever remained behind and because those who volunteered to go would still worry after their family and friends back home. A distracted mind would be more help than none at all but she’d seen how a warrior driven to distraction made more mistakes; it wasn’t the ideal option and she’d prefer to avoid it if she could.

On top of all that, she also needed to visit the Fall Maiden’s temple with Weiss to receive their full divination from the Voice. Personally, she didn’t put too much stock in those old rituals, though she maintained a profound respect for the Voices and their duties. In bits and snatches, she could remember her younger days alongside Ruby, listening to Mom’s stories, the ancient legends that spawned each of the complex rituals carried out by everyone who followed the Maidens’ teachings. They’d listened intently, drinking up every word with starry eyes, and feigned sleep at the end of every tale, waiting until their parents went to bed before stirring. Then, the two little girls with dreams of adventure would trade excited whispers about the stories yet to be told, the ones that would chronicle their own journeys across Vale and spawn even more rituals for people to practice, the Voices lifting up their names in song as the Maidens bestowed their blessings. They would slay terrible monsters, rescue beleaguered villagers, and turn the tides of epic battles together to prove themselves worthy heroes in the Maidens’ eyes, with speeches given- often by Yang, holding her nose closed to affect a stranger tone- citing their mother and father as raising them to be such superb warriors. Her sister thought that, one day, she would triumph over an evil so great, she would become the tallest mountain in Vale, or a perpetually blooming cherry blossom tree, or be whisked away into the heavens to streak across the night sky as a shooting star. Yang wasn’t as ambitious with her aims; all she wanted was a song, an epic ballad sung from temple to tavern detailing her last grand battle, the one where she singlehandedly defeated Gelinlong- the horrible dragon that had put their ancient progenitor, Jianhuren, into his deep sleep.

In hindsight, she’d trade her crown and every ounce of ‘glory’ just to have her family back.

That was the part both of them had always somehow forgotten about whenever Mom told the stories, or when they read Ruby’s books. No one ever woke up and decided to go on an epic quest; something always happened to them. Their parents got sick, their sibling died, their spouse disappeared, their village was destroyed- no quest started out by someone just choosing to look for wrongs to right.

She really wish theirs had.

“Yang?” The blonde blinked, snapping out of her dreary trance as her wife started opening the door. Quickly, she reached up and scrubbed at her eyes, just to ensure she’d removed any evidence of tears beginning to form in them. Yesterday was exhausting enough; now that she was sick, she didn’t want to dedicate any more time to becoming mired in her own sorrows, especially not when others were depending on her. “Yang? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, forcing a smile even as she mentally lamented not being able to smell the delicious looking food laid out on the tray Weiss bore. Two full meals plus a steaming kettle; as much as she’d likely struggle through the small talk, she appreciated the company. Being left alone at present didn’t seem to be doing her any good. “That looks delicious.”

For a moment, her wife seemed more than a little skeptical, but she said nothing as she set the tray down across the blonde’s lap and went to fetch a chair for herself. The Atlesian pulled it up to the bedside, allowing them to both use the tray as they ate. Yang considered- briefly, very briefly- that it might be better to pretend she wasn’t hungry and wait for her wife to leave the room before trying, the hot steam from both food and drink threatening to send her into another coughing fit, but she really couldn’t bear it. She enjoyed Weiss’ company and, considering how rough the past few weeks had been, she wanted to take whatever opportunity she could to just… exist, side-by-side. No unspoken tension, no lingering doubts, nothing hidden between them- it was a nice feeling and she wanted to indulge just a bit more.

They began eating in silence, likely because she couldn’t fool the other woman in the slightest; she could probably tell that Yang was a hair’s breadth away from another coughing fit and opted to give her a chance to clear her lungs out through hot food and drink first. Idly, she mourned that she couldn’t properly taste it, because it would be nice to offer a compliment, she thought. An insincere one would do her no favors, though, and it instead opened up a different avenue for conversation.

“Do you-” She cut off, trying to clear her throat a bit before starting again. “Do you miss the food from back home?”

Weiss paused, her chopsticks halfway to her mouth before returning to her bowl as a thoughtful expression crossed her features. “Yes. Some times more than others, but I do.” She stirred the contents of her bowl, brows furrowing just slightly. Yang watched between mouthfuls, the congestion in her chest doing its best to distract her, but she remained focused. “Our spices are different. Valens use more chicken than pork. Rice rather than wheat. But I think I’ve adjusted rather well.”

The blonde frowned slightly, allowing a few more moments to pass where they simply ate before starting again. “You seem sad.”

“Perhaps a little.” Her wife looked up, a small smile on her lips. “I think, sometimes, that I’d like some apple wine or fried pork, or maybe one of our breakfast pastries with the fruit filling- they were some of my favorites.” She shrugged. “But… I never learned how to make them myself. I… know how to cook more Valen food than I ever thought to learn of Atlesian cuisine.” Returning her attention to the bowl in her hands, Weiss continued without a hint of duplicity in her voice. “However, I have no complaints about Valen meals or learning how to cook them. Your father is an excellent teacher.”

“He is,” she replied, offering a small grin when blue eyes darted her way. She allowed it to fall in the next moment, when the woman had looked away to grab a drink- warm milk tea, just like Yang. Mentally, she tried to count off the weeks until the next time Coco would stop by their small port. The Vacuon merchant would likely have an easier time acquiring items from Atlas than her Faunus counterpart, she reasoned, and would cut her a fair deal for the trouble. A few recipes and ingredients would warrant at least two more bags of rice and three bundles of wood in addition to the usual agreement but she’d make sure to handle that portion of the transaction herself. The last thing she wanted to do was overburden her people with her own whims; the moment her wife considered her fit to leave the bed, she would personally gather the resources herself. “I hope this cold passes swiftly. I wish I could taste this.”

“It’s… probably better you can’t.” Weiss’ brow twitched, a frown flashing across her lips. “I… may have added too much salt. Or not enough fen?”

Yang chuckled, regretting it almost immediately when she started to cough, raising her forearm to shield her face and doing her best not to upset the tray over her lap. About halfway through, her wife appeared at her side, rubbing her back and the cool bite of her chi appeared again, surging through cloth to sooth aching lungs. At this point, the constant coughing was more an annoyance than actual pain but it still threatened to sap her strength.

“Your cough will pass swiftly if you take care of yourself.” Blue eyes fell on her half empty bowls, humming softly. “We’ll make you soup or stew for dinner. That should be easier on your throat.”

“Have you gotten sick like this before?” She cleared her throat again, feeling the thick mucus sliding down the back of her throat and grabbing the tea to try and ease its passage with a long pull. “I’m- I’m usually healthy as an ox.”

That comment received a sharp look as Weiss warily made her way back to her seat. “You shouldn’t talk so much; it’s just going to make you cough more.” At the sheepish grin she received, her wife’s expression softened slightly. “I’ve gotten sick myself a few times, yes. Illnesses like this are common during this time of year in Atlas, but we’ve become well versed in overcoming them.” Her gaze hardened again. “Which is why I’ll allow no arguments until you’re back to your normal self. The last thing your people need is their queen bedridden for a month, or worse.”

Although she sincerely doubted things would get that bad- it wasn’t like Valens didn’t get sick, during the winter months especially- Yang nodded her acquiescence all the same. She hated being sick, so if her wife had experience in recovering quickly, who was she to argue?

They returned to their meal, the blonde pausing only to drink more of the soothing tea and pound her chest when the loosened phlegm became annoying. Weiss would occasionally lean over if she carried on too long, offering light touches to her shoulders, the soft bursts of cold chi creeping into her chest and calming the muscles. Before the warrior queen had finished her meal, though, she found herself full, her stomach unwilling to entertain the idea of finishing off the last few bites like she normally would. She apologized to Weiss- needlessly, she was assured, but she still felt bad about it- and the woman collected the tray, presumably heading to the kitchen. Some part of her felt even more guilty for that but she tried to remember that doing anything to help would get her more of a lecture than simply waiting until she was healthy to repay the favor.

It was only a little comforting.

When Weiss returned, she bore all the supplies the blonde had requested from the study, plus a fresh kettle with a different sort of tea this time that soothed the creeping sourness in her throat from coughing so much. The first thing she did, aside from taking a steadying gulp of the hot liquid, was grab the map from among the pile, unrolling it across her lap. Lilac eyes scanned across varied terrain and boundary markings, the characters for each of the ruling clans etched by a steady hand.

Ren had created it himself, in the months after his clan fell during the Xiao Long’s long march to unite Vale under a single clan’s rule. Every mountain and river, every fertile field and the fresh water lakes, and the thick borders separating clan lands- each marked with care and precision that she admired the man for and greatly respected. Very little had changed over the course of the past three years, thankfully, except a name or two as leading families were replaced. Ren’s family formerly ruled the southern lands at the base of the mountain range separating them from Vacuo, but his father had stepped down as the official leader to join the Valen defense against Atlas, not wanting divergent loyalties to erupt within the clan when he wasn’t there. Ren and his mother had followed, never the sort to be bogged down by status when the lives of others were on the line. When the Lie family returned to find their clan running smoothly, they refused to fight for their former position, content to act as proxies for Yang’s edicts now that she was the recognized Queen of Vale, and they’d served that purpose with utmost honor.

She wished Ren was here now and could somehow use his ink to redraw the physical world rather than simply replicate it onto a scroll. Fingers brushed along the space in the middle of the map, across marked forests and a lake and so much space, her shoulders falling in time with the whisper that left her lips.“How am I going to do this?”

“May I ask what the problem is?” Yang looked up, noting the genuine interest and concern in blue eyes as her wife drew closer.

“Two of the messengers from yesterday are from clans requesting my help,” she said, swallowing past the itch in her throat and the urge to growl out in frustration as she traced her fingers along the map. “One is here, on the east side of Dragon Tears Lake, and the other here, on the south side of Forever Fall. They’re about a three weeks’ ride from each other, and from here almost the same; I have to pick one to help first and by the time I get to the other…” She started coughing, covering her mouth again and grimacing as it passed. She put up a hand, trying to ease the concern in Weiss’ eyes. “I’m fine.” She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Anyway, the Daichi clan is reporting strange beasts harassing their herds and circling their villages. Takes more than a full quiver of arrows to bring them down, or so it’s said. That should be my priority, but they’re supposedly holding the creatures at bay with fire. It’s wearing on them, though, and using up vital stocks. The Ming clan, on the other hand, is dealing with bandits of some sort. It’s a small group, but they’re stealing supplies, and with a potentially harsh winter about to bear down on us, that could be terrible. The clan leader would rather rout them, but they’ve made their hideout in Forever Fall. It’s sacred ground.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” The Atlesian furrowed her brows. “If it’s to protect people, does it really matter where these bandits are hiding?”

Yang ran a hand through her hair, suddenly noticing the texture. Despite their attempts to dry it the night before, it obviously wasn’t the same as when freshly washed, but she ignored the sensation for the moment. “Yes. Forever Fall is home to the Fall Maiden Temple; the clan leaders will not lead their people into the forest for the purpose of bloodshed.”

“And you’re somehow different?”

She nodded, and then sighed heavily. “On top of that, we’re both being called to the Fall Maiden Temple anyway. The Voice wishes to speak with us- nothing bad. It’s just… customary, after unions, to visit the officiator for another blessing.” There was more to it, of course, but she needed to drink more of the soothing tea before she could continue. “So, really, three places to be, and no matter what I do, I get the feeling it’ll be the wrong decision. If I take too many from Patch to ride with me, I put my home at risk. Dedicate to one and the other suffers.”

Her eyes scanned the map again, as if some secret lay within the rice paper to present a solution. Every hour she delayed, the fate of her people could be hanging in the balance.

“Four messengers, three requests…” Weiss spoke softly, as if presenting the option to the blonde whether or not to answer the unspoken question.

“The fourth…” She lifted her gaze, looking towards the door. “Just… let me know that Ruby’s still alive. She sends someone our way when she can.” The letter that the lone man had brought with him, tucked away beneath his orange cloak, lay somewhere in her clothing from the night before. He assured her that her sister was heading north as they spoke, but she couldn’t be so easily fooled; he hailed from the lands far to the south, and this was nothing more than a defense for her to deny anything her little sister might be doing near the Vacuon border. They rarely favored such subtle measures but both of them learned discretion as a matter of course after Yang took the crown. “She’s somewhere in the north. Nothing to be done about that.”

“That makes things marginally easier, then.” The other woman sat beside her on the bed, tracing along the map. “There are two pressing matters, and both of us are needed at the Fall Maiden Temple. It seems most prudent, then, for you to go aid the Ming in launching a counterattack against the bandits, and I can help the Daichi with these beasts of theirs. We can meet at the Temple after both tasks are complete.”

“No,” she said immediately, turning to look at the woman beside her. “It’s too dangerous. What if you get hurt? What if you get separated from the others and then lost?” More and more scenarios popped into her head, each worst than the last, until she could do nothing more than shake her head. “There had to be another way.”

Weiss seemed prepared for a negative rebuke but appeared surprised that it came from a place of worry and not pride, the tilt of her chin and defiance in her eyes shifting to a gentler expression. “I don’t think there is. I understand your concerns, Yang, but I won’t be alone, correct? I can see the task done or at least keep everyone calm until you arrive.”

The warrior queen opened her mouth to reiterate her objection but a sudden coughing fit seized her, stopping the words in her throat as she tried pounding on her chest. It did nothing, of course, except maybe vent some of her frustration, but a moment later Weiss’ touch was there at the base of her throat. The fit lasted a few more seconds, though it didn’t hurt as much as it probably ought to, and the blonde had to concede that her wife seemed to be learning how to utilize her chi more effectively than either of them thought possible.

At the same time, she wasn’t quite ready to be fighting bandits or beasts… but neither was Yang the first time she charged into battle, truth be told. They’d skipped the customary rite of passage due to the clan war and she came of age wiping blood from her brow on the battlefield. Half her life was spent fighting, or riding to a fight, or recovering from one, so it was nothing for her to ride off to yet another one even in the midst of peace. Her wife, on the other hand, grew up in relative safety, with high stone walls and tales of the battles but no true experience as part of them. Yet, Weiss was clever and determined, and she’d somehow kept Blake at bay, though the Faunus wasn’t truly trying… but of the two options, neither was a proper fight to begin with, so perhaps it didn’t matter. The bandits were clever, too, and the beasts strong; anything less and her assistance wouldn’t be needed. Two hard fights lay ahead… and she direly wished there was another way.

Briefly, she considered asking her father for help, but instantly dismissed it. The battle that had nearly claimed his life hadn’t robbed him of his strength entirely, but he would never fight again and they’d found that out the hard way. His chi wasn’t strong enough to protect him anymore, worn down to nothingness in order to save his life, and he only wielded his ax against trees ever since. Plus, with the harvest on the way, every hand that stayed behind would need to pull considerably more weight, and that was exactly the sort of strength he still possessed that Weiss certainly didn’t, though through no fault of her own. In time, it would come, but they didn’t have that at present.

When she could breathe easier, and after finishing off her cup and halfway through the next, she looked at the woman beside her. “Will you promise me you’ll be careful?” She tried to keep the quiver out of her tone but it was there, hinting at all the unspoken worries and concerns. “Retreat the moment things don’t work out. Just your presence may be enough to deter the worst. You don’t have to fight.”

The hand at her clavicle traced up, cupping her cheek softly. “I promise I’ll be careful.” She held her hand there long enough for Yang to lean into the contact before drawing away, taking the map out of the blonde’s lap and beginning to roll it up. “Whatever these beasts are, I’ll do my best to eradicate them.”

“No.” She settled back against the headboard, furrowing her brows slightly. “You’ll go deal with the bandits.” The warrior held up a hand, preempting the argument before it began. “These beasts are too strong to fight with a sword or spear. We have to bring them down or weaken them from afar before even trying up close. Can you shoot a bow?”

“Well… no.” Her wife quirked a brow. “You can?”

“Every Valen learns.” Yang took a deep breath, suddenly feeling weary. Now that the hot meal had settled in her stomach and she at least had a working theory of how to deal with the situation, it seemed her body was rather keen on getting more rest. She couldn’t give into the inclination, though; she still had too much work to do. “Sword, ax, staff, bow, fists- the five core disciplines. I can use a bow… I just don’t like it.”

There were better ways of articulating that, but it escaped the woman at the moment. It wasn’t easy, being locked in mortal combat with others, be they countrymen or foreigners, but being able to see the looks in their eyes, feel their strength matching hers; it made the fights easier to handle, easier to process, granting her the split second decision to take or spare a life just by pulling her punches a little or allowing her full weight to carry her through. Her dad tried to get her to take to the ax- or the staff arts, like Summer and Ruby- but she’d taken the route that suited her. It was for the best, to her mind.

“I suppose that makes sense.” Weiss made a thoughtful noise, looking over at Ember Celica resting peacefully on the dresser. She could see in the woman’s eyes the desire to prod further, ask more questions, but she refrained, instead walking over to the desk and setting down the map so she could bring over the necessary items to write out her responses. Even if she hadn’t gotten sick, the blonde would’ve sent word ahead of them that help would be on the way. She could only hope they wouldn’t arrive too late. “When you’re feeling better, maybe we can talk about that some more.”

“You want to learn?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she chuckled; of course the woman would. Not a single aspect of the blonde’s people or upbringing came up without the Atlesian trying to learn more, and doing an impressive job of it, too. “When we get back. Promise.”

Her wife gave her a small smile before her brows furrowed. “Are you certain no one will object to me entering…” she paused “… Forever Fall?”

“I’m sure.” She winced, trying to pass it off as just discomfort from her illness and not a flicker of doubt on her part. It made perfect sense to her, of course- she carried with her the blessings of the Maidens, or so her people believed, and her life was now entwined with Weiss’ as one- but the Ming clan had remained lukewarm on the topic of her marriage. They might be inclined to reject the woman’s presence once she arrived. “But if anyone gives you trouble, just go to the Temple and I’ll meet you there. Or just stage a defense.”

She’d meant it as honest advice but the flicker of annoyance that passed over her wife’s expression indicate it wasn’t received as such. “I’ll keep that in mind but I’m certain it won’t be necessary.”

“Me too,” she replied with a small, hesitant smile. “I know you can take care of some lowly bandits.”

“Of course I can. I’ve had excellent teachers.” Weiss watched her for a moment before taking back the scrolls and ink, setting them on the bedside table. “You can send out your replies later. Right now, you need to sleep.” The blonde tried to argue but found herself on the receiving end of a forceful glare. “You’re tired, are you not?” She nodded. “It’s your body telling you to rest. Listening will do you and your people more good in the long run.”

“Okay.” Shuffling down slightly, Yang let out a sigh while her eyes slid closed, apparently keen on obeying the woman’s suggestions. “But… just a nap.”

She heard soft footfalls by the door, too heavy to belong to Weiss and their owner revealed himself a few moments later. “How long do colds like this one usually last?”

“Just a few days. If she rests well and doesn’t waste her energy arguing with me.” Yang’s lips twitched into a soft smile, amused by the light teasing the words implied. Even if the whole series of events brought her to this moment of bedridden, annoying agony, it seemed her wife had finally become more comfortable here, enough to return to taking light jabs at each other and earn her a gentle kiss to her forehead. She kept her eyes closed and they seemed content to lower their voices while exiting the room, leaving her to her illness induced slumber.

“Hmmm… I guess there’s no helping it.” The man sighed, heading back out of the room. “We were supposed to start gathering firewood from the north side of the forest today.”

Her brows furrowed. Damnit, he was right; on top of everything else, they still had to gather as much wood to start the tedious process of drying it out before the weather worsened. With winter on the horizon, she’d hate for a shortage to lead to long, cold nights for the residents of Patch.

“Perhaps I can assist you?” Weiss offered, seeming rather confident. “I’ve little experience with an ax, but there surely must be something I can do to assist.”

Forcing her eyes open, Yang started to sit up just as the door closed, the two stepping out into the hall. She almost called out- because like hell her wife was going to spend hours hauling wood thanks to an inconvenient cold- but her father’s thoughtful hum stopped her.

“Now that you mention it, I think we can work something out,” he said with a chuckle. “Go grab a snack from the kitchen and meet me by the door.” Yang had almost sat up when the door opened again, her father peeking his head in with a smile. “Thought that’d get your attention. Don’t worry, I’m not going to take her into the forest.”

“You know she’d do it.” She coughed to clear her throat, grimacing slightly while swallowing down a mouthful of phlegm. “Weiss would find a way.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m going to take her into town.” His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “I think it’s about time she met Grandmother.” Yang’s shoulders slumped, mouth opening to object as another coughing fit seized her. Her father chuckled, amused by her concern. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Get some rest, little dragon; you deserve it.”

“But- wait- stop!” Despite her attempts, she ultimately failed to articulate anything remotely convincing to stop Taiyang before he slipped back out of the room, the sound of the front door echoing up to the second floor. Bonelessly, she collapsed back against the bed, focusing on clearing her throat enough to breathe while running a hand over her face.

Silently, she begged the Winter Maiden to give her wife patience… and Jianhuren to protect anyone foolish enough to try and mediate the impending battle of wills. It might be an empty gesture but it was all she could do, aside from closing her eyes and reaching deep within herself to stoke her chi into hurrying her recovery process.

[wirgins]

Golden Kamuy Question Box

Young Jump is accepting questions sent from fans for Noda Satoru to answer. They’ve been posting answers once a day on the official Golden Kamuy twitter. I’ve gathered and translated all the Q&As so far and will continuously update as new answers are posted.

All question numbers link to the original source. These usually contain screenshots pertaining to the manga scene in question and might be helpful in providing context to the questions.

Questions for Volumes 1 - 4

Q001. The greatest mystery in Golden Kamuy is the truth behind the missing gold. Has sensei already decided in his head what it is? Or is it only temporarily decided and something that might change depending on story developments?

Of course I’ve decided on it. If the story continues as planned, it’ll remain unchanged.

Q002. When did Sugimoto get the scars on his face? In the scene where he’s facing the battlefield in volume 4, he already has them…I really want to know!

I think it happened early in the war. The first division fought for 3 months at 203 Hill then went to Mukden in the winter. According to the clothes worn in the volume 4 flashback, they are heading to Mukden.

Q003. I’m currently enjoying the tankoubon releases. I work as a librarian and I’m always impressed with the abundance of references listed at the end of each volume. How do you search for and gather your literature and sources?

I learn from authentic Ainu sources. Even with famous fictional works featuring Ainu, professors will warn, “There are a lot of inaccurate details, so you must be careful”. Because of that, I try not to read creative works. I buy recommended materials and if those materials have references or works cited listed, I buy those too.

Q004. If Shiraishi were to grow his hair out, would it be straight or curly?

It would be lightly wavy.

Q005. Out of all the foods you ate for the sake of researching Golden Kamuy, which was the most delicious that you’d like to eat again?

Raw liver. It’s possible to catch hepatitis from it though, so I really shouldn’t eat it. Recently, hunter Kubo Toshiharu was on an NHK documentary where he cut out a deer’s liver and suddenly said, quite erotically, “You’re a delicious deer”, but I think the scene where the liver was eaten was cut. That kind of liver can only be eaten on the spot. If you’d like to eat it, then you’d have to become a hunter.

Q006. How does First Lt. Tsurumi protect his forehead while bathing? Does he use a bath bucket? Please explain.

I think that his brain isn’t really exposed. It’s covered with skin to some extent. But fluids leak when it’s rubbed or if he gets excited. He takes his head plate into the bath with him. The inside of it is probably caked with fluid. I wonder if he plays with it while it floats around.

Q007. I’m planning a trip to Hokkaido this summer. Can Noda sensei share with us a location that most strongly represents the time period Asirpa and Sugimoto lived? It doesn’t have to be a tourist spot. I want to experience the casual world of Golden Kamuy. Thank you.

The Historical Village of Hokkaido.

Q008. Is Kouhei or Youhei the oldest of the Nikaidou brothers?

Kouhei was born a bit earlier.

Q009. Are Shiraishi and Sugimoto’s socks that got mixed up in volume 1 still mixed up?

Even now they’re still mixed up.

Q010. Please tell me Tanigaki nispa’s chest measurement. I want to hug it and sleep on it.

It would be about the same as Jason Statham’s. [Note: Google says this is 48 inches.]

Q011. Is it true that you had sexual relations with Mr. Okuma Hakkou, your managing editor?

Where the hell did you hear a rumor like that? We didn’t.

Q012. I want to be a father like Nihei. I want to become a father who talks about boners properly. And I want to explain to my son the importance of boners. However my appearance and my voice are not rough enough. How can I become that kind of a brilliant man?

I too wished I could’ve been born a man as sexy as Murofushi Koji. But we have to work with the cards that life dealt us.

Q013. In volume 4, chapter 34, Hijikata goes to the bank to retrieve Izumi no Kami Kanesada [his sword], but why was it being kept at the Hokkaido bank? I’ve heard pretty often that it was sent to his brother-in-law in Hino during the Battle of Hakodate.

There are also theories that he had multiple Kanesada with small differences between them. 

Q014. What is the difference when Shiraishi’s name is spelled out in kanji versus when it’s spelled out in katakana?

There’s no particular reason. When there’s already a lot of katakana in a word bubble, I’ll spell Shiraishi out in kanji. It just depends on my mood at the time.

Q015. Since it seems like you collect a lot of research, have you ever ran into any fans while visiting places for research, such as museums, etc.?

Not at all. It’s because I gather everything in secret. I’m thankful to the many museum curators I’ve interviewed who’ve read my works. I received a letter from Kushiro City Museum before going there to conduct research. It also seems like the people at Abashiri Prison wanted to provide support since my previous work, “Supindarama!”.

Questions for Volumes 5 - 8

Q016. When did Sugimoto get that scarf he wears? Is his scarf still okay after it was cut apart by that yakuza boss?

He got it when he went to Otaru. Since there were many foreigners in Otaru, I think it’d be easy to obtain foreign-made goods. After his scarf got cut, he kept it in his pocket then he’d have to sew it up later, right? Like how Kenshiro [from Fist of the North Star] would have to sew up his red shirt every time it got torn, too. 

Q017. Shiraishi says [to Ienaga] that he’ll “keep her company, passionately and whole-heartedly”. Are there other women in the past that Shiraishi has kept company with?  

There are not. It’s because he spent such a long part of his adolescence in prison. He’s a man who’s only had sex with sex workers. He’s had some favorites among prostitutes, though.

Q018. Why did Ogata grow his hair out after being hospitalized and become the most devastatingly sexy private first-class?

Because he felt liberated.

Q019. Why are peaches Ushiyama’s favorite food? Is it because he also likes butts?

Yes.

Q020. Is the “Kano” part of Ienaga Kano her real name? Or is it a pseudonym?

It’s a fake name, her real name is Chikanobu.

Q021. Cosplay is one of my hobbies, and I thought this time I’d like to cosplay Kiroranke. But I’m having trouble understanding something about his hair. How in the world can you achieve that kind of a haircut?

His hair is cropped short to around the ear or the whorl of his head. I referenced this hairstyle from old photos of Karafuto Ainu men of that time period. 

Q022. Who shot Captain Wada? I’m so curious that I can’t sleep at night.

It was Tsukishima.

Q023. Why is Egodai not wearing any shoes on the volume 8 back cover illustration?

To foreshadow his death.

Q024. Does Edogai’s house not have a bath? Since Sgt. Tsukishima went to a public bathhouse, I’m guessing there’s no bathtub, but it’s hard to imagine Edogai also going to a public bathhouse. Back in those days, baths in residential homes didn’t seem to be popular yet, so this must be the case.

Edogai doesn’t have a bathtub. He’d be able to hide it with a towel, though, wouldn’t he? Yubari also had hot springs along with bathhouses. He’d go somewhere where there’s not a lot of people. A while back, I also went to bathhouses, but I’d go 30 minutes before closing. There weren’t any people around during that time. It’s not that I didn’t want people to see my dick, but it’s because seeing the dicks of random men I don’t even know makes me feel ill.

Q025. Please tell us the sex, age, and name of the cat with the center part fur pattern in Edogai’s house! I want to know more about that adorably ugly cat. Thank you.

He’s a male. Since he’s just a stray that wandered into Edogai’s house, his age is unknown. I think Edogai would’ve just called him “kitty”. When I was younger, we kept a cat at my parent’s house, and no one in our family could decide on a name, so we just called it “kitty”.

Q026. I have one question that’s been troubling me lately, it’s about my favorite, Sergeant Tsukishima, and I’d like to ask about it. Since I’ve learned that Tsukishima enjoys taking long baths, about how long are they? Maybe you could share with us any particular stories regarding Tsukishima’s long baths.

After leaving the 7th Division’s barracks in Asahikawa and mobilizing in Otaru with First Lieutenant Tsurumi’s group, bathing times were no longer tightly controlled, so it’s possible that Tsukishima just wound up taking longer baths as a result. It’s also possible that since Ogata doesn’t like soaking in hot water for a long time, that he finds the amount of time Tsukishima takes in the bath to be excessive.

Q027. Ogata’s hair grows so quickly. Why is this?

It’s because the author’s hair also grows fast. I don’t find the detail to be odd myself. Some things that seem ordinary to the author can seem strange to the readers, huh? In “Hana no Keiji”, Keiji scrubs his dick after he pees and I guess that’s just something normal to Hara sensei (the author).

Thus concludes all the questions so far! The official Twitter states their next Q&A Box will cover volumes 9 to the current issues.

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 |

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.  

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.  

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.  

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.  

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.  

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

[writingrei]

fragmented memories | chapter 8

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 9 | chapter 10 | chapter 11 | chapter 12

i ALMOST forgot to mention that theres quick inukik in this chapter but ONLY this chapter

---

“Mr. Inuyasha…” Kohaku whimpered.

Inuyasha's crooked smile carved across his face, no sign of the person he used to be in his expression. He adjusted his hand’s position on the Tessaiga, ready to stab the blade into anyone.

Kohaku gasped, curling into himself and guarding his face with his arms and turned his head to the side. He felt thick chunks of blood fall off of the blade onto his clothes, but his blood had yet to join the bandits’. Spreading his arms to see between them, he saw Inuyasha frozen above him. His voice croaked, the sword in his hand trembling. As he looked down on the boy, his eyes were filled with puzzlement. His clenched jaws struggled to part but let out a strained, “Get out of here.”

Kohaku dropped his arms in bewilderment, but rolled away in time to miss Inuyasha implanting his Tessaiga in the dirt of the ground. The young boy scrambled backwards on his hands and feet, kicking up dust, only stopping when his back made contact with a tree.

Inuyasha's body was tensed up, struggling to remove himself from the Tessaiga. His heart continued to beat violently, waves of the sacred jewel shard’s energy continuously flowing through him. He pulled himself off of the hilt of his sword, his body not wanting to comply. He let out a growl that turned into hissing between his teeth. His body felt like it started to creak as he began to take one step opposite of Kohaku. He took another, then another, and another until it was a jagged and forced pace away from the boy, forcing himself to keep his balance and keep himself away from his weapon.

The empty depths of Inuyasha's mind slowly began to feel as if it became tighter and closer to him, what he was seeing through his eyes came closer into view.

He tried to hold out his arms in front of him, as he slowly made his way over to a tree. He placed his hands on the rough bark, groaning in pain and frustration. Making sure he had a good grip, he pulled his head back and slammed it into the bark. The impact caused the dense tree to get a dent in it, wooden chips beginning to jut out of it. Inuyasha hissed his teeth, digging his forehead into the bark before pulling it back again. He slammed his head into it again, and again, and again. Wooden splinters flew and the tree leaves rustled with every impact. The more he slammed his head, the more control over what he felt and what he did spilled back into his body.

“Dammit. Dammit! Dammit!”

His slamming stopped, and Inuyasha's breathing was labored as the half demon finally returned to his own body. He felt like he was touching the tree with no effort, no longer forcing his body to do what he wanted. All of his muscles relaxed, the pain from his internal struggle settling in as his shoulders slumped and his arms fell beside his waist. The hair that kept itself raised above his body fell back onto him, resting itself on his shoulders and back. Inuyasha shook his head and blinked out the red and green in his eyes as his irises returned to a hazy amber.

Kohaku watched the incident, his concern towards Inuyasha keeping him from running away.

"Mr. Inuyasha…?"

Inuyasha huffed, standing up straight to turn around and look at the boy.

"My bad."

"Are you okay…?"

"Yeah."

"Ah… you're bleeding," Kohaku said, pointing out the blood leaking from the new split in his forehead. It was relatively small, but still enough to leave a mark. At least on humans.

Inuyasha shrugged.

“You’re still coming with me to this village?”

“Yes! Of course,” Kohaku said, getting to his feet again.

Inuyasha nodded, going back over to his Tessaiga and pulled it from the earth and returned it into its scabbard. Without looking back at the boy, he continued on his path and hoped that Kohaku would follow behind him.

Why did I… slaughter all of those bandits like that? I didn't even mean to kill those first two… Just wanted to scare them off or something.

He scratched his neck as he thought, reminiscing over the awful feeling of losing control of his body. Inuyasha ran his hands up his face, feeling his skin and made sure that it was him who was in control of feeling this sensation. He ran a hand through his white hair, his nails getting caught on knots of it. He kept letting his fingers run through, a twinge of pain poking him as he accidentally pulled a couple of strands loose from his scalp. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but it grounded him knowing that he himself caused him to feel that and nothing else.

It has to be this sacred jewel shard… I need it out.

He slipped his hand through the collars of his clothing and placed it above where his heart would be. His heartbeats were a lot faster than he remembered. His fingers curled, nails pressing up against his skin as if to pierce it-- but he didn't do it. He contemplated the idea of taking out the shard from his heart but… it was in his heart. Would it really be worth tearing that out and then bleeding to death?

Inuyasha shook his head and pulled his hand out from his clothes. He couldn't do it, so he kept on walking.

His ears twitched and he began to focus on his surroundings. He could hear Kohaku walking behind him, but he sounded farther away. As expected, Inuyasha didn't expect him to be as trusting of him as before.

----

The sun setting doused the sky in a luxurious red and orange, the heat of the day quickly faded into a comfortable cool atmosphere. A woman with long black hair dressed in the garbs of a priestess entertained a group of children at her feet.

“Lady Kikyo! Lady Kikyo! Please, please, please play with us!” a young boy cried out, tugging on her bright red hakama.

“My apologies, young Hitachiin, but it's best you go back to your mother. She'll be worried about you. The rest of you should do the same. I must head back to my quarters,” she said, looking down at the children with a small but warm smile on her lips.

The children whined and aww’ed, only leaving with a bit more urging of the priestess. She waved them goodnight as they all scrambled to get back home before the sun set for the night. The dirt and gravel crunched underneath her sandals as she returned to a small home the villagers left her. Her smile faded as uneasiness settled in her stomach.

There are… two sacred jewel shards that are approaching… and one is tainted.

Inuyasha sniffed the air around him, stopping his pace in his tracks.

“I smell something."

"Oh no… Is it another group of bandits?"

"No. No, it smells completely different. Like graveyard soil and bones… Ugh,” Inuyasha knocked his head with a fist and scratched his head furiously.

“Mr. Inuyasha…?” Kohaku asked, taking a step back.

“I’m not losing it again, cool it. Something is just eating at my brain from the inside out. I’ve gotta know what this smell is coming from,” Inuyasha said, feeling a dull spot in his memories that he tried to reach for. It felt too far away. He would have to wait again.

The smell was faint, but beneath it was something more familiar. His eyebrows furrowed with the slightest bit of curiosity towards it, like it drew him to it.

A soft glow permeated the darkness in between the trees ahead of them, something emerging from them. They cascaded above the two boys, and took the shape of long, pale, insect-like eels. They moved like blankets gliding through the air, the light they emitted drawing Inuyasha and Kohaku’s eyes to them.

"Soul collectors?" Inuyasha asked.

"Those belong to that priestess," Kohaku said.

Inuyasha snapped around to look at the boy, exclaiming, "Priestess?!"

Kohaku recoiled from the shout, but loosened up. "Yes… I overheard from Naraku that her name was ‘Kikyo’."

Inuyasha's heart fell, and sucked in a long and deep breath. He looked in the direction the soul collectors came from, and without a word he sprinted towards the source.

"Wait! Mr. Inuyasha, wait for me!" Kohaku’s voice quickly faded from the splitting distance between them.

The soul collectors had guided him to her before. They'd guide him again.

Kikyo readied her bow and arrow, preparing herself to aim at whatever was approaching her with increasing speed. She leaned against a wall and stared at the doorway, its entrance obscured by a long and thick cloth to block visibility from both inside and out.

Inuyasha's feet planted harshly on the ground in front of the lonesome house. The smell was obviously coming from in there, it enveloped him and locked itself in his clothes and his hair. He was met face to face with the cloth obscuring the door and inside, his sensitive hearing picked up the sound of a bow's string being pulled back. The possibility of Kikyo being inside of this house, in his grasp again, made him wary.

The last memory that was clear to him was seeing her cold eyes carving their way into his soul as Kikyo sentenced him into an eternal slumber. And then he woke up.

He took a breath and stepped forward, stopping just short of the entrance when an arrow flew past his face, the light trailing behind it fading into the distance. Despite the close call, he wasn't scared even if he heard another arrow being drawn.

Inuyasha's lips quivered as he pushed aside the curtain and stepped inside the house, the pressure from the atmosphere outside dissipating into nothing. He was met with a bow and arrow pointing directly at him, the same cold eyes boring into him as when he had first died.

"Kikyo," he said, his tone harsh.

She did not respond at first, but she lowered her bow slightly and lessened the stress on the bow string.

"Inuyasha, what are you doing here?" she asked sharply, seeing the blood doused on his face and clothing.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Inuyasha wanted to come closer to her, to figure out why she smelled like that.

"Don’t move. Tell me why you have a jewel fragment."

He wasn't surprised that she knew. “I got it from someone.”

“Tell me who.”

Inuyasha had a feeling she wouldn't like his answer. He prepared himself mentally for the backlashlash as he uttered the name, “Naraku”.

The stress on the drawstring increased as Kikyo focused on her target.

“To think you would sink so low to ally yourself with your own enemy for a slice of power… I'm disgusted. Why do you affiliate with him?” Kikyo snapped.

My own enemy?

“Answer me!”

“Kikyo, what do you know about Naraku?”

She squinted at him, her cold stare dampening a bit. “Don't play the fool, Inuyasha. Now answer my question.”

“Look, I've got no idea what the hell you mean by my ‘enemy’. He's more trustworthy than you ever could be; he promised me a sacred jewel shard and I got it,” Inuyasha growled, reminiscing over his last moments before being sealed on that tree. “...and when you had promised me the entire jewel-- look where that got me.”

Kikyo hissed under her breath.

“You betrayed me, Kikyo.”

“Kagome.”

Inuyasha blinked at the girl's name leaving Kikyo’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Kagome. Does the name mean anything to you?”

Inuyasha's teeth gritted, the name “Kagome” scratching at places in his memory that didn't exist. “No-- hardly.”

“So you've forgotten,” she said, lowering her bow and arrow. “Your memories have obviously been erased, and more than likely it's from Naraku. Either that, or you're just an impressive actor.”

“I ain't acting about anything.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Even then, to think you would fall prey to his shallow words… I cannot help but feel disappointed.”

“Kikyo, you need to answer some of my questions now,” Inuyasha said.

“Ask them with haste, once you're done, leave at once.”

“Leave?” Her telling him to get out struck a nerve in his heart, taking offense to it more than he should have.

“Your presence will be a burden in this village. Both yours and the other jewel shard holder. It's not as if they would be kind to a demon covered in the blood of his fallen enemies.”

Inuyasha slapped a hand onto his cheek realizing the dried blood of the bandits remained on his face, congealed and hard. He tried to pick some of it off before focusing on the conversation again.

“Kikyo, the other person who had the shard was a kid, at least I’m pretty sure he has a shard. The only reason this blood is on me is because I was protecting him,” Inuyasha responded.

Except the blood stuck to his hand did not belong to those enemies.

“A child?” she asked, focused on that jewel shard slowly coming closer to them. “Tell me, were you protecting the child, or the jewel they possess?”

“It's my turn to ask questions, Kikyo.”

Kikyo glared at him, silencing herself to listen.

“Since you didn't answer me earlier, what do you know of Naraku?”

“Naraku… Inuyasha, you should not ally with him. He in turn was the one who had gotten us both killed.”

“...What? Kikyo, are you dead?”

“Not long after I had bound you to that tree, I succumbed to my own injuries. Inuyasha, much has happened since you were unsealed.”

“Is that why you smell like that?”

Kikyo nodded. “My grave was disturbed, and I am now sentenced to an eternity of roaming this land. At least until my supply of souls runs out, or until this vessel crumbles to pieces.”

“Those soul collectors really must be yours, then.”

“They are. Have you anymore questions? If not, then go.”

“I've got one more question. What do you know about Kagome? And what is she to me?”

“Kagome and I are one in the same. She is my reincarnated soul. What she is to you is none of my business. I cannot walk you through this struggle. Your memories are yours, and you must leave this responsibility to yourself to restore them. ”

Kikyo dropping the fact that Kagome and her shared the same soul without any regard towards how he might react hit him like a boulder rolling down a cliff. His head spun as he processed the sudden statement.

“That was your last question. Leave,” Kikyo said, gesturing her head back at the entrance Inuyasha came through.

“Mr. Inuyasha?” a voice called from outside.

Inuyasha slipped over to the obscured entrance with ease, brushing the curtain aside to peek his head out. Kohaku panted, his jog slowing as he rested his hands on his knees to take in heavy breaths.

“Yo.”

Kohaku perked up, his face lighting up with relief upon knowing that he had finally caught up. “You finally found the village!”

“Mm,” Inuyasha turned back to look at Kikyo who continued to glare at him. “Kikyo, let us stay for tonight. At least just let the kid stay.”

Kikyo's eyes narrowed in agitation but she just closed her eyes and turned away. “Do as you please, but once you wake up in the morning, don't let the villagers see you.”

Inuyasha's eyes softened, gazing at Kikyo before blinking and having his eyes travel back to Kohaku, who was still hunched over as he tried to recover from the excruciating sprint. “Come on, Kohaku.”

The young boy wobbled inside, Inuyasha holding up the curtain for him as he entered the tiny house. He stared up at the priestess in awe as he felt her spiritual energy purifying any darkness that tainted the room, as if she were her own source of energy. Being in her presence made him nervous from hearing Naraku’s animosity towards her in the past. He did not share those feelings, but he felt that being near her might prove to be dangerous.

Inuyasha yawned. “Are we supposed to sleep right here?”

“I do not care. But know that I will be keeping watch over you throughout the night.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the farthest part of the room and sat in a corner, plopping on the ground with his arms folded. Kohaku leaned against a wall for support but slowly fell to his knees, and gently lay himself on the ground. Within a few seconds, his body which trembled with exhaustion now only twitched in his sleep.

Damn, he falls asleep fast. Inuyasha thought to himself.

Kikyo sat against the furthest wall across from Inuyasha, making sure that he and Kohaku would remain in her sight for the entire night. Inuyasha occasionally shot wary glances at the priestess who stared back at him. He would huff and turn his head away to look at Kohaku who was sprawled on the floor. Needless to say, he slept like a rock.

It felt like Inuyasha had been awake, but his mind had settled down. He didn't realize how dark it was before noticing that his eyes felt glued shut. He felt himself drooping over but couldn't bring himself to sit up straight again. The creaking of floorboards swirled through his head, his ears twinging at the muffled sound. His surroundings came clearing to his hearing as he heard footsteps approaching him.

They paused and knelt in front of him, Inuyasha feeling a mellow pressure surrounding him. A cold hand slipped in his robe, goosebumps immediately running up all over his skin and waking him up. He snapped up to look at the person who dare to violate him in his sleep, the perpetrator pulling their hand back. Inuyasha’s sharp golden eyes locked with Kikyo’s, whose sorrowful black eyes reflected the half demon’s. Inuyasha tensed up, but let his muscles relax upon feeling that she meant no harm.

Soft blue lights floated around her, emitter by her soul collectors that had returned to her. They watched over her like guardians, cradling the souls of numerous dead women in their limbs.

"Inuyasha, your shard is tainted," she said as she let her hands get close to his chest again. "You mustn't let it consume you."

Inuyasha stared at her as she focused on the jewel fragment imbued in his heart. Kikyo pulled aside the robe and garment underneath to see Inuyasha's bare skin. It was still riddled with goosebumps from Kikyo’s cold touch. Her temperature was not that of an average human, yet the spiritual energy she began to pour into him balanced it out. The sensation of a weight being lifted off of him flooded through his body, the harsh expression that stayed locked on his face melted away.

Light glowed between them, from both the Shikon jewel fragment and from Kikyo’s resounding energy. Both of their hairs hovered above their clothes, wisping around as if they were being cradled in the wind.

It was the same as when Kagome had shot him with her arrow, the evil influence from the Shikon jewel shard being forced out temporarily. The thick outline on Inuyasha’s eyelashes lessened, the soft but affirmative gaze that was written in Inuyasha’s eyes returned to him. His mind felt clear, and the image of him next to a girl enveloped him with the feeling of comfort and acceptance. He could remember the feeling of her hand clasped with his, their grip on one another reflecting the trust between the two.

Inuyasha's face flushed in a light red as Kikyo did not move her hand. His heart beat against her palm, the pulsing no longer hurting as much from the jewel shard.

"Your pulse feels different."

He gulped. Hard.

"Kikyo. It feels like it's only been a few days since I woke up from the seal. Even so, I still missed you," Inuyasha said looking away from her, his eyes flickering around the room.

"You've been awake for a while," Kikyo said, removing her hand.

Inuyasha's shard glowed with a pure light, almost as if it was no longer in him. He grabbed the priestess' hand, reluctant for her to go so soon. Kikyo looked down at her hand in his, then up at Inuyasha’s face.

His heart felt like it was beating in his throat as he stared at her in awe. A faint blush painted Kikyo’s cheeks as the two refused to break eye contact. He sighed and they closed their eyes, leaning into one another. Kikyo’s hand slipped from Inuyasha’s, leading both of hers to his jawline. He moved his hands to her waist and pulled her closer to him. Their lips pressed against one another's, the half-demon and undead priestess taking their time to run their fingers through each other's hair.

Inuyasha felt… content. He felt happy. Relieved. The two were tense earlier, but like how times where before they had both died, they enjoyed being alone near one another. Well, almost alone.

Lighter footsteps filtered in Inuyasha’s ears. He blinked open his eyes and pulled away from Kikyo to take a deep breath when he saw a flash of a blade from behind Kikyo. He sucked in a harsh breath, almost choking on it and shot up to his feet. He tightly grabbed Kohaku’s wrist, no regards to holding back his strength. The young boy stared through him, his eyelids drooping.

The boy held his Kusarigama in his hand, his grip on it not firm at all.

“How interesting it is that you chose to spare this boy's life after threatening the woman you love,” he crooned.

Inuyasha's hold on Kohaku's wrist loosened, his head cocking to the side. The corners of Kohaku's mouth cracked into a slight but unnerving smile, a smile that was shared with Naraku.

“What the hell?” Inuyasha growled.

“Be careful of which side you choose to take, Inuyasha,” he said, chuckling at the end of his sentence with his shoulders bouncing lightly.

When his laughter died, Kohaku's body fell limp onto Inuyasha. The Kusarigama slipped out of the boy's hand, its blade impaling itself in the wooden floorboards as its attached chain pooled on the ground next to it. Inuyasha fumbled to let go of his wrist and catch his body, the dead weight pushing him back a little. Kohaku's eyes shut, his breathing heavy and relaxed.

“He's asleep…?”

“It's Naraku. His malice towards me runs deep,” Kikyo said, a balled up fist pressed against her chest.

“Why?”

“I will not risk yours or that boy's safety by explaining. Within time, you will learn. But it cannot be from me,” she said, getting up to her feet and heading for the exit of the tiny house. Her soul collectors stayed by her side, one wrapping around her like a scarf.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere in particular. But do not forget, once you and your comrade wake up in the morning, you must leave. Immediately,” and without a word Kikyo left, her soul collectors trailing behind her.

Inuyasha watched dismay, his heart sinking down to his stomach as he held the young boy in his arms. He clenched his teeth, his eyes furrowing with frustration. Before letting his anger get to his head, he took a deep breath to sigh and shake his head. He rested Kohaku down on the floor near him and he rolled over onto his side, his breathing undisturbed by the prior conflict.

The half demon watched over Kohaku for what seemed like hours to make sure that Naraku did not return to the boy's body. He did not see Kikyo return. Inuyasha watched as the cold darkness of the room shifted into that of a warm one as the sun rose past the blocked out windows and door. He remained still and silent, waiting for Kohaku to wake up. Within time, Kohaku’s shifting around in his sleep got more frequent, groaning in discomfort. He blinked open his eyes to see Inuyasha staring down at him, his eyes widening in shock-- but he didn’t scream at the sight. He let out a deep breath to replace the option to scream as he realized he wasn’t in immediate danger.

Inuyasha’s expression did not change, looking at the boy with flat eyes.

Kohaku rubbed his eyes and yawned, pressing on his hands to use as a support so he could sit up.

“Hello, Mr. Inuyasha.”

Definitely Kohaku. He only refers to me as “Mr.”

Inuyasha stared blankly into Kohaku’s eyes, taking in every detail about it so that he wouldn’t forget. The relieved and calm expression in them did not compare to the flat, lifeless, and empty eyes he saw as he tried to attack Kikyo. Kohaku’s head cocked to the side, growing wary of Inuyasha’s silence.

Inuyasha blinked to snap himself out of his haze.

“Let’s go, Kohaku.”

previous chapter | next chapter

[chimchimchoo]

Paper Cranes :: 2

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 1,920

Pair: Jimin x Yoongi

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 (of 7)

“Every Monday, Park Jimin would come into his white, sterile hospital room and leave a small paper crane at the end of his bed.”

The day was dark; the Sun was hidden away behind a blanket of thick, grey clouds. The birds outside were quiet and the wind was still. If the temperature dropped any lower, it could snow outside. Yoongi never had the opportunity to go outside and see the snow, as he always spent time in the hospital or locked himself in his bedroom, focused on writing music.

He thought about what it would be like, to bury his hands into the fluffy, white substance, to see his own nose turn pink and watch the fog come out of his mouth whenever he exhaled. He daydreamed about a snowball fight, or building a small snowman with a rock for a nose instead of a carrot.

Instead, Yoongi sat in his bed, sipping hot peach tea with the soft whirring of the oxygen machine beside him. A small knock interrupted the silence but he didn’t flinch. He was used to nurses coming in and out to check his vital signs and make sure the machines functioned normally. Yoongi kept his eyes on the window, ignoring the sound of light footsteps until he heard the dragging of a stool and a familiar, high-pitched voice.

“Min Yoongi, it’s really cold outside today.”

He turned his head to see the beaming pumpkin haired boy with pink cheeks and a thick, green scarf wrapped around his neck. He peeled off his winter coat, revealing a dark brown sweater that contrasted with his hair and light skin. Yoongi glanced away, concerned that he may have been staring too long. “You do realize this is a hospital, right? People tend to be alone so they can recover.” He muttered.

“But it doesn’t mean that they enjoy being alone.” Jimin responded, pulling out a thick book. Yoongi could have sworn he felt his heart flutter for just a moment, but forced himself to ignore it. He was wrong, very wrong. Yoongi enjoyed his time alone; he preferred it than having worried visitors that drained his energy. Right?

“Um, what is that?” Yoongi peered down at the book, gesturing it with his eyes while setting his tea down.

“Min Yoongi,” Jimin dropped the book down on his lap.

“Yoongi. Just Yoongi.” He flinched at the sudden heavy weight on his leg. How many pounds was this book?

“I found this in the library today, it’s a textbook of music and lyric writing. You were struggling with lyrics last week so I thought this would give you some inspiration.”

Yoongi didn’t have the heart to say it, but he was actually touched by the kind gesture. Since he could never leave the room to find inspiration, Jimin bought it to him. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “I might give this a read, maybe it’ll…kick me out of writers block or something. Thanks.” He tried to hide the admiration while flipping through the pages, skimming over the different terms he saw. Already, he came up with the next line of his composition.

“Do you have any siblings? Any family members that come to visit? Should I not come during certain times?” There he went again with the questions. That boy never stood a change to give Yoongi’s brain a break.

“I don’t get visitors often, actually. They visit once in a while, but it’s rare. My older brother is studying abroad and my family has jobs that restrict them from coming. I get more phone calls than visits.” He regretted saying some of these words, Yoongi wasn’t one to share about himself easily, but something about Jimin’s presence makes him feel like he doesn’t have to hold back much. “What about you? What brings you to this hospital?”

“Oh,” Jimin twirled the stool around, staring at the ceiling with a smile. “My dad is in Room 602, I visit him every Monday after class to keep him company.”

“He must enjoy that.” Yoongi responded, growing dizzy just from watching Jimin spin.

“I hope so.” Jimin replied.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean? He can’t possibly be unentertained with that blabbering mouth of yours.”

“He’s in a coma, for 11 months and 9 days now. But he will wake up soon…I know it. His vitals are getting better each day.” Jimin stopped himself, giggling from the dizziness and used the chair to steady himself. Yoongi only watched with a frown on his face. He couldn’t understand how that boy always had a smile, what kept him so optimistic? Yoongi couldn’t imagine having a family member of his own in a coma, especially for that long. Just the thought of it was too painful.

Jimin dug into his bag and pulled out some more papers and a pencil bag, scooting himself closer to the small desk on Yoongi’s bed.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asked Jimin carefully spread out his papers on the empty side of his desk. “I have homework to do.” He beamed and ran a hand through his hair, pulling the pumpkin colored strands out of his eyes before focusing on the task.

Yoongi’s eyebrows rose as he watched, confused. He didn’t know if he should be annoyed that some kid barged in to do his homework, or comforted by his presence and the fact that he took time out of seeing his father once a week to be in the same room as Yoongi, someone he barely knew.

Realizing that Jimin was actually quiet for once, he turned his eyes away from staring too long, put the black headphones over his ears and continued making his music, occasionally skimming through the book. Every now and then, he would also peek over at Jimin, whose eyebrows furrowed in frustration over the math problems, not noticing that there was a small smile across Yoongi’s face.

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

With a deep, raspy sigh, Yoongi peered out the window, taking a short break from writing lyrics for a few hours and thought of the snow again. It looked like powdered sugar when he saw it in movies, did it taste sweet? Or was it bitter like the salty ocean? Did it crunch under their shoes or melt into liquid?

A light knock was heard as a nurse walked in with a tray in her arms. “It’s time for another checkup Yoongi, today I need to draw some blood-oh, Jimin! I see you’ve made another friend.” She smiled as Jimin lifted his head and twirled his pencil. “I don’t know how you do it, getting to know everyone in this hall. But I’m sure they appreciate it the company, don’t you Yoongi?”

Yoongi didn’t respond as the nurse set the tray on a small table beside the bed.

“I like Min Yoongi the best though.” Jimin, you literally just met me last week, Yoongi bit his lip and held out his arm toward the nurse. “He’s around my age so I can talk to him more comfortably.” Jimin smiled as the nurse wiped Yoongi’s arm with a small cotton ball.

She picked up a needle, carefully searching for a vein before piercing it through his skin. Jimin didn’t flinch at the sight, as he must have watched the procedure hundreds of times with his father whereas, Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed in pain, looking away. It must have been obvious how uncomfortable needles made him because he felt a warm hand on his free arm and glanced at Jimin.

“Hey, do you like the beach or the forest?”

“What?”

“Just answer it.”

Yoongi thought over it for a few seconds and opened his mouth. “Forest.

“Breakfast or dinner?”

“Dinner.” He replied quickly. “I’m not a morning person.”

Jimin smiled at his comment. “What’s your favorite thing to eat?”

“Lamb skewers.”

A flash of surprise appeared across his face. “You know, there’s a famous restaurant just down the street from here that sells lamb skewers. It’s supposed to be the best in this city! Let’s eat there, you will love it-” The nurse looked up and slightly shook her head toward Jimin, silently telling him he couldn’t leave the hospital that easily. “Or, I’ll just bring it to you!”

“You don’t have to bring me any lamb skewers, I can survive just fine on hospital food.” But Yoongi mentally wished he would do it one day. The thought of eating lamb skewers made his mouth water. He was sick of the bland food they served at the hospital.

“There we go.” The nurse muttered, covering the puncture with a Band-Aid and neatly set the tubes of his blood samples on the tray. “You’re all finished and it looks like your oxygen flow is steady as of now. I will be back later with your medication.” She smiled before quickly exiting his room.

“You’re not a fan of needles are you?” Jimin finally took his hand off of Yoongi’s arm and picked up his pencil. Yoongi realized he distracted him the whole time and forgot the nurse was even drawing his blood. He sighed in relief and silently thanked Jimin.

“No, no I’m not. I don’t like pain.”

“No one does.” Jimin chuckled quietly and continued his homework.

Just a few minutes later, the nurse showed up again with a small bag, hooking it over Yoongi’s bed before attaching an IV needle to his arm. To his rescue, Jimin shared a story of how he almost got kicked out of the dance room the first time he snuck in and had to clean the bathrooms for a week as a punishment. A faint smile appeared across Yoongi’s face as the nurse collected her things and left for good.

While Jimin focused on the last few pages of his assignment, Yoongi’s eyes wavered toward him, watching him erase a mistake on the paper. What about Jimin? Had he seen the snow before? Did he know what it tasted like? Did his hands go numb after having snowball fights for hours without gloves? What was it like to build a snowman with him?

“Min Yoongi,” The soft, high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts. “Visiting hours are almost over, I still have to see my dad.” Just for a split second, Yoongi felt his heart sink, but he understood. His father was much more important after all.

“Hold onto that book until you finish it. I’ll pick it up when you’re done.” Jimin scrambled his papers into a notebook and shoved it in his bag. He made his way to the window next to Yoongi’s bed and checked to see if it was shut and secure. “Make sure you dress warm, there’s cold air leaking into the room.”

Jimin smiled, wrapping the green scarf around his neck and hung the winter coat over his arm. “I think my father will like you, you’re both really alike. Maybe he’ll have the honor of meeting you when he wakes up.” He gave Yoongi a small wave before skipping out of the room, leaving the door opened a crack behind him.

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile, but it went away as soon as he realized the room was empty again. All he heard was his oxygen machine and pacing steps of nurses rushing down the hallway. Perhaps Jimin was right. He may have been alone a lot, but did he actually like it?

Before Yoongi flipped a page of the book Jimin lent him, he spotted a small object from the corner of his eyes. Sitting at the corner of his bed was a small, delicate paper crane.

This time, the color was white, like snow.

[mariequitecontrarie]

All of Me: Chapter 11

The Fic: Belle French is a pudgy librarian who’s in love from afar with “town monster” and ace reporter, Mr. Gold. Little does she know, he’s head-over-heels in love with her, too.  Chapter Summary: Belle deals with the fallout of her impromptu overnight stay at Gold's house when rumors about the town's newest couple begin to circulate. @beastlycheese prompted: “Could I prompt a scene where they deal with the abuse because of their size differences?” Thank You: Amazing beta who saves my life @magnoliatattoo! Happy Birthday, sweetie! Thanks also to @sarashouldbestudying for letting me pester her with Italian questions! Artwork: @wizzygold A/N: THANK YOU for voting All of Me Best Rumbelle Fic and Best Trend in The TEAs! I love you guys so much!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Stay with Me (between Ch 9 and 10)

{On AO3} {On FF}

“Judge tenderly, if you must. There is usually a side you have not heard, a story you know nothing about, and a battle waged that you are not having to fight.”  ― Traci Lea LaRussa

Marco tossed fresh zucchini slices into a sizzling sauté pan and inhaled deeply. Was there a more comforting aroma in all the world than that of hot olive oil and garlic melting together? Bellissima! With a contented hum, he swiveled back to the cutting board to chop the rest of the vegetables for his lasagna bianca. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Madonna mia, it was two o’clock already! He rocked the knife against the board faster; he needed to hurry if he was going to have this batch ready in time for tonight’s first dinner reservations.

As he finished chopping the peppers, agitated footfalls sounded outside the door. Belle stormed into the kitchen, shoving the swinging kitchen door against the wall with a crash. Surprised to see her in the middle of the afternoon, Marco wiped his hands on his apron. “Buona giornata, Bella,” he greeted, then snapped his mouth shut at the mutinous expression on his sweet girl’s face.

“What’s so good about it?” She brushed past him and ducked into the refrigerator, emerging with the cassata cake he had prepared for tonight’s dessert special.

He watched her cut a large wedge and stomp to the booth in the back corner of the kitchen reserved for his staff to eat during their breaks. She plunked her slab of cake down on the table. Eyebrows raised, two of his waiters scurried out of her way, carrying their spaghetti lunches out the back door. He would have chuckled at their befuddled expressions, had Belle not looked so devastated. Her brow furrowed, marring her dewy skin as she glared at the cake in front of her.

“Something wrong, Bella?” He set down the chef’s knife and took a hesitant step in her direction. “You’re chasing my staff away.”

“I chase everyone away,” she said, chin wobbling as she rifled through bins of cutlery looking for a fork.

“Ridiculous.” He clucked at her, then brought over a fresh set of utensils and a starched napkin. “Anyone with any sense adores you. Is it Edith?”

“For once, she’s at the bottom half of my list of problems,” Belle shot back, then pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much.  

“Che cavolo! What problems?” he asked, growing alarmed at the anguish in her voice.

“It’s nothing.” She smoothed the napkin over her lap, refusing to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry. Besides, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not Signore Gold?” Marco clenched a dishtowel. He liked Gold, thought he was a wonderful match for his sweet girl, but if Gold hurt his Bella, he would summon his ancestors to haunt the man’s dreams for the rest of his earthly days.

“No,” she said, her expression softening as tears filled her eyes. “It’s not Gold. And don’t go dragging him into all this!”

“Into all what? You say it’s nothing.” He shrugged, offended that Bella would think he couldn’t be trusted with a secret. He was no chiacchierone, but he didn’t object to employing a little well-meaning guilt. He was Italian, after all. “I’m just an old man who makes pasta. Who am I to get involved in your love life?”

“I mean it, Marco.” Belle suspended her fork in midair. “Don’t call him.”

Anger bubbled under his skin, not unlike the spicy marinara simmering on the stove. Everything had been going so well. Bella was surely, albeit slowly, finding love and building a future. But now she was once again closing herself off to the world for reasons she wouldn’t tell him. She needed the comfort and confidence of his friendship more than ever. Friendship…of course! He nearly smacked himself for being such an old fool.

“I promise not to call Signore Gold,” he said, crossing himself. And he meant it. He wouldn’t call Gold. He would call Emma. And then she could call Gold. There was more than one way to skin a cat, si?

“Please, Marco, I know you want to help. Could you just leave me alone for a little while, though?” Belle begged.

Her voice was hoarse and her eyes red-rimmed, like she would burst into tears at any moment. Marco struggled between what she wanted and what was best: being alone was the last thing she needed. That was Belle’s entire problem—she internalized every struggle, and hid herself away from other people. Then, alone in the dark, she consumed her demons’ weight in fudge instead of facing them.

“Si.” Marco nodded solemnly, and stepped quietly back from the table. Leaving Belle to her own counsel for the time being, he scurried out of the kitchen to the telephone behind the bar. He punched in the number for the Storybrooke Mirror, hoping that Emma would answer instead of Gold.

“Bella, she stormed into the restaurant and cut herself a fettona of cake," Marco confided when Emma answered his call.

“Fettona?” Emma paused on the line. “Is that a new flavor or something?”

"No. Come si dice....how do you say in English?” He gesticulated wildly, not that Emma could see his arms waving as he searched for the words. “Ah! Big piece of cake.”

"Oh! Yeah, I think I know what this is about,” Emma said. “And I can feel you wringing your hands. Don’t worry. I’ll be right there.”

Groaning, Marco hung up the phone and mopped beads of sweat off his brow with the corner of his apron. Turning out perfectly al dente pasta creations during the dinner rush was nothing compared to this stress.

Her stomach tightening, Belle toyed with a sliver of toasted almond on top of her cake. Everyone knew they were a couple now, and it was only a matter of time before Gold thought better of his decision to get involved with Belle French. Nice going, Belle. In less than forty-eight hours, she had lost her shiny new status as Gold’s girlfriend. She poked and prodded the offending morsel as her mind played the events of the past days on a sadistic loop.

The visit to Gold’s had been idyllic, until her father and Edith had arrived to humiliate her. After their abrupt departure, she and Gold had managed to salvage the rest of their morning together, finishing their breakfast without another mention of her parents.

Had the mechanic at the garage looked at her strangely? All Belle knew was that everything had been fine—until yesterday when she’d picked up her car and gone back to work.

Word of Belle’s overnight visit to Mr. Gold’s home had spread faster than the oil leak the garage had discovered beneath her broken-down car. How and where the rumors started didn’t really matter; from the sidewalk to the library to Granny’s, everyone stared at her and spoke in hushed tones. Since she’d arrived at work yesterday, her brain had tortured her with round after round of the dreaded game Guess What Is Everyone Saying?

“Did you hear that Belle French is sleeping with Mr. Gold from the newspaper? Yes! He’s more than twice her age. I knew she didn’t get along with her stepmother, but I didn’t realize she wanted to replace her father…that’s so creepy!”

“I wonder if such a little man could actually please a woman her size? You know they do say the bigger the cushion. I’ll bet he needs climbing gear to get up there!”

“What if she rolls over and crushes him in bed?”

Less than twenty-four hours after an innocent overnight stay, their fledgling relationship had become everyone’s business, if not in fact, then in her overwrought imagination. Fresh tears filled her eyes and she dropped her fork and buried her head in her hands.

The argument in Gold’s foyer with Edith. The deafening silence from her father. While she’d been with Gold, Edith had rifled through her room again. She hadn’t said anything to give herself away, but Belle had known by the subtle way her things were shifted around. Edith was a sloppy snooper. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Yesterday afternoon she’d escaped the library to eat a quiet lunch at Granny’s and come face-to-face with one of least favorite people.  

When Belle looked up from her tuna melt and her dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, Ashley Boyd, Sean’s girlfriend, was sliding into the seat across the booth. She frowned down at Belle’s basket of fries and wrinkled her nose. “Wow, Belle. How do you do it?”

“Excuse me?” Belle asked, annoyed by the interruption. Mr. Darcy was about to propose to Elizabeth Bennet for the first time and she was in no mood for pleasantries.

“How do you eat all that? I can’t eat a huge, sandwich filled with mayo and butter and cheese in the middle of the day.”

“Special talent,” Belle snapped back. “Pairs really well with the fried ravioli I had for breakfast.”

“It’s not only that,” Ashley simpered. “I mean, you’re so brave...dating a guy that's thinner than you. Thank God Sean can span my waist with his hands. I wish I had your courage, hon.”

“I wish I had yours,” Belle replied sweetly. 

“Oh yeah?” Ashley looked confused.

“To date a guy another woman's already dumped. Now that takes moxy. As you can plainly see,” Belle gestured at herself, “the only seconds I like are the ones on my plate.”

Ashley stiffened, her eyes turning as cold as ice chips when it dawned on her that she’d been insulted.

Belle’s face had burned as Ashley stalked away, but her embarrassment was trumped by the satisfaction of finding her voice when confronted with someone horrible. I should not have said those things. She sighed—yesterday she'd managed to send doubt and regret on a brief holiday. Now they were back, and guilt had joined the party.

Then there was the scene she made at the library this morning.

Cordelia had pounced while Belle was trying to unload a shipment of new books before story hour. Bless her heart, she was positively effervescent—bubbling over about how handsome Mr. Gold is and pumping her for details on everything from their dinner to the movie they watched to what color and thread count the sheets were on Gold’s bed. Busy hefting crates of books and only half listening, Belle had grunted monosyllabic replies until Cordelia announced that if she were twenty years younger she would steal Gold away from Belle and marry him.

That had captured her attention.

“What do you mean, steal him away?” Seething, Belle rounded on Cordelia, her hands on her hips. Sweat was trickling down her back and between her breasts and her lungs were burning with exertion. She needed a snowball snack cake more than she needed her next breath, but she wasn’t letting that comment go.

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Well, that is…I meant to say…if you don’t want him, dear…”

“You can keep your man-eating clutches to yourself. Gold is mine!” Belle bellowed at the top of her lungs.

Everyone in the library had turned to gawk at her, no doubt wondering why the head librarian was screaming at her assistant during quiet time.

It was simply all too much. She had ignored Cordelia’s sputtering apology, ripped open a packet of snowballs, shoved one in her mouth, and stomped back to her office.

If the rest of the town didn’t already know about Belle French dating Mr. Gold, well, they would now. It would be even more humiliating when he broke up with her for subjecting him to public embarrassment.

Belle startled when Emma Cassidy appeared at the kitchen door, forcing her out of her thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest and arranged her face in a severe frown that she hoped said Do Not Disturb.

Failing to take the hint, Emma plopped down with her typical casual grace. She looked adorable in ripped jeans and a turquoise hoodie that brought out her green eyes.

Belle sighed, “Can no one read?”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Next time she wanted to hide in the back of the restaurant and eat all the cake, she would tell Marco not to let anyone disturb her. “I don’t think I'm great company right now, Emma.”

“Let me be the judge,” she said pleasantly, propping her elbows up on the table. “Your face is gonna freeze like that if you aren’t careful. So what's up?”

Apparently no one could read or hear.

Belle dragged the plate of cake back into fork’s reach. “I already told you—nothing.”

“Likely story.” Emma pointed at the slab of cassata cake. “Do you really want that?”

Belle snatched up her fork and pointed it at a threatening angle. “Now you're going to start on me too?”

“Nope.” Emma held up her hands, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Guilt trips aren’t my style.”

“You don’t have to do this. Pretend to be my friend.” Belle didn’t need or want Emma’s pity. She certainly didn’t need her judgment, or her well-intentioned-yet-insulting encouragement to make healthier choices.

The blood drained from Emma’s face and she sank back against the bench. “Oh, I see. You think this is all about you.”

“What?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want to be your friend? That maybe I need one too? Look, forget it. I’ll go.” Visibly upset, Emma stood, struggling to shrug her jacket over her shoulders.

“Wait. Emma, please. I-I’m sorry.” Belle shoved the cake back to the center of the table. “Stay. I have cake,” she offered stupidly.

“You know, Belle,” Emma said, “that day we went shopping? I had so much fun. I thought you did too, and I was so happy to just spend some time doing, ya know, girl things.” Emma grew uncharacteristically sheepish as she played with the zipper on her red leather jacket. “I don’t have that—lots of friends. Sure, I have Neal, and Henry, and Dad, uh, Gold… but no one I can just grab coffee with or whine about periods or anything like that.” She smiled wistfully.

Belle felt the flush of shame overtake her face as she rose from the booth. Walking over to Emma, she placed a tentative hand on her arm.

“Emma, I am truly sorry,” Belle said in earnest. “You’re right, I was being selfish. You’ve been wonderful to me; your whole family has. I’m honored that you would call me a friend.” Smiling, Belle gestured to the booth. “I could use a friend to talk to and a cake-eating partner. Join me, please?”

Emma smiled broadly and tossed her jacket back on the bench, eyeing the cake. “Looks delicious. Besides, friends don’t let friends scarf Marco’s signature dessert alone. Got an extra fork?”

Relieved, Belle handed her the spoon from her cutlery set. “We may as well eat it all. I’m already out of Gold’s weight class.”  

“It’s not a wrestling match, it’s a relationship!” Emma murmured around a mouthful. “Belle, ignore whatever crap that airhead Ashley was spouting and anyone else around town who’s blabbering. They’re jealous.”

“Ha! Jealous of what?” Belle dug into the cake and the smooth flavors and textures of rum-spiked custard, fluffy white cake, and chocolate filled her mouth. Why question people and their motivations when you could eat?

“Are you kidding? No one knows what to do with Dad. Beyond the business of running his newspaper, he keeps to himself besides you and us.” Emma dropped her voice and wiggled her eyebrows. “You've been in the beast's lair.”

Belle choked. “You did not just say that.”

“He’s so love-struck, you could strike a match to that ghastly mausoleum he calls a house and he’d probably thank you for it…wow, this cake is fantastic!” She turned around, looking for Marco, who was busy chopping and stirring, he and his sous chef  speaking to one another in rapid-fire Italian. “Marco, what is in this?”

“Special, secret recipe,” he said, dramatically drawing his finger to his lips.

Belle rolled her eyes, and when she turned back to Emma she was grinning. “What?”

“Wipe the frosting off your nose, Belle,” she said, tossing her a clean napkin. “Your white knight has arrived.”

At once, Belle heard the familiar cadence of Gold’s cane tapping against the tile and shot Marco an accusing look. He looked down in a rush, pretending to busy himself by slicing a loaf of ciabatta bread.

“Before you freak out and shout at Marco, I’m the one who called Gold,” Emma admitted, sliding out of her seat to make way for him. Pulling on her jacket, she smiled brightly as she turned to leave. “Just no make-up sex on the table, okay guys? You don’t want to shut Marco down for code violations.” She laughed as she scurried from the kitchen.

Gold shook his head at his daughter-in-law’s retreating form. “I don’t know if I could put up with her if she weren’t so perfect for my son,” he quipped, sliding into the booth.

Belle stared at the vinyl gingham-printed tablecloth as Gold reached across the table for her hand. She was finding it nearly impossible to look him in the eyes, frightened that she would find only regret in their warm depths.

“Gold, I’m so, so sorry.” Belle trembled as she tried to get the words out.

“Belle, hey.” He pulled his hand back in confusion. “Talk to me,” he urged.

She pushed the cake aside, no longer hungry. The way his brow furrowed in concern clenched at her heart, squeezing until Belle lost control and tears began to stream down her face.

Wordlessly, Gold slid out from the opposite bench at the booth, and Belle was certain he was about to leave, but he edged in closer, settling himself beside her so they sat thigh-to-thigh.

Belle caught her breath. Being this close to him made her nerve endings trip like live wire. Here he was, dashingly dressed in his signature three piece suit, not a hair out of place, and smelling bloody fantastic. She lifted her face to his and attempted a brave smile, but faltered when she met his piercing gaze. He stared at her intently, searching her soul, and she was mesmerized by the tenderness in his eyes. Mercy, had they always been flecked with amber?

It wasn’t fair; he was completely at ease while she practically needed life support to sit next to him.

His lip twisted as he fought a smile. “So you broke Leroy’s Kline’s nose. Threw a book at his head.”

“Heard about that did you?” she said feebly. 

“The library is right across the street from the paper.” He grinned, his white teeth flashing. “A bystander or two might have called in with an anonymous tip in the name of free press.”

“He was mean to you,” she reasoned, her neck prickling with renewed fury. “Calling you a hack. Saying that I was an awful person for…” Belle swallowed. “I didn't mean to break anything, but I suppose War and Peace is rather a heavy book.”

“Is that why you’re hiding from me, sweetheart?” He covered her hand with his. “Because of Leroy?”

Belle looked down. She didn’t have an answer. Not a good one, anyway. “Among other things,” she evaded. “You wouldn’t understand.”

A sweet smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Try me.”

She shook her head. “No one wants to see us together.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said calmly.

Incredulous, she stared at him. “Haven’t you heard? The things people are saying,” she clarified.

Before she could explain further, Gold’s warm, slightly calloused hand closed around the back of her neck, his long, elegant fingers catching a few locks of hair. He hauled her into his arms with a strength that caused a gasp to slip from her lips. Before she could draw breath, his mouth was covering hers, his warm lips gently massaging, tongue teasing her lips apart in a bid for entrance. Helpless to deny him anything, Belle sighed softly and opened like a flower thirsty for rain. The kiss was deep, passionate, and Belle paid no mind to the waiters coming and going through the kitchen, or to Marco or the sous chef stirring at the stove.

He pulled away, cradling her jaw in the palm of his hand. “Sweetheart, do you remember the day we met?”

###

Up Next: Flashback of how Belle and Gold first met.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger. The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Justin Evans

is a poet with four full length collections of poetry and four chapbooks. The chapbooks are Four Way Stop (Main Traveled Roads, 2005); Gathering up the Scattered Leaves (Foothills Publishing, 2006); Working in the Birdhouse (Foothills Publishing, 2008); and Friday in the Republic of Me (Foothills Publishing, 2012). The full length collections are Town for the Trees (Foothills Publishing, 2011); Hobble Creek Almanac (Aldrich Press, 2013); and Sailing This Nameless Ship (BlazeVOX, 2014) which was partially funded by the Nevada Arts Council in the form of a Jackpot Grant, and Lake of Fire: Landscape Meditations from the Great Basin Deserts of Nevada (Aldrich Press, 2015)

From 2006 to 2014 Justin edited the on-line journal, Hobble Creek Review.  He has a fifth collection of poems forthcoming this summer from WordTech, written with his friend, poet Jeff Newberry. He has had over a hundred poems published in peer review journals and a poem of his was recently anthologized in 99 Poems for the 99 Percent.

Born and raised in Utah, he joined the army at 19, served in the First Gulf War, returned to Utah, married, and received his education at Utah Valley University, and Southern Utah University, receiving his degree in History and English Education.  He has been a teacher in the small Nevada-Utah border (read gambling) town of West Wendover for twenty years.  He has a master’s degree from the University of Nevada, Reno, in Literacy Studies.  He was the editor the online literary journal, Hobble Creek Review, for its entire six year run.  My wife and I have three sons.

http://justinevanspoetry.blogspot.com/

The Interview

1. What inspired you to write poetry?

I think my initial attempts with poetry came as a result of my trying to address feelings and emotions which were new to me in my adolescence. What I know now that I didn’t then is that I am on the Autism spectrum, what used to be called Asperger’s. I was confronted with a lot of different emotions, which collided with my history as a child, and I think I attempted to write poetry out of a frustration and inability to express/address my emotions as I saw others doing for themselves. 2. Who introduced you to poetry?

I took to reading the plays of Shakespeare and the collected works of Longfellow, the only poetry books in my house. I had no idea that poetry came in any other form until I started paying attention in my English classes, and even then it was clear that if I wanted to read poetry it would be up to me.

I started writing poetry at the same time. I don’t think there was any thought that I had to learn anything, which was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, not seeking permission was the best thing I could have done for myself. I had made the decision to write, and I didn’t need anyone’s approval. On the other hand, I ended up writing way more than I read, which is a big problem. 3. How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

I was aware of some very big names, like I had mentioned: Shakespeare, Longfellow, Poe, but as I started to get more serious about reading more as I was writing, I was very fortunate to stumble on some of the right names: Neruda, Pound, Ferlinghetti. I also picked up a habit of being economical with my money by buying poetry anthologies, which probably made me see a much wider scope. In an anthology, I read widely and I was getting some pretty good poems at the same time. 4. What is your daily writing routine?

I don’t really have a set routine. I don’t really know how to explain why a set routine doesn’t work for me when most everything in my life is based upon patterns I observed. Perhaps because writing is predominantly a solitary act, I actually never developed my own routine. I like to quote Bob Dylan — “I write ‘em as they come.” What I have learned is to have a pen and notebook handy no matter where I am because I do not know when a poem will come to me, and this I do know: I have to make a choice right then. I will not keep the poem in my mind. I either write it at that moment or I let it go.

When I do draft a poem, I need to do the drafting in one sitting. I can think of maybe half a dozen poems where I was able to write half the poem, quit, then return to it later. When I return to a poem it is for revision. I also draft poems rather quickly. Often a draft will take fifteen or twenty minutes, but there are times when a draft will be finished much faster. In this sense I prescribe to the idea of mysticism (think Rumi and Blake) where the poems are ecstatic expressions. Do I think there is some otherworldly muse whispering in my ear? Probably not, but the poems do come from somewhere, and often complete. I also like to address poetry prompts. I think of them as puzzles, and solving them has its own joy.

Once I have drafted a poem, I need to force myself to leave it alone for a few days so I can come back to it with fresh eyes and revise it with honesty. I love all of my poems and I have a real difficulty distinguishing between my successful and unsuccessful poems because if I finish a draft, I believe it was a worthwhile effort. If I can get a poem past the initial revision phase, I will start to submit it, toying with it if I think it still needs tweaking.

Above all, I do most of my writing with a manuscript in mind. Because of this, I often stop writing while I am working on a manuscript, and will not do any serious writing until I know the fate (whether it be publication or the garbage can) of the current manuscript. This habit used to frighten me, make me think I would never write another poem, but after 25 years and 15 years of having books published, I have come to accept it.

5. What motivates you to write?

My mentor, David Lee, is fond of calling poetry a participation sport, and I agree wholeheartedly. I crave the connections poetry creates, whether they be on a one to one basis with other poets, readers, or people in general. I want to feel that I am a part of something larger, and poetry allows me to feel as if I have contributed something, paid the cover charge, if you will. The act of creating poetry is a fantastic feeling. It is what I imagine weaving a spell must feel like, brining something into existence by sheer willpower and desire.

6. What is your work ethic?

My grandfather was fond of communicating the notion that if you can walk, you can work. I think it’s a holdover of the Puritan tradition in America. Most Americans are far too fond of work, and brag entirely too much about their work habits and I am no different. I am most productive as a poet when I am busy with too many other times. It’s almost as if the poetry leaks out because there is no place for it in my brain. I am driven to create, and once I have what I know is going to be the basis of a manuscript, everything else falls to the side of the road. That being said, when I am not working, I tend to be very lazy in my practical life and my artistic life. I gave up trying to meet the expectations of other writers a long time ago.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

I write for them. Every poet has an audience, and I write for them. Of course the act of writing is a personal pleasure, but there are three or four poets I write for in my head, asking myself what they would say about the poem. I continue to read them. I go back to learn new things, which is a wonderful thing when it happens. 8. Who of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

Just last night I learned of W.S. Merwin passing away at the age of 91. He will always be an phenomenal influence on my writing. In fact, one of his poems, “Just This” from his book The Shadow of Sirius (2009) inspired my book, Sailing This Nameless Ship. Literally. I mentioned my mentor, David Lee. His is an amazing body of work. Poets my age, or from my generation, who are very influential on me, include, Mary Biddinger, Kelli Russell Agodon, Collin Kelley, John Gallaher, C. Dale Young, Eduardo Corral, Diane Suess, Lee Ann Roripaugh, Brian Turner, Gary McDowell, Al Maginnes, Seth Brady Tucker, Ada Limón, Jenn Givhan, Jeannine Hall Gailey, Matthew Thorburn, and Jeff Newberry. I know that seems like a lot of names, but all of these poets have given me so much of themselves to teach me not just about poetry, but what it is to be a poet. If a person was to read a book from any of these poets, their lives would be enriched substantially. Some of them I only know through their work, but many I know by way of social media (I live quite rurally, and I do not teach college as most poets do) and I am blessed to have that interaction. I could list another hundred names with the same reasoning. 9. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I have no earthly idea why it was poetry which caught my attention. I love the visuals of film, I love music, and I am now teaching myself to play ukulele and tenor guitar, but why poetry is my main focus is a very real mystery. My family have always been readers, but not poetry. Maybe it is as simple as when I was a teenager I wanted attention and poetry seemed to be a way to get it without having to compete with my friends and peers. Nobody I knew was writing poems, so maybe it helped me to stand out and then I fell in love with the process.

10. What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Read. You have to read. There are only two things you can do to learn how to be a better writer. The first and most important is to read. Read wide and deep. Read non-fiction, read fiction, read old encyclopaedias. Read poems. Carry a book with you at all times. That one is from Stephen King. He’s right. You never know when you will have a few extra minutes to read. Copy out poems you like by hand. Copy out poems you know are eluding you. Read and re-read. The other thing you need to do is write. Write by hand, write on a computer. Write essays, stories, and poems. Write late at night and early in the morning. Spend a few hours writing to see how it feels. My poem drafts may be quick, but that’s because I have been doing this for more than thirty years, and when I write prose, I can sit in front of a computer for hours and not feel time pass because I am so absorbed in the process. Make writing a tactile expression as much as it is an intellectual process.

Understand that your early efforts are going to be mediocre. It takes a long time to get better, and any writer who tells you they have mastered their craft to their satisfaction is either a liar or is afraid to admit the truth —that it takes a lifetime to be the writer you are supposed to be. I started writing when I was fifteen. My first poem was published in 1994, when I was 25. It was another three years before I had a poem published, then another three years after that before I started to see my poems find regular acceptances in journals. My first chapbook was published in 2005, and in the fifteen years since it was accepted to date, I have had three other chapbooks and four full length books of poetry published. 11. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

Right now, I am going through the proofing phase with my dear friend Jeff Newberry for a book of epistolary poems we wrote over the last three years. It’s coming out this summer from WordTech Press. I have always wanted to collaborate with another poet on a book of poems, and Jeff was very receptive to the idea. Jeff came up with the idea of writing letter poems to each other because we both admire Richard Hugo’s work. We seemed to arrive together in the early stages of the process that the poems we write should take on an aspect of faith and how we see ourselves as fitting in or not fitting in with worldly expectations. Jeff thought when we had enough for a chapbook, we would be finished and I said I had always intended to write a full length book. We kept on writing and ended up with a wonderful manuscript, naming it Cross Country, referencing both the theme of faith and that I live in Nevada and Jeff lives in Georgia. From there, we split the work load. I submitted individual poems to journals, and Jeff fashioned the manuscript and submitted it to presses. The book must have been a bigger hit than I thought because in a relatively short period of time, the book had a home. That is literally what I have going on right now, aside from the aforementioned tenor guitar and ukulele explorations.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Justin Evans Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[fey-and-sudden-and-unholy]

Surveything

1. Do you think traveling is something that every young person should do to gain life experience? I do think seeing a bit of the world is a universally enriching thing, so yes.  I do not think it should be seen as a status symbol, though.  I tend to be against status symbols in general.  Let’s just abolish all status symbols.

2. How do you feel when a mostly unheard of band (or tv show, movie, etc.) that you love suddenly starts to gain popularity? I feel happy.  More popularity means more money to people who I feel deserve it, which hopefully means more of That Thing I Like, whatever said thing happens to be.

3. When was the last time you listened to new music? A few days ago.   4. Do you think it is strange when a couple says “we are pregnant” rather than “I am pregnant” or “my girlfriend is pregnant”? Maybe a bit?  It depends on the tone, I suppose.   5. What word spelled out looks weird to you? Nothing specific comes to mind, but I’m sick and fairly certain half my brain has leaked out of my ears, by this point, so that’s natural... 6. Do you ever feel like you were born in the wrong era? What decade would you most like to have grown up in? Eeennnhhhh *vague, wiggly, anomalous hand motion*  Not a past era?  I mean, I like the aesthetics of lots of those, but... I don’t think an era where I would really feel at home has happened yet.

7. What was your most memorable concert experience? Tool on their Lateralus tour.  There were no spotlights on any of them and Maynard gave an inspiring speech about how it was all about ART,  and there were surreal images projected up on screens and acrobats suspended on silk, and the music just pulsed and surged and swallowed you up.  It was like a religious experience.  Ozzfest ‘01 was pretty great, too. 8. If you have any, are you close with your sibling(s)? Has it always been that way? My younger, half-sister and I are thick as thieves.  At first, not... really?  She was a baby, and I’m not a baby person.  But then one day when she was like four or five, I dropped by after I’d been away a while, and she ran up and shouted my name and hugged me and... Nobody in my family has ever really been that happy to see me?  And the Grinch’s heart grew ten sizes that day.  :-P  

9. Do you require “closure” after things like break-ups or do you move on easily? Closure is whenever I make up my mind to stop caring.  You can’t depend on other people for it.  It gets fairly easy, after a while, though sometimes it does take some work.

10. How long does it take for someone to earn your trust? It happens in stages, and varies from person to person.  I don’t think there is anyone I trust completely. 11. What was the last thing you bought tickets for? Plane tickets for FaerieCon. 12. Do you like peanut butter? Yes, quite a bit! 13. Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school? Do/did you prefer wearing it then regular clothes? No, though there was talk of changing to it.  I was fairly against the idea, at the time. 14. What’s the last thing you got really excited over? I’m presently in a constant, low-key state of excitement for Ireland.  23 days before we get on the plane! 15. If you have a blackberry, do you BBM or text more? If you don’t have a blackberry, do you text often? I used to have a Blackberry, but I have no idea what the hell a BBM is.  I text more than I do anything else with my current phone. 16. Which fictional universe do you most want to live in? The first to actually come to mind is the Harry Potter universe... but there are lots that I’d be happy in.  17. Is there a genre of movie that you just can’t watch? I’m kinda picky about my comedies.  But no, there’s nothing that I actually can’t watch any of.

18. What was the last song to give you nostalgia? No idea. 19. Do you have a certain color grape you like the most? I like them all.

20. Are there any movies you’ve walked out of the theater on, because they were just that bad? My great aunt took me to see the first Ace Ventura movie, when I was a teen, and made me leave with her after like... 20 minutes.  I didn’t get it, so I didn’t fight her on it.  (It’s worth noting, I’ve watched it since, and even if it’s not generally my thing, you’ve kinda gotta appreciate how utterly and unabashedly ludicrous it is.) 21. What’s your signature thing you do when drinking that will make your friends say, “Alright, they’re drunk”? I don’t tend to get outright drunk, but I get giggly and blunt and wax philosophical after a couple martinis. 22. Have you ever been on a hot air balloon? No, but it’s on my bucket list.