#it enjoyed chewing over your points and formulating my own

[randomfoggytiger]

Yeah both Scully and Mulder suffer their fair share of traumas but the fact that Scully's (the female character) is so heavily focused on her reproductive system is absolutely misogyny, the fact that it's not malicious/intentional doesn't make that not misogyny, it's the nature of the trauma that makes it misogynistic not the amount of it

Agree to disagree, Anon! :DDD

The villains of the show view women as vessels to be hollowed out for their own nefarious purposes, not the writers-- the distinction is important. And the villains overlooked Scully's capabilities and prowess because of this, relegating her to second place after Mulder and his quest-- not the writers. From the very first episode (written by Chris Carter), Scully was given agency and equal footing with Mulder; and that continued through the series despite the executives and other busybodies trying to make Scully walk behind Mulder or do this or that because of societal expectations still lingering in the 90s.

Misogyny specifically is "hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against women or girls. It is a form of sexism that can keep women at a lower social status than men, thus maintaining the social roles of patriarchy"; and one could argue Scully's treatment throughout the series might merit that criticism... except the show and its writers stated over and over how wrong, sick, and twisted the villains were for those actions. Moreover, those same villains inflicted trauma and dehumanizing torment on Mulder as well; and his "manhood" didn't prevent him from being used as a pawn in their game as far back as his childhood. It's messed up all around.

Furthermore, I've come across tons of literature and series featuring similar plotlines that were written by women, for women (even in the fringes of this fandom, fics taking place outside of the mytharc storyline.) Is that misogyny or an exploration of the depravity of that cruel and misogynistic mindset perpetuated by evil, twisted men (and women, lest we forget Diana Fowley)?

The problems begin when the writers felt the crunch in S7, trying to think up a way to keep the show going despite all signs leading to a conclusive ending. Thus the pregnancy arc.

Was Scully's pregnancy and motherhood arc inherently out of character? No, I don't believe so-- but as much as it reduced her to a parrot repeating "my baby" every two seconds instead of mothering little William, it also stripped Mulder of any on-screen connection with his son for the majority of S8 and all of S9. Both were robbed-- not because of misogyny (which would have viewed Scully and her personal problems and struggles as lesser than Mulder's) but because BOTH of their personal problems were less important to the writers than the mytharc (well, a few of the writers, anyway.)

It's clunky, lazy writing, that's all. I don't believe the writers have a misogynistic bone in their body; but I do believe that the storylines they pushed through stretched into absurdity because they were not properly set up, paced, fleshed out, or justified. That, however, does not make them misogynistic or bad people.

Those are my thoughts, anyway~. :))))

[cacoetheswriting]

library hours [reimagined] - spencer reid

warnings: age gap, professor / student, maybe a swear word or two, a lil tension, but mainly a fluffy first interaction word count: 1.7k summary: a late night at the university library leads to reader meeting a certain handsome professor.

a/n: this is a reimagined / rewritten version of this fic. for those interested, the original centres around baby!spencer. both fics start off pretty much the same, what differs is the interaction between spencer and reader.

-

There was something you always enjoyed about the going to the library.

Perhaps it was the way every single person that walked through the threshold had a purpose. A mission to complete. Perhaps it was the quiet. The solace you felt sitting alone in a corner researching various topics, for class and for recreational purposes.

The university library had quickly become your second home. A location you frequented more than your own dorm room. It wasn’t always to study, no. You people watched. Doodled. Even napped there from time to time. The place brought you peace, and by the time you senior year rolled around, you saw the librarians more than your college friends.

The university library was also the place where you first met a certain handsome professor, doctor - which in time became the main reason why you liked it so much.

Lights were slowly being turned off section by section. A vacuum came to life in one of the aisles. People started to scramble from their seats - shoving their things into their backpacks, throwing out empty coffee cups into the overflowing bins, checking out books they might still use that evening.

All signs indicating it was time to go.

Dolly, one of the librarians, ushered towards you. Her jacket draped over her shoulders, her bag in hand. She gave you the usual spiel of how you can stay until the janitor is finished cleaning, to which you politely nodded along. She wished you a pleasant night, and with a “see you tomorrow” she hurried out the door.

Once she was out of sight, you groaned under your breath and ran your fingers through your hair. You had an assignment due tomorrow, one you started hours ago and only managed to formulate three total sentences. Your gut was telling you there was no way you were going to finish now, especially since you had about thirty minutes until you would have to leave.

Leaning back in your chair, you fluttered your eyes closed in an attempt to collect your thoughts. The tranquil feeling didn’t last long however, as you were abruptly brought back to reality by someone loudly clearing their throat. You immediately sat back up and quickly scanned the space for the source of the interruption.

A tall brunette man stood a few tables away, his hands slowly sliding into the pockets of his pants. He was definitely older, by how much you couldn't quite tell. But, you definitely took notice of how handsome he was.

“The library is closed for the night.” He stated, the tone of his voice calm yet stern.

“I have permission to be here.” You retorted with as much confidence as you could muster, but the mysterious man didn't seem impressed with your answer. With an arched brow, he took a firm step in your direction.

“From who?” He challenged, as if he was waiting to catch you in a lie.

You folded your arms across your chest, unwilling to give in to whatever game he was playing. “Dolly, the librarian. I could call her if you don't believe me?”

The brunette didn’t respond. Instead, his lips twirled slightly upwards into a sly smirk and with the way he was now looking at you, you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You only hoped he didn't see the faint pink blush now present on your facial features.

“May I?” The man asked after a brief moment of silence, pointing to to the chair beside yours. You found yourself nodding, before quickly turning your attention away from him, and back to the book in front of you.

While he made himself comfortable, his leg brushed against yours. The sudden close contact sent a jolt down your spine and you shivered. A small act he definitely noticed.

“You’re not some sort of killer, are you? You’re not here to murder me?” You asked, tilting your head to once again look at the man. Shaking his head, he let out a wholehearted chuckle.

“No, I’m definitely not a murder.” He reassured.

“Definitely? That's over selling it, don't you think? It’s exactly the kind of thing a murder would say.” You teased in response, gaining a little bit of your courage back. He didn't reply. The smirk on his face widened just a little and he eyed you silently, as if you were a treasure map he was desperate to solve.

The two of you stared at one another for what felt like eternity. There was something amicable about the seconds that passed as you looked into his hazel eyes. Something harmonious. Friendly. Strong.

When you finally broke contact and proceeded to return to working on your assignment, you could still feel his gaze burning into the side of your head. In any other situation, with any other stranger, the feeling would have made you uncomfortable. Scared even. But there was something quite thrilling about the mysterious brunette sitting beside you.

“I’m a profiler.” He said after another moment of comfortable silence. “I work for the FBI as part of their Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He added as you glanced up at him from your notes, intrigue gracing your facial features. The statement was to make you feel safer in his presence - not that it was needed since you already felt strangely guarded around him.

You smiled, dropping your pen and shifting in your chair to face him completely. “So, agent, what are you doing at a university library on a Thursday night? Did the bad guys take a break?”

“Doctor.” He calmly corrected.

“What?”

“It’s doctor, not agent.” He said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.”

The smug look on his face earned him a playful eye roll. “You don’t happen to have a PhD in History under your belt, do you, doctor? Because that would be very helpful right about now.”

“No, but I do have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words per minute.” He declared and you gaped at him in disbelief, mouth parting ever so slightly in shock.

Great, you thought, as if he wasn't intimidating enough.

“You could have just said you were a superhero.” You joked before leaning in towards him ever so slightly. The faint whiff of his cologne caught you off a little off guard, and you took a mental note to never again settle for someone that only used body spray. “Don’t worry, I’m really good with secrets. I won’t tell anyone.” You whispered and gently pressed your index finger to your lips.

The comment caused the handsome doctor to throw his head back in a whole-hearted laugh. He placed a hand on his stomach as you slowly shifted back to your previous position, chewing down on the inside of your cheek down to stop yourself from commenting on how good he looked.

“Am I going to get an answer to my previous question?” You asked once the laughter died down, your assignment long forgotten.

“I teach here.”

The statement earned him another eye roll. “Seriously? Is there anything you don't or can't do?”

It was his turn to lean in. He rested his elbows on his knees and intertwined his fingers together, his hazel eyes never leaving yours. The air hitched in your lungs at his proximity. You felt as if every single cell in your body was shaking.

“Well, us superheroes, we like to stay busy.” He whispered, his cool minty breath hitting you in the process, sending a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat, a timid smile appearing on your face. “There uhm, there’s this diner not far from here. It’s twenty-four hours meaning they won’t kick us out. Would you like to come with me? We can have coffee?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved back in his seat and ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. You bit down on your bottom lip, wondering what was going through his mind. Wondering if perhaps you had overstepped some sort of boundary since he was a professor and you were a student.

But, it was just coffee. Nothing more. That wasn't so bad... Right?

“Coffee sounds nice.” He responded with a smile, after what felt like forever.

Outside, there wasn’t a cloud in the night sky making the million stars shine all that brighter. They looked like perfect sugar granules spilled on a dark surface, accompanied by the glowing moonlight.

The breathtaking sight was accompanied by street lamps. They illuminated the path while you walked side by side, almost in sync. Shoulders faintly brushing against one another.

“How long have you been a profiler?” You asked, looking ahead. The wind blew lightly through your hair causing your brunette companion to turn his head and observe you quietly. A smile crept up on his lips.

“I joined when I was twenty-two.” He answered. You glanced up at him for a brief moment - that wasn't much younger than you now. The look in his eyes suggested he knew that’s what you were thinking.

“Do you like it? Or do you prefer teaching?”

He licked his lips, thinking. As he furrowed his brows together, you noticed the unobtrusive age lines defining his handsome features. Each individual crease telling a different story, and you found yourself hoping you would one day be lucky enough to hear them.

“Every job has its pros and cons.” The brunette man stated eventually, lightly shrugging his shoulders.

You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle at his answer. “Okay professor, now you just sound conventional.”

He chuckled, his hands sliding into the front pockets of his pants. “I’ve been called many things in my life, miss. Conventional was never one of them.”

“It’s Y/N. My name, uhm, my name is Y/N.”

You both stopped once you introduced yourself, simultaneously turning in your spots, so that you were facing each other completely.

“Y/N...” He tested your name on his tongue, and a smile embellished your features because for some reason it sounded incredibly striking coming out of his lips.

“It suits you.” He retorted and the blood rushed to your face. Now, he definitely noticed the blush, you thought. He didn’t comment on it however. Instead, he proceeded to introduce himself, “My name is Spencer. Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @willowrose99

[kodzumie-archived]

Komaeda eating out a shy fem reader for her first time? She’s nervous but really wants to do this 😔😔

❝PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE❞

Synopsis; Going down on you had always been a fantasy of Nagito’s, and—if you were being honest—yours as well. But will your anxieties allow you to pursue your mutual desire?

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x Fem! Reader

Warning(s); (N)SFW and cunnilingus (oral sex).

Kodzumie’s Note; Of course I will! I apologize for the delay of your request! Thank you so much for requesting and your support. Take care! Muah <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Truth be told, going down on you had always been a thought situated at the back of his mind when engaging in such erotic intimacy with you.

⤷ It’s a sexual fantasy of his; to swipe his tongue along your slit, collecting your dew and suffocating his senses in your clenching cunt. He dreams to taste you; to indulge in you.

⤷ Though despite how much he yearns to please you, and even follow your wishes of indulging in his own fantasies and pleasuring himself as well, he understood to respect your hesitancy to that particular act.

⤷ Nagito was one of many things, but he wasn’t going to force you into something he knew full well you weren’t comfortable with just yet.

⤷ He knew such a position was one that brought flourishes of vulnerability, and an uncomfortable exposure that you wished to ease into rather than dive in head-first.

⤷ You wanted time, and Nagito was more than willing to let you take as long as you need. Because honestly, he assumed you’d reject the idea without hesitancy, so he was more than willing to be patient.

⤷ At first, Nagito had assumed that you didn’t want him to go down on you. His mindset spiraling into the oh-so-familiar state of degradation that he put upon himself. He assumed that he was the problem, but thankfully, you relentlessly reassured him of otherwise.

⤷ Truthfully, you wanted to do it and, of all people, you’d prefer Nagito to be the one you’d allow to see you so vulnerable. You trusted him, you truly did. But there seemingly was always an inkling of fear; insecurity. What if you didn’t live up to the expectations of his fantasy? What if it didn’t feel as good as you assumed? What if something went wrong?

⤷ It was this seed of worry that lead you to avoid such ministrations. Guiding his head back up to press kissed against your neck rather than any lower.

⤷ Months after the first time he’d proposed the idea, and you’ve yet to engage. Postponing further and further as the urge grows suffocatingly tempting. You want to, you truly do, but...to this point, you begin to wonder; what’s holding you back?

⤷ You question this as you find yourself laid atop the blanketed mattress within your shared bedroom, bare and exposed to Nagito’s eyes as he looms above you with a tantalizing hunger in his eyes.

⤷ As his eyes interlock with yours, they soften for a moment before he buries his head in the crook of your neck, capturing a patch of skin between his lips as he licks and suckles. He marks your skin, staking his claim as he continues to travel farther down.

⤷ But once his lips reach between the valley of your breasts, peppering your chest in fleeting kisses before moving to take your right, hardened nipple within his mouth, he doesn’t dare travel further. Even as he loses himself in the curves of your body, he firmly ingrains your comfort with each fervent kiss.

⤷ You notice this. You’ve always noticed this; the way he puts your comfort and wishes as his priority, even when dazed by his craving to ravish you.

⤷ So that’s why, as you reluctantly swallowed back the anxious lump in your throat, you cup his cheeks and direct have a gaze back to you. Confusion sparks within his ghostly green hues as you refer to him with a shaky grin. “I think I’m ready.”

⤷ It took a moment or two before he managed to muster out some sort of reaction. His eyes widened as his mouth gaped open; his visage was composed of pure surprise. Yet there were tracings of ill-disguised happiness as the corners of his lips twitched into a smile.

⤷ “Are you sure?” He questions. His eyes fixated on your expression of bashfulness, attempting to decipher any traces of possible regret. But you nodded with a smile that seemed much less restless, putting forth faith in your decision; faith in your trust within Nagito.

⤷ At your confirmation, his lips begin to explore realms of your frame that he restrained himself from setting upon before. Kissing and sucking on the plush skin that his mouth had yet to discover. The sensation of his moist mouth clasping over your thighs was electrifying.

⤷ Yet even as his tongue drags over your thighs with such zeal, you couldn’t help the anxieties that bubbled within you, tearing your gaze away from him, muffling your whines.

⤷ And after a few moments of teasing bites and particularly harsh sucks, he noticed your lack of audible moans.

⤷ His first thought was that what he was doing wasn’t what you enjoyed, hence your silence. But as he lifted his quizzical gaze to meet yours, he discovered that your hand had been firmly placed over your mouth; stifling all your harmonious cries.

⤷ Not only that, but your eyes were cast to the side, avoiding his countenance. As much as the sight caused Nagito’s heart to flutter—having always been a sucker for your shy nature—he wanted you to gaze upon him as he devoured you; he wanted to hear you as he pushed you to unravel from the sole use of his mouth.

⤷ Thus, he pushes himself up from between your legs and gently wraps his fingers around your wrists. This causes you to momentarily meet his eyes before hurriedly clenching yours shut, attempting to hide your flustered face behind your hands.

⤷ But Nagito pries them away before you could; his grip gentle yet firm, to assure that you don’t try to hide your beloved face from him.

⤷ “Love,” He begins, waiting for you to open your eyes. But you don’t. Chewing on your bottom lip in nervousness as you try your utmost best to not look at him. Everything in that moment felt so overwhelming, and your poor little heart was struggling to handle it.

⤷ “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You know I only want what you’d enjoy most, right?” He reassures you. His hands atop both of yours as he cradles them so gently. And there it is, again.

⤷ Once more, you wonder what you continuously allow to hold you back from fulfilling your mutual desires; you want this just as much as him.

⤷ And even so, he’s respected every denial and even the current temporary false hope you’d provided. He’s been so patient with you, he’s been so good to you. It’s truly ludicrous that someone as considerate as him even exists. Much less that he also degrades himself constantly; degrading the person you truly believed to be the most respectful significant other to ever exist.

⤷ “No, no. I want to, I promise! It’s just...I’m just—“ You stumble over your words in an attempt to piece together why you keep prolonging this. But you couldn’t formulate the words. Even as you stuttered and tries to come forth with a decent explanation, you couldn’t. Did you even know why?

⤷ Upon your silence, Nagito leaned forward to meet his lips with yours, drawing you in for a kiss. Finally, you open your eyes to meet his softened pair as he pulled away. Time seemed to still as you accepted that you didn’t truly have a reason other than the turmoil of emotions within you.

⤷ “I’m just nervous.” The words that fell from your lips were like mist, so subtle you almost assumed he didn’t hear you. But he did, and a breathy chuckle escaped him as he pecked your lips once more.

⤷ “Is that so?” He hums. You nod, tempted to break eye contact as embarrassment seeps into you. Your mind pacing with a flurry of anxieties. What kind of excuse is that? Nervous? Surely he sees you as pathetic now. What did you have to be nervous of? You trust him, don’t you?

⤷ Wallowing in remorse and self-pity as you suffocated within your shame, you tear your gaze away. But a sigh of relief forces your head to whirl back to gaze upon Nagito; the bearer of that sigh of relief.

⤷ “My hope, it’s okay to be nervous. Honestly, I’d be more alarmed if you weren’t nervous.” He admits. You’re thrown into a state of disbelief; confusion.

⤷ Over and over, he reassures you and promises that your feelings are valid and normal. He promises that it’s okay to be nervous, you’re trying something new, after all.

⤷ His delicate words and consideration cause your heart to swell as your worries have relatively eased up. The fears—the anxiety—that seemed to cage you were eased, almost as though they were never there. It’s almost terrifying how easily he could calm you.

⤷ Nagito allowed his words to hang in the air as you processed it all. He respectively awaited your answer, pleased, regardless of what it’d be. Because Nagito’s relief had stemmed from your ability to confide in him, and that means more than any form of sexual pleasure.

⤷ As you exhale, sighing out the last of your contemplation, you meet his eyes with a much more confident visage.

⤷ “I want to do this. I really do.” A voiced affirmation, and one that you felt assured of. You wanted this and, even through your nervousness, you genuinely wanted this.

⤷ Once again, he trails kisses along your body; from your jaw all the way to your thighs. Each kiss brushed over with a swipe of his tongue, teasingly stimulating you.

⤷ With each peck, he lowers. Closer and closer as you begin to anxiously squirm. It’s still so nervewracking, but you’ve culminated a determination to follow through. Despite your bashfulness causing you to tear your gaze away from Nagito.

⤷ This time, he’s not so forgiving as his teeth gently clamp down onto your thigh. You yelp, moaning out in slight pain and surprise as you turn your head back towards him; gazing as his head was tucked between your thighs, breath fanning over your pussy whilst his green orbs pierced into yours.

⤷ “Keep your eyes on me.” He ordered before tentatively rubbing his tongue over the bite mark as an unspoken apology. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as arousal overcomes you at his unnaturally assertive nature.

⤷ You oblige; keeping your eyes trained on his face as he returns to his ministrations. Heart thumping and ringing in your ears, you gasp as a Nagito dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit.

⤷ He hums, a serene chuckle resonating from the back of his throat before he circles his tongue around your clit. Soon enough, his lips curl around the bud, suckling gently as to avoid hurting you, yet stimulating you enough to release a small shriek.

⤷ After the initial slurp—the testing of new water—Nagito found himself encapsulated within a trance; his lips popping off of your bundle of nerves before plunging his tongue into your tight, drooling cunt repeatedly. Over and over, he continuously yearned for more of you; more of your flavor. You tasted heavenly.

⤷ Restlessly circling his tongue from within you, familiarizing himself with your walls as he douses himself in your juices; his senses engulfed with you in your entirety. And he adored every second of it.

⤷ Just like he adored the squeals of euphoria followed by your alluringly baritone moans that eagerly shot blood to his erection, straining against his pants with full intent to be sheathed within you. But he, too, wanted to savor your tastes.

⤷ With each slurp, you found yourself edging towards your release. Your toes curling, spurts of shock stunning your legs as you twitch and squirm, attempting to make some distance between the nearly unbearable waves of pleasure.

⤷ But Nagito kept a firm grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. His mouth relentless upon his ravishing; he wanted to taste you as you reach your high, and he wants you to ride it out as his tongue swirls within you.

⤷ It only took a mere few seconds before you let out a particularly loud whine, tremors wracking through your body as your cunt squirts your juices; your cum drizzling down Nagito’s chin as he hungrily laps it up.

⤷ “Nagi—Ah!” You attempt to speak—voice hoarse and raspy—but the aftershock of your orgasm causing your pussy to be far more sensitive. Every kitten lick Nagito takes is intensified as you pant.

⤷ And soon enough, everything stills. Your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as Nagito finally arises from between your thighs, his bottom lip and chin drizzled with your cum.

⤷ The sight flusters you as you gaped. His tongue dragged over your nectar, eagerly relishing in the remains of your orgasm as he grinned.

⤷ “So, how was it?” He asks, curious to your perspective; after all, you were very hesitant prior. It warms your heart how, even after everything, your well-being is the main thing on his mind.

⤷ With an exhausted sigh, you wrap your arms around your lover’s neck, tugging him down onto the bed with you. His clothed chest pressed against your bare one as you held him close, the delicate pulsating of your hearts sloppily synchronize. “It was amazing. Thank you, ”

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 02

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 7k [2/6]

notes: looks like it’s a writing/editing kinda day, folks! hope you enjoy this installment, and let me know what you think! 

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink: a recurring yet warranted warning, jeon jungkook is a goddamn tease, smuuuut, oral (f receiving), jk’s got a big dick whoOPS, minimally edited bc i’m feeling lazy

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

Morning brings with it bright sunshine and fresh horror as the events of the previous evening come rushing back. You aren’t sure you’ll ever be able to look Jeon Jungkook in the eye again—or at least, not without being reminded of the way he’d plagued every single one of your dreams with devilish eyes and even more devilish fingers. Groaning, you scrub at your temples, as if that will help dispel the memories. After a few fruitless moments, you crawl out of bed and head for the bathroom, intent on washing everything away with a good, cold shower.

Try as you might, though, you simply cannot avoid your dark-haired neighbor. You’re in the kitchen sipping at your second coffee of the day and debating what you want for lunch when there’s a knock on the front door—a familiar rhythm that has your heart stuttering. “It’s open!” Jimin yells from the living room, and a moment later, the devil himself strolls in, wearing a plain black t-shirt with ripped jeans and well-worn Timberlands. Vaguely, you wonder when he made the switch from white tees to black, but your musings are cut short when he spots you in the kitchen, an impish grin settling across his face.

“Hey, Noona.”

“Hey.” You thank whatever god may be out there that your voice is steady. “Jimin’s in the living room.”

Jungkook tilts his head coyly and takes a step forward. “What makes you think I’m here for Jimin? Maybe I came to see you.”

Anxiously, you swallow down the memories of his warm hands that are trying to resurface. “I highly doubt that.”

“Really?” Jungkook takes another step forward and plucks the coffee mug from your hands. “What if I came over to finish what I started last night?”

Heat floods across your face. “That—that was… I mean, I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Jungkook asks, raising a brow. “Want me? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, Noona.” Quietly, he closes the last bit of distance between you, and when he speaks again you can feel his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “You see, I think you want me. Just as much as I want you. Am I wrong?”

“Jungkook, we—”

“Dude, what’s taking you so long?” Jimin’s head suddenly pops around the doorway, and you nearly jump out of your skin in your effort to put some distance between you and your dark-haired neighbor. “I’m about to start the game without you.”

“Just wanted to grab some coffee and say hi to {Name},” Jungkook replies, raising your half-empty mug to his lips and taking a sip. “Did you want to join us, Noona? It’d be fun to watch you kick Jimin’s ass at Mario Kart again.”

You swallow, hard. “I can’t. I’ve got homework to do.” Not strictly true, perhaps, but you’d been planning on looking over the details of your internship again at some point, and now seems as good a time as any. “Sorry,” you add quickly, seeing Jungkook’s disbelieving expression.

“Summer homework? Gross.” Jimin pulls a face. “You’re still coming to Tae’s party though, right?”

You nod, unwillingly catching Jungkook’s eye again. He’s still sipping at your coffee, and you don’t miss the flagrant wink he shoots you over the rim of the cup. “See you later then, Noona,” he says, his voice practically a purr.

“Right,” you respond dully, your heart skipping a beat at the dark promise in his stare. “Later.”

Jimin and Jungkook disappear down the hall, but you remain rooted in the kitchen for a few minutes longer, listening as the music of whatever video game they’ve decided on starts playing from the living room. Heaving a sigh, you fetch a new mug from the cupboard and pour yourself some more coffee, grabbing an apple and a bag of chips as well. Taking everything up to your bedroom, you pull out your laptop and make yourself comfortable on your bed, plugging in some headphones to drown out the noise from downstairs. With any luck, you won’t have to see Jungkook again until you have to leave for Taehyung’s party, and you’re pretty sure that it’ll be easy to avoid him once you’re there.

In fact, you’re certain of it.

So with that thought in mind, you settle down with your coffee and open up Netflix, sinking into the pillows and pushing your dark-haired neighbor into the deepest recesses of your mind. It isn’t until your phone starts vibrating insistently against your thigh that you are startled out of your binge-watching, the screen lit up with two new notifications. Surprised, you realize that hours have passed, the sky outside your window deepening into the hazy blue of nighttime.

[6:02pm] Jungkook: you hungry, noona?

[6:02pm] Jungkook: for pizza, i mean. we ordered dinner

[6:03pm] Jungkook: but i’ll be your dessert if you want me ;)

You drop your phone as if burned, his final message playing over and over in your mind. It takes you a full minute to gather your wits again, stowing your device in your pocket without responding and carefully picking your way downstairs. Already, you can smell the cheesy grease, your stomach growling in anticipation.

Just grab the pizza and go, you think to yourself, formulating your escape plan and double-checking it for any holes. Dine and dash.

You’re walking past the foyer when there’s suddenly a knock on the front door. Curiously, you answer it, swinging it open to see a familiar grinning face standing on the doorstep. Lee Taemin is a good friend of Jimin’s, and your brother pokes his head out from the kitchen at the sound of your greeting, clearly expecting the new guest.

“Taemin! Get in here and have some pizza,” Jimin says, his mouth full. “You too, Noona. We got plenty.”

Instead of immediately heading for the food, Taemin wraps you in a hug that has you wheezing for air. “Long time no see, huh? How’ve you been?”

You squirm in his tight embrace, raised to your tiptoes. “Put me down, you heathen. I’m fine right now, but I won’t be if you suffocate me.”

Taemin chortles good-naturedly and releases his grip, ruffling your hair. “Good to see you too, {Name}. Honestly, it hasn’t been the same around here without you. How long are you back for? The whole summer?”

You shake your head. “Just a couple weeks. I’ve got to get back for an internship.”

“Already a hotshot, huh?” Taemin grins. “What are you going to be doing?”

The topic of your summer job is a welcome distraction from the way Jungkook’s dark gaze trails after you as you tread into the kitchen alongside Taemin, slapping two slices of pizza onto a plate and glancing around for a napkin. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull, prickling your skin with electricity, but continue your conversation with Taemin as if nothing is amiss.

“You gonna sit down or what?” Taemin gives you a quizzical glance as he pulls a chair out from the table, joining Jimin and Jungkook who are already seated. You do your best to ignore the way Jungkook’s jaw flexes with every chew, somehow managing to look infuriatingly handsome despite the mouth full of dough and pizza grease staining his chin.

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for the excuse you had planned. “—I still have some work to do. Reading and whatnot.”

“Nerd,” Jimin snorts.

Taemin shrugs. “Okay, then. Suit yourself, I guess.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. But you feel his eyes burning into your skin as you head back upstairs, and it isn’t until you are safely back in your bedroom, sagging against the closed door, that you can finally breathe properly again.

///

You end up departing for the party nearly twenty minutes after the official start time of eight o’clock, caving to Jimin’s insistence on being fashionably late. Personally, you think he just wanted the extra time to work on his hair—making sure every strand is perfectly, effortlessly tousled—and call him out on it as he locks the front door behind you.

“I didn’t spend that long on my hair,” Jimin sniffs defensively. “Besides, you’re the one who needed to run back in and get your wallet. What do you even need your wallet for? We’re walking like, four blocks.”

“Better safe than sorry,” you retort. “What if I get murdered and they need to identify my body? What if I get mugged? You never know!”

Taemin falls into step beside you. “What if we need to tip a stripper?” he chimes in.

You nod and raise your hand for a high-five without taking your eyes off your brother. “Exactly! You have to tip your sex workers, Chim!”

Jimin waggles a suggestive eyebrow. “I think I’d rather give them a different ti—”

You push him off the sidewalk before he can finish speaking, pulling a face as he stumbles into the street in a fit of laughter. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you perv!”

The remainder of the short walk to Taehyung’s house passes uneventfully. Jimin doesn’t bother knocking, throwing open the door like he owns the place, and you trail after him with Taemin and Jungkook on your heels. Immediately, you’re assailed by a cacophonous sea of conversation and thumping music, people milling around in the dimly lit interior.

“There you are!” The voice comes from your left, and you barely have time to register the speaker’s face before she’s gasping and engulfing you in a hug. “{Name}, you made it! Hi!”

You laugh, squeezing her back. “Hi, Chaeyoung. It’s good to see you. Sorry I didn’t catch you at graduation.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving you off. “We have all the time in the world to catch up now. Let’s get you away from these boys and find you a drink, shall we?” Flipping a lock of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, she loops her arm through yours and begins steering you toward the kitchen. “So what are you in the mood for? The beer’s shit, so I’d stay away from anything in the cooler, but everything else is actually drinkable.”

“Shocking,” you remark, peering at the mess of bottles and cups lining the kitchen counter. There’s a massive bowl of a horrifyingly neon green concoction as well, and you take one whiff before backing away again, nose wrinkling in disgust. “I see Tae’s still making punch.”

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Chaeyoung advises. “He’s somehow managed to make it twice as sugary and three times more alcoholic than last year’s. Pretty sure it’s worse than moonshine at this point.”

You grin and locate an empty cup, raising it in her direction. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Chaeyoung refills her own drink, and you settle on a simple blend of cranberry juice and vodka. Together, you head back in the direction of the living room, where Jisoo and Lisa are chattering away on a couch in the corner. They look up at your arrival, greeting you with smiles and hugs, and quickly usher you into a seat beside them.

“So,” Jisoo begins, leaning forward. “How’s college?”

“Tell us everything,” Lisa adds, propping her chin in her palm. “Is it nice living away from home?”

Jisoo waggles her brows. “Forget that. Have you met any guys?”

Unbidden, Jungkook springs to the forefront of your mind, dark eyes staring at you from beneath equally dark hair as he leans down, down, down—

“Nope!” you blurt before your thoughts can progress any further. “I mean, I share a suite with a couple guys, but that doesn’t count.”

“Are they cute?” Lisa prods.

“They must be more mature than these high school boys,” Chaeyoung sighs.

“Hardly,” you snort. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

The gossip continues. More people arrive as the night wears on, the living room filling up with dancing bodies. A few girls you don’t know join in your conversation, perching on armrests and ottomans and the carpeted floor as a last resort. Across the hall in the dining room, you spot Taemin setting up a table for beer pong, a triumphant shout going up when Taehyung procures an unopened package of balls from somewhere in the hall closet.

“This is gonna be tournament style, got it?” he announces as he tears the package open. “Winner goes up against the undefeated champs—Jungkook and Yugyeom!”

Even from your comfy seat on the couch, you can see the arrogant twist of Jungkook’s mouth as he leans over to give Yugyeom a high-five. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way he tongues his cheek, lounging back into a chair to watch the first round of the game. Jimin steps forward alongside Taehyung, and you watch as your brother scrutinizes the pyramid of cups, poised to make a throw that lifts his shirt just enough to expose a flash of his admittedly toned abdomen.

“He wore that shirt on purpose,” Jisoo accuses, and you huff out a sound that’s more snort than laugh.

“Please, it’s just the only shirt he owns that isn’t dirty. Trust me.”

“I don’t even care,” another girl you don’t know the name of pipes up. “I’d still let him blow my back out.”

You grimace. “And on that note, I suddenly need another drink,” you announce, to giggles. Wrenching out of your cozy seat between Jisoo and Lisa, you wave your near empty cup in farewell and make your way toward the kitchen, carefully skirting around the dancers and beer pong spectators spilling out into the hallway.

The kitchen is deserted when you walk in, everyone having flocked to the dining room to watch the beer pong tournament. Humming along to the music, you open up the fridge and survey its contents, hoping to find something decent. Curiously, you pick your way past a few cans before turning a dark glass bottle around to read the label.

“Are you avoiding me, Noona?”

The voice comes from behind you, deep and sinfully resonant, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s standing just inches away. His breath ruffles through the hair at the nape of your neck, sending gooseflesh prickling across your skin, and when strong hands curl gently around your hips you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I missed you, y’know,” he continues, his mouth finding its way to your ear and nipping lightly at the lobe. “You didn’t talk to me all day, even though I was right there in your house. Ran like a scared little rabbit when you saw me in the kitchen, didn’t you?” Softly, his lips ghost along the column of your throat, pressing a kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder. “So, now what? Are you gonna run from me again?”

You don’t think you could if you tried. Your feet are rooted firmly in place, your entire body frozen as you await whatever he’ll do next. And when he urges you to spin around and face him, you obey immediately, your hands coming up to splay against his chest as he presses even closer and rewards your compliance with a kiss.

“Jungkook,” you breathe against his parted lips. “Jungkook, god.”

Slowly, he trails down your neck, leaving soft nips in his wake. “Yes, Noona?”

“We can’t,” you whisper, even as your head falls back to allow him more access to your clavicle. “Jungkook, we can’t do this.”

Your companion raises his head then, his dark gaze meeting yours. “Tell me to stop,” he says quietly. His thumbs dip beneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles into the soft skin of your waist, and you inhale sharply at the feeling. “If that’s what you want, Noona, just tell me to stop and I will. I promise.”

He’s palming along your hips now. The warmth of his palms seeps into your body, rendering it increasingly difficult to concentrate. His mouth returns to your neck as he awaits your answer, and you don’t miss the way his lips curl into a smirk against the delicate skin of your collarbone when you hesitate a moment too long.

“Well, Noona?”

Fuck it. Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Jungkook, kiss me,” you breathe, throwing all remaining remnants of caution to the wind.

Jungkook straightens up to his full height, his smirk widening. “Anything for you, princess,” he remarks before leaning down, winding one hand in your hair and finding purchase in the curve of your waist with the other. The newfound pet name ignites a tendril of heat in the pit of your belly, and when Jungkook finally closes the gap between your lips, you release a breathy moan that he eagerly swallows. The hand in your hair tightens its grip to pull you even closer, tongues and teeth clashing as he deepens the kiss.

It’s only when the need for air becomes critical that you break away from him with a gasp, your lungs aching. Jungkook isn’t faring much better, his chest heaving beneath the thin white material of his t-shirt. He releases his grip on your hair, his thumb grazing across your cheek gently instead, and when he leans in to plant another kiss on your mouth, you exhale shakily. “God, Jungkook.”

His arm tightens around your waist. “What do you need, princess?” he asks, and you can’t deny your delight at his continued use of the nickname. His teeth find the lobe of your ear again, and you release a breathy moan as he delivers a particularly sharp nip to the soft flesh before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot just below it. “Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you want.”

You slide your hands along his broad shoulders and up to his nape, brushing the silver hoops in his ears before tangling your fingers in his silky hair. “You’re teasing me.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue and pulls away, your arms falling uselessly to your sides as he takes a step back. “I just need to hear you say it, Noona,” he chides, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I need to hear you say that you want this. That you want me.”

A shiver dances up your spine, and you aren’t sure whether it’s due to his wicked lilt or the sudden absence of his body heat. “I want you,” you whisper, reaching out to touch him. “Jungkook, please.”

The smirk that spreads across his face is absolutely devastating. “Then come with me,” he commands softly, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together. You leave behind the thumping music and the loud chatter of the party, allowing Jungkook to pull you into one of several rooms lining the hallway and squeaking when he shuts the door and immediately pins you against it. His mouth slants across yours, hot and urgent, and you moan into the kiss as your hands fly up to grip his shoulders.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Jungkook breathes, pulling away just enough to whisper the words against your lips. “Fuck, princess, look at this tiny little skirt you’re wearing. You’ve been killing me all night, you know that?”

He punctuates the words with another kiss, nipping harshly at your bottom lip. His hands slide down to the curve of your ass, and you gasp when he scoops you up effortlessly. “Legs around my waist,” he orders, readjusting his grip as he begins walking you further into the room.

It’s the laundry room, you realize upon closer inspection. Jungkook’s busy mouthing at your neck, but he breaks away with a smirk when he finally reaches his destination, plopping you down atop the cool metal of the washing machine. “Shame there’s nothing in here,” he remarks, kicking the side softly. “I really wanna fuck you with this thing running one day. But for now…” His smirk widens, his hands settling on your knees. “This’ll do.”

In an instant, he’s pushed up your skirt and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down and off your legs. He drops to his knees, smoothing his hands along your inner thighs, and your cheeks flush when he urges you to spread them further. “Jungkook—“ you mumble, thoroughly embarrassed as he stares reverently at your exposed core, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Quit staring at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a soft trail of kisses along your thigh. “You’re so beautiful, Noona.”

“You…”

You trail off, unsure of what to say. What do you say when your little brother’s best friend is staring at you like you’re a desert oasis and he’s been wandering, dehydrated, for days? What do you say when the scrawny neighbor kid you’d grown up with is caressing every inch of your legs, soothing the soft skin with his fingers and lips?

What do you say when you realize, once and for all, that Jeon Jungkook is undoubtedly—unabashedly—a man now?

You swallow, hard. Jungkook is nearing your core now, his hair tickling your thighs, and you gasp when he slides a finger up your slit experimentally. “You’re so wet,” he breathes. “So wet, and so—” He touches the pad of his finger to his tongue, grinning up at you as he laps up your essence. “—delicious. Fuck. You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

And then he leans forward, boldly licking a stripe up the length of your entrance. Strong arms wind around your legs to hold you open, and when he shoves his face even deeper, his nose brushing against your clit, you let out a strangled whimper. “Fuck, Jungkook—”

The sound of his name draws a pleased hum from the young man nestled between your thighs, rumbling through his chest and straight to your core. Your walls clench, but Jungkook stubbornly refuses to dip his tongue inside. Instead, he teases at your folds, spreading them apart with two fingers and licking ardently at your leaking juices before kissing a short trail up to your clit. “Can you cum like this?” he asks curiously, thumbing across the sensitive bundle of nerves.

His answer comes in the form of a breathy gasp, your hips jerking upward to seek out more friction. Jungkook chuckles and obliges your silent request, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours as he begins rubbing slow circles around your bud. “Guess that’s a yes,” he murmurs, pressing yet another kiss to your thigh. His gaze remains locked on yours as he rubs a little harder, dragging your juices up from your slit and digging in deep until you are moaning aloud, your hands coming down to fist in his silky hair.

“I-I’m close,” you keen. “Please, Jungkook, please.”

Jungkook hums and leans back. At the same time, he slides two fingers inside you, curling them upward, and the sudden surge of fullness is more than enough to tip you over the edge. His name escapes your lips in a garbled moan, your walls spasming around his hand as he continues teasing your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you finally whine from oversensitivity and bat him away. Obediently, he withdraws, rising to his feet so that he towers over you once more.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs, staring down at you with an expression caught somewhere between awestruck wonder and unbridled hunger. “You’re so pretty when you cum. So pretty and perfect and—” He swallows, his throat bobbing harshly. “God, I need to fuck you. Can I fuck you now, Noona? Will you let me stretch open this pretty little pussy and fill you up with my cock?”

Your breath hitches. Never in a million years could you have imagined that your brother’s mild-mannered best friend could have such a filthy mouth, but you cannot hide the way your core clenches at his words. Slowly, you raise your arms, winding them around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his. “Fuck me, Jungkook.”

A groan escapes him, deep and cavernous in a way that sends heat spiking through your veins. Jungkook doesn’t waste any time, his mouth chasing after yours as one hand finds the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. The other slides down to the waistband of his jeans, freeing himself from the confines of the denim. He doesn’t break the kiss for a moment, even as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer. It isn’t until you’re seated on the very edge of the washing machine, wrapping your legs around his waist to steady yourself, that you pull away and let your gaze fall to his newly revealed cock. Jungkook is long and deliciously thick, and you let out a shaky breath when you see the pearlescent white drops beading at the swollen tip.

“Oh my god.” The words bubble up automatically, escaping you in an airy whisper. “How are you so big?”

Jungkook huffs out a hoarse chuckle, amusement glittering in his dark irises. “Think you can take all of me, princess?”

Your gaze falls down to his length again, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Put on a condom, and let’s find out.”

Jungkook grins and produces a little foil wrapper from somewhere in his back pocket, tearing into it with his teeth. You help him roll the condom over his cock, and as soon as it’s in place, he’s lining himself up and pushing inside you. A deep groan escapes him as he parts your walls inch by torturous inch, and you moan as your pussy is stretched to its limit, molding to his shape and sheer size. By the time he bottoms out, he’s almost prodding at your cervix, and you grab breathlessly at his bicep.

“I—I need a minute,” you gasp, your body spasming around him as you fight to adjust to the surge of fullness.

“Me too,” Jungkook rasps, his voice strained. His eyes flutter shut as he inhales deeply through his nose, cursing again when you clench around him unconsciously. “Fuck. You’re so tight.”

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of Jungkook’s labored breathing, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder. His breath is hot against the exposed skin of your clavicle, and you sigh when you feel him mouthing at the delicate skin, nipping softly before soothing across it with his tongue.

At the sound, Jungkook raises his head, dark eyes meeting yours before dropping down to where the two of you are joined. “God, you look so good like this,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “So pretty, stuffed full of my cock.”

You clench around him again—this time more purposefully. Jungkook’s mouth falls open, a silent question on the tip of his tongue, and you answer it with a deliberate roll of your hips, wordlessly encouraging him to move. Gingerly, he obeys, retreating until only the head of his erection remains inside you. His hand drops down to your clit, and you keen out his name when he surges forward at the same time he flicks his thumb across the sensitive nub. Pleasure licks at your spine, replacing the discomfort. Jungkook lets out a pleased hum.

Slowly, he works up a rhythm, keeping his thrusts shallow as he begins rubbing circles around your clit again. With his other hand, he slides the straps of your top down your shoulders, tugging the bodice down just enough to free your breasts. Your nipples harden at the exposure, and a moan escapes you when he immediately takes one between his fingers, rolling and pinching at the peak. The additional stimulation, paired with the heavy drag of his cock along your walls and his insistent thumb on your clit, has you teetering dangerously close to the edge, your tummy tensing.

“Jungkook—” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. He grunts in response and picks up the pace, rolling even more fervently up into your clenching heat, and you gasp when a particularly hard thrust sends you scooting backward atop the washing machine. “Fuck! I’m close, Jungkook.”

“Me too,” he grits out. “Come on, princess, cum for me. I know you can do it, just let go for me one more time—”

And with one final flick of his wrist and a thrust that’s so deep you can practically feel him in the back of your throat, you come completely undone, spasming wildly around his cock. It all proves too much for Jungkook, who’s groaning right alongside you as he reaches his high, spilling into the condom. He chants your name like a prayer as his hips gradually still, and his lips seek out yours almost instinctively as his cock softens inside you. The kiss is lazy and languid, contentment settling in your veins. Jungkook wraps you up in a warm embrace, his tongue dipping inside your mouth to explore.

It isn’t until a loud cheer rises up from the front of the house that you snap out of your blissful haze. “We should get back to the party,” you mumble into the kiss, pushing against Jungkook’s chest when he only pulls you closer. “Jungkook, come on. People are gonna get suspicious if we’re gone too long.”

“You know what else will make people suspicious? You, coming out like that.” He gestures at the skirt hiked up around your waist, a slow smirk playing at his lips as he gives you a once-over, his gaze lingering on the wet sheen streaking your inner thighs. “As much as I’m enjoying the view.”

You swat his arm. “Stop that!”

Jungkook snickers and bends down to pick up your discarded panties, swinging them around his index finger. “Stop what?”

“Oh my god, Jungkook.”

Cackling, he returns the lacy undergarment to you, watching as you pull the material up your legs. You adjust your shirt while he disposes of his condom, and when you hop off the washing machine, he offers you a hand that you gratefully accept, gripping his arm as you steady yourself on shaky legs.

“You should leave first,” you tell him, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt and relishing the way his muscles twitch beneath your fingertips. “It’ll look weird if we leave together, and I need to pee, anyway.”

Jungkook grins and catches your wrists, swooping down to plant a quick kiss on your mouth. “As you wish,” he says, offering you a playful wink.

Then he’s straightening back up to his full height, checking his pockets and running a hand through his mussed hair. You watch as he walks over to the door, putting his ear against it for a few seconds before determining that the coast is clear and slipping out into the hallway. As the door clicks shut behind him, you hear someone—you’re pretty sure it’s a drunk Yugyeom—greet him with a resounding clap on the back. “Dude, where have you been all night? We’re getting our asses handed to us. Minho and Taemin are winning.”

“Sorry, man,” Jungkook half-shouts, and you realize that he’s making sure you can hear him. “Come on. Let’s go get that crown.”

Leaning against the door, you listen as their voices recede down the hallway. You count to five, and then to ten when your thumping heart refuses to slow. At nineteen, it finally calms down—enough that you feel comfortable leaving the laundry room and slipping into the bathroom to clean yourself up.

There’s a massive crowd gathered in the dining room by the time you rejoin the party, and you easily slip unnoticed into the mass of people eagerly watching the final round of the beer pong tournament. Jungkook stands at the far end of the table beside Yugyeom, poised to throw.

He catches your eye at the same time he releases the ball with a flick of his wrist, a knowing smirk settling on his face as triumphant cheers break out all around you.

///

It’s well after midnight by the time the party begins to wind down. Chaeyoung and Lisa are nowhere to be found, and several other girls are lingering near the front door saying their goodbyes before heading out. You find yourself seated on the couch between Jimin and Minho, watching as the latter helps clean up by hurling beer cans at the wastebasket on the other end of the room.

“Man, no wonder you suck at pong.” Jungkook walks into the room and plops down on an end table, a faded cardboard Burger King crown sitting rakishly on his head. “Want me to show you how the champs do it?”

Minho snorts. “Fuck off, man, you barely won that second game. Besides, we totally would’ve won if Taemin hadn’t spent half the time staring at Lisa’s tits.”

Taemin, who’s perched on a corner of the coffee table, raises his hands innocently. “Hey, don’t look at me. I scored most of the points that round.”

Minho huffs irritably and tosses another can at the wastebasket, cursing when it bounces off the rim. Taehyung wanders in and picks it up, throwing it back at Minho before squeezing into the miniscule amount of space between you and Jimin on the couch.

“Jesus, Tae,” you grunt, shifting to give him more room. The movement tilts you toward Minho, smushing you against his side, and he shoots you a playful grin and a wink.

“Cozy?”

“Cozy,” you confirm with a laugh.

“Good,” he says, freeing his arm and throwing it across the back of the couch to give you a little more space. “It’s nice having you around again, Noona.”

Jungkook’s head whirls around so quickly you fear he might have given himself whiplash. His stare zeroes in on Minho’s arm, eyes narrowing at the proximity, but the other boy remains blissfully unaware as he leans back against the couch cushions. Subtly, you lean forward, trying to put some distance between your bodies.

“It’s nice to be back,” you tell him. “It feels like I missed so much, but at the same time, it’s like nothing’s changed.”

“Choi’s aim sure hasn’t changed,” Yugyeom remarks from the doorway with a handful of empty beer bottles. “Still can’t land a shot, even after all these years.” Raising a bottle, he hefts it toward the wastebasket, smirking in satisfaction when it sinks perfectly inside the can.

“And not just with pong,” Taemin goads. “How did things go with Sana again?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk. Besides, we’d all probably stand a better chance if Jeon over there would leave some girls for the rest of us.”

“You’re just jealous because Sana likes him better than she likes you,” Taehyung says with a snicker. “Yo, Jeon! Didn’t you guys make it to third base at Jackson’s party?”

Your stomach sinks as all eyes in the room turn to Jungkook, whose eyes go wide at the sudden attention. “What?”

“Sa. Na,” Taehyung repeats, emphasizing each syllable. “Hottest girl in our year? Third base at Jackson’s? Or are you having a hard time remembering since you wound up leaving with Jihyo?”

Yugyeom chortles as he plops down onto the carpeted floor. “Fuck, man, I forgot about that. Jesus. Just last year you were still shitting yourself at the thought of talking to a girl. Who knew you secretly had so much game?”

The room is beginning to feel stifling. Every breath you take feels like you’re inhaling ash, like a volcano that has lain dormant for ages has suddenly and without warning erupted inside your chest.

He’s playing you. And even worse, it seems that this is a game he’s played before—many times, if his friends are to be believed. Your stomach turns at the thought.

From his perch on the end table, Jungkook scoffs out a stilted, staccato note. “Right. I guess any nonzero number would seem high to you guys, huh?”

Loud jeers break out from the surrounding boys, and you do your best to melt back into the couch cushions. The way you’re squished between Taehyung and Minho makes it impossible for you to find any leverage to stand, so you settle for leaning your head back and staring at the stucco ceiling, willing your heartbeat to slow. Gradually, the noise of the party fades into the background, as do the voices of your brother and his friends. It’s only when Jimin pokes your shoulder, singsonging your name, that you break out of your trance.

“What? Huh?”

“The lake house,” Jimin says, looking at you as if you’re stupid. “You down?”

You can only blink at him, repeating the words back to him dumbly. “The lake house?”

Jimin raises a brow. “Yeah, the lake house. You know, our lake house? The one we drive up to every summer? Where we’ve been vacationing since we were like, five?”

You scowl when he pinches your cheek like you’re a child again. “Yeah, I got that. What about it?”

A snort. “Jeez, have you been listening at all, Noona? We’re talking about going up there for a few days.”

“Oh,” you croak. Unwillingly, you find yourself glancing over at Jungkook, your face growing warm when you see him staring right back, his expression careful and composed. “Right.”

“You should come, Noona,” Taemin pipes up. “You’re here for the next few weeks, right? Might as well have some fun.”

“I don’t know—” you begin, but Jimin cuts you off with a raised finger and another pinch to your cheek.

“You can’t just do homework the whole time you’re here,” he says. “Come with us, Noona. Live a little.”

“It’ll help get your mind off your internship, too,” Jungkook remarks softly. “You deserve a break. Just a few days won’t hurt.”

The fact that he remembers your internship woes shouldn’t make your heart lurch. You know it shouldn’t, but you can’t help the way your chest swells dangerously. “Fine,” you concede, reaching over Taehyung to pinch Jimin’s cheek in retaliation. “I’ll come, I guess.”

Taehyung and Taemin cheer, and Minho wraps his arm around your shoulder and squeezes you tight. “We should invite the other girls,” he points out, chuckling when you splutter for air in his ironclad grasp and try in vain to shake him off. “Don’t want it to be a total sausage fest.”

“Penis party is a much better term,” Taehyung interjects helpfully. “It’s alliterative.”

“You want alliterative? How about a cock carnival?” Jimin supplies, before doubling over in giggles.

You huff, exasperated at the ludicrous turn in conversation. “I can’t believe I’m coming with you guys.”

Minho snickers. “Title of your sex tape,” he jokes, punctuating it with a suggestive eyebrow waggle that sobers your brother up immediately. Jimin straightens up and fixes Minho with a glare, and despite your brother’s smaller stature, the older boy still shrinks back slightly.

“Dude, that’s my sister.”

Minho raises his hands apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Automatic response. My bad.”

You just roll your eyes. “Are you twelve? God. I don’t know how the girls put up with any of you.”

Gradually, the night draws to a close. The number of people milling about dwindles, and Taehyung fiddles with his phone, letting out a satisfied hum when he finds the playlist he wants. The music transforms into something low and smooth, the soft R&B beat filling the room. You feel your eyes begin to droop.

“We should probably head home,” Jimin says, stretching his arms lazily overhead. “Noona here has to get her beauty sleep, and I don’t feel like carrying her back if she falls asleep here.”

“Shut up, Chim,” you mumble, but there’s no real bite in your tone. Jimin just chuckles and stands up, tugging on your hand until you’re on your feet as well. Jungkook straightens up too, and together, you bid farewell to the others and head for the door.

“{Name}, wait a second.”

You turn at the sound of Jisoo’s voice, tilting your head curiously as she lays a gentle hand on your arm and ushers you off to the side. “Yeah?”

Jisoo casts a furtive glance around the hallway, lowering her voice to a murmur. “I see what’s going on with Jungkook,” she whispers once she’s sure the coast is clear.

You stiffen, your mouth opening and closing a few times before you manage to find your voice again. “You… you saw us?”

She nods. “He’s been watching you all night—it’d honestly be harder not to notice. I just…” She sighs and looks around again, missing the relief that must be etched across your expression as her gaze lingers on where Jungkook and Jimin are loitering by the door. “…just be careful, okay? Jungkook—he’s changed this past year. I mean, I don���t know if all the rumors are true, but… he’s not the same guy you probably remember. He went out with Chae for a few weeks, did she tell you that?”

At your look of horror, she sighs. “Figures. She hides it well, but I know she’s still torn up about how he ended it after they slept together. So watch out for him, okay? He’s a heartbreaker. And he never, ever stays until the morning.”

Every word that leaves her mouth stings, but you don’t let that show on your face. Instead, you force a smile and pat her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me,” you tell her. “I’m not going to get involved with him.”

You repeat that to yourself the whole way home, trying not to focus on the young man a few paces away and the way you can still taste him on your tongue.

[madswonders]

A Lesson In Romance #10: Thoughts

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Implied anxiety, Mentions of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2.5k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they're paired together on a case.

A/N: I know that the BAU's conference room has big-ass glass windows but just imagine that the blinds are closed for the entirety of this chapter aha. Also this chapter is a doozy... like 1k words longer than usual, so enjoy!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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As Peter Gizzi once described the phenomena of love, "About you there is nothing I wouldn’t want to know / With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler."

In high school, your reputation always preceded you. The cynic that never had a boyfriend, much less a drunken one-night stand; a prude who waited over ten dates to have her first kiss; or the "ice queen" who kept her emotions locked up and threw away the key.

If they saw you now, you wondered if they would laugh at how you've changed; because these days, you looked like you were keeping the best secret in the world, one that threatened to burst from your lips every time you smiled.

What you didn’t know, is that you didn't need to be a profiler to see it. From the bubbling laughter and whispered conversations, to the not-so-secret longing glances. You and Spencer disappeared into your own world when you were together, and everybody knew it.

And for the first few weeks, that was enough. You found it easier than usual to ignore the thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind. That is, until you couldn't.

"... I want you and Spencer to work on the geographic profile." Hotch had announced, and you remembered the feeling of your blood running cold.

There were two reasons for this. First was the fact that this case linked twenty homicides across three years to a single unsub. If there was any case that required the two nerdiest members of the BAU to team up, this was it.

Unfortunately, that fact was closely followed by an overwhelming fear — and you wanted to preface this by saying that you were usually a woman of logic and science — but, somehow, you couldn't shake the thought that something bad was going to happen to you and Spencer, and you weren't ready for it.

Leaning against the cool conference room wall, you tapped your toes in an impatient rhythm against the carpeted floor. You were trying to recite what you learned from your PhD; that your mind was jumping to conclusions and that it was normal to be nervous. It was normal to feel this way. You were normal.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, jolting you out of your mantra.

You realised your boyfriend had been talking to you for awhile now, but clearly, you weren't listening. You shook your head apologetically.

"Sorry, I was just thinking. Could you say that again?"

"I was just saying, you can start by pinning the names and locations of the victims, and I'll put up the crime scene photos... but are you sure you're okay?" He asked again, this time shooting you those puppy dog eyes that made you weak.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Let's get to work." You said firmly, grabbing the box of push pins. You felt his gaze linger on you for a second, before he began picking up his own stack of pictures.

The first hour sped by quickly as you and Spencer listed out all of the unsub’s possible motives and next victims. At the half hour mark, Hotch dropped in to check on your progress, bringing takeaway coffee and leaving with a rare smile.

At the second hour, the rest of the team returned with some new leads, and unfortunately, new bodies, but nothing that helped solidify the profile any further than what you already had.

At the fifth hour, there was no denying it. The team had hit a wall. While the rest of them were back in the field investigating more leads, you sipped on your second cup of coffee while staring at the evidence board. Spencer paced the room behind you.

"The messy dump sites. The carvings onto the victims' chests. One points to the unsub being disorganised and inexperienced, but the other is a clear, almost narcissistic ritual." The doctor thought aloud.

"Usually that means the unsub is trying to make a statement, but he killed his first ten victims before the police found out, then killed another seven and three right under their noses before going dormant. If he wanted to make a statement, why wouldn't he tip off the police or media sooner?" He grumbled.

"Are we sure it's not a taunt to the local police’s competency? Many of his first victims were found in secluded areas with limited police support." You pointed out, tapping the edge of your cup in thought.

"No, the victimology and locations are too wide spread. A taunt would present a clearer message." He said.

You turned around suddenly, causing him to halt in his steps. "Here's something completely off the wall — but what if the unsub was trying to achieve a specific pattern with his kills?" You said, gesturing with your cup.

Tap, tap-tap, tap, you created the rhythm with your finger.

"That would explain why he isn't acting like a narcissist. Maybe he's suffering a mental condition that compels him to complete a certain pattern, and subsequently, ritual with his kills. Could be rhythmical, musical, numerical..." You explained.

"Numerical. That's it!" Spencer squeaked, rushing to the board with a marker. "I thought these numbers seemed familiar earlier, that's because they make up prime numbers!"

He backed away from the board to reveal what he wrote. The numbers 2, 3, 5, 7, and 11. A lightbulb turned on in your head.

"2, 3 and 5 make up the first ten kills. 7 is the next, which he managed to complete perfectly, but something happened to the unsub at 11." Spencer voiced your thoughts.

"He might have been incarcerated, or injured. But we can't rule out the possibility that he might have moved out of town and resumed the pattern elsewhere. So either we can expect 8 more victims here, or the unsub has already moved onto the next number: 13." You quickly finished the train of thought.

"Love, you're a genius!" Spencer rushed over to pick you up by the waist, twirling you as you laughed in relief. But the relief turned to surprise when he kissed you deeply.

God, he was good at this. Even when your feet touched the ground, it felt like you were seeing stars. Though it was only when your lips parted that he had the decency to blush.

"Love?" You breathed.

Spencer's cheeks turned crimson in embarrassment, but he didn't back away. Instead, he leaned forward, bumping your foreheads together gently.

"I didn't know you had that in you, doctor." You teased.

"Well, my mother did school me in classic romance literature from a young age. Not to mention, I happen to be a genius at most things..." You could hear the smile in his voice, and you giggled.

The doctor pulled away then, an adoring smile still plastered across his face. "Are you fee—" He began, but his voice died in his throat as his gaze fixated on something behind you.

"Ooooh, am I interrupting something?" You turned around to see none other than Penelope smiling coyly from the doorway, and the two of you jumped apart.

"N-no, nothing!" Spencer blurted out.

"All fine and dandy here." You added on, blushing furiously.

The tech analyst smiled deviously. "Well, I thought I'd come and check on my two favourite lovebirds. Anything else from the case for me to chew on? Except whatever that was earlier." She teased.

"Actually, there is." You cleared your throat awkwardly, while the good doctor looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.

"We need you to search up murders in neighbouring cities that match the mutilation by our unsub, then cross-reference the time frame with any new residents. We suspect he might be trying to complete a pattern, and that he may have done it somewhere other than here." You said.

"On it, future-Mrs-Genius. I will get back to you so fast that you won't even have time to get down and dirty." She half-yelled that last bit, heels clicking as she walked back to her office. Before you could even formulate a response, she was gone.

You felt your boyfriend wrap his arms around you from the back. "Now, where were we?" He whispered.

You giggled, leaning back into the doctor's chest while he rocked your bodies side to side. "Are you feeling better now?" He asked.

"Next time someone says it's not as intense in here as it is out there, I'm going to give them a stern talking to." You joked.

"You know what I mean, love." Spencer reiterated gently, the pet name falling from his lips like it was the most natural thing in the world. "If you tell me about it, I can help you. You know I'm always here for you."

You sighed softly, blinking back tears that threatened to spill.

"It's something stupid. I-I'm fine."

He turned you around, brows furrowing in concern when a tear rolled down your cheek. "What's wrong?" He asked, wiping it away tenderly.

"I— I was worried about us working together." You admitted. "And it's not because I don't like working with you, but I just— I just couldn't—"

"Take a deep breath, love. Slowly." He held your shoulders as you breathed in and out, once, twice.

"I've been afraid this whole day — no, for awhile now — that something was going to happen to our relationship." You confessed shakily. "And it's not about our jobs — although I worry about that too — but I'm scared that one day you'll wake up and realise that I'm not worth the trouble."

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stop the next wave of tears.

"A-and it's only gotten worse because I've never been so h-happy with another person before. Only you've made me feel this way, and I'm t-terrified that I'll lose what we have."

There was a brief silence as Spencer pulled you close to his chest, one hand stroking your hair carefully. You could hear his heart beating fast.

"Do you remember when the team tricked us into sharing a bed?" He whispered, a hint of a smile trickling into his voice. "I think about it every single time we're about to go into the field. Because you said you'd never leave me, and now, whenever we're out there, I know I'm not alone."

He breathed in deeply, your head gently rising and falling together with his chest.

"You've given me someone to come home to, love. What we have, you'll never lose it, okay?" He whispered.

"Baby, I—" Your voice halted. Crap.

"Wait. Baby?" Spencer repeated back to you, a teasing lilt in his voice. Your face flushed, and you unwinded your arms from your boyfriend to cover your face.

"Oh god, can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

"I have an eidetic memory." He pointed out. You let out a watery laugh, knowing when you had lost.

"Alright, alright. But I do have another ide—"

Then, the conference room phone rang. It was Emily. "Hey guys, Garcia managed to narrow down the unsub and we're 10 out, but we'll need some back-up."

"Be there in 15." You replied, while Spencer shot you an amused look, Luckily, he waited for the call to end before saying the next words.

"Let's go, baby." He wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, already strapping on your kevlar. "That's it. You're not driving."

"Aww!"

---------

After the major breakthrough in the case — all thanks to Nerd 1 and Nerd 2, as Derek fondly called the two of you — the case managed to wrap up neatly and the BAU found themselves in a rare position. Ready to end the work day, on time.

Not that anybody was packing up to leave just yet, although you wished they would, because Penelope had decided to start enthusiastically retelling how she found the BAU's resident lovebirds in the conference room, unable to keep their hands off each other.

"Last I heard, pet names aren't a crime — and how long were you standing there anyway?" You accused, blushing.

"Firstly, they are. Criminally cute, that is!" Penelope squealed, while the rest were in fits of laughter. "And secondly, you should never underestimate my awesome ninja abilities, because I heard everything that I needed to hear."

"Do I even want to know?" Spencers winced.

"I don't think you do, pretty boy." Derek laughed, clapping the genius on the back.

"Wait, wait, wait. Can we go back to how Spencer's pet name of choice is love?" Emily gasped in laughter.

"You've got to admit it's kind of cute, Emily." JJ smiled.

"Sure. If you're courting Mr. Darcy and attending cotillions."

"C'mon, Prentiss. All that means is that our boy's got style." Derek added to laughter, while Spencer whined in protest.

The door to Hotch's office opened suddenly, both him and Rossi stepping out with expressions of urgency on their faces.

“Sorry to break up the fun, kiddos. But there's been an update to the case.” Rossi announced, following right behind Hotch to the conference room.

The laughs were wiped off everybody's faces as you traded concerned looks. As you filed into the room, Hotch had already begun speaking.

“Another body was found half an hour ago. Same MO, same random victimology, and same kind of dumpsite. And the unsub just told us where to find his copycat.”

“Wait, we never profiled a second unsub.” Derek interjected.

"It doesn't makes sense — the first unsub is a control freak. He didn't like the idea of anybody messing with his sequence. Wouldn't he have done something if he knew somebody else was copying his pattern?" You asked.

"We profiled that he wouldn't be able to deviate from his pattern. What if he had to continue, even when somebody else was committing some of the crimes for him?" Spencer countered.

“Hold on, you said the unsub gave us a location?” Emily asked.

"And a time." Rossi voiced up. “8pm tonight at The Basil. The first unsub claims that's where the copycat finds his next targets."

"How do we know if we can trust him?" Derek asked.

"We don't. But he didn't display any telltale signs of doubt when he told us, and this is the only lead we have." Hotch's frown deepened. You had a feeling he didn't like the idea of this either, but the team didn't have a choice.

"Okay, if we're doing this, he can't know we're onto him," Emily thought aloud, "and we'll need precautions in case it's a trap. That means..."

"Undercover agents... and the bait." Hotch said with finality.

“And who did you have in mind for that?” You piped up, and everyone turned their eyes to you.

“You and Reid.” He stated the obvious.

“B-b-but, I’ve never gone—"

“You’ve more than proven your abilities in the field since you joined us, and having natural chemistry will make it less suspicious to the unsub.”

You opened your mouth, but no words fell from it. Hotch was right. Of course he was right.

As if hearing your thoughts, Spencer took your hand in his and squeezed, and you felt a little calmer already. “Ok, I’ll do it.” You said determinedly, while the doctor echoed your sentiment.

Hotch nodded, beginning to assign roles to the rest of the team while you squeezed your boyfriend's hand tighter, a new mantra forming in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay.

----------

Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @mellowalieneggsknight @kenny-0909 || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

[tamagochiie]

a line without a hook | part three.

part three. “merely tolerable, really.”

chapter synopsis. Had you known freedom tasted like this, you wouldn’t have bothered to form an attachment with Mr. Ackerman. Was there really a point in what you were doing? 

word count. 7.5k

tags. swearing, angst, tones of misogyny

notes. This is a very late post, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for the upcoming chapter for this week, there may been another delay. I’ve been swamped with a lot of assignments and its my finals week, so I hope you all understand :/ 

back to master list

<< part two. | part four. >>

Your mother always told you gossip to women is like honey to a swarm of flies: you can catch more of them depending how sweet the scandal is. But she never thought to tell you what it'd be like if you were the honey, that the women would stick to you, drinking the life out of every little thing you do and unpack it together with their girl friends over afternoon tea and biscuits.

Your name, along with Mr. Ackerman's, had travelled from one tongue to the other in the last four days.

Each story are more intricately fabricated than the last. You heard all sorts of things, too many thing to keep track of — something about Mr. Ackerman's family background and more so yours, but you didn't want to pay heed over something that didn't come directly from the man himself.

And just the other day, while you commuted to town to deliver Reiner's forgotten lunch, you overhead a group of women whispering that you were already singing with the church bells.

You had shuddered at the thought and assumed it was something your mother must've cooked up given how she easily melted at Mr. Ackerman's feet when he came to visit a few days ago.

You and Mr. Ackerman were both aware that his visit, and all the kind and loving words he had said before you and your family, were merely for show. And that it was for purpose of sweeping your house clean of all trespassers and violators of your freedom.

But nonetheless, even with a letter that came to heed you of his visit, you were still left utterly speechless.

Mr. Ackerman had strolled into your cozy home, he hadn't been swathed in his usual drab choice of clothing, but settled with more pleasing fashion that didn't say,"I'm pessimistic and moody, and I've got a reputation for killing for sport".

He had been bathed in shades of blue, but still leaned on the darker side of the color spectrum. It had been a good change save for his signature cravat, and it led you to wonder just how many he owned.

You came to the conclusion he owned quite enough to be stitched together and make a thick and long blanket to last through the winter.

However, what had left you gobsmacked and rapidly blinking in succession was not Mr. Ackerman's slight change of style, but the little smirk across his lips while he spoke to your mother. His tone hadn't been clipped and did not drip in annoyance, but was a twinge softer — completely out of pocket for a man with a reputation for being dark and brooding.

Sasha, on the other hand, had been easily tickled in pure curiosity by Mr. Ackerman, poking and prodding him with peculiar and rather personal questions. You had expected he'd yell at her, seeing he'd be the kind of person to do that.

But he didn't snap. It was obvious his patience had been wearing thing, so he kept his replies quick and short just like his temper.

Pieck never spoke a word, but had instead observed the exchange as she sat on the couch, sandwiched between Connie and Jean while your mother had done her best to entertain Mr. Ackerman in small talk even though the man reeks of disdain for it.

Though Mr. Ackerman had successfully wooed your mother, and probably the rest of your sisters and Connie, Reiner was anything but.

Your brother protectively glued himself to your side, glaring down at Mr. Ackerman with a vexed look plastered across his scruffy face. Unfortunately, Reiner's attempt to be intimidating had fallen short and made you not only you, but Mr. Ackerman, suppress a stifling laugh.

Regardless of your brother's wishes, Mr. Ackerman's visit had been deemed fruitful. Your mother's eyes as well as her heart completely set on Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Ackerman alone.

To which both requests you firmly nodded and smiled at.

But your smile had been quick to fade.

You agreed to this little sham because you admired your freedom, but ever since Mr. Ackerman's visit, despite no men coming to bother you from the early hours of the morning till the late afternoon, you find yourself anything but free.

Your mother, the seventh circle of your personal hell, has taken it upon herself to berate you—tells you to make more of an effort on your appearance. She'll comment on how you sit, how you speak or how you eat, and every other thing you do.

You may have been liberated by the lusting grips of men, your mother's iron clad hold on even the thought of you being a few steps away from marriage is much tighter, and much more stubborn than you ever imagined.

So you spend your days hidden in your room, away from your mother and the rest of the world.

Sometimes you'll read or stare out the window, and when you do decide to step out of your little bubble, you'll be sure to check if the coast is clear from any possibly ambushes from your mother.

Though the only time you really do go out is to check the mail to see if Mr. Ackerman has written to you — he has not — or spend some time with your great love, your horse, Maria.

But for the most part, you plant yourself on the couch right up against window sill with your back slumped on the wall and legs sprawled out. You stare outside, not really looking at anything in particular.

Maybe the chickens.

You heavily sigh, fogging up the class as you gaze idly, twirling the ends of your hair. You grow jealous of the chickens and the roosters because at least they have their freedom. Their simple minds and their simple lives; the lay eggs and crow at dawn.

Damn chickens, you seethe in thought.

There's a faint knocking on your bedroom door that cease your internal tanget. You turn your head as the door creaks open, revealing your sister, Sasha, poking her head out between the gap. A friendly smile adorns her pink lips as she holds a plate of food in her hands.

"Can I come in?" She asks, already stepping inside. "I brought you food. You've been cooped up in here for too long, I thought you might be hungry."

You chuckle and motion her to come in.

Sasha moves briskly and steps inside before shutting the door behind her. She tiptoes across the room and over to you. She lightly taps your foot to make room and you swing it off the couch.

She places the tray between the two of you. A few loaves of bread, some grapes, and other fresh fruit that you assume she's stolen from the batch Reiner's supposed to sell.

She swipes the loaf of bread, breaking it in half and hands you the bigger piece before chewing her's down.

"You alright?" She asks, her words muffled by the bread. "Mamma's gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

You bob your head, humming in response as you eat the bread bit by bit, taking your time.

Sasha follows your line of sight, checking to see what you've been so keenly staring at. Only to find that it's just a bunch of chickens running around.

"I'm overwhelmed," You confess breathily. You pull your legs up to your chest and rest your chin onto your knees. "I don't like the feeling one bit."

"Is it because of Mr. Ackerman?" Sasha looks at you with concern outlining the softness of her face. You don't really reply, just lulling your head in thought. "You surprise me, you know."

"I do?"

Sasha hums delightfully as she takes her last bite of her bread before moving onto the grapes.

"For someone who admires her freedom and never spared an interest in even the thought of forming an attachment, you latched onto Mr. Ackerman rather quickly." Sasha had always been mistaken for an idiot at a surface level, but she's a lot more perceptive than people give her credit for — than you give her credit for. And for once, you hated it. "One could even say that it's a bit...odd. But you've always been off, so maybe it isn't so out of the blue."

"Oh, how you read me so well," You say, sarcasm oozing from your words. You take a quick bite of bread.

"What's he like?"

You shrug your shoulders, pouting in thought. "I've only ever met him thrice," You point out, laughing at the curiosity avidly pooling from her eyes. "There's not much I can judge. If anything, I think you'd know more than me since you've pummeled the poor man with one too many questions."

Sasha takes the tray of food and scooches closer to you before putting it on her lap.

"But that's different! You've gotten first hand experience. Is he really like all the rumors?" She asks, a little too keenly. "Is he really as mean as they say? Because when he visited the house, he seemed too stiff for comfort."

You snort and are quick to cover your mouth to keep the bread from spilling from your lips.

"Mm, well, Mr. Ackerman is man of few words and very few expression, but he seems...genuine?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but the more you speak, the more you're hit with the realization you know absolutely no idea who the man is.

All you're really left with is his hatred for attention, and your mutual need for peace. Everything else you try to think of comes up short.

Mr. Ackerman hasn't written a letter to you since his visit. It's not like he said he was going to, but a very small and naive part of you thought he would.

Sasha continues to rain down on you with more questions, but it isn't as persistent as you'd expect her to be. Its either her line of concentration snaps too quickly for you to formulate a response, or she's just too excited to hear more.

You answer what you can until you can no longer think. Eventually you're too tired to talk about you and the subject of the conversation shifts to Sasha.

"Hey, Sasha," You carefully speak between chews, minding the grape in your mouth. Sasha's eyes, still colored in hunger as she takes another loaf of bread, darts to look at you. "What about you, though?"

"Hmm?"

"You and..." You shift in your seat and lean in. "You and Nicolo - are you two really - Oh! My God, are you alright?"

Sasha nearly chokes on her bread. Clenching her fist, she beats her chest to help soothe the burn in her throat, coughing for air.

"Sasha!"

"I-I'm fine!" She finally says, swallowing thickly. "Sorry, yes, I'm fine."

"Do you need water?" Sasha shakes her head as she rests her hand on your shoulder to keep you still in case you choose to leave. You move even closer to rub her back to ease her, but once she does, a smirk plays across your lips and chuckle stumbles from your lips. "So, I guess it's true. You and Nicolo really are —"

"Shut up!" Sasha interjects, her head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Please! I've had enough of mamma pestering me about this— ever since Pieck decided to tattle on me! If you're going to being just as annoying as her than—"

"I won't be!" You argue, your tone playful and lilting. "I'm only asking, and you're taking forever to say anything!"

"Well, fine! Alright." Sasha sharply huffs in defeat as she tosses her bread onto the tray and sets it back onto the couch. "Yes, okay, I suppose I might have feelings for Nicolo, but I don't know. I can't tell."

"You can't tell...?"

Sasha lets out another breath as she slumps against the wall. Her head tilts up to look at the cracked ceiling before looking back down to you, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks the right words to convey how she feels. She nervously twiddles her thumbs while doing so.

"How do you even know when you like someone?"

You blink at Sasha, taken aback by her question while she looks at you eagerly.

You realize, after a few breaths, you don't have a definite answer because unlike Pieck, you've never really experienced the feeling yourself. You always lived vicariously through fictional characters you read in novels, and Mrs. Bloom's sweet story of how she met her husband.

But other than that, you come up short—you can't tell at all.

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask." You confess, causing Sasha to look at you quizzically as confusion stirs in her mind. "I haven't really found the answer myself, I'm sorry."

Sasha sighs dejectedly.

"It's best to ask Pieck, isn't it?"

"As me what?" Pieck's voice, delicate and laced in curiosity, has your heads turn to the bedroom door.

It seems you were both too deep into your conversation to hear her knocking.

Pieck stands by the door, her olive green dress flows in the gentle window coming from the opened window, her hair into the usual messy, low ponytail that falls down her shoulders; her eyes heavy-laden with sleepiness.

Your eyes trail down to her hand, finding a pile of letters tightly held in it.

"Pieck, what's that?" You ask, dismissing her question with a question.

"Now hold on," Pieck hides the letters behind her back, pressing herself against the door to create even more distance—as if the wide expanse of the room wasn't enough. "What's the question?"

Sasha rolls her eyes. "It's silly."

"Well, if it's from you, I'm sure it is."

Sasha grumbles at Pieck's sarcastic retort, and you watch as your two sisters begin to bicker.

"If you're going to be an ass, I won't tell you." Sasha crosses her arms and twists her body away from Pieck and towards the window, her eyes falling to the clucking hens.

Peick nimbly trots across the floor and over to Sasha's side, crashing into her and quickly wrapping her arms around her shoulders, nosing through Sasha's hair bunched up in a high pony as she rests her chin onto her shoulder.

"Go away!" Sasha growls, her face contorts a sour expression as her attempts to shove Pieck off fails.

"Oh, c'moooon," Pieck coos, peppering kisses over her little sister's cheek, "won't you tell me? I hate being left out, especially when it's the two of you."

Sasha grunts as she tries to pry away from Pieck, but only to be caught in sloppy kisses on the cheek and the temple of her forehead. Though Sasha visibly shows disgust, even you can see that she loves being showered in affection from Pieck.

Pieck, being the eldest and holding the most responsibility, had always held you both with great love and adoration.

"Alright!" Sasha yells in surrender, tangled in the arms of her sister and somehow in a headlock as Pieck sits behind her. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Let me go and give me room, please."

Sasha elbows Pieck away from her, giving her enough space to breathe, and you snatch the tray off the couch and onto your lap to keep it from falling.

And as Sasha begins to explain her little dilemma, Pieck comfortably sits herself behind her, propping her chin back onto her shoulder and winding her arm around her waist as she listens intently. Pieck's gentleness doesn't go unnoticed by Sasha, and you watch as she sinks in the hug.

Pieck clicks her tongue, her eyes look at you as she falls into a thought, not deep enough to overthink and get carried away as she finds the answer.

"Hmmm, love and likeness can be complicated, but only if you let it be." You tilt your head at Pieck as she continues on her train of thought. "But you can tell if you like someone if you enjoy being with them and find their company pleasant. Do you find Nicolo's company pleasant?"

Sasha mindlessly hums in thought as her head lulls back on Pieck's shoulder.

"I do, actually." Sasha admits without hesitation. "I think..." She takes a beat to suck her teeth as she continues to think about it a little more, "I like the food he makes and that he, well, never seems to be bothered by me..."

"He's always so kind—like his eyes. His smile's nice, too, I suppose. Whenever he speaks, whether it's about food or well, other things, I can't help but listen."

There it is, the shimmer of affection in her light brown eyes and the oh-so-subtle smile across her lips. You almost miss it, but the world stills around you as you're caught in her bubble.

Pieck gives you a knowing look, smiling playfully.

Without saying a word or even slipping a sound, you and Pieck come to the agreement that Sasha'll have to come to her own realization that he loves him. The question is when she'll arrive at it.

Sasha brushes it off, not wanting to muddle herself any longer. She plucks the letters from Pieck's grasp and eagerly swifts through the pile while humming thoughtfully, completely ignoring Pieck's groan of disdain.

It's the usual; a couple of people from your father's family, inquiring when you're to sell the estate, one from your distant aunt from your mother's side that never bothers to actually visit, but diligently sends letters whether it be rain or shine, and one for —

"You've got a letter!" Sasha chirps, snapping her head up to look at you before shoving it into your hands. "It's from Mr. Ackerman! He's finally written to you!"

You throw your legs over the edge of the couch, sitting upright and fixing your hair as if Mr. Ackerman's just right there, watching you as you open his letter with shaky breaths and nimble fingers.

You quickly but carefully open his letter, scanning through his words and your eyes bulge out of it's sockets.

"What's it say?" Pieck inquires, excitement dripping from her lips as she scooches closer to try and peak at the letter. "Will he be visiting again?"

You shake your head.

"Well, don't be shy!" Sasha whines, "What is it?"

You open and close your mouth, blinking frantically as your shock still rides through your body. "Mr. Ackerman would like me to visit him at his estate next Tuesday."

When your mother heard news of your presence being requested by Mr. Ackerman, she took it upon herself to teach everything you needed to know about being "prim and proper". She stole your remaining days of peace and prepped you as best as she could.

When it came time for you to leave, she was adamant that you opt to take horseback instead of taking the carriage. All, especially your brother Reiner, were completely against it when they noticed the storm clouds reeling in. But your mother was deeply rooted in her stance, firm like a tree that not even the wind of your brother's disdain could change her mind.

So there you stand, having been caught in the rain, dripping from head to toe as the Smith estate towers over you, as if it's ready to swallow you whole in one go. You have to crane your neck back in a particularly painful angle to get a good look of the entire building, and you’re sure you’re only seeing the very tip of the iceberg.

Your mother warned you it would be much larger than you were used to - you just never imagined it to look like something out of a book.

Shivering and tightly wrapping your coat over you to trap any warmth you might have left with one hand, you swiftly knock on the door with the other. A shuddering breath escapes you when the door creaks open, revealing a servant to greet you in.

“Ah, Miss,” The servant’s eyes widen in fright, flinching back.  His gulp is audible even with the thundering behind you. He scans you from head to toe, and he doesn’t bother to mask his sneering at your drenched frame and all the mud collected at the hem of your skirt. “You must be Miss Blouse, yes?” You greeted him with a sneeze, and briefly apologized. “Come quickly before you catch a cold.”

But your second and most aggressive sneeze yet tells him you might already have one.

“He’s been expecting you,” Is all the servant says before guiding you down that hall.

You rub your eyes, wiping your hairs sticking to your face as you take in the sight before you. The air in the estate is chilly and deadly quiet - enough to hear the sound of your clothes dripping with water and to catch the servant clicking his tongue at you.

You hold your breath; you didn’t think the estate could get any bigger, but it does. The hallway is vast and seemingly endless; portraits of many different men and women - all who you assume were probably family members of Mr. Smith because of the signature blonde hair and blue eyes - canvas over the great walls.

Giddiness tickles down from your chest and into your stomach as you trail behind the servant, your arms swaying to the side with a little skip in your step. You try your best to catch a peak at every room and hall you pass by, but everything moves in blur.

You can’t tell if you’re tired from your travels or if it's the pace you’re walking in. You take deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together as the servant ushers you into the drawing room.

“Mr. Ackerman will be here shortly,” is all he leaves you with, not bothering to spare another breath.

You’re surrounded by more paintings and books, but a particular painting catches your eye. It’s a portrait of a woman relaxed on a chair; she looks nothing like the ones outside.  She has soft features and kind eyes, her lips supple and plump with an endearing smile. Her dark hair flows down to her shoulders, framing her face.

You squint your eyes, inching towards it with your hands clasped behind your back to avoid reaching out to touch it. The longer you stare, you find a weird sense of familiarity in her. But you just can’t -

“You’re wet.” You snap your head towards the gravelly voice to find Levi standing by the door with his brows pulled down in horror. “You’ve tracked in so much rain water, I thought a dog had stalked in.”

“Oh, I’m quite fine - achoo! Thank you for asking - achoo!” Your feeble attempt to shoot down his sarcastic remark is embarrassingly interrupted by your persistent sneezing. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove, earning a look of disgust from Mr. Ackerman. “Excuse me, I got caught in the rain.”

“I couldn’t tell,” He clips with a tight lip. “You could catch a cold -”

“Achoo!”

“It seems you already have…” Mr. Ackerman groans, and you find yourself picking at your fingers in embarrassment, your head lowered to the floor. “Follow me, I’ll give you something to change out of.”

Mr. Ackerman wastes a single breath, nor does he allow you to. But instead, with the utmost jaded expression on his face, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, expecting you to follow. You have to admit, with a fuzzy feeling buzzing in your head and the sudden sensitivity to the ache in your bones, it takes you a moment to pick up what he says and follow suit.

Has it always been this chilly?

A tremble in your damp coat, exhaling tremulously as you trot down the hall behind Mr. Ackerman. Your struggle for warmth doesn’t fall on dear ears, but it does motivate him to pick up the pace, up the winding steps and into another hallway.

Your shoes continue to click against the marble, passing by paintings and statues; for a moment you mistaken yourself to be wandering around a museum and not someone else’s home. But your head is spinning and you can’t appreciate the art even if you wanted you - you can’t even glance at a painting without wanting to vomit.

Mr. Ackerman comes to a jagged halt, causing you to nearly stumble against him. He glares at you over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” You mutter before stumbling a few steps back to give him space.

“Wait in there,” He instructs dryly, “and I’ll get someone to help you in a bit.”

“Oh, I - I don’t understand -”

“You have a cold,” He points out, “and I don’t think you’ll appreciate it if it were me helping you change out of your clothes.”

Your cheeks flush and your heart paces quickly in your chest; embarrassment overwhelms you and you wish the ground would swallow you up. He’s too direct and it makes your knees a little wobbly along with the rest of your body - you’ve turned into jello.

“Just wait in there and there’ll be a maid to bring you clothes. I’ll meet you again once you’re done.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You whisper, your eyes finally snap from the floor and meet Mr. Ackerman’s same old arid visage, but there’s a tenuous, unfamiliar gleam in his eyes you can’t seem to read.

He sternly nods, but just before trodding off you call after him, “Mr. Ackerman?” Your voice hushed and trembly.

“Yes, Miss Blouse?” He watches you expectantly, his head faintly tilting to the side. “Is there something else?”

Ironically, despite Mr. Ackerman coldness and indifference, you can feel that he cares - his warmth. And you can’t help but feel dangerously eager, a little selfish even, for wanting more. You can’t help but want to push further, but you’re reminded of the rumors and prefer not to push your luck.

“Thank you,” You say with a smile, a genuine one that catches him off guard, but not that you can tell with your glossy eyes.  “Thank you fo - achoo! I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Ackerman.”

There’s a very, very subtle blush that spreads across his cheeks that reaches the tips of his ears, and maybe if it wasn’t for the odd lightly in the hallway, you would’ve caught it. But once again, Mr. Ackerman thanks his lucky stars and gulps, “Don’t mind it too much,” and spins on his heels before striding down the hallway.

You watch till his footsteps fade and his slender frame disappears as he turns the corner before finally looking at the door beside you. You stare at the door knob, your hand fidgeting over it before finally taking it in your hand and opening the door.

You gasp in awe, your eyes going round - the room can eat your house in a single bite. Even the bed that sits at the center, headboard pushed up against the wall, is bigger than the one your share with Pieck. Maybe bigger than the bed your mother and father shared.

You step inside, pushing the door shut behind you before twirling and taking in all the green and gold in the room. You’ve never seen so much gold - you’ve never seen gold in general, but here you are completely surrounded by it.

The strident knocking on the door causes you to still, staggering over your feet to find a familiar face greeting you with a cheerful smile, balancing a folded pile of clothes in their hand.

“Hange!” You squeak in shock, nearly losing your balance.

“Miss Blouse,” They playfully salute to you before entering in completely. “I saw you come in earlier and Levi said you’d be in here, so I thought to help. Though he did oppose, I'm not one to follow orders anyway.”

They cleverly wink at you, stretching their arm out to hand you the clothes and you meekly take it.

“How are you feeling?” They ask, taking a seat on the bed, “You can change over there, behind the partition,” They point to the other side of the room where it stands beside the window, and you quickly shuffling behind it.

You finally peel off your clothes, finally being freed by way your damp clothes and the way it clung to your body. You sigh heavily, tremulously.

“So, how are you feeling?” Hange’s voice echoes in the room from where they sit. They lean back on the heel of their palms, lulling their head bad carelessly as they wait for your response. “Levi said you might have a cold, and luckily for you, I’m a doctor.”

You hum in response, your focus directed on changing your clothes as quickly as possible.

“I’m, uh, I think I’m okay,” There’s a tingling in your skin and an unbearable ache in your bones. Your whole body feels sensitive; you’re not sure if you feel chilly or too warm. But you don’t want to be a burden, especially since you’re already borrowing someone else's clothes.

Whose are these anyway? You can’t imagine these are Hange’s, it’s way too small.

“He said you were sneezing!” They say, their voice slightly raising. “That you were sneezing a lot.”

“Probably just allergies!” You try and laugh it off, hoping Hange doesn’t press any further. But much to your displeasure, Hange isn’t one to simply let things go.

But the moment you step out from the partition, tying your hair up to keep from staining the dress, Hange strides over to you, placing her wrist onto your forehead and hums.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” You press.

“You’re a liar.”

“I'm not!” The whine that escapes your dried lips, takes enough energy from you to have your vision grow spotty and have your knees give in. Hange loops their arm around your waist and you slump onto their chest for support. “Right, maybe I am a liar,” You admit breathily, your eyes fluttering shut. “I’m really sorry, this is extremely impolite and my mother would kill me if she found me like this.”

“Never mind what your mother says,” They sigh before helping you over to the bed, “nothing good will come of thinking about what your mother says,”

You laugh softly, finding irony in their words.

The cushions are warm and comforting, pulling you into ease as you’re swayed by your need for rest. You try to combat it by blinking away, but drowsiness overtakes you like an unrelenting storm and you fall perilous to it the second your head sinks into the pillows.

You're greeted by a sharp, persistent ache in your head and a stubborn throb in your bones. You moan in discomfort and writhe beneath the cotton bed sheets.

You feel something cold dripping down your head, but before you can reach to check, you feel a wet cloth being placed on your forehead. You crack your eyes open and draw a bitter breath to find Mr. Ackerman towering over you. His brows pulled into a deep line of focus and his eyes colored in determination as if its taking all his verve to adjust the way the towel sits on your head.

He looks down at you and his expression softens.

It softens?

"You're awake," Mr. Ackerman notes. Maybe its the sickness, and that you're probably imagining it, but does Mr. Ackerman's tone sound a lot gentler? Its almost as if he's concerned for your well-being — almost as if he's worried and relieved you're finally awake. But his face remains unreadable, devoid of emotion. "You've been asleep for quite some time, but your temperature seemed persistent. Hange said as long as the rag is frequently changed then you should be better. How are you feeling?"

Does that mean he's been changing the rag? He said it should 'changed frequently' —

You arch your back when the ache in your bones come back stronger than ever. You whine in pain and drown back into the mattress.

"I don't feel too well," You croak, swallowing dryly.

"Do you need water?"

You can only nod.

Mr. Ackerman swiftly reaches for the glass of water that sits on the bedside table. You try and sit up , your bones feel like chalk as it grates against each other. You try to take it from him, but he raises his free hand to stop you. “Let me,” is all he says to you before bringing it up to your lips.

Baffled, you still drink it.

Your thoughts are still too foggy to draft a single thought. But all you is know your heart’s drumming in your chest and your breath is hitched in your throat for an entirely different reason that’s far from your cold.

You sigh in relief after a few gulps, muttering a ‘thank you’.

“Mr. Ackerman, you said that I’ve been asleep for quite some time,” You recount, looking at him puzzled, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He replies flatly, as if he's not bothered by it at all.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Ackerman hums as he falls back into his chair grabbing the book beside him before opening it up to the page he left off.

“You needn’t worry,” He eases without looking up to meet your eyes, as unbothered by the worry screaming in your eyes. “I’ve already written a letter to your mother the moment you fell asleep and informed her of your current state.”

“And what did she say of it?”

“She deeply apologizes for overstaying your welcome, but is pleased to know you’re in good hands.” Mr. Ackerman turns to the next page before he crosses his legs. His eyes flicker up to look at you to find irritation seeping out of your through eyes narrowed at an empty space on the floor, chewing on the inside of your cheek “I assured her that **you are in good hands, Miss Blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologize again for the umpteenth time as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair. “My mother must’ve planned this in hopes that I may grow closer to you.”

Mr. Ackerman cocks his brow at you, “Are you blaming your mother for your cold? Shouldn’t you be blaming the weather, or that you rode on horseback on a rainy day?”

"I cannot blame my mother for my cold or the weather, but I can blame her for scheming along with it." You sigh, leaning your head back onto the pillow, "My mother is an opportunist, so she must've seen the rain clouds as her 'moment to grasp'. She was adamant that I take horseback and not that carriage. My mother is many things, but most importantly, she's a scheming woman."

Much to your surprise, Mr. Ackerman smirks at your words. He smirks.

He licks his thumb before turning the page of his book, his eyes ghosting over the words without much intention to actually read.

"What are you doing?" You ask, twisting to face him, your hand tucking beneath the side of your face.

"I'm reading." He isn't.

"Here?"

"Would you rather I not keep you company?" His grey eyes blink away from the page and up at you. "Isn't this the whole point of your visit, to get o know each other?"

"W—Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd take our proposition quite literally." You voice falls soft at the end of your sentence and you feel yourself shrink in embarrassment.

"How else are we to make them believe we've formed an attachment?"

"Oh, well—"

"Is my company a bother?"

You shake your head. "Is mine?"

Mr. Ackerman chuckles and if it weren't for the whirling of your brain, you would've caught it. "Merely tolerable, really. You best get some rest, Miss. Blouse."

When you awaken again, it’s a little later in the afternoon and the sun is harshly bleeding through the glass window and casting over your face.

The first thing you notice is not the freshly changed rag resting over your forehead, but the empty chair that Mr. Ackerman sat himself earlier. You pout and you feel a little disappointed.

Disappointed?

What?

You prop yourself up on your elbows, drawing a sigh of relief. The smell of fresh sheets permeate your lungs and your tilt your head back before tilting it back up again.

Through your hooded gaze, your eyes scan through the room. You finally appreciate just how beautifully decorated it is. Shades of complimentary greens canvas the room and soft golds accent the room here and there. It’s ingrained in the walls and on the doors, and coloring the the bed posts, too.

With nimble fingers, you peel the covers off and a wave of cool air washes over your body.The floor is just as cold when your feet meet the carpet. You shuffle around the room, nosing through things but never really touching anything. You're too scared you might accidentally break something.

But the thirst of your curiosity has yet to be quenched, so you find yourself straying out the room, trotting down the hall and twirling around the space gleefully.

The estate is something written in the books. If it wasn't for the dreary, unsettling air hanging over you as thick as fog, the feeling would be magical.

Too busy to play make believe in your head, you find yourself too far off the path. Everything looks the same, and you eyes widen in panic.

Think, think, think, you chant inwardly, twisting your head around for something familiar.

Panic rises from your chest and lodges into your throat, and the last thing you need is to fall onto Mr. Ackerman's bad side.

But before your knees can shake in such unnerving trepidation, faint whispers echoing down the hall and towards you pull you from your thoughts. The voice are so faint and low, you nearly mistaken it to be elves.

You listen intently and follow the source, passing through a few more paintings and doors to lead you to a fragment of light bouncing off the wall and onto a door left ajar. You come to an immediate standstill when you recognize the voice — it's Mr. Ackerman.

Every inch of you tells you to turn around and walk away, but you aren't your mother's daughter for nothing. So the greater part of you belonging to her tugs you close, stealing a peak through the little gap as you hold your breath.

"When did you hear of this?" Mr. Ackerman's voice is gravelly, laced in annoyance. You hear him sharply huff followed by the sound of a hand slamming against the table, causing you to jolt in place. "How long have you known?"

"Not long," The unfamiliar, gruff voice says, and Levi grumbles. "Be thankful I'm telling you now and not waiting any longer. How could I with all your dallying? Since when have you taken any interest in marriage?"

"I haven't." He clips, tone dry. "The point is —"

"The point is, he's back and the last thing you need to do is wasting your time in courting a woman. Honestly, Levi, since when have you been so reckless?"

"Erwin," Mr. Ackerman grits, "my personal affairs have nothing to do with you. Who I choose to spend my time with has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Mr. Smith seethes, yelling in a whispers. "If you cannot do your job, then how can I trust you? Do you not remember the reason why we're here?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"It seems that you are," Your eyes widen at Mr. Smith's counter, "she's slept here for two days, and you for two days, you've watched over her instead of doing what I've instructed you to do."

"She was sick." Mr. Ackerman argues flatly.

"Hange is a doctor for a reason."

"And I don't trust them for a reason."

You can only assume it's Mr. Smith who sighs dejectedly and clicking his tongue agitation. It only further piques your interest, and you wish it doesn't. But you can't help it, hearing that Mr. Ackerman stayed by your side while you rested made your cheeks burn and you can't help but grin to yourself, completely overjoyed.

You mentally kick yourself for being so much like your mother.

"You cannot hold that burden with you forever." Mr. Smith sighs.

"Whatever," Is the weak counter Mr. Ackerman spits back. "I'll take care of it tonight — the one of Governor Pixy's."

"Be sure to make yourself like an artificial night when you do." Mr. Smith commands, his voice smooth and stern. "You mustn't be caught."

"When have I ever been?"

You quickly leave, sprinting down the hall the moment you hear a chair grating against the floor.

Your heart drums in your chest and you breath tremulously. You heard something you shouldn't have even if it was only in incoherent pieces. Truly, it could be anything, but with the rumors circulating around him, it shouldn't be so surprising.

So why is it?

You find yourself in a more familiar part of the estate and you breathe out in relief.

You’re about to head back into your room when you stumble past a room, catching a glance of a grand piano standing tall from the corner of your eye. You retract your steps and turn your head to get a better look, your lips falling into an 'o' when you do.

She's beautiful, you think.

It’s an alluring, glossy ebony piano — one Sasha finds herself drooling over to play on whenever she sees one. She'll hate you so much when you tell her about it.

Against your better judgement, with all the bells warily ringing for you not to, you walk over to the piano, your hand shadowing over the wood. You take a seat before the keyboard just to take a good look at her. You have no intention to play her, really. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't for the life of you.

Your eyes flicker to the fall board of the piano and find a name engraved in gold.

"Petra," you whisper. "It's very nice to meet you. You're very beautiful, aren't you?"

"What the hell are you doing?" You shoot up from the chair and snap your head up to find Mr. Ackerman fuming at you. His eyes dark with rage and his jaw screwed shut, gritting at you. "I asked you a question."

"I— I didn't touch anything." You peep. You feel incredibly small underneath his scrutinizing gaze. You wish the ground would swallow you up right then and there. "I, I really didn't—"

"Get the fuck away from her." Mr. Ackerman speaks lowly, his voice quietly trembling, but you can't hear it. 

Even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you feel as if you’ve been caught red handed. Fear buzzes in your head and fogs up any line of thought. 

"I'm sorry?"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE PIANO!" He bellows, his eyes as fiery as his anger, causing you to stumble back and nearly trip up on your feet. "Who the fuck do you think you are, wandering into places you have no business? Is this what you shitty farm people are like? You get a chance to walk into a place thrice the size of your home and they think they could just parade around?!"

"I—I didn't mean to —"

"You and your family are fucking disgusting."

There are many things you're willing to put up with. You don't mind if someone were to come after you and call you out, but coming after your family is completely different. So your kindness and the very last bit of your patience snaps like a twig.

"I would imagine you're the disgusting one." Your voice is still small, but you’re building up to your confidence, peeling your eyes away from the patterned carpet to stare daggers right back at Mr. Ackerman who stills completely.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll admit I've overstepped and I deeply apologize for that," You begin, your voice no longer wavering in fear, "but how dare you? My family’s been nothing but kind to you."

"I think you've mistaken that I fucking care."

"I've heard many things about you, too many, for that matter. Yet I never labelled as anything as derogatory as what you've called me." You draw out a sharp breath, closing your eyes for a moment to steady you heart before continuing, "I think its disgusting, I think,  that such a man as yourself, who've I've heard has been through hell and back, would think so lowly of people that's no different than him."

You never dared to listen to the rumors or any of the gossip. Even when your mother would try to entertain any of it, you’d stop listening or leave the room if you could. But if Mr. Ackerman was willing to aim for such a low blow, you couldn't think of a reason why you shouldn't do the same.

"I think you’re 'fucking disgusting' for forgetting where you came from."

Mr. Ackerman clenches his jaw and balls his fits tight til his knuckles paint white. He's ready to fire bullets into your self-esteem, but before Mr. Ackerman can even utter a syllable, a servant appears behind him, clearing his throat to cut of the momentum.

"Apologies for the intrusion," The servant says, his tone monotonous and dry, "but it Miss Blouse's brother is here to collect her."

You widen your eyes at the servant, and your expression softens. 

“Reiner’s here?” You voice is small again. 

“Yes, Miss.”

"Perfect." Mr. Ackerman huffs, his whole body still tense. "Get the fuck out."

You snap your gaze back to Mr. Ackerman, sneering, "Gladly."

tag list. @castellandiangelo @astronomyturtle @regalillegal @oshuncheyenne @drapetomaniaac @whalerus @hinaamaya @ggsmashgg @kyosugi92 @daikushiji @acker-baby @lundabean @moonxochu @melodiamore @unlikelyfestivalshepherdhuman @osmosly @halparkebitch @leashaoki @bonkybabe @myeg1993 @chikenbitches @subtlepjiminie @mangobee

[yuzukult]

i’m bad too 15 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none !! a/n: a “leading” chapter, before something actually happens! so, not the most exciting, but... yeah. :D

please let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! taglist: @wownajaemin​​​​ @crescent-iak​​​​ @ncttboo​​​​ @byunbaekby​​​​​ @jinfizz​​ @doyoungyoung​​ @ahgayeah0305​​ @doyobun​​ @sexualitaeyong​ @mrkleelvr​​ @m1ss-foodi3​​

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If it’s one thing you’ve learned about yourself, it’s that you hate when Ten chews his food with his mouth open. He chomps it like a cow munching on grass, and sometimes, he even makes those weird wet sounds if the food is soft and squishy enough.

But after laying in a hospital bed for a week, unable to speak, you’re missing the ability to call your big brother ‘disgusting’ across the table, toss something in his direction, and him opening his mouth to show the contents of his dinner inside.

“Are you fucking insane? You let her go into hellfire, knowing damn well she wasn’t protected?” The voice is familiar, loud, and straining, like they’re on the verge of tears but too instilled with anger to let the sadness seep through. “I thought I said to keep her fucking safe if you wanted to work together.”

“I don’t work in the field, Ten. I don’t control what happens at the moment.”

“Yeah, but you set the commands. You give the orders. She’s fucking on her deathbed, Taeyong—“

“Don’t fucking say my name in public,” he hisses through his gritted teeth. “Listen. If it’s not her, it’s me.”

“I’d rather it be you.”

“You need me, Ten. Who is gonna do the dirty work for you? Look at those pretty fingers. You wouldn’t hurt a soul. But your sister—you know damn well she’s got potential to be more. This is just a hurl she’s jumping over. When she recovers—“

“You’ve got to be fucking insane, you think I’m gonna let her go back out there when you put her in harms way?”

Before the conversation could continue, you hear the door click shut, and the shuffling of flat shoes tapping against the cold tiles, reaching to your bedside. You can’t see, your body won’t let you fully awaken, and you can’t speak with this tube lodged in your throat. But the whiff of the cologne that comes hits your nostrils is a familiar one. It’s Doyoung.

He sighs, like he’s been troubled and you can’t even blame him. You told him not to worry, that you’d stay safe, and here you are—unable to move, unable to wake up, unable to breathe on your own, and unable to talk.

You hear his moments; the scuffing of his oversized denim jacket against the leather seat by your bed, browsing through the drawers with each push and slam until he finds what he’s looking for, and when you hear the television turn on, you could only assume it was for the remote.

“I wonder if they have Marvel movies playing,” he says, seemingly to no one in particular until you realize he’s speaking to you, in spite of the fact that you’re very much in a deep sleep. “I know they’re not your favorite, but you tolerate it. I never got to ask what kind of movies you liked. I… I guess I was being a little selfish when you gave me attention that I never considered to ask.”

You wanna tell him that you actually don’t even like movies, in fact, you prefer sitcoms in spite of your very evident opposite personality. If you could, you would tell him that you watch those superhero movies because he’s into them, that if you get to see that pretty little smile on his face, it makes you forget all your problems and… the moment is worthwhile.

Warmth reaches your fingers, and you could only assume that it’s Doyoung holding your hand. It’s a familiar feeling of home, like you’re meant to be here with him, except the current setting isn’t necessarily favored.

“Do you like Spongebob?” He asks, as if you could even respond. “Mm. Doesn’t really seem like your thing, but I feel like you’re the type to not look like you enjoy it, but you actually love it because it’s annoying.”

He’s… right. You want to laugh, genuinely laugh because Kim Doyoung is spot on with his prediction. He knows you better than he gives himself credit for, because he doesn’t change the channel and watches the TV with you.

“I bet you like sitcoms,” Doyoung mentions randomly, eyes still on the screen. “Like maybe not Modern Family, but maybe like… Parks and Rec. You don’t seem like you’d enjoy the Office too much, maybe Michael Scott is too much of a character but Andy Bernard looks like a guy you’d scare to the point he’d piss his pants, but you’d like him.” Again, you think to yourself. Because Doyoung got it right yet again.

He’s quiet for a bit, letting Spongebob play in the background and you could hear the conversation between Spongebob and Patrick. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s actually happening, but the feeling of being with Doyoung like this, hand in hand with something stupid playing on TV is your favorite.

It’s casual. No missions, no guns, no family business—just you and Doyoung.

Doyoung doesn’t say much on the day you finally wake up. With a tube wedged down your throat, it’s difficult to have a two-way conversation anyways, and seeing you like this probably breaks his heart, so any word that leaves his mouth might be with a stutter and a sob.

Spongebob plays on the television for another hour before Doyoung eventually breaks the glass of quietude, letting out a soft chuckle at something Patrick said. “Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, glancing over at you. “Wasn’t sure if you liked Spongebob.” Although you can’t speak, the soft squeeze of his hand gives away your approval, and a gentle smile tugs on his face.

There's another moment of silence, just before Doyoung lowers the volume of the TV before gathering enough courage to talk. It takes a lot to get himself to speak up against you, someone he sort of feared yet at the same time had strong feelings for.

“I know what you do,” he announces, eyes never leaving the flickering screen with cartoon characters under the deep blue sea do stupid things, unmatching to what he wants to say next. “I can’t say that I totally get it, because I don’t. I’d be lying if I said I did, but… you do those things, and I’m not a hundred percent sure what to make out of it, but I get why it was hard to confess… those things.” He runs his fingers through his greasy locks, accumulating in oils from how long he’s stayed here without going home to shower. “I kind of thought I was going to date someone really simple one day, yaknow? Settle down with a girl who has a job, sweet and kind, with the same end goal in mind. Get married, have kids… all that fun stuff.”

Your nose twitches at that. Because you’re definitely not that.

“But then I met you, which is… well,” he lets out a faint laugh, “... the complete opposite of all of that. You’re dangerous, cold, and oftentimes, I’m left hanging by a thread, confused on what we are and what I actually mean to you.”

If you could, you’d interrupt him right then and there. Tell him your sorrys, belatedly confessing your true feelings for him, let him know you’d be better for real this time, but truthfully, you’re not sure if he’ll believe you anyway.

“And I could just drop everything right now. Just get up, leave, move on. Tell you that I don’t want this anymore, that whatever you’re in, I don’t wanna be roped in and get involved in your baggage.” It’s like you could hear the cracking of your heart as it falls into the depths of your stomach because your chest feels empty when he says that. The worst part is when you can’t defend yourself, tell him that it’s not like that, but in the end, Doyoung does it for you.

“Yet, I’m still here, right? Because I don’t get you, I don’t get whatever it is you got yourself caught up in, but… after knowing, it oddly makes me… trust you more. So, I’ll stay.”

“Fuck,” Ten curses underneath his breath, getting slightly frustrated with the wheelchair being caught on the steps of your home again. “Fucking shit, nothing here is disability accessible.”

It’s still hard to talk, but a weak laugh escapes from your lips.

“Don’t laugh, you’re the one in the wheelchair not doing shit.”

When he gets you through the front door, and into the hallway, you can’t help but stare at Ten curiously. He furrows his brows at this, hands at his hips with a gesture of his chin. “What’s in your head?”

“Uh,” it’s straining to speak, but if not now, it’s never. “I overheard a conversation when I was asleep. I-I don’t know if it was a dream or… I don’t know. But I heard you talking to someone, uh, someone particularly… with a reputation.”

His body goes rigid.

“Right,” you state, feeling more confident that the discussion was definitely not a dream. “So this entire time, you’ve been working with the organization?” Ten only sucks his cheeks, unable to formulate a proper rebuttal, so you take advantage of this. “This whole time, you let them constantly probe and ask me to be part of them—”

“I told him not to—”

“Well, he’s been asking, Ten, and he hasn’t stopped. I got contracted to be part of them temporarily, not permanently. This was supposed to be a one and done deal, you realize that, right?”

He scoffs. “You think that anything you do with Lee Taeyong could just be easily brushed under the rug? Hell no, you have to be insanely rich to pay off that guy. He thinks you’re talented, you know? What do you think this is?”

“I could just get up and leave—” “In your fucking dreams, kid,” Ten lets out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. “I agreed to work with him before I knew that you were already contracted with him. There’s shady people in the business. There’s so many messed-up dudes who would bend the laws to get what they want. I don’t want that, but I have to protect myself.”

“But—”

“Wanna hear something, kid? Taeyong doesn’t think this accident,” Ten gestures to your wounds, heart tightening at the sight of you in pain. “... this accident, is just… it. He calls this an obstacle. He thinks this is just a bump in your progress, something you need to overcome before you hop back into the field and start training all over again. He’s not gonna let this go, doesn’t matter if I’m his client. Fuck, kid, he has a shit ton of clients.”

Uneasily, you grip onto the wheels of your seat. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“It’s your loss, kid. Either kill Taeyong and take his seat or you gotta work for him.”

[heyitssmiller]

Clandestine: Chapter Six

We’re baaaaaack!

Thank y’all for being so patient! I’m really excited for you to read this one <3

Characters belong to the lovely @lumosinlove

@donttouchmycarrots is forever my hero for proofreading, dealing with way too much of my own self-doubt, and being the best friend anyone could ask for. My dude, my pal, my babe! I love you more than words can say. <3

Clandestine Masterlist

.

Previously:

Logan was still biting back a smile when someone slid into the seat next to him. His smile faded instantly. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, not right now. And especially not a Snake. The night only got worse when he looked over to the newcomer to face eerie, yellow eyes. He froze, unsure whether to stand his ground or run as fast as he possibly could.

“Enjoying the party?” Riddle asked coolly, swirling the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Logan couldn’t decide if the better plan of action was to hold his ground or to run. He stared into creepy, soulless eyes, frozen in place. The voices over his comms and the music of the band faded out to white noise, leaving him to face down Riddle alone.

“Mr. Riddle.” He finally managed to say, keeping his voice even and taking a sip of his drink. “This is a nice party you’ve got here.”

“Thank you. It’s been a long time coming.” Detached, sunken-in eyes regarded him coolly. “I don’t think I've seen you around before.”

“I’m a reporter,” Logan relayed their cover story without hesitation. “Just here getting information for an article I’m writing.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.” Riddle said. There was nothing inherently dangerous about his words. His posture was completely relaxed, his tone even and calm. If Logan didn’t already know his face, he wouldn’t think twice about him if he passed him on the street or saw him in a store. It was eerie how someone with so much blood on their hands could act so… normal. As if he’d done nothing wrong.

Logan itched to take him down. His concealed gun seemed to burn a hole into his dress shirt. He could do it. One quick, well-placed shot and he could end this. He wouldn’t make it out the door and countless gang members would get away, but Riddle was right in front of him. It would be so easy.

“Now, what kind of reporter do you take me for?” He asked instead, pushing the thoughts down. They could get him later when he had an actual plan and backup. As much as he wanted to, this wasn’t the time or place.

Riddle hummed in thought. “You know, I’m not really sure. An unprepared one, I suppose. I don’t see you writing anything down.”

Logan, although his blood had just turned to ice in his veins, had just opened his mouth to lie about a recording device in his pocket when a new voice cut in.

“There you are!”

Logan’s shoulders tensed at the all-too-familiar accent and he turned, his heart plummeting like a stone in his chest, to see Leo standing there. Tall and bright and too precious to be staring danger in the face like this.

“I should’ve known you’d be here.” Leo teased, looking over at Riddle and brazenly greeting him with a fake smile. “Riddle.”

Riddle glanced between the two of them, as unflappable as ever. “Your boyfriend?”

“Coworker.” Logan quickly corrected, ignoring the way his stomach flipped at the misconstruction and sending Leo a warning look. “A coworker who won’t leave me alone tonight, apparently.”

Please take the hint, Nutty. He silently begged. Get the fuck out of here.

Leo shrugged, absolutely remorseless, that little shit. “Well, I’ve got some questions for you. You know this is my first big article and I want to make sure I’ve got all the information I need.”

Oh. Now Logan understood. Leo wasn’t vying for a way to get the flash drive he knew Riddle kept on him, he was trying to get Logan out of there. Before this moment, Logan had never thought of Leo as an intimidating person. Sure, he was big, but he was also soft and gentle and kind. Looking at him now, though, there was this glint in his eyes, this undercurrent of danger that Logan quickly recognized as protectiveness. And frankly, it was a little terrifying.

Was that how people viewed Logan on a regular basis?

Not having time to think too hard on that, Logan nodded. “Sure, I’ll help you out.” He set his unfinished drink on the counter and nodded at Riddle. “Enjoy the rest of your party, and congratulations on the twenty-five years of your organization.”

Riddle seemed to intuitively know something was going on, but he also didn’t particularly seem to care. He was well aware that no one could touch him, especially not at this party. And not without a substantial amount of evidence, which they still didn’t have. Not yet, at least. But Logan couldn’t wait for the day when he got what was coming for him.

He followed Leo across the ballroom without another word to one of the side doors – their planned meeting spot in case things went south – where Finn was waiting, shuffling on his feet and looking a little like he was going to be sick. The tension he was carrying in his posture seemed to ease when he caught sight of them and there wasn’t even a split-second of hesitation before he was herding them out the door, down the lavishly decorated entryway, and towards one of the taxis waiting out front. Logan noticed the way his hands shook as he opened the car door for the two of them, glancing over his shoulder before ducking into the back seat with his partners. Logan wanted nothing more than to reach over and grab hold, to settle those tremors with his own steady hands, but they still weren’t safe yet. Who knew who could be listening in at that moment.

The ride back to the hotel was stilted and hushed and more than a little shell-shocked as they processed the events of the night. They’d been in a den of vipers that were capable of horrific things and they’d somehow managed to get out unscathed, plus they had one more flash drive to add to their growing collection. It almost didn’t feel real.

However, the longer Logan sat in that taxi, the angrier he got. And that definitely felt real. What the hell was Leo thinking, running headfirst into danger like that? Of all the people on this mission, Logan was the most capable of taking care of himself in tense situations like that. Leo had been brash and thoughtless and risky - acting like a true rookie - but Logan couldn’t exactly chew him out in the back of a taxi, so he sat there and fumed. He was sure it was written all over his face for anyone to see, but he no longer cared.

The taxi parked outside their hotel. They paid the driver in silence. They got out in silence. They rode the elevator up to the third floor in silence. They unlocked their door in silence.

And then the dam broke and a tidal wave crashed over it, loud and roaring and livid.

Logan whirled on Leo, not even caring that their door was still open. “Don’t you ever pull something like that again. I had it covered.” He hissed, yanking his earpiece out with one hand and jabbing Leo in the chest with his finger. He hoped the single point of contact it bruised from the force he put behind the motion.

Leo wasn’t backing down easily, though. He stood to his full height and loomed over Logan, anger radiating off him in waves. Apparently he’d been seething in the taxi, as well. “You’d do the same thing if it were me. Why is it ok for you to do it but wrong when the roles are reversed?” He demanded, letting the door slam behind him. Logan saw Finn flinch out of the corner of his eye.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s me, I’m just a grunt. We lose you, we lose our chance to take down the Snakes.” He said the words plainly, cut-and-dry. He knew his place on this mission, and it wasn’t the most critical. He could live with that fact. What he couldn’t live with was losing either of them.

This was exactly why he’d wanted to get off this mission and take another job. If this was what the rest of the op was going to be like, constantly stressing over the two of them but still having to painfully distance himself, he wasn’t sure he could do it.

All the fight seemed to leave Leo in an instant at Logan’s words. He stared down at him with a furrowed brow and wide, sad eyes. “You can’t believe that.”

Logan was left reeling by the sudden change of pace, the rough waves flattening out to a calm sea in the blink of an eye. He just shrugged as he tried to formulate any kind of response. He wasn’t sure what Leo wanted him to say so he just stood there and stared at him, completely at a loss.

Finn cut Leo off as he started to speak, looking firmly between the two as he loosened his tie – still crooked, even after all this time. “Enough. Both of you. Leo, you were out of line. Logan had it handled. I know you meant well, but you know the code word if we need help, so let him do his job instead of prematurely rushing in to be the hero. Logan, if I hear you talk about yourself like that again – well, I’m not actually sure what I’ll do. But it won’t be pretty.” He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up in the closet, haphazardly kicking his shoes off and pushing them with his foot until they were snug against the wall and out of the way.

“We need to talk about tomorrow.” He continued curtly as he rapidly started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“What’s tomorrow?” Leo asked from his perch on the bed as he toyed with the laces of one shoe. Logan followed their lead and started getting ready for bed. His head shot up at Finn’s next words, though.

“My date with June.”

“Who?” He asked, although he knew full-well who she was. He just wanted to be contrary. He knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to pretend to be indifferent to the idea of Finn going on a date with a near stranger, so this was his next best option.

Finn took it in stride, though, not even blinking an eye as he headed for the bathroom. Logan could hear the sink running a second later. “She’s the one setting up my meeting with Lestrange. We’re going to a coffee shop down the street in the morning.”

Leo, clad in the most ridiculous pair of Cookie Monster pajama pants that were too short for him, crawled into bed and shimmied over to be in the middle. Logan felt any residual anger dissipate at the sight. What a dork.

“Do Loops and Sirius know about this?” Leo asked as he fought back a yawn.

Finn poked his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth and managed to get out a garbled ‘yeah’ before disappearing again. Water could be heard running again, then the light flicked off. The redhead checked to make sure both partners were in bed before turning off the main lights and blindly stumbling his way towards the bed.

“Sirius heard everything, gave me the all clear. Loops was…” Finn trailed off into silence, dampening the mood again as they thought of their coworker.

“Yeah.” Leo said quietly, shifting from his back to his side to give Finn more room. Logan could just barely make out his face through the shadows, illuminated faintly in yellow by the lights of the parking lot outside their window.

“We’ll come with you.” Logan was saying before he realized just what that entailed. “Neither of us met her at the gala, so we can hide out in the corner of the shop or something and keep an eye on you.”

Finn snorted half-heartedly. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“We’re not taking any chances with these guys, and you know it.” Logan rebutted, leaving no room for argument. “You’ve got an alarm set?”

“Mmmhmm.” Came the sleepy, mumbled reply. Logan smiled, not bothering to hide the affection on his face. The shadows did that for him. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Get some sleep, then. We can go over details in the morning.”

The only response he got was slow, even breathing.

***

Remus felt one of the couch cushions sag next to him as Sirius sat down, the old wooden supports creaking a little under their combined weight. He turned his distracted gaze from the miraculously revived plant on the windowsill to the man beside him when he felt a gentle nudge against his arm. There Sirius sat, gray eyes calm and free of pity – thank god. Remus wasn’t sure he could deal with people being sorry for him anymore. In his hands was a cup of tea, steam swirling over the brim and disappearing into the air. Remus huffed out a faint laugh, all he could muster at the moment, and gave Sirius a dubious look.

“I only added, like, a spoonful of honey this time. That’s it.” Sirius vowed, holding the cup farther out for Remus to take. He grabbed it, warmth finally reaching poorly-circulated fingers, and took in the faint smell of apple.

“Thanks.” He murmured before taking a cautious sip. The tea hadn’t been steeped for long enough, but at least this one was drinkable. Sirius, who was eagerly awaiting his verdict, seemed to glean all the information he needed from Remus’ face. He smiled and relaxed back into the couch, looking extremely proud of himself.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Remus said as he took another sip. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about brewing tea.”

“Well, I've got a good teacher.” The combination of the words and the tea infused Remus with warmth, and he finally smiled for the first time that night. Sirius seemed to slump further into the cushions, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Remus peered over the top of his teacup at wild black curls and just a hint of a five-o-clock shadow dusting across pale skin and figured he should get rid of the elephant in the room. He hated to ruin the peacefulness of the moment and there was nothing he wanted less than to bring up this conversation, but he felt like it had to be said.

“So about earlier-”

Sirius was quick to cut him off, which grated on Remus’ nerves. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I just wanted to apologize. And to say thank you.” He looked down at the cup in his hands and forced himself to continue. “As a handler, I’m supposed to be able to keep my emotions in check and focus on the job. But every single time someone brings him up…” Remus shrugged, fingers itching to reach up and clutch at his shoulder as feral eyes and a gnarled smile haunted his mind’s eye. He gripped his tea tighter instead, hoping it would hide the tremors in his hands. “Seeing him in pictures is one thing. Hearing his voice in real time and knowing he’s right there, I just – I freaked out.”

“I can’t say I blame you.” Sirius said, then winced. “Sorry. I, uh, I read the report. And judging by your face you don’t want to talk about it, which is fine.” He rushed to say and then sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Wow, I’m bad at this. I’m just – I’m here for you, ok? In whatever way you need.”

Remus couldn’t help but smile at his awkward attempt at comfort. He wasn’t exactly good with words, but Remus would give just about anything for one of those hugs right then. He took a sip of tea instead. “Right back at you.”

Sirius flashed a warm, albeit surprised smile in return. They sat like that in companionable silence for a while, Remus drinking his tea and Sirius sprawled out on the couch, kicking one foot in a varying rhythm. It was odd for Remus to think about, even though Sirius had shown up months ago. He technically had a criminal living with him. He never thought he’d be happy about that fact. But here he was, wanting nothing more than to cuddle up next to him and get to know every different facet of this ex-Snake. What made him tick, what kept him up at night, what he dreamed about when he finally went to sleep.

But at the end of the day, what difference would that make? Sirius had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t sticking around when this mission was over. Remus wasn’t about to go and get more attached when the outcome wasn’t going to change. Remus would be left alone, again, dropped right back into his old life as if nothing had ever happened. Back to his small apartment with his dying houseplant, scrambling around in the mornings to get a cup of tea before work, sitting on the ratty couch and suffocating in the silence and loneliness. Sirius entered his life like a fog rolling in on a dark night, and he would leave the same way – without a trace.

***

Logan was drumming his fingers on the tabletop as Leo sat down across from him, cups of coffee in hand. The line of impatient customers inside the coffee shop was long due to the morning rush, but most of the tables were deserted. Logan had his back to the wall and full view of the rest of the shop, ready to keep an eye on Finn and his new friend as soon as they got there.

He tried his hardest to ignore the jealousy that coursed through his veins at the thought. This wasn’t going to be fun.

A hand covered his on the table, stopping his frantic drumming. Logan looked up into a steady blue gaze with depths that seemed to know exactly how he was feeling. He almost seemed to empathize with Logan, and that made him pause. He thought back to the very beginning of all this and focused on his partners’ interactions – cinnamon muffins and fingers brushing as Finn handed one to Leo, Leo sprawled out in the backseat after his first heist with Finn smiling back at him from the passenger’s seat, Leo worriedly staring at the bruise blooming across Finn’s cheek, the looks on their faces as they danced to a slow song.

Oh.

Logan had just opened his mouth to ask Leo about it when the bell on the shop door sounded, signaling the arrival of new customers. He looked up from his caramel mocha and his gaze flickered. “They’re here.”

Sure enough, Finn and June were making their way to the counter, deep in conversation. June said something to make Finn laugh, and Leo’s shoulders tensed at the sound. He took a calm, measured drink of his coffee and didn’t look over his shoulder at their partner. Logan was looking similarly miserable across the table from him, swirling the contents of his cup dejectedly.

“We’re really bad at this.” Leo stated plainly. Logan’s eyes shot up to meet his and he let out a surprised laugh, shifting in his seat.

“Yeah, we are.” Logan responded, eyes flitting from the partner directly in front of him to the one still in line, then back again. Leo seemed to belong in coffee shops, all golden and warm and comfortable. Sunlight from the large front windows illuminated him from the back, making him seem to glow like some mystical faerie. Normally, Logan wasn’t a fan of mornings but if this – not the spying, per se, but the sleepy jokes over coffee cups and the soft smiles and the calm assuredness that always seemed to surround Leo – was the result of getting up early, he’d get up at the crack of dawn for the rest of his life.

A glint of dark copper caught his eye and he looked over Leo’s shoulder to see Finn sit down at one of the empty tables, pushing a coffee cup over to June. She smiled and wrapped both hands around it, looking up at Finn with a smile.

Logan had been shot before. Multiple times. And stabbed, and punched more times than he could count. There was once an incident involving barbed wire (don’t ask). But watching Finn with this girl he’d just met last night, smiling and flirting and seeming to be over the moon, was a new kind of torture. And all Logan could do was sit there and watch.

His eyes snapped back to Leo, who was already watching him with a steady, pensive look. “Need a distraction?” He asked simply. Logan appreciated that. He wasn’t forcing Logan to face his thoughts or – god forbid – talk about them. He let Logan have his space to decide how he wanted to move forward, to process these overwhelming feelings in his own time.

“Please.” Logan managed to get out, pushing his unfinished coffee away from him. So Leo talked. He told stories about his childhood, how he grew up, how he got into pick-pocketing and how he got caught doing it by his Mama. Logan kept a watchful eye on Finn, making sure he was safe, and let Leo’s stories wash over him, calm and steadying. It was a bit of a strange juxtaposition, the soft voice warring with the potential of being in danger, but it soothed him all the same.

Finn was enjoying himself. June was awesome, and she had a lot of insight on Lestrange and the Snakes, although it was clear she despised them. He wasn’t sure how she got tangled up in this mess, but he hoped he could get her out of there when they finally took the gang down. But as fantastic as June was, he couldn’t keep himself from bouncing his leg under the table or sneaking surreptitious glances at the far corner of the room, where a blond and a brunet were leaning towards each other across the table. Logan smiled at something Leo said, nose scrunching as Leo gesticulated wildly about whatever he was saying. Finn so desperately wanted to be there with them, to tease Leo for the story he was telling and to kiss the laugh on Logan’s lips. He looked away quickly when green eyes met his and tried his best to refocus on June.

She gave him a knowing look, then glanced at his partners. “You’re in love with someone else, aren’t you?” 

Finn froze, trying to come up with some sort of excuse, then sighed and gave up. This was June. And they’d only just met the night before, but Finn knew how to read people. It was literally his job. She wasn’t going to tell anyone. “Something like that. It’s complicated.”

She smiled. “Does it need to be complicated, or are you just making it that way?”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed, a hint of hysteria sprinkled in. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“But you want that.” She said, jerking her head towards Logan and Leo. For a split-second, Finn thought she knew that he wanted them in particular, but then she continued. “Being able to be with the person you love, out in the open, with no obstacles in your way.”

If only she knew how spot-on that statement was.

“Yeah,” Finn said quietly, wistfully. “I really do.”

He watched as Logan grabbed one of Leo’s moving hands, narrowly keeping him from spilling one of the mugs on their table. Logan’s posture showed exasperation, but his eyes... his eyes told a completely different story.

Finn spoke again, more to himself than to June. It was a vow, a hope, a rose-tinted dream of the future. “Maybe someday.”

***

Logan wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but after what felt like way too long – who stayed at a coffee shop this long, anyways? – Finn and June seemed to be wrapping things up. They returned their mugs to the front counter and headed towards the door, but not without Finn glancing over his shoulder at his partners, an indecipherable expression on his face as he stepped out into the sun.

“They’re headed out now.” Logan stated, looking back to Leo. “Want to get back to the hotel?”

Leo gathered their mugs and got to his feet. “How about a walk first? We could be tourists for a while, see the sights.”

“It’s a big city, Nut. They all look the same.” Logan flashed a smile of thanks at the barista working the counter as Leo passed over their mugs. They stepped outside into the cool morning air and got hit by the sound of traffic echoing from the streets to the tall buildings around them. Logan sent Leo an ‘I told you so’ look, but still followed after him as he walked in the opposite direction of the hotel.

They ended up wandering around the streets of downtown Slytherin for about an hour, getting very lost (“don’t tell Finn”), and giving up. Even then, it was fun. For the first time in what felt like years, there was no ticking clock, no pressure, no imminent danger. It was simple, it was easy. Their own little adventure without the stress. Logan eventually had to fish out his phone to pull up directions back to the hotel, doing a full one-eighty in order to start going the right direction. The app led them through several back alleys and side roads, which made Logan a little uneasy. Leo didn’t seem to mind.

“I wonder if the Chopped marathon is still on TV.” Leo mused absentmindedly as he dodged a trashcan obscuring the alleyway. Logan laughed and bump his shoulder into Leo’s as they walked side by side.

“You’re something else, Nutty.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” Leo said, unconsciously slowing to a stop. Logan followed suit, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes drifting from Leo’s eyes to his lips, then back again. “It is.”

Leo met his steady green gaze, much closer than he was used to. This was normally where Leo would hesitate. There would be a moment, a flicker of interest, and Leo would freeze. There were usually so many things racing through his mind and he would overthink everything and then the moment would be over.

He didn’t give himself the chance to do that this time.

Leo stepped forward to stand toe-to-toe with Logan, his thumb gently tracing those lips that had plagued his thoughts so many times before until he couldn’t help but swoop down to finally kiss him decisively, leaving no room for uncertainty or backtracking. He was done hesitating – he was going after what he wanted for once. And oh, how he wanted this. Judging from the way Logan pulled him that much closer so that Leo could feel his chest pressed against his and how he tilted his chin up to kiss him back, he wanted this, too. A hand reached up to tangle in Leo’s hair and tugged slightly to pull Leo down more, closer to Logan’s level. He smiled into the kiss, racing thoughts being replaced by the taste of caramel, the feel of slightly-chapped lips against his, and the little unknown intricacies that made up kissing Logan – the way his breath hitched and the consequential sigh after the fact, the soft sounds he made as if he simply couldn’t get enough. Kissing Logan wasn’t anything like he thought it would be; it wasn’t showstopping, or earth-shattering, or mind-melting. But it was warm. And everyone knew Leo was always cold.

“Leo,” Logan mumbled an undiscernible amount of time later, barely pausing between one kiss and the next. Not Nutty, or Nut, or any other variation of his nickname. Leo. There was something so personal, so intimate about the way Logan said his name, the way it rumbled in his chest and got muffled against Leo’s lips. Leo shivered.

“Hmm?” He asked, refusing to move away until Logan did. Even then he chased after him for a split second… until he saw the look on Logan’s face. Brow furrowed, face closed off. Leo was used to seeing that expression when Logan was avoiding his feelings for Finn, but he’d never really seen that look directed at him.

“We shouldn’t.” Logan’s voice was quiet and full of regret, and that only made Leo’s heart drop more.

Leo looked down at his own hands, still fisted in Logan’s jacket. He couldn’t bring himself to move them, ingraining the closeness and warmth to his memory. “I get that the timing is bad – like really bad, oh my god. But I’m not imagining this, right? I know I’m new to the whole espionage thing, but there’s no way I’m making this up.”

Please tell me I’m not making this up. He thought desperately.

“No,” Logan said forcefully, reaching up to tilt Leo’s chin up to meet his eyes again. “No, you aren’t making this up. But we are in the middle of a mission. And then there’s-” He stopped short with a grimace. And if Leo thought it was complicated already, he was worried that this was where it would get even more intricate.

“Finn.” Leo finished for him, watching his eyes widen. He took several steps backward, forcing Leo to finally relinquish his hold.

“You know?” His voice wavered, but his eyes were intense. He reached for Leo again, grabbing his cold hand and gripping it tightly, as if trying to instill his conviction through the touch alone. “That doesn’t mean I care about you any less, Leo, you’ve got to understand that. It’s just-”

“I know.” Leo took a deep breath, squeezed Logan’s hand, then pressed on. “Me too. I like Finn, too.” He laughed a little at the grin that blossomed across the brunet’s face. “I thought I was being so obvious about it.”

Logan stepped closer again, eyes alight with unbridled excitement. “Are you kidding? I literally wanted to kiss him so badly that I used it as a means to get us arrested.”

Leo groaned, but was smiling all the same. There was something so cathartic about finally being able to talk about this after keeping it all bottled up for months. And Logan felt the same way? Leo was giddy with the realization. “You have no idea what that did to me.”

Logan grinned, looking lighter than he had in a long time. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who cuddled with him all night last night.”

“Unintentional,” Leo said with a shrug as he gently combed through brown hair, watching fondly as Logan eagerly leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. He was like an over-grown cat, and Leo couldn’t get enough of it. “But definitely a highlight of this trip.”

The grin dimmed a little. “What are we going to tell him?”

Leo paused, mulling it over. “The truth? The timing is still bad, but we’re spies.” Leo looked down at their joined hands and traced a thin, silvery scar on the back of Logan’s hand. He wondered what it was from. “Will there ever be a good time?”

Logan hummed, but stayed silent. It was like he knew Leo had more to say, but was still thinking of the right way to phrase it. Leo felt himself fall just a little bit more. It wasn’t love – not yet – but damn if it wasn’t close.

“I’m tired of waiting, aren’t you?” Leo finally asked, meeting green eyes again. “Just sitting there with all those feelings and not being able to act on them. If he feels the same way, that’s great! And if he doesn’t, then yeah it’ll hurt and it might be a little awkward, but at least we can move on. I don’t think that’ll be the case, though.” Leo ruffled that thick brown hair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Leo, he’s a conman. One of his main jobs is to act.”

“Sweetheart, there is no universe where the way he kissed you could be an act.”

Logan smiled faintly, seeming a little lost in thought. Leo was pretty sure he knew what he was thinking about. He tugged on Logan’s hand, finally getting them to start walking through the alley again; he’d kind of forgotten they were still standing there. His vision had narrowed down to the spy walking by his side and nothing else.

“He likes you too, you know.” Logan said after a few minutes, swinging their joined hands as they walked. It was unfairly adorable. “I think we should at least wait until after we get the drive from Lestrange to talk to him, though. We all need to be on our A game for that.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, that’s going to be a nightmare.” Even the thought of dealing with the Snake made Leo’s skin prickle.

“We’ll be fine.” Logan reassured as they reached the hotel, getting blasted by welcome warmth as they entered the lobby. “We’ve come this far.”

And I have a feeling the worst is yet to come. Leo thought, but kept his mouth shut and followed Logan to the stairwell, choosing instead to say, “I’m surprised you’re willingly taking the stairs-” he stopped short with a laugh as Logan forcibly backed him up against the wall, staring into the depths of those green eyes.

“Not as many people take the stairs.” Logan mumbled, tilting his head to place a kiss to the hollow of Leo’s throat, then another, then another. Leo arched his neck to give the brunet better access and smiled up at the flight of stairs ascending over their heads. He felt like he was floating right along beside them.

“Including you.”

“I can’t believe you’re teasing me when all I want to do is make out with you.” Logan grumbled in between kisses, punctuating his complaint with a nip at Leo’s pulse point. The blond hummed happily, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“I’m willing to negotiate.” He said, running a hand through Logan’s hair again and getting the same response as before. Leo mulled it over for a few seconds then tugged experimentally, causing Logan to groan and lean back to meet Leo’s eyes, pupils blown wide.

“Persuade me.” Leo stated simply, a wicked glint to his sweet smile.

And Logan, after a long string of inarticulate French, did.

***

Later that night, after calling Loops and relaying the details of their meet-up with June and their plans for Lestrange, Finn heard the gentle clicking noise of a lock being picked from beside him and smiled at the nature documentary playing on the cheap hotel TV. It was a cute habit. The clicking used to drive Finn up a wall, but now he found it strangely reassuring. It meant Leo was nearby. It meant calm, it meant steadiness.

He turned the volume on the TV down and turned to face the blond, watching the light bounce off of blond hair and a sweet profile. Leo seemed to notice eyes on him and looked up from the small lock in his hands, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

“Can you teach me?” Finn asked, motioning to the lock.

Leo stopped fiddling his fingers. “To pick a lock?”

“Why not? Seems like a good trick to learn.” Finn held his hand out and wiggled his fingers at Leo, who shrugged and handed the lock over.

“He’s going to be so bad at this.” Logan predicted, not taking his eyes off the TV. Finn scoffed and punched him in the arm.

“Rude.” Finn groused as he spun the dial on the lock and looked back to Leo. “Teach away, Nutter Butter!”

Leo scooted over on the bed to get closer to Finn, thighs brushing and a warm weight against Finn’s shoulder. He looked over at Leo as he spoke, getting hit with a sudden flare of wistfulness. He wanted this for the rest of his life.

“Ok. So this lock has a possible of 64,000 different combinations-”

“Holy shit.” Logan whistled lowly with a quick look over at them. His posture was completely relaxed - unusual for the fighter. His normally sharp, attentive gaze was sleepy and calm. It absolutely melted Finn's heart. He wanted this for the rest of his life, too.

“It’s not too bad once you’ve got the basics down.” Leo reassured, tapping on the curved handle at the top. “This right here is the shackle. You’re going to apply pressure to it while you turn the dial counterclockwise – no,” Leo laughed and put a hand over Finn’s as he turned the dial, slowing down the redhead’s movement. “Slowly. You’ve got to be able to feel the sticking points.”

“Sticking points?” Finn asked, hyperaware of the feeling of gentle fingers against his. He was far more interested in watching he blond as he demonstrated instead of actually paying attention to what he was doing.

“There’s going to be points where the dial jams and you won’t be able to freely rotate it anymore.” Leo explained, watching as Finn moved the dial at a much slower pace. “Sometimes the sticking point is between two numbers and then you have a sticking range, which complicates things.”

“It gets more complicated?”

Leo just laughed, stretching his long legs out on the bed and relaxing back against the headboard. “Just wait until we get to the math.”

“There’s math?”

Logan watched the two of them with a smile, picturing day after day of moments just like this – enough to make up an entire lifetime. He knew their lives would always be complicated; the three of them had found themselves intertwined in an elaborate tangle of threads that bound them all together, and Logan wasn’t sure they could separate themselves even if they tried. That was fine with him. It was messy and difficult and convoluted, but so many of the good things in life always were.

Logan was never one to back down from a challenge, anyways.

[ladyrivia]

Spitfire (Chapter Two)

Previous Part

Summary: Anya settles into her new environment, Carrillo and Pena continue to pine over her.

Warnings: Google Translate Spanish, guns, sexual thoughts

Anya gently shut the door, laying down and finally allowing herself to rest after hearing the click of Carrillo’s door down the hall. She closed her eyes, listening to the faint sound of the shower starting from the master bathroom. Getting comfortable she--

“Fuck,” Anya groaned, remembering her sleepwear was in her bag, in Carrillo’s car. Which was locked, and his keys with him in his room. He said I could get him if I needed anything. Plus I wouldn’t mind the sight of him shirtless.. Maybe more than shirtless. She smirked at the thought for a moment before clapping her hand over her face, dragging her hand down and holding her jaw. Stop it. You’re going to be working together. You can’t make it weird. Releasing the hold, Anya took off her jeans, folding them and setting them on a chair in the room before wrestling off her bra from under her shirt, throwing it on top of the neatly folded jeans.

Anya eventually sprawled out under the blankets and comforter, the warm embrace of the bed soothing her aching muscles. She found herself quickly succumbing to sleep, but she could’ve sworn she heard footsteps approaching her room and the door creaking open.

Carrillo couldn’t help himself, his mind completely taken over by the thought of the woman sleeping down the hall. He found his mind lingering on her big brown eyes, the blush that would creep up on her face, the way her jeans hugged her curves, the cut in the shirt being the perfect length to reveal her cleavage. Para. Stop. He felt blood rushing to his newly formed erection, fist clenching in an attempt to regain composure.

He rushed to finish scrubbing the sweat and grime off his body, then cranked the water temperature to as cold as it could go. His muscles tightened in retaliation, but he accomplished his goal of getting rid of his erection.

Changing into his sweatpants, he realised that he had left her bags in his car. Cursing under his breath, he stalked to the guest bedroom, quietly opening the door. He found Anya already asleep, her hair forming a halo around her head on the pillow and her face looked so peaceful. Espere. Wait. Carrillo found himself standing in the doorway, watching her sleep like a creep. ¿Para qué estaba aquí de nuevo? What was I here for again? His eyes focused on the dimly moonlit chair, seeing her jeans and bra sitting on top.

Carrillo felt a bit guilty about forgetting her bags, but she seemed perfectly content in her stripped down day clothes. He softly shut the door and returned to his room, shuffling into his bed. Normally he would have trouble falling asleep, the constant pressure from his job keeping his brain from shutting off, but remembering the soft features of the new agent, sleep found him quickly.

~

Javier didn’t stop cursing himself all to the store around the corner from the apartment building. Idiot. Fucking forgetting to set up her furniture. He continued mentally kicking himself as he picked up multiple cartons of his, and seemingly Anya’s, favorite brand of cigarettes, along with a couple bottles of whiskey. Least he could do is prepare her a DEA Agent welcome basket.

Returning to his apartment, he searched for the notepad which he had written down the storage locker number, lock combination, and her apartment number. Shit. Her apartment was the one right next to his, which had been empty for as long as he had remembered. The storage locker was close to the embassy, Anya having shipped her furniture down to the Southern Americas long before her arrival in Columbia.

Javier sat in his bed for a moment, formulating the plan of how he was going to move her furniture while smoking yet another cigarette. Satisfied, he kicked off his clothes and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of his new partner.

~

Anya ran down the hallway, sweat running down her face even though the cold air whipped around her in the abandoned warehouse. Her gun was drawn, pointed at the ground as she continued to run to the last door, kicking it down. A gasp left her throat when she saw her partner, Ethan, tied up to a chair, badly beaten and bleeding. She quickly ran towards him, kneeling before the chair he was bound to. “Ethan, oh Ethan.” She set her gun on the ground and brushed the bloody and matted hair away from his face, looking into his almost dead eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only thing she heard was the cocking of a gun behind her.

Anya gasped and sat straight up in bed, a sheen of cold sweat covering her entire body. Her eyes darted around the room, confused by the new surroundings. Memories of the previous night flooded back to her. Flight. Embassy. Bar. Carrillo. Anya looked at the alarm clock, 07:00. 7AM. She sighed, the nightmare had jostled her nerves. A shower would be nice.

“No bag, no clothes. Of course.” Another sigh escaped her lips as she shuffled out of bed, her bare legs being exposed to the morning light. She felt bad for going through his things, but she really didn’t feel like putting yesterday’s clothes back on to go ask him to get her stuff for her. Bingo. Anya found an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt in the closet.

She was pleased to find the guest shower already filled with toiletries, taking the extra time to scrub the remnants of long travel off her body. Exiting the shower, Anya encountered another problem, she had no clean panties. She shrugged. Guess we’re going commando for now.

Carrillo woke up shortly after Anya, hearing the shower from the guest room turn on. He quickly got out of bed and got dressed, mornings were always easy for him, whether it was years of conditioning from in the military or just naturally being a morning person. Today was a rare day, having the morning off. He shuffled to the kitchen, deciding to make breakfast for him and his new favorite agent.

~

“Steve, wake your ass up!” Javier pounded on his partner’s door.

“The hell do you want?” Steve muttered as he opened the door, his appearance disheveled by sleep.

“Need your help moving Donato’s stuff in.” He cut off Steve’s groans of protest. “You accused her of being a prostitute yesterday, the least you can do is help me get her stuff set up.” Javier purposely said this part a bit loud, so Connie would hear.

“Steve!” Connie came up behind him, swatting him on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that!” Steve muttered something of an apology to his wife. “Quit whining and help Javi move her stuff in.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll help you Javi, just give me a damn minute.” Javi snickered after Steve shut the door in his face, boy was he whipped.

“Don’t forget your keys! We’ll need to use your truck!”

~

Anya smelled something delicious cooking when she exited the shower, following the scent, she left the guest room and found Carrillo in the kitchen. Her footsteps were quiet, quiet enough he didn’t turn around when she stood in the doorway of the kitchen. She took the sight of him in, his uniform tight over the muscles of his arm and his back. After a minute, he finally turned around to grab something from the kitchen island, noticing her.

He had to stop himself from dropping his jaw open, and suddenly all the guilt from leaving her bags in the car was gone. He would do it again to see her in his clothes again. They were definitely too big for her, his t-shirt reaching her mid thighs and the extra length of the sweatpants pooled at her feet. Carrillo chewed the inside of his cheek when he felt his erection return.

“Morning,” Anya played it off as if she did not stare at him for a minute. “Smells fantastic, what are you making?” She sat in a chair opposite of where Carrillo was standing at the island.

“Huevos revueltos con tomate y cebolla,” Scrambled eggs with tomato and onion. He pointed to one pan. “And arepas.” He pointed to another pan, switching back to english.

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, just make yourself comfortable. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” He poured her a cup, leaning over the island to set it infront of her. The creamer and sugar were already on the island, over to the side. Anya fixed her coffee the way she liked it, extra cream and regular sugar.

“That is a disgrace to coffee.” Carrillo commented when he saw the milky color in her mug.

“Bite me.” Anya took a long sip of her drink. “I suffer with the shitty coffee at the office, at least let me enjoy it the way I like it here.” Her accent slipped again, rolling her eyes when his lips twitched up in amusement when he heard it. A moment of comfortable silence passed between the two.

“I like your clothes, where’d you get them?” Anya gaze fixed on him with a glare, but with a hint of amusement sparkled in her eyes. Last night he was so serious, she wasn’t sure if he had a sense of humor. Well, at least until now.

“Had to find something to wear after I took a shower, I didn't want to strut around in a towel.”

“Podemos recoger su bolso después de comer.” We can get your bag after we eat. He bit his cheek again, his erection making itself known again after the thought of her walking around his house in just a towel. He plated the food, walking around the counter to set her plate in front of her before taking the seat next to her.

“Thank you,” Anya gave him a big smile before digging into her food. “Damn, you really can cook, this is very good.” She praised him.

“Mi mamá me enseñó todo lo que sé.” My mom taught me everything I know. He returned her smile, taking a bite of his own food.

~

“We have to move all this?” Steve complained when they opened the storage locker.

“We were supposed to move it before she arrived.” Javier placed his hands on his hips as he analyzed all the items in storage, Steve shuffling inside to get a better look.

“Wait.. if her bed is here then where did she sleep.. Don’t tell me you--”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Javier practically growled. “She went home with Carrillo.”

“Carrillo?” Steve’s eyes widened. “You let her go home with that asshole?”

“Don’t remind me.” Jealousy grew in his chest. “He asked me if I would rather her sleep in my bed where.. You know.” “Well, he isn’t wrong. I’m glad you kept your hands off our new partner.. I hope it stays that way.”

“What?” Javier was surprised Steve was being so blunt with him.

“She’ll eat you alive man, it takes a particular type of woman to survive the boy’s club. There ain’t no way she’d put up with your bullshit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Javier started to get defensive.

“C’mon man, don’t act as if you don’t know,” Steve raised an eyebrow. “You have commitment issues, you fuck prostitutes for inform--”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Javier harshly cut him off. “Let’s get this shit in the truck.”

~

Carrillo and Anya took their time eating breakfast, sharing stories from previous assignments and raids.

“So your partner, what happened to him?” Carrillo asked what he thought was an innocent question, but immediately regretted it when he saw her freeze, her smile fading from her face.

“Transferred.” She muttered into her coffee, both of them knowing she was lying, but he didn’t push the subject further. They finished the rest of breakfast in silence, Carrillo feeling guilty yet again. He wished he could formulate the words to tell her that he could empathize with her, lord knows he could with the amount of good soldiers he lost in the field, but with years of shutting off and building a wall between him and his emotions, the words never came.

Anya finished eating shortly after Carrillo, wordlessly picking up both their plates and moving to the sink to clean them. She let her emotions wash down the drain along with the dirty water, replacing the shield that Carrillo had slowly whittled down. Damn him. She finished washing the dishes fast, waving him off when he came over and insisted he helped.

“We should grab your stuff.” Carrillo glanced at the clock, grimacing when he realized there wasn’t a lot of time left before they would have to go to work.

“I don’t need to bring everything in, I just need a change of clothes.” Anya followed him out to his car, leaning into the back seat and rifling through her bag to grab a fresh set of clothes. Her ass was fully on display, Carrillo not too subtly staring at it while she was bent over, but quickly looked up when she turned around.

While walking back inside, Anya tripped on the excess fabric of the large sweatpants, falling into him. He whirled around and caught her, hands firmly grasping her shoulders, one of her hands were braced on his chest.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Her face flushed bright red.

“You’re okay.” He couldn’t help but give her a small smile, she was really adorable when she was flustered.

Anya’s heart raced, she thoroughly enjoyed his hands on her far too much. She practically ran to the guest room, trying to regain her composure while getting dressed. She dressed in a fresh pair of jeans, a short sleeved button down with a tank top serving as an undershirt. She tugged her black boots on, very similar to what members of the Search Bloc wore. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, letting a few pieces fall to frame her face.

Re-emerging from the guestroom, Anya noticed how Carrillo stared at her, his eyes committing every piece of her to memory. They stood looking at each other for a minute, before Carrillo broke the silence.

“Ready to go?”

~

“Morning fellas,” Anya greeted the pair as she and Carrillo entered the bullpen. “How was your evening, Murphy? I hear you have a lovely wife at home.”

“That I do, speaking of which, she has invited you guys over for dinner tonight, you coming?”

“Of course, Javier here has told me that apparently we’d get along well.” She nudged Javier in the shoulder.

“You know I’d never miss a chance to eat your wife’s cooking.” Javi chuckled.

“Wish I could but, I have a date with some narcos tonight.” Carrillo placed a hand on the small of her back. “I’ll come by after I do my initial rounds to get your Kevlar and gun.” He stalked off towards the Search Bloc’s part of the building.

Carrillo’s touch did not go unnoticed by either man, though Javier’s mind quickly went to jealousy. He wondered if anything happened between the two last night, Carrillo wasn’t known to be a physically affectionate guy, especially towards people he just met. His fist clenched as he returned to facing his desk, trying to distract himself from the workings of his mind.

“Great, we’ll just head there after work. I’m sure that’ll be around dinner time anyways.” Steve fidgeted with the pen between his fingers, also returning to the papers he was pouring over. Anya popped the lid of the tub again and dove into the ESCOBAR files once more.

~

“Anya,” Carrillo returned almost an hour later. “Ready for the armory?”

“Yeah.” She glanced up from where she was reading, mentally marking where she was leaving off.

“Right this way.” Carrillo started to lead her to the armory, Javier staring at her ass while she followed him. The fabric of the jeans perfectly hugged her curves, her gait naturally having a little swing to her hips. A slight erection was forming under his desk.

A pen hit the side of Javi’s head.

“Dude, what the hell?” He grabbed the pen, lightly tossing it back to Steve.

“She’s our partner, Peña. Not eye candy.” He rolled his eyes.

~

“Let’s try this one first.” Carrillo looked through their extra Kevlar vests for one that would fit her best, this would typically be easy but they also had to consider, well, her boobs.

Anya lifted the vest over her head, sticking her head through the hole and settling the heavy vest on her shoulders. She strapped the Velcro tight at her sides, wiggling her arms to test the fit.

“Verdict?” She asked as he grabbed the vest, tugging it a bit to inspect.

They were extremely close, she could feel his breath hot on her face, smelling strongly of cigarette smoke. They stood for a moment, neither of them knowing what their next move was.

Abruptly, he stood back, giving her a quick nod. “It fits,” He took something out of his pocket. “Here.” He handed her what she realized to be her name tape, DONATO being embroidered in black onto the green fabric. She slapped it onto the velcro space for it, then quickly got out of the uncomfortable Kevlar.

“Thanks.” She gave him a smile. Carrillo turned to the gun locker, unlocking it and handing her S&W Model 39 pistol and a box of ammunition. Anya tucked the gun into the back of her waistband, and put the box in her back pocket.

“You’re now fully equipped.” He shut and locked the gun locker once more.

“Thank you again, Carrillo.” She picked up her Kevlar vest.

“Of course. Can’t have my favorite agente underprepared in the field.” He gave her a warm smile, patting her on the back. “I have to go back to my rounds, adiós.” Carrillo left her in the armory, returning to his demanding job.

While Anya walked back to her desk, she allowed herself to blush over the fact that he called her his favorite agent.

“All suited up?” Javier looked up as she approached, she lifted the heavy Kevlar.

“Yup.” Anya opened the empty bottom drawer of her desk, shoving the Kevlar in. She unholstered her gun, and took out the magazine, placing the body of the gun in the bottom. She took out the box of ammo, quickly counting out 8 bullets and loading them into the magazine, placing both into the bottom drawer as well before closing it.

Anya sat down and returned to the evidence box, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she dove into the realm of Escobar again.

~

“That’s it, I’m calling it.” Steve announced as he got out of his chair.

“Me too, Donato, why don’t I drive you home? Steve and I moved your furniture and boxes in this morning.”

“Oh! Thank you guys,” Anya stood, stretching her arms over her head, her shirt riding up slightly. Javier took a quick glance. “That’d be great Javier, we’ll just have to stop by the secretary, I left my bags there this morning.”

~

“Here’s your apartment, and your keys.” Javier gestured to the door before dropping the keys in her hand. “My apartment is the one right next to yours.”

“Can’t even escape you outside of work.” Anya chuckled as she unlocked the door, tossing her bags in before shutting it and locking it again.

“You make that sound as if it’s a bad thing.” She responded with a light punch to his shoulder.

“I’m starving, where’s Steve’s place?”

“Couple floors up, c’mon, his wife makes fantastic food.” A few flights of stairs and jokes later, they arrived at the door, Javier knocking-- more like banged-- on the door.

“Hey guys, come on in!” Steve answered the door with a large grin, clearly being at home with his wife made him a happy man.

“Hi Javi, oh and Anya!” Connie quickly greeted them, giving Anya a big hug. “It’s so good to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too.” Anya returned the hug.

“I made some lasagna, is that alright?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”

“Wine or whiskey?”

“Wine please, is there anything I can do to help?” Anya followed Connie to the kitchen.

“No, it’s almost done, here, go take a seat.” Connie handed her a wine glass and the bottle of wine, gesturing for her to sit at the dinner table where Javi and Steve already sat, sipping on their whiskey. She sat next to Javi, leaving the seat next to Steve for Connie. A few moments later, Connie followed with the steaming dish of lasagna.

Dinner was very pleasant, Connie asking all sorts of questions about New York and the work Anya did up there. Javier listened intently, wanting to learn everything he could about her. He loved the way she talked, especially when her accent would slip, showing her New York heritage.

As Javi predicted, Connie and Anya became friends quickly, the evening was filled with their squeals of excitement when they found another thing that both of them could relate to. As the night finally came to a close, and many promises to have a dinner party again, Javier and Anya returned to their floor.

“Wow,” Anya yawned. “I am tired.” She stretched her arms over her head.

“Well, in that case, you should head to bed.” Javi leaned on her door frame, basking in her presence.

“I’m planning on it, thank you again for moving my stuff in.”

“Not a problem.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could use his usual methods of charming women on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He wanted more than just his usual one night stand with his informants, there was something about her that made him feel… he couldn’t find a way to describe it.

“Oh,” Her face scrunched in realization. “Could I ride with you to work in the mornings? I’m still working on getting a car down here. License transfers and all that.”

“Of course, though if you wake up late, I’ll leave your ass here.” Both of them let out a laugh.

“Goodnight, Pena.” They retreated into their respective apartments, Anya flicking on the light and looking around her new apartment. She pulled out a couple of essentials, mostly toiletries, and placed them in the bathroom. She quickly found her “BEDROOM” box and dug out her bedding, making her bed so she could sleep as soon as possible.

Anya was getting ready for bed, shuffling to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was surprised to find a bottle of whiskey, a couple cartons of cigarettes, and a zippo lighter with “to new beginnings” engraved. She ripped open the carton of cigarettes, pulling out a carton, and returned to her bedroom. She laid down, lighting a cigarette, letting the nicotine relax her further.

Anya knocked against the wall behind her headboard, and was pleasantly surprised when she heard a knock back.

“Thank you for the housewarming gift, Javier.” She heard a chuckle come from the other side of the wall.

“Javi. Call me Javi.”

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Four: And the Rest is Silence

And this is it: the final chapter! It’s been insane, but this is the only fanfiction I've ever finished before, and it wouldn’t have happened without all the support. Thank you so much!! I didn’t think anyone would read this, but seeing everyone’s reactions to each chapter has kept me going :D

I’m sorry for the essay, but I’m aware I didn’t post anything about this in the AIB tag. Yes, there will be a sequel!

I need to read the manga properly before writing it, so I don’t know when the sequel will start. But in the meantime, there’ll be a series of Chishiya one-shots of his perspective, and there’ll even be scenes that weren’t in this fic, plus an original game!

For the full fanfic, you can find it here on AO3. 

I’ll also be creating a master list, and I'll post the literature references after this for those who wanted them <3

Once again, thank you so much!! And I hope you enjoy this last chapter. 

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

By the time Kuina found us again, it was already late afternoon, and even though our visas had extended by ten days after the Witch Hunt game, there was something about the setting of the sun that felt foreboding.

We lit up the furniture shop with candles and changed into the clean clothes we’d collected. Seeing Chishiya wearing ordinary clothes felt strange. Aside from when we’d crossed paths in the Tag game, the entire time I’d known him he’d been wearing swim shorts and flip flops.

Now, he emerged from the bathroom wearing grey sweatpants and a variegated blue cardigan that suited him perfectly. When his eyes flickered to mine, I realised I’d been staring, and distracted myself with preparing dinner instead. It wasn’t much, especially since all I had was canned goods and a camping stove, but the vegetable stew kept us warm while we curled up in our makeshift living room. As evening turned to night, however, it became obvious that something was missing.

There are no games.

Kuina chewed on her lip, looking out of the window. ‘What d’you think will happen when our visas run out?’

‘It probably has something to do with the Ten of Hearts,’ I told her. ‘Maybe there’s no need for games anymore, since we’ve got all the numbered cards.’

It didn’t bode well for us. If there were no games by the time our visas ran out, there was no chance of us getting out of the Borderlands. At least not alive.

As the night wore on, Kuina was the first to go upstairs. Covering her yawn with her hand, she waved goodnight and winked at me. I tried not to blush. Not that it made a difference, anyway. Chishiya was busying himself over a scrap of paper, and barely reacted when I smushed up by his side.

I frowned at the paper in his hand. ‘Isn’t that...’

‘Ah.’ He held it out so I could see it. ‘I took it from the tagger’s pocket.’ It was a drawing of a circle with squiggly lines, clearly a rushed sketch of something. In the middle of a line, the pen had stabbed a hole straight through.

‘What is it?’

‘Well, I have an idea,’ he said, but never elaborated.

Fighting the onset of sleep, I leaned my head against his shoulder, paying no mind to the way he tensed beneath me. The fabric of his cardigan was soft as down and made for a perfect pillow. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

‘And if I don’t want to?’

I pushed my face into the fabric, pretending to settle in for the night. ‘Then I’ll just stay here and annoy you until your visa runs out.’

‘I have a feeling that won’t happen any time soon,’ he said, looking out the window.

And that was when I noticed it too. Midnight had passed by only a few minutes ago, yet there were no lasers. Did that mean the Borderlands were at a standstill? Were we stuck here permanently now? I wasn’t aware of how silent I had become, lost in my own thoughts, until Chishiya spoke up.

‘I believe it’s a map.’

My eyes slid to the drawing again. ‘And that hole in the paper, do you think that’s where the others are? The dealers, I mean.’

He shifted uncomfortably and I sat upright, conscious that I might have been unintentionally hurting or bothering him. Looking at the map properly, the lines could represent different interlocking pathways. If the marked place was a hideout of some kind, it couldn’t be in the open streets; there was too big a risk that a player might stumble upon it by accident.

So where...?

As soon as the idea came to mind, the words slipped out of my mouth. ‘The subway....’

He hummed in agreement. ‘I went to the nearest subway station this morning to check it against the real map. It’s a loose fit, but it works.’

I thought back to the second tagger – the crying woman – and how she’d been forced to participate in the game, donning an explosive collar. ‘Maybe if we find the place, we’ll get some answers.’

‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But I’m curious to see if anything changes within the next few days.’

‘Do you think we’ll hear something soon?’ I asked, yawning into my hand.

‘I believe we will.’ He gave me that same half-smile I had grown so used to. ‘But right now, I think you should go to sleep.’

Chishiya didn’t complain when I crawled into his bed. Like the night before, he kept his distance, but I could’ve sworn at times, when my sleeping became lighter throughout the night, I could feel fingers lightly touching my hair, only to pull back the moment I stirred. Over the next few days, it became the norm, and every night I would curl up on my side of the bed, slipping into calm dreams under the blue light of the window.

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

Despite the sunshine washing over the grey of the city, the stairs leading into Minami-Aoyama station descended into darkness. We’d checked and double-checked the drawing against the official subway map several times, but the idea of entering an abandoned station to uncover who knows what wasn’t inviting.

‘Are you sure this is it?’ Kuina asked for the third time.

I looked at the route map hanging over the station entrance, my eyes tracing the shape of the lines. ‘Positive.’

Folding her arms, Kuina went first. I waited for Chishiya to take a small torch from his pocket before following behind. The station was truly submerged in blackness, and if not for Chishiya’s torch, we would have easily become lost. He shone the beam at the paper in his hand, then held it up against each train line.

‘This way,’ he said, and walked towards the edge of the platform.

We hopped down onto the gravel below, using the metal tracks to guide us further into the tunnels. It was disconcerting to see the subway so empty, but with Kuina and Chishiya here, I felt safe somehow.

Several minutes in, Chishiya stopped abruptly, and I almost walked into him. If he reacted at all, I couldn’t see to tell. But he seemed more focused on something else, as he pointed the torch at a door that had been busted open.

‘That must be it.’ Kuina’s voice echoed.  

Without hesitation, Chishiya disappeared through the door, leaving Kuina and I in the darkness.

Chishiya?!

I panicked, arms waving as I tried to find something to hold onto. I heard Kuina hiss as we stumbled into each other and bumped elbows. Feeling around for the door frame, we managed to make our way inside, where Chishiya held his torch at us from further away.

‘Hey!’ Kuina snapped. ‘Don’t do that again! You’re the only one with a light here.’

‘Walk faster then,’ he said, waiting impatiently as we jogged over.

He shone the beam in the opposite direction, where it bounced off something. It was still too dark to tell just what, but as we walked forwards, everything became clearer. A structure lay ahead, with tunnels and walkways all leading into a giant room. Overhead, wires were strung across the ceiling, all feeding into the same place. We entered through one of the tunnels, and my heart jumped.

Televisions. They stared, black and empty, in rows and columns up the walls. But what was even more surprising was the setup right in front of us. It was an office, with papers, pen pots and coffee-stained mugs strewn about on desks. It would have looked like any other workplace, if not for the bodies draped in chairs and across the floor.

‘What... is this?’ I crouched to inspect the body of a man in a suit. Judging from its state, he had only died recently, but more importantly, there was a singed hole running through his head. He had been killed by a laser. ‘They’re not the ones in charge of the games.’

Chishiya closely inspected a desk. ‘Evidently not,’ he said, picking up a folded piece of paper and passing it to me. It was filled with numbers, some ticked off. Whoever it had belonged to was keeping track of their visa.

They’re playing games too, I thought. Or at least, they were.

‘So, these guys were the dealers.’ Kuina gingerly held up a sheet of paper with scribbles all over it. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be odds. ‘They were betting on us,’ she said.  

A shiver ran along my skin. Of course, they had been watching us this whole time, that was expected. But to place bets on our survival was a whole other story. If the dealers were playing too, there must’ve been a separate system for them to extend their days. Perhaps how many people survived each game had some kind of impact on their visas.

A finger lightly brushed the back of my arm and Chishiya appeared beside me. ‘Momoka’s friend,’ I said, ‘she died right after she told everyone she was a dealer. And the taggers died because we won. I have a feeling their visas depended on whether or not we cleared each game... or maybe how many people didn’t make it.’

From his expression, I knew he had been thinking the same thing. ‘It doesn’t explain why they’re all dead now.’

I glanced around at the stiffened bodies slumped around us. ‘Actually, I have a bad feeling about that too.’

At that moment, a tap of footsteps echoed from the entrance. Chishiya instantly turned off his torch and tugged me into one of the tunnels. Kuina joined us and we hid, waiting. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and two torchlights waved through the darkness. I kept my eyes trained on the tunnel opposite as the footsteps paused.

‘Where is this place?’  

‘Who knows?’

With a sigh, I relaxed instantly.

Those two.

It had only been a few days since I had made peace with Arisu and Usagi, but I was glad to see them again. Arisu was cleaned up, his wounds well on the way to healing, while Usagi stared in amazement at the television screens around us.

Chishiya grazed past me as he moved out from under the shadows. ‘You actually found this place,’ he said. ‘As expected from someone I have high hopes for.’  

‘We meet again,’ Kuina said, walking around the desks to lean against the wall.

Arisu and Usagi’s eyes scanned the two of them before stopping at me. They looked visibly confused, probably wondering what I was doing with them after I’d told them I wasn’t involved in Chishiya’s setup. In an attempt at diffusing the awkwardness, I smiled and waved.

‘You guys,’ Usagi whispered. Her voice bordered on distrust, not that anyone could blame her.

I couldn’t tell whether Chishiya was trying to make things better or worse when he held up the full deck of cards and smiled. ‘Thanks to you guys, I have all the playing cards with me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Arisu only looked at him cynically. ‘How did you discover this place?’

Chishiya rooted in his pocket and pulled out the drawing. ‘It took me some time to realise this is actually a map. The route map of the subway.’ He sauntered around the desks. ‘As for what happens when we collect the cards... I thought I would know the answer if I came here.’ His eyes jumped to mine. ‘But there’s something else we discovered instead.’

‘They’re not the gamemasters,’ Arisu said, eyes fixed on the bodies around us.

I stepped over a hand strewn across the floor. ‘カードを集めたので、殺された.’ Because we collected the cards, they were all killed. I struggled for a moment, trying to think of the right words. ‘There must be someone above them.’

Chishiya translated, and Usagi turned to me with worry. ‘But who?’

‘Who knows?’ Chishiya shrugged. ‘They might be aliens... or even God.’

The idea didn’t sound as strange as it should have done. We were in a world where lasers appeared from the sky, and death games were the norm. Even when I first arrived here, I’d wondered whether this was a form of judgement. Nothing was out of the question anymore.

Suddenly, the screens burst into life and white light flooded the room. I jumped, flocking to Chishiya and Kuina’s side.

Have we been caught?

Music reverberated all around us, and the screens displayed all four card suits, along with a message I couldn’t read. It didn’t matter though, as the voice that rang through the speakers was one I remembered well. My stomach dropped.

‘Congratulations to all players!’

The screens blurred until Mira’s wild eyes and subdued smile came into focus. It was now obvious why the Ten of Hearts had taken place at the Beach at the very moment things had fallen apart.

She must’ve been feeding information back, I thought. But back to where?

‘How interesting,’ Chishiya said. Seeking stability, I slipped a hand into his pocket. There was a slight hesitation before his fingers laced around mine.

Mira’s voice shook with a quiet excitement. ‘With the exception of the face cards, you’ve all cleared the numbered games and emerged as victors. It’s a sweet victory, gained by sacrificing so many lives.’ Her expression turned wistful as she stood. ‘I wonder, how many of your comrades have died. Try remembering those who were shot dead with guns.’

A single screen switched to show footage from a miscellaneous game. A group were stood, clutching their guns as they inspected the scatter of bodies across the ground.

They’ve been recording us.

‘And that girl you burned alive.’

A second display opened up, revealing several players watching on as a girl, engulfed in flames, struggled and clawed at her skin and clothes. I held my breath, Niragi’s animalistic cries ringing through my memory.

‘Those struck by lasers, and those that drowned.’

My eyes widened, and I gripped Chishiya’s hand as the inside of the furniture store appeared on-screen. The fractured image of myself flinched, quivering with shock, as the first man and Green Shirt leapt from their seats, only to crumple to the ground, lasers piercing them where they stood.

Chishiya’s fingers squeezed mine, and I gasped, blinking away the image. He must’ve seen it too.

‘Those who’s heads were blown off,’ Mira continued, dreamily. ‘Those comrades of yours, the despair you’ve felt so far, and those dying moments you’ll never forget.’

The screen changed once more, and from the corner of my eye, Arisu winced. Following his gaze, I recognized his partner from the Tag game, his neck exploding around a collar.

I’m so sorry....

Meanwhile, Mira’s expression shifted into pure, childlike delight. ‘Everyone... I’m so touched!’ She held her hand over her heart. ‘All of you players, we’d like to give you a present.’

We?

Chishiya tensed slightly. He had noticed it too. If Mira wasn’t the only gamemaster, just who were the others?

Although Mira couldn’t hear us, Kuina mumbled, ‘Are you returning us to the real world?’

It seemed too good to be true, and sure enough, it was. Mira clapped her hands together excitedly. ‘There will be new games! Let’s play more games together and fight for the face cards this time!’

Aside from Chishiya, everyone sank with disappointment and fear. Just how much more would we have to deal with before we could go home? If we were competing for the face cards, did that mean there were only twelve more games in total, or would there be repeat cards like there were for the numbered ones?

Kuina groaned. ‘New games? You’re kidding.’

‘I don’t dislike the idea,’ Chishiya murmured.

I looked at him, curious. ‘What do you mean?’

His expression was guarded, but before he could reply, Mira’s voice cut in again. ‘The next stage will commence tomorrow at noon. Everyone, let’s have fun together!’

All at once, the screens shut down, leaving us all in the darkness once more. Everything was quiet as we came to terms with what had just happened. It was Arisu who first suggested that we get out of here. Him and Usagi disappeared back through the tunnel, and with one glance at Chishiya and I, Kuina followed.

My fingers were still interlaced with his, hidden within the warmth of his pocket. He was watching me, waiting.

‘These games,’ I said. ‘They’re going to be harder than the others.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Probably.’

‘About what you said before...’ I began. ‘Do you remember that time on the rooftop of the Beach, when I asked you if you were okay, and you told me it shouldn’t matter to me.’

I could see him thinking back. ‘I remember.’

‘What I said then still stands. You might not care about your own life, and I can’t stop you from taking part in these new games.’ I bit my lip, unable to face him as my eyes began tearing up. ‘Perhaps this is selfish of me, but you need to survive. And if you can’t do it for yourself, then....’

He sighed. ‘You cry too much.’ When I looked up, his lips were curled into that same, familiar smile, only this time, there was nothing cruel or condescending there. ‘We should find the others.’

Wiping my eyes with the edge of my sleeve, I finally let go of his hand, following him back out and through the tunnels. As we climbed the steps of the station, emerging into daylight, a series of loud bangs resounded throughout the city. The others were peering up at the skyscrapers towering over us, and the fireworks that burst like flowers against the sunlight.

‘Let’s make a new deal,’ Chishiya said, idly watching the display. ‘I’ll survive, if you return the favour.’

I looked to him, admiring the way his hair shifted in the breeze, and how the reflection of the fireworks danced in his dark eyes.

Let’s go home together.

‘It’s a deal.’

[taylorsage22]

Thigh Punishment Leonard Snart x reader

Thigh Riding Requested by anonymous Leonard snart x reader. So I got a little carried away with this and I'm so sorry if you dont like it. SMUTTT

Leonard was on the couch in front of you, slouched down and comfortable with his knees spread and one arm draped over the back. He raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. Something about the way he was postured there, his t-shirt clinging to his sides and his pants just tight enough to outline his strong legs, it made you shiver. There was more to it, though. You’d broken a important house rule and he wasn’t going to let you off lightly, and the anticipation of an impending punishment made your stomach churn in a combination of fear and excitement. His fingers beckoned you toward him, and you followed as if under a spell, pulled by his simple motions. You stopped once you stood over him, and even though he was under you, you felt his dominate presence scorching off him, making you feel small and vulnerable. “Closer.” You knew exactly what he wanted, and you were playing coy up until that point. You parted your legs as you sank into his lap facing him, straddling one of his thighs. Your skirt bunched at your sides and the only thing between your hot core and his skin was his pants and your underwear, already becoming moistened by arousal. Still, you sat up straight, hands together, eyes glistening, waiting for his next move. “Do you know what you did wrong?” Leonard asked, in a soft yet still commanding voice. He reached up and cupped the side of your face, his thumb caressing your jaw, lulling you into false comfort. You nodded slowly. “And what was it?” You swallowed hard before answering. “I ignored your messages today, and didn’t call you back.” He let out a low sound, as if just the memory of it bothered him. “Do you know why that upsets me?” He asked, shifting in place, and you almost gasped at how his thigh muscles flexed between your legs. You shook your head. You could venture a few guesses, but your brain couldn’t formulate a proper explanation right now. “Because I worry about you when I’m gone, My amazing wife.” He started, leaning up to press a kiss against your jaw, then another and another until he worked his way to your ear. “I need to know my girl is safe, right?” He asked, low and raspy against the shell of your ear, and you bit back a noise, nodding again. “What’s that? I can’t hear you” He said, not getting the verbal confirmation he desired. “Is that right?” “Yes, Sir.” He purred at the sound of your voice, pushing his thigh up against your center. Just the gentle pressure against you was enough to make your hips rock forward of their own accord. However, you quickly halted your motions and looked at Leonard's face as he sat back. You didn’t want to break anymore rules. He simply smirked at you, and meeting no resistance you decided to keep going, letting your full weight fall against him, grinding yourself down against his thigh and feeling yourself soak through your panties. You chewed your lower lip to suppress the sounds, eyes fluttering shut as you rocked into him. Every stroke heightened the sensation, and it was no surprise to you both that you were working your way to an orgasm just from riding his thigh fully-clothed. You were teetering toward a dangerous ledge when you felt his hand swiftly move between your legs. He forced his fingers between your center and his leg and cupped you completely, pulling you up and off him. You cried out at the lost sensation, and the heat that radiated against you from the way he held your most delicate place in the palm of his hand. “Did you think I was going to let you come?” He chuckled, and you opened your eyes, pouting out your bottom lip. “Please Len,” Your hips fidgeted, trying to move against his hand. You gasped when he squeezed you, a mixture of pleasure and pain. “You know you need to be punished first.” The way his tone darkened and eyes narrowed with his words made you stop in place, swallowing down a whine. You waited, legs starting to tremble from the strain of Leonard forcing you to balance on your knees, holding you up between your legs. His other hand took your arm, pulling you forward so you fell against his chest, and you already knew what came next. Without prompt, you snuck your hands behind your back and crossed your wrists, laying your chin on his shoulder and pressing your backside out. “Good girl.” His hands found their way around you, pulling up your Shirt and pushing down your panties so you were exposed from behind. He kneaded your ass in his hands before one hand rose up and came back down in a sharp slap against your skin. You jolted, burying your face into his shoulder to prevent any sounds from coming out. You had to take it. He soothed his hand over the stinging skin, and then repeated the process on the other side. He alternated cheeks, making sure every inch of skin was covered in his hand prints. You started to let out tiny whimpers with every slap, the skin becoming more and more sensitive the redder you got. You sank your teeth into his shoulder through his t-shirt and knew he didn’t mind it. He liked feeling you struggle. He was vocal during everything except punishments, knowing you enjoyed his voice too much. You had a safe word for when things got too intense, but you hadn’t even had the chance to use it, because he could always tell when you’d had enough. Tonight, just as a sob broke through your lips against his shirt, he stopped. He caressed the skin with feather-light touches, letting you calm down. When your breathing was even and your noises had faded, he pulled you up to face him. Leonard planted his lips on yours, drawing you into a languid, loving kiss, pushing back you hair to trace kisses along your neck right after. “Are you okay?” He asked, locking eyes with you, just like he always did after a punishment. You nodded and vocalized a yes, watching his face soften in response. “Good, did you learn your lesson?” You nodded again, nuzzling into him, pushing your hips forward, and showing that you weren’t done yet. When you felt his hardness through the front of his pants, you knew he wasn’t either. He pushed your legs off the couch so you were standing for a moment, and helped you step out of your underwear and let your shirt fall to the floor. He sat back, his hands going to his own belt, and his gaze never left you as he undid his pants, pushing them half-off his hips and pulling himself free of his boxers. He was rock hard and the tip glistened as he gave himself one good stroke. His half-lidded eyes summoned you, and you straddled him once more, your wetness coating part of the inside of your thighs. Leonard stroked himself outside of you, and let out a low groan. “I think you liked your punishment,” He said, equal parts amused and turned on. “What a bad girl you are, getting all wet from the pain.” You held his shoulders and angled your face away, blushing hard to match the tint on your backside. Leonard let his hands fall to your hips, applying pressure so you’d sink down on his cock, pushing his hips up at the same time so you’d take him to the hilt. You cried out, gripping his shirt in your hands for some semblance of sanity. You’d been dying to feel him all day. He settled back down, his cock fully encased inside you and you began to rock forward, grinding against him. He moaned, low and needy as you stroked every inch. “Fuck,” He hissed under his breath, looking down between you to watch the base of his cock disappear inside you. He pushed his hands up inside your shirt roughly, gripping your breasts through your bra, manhandling you. You were left perpetually on edge ever since you almost came on his thigh earlier, and the spanking only increased your sensitivity. For this reason your orgasm mounted at an alarming rate, no matter how much you tried to stop it. The grinding against his cock and pelvic bone, the way he squeezed and ran his hands all over your body, both of your panting breaths and his wanton moans, it was all too much. “I’m-…I’m so..” You struggled to say, the words breaking up into whimpers. Leonard watched you intently; the look on your face and your body bouncing over him, the way your muscles gripped him, and knowing you’d taken your punishment so well. He was ready to give it to you. “That’s it, baby girl.” He rasped, pulling your hips against him now, working himself into you from below. “Come all over my cock.” Even if you hadn’t been so close, the way those words sounded coming from his mouth was enough, and you’d do anything he asked. You cried out, your orgasm rocked you as you worked relentlessly against one another. It seemed to last for an eternity, wave after wave crashing into you, every stroke of his cock against your inner walls adding that much more bliss. Just as the last tremble swept through you, you felt Lenny use the last bit of his strength to push himself deep inside you and come hard, a succession of desperate moans leaving him. You lay against him to catch your breath, stained by his and your own fluids, ass sore and what little clothing remaining totally disheveled. “You did so well.” He sighed, stroking your hair, both of you deeply satisfied. He knew you liked hearing praise. “You did okay, too.” You smiled, peeking up at him. He laughed and kissed your forehead. "I love you so much."He says sweetly "I love you to Len."

[cacoetheswriting]

library hours

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Warnings: maybe a swear word or two, really just FLUFF ft. baby spence Word Count: 1.3k Summary: A late night at a university library leads to reader meeting a tall brunette genius. [fyi i wrote a reimagined version with professor reid x reader. you can read it here]

A/N: dedicated to the amazing @ellesgreenaway​ for inspiring this little fic & giving it a title!!  ❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

-

There was something you always enjoyed about the going to the library.

Perhaps it was the way every single person that walked through the threshold had a purpose. A mission to complete. Perhaps it was the quiet. The solace you felt sitting alone in a corner researching various topics, for class and for recreational purposes.

The university library had quickly become your second home. A location you frequented more than your own dorm room. It wasn’t always to study, no. You people watched. Doodled. Even napped there from time to time. The place brought you peace, and by the time you senior year rolled around, you saw the librarians more than your college friends.

The university library was also the place where you first met a certain young brunette genius - which in time became the main reason why you liked it so much.

Lights were slowly being turned off section by section. A vacuum came to life in one of the aisles. People started to scramble from their seats - shoving their things into their backpacks, throwing out empty coffee cups into the overflowing bins, checking out books they might still use that evening.

All signs indicating it was time to go.

Dolly, one of the librarians, ushered towards you. Her jacket draped over her shoulders, her bag in hand. She gave you the usual spiel of how you can stay until the janitor is finished cleaning, to which you politely nodded along. She wished you a pleasant night, and with a “see you tomorrow” she hurried out the door.

Once she was out of sight, you groaned under your breath and ran your fingers through your hair. You had an assignment due tomorrow, one you started hours ago and only managed to formulate three total sentences. Your gut was telling you there was no way you were going to finish now, especially since you had about thirty minutes until you would have to leave.

Leaning back in your chair, you fluttered your eyes closed in an attempt to collect your thoughts. The tranquil feeling didn't last long as you were abruptly brought back to reality by a loud bang. You quickly sat back up and scanned the space for the source of the noise.

A tall brunette man, not much older than you, stood a few tables away, a heavy looking book at his feet and a shameful look spread across his features.

“The library is closed for the night.” You stated. The brunette scrunched his nose briefly. “B-but you’re here.” He remarked before leaning down to pick up the book he dropped.

“I have permission to be here.”

“What if I do too?” He challenged, taking a step towards you although still keeping a safe distance.

You folded your arms across your chest and arched a brow. “Well, do you?”

The brunette didn't respond. Instead, you noticed how his cheeks flushed a shade of red, how he clutched the book to his chest, and how his fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

You couldn't help but smirk as you let your arms fall back down to your side.

“I’m just kidding. Come on, join me.” You said, pointing to to the chair across the table from you. “We have about twenty-five minutes before we get kicked out, might as well make the most of it.”

He hesitated for a split second, hovering in his spot. It wasn't until you turned your attention completely away from him, and back to the book in front of you, that he made his move.

“You’re not some sort of killer, are you? You’re not here to murder me?” You asked, looking up as he sat down. His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head in response. “Ehm... N-no.”

“That wasn't a very reassuring no, but I guess I’ll take it.” You nudged in response, and proceeded to work away on your assignment. As you worked, you could feel his eyes burning into you.

In any other situation, with any other stranger, the feeling would have made you uncomfortable. But there was something about the timid stranger that was quite welcoming.

“I-I actually, uhm, I profile serial killers. I help catch them.” He said after a moment of silence. Once again, you glanced up from your notes to look at him. Intrigue greeting your facial features. “I just started with the FBI.” He stated.

It wasn't a brag. No. It was a statement to make you feel more safe, and you couldn't help but smile at him. “So, mister FBI, what are you doing in a university library on a Thursday night?”

“Doctor.” He corrected.

“What?”

“Doctor FBI.” He said, corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.” Now, that was a brag.

You chuckled softly. “You don't happen to have a PhD in History under your belt, do you? Because that would be very helpful right about now.”

“No, but I do have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words per minute.” He declared. You stared at him in disbelief, your mouth parting ever so slightly in shock.

“Did they make you in a lab or something?” You teased, although you could tell he didn't find it amusing. He furrowed his brows, lips pursed into thin line. You chewed down on your bottom lip, feeling slightly ashamed for poking fun at the guy who was nothing but be nice to you. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled faintly. “That was rude.”

“It’s okay.” He quickly reassured, and shot you a timid smile. The two of you stared silently at one another. There was something amicable about the seconds that passed as you looked into his hazel eyes. Something harmonious. Friendly. Strong.

You cleared your throat. “There uhm, there’s this dinner not far from here. It’s twenty-four hours so they won't kick us out. Would you like to come with me? We can share a pie. I mean, if you’re into that. Or, or we can just have coffee-”

“Y-yes, I would love to.” The young doctor answered all too quickly causing you to grin at him.

Soon enough you were both packed up and up on your feet, heading towards the library exit.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky making the million stars shine all that brighter. They looked like perfect sugar granules spilled on a dark surface, accompanied by the glowing moonlight. Breathtaking.

Street lamps glittered ahead, illuminating the streets. The two of you walked side by side, almost in sync.

“Does that big brain of yours possess information on Roman gods?” You asked while nonchalantly hopping up on the curb. You spread out your arms like a tightrope walker, and with one foot carefully placed in front of the other you continued your journey.

The wind blew lightly through your hair, your brunette companion observing quietly. A smile creeping up on his lips. “Because if you do, I might ask for your help with an assignment.” You glanced at him briefly.

“I-I do actually, ehm. The... The Ancient Romans were extremely religious, and believed their success was due to their strong beliefs. They believed that if you maintained a good relationship with the gods, they would be kind to you.” He briskly cleared his throat. “There were twelve Olympian Gods in total. Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Venus, Apollo, Diana, Minerva, Ceres, Vulcan, and Vesta...”

You let out a soft kindhearted laugh. “Okay doctor FBI, slow down. Wait until we get to the diner so I can really appreciate your genius.”

He blushed, feeling thankful that the darkness around prevented you from seeing. “It’s Spencer. My name, uhm, my name is Spencer.”

You stopped in your tracks and elegantly hopped off the curb. Spencer turned in his spot so that he was now facing you completely, only an arms reach away.

“Spencer...” You tested the name on your tongue, a smile embellishing your features. “It suits you.” You retorted before proceeding to introduce yourself, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Spencer.”

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @ellesgreenaway

[georgiedx]

Don’t blink

Summary - When Y/N, Jay’s partner is taken during an undercover op, what will the team have to do to get her back?

Read part 2 - https://georgiedx.tumblr.com/post/643582775508729857/summary-in-the-fallout-of-an-undercover-op-gone

Word count - 2k

Warnings - potential abuse and sexual assault

“What the hell just happened!” Voight shouted as he stormed up the bullpen stairs. His subordinates stared back at him, dumbfounded, as they too were processing the chaos that had just unfolded.

Kevin was the first to speak up, “Sarge, slow down…” He was interrupted but the harsh shouts of his sergeant. “Don’t tell me to calm down Kevin! One of my detectives was just abducted and not one person here can care to explain? Huh? Not even her partner. Halstead?”

Jay cast his eyes down to avoid the burn of Voight’s stare. He was ashamed. He was still processing. How had this all happened? Why didn’t he protect her?

“Sarge, I don’t know what to tell you, those guys, they just blew up, snapped. They pulled guns, put one to Y/N’s head, and dragged her into a truck that was waiting in the alley around the back. It must have been a setup, Sarge.” Jay replied, his voice laced with guilt.

“Ruzek, I thought you said your CI was solid?” Voight turned his anger to Adam. “He was...or at least I thought he was. Look, Sarge, I’m so sorr…”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. We just need to focus on getting Y/N back.” His sergeant snapped back. The rest of the unit mumbled in agreement, heads hanging low, all weighed down by the guilt of the parts they played in allowing Y/N, their partner and friend, to be thrown into the back of a truck by violent criminals.

...

The team all sat around the bullpen as their sergeant emerged from his office. “Right, talk to me, what do we have?”

Jay jumped to his feet and walked over to the board to stick up a photo. “This is Nicolas Heath. Vice has had him on their radar for years, he’s a known pimp, big in cross-state trafficking, and has priors for sexual assault, trafficking, and fraud.

Jay placed two more photos up underneath Heath’s. “These were the guys at the meet last night. They were the ones who took Y/N. They have similar priors to Heath but seem to be more like his lieutenants. We’ve got them on pods driving Y/N away in a black SUV Toyota. That was tracked to a house in Evanston where we think Y/N is being held.”

Ruzek walked up to the board next, reading a file in his hand. “That checks out, my CI is sitting in interrogation room 2 right now. The prick told me he’s been taking money from Heath over the last few weeks. In exchange, he invited girls to parties at clubs that Heath runs. My CI was getting nervous so reached out to me with fake info about Heath, he wanted us to take Heath down to save his own ass.” Ruzek then pinned up a few photos of a large, fortified, white house. “He tells me this is one of Heath’s places, it’s in Evanston so that checks with the footage of the SUV. But he also tells me it’s heavily secured with armed guards and it’s likely that if Heath has Y/N and we try to move on it, she’ll be dead before we get through the front door.”

The whole team sighed in frustration. They knew what type of guy Heath was and the longer they waited the worse things would potentially be for Y/N. Finally their superior spoke up. “Adam get your CI to reach out to Heath. We need to know if Y/N’s cover is still intact. If we can’t go in through the front door maybe we can set up a ‘buy’ and get our girl back.”

The team shook their heads in a mix of frustration and disgust at the thought of having to ‘buy’ back their teammate from that monster like she’s some object.

…

A few hours later and Jay was down in the roll-up, fixing a wire to the buttons of his shirt. A plan had been formulated; Halstead was going to meet a contact of Heath’s, posing as a pimp looking to move some ‘product’.

A quick, yet painful, phone call between Adam’s CI and Heath revealed he was still unaware Y/N was a cop. Jay had said on the phone he was looking for a specific type of ‘product’ and once he described a girl roughly matching Y/N’s description, Heath said he had someone for Jay. A meet was set at 9 pm by the docks.

The whole team was on edge. Some were scared of what Y/N was going through in the hands of the monster that is Nicolas Heath, most were nervous of the ‘buy’ that was soon to go down, but all were feeling guilty for allowing Y/N to be in this situation in the first place.

Once the wire was fixed and the van set, the team rolled out the back of district 21, with a thousand things racing through their minds.

They arrived at the predetermined meet point and waited. The surveillance van with Kevin, Adam, and Voight was hidden around the corner, whilst Jay waited in a UC truck parked out in the open. His jean-covered legs were bouncing up and down, but not from the cold. His partner, no, his best friend was out there somewhere in the hands of a rapist-pimp, alone and defenseless.

After 20 mins, a tattered grey van turned the corner and parked opposite Jay’s truck. Halstead sent a quick text to Voight notifying them of its arrival and then climbed out the truck. He looked on trying to see his partner beyond the blaring headlights of that grey van. When the white beams were cut he finally locked eyes with her.

When he saw her weak and bruised body with legs barely holding herself up, in a vice grip of two thugs, Jay’s instincts were to run to her, but he couldn’t. Thug 1 had a Glock 19 jammed into the side of her head and Thug 2 had one trained on him. He had to play this smart. The only way to get Y/N out of this was to play along with the ‘buy’, despite it making him sick to his stomach.

Jay casually walked around to the back of the truck and pulled out a black bag from the back. He checked his watch, stalled a bit to not seem too eager, put a stick of gum in his mouth, began to chew, stalled some more, and finally walked back towards Heath and his thugs.

“What you got for me then?” Jay questioned nonchalantly as he nodded towards his partner. “She what I asked for? Cuz I got a lotta cash here and I ain’t about to waste it.” Saying this was breaking him, but he had to play along.

“Yeh this one’ll be worth your trouble, she’s feisty, trust me.” Heath laughed back at his ‘buyer’. Jay’s heart sank. What had he meant by ‘trust me’? What had he done to her?

“Halstead keep your cool, flash him the money and get him to hand Y/N over” his sergeant’s voice spoke through his earpiece. Jay listened and opened to bag up to show Heath he meant business. “It’s all there. Hand her over, I wanna get a look before I hand this over.” Jay swallowed the sick in his mouth as he watched his partner shift uncomfortably between the two men.

When Y/N cast her eyes back up to look at Jay, he could see her tears in her eyes, despite the bruises there. His body kept playing the role but his eyes were calling out to her, he was internally begging she could see through his facade.

Thug 2 lowered his gun once Jay had flashed the money. Thug 1 kept his gun tight against Y/N’s head as he roughly pulled her towards Jay. He released her and she stumbled, on weak legs, the short distance to Jay.

Jay, careful not to grab at bruises, yanked on her arms and roughly pulled her towards the truck. He wanted to hug her, hold her and wipe her tears but he couldn’t. There were still 3 armed men 10 ft away who couldn’t know they were cops.

Y/N let out a small cry as the zip ties on her wrists dug deeper into the red, bleeding skin. “Quiet!” Jay demanded. “Move. Go on.” He pushed her around the back of the truck, attempting to shield her from any further potential dangers.

“Your money’s all there. Was a pleasure doing business with you.” Jay called out to Heath and his thugs.

“Pleasure’s all mine man, anytime. Enjoy that one” he nodded his head towards Y/N and stuck out a hand to Jay. Reluctantly Jay shook it and forced himself to say “Oh I will.”

The three men climbed back in their van with the money and reversed around the corner.

Shortly after, sirens and shouts of Chicago PD could be heard but Jay paid no attention. As soon as that van was out of sight Jay ran around the truck to Y/N.

Only now did he have a chance to fully take in her appearance. Her wrists were bleeding underneath zip ties. Arms were painted a horrible mix of blacks and blue. Blood was drying around her eyebrows and lip. Her left eye was swollen and purple and both were glistening with tears. She was in a short dress, ripped and filthy. But worst of all she was shaking violently, perhaps from the lack of layers and cold but more likely from the trauma of the last 24 hours. And that thought haunted Jay, he knew it always would.

When he finally reached her small and trembling body he cut the ties quickly and engulfed her in a hug. She sunk into his warm and then down to the floor. Jay went down with her, just holding her close as sobs shook through her body.

A hand came up to her face and he wiped her tears away and tucked her hair behind her ear. His strong arms held onto her so tight she thought she might crumble into a hundred pieces if he ever let go. So he didn’t.

“Shh. You’re okay. You’re okay Y/N/N. I got you. You’re safe.” He whispered into her ears. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry.” He began to choke up and the sound of her sobs. How had he let this happen?

Shortly after, the surveillance van and a few patrol cars arrived on scene. As Voight and the other officers climbed out their vehicles they were horrified at the scene before them.

Y/N looked like she’d been through hell. She was clinging to her partner desperately. Her shaking, although likely caused by a state of shock, prompted Adam to take off his coat and walk over to the partners on the floor.

He placed the coat on her shoulders and then squeezed one, trying to show his support and love and remorse through the action. Kevin walked over next with a blanket and knelt down with them.

“You’re okay Y/N. We’re here. You’re safe.” Jay kept repeating those words to his broken best friend, whom he held in his arms. Only when she heard the gruff voice of her sergeant did she take her head off Jay’s chest and lookup.

“I’m sorry Y/L/N. You’re gonna be okay kid.” Spoke Voight to his detective. The four men consoled their teammate, their family member, for a while longer. Their voices cracked and caught as they continued to whisper words of comfort until the ambulance arrived to take her to safety.

Read part 2 - https://georgiedx.tumblr.com/post/643582775508729857/summary-in-the-fallout-of-an-undercover-op-gone

I hope you guys liked it! Again I have no idea what I’m doing, this is just fun and a nice little escape for me.

[chubbyhl]

i just want to see fat harry being loved by louis😎 maybe some stuffing, cuddles and belly rubbs that's all

Anonymous said: fully kink centered feedee harry fic sounds like a dream

Anonymous said: could you give us lots LOOOTS of louis teasing harry about his weight gain?

Anonymous said: i just want some stuffing that's all😭

Fulfilling MANY prompts with this one! Around 2k of feedee Harry getting stuffed, I hope y’all enjoy (also...this is kink-centered so if you’re not into that, I apologize, I’ll post more fluffy content soon)

--

Louis’s favorite part of any day was always when he got to feed his boyfriend.

 His day to day was rather dull; waking up earlier, going to work to teach music to young kids, and then trying not to fall asleep on the train home before he went and made dinner.

 But making dinner always brought him a bit of peace, as he picked out the perfect meal, chopped up each ingredient, formulated it perfectly so it would be ready when Harry eventually got home from work. He always made the best meals for Harry; always more than one course, the richest flavors, always good enough to make Harry ask for seconds.

 When he thought about it, it was probably no wonder Harry had gained about 150 pounds in the two years Louis had known him.

It wasn’t intentional, at first. Harry was a little chubby when Louis had met him; mostly just a round belly on an otherwise skinny frame, something he had blamed on starting a new desk job that gave him no time to work out, and a lot of time to sit around and stress-eat. He and Louis went on all the usual food-centric dates a new couple would go on; movie dates with popcorn and soda, Mexican and Italian restaurants, ice cream to end the night. Louis remembered putting on a little weight during that time too, but he quickly realized just how much Harry loved to eat whenever they went out. He would order extra-large popcorns and cherry Cokes for himself, three scoops of ice cream to Louis’s one, two main courses and a dessert when they went to dinner.

 “You really love food,” Louis remembered commenting once at dinner, and Harry just laughed and patted his belly.

 “It’s no wonder this thing is getting bigger, then,” Harry had said.

 They had also had sex for the first time that night, although at first Louis tried to tell himself the two were not related. Not even if Harry pushing his bloated stomach against Louis’s own flat belly finally made him cum later.

 A few Google searches and awkward discussions later, the two of them figured out what they both wanted: Harry to gain more weight, and Louis to get him there.

 Now, Louis flitted around the kitchen, humming to himself as he got out some plates. It was a Friday, so Louis had taken a break from his usual cooking and had taken the route of ordering in instead, getting some food from Harry’s favorite fried chicken restaurant. He had already stripped down to just his briefs, and hummed happily to himself as he heard Harry’s keys in their apartment door as he plated some of the take out.

 “Hey, babe,” Harry’s voice called, immediately followed by, “Damn, that smells good.”

 “You hungry?” Louis returned, already smiling to himself as he laid out Harry’s beloved chicken tenders in a pleasing layout on the plate.

 “You know it,” Harry called back. Louis heard him tossing his keys in the bowl by their door, and then blushed as Harry’s heavy footsteps came down the hall.

 Harry came in a moment later, smiling as he came up behind Louis, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing behind his ear. He was dressed in his usual work attire, a white button down and a now-loosen tie, although as usual, his buttons had started gaping over his undershirt, pushed out by a day of battling Harry’s round, heavy belly.

 “God, this looks so good,” Harry sighed. “Where are we eating tonight?”

 “Where do we always eat on Friday?” Louis countered, twisting around to kiss Harry’s cheek.

 “Oh, is it a bedroom kind of night?” Harry chuckled, kissing Louis back.

 “Uh huh,” Louis smiled. “Get comfy, baby, I’ll be right in, okay?”

 “Alright, honey,” Harry agreed. He kissed him one last time, and Louis just smiled as he cut down the hall, on the way to their room.

 Louis put the finishing touches on the plate he had made;  a dozen chicken strips, some home fries, several tubs of dipping sauce, all laid out neatly. He had also gotten two giant bottles of Harry’s much-loved cherry Coke, and he had bought some fresh ice cream, which he left in the freezer. He balanced one bottle of Coke under one arm as he carried the plate to the bedroom, pushing it open with his hip. Harry had made quick work of getting undressed, and was currently just in his boxers, propped up against a pile of pillows behind him. His belly sat round and heavy, covered half his thick thighs, which he had generously spread out. Most of the tattoos he had had when he and Louis met were faded and stretched out over his thick arms, chest, and stomach, and Louis always loved to see them, how they stood out against his pale skin and were obscured by all his curves.

 “You look so good, god,” Louis gushed as he set the plate of food and soda down on the bed, “One second.”

 He opened the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a pair of black silk ties, and Harry smirked and lifted up his arms, letting his wrists against the metal bars of their headboard.

 “I always know you mean business when you bring those out,” he said, and Louis just grinned and leaned over, tying one of Harry’s wrists to the headboard.

 “I sure do, big boy,” Louis said, giving Harry a quick peck before he went to the other side of the bed to secure his other wrist. When he was done, he finally crawled onto the bed and settled himself in Harry’s lap, his legs on either side of his boyfriend’s thighs. He didn’t waste any time as he picked up a cup of ranch and a chicken tender, dunking it in the sauce a few times before  he offered it to the other man. Harry ate happily, taking a big bite and moaning as he chewed, and then happily finished the rest of the tender.

 “How was work today?” Louis asked as he reached for a thick fry, dipping it in ketchup as he lifted it to Harry’s mouth.

 “Fine,” Harry said in between chews, “I helped an old lady with her taxes. How about you?”

 “A kid spilled an entire Capri Sun on my piano, I almost had an aneurysm.”

 “Well,” Harry chuckled. “That explains why I’m having a dozen chicken fingers for dinner tonight.”

 “Uh huh,” Louis agreed, grabbing another piece of chicken. “All my stress goes right in this belly.”

 He gave Harry’s stomach a firm smack, and then went back to feeding him more chicken.

 Louis gave him three more chicken tenders and several more potatoes before Harry started complaining he was thirsty, and then Louis twisted off the top of his Coke and held the heavy bottle with practiced hands, setting it against Harry’s lips and tilting it back. He always drank it fast, and Louis always liked how it made his stomach swell quickly.

 When Harry was done with his soda, Louis took it away, and then quickly went back to feeding him. He always got lost in watching Harry eat; how eager he was, his big bites, how his face began turning red the more he ate. Three more chicken tenders, and Harry started squirming a big more, his breathing more swallow. Louis knew he was getting full, probably was dying to rub his own belly, but his hands were still tied to the headboard.

 “You want more, baby?” Louis giggled. He grabbed another chicken tender, dipping it in the thick ranch, and then brought it to Harry’s waiting lips. He smiled at Harry chewed contentedly, letting out a long sigh as he finished, only for Louis to shove the rest of the chicken finger into his mouth.

 “You look bigger lately,” Louis said, palming the curve of Harry’s belly. “I must be picking the right foods.”

 “You have,” Harry agreed with a long exhale. “That and I can’t say no to you.”

 “Harry, I mean, seriously,” Louis continued. He rubbed both hands along Harry’s bloated belly, pushing down a bit at the plushness. “Just a few months ago, you were so cute and chubby, and now you look fucking huge.”

 Harry groaned at that, closing his eyes as his cheeks turned red.

 “And look at this,” Louis pointed out, jabbing his finger into Harry’s underbelly. “I can see where your pants dug into you, you’ve needed a new size for weeks, and you wear 44s.”

 He delicately picked up another chicken tender and dunked it in the ranch as he kept rubbing Harry’s belly with one hand, pushing it roughly against Harry’s lips.

 “I mean, honestly, it’s so much weight,” Louis continued, shoving the rest of the chicken into Harry’s mouth, “Didn’t you play baseball or something in high school?”

 Harry grunted and let out a long sigh as Louis grabbed more fries.

 “You know damn well it was track and field,” Harry said. “And I was team captain.”

 “Well, forgive me for forgetting,” Louis rolled his eyes. He dipped down, kissing and licking the curve of Harry’s belly, and then grabbed one of the last two chicken tenders left.

 “You know I never would’ve gotten this big if I hadn’t met you,” Harry said, and Louis grinned.

 “Oh, baby, I know. I know,” he smiled, and then pushed the chicken tender into his mouth. He watched Harry chew, slow and labored, and then reached around him, grabbing his thick love handles and giving them a shake.

 “And for the record, I think you could afford to put on a few more pounds,” Louis said, reaching for the soda again. “Come on, open up for me.”

 Louis held the bottle steadily as Harry swallowed down the soda, and then he made steady work of dipping the last few fries in dipping sauce and feeding them, bit by bit, into Harry’s exhausted, open mouth. He was beet red now and groaning as he chewed, but Louis kept fondling and rubbing his bloated belly, feeling the heft and heat of it. Finally, there was just one more chicken finger, and Louis poured the last of the ranch onto it and then broke it, folding it in half so he could shove the whole thing in Harry’s mouth in one go.

 The other man took his time chewing, and when he finished, and let out a loud groan, struggling to catch his breath as he tried to collect himself. Louis set the now-empty plate and bottle of soda on the bedside table and then lowered himself down, kissing all over the impressive curve of Harry’s belly, then up to his soft, wide chest, his big, sensitive nipples, over to the fleshy, stretch-marked under parts of his arms. Then, finally, he was up to Harry’s face, with his round cheeks and his thick double chin and his sauce-covered mouth, and Louis kissed his fiercely, holding his fat cheeks in between his hands and he did so.

 “Christ, I’m lucky, aren’t I,” Louis sighed. “Grew myself the perfect boyfriend.”

 Harry just let out a labored laugh, and then winced as the mere action made his stuffed belly shake.

 “Don’t worry, you’re going to get a blow job out of this,” Louis said. “And your cock in my ass after that. Whatever you want for being so fucking perfect.”

 Harry sighed, tossing his head back and weakly flailing his tied hands.

 “Can you – oof – untie me first? My arms hurt.”

 “Oh, baby, of course,” Louis cooed, quickly moving to remove the ties. “Anything you want.”

 He untied one restraint, and then moved to the other, although he paused when Harry spoke.

 “Lou?”

 Louis glanced over, looking at his big, pink-cheeked boyfriend.

 “Yeah, baby?”

 Harry’s eyes sparked, a smile coming over his swollen, red lips.

 “You’re gonna get me dessert later, right?”

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 19) three question game

.-.-.

Ivar had torn a muscle between his bicep and shoulder that made him a lot less mobile. He’d managed to limp on one arm towards the kitchen’s wall and slouched down against it. Resting his swollen cheek against the cool stones, Ivar hid the knife away between the folds of the potato bags that were wrapped around his legs. 

Piglet forcefully placed a basket full of shell beans at his feet. Kneeling down, her instructions followed fast and angry. She broke the bean and sliced off each end of the pod, pulling the pod apart from the seam. 

“Aren’t we just two peas in a pod, huh Piglet?” Ivar joked and immediately scrunched up his face when his split lip opened further.

Piglet didn’t say a word, instead she gave him the stink eye and sagged next to him against the wall. Carrying on with the work, she managed to bless him with one facial expression for the rest of the day: one of unreserved contempt, disapproval, distrust and loathing. And the expression was just the start, soon came the grunts and sighs. 

But she never left his side, still cautiously scanning the room to spot any type of danger or a hint that Ludolf might come around the doorway. 

For someone who called him thick-headed, Piglet was pretty guilty of that trait herself. She refused to speak to him and moved a few feet when Ivar poked her between the ribs to probe a word out of her. 

“Pot, kettle, black, Piglet,” Ivar murmured underneath his breath while his stomach howled like a hungry wolf. He hadn’t had much to chew on. Asking for food was out of the question, he already knew the answer to that; none, just two dark smoldering eyes judging his impulsive behavior. 

At twilight, Ivar waited anxiously for Piglet’s arrival. He’d been brought back to the shed by a serf and chained. Piglet had been sent by Big Cunt to fetch some dry firewood for the pot and Ivar hadn’t seen her since. 

Restlessly, his fingers ran along the sharp side of his new toy. The tool felt foreign in his hand, it had been so long since he’d held a weapon of any variety. Yet he didn’t doubt he was still physically able to slash the knife down and hack his way through the Giant’s rib cage. 

He did wonder about the mental aspect of the task. It had occurred to him that he’d stalled in his reaction at the diner table. And why? Why, in a blink of an eye, had he made that radical decision to extend this torturous life for another day? He could have killed the Giant, with enough eyes to witness that it had been him, just him, who’d turned that rotting face into an entire carcass. 

He sighed, leaned back and rolled his eyes. His reason was the same reason why he’d been jittery and biting his nails; Piglet. 

It would be an act of weakness if he left her alone, to deal with Ludolf and his perverted tendencies. 

A load of bricks fell off his chest when Piglet tiptoed into the shed, carrying a tray of food. However, like the soup, her temper was still at its boiling point. 

“How do I know you didn’t piss in it?” Ivar spoke, trying to mask his relief at seeing her waltz in unharmed. 

Piglet raised her chin and gave him a stone-hard expression before sliding the tray over the makeshift line: “You don’t.” 

Well, she managed to ruin his good mood within seconds. He threw her a deadly glare and scanned over the other items to eat. Today's meal was made up of a possibly-pissed-in-soup, two slices of stale bread that was on the verge of growing mold and an egg. 

Ivar settled with the egg, ticked it against the tray and started peeling off the shell. When he wolfed it down, his stomach still growled and he debated if hay could be used for human consumption. 

“I did not piss in it,” Piglet confidently spoke in his language without a stutter.

Ivar eyed her skeptically for a long moment before deciding to believe her, in all honesty he was so hungry he’d eat it anyways. 

“I spat in it,” Piglet announced dryly as Ivar slurped from his soup. Piglet scrunched up her nose, made a disgusting sound in the back of her throat and spat up a gob of sputum on to the floor. 

At the sight of that, Ivar’s gag reflex immediately kicked in and he spat out a mouthful of soup. 

“I joke,” Piglet grinned while Ivar spat repeatedly on the floor. 

“Bitch,” Ivar growled sourly and stole the two slices of stale bread. 

“Numskull,” Piglet retorted and fled the scene for a moment. 

Ivar glared after her while tearing off tiny bits of bread with his front teeth, hoping that if he ate really slowly, he wouldn’t be so hungry. 

Piglet returned with a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The fabric was thin, torn and had hay intertwined in nearly every inch of it. Without warning or a word, she dropped down directly next to him and drank a little of his soup.

Piglet wiped her mouth and passed him the bowl, indicating it was safe to eat. Ivar gave her a half shrug, dunked the bread into the lukewarm soup and ate, brooding and cursing her under his breath like a full grown man-child. 

Piglet let him enjoy his moment of crankiness and used the time to rid her blanket from some of the hay. As they sat shoulder to shoulder, the blanket radiated her warmth and with a full belly, Ivar started to unwind for a bit and curiosity got the best of him again.

While lingering a sideway glance, Ivar realised he knew nothing of his faithful companion. She had no real name, no past, no roots that he knew of. And she’d been very keen to keep him in the dark, of pretty much everything. 

A plan formed inside his head when he stored the bowl away and asked her: “Wahid, arbe, sitta?”

Of course Piglet was eager to play her game, always happy to get her mind off of her daily struggles and she went to fetch the knucklebones. She returned and sat back in her previous spot, shoulder to shoulder by her shed-mate and threw the bones on the floor. 

“Wait,” Ivar spoke and held up his hands, “I’d like to add a new rule, to make the game a bit more exciting.” 

Piglet could not fully understand his words and gawked at him a little defensively but allowed him to continue.

“We play a round, the winner gets to ask the loser three questions, which the loser needs to answer truthfully.” Ivar said, pointing up three fingers, “oh c’mon Piglet don’t be so sour, wahid, arbe, sitta.” 

It was clear that Piglet did not like this new rule. But when Ivar crossed his hands and made it clear he wasn’t going to participate otherwise, she agreed half heartedly. 

To his discomfort, Ivar lost the first round of the knuckle game, for some reason he hadn’t calculated that his chances of asking the questions had been fifty-fifty. 

With glee and self indulgence, Piglet wiggled her toes and tilted her head to the side in thought, trying to come up with her three questions. Suddenly, her wiggling stopped and Ivar noticed how small the young woman looked from her own two feet to his.

“Maksura, broken,” she formulated, tapped with her stone cold foot against his, “how?” 

Self consciously, Ivar shuffled his feet a few inches away from hers and threw a bunch of hay on his legs in a pathetic attempt to hide his biggest insecurity. 

“I was born like this,” he answered truthfully, “one of nature's mistakes,” he added bitterly. 

Piglet stared up at him dully: “Allah no make mistakes.” 

Ivar snorted, shocked by the nonsense coming from her mouth: “Let me get straight with you Piglet, your God has nothing to do with me. He did not make me, because he doesn’t exist. It’s a false God, like the one those Christians worship. All frauds in the all-seeing eye of Odin.” 

Piglet rolled her eyes at Ivar’s blasphemy and hummed, thinking of her next question. 

“Why fight toothless?” She asked and ticked on her front teeth when Ivar didn’t understand who she was talking about.

“Because I can.” He answered.

“Hamar,” Piglet flatly told him.  

“No, I’m not Piglet!” Ivar snarled aggravated, “the Giant  -the toothless- can break every bone in my body, cut my throat and bleed me dry, but he’ll never have ultimate power over me. I won’t grant him that, you know yourself that there are things far worse in this life then death. And one of them is losing spirit. He’ll never be able to take that from me, I will taunt him, every day, the best I can without dying, until there comes the opportune moment and then I’ll kill him. Yes, I’ll slaughter the toothless,” Ivar added when Piglet’s cheeks lost a bit of their usual dark color, “they days of the toothless are numbered.” 

“Kill?” Piglet spoke breathlessly. 

Ivar chuckled, “yes, of course,” and held up both hands, “with my bare hands. And teeth,” he said and showed her his teeth. 

In her dark eyes, a part of her adoration for him seemed to be shattered. Which was incomprehensible for Ivar, where he came from, murder was not a sin. Murder was one of the numerous ways to become memorable and glorious. Of course his kingdom wasn’t a cradle of pure anarchy, there were rules, rights and punishments, but murder certainly wasn’t the worst crime. 

So when Piglet stared at him, as if he’d suddenly turned into a three headed monster, he felt a twinge of dread in his chest. For he hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she judged him and his ways. 

“If I kill the toothless, you’d perceive me as evil?” he questioned toneless. 

Piglet nodded and stared at her fingers, as she ticked at the hay.

“Why?” Ivar asked, “that man abuses you, beats you, mistreats you. Why am I evil when I rip out his heart?” he emphasized the word when, because he certainly wanted to give her the impression that he would.

Piglet did not answer, instead she picked up the knucklebones and threw them on the floor. This round Ivar managed to win. 

 Now if he wanted to get any information out of Piglet, he needed to play this out with a silk glove, because she already looked at him like a rabbit trapped by a string. 

“What’s your favorite food?”

His first question visibly surprised her and little warmth returned to her face: “basbousa,” she brought her fingers to her lips as her thoughts traveled back to a place far away from the shed. 

“Cake, warm, sticky,” she continued and bit her lip to sustain the happy memory as long as she could. It was all both of them had left, bittersweet reminders of the past that faded faster and faster each day. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Ivar went on, keeping his questions light.

“Khuruf, sheep,” she answered, plucking at her blanket. 

“And what’s your biggest fear?” Ivar asked. 

“Men,” she stated immediately and Ivar felt the need to punch himself. He’d foolishly expected an answer such as spiders or the dark, for those had been the fears he’d used against the thralls that took care of him when he was young. But of course Piglet’s fear was not of such innocent things.

She picked up the bones and started another game without wasting another breath. Ivar managed to win again to his delight. 

“Where are you from?” 

“Nubia.”

“Nubia?” Ivar repeated, wondering if that was her country or the name of her village, “now where is that?” 

He was prying too much, her eyebrows rose and she huffed: “far.” 

“And how many winters have you been away from Nubia?” Ivar asked.

“Eshr, ten.” 

“What’s your name Piglet? Your real name?” 

His companion remained silent for a while and stared into the distance with a fixed expression before eying him up and down, raising three fingers.

“Three question game,” was all she said before picking up the bones and ambling away. 

Ivar allowed himself to fall back into the hay and let out a frustrated sigh, before shoving hay around and over his body. That woman was utterly frustrating, she hardly spoke a word and if she did it was mostly an insult or a way of belittling him. 

“You better not think you're going to sleep here again,” Ivar snapped when he heard her mince her way back to him, dragging her blanket through the hay and dirt, “that was a one-time deal, you reek and-” 

She wrapped the blanket over his shoulder and silently laid down underneath it with her back against his. Ivar let his fingers feel the thin fabric of the cocoon for the night and sensed the warmth spreading against his tense shoulders. 

“-Fine,” he grunted sullen and nicked some more of the blanket before allowing himself to fall asleep. But just like for the previous night, he slept with one eye open for he was Piglet’s safe keeper. 

 .-.-.

 A/N: For those of you who wonder, Nubia was the ancient name of Sudan. So that’s where Piglet’s from. I know that in this chapter their communication grew a lot and for those who think that’s a little bit too fast or remarkable, remember that Rollo managed to learn French in one episode:P 

 Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182 @conaionaru

@sarahh-jane

@peachyboneless

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[lunnanunna]

Talk it Out

iKON Extra Member AU

Summary: {Requested} [Takes place a few months before debut.] Bao and Ju-ne work though an argument.

Warning: Swearing

Taglist: @hyunmijung​ @changbinnieslaugh​ @galacticstxrdust​

A/N: This came out longer than I had intended, and I don’t even know if this matched the request. Hopefully, you guys still enjoy it.

Requests are open! Please let me know what you think.

Heavy breathing could be heard throughout the practice room. The members of YG’s new group, iKON, were practicing for their debut. They still had a few more months until their big day, but that didn’t mean that they could just sit back and relax. If anything it meant that they had to work even harder. If you ended up with an IV drip then you were doing it right. (Not really, but that was everyone’s mentality at the time.)

Bao braced her hands on her knees, then dropped to the ground, taking in rapid breaths to fill her lungs with much needed air. They had been practicing since early this morning, and Bao didn’t even want to know what time it was.

All eight of them were in various states of exhaustion, spread out around the room. Their dance instructor had gone out to take a phone call, and had told them that they could rest until he came back. Bao prayed that he’d be out there for a few hours.

She took a look around the room, and saw the fatigue that she felt reflected off of each of the boys’ faces. Breathing heavily through her nose, then letting it out through her mouth, she threw her head back, her baseball cap falling off. It landed on the ground with a soft thud.

Bao leaned back, holding herself up with her hands behind her. She bounced her knee slightly, groaning at the same time as Bobby had. The younger looked up to her right to see Bobby giving her a small, tired smile. She returned it.

She liked Bobby. Bobby was cool. He was real. And he had talent. She also felt like they had similar likes and interests, along with personal views on life. Basically having a western mindset in such a closed minded country. 

Bao closed her eyes again, turning her head slightly to the left. When she opened her eyes, she caught Junhoe looking at her. Or maybe the right word was glaring? Either way, Bao bristled at the sight.

She’s stayed mostly to herself, ever since she came to the company, and during Mix & Match, so much so that many believed that either she was super shy or just couldn’t speak Korean. Which is why she surprised everyone with how clear her rap was. (She was crap at reading and formulating sentences, but she had impeccable pronunciation.)

Bao, not one to ever stand down, had actually tried her hardest not to step on anyone’s toes. She had seen the anger on Hanbin’s face when she and Chanwoo, along with the others were introduced. She knew how hard they had worked. She got that, so she did her part to prove that she deserved to debut as well, (Something told her this may have been her only chance to debut.) all while taking a step back, and not angering anyone, which was hard for her. Bao, by nature, angered many people without even trying.

But now sitting here, exhausted beyond anything she’s ever felt before, was Junhoe. Junhoe glaring at her, like she was to blame for the world ending. And while Bao knew that one day she may be the reason, today was not the day. She was too tired for this shit.

“Have something you want to say?” Bao tilted her head to the side, still leaning on her hands. She spoke slowly, making sure that her Korean was understandable. Everyone looked up to see Bao raising a challenging brow at the younger who seemed surprised that she had even spoken up.

Junhoe chewed on the inside of his cheek, staying quiet. The first time Bao had ever actually seen him this quiet. The dude was fucking loud, and Bao really hated it, but since she had been trying to play nice and not make enemies, she never said anything about it.

Bao tilted her chin down, looking at him, waiting. He looked around the room as if wondering if it was even worth it, but with Bao’s challenging stare, he cracked. “Yeah, actually. I do.”

The girl nodded her head, telling him to speak. She could feel the air around them tense, and knew that Hanbin and the older members were getting ready to jump in if needed.

“You’re holding us back.” Okay, straight to the point. Bao appreciated that.

“And how’s that?” Bao asked. She knew what he meant. Bao was confident in her rapping skills. Dancing? Not so much.

“You can’t keep up. You’re off beat, and it throws the rest of us off,” Junhoe folded his arms over his chest, challenging her to rebut.

“Are you sure you’re not just talking about yourself?” Bao sat up, smirking at him. Junhoe, who has been wearing a triumphant smile when he first attacked, now frowned.

He glared at her. “I’m doing better than you,” he countered.

Bao grinned even wider at the answer. “Is that it? Is that your next move?” She shook her head, copying his position, and folded her arms. “You know, out of everyone here, you’re the one that has never talked to me?” Bao’s smile dropped as she spoke.

“What?” The vocalist asked, confused with the change in subject.

Bao continued, “Even Hanbin, who hated me at first-”

“I never hated you.”

“Sure,” Bao rolled her eyes at the leader who sheepishly looked away. It wasn’t a secret that most of them either hated her or felt uncomfortable with her when she first joined. But now all of them (Except for Junhoe.) finally were starting to warm up to her.

“Even he has finally accepted me, whether it was his own choice or not,” Bao continued.

“It was my own choice.”

“I see. Thank you,” Bao smiled at the rapper who smiled back. “Basically what I’m trying to say is that everyone here has come to terms with me being a part of this group. It's your turn.” Junhoe looked at her if she’d grown a second head. 

“It’s not that easy,” Junhoe said, his voice rising a bit. Bao could sense an argument and she was ready. She was actually in need of one. (Burn off steam and what not.)

“Well the others did it,” Bao shrugged, motioning to each of them with her head.

“Faking,” was all he said. He searched her face, furrowing his eyebrows when he couldn’t find a crack in her mask. Bao had dealt with enough haters in her life to be able to take blows.

“Jun,” Jinhwan spoke up in a warning tone.

Junhoe rolled his eyes at the same time Bao said, “No. It’s fine. Let him get it out of his system. We’re gonna be in the same group for God knows how long. We gotta clear the air.”

“Maybe not now, Bao. We’re all kind of tired. This probably won’t end well,” Bobby said, placing a hand onto her knee. She ignored him and the awkward looks of each of the members as they sat and listened.

“Go on. Say whatever you need to say,” Bao waved her hand towards Junhoe.

He looked at her suspiciously and paused, seeming to debate on whether he should say something. After a few more seconds, he spoke up. “I don’t like the fact that we have a girl in the group. You can barely speak the language, and you fall behind with the dance. Why YG let you be in the group is beyond me.”

Bao nodded her head, jutting her bottom lip out slightly as she took in his words. She huffed out a sarcastic laugh, then looked at him. “Is that it? ‘Cause I’ll tell you now, YG hadn’t expected me to make it. That’s how good I am.”

Junhoe’s jaw went slack, eyebrows raising as he barked a laugh. “You’re full of shit. You have no talent. Okay, so yeah. You can ‘rap’, but that’s not enough. YG definitely has plans for you, which is why you made it,”

“Okay, Junhoe. No,” Hanbin spoke up, not liking where this was going. He was slightly nervous with how calm Bao was. He hadn’t known her for that long, so he didn’t know her limit or what she’d do if she reached that limit. “Bao’s good. She’s perfect for the group, just like the rest of us.”

“She earned her spot,” Yunhyeong added. Bao internally smiled as the boys spoke up. She hadn’t expected them to.

“I admit I still struggle with Korean, and I’m definitely not the best dancer, but don’t shit on my rap skills. It sucks when groundless criticism comes from someone who isn’t in that field. You don’t see me saying crap about your singing skills, now do you?” Bao said a bit of frustration seeping into her voice. She hated dancing, but music was her passion. No one got to shit on her and her skills and expect her to stay quiet.

“That’s because I can actually sing,” Junhoe sneered.

“Well, I can actually rap,” Bao said in the same tone he used. “And when it comes to dancing. You’re absolute shit.”

“Fuck you,” Junhoe grumbled, then yelled the next part, “Just go back to Japan! I’m telling you no one wants you here!”

“Junhoe!” Bobby exclaimed.

“It’s true!” Junhoe said, throwing his hands up in the air.

Bao looked off to the side, chewing on the inside of her lip, smirking. “Oh yeah? Think I should go back?” She stood up, staring down at him. Challenging him.

Junhoe stood up and like her folded his arms over his chest, glaring. “I do think so. Learn Korean and dance then come back. Or just stay in Japan. Enjoy whatever perfect, privileged life you had back there, ” Junhoe said. His head snapped to the side, as Bao smacked him.

“Shit, Bao. What the fuck?” Hanbin said, standing up, already holding her back as she raised her hand again, seething. She really wanted to hit him again. She had been wanting to do so ever since she first met him.

“What? Are you rebelling against your parents? Are you not allowed to go home ‘cause you came here?” Junhoe asked, seeming unfazed by the hit, though his cheek was quickly reddening.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything,” Bao hissed, shaking Hanbin’s hands off her. She should leave now before she says or does anything she’ll regret.

“Oh, yeah?” Junhoe kept going. He saw that he had hit a sore spot and decided to keep prodding. Bao made to leave for the door, but paused when he spoke again, “I’m sure you’ll still be accepted back home. Your parents will take you in with open arms.”

She didn’t really have the right to get at him for what he said. He didn’t know. Bao had made it near impossible for anyone to know.

With her back still facing the boys, she straightened herself then said, “My parents died when I was three.”  Silence enveloped the room, and Bao took that as her cue to leave.

~

Bao sat in an empty practice room, scrolling through her phone. She had been sitting in there for about two hours. No one had come looking for her, but she had received texts from both Hanbin and Bobby, asking her where she was and if she was okay. She sent them both a thumbs up.

While what Junhoe had said pissed her off, she wasn’t really sad. She had had years to deal and process her emotions on that matter. It was the fact that it was brought up that annoyed her. No one had ever brought up her parents except her grandparents (Though that was more of her fault, seeing as she barely told anyone her life story.)

She also knew that while Junhoe still didn’t accept her into the group, exhaustion was what was speaking earlier. She honestly held no grudges (She normally didn’t.)

A knock broke her chain of thought and she turned to see the doorknob turn. She hadn’t locked it. Bao sat in the corner watching as Junhoe popped his head in.

When his eyes landed on Bao, she could see the shame in his eyes. He hesitated by the door, then walked in, closing it behind him. Awkwardly standing there, Junhoe looked at Bao, but looked away quickly.

Bao sighed. There was no point in keeping this up. She had cooled down and was ready to have a civil conversion with the younger. She patted the spot next to her on the floor. “Come on.”

Junhoe looked at her nervously, but slowly sat down next to her. There was at least three feet in between them, and Bao snorted. The younger looked at her, and smiled shyly.

“Okay, so obviously we said some shit,” Bao smirked, leaning her head back on the wall, looking at Junhoe.

“That’s an understatement,” Junhoe huffed a laugh then said, “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Bao waved at him dismissively, “How could you have known?”

Junhoe nodded his head. “But I still crapped on your skills,” he said, looking at his hands.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” Bao said, looking at the wall in front of her. She smiled as she felt the vocalist look at her.

“Bao, I actually think you have a lot of talent. And your Korean is really good,” Junhoe said and Bao nodded (She figured that much.) “I just said what I knew could possibly hurt you.”

“Yeah, I  know. Though I don’t feel much,” Bao chuckled.

“Yeah I saw that. No emotion until that smack,” Junhoe laughed. Bao did too, turning to look at him and seeing the still red hand mark on his cheek.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I deserved it,” Junhoe said. “Listen. I actually accepted you a while ago, okay. I just- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I guess I just get annoyed easily and I’ve been super stressed lately, and I just took it out on you,” Junhoe said, turning to look at Bao who continued to look ahead.

“I get it,” she said, nodding. And she did. These were stressful times, and sometimes it was easier to be angry at someone else than yourself. “I get like that a lot too.”

“Yeah, but you barely show it,” Junhoe said.

“I’m trying not to scare people off. I’ve been told I do that,” Bao joked and Junhoe laughed.

“You’re not too bad,” he smiled.

“Thanks. Neither are you, but you’re still loud as fuck,” she smiled back. The two laughed then quieted down, sitting in silence, looking at the wall. Then Bao spoke up.

“Let’s promise to be civil, and try to talk things out, not pent them up? Also cool down before confronting,” Bao said chuckling.

Junhoe laughed as well, holding out his hand, “Deal.” Bao took it and shook his hand.

“Should we get back?” Bao asked.

Junhoe rested his head on the wall, eyes closing. “Let’s ‘work’ things out a bit more,” he said, sighing, relaxed.

“Sounds good to me,” Bao nodded, then did the same.

Bao’s Masterlist