#just. casually looking up how to cut someone's vocal cords.

[theroseempress]

And on today's episode of I-Swear-I'm-Looking-This-Up-For-Writing-Purposes-Only-I-Am-NOT-A-Criminal-Do-Not-Be-Suspicious-I-Am-Up-To-Lawful-Things-ONLY-I-Promise...

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin has been Court Sorcerer for a couple months now;

and whilst the gang knows that, in theory, he is "The Most Powerful Warlock to Ever Walk the Earth"... they never quite realised what that meant, until he got stabbed through the chest, and he laughed...

Good-Merlin, can still be a little very dark sometimes, especially when his friends are in danger.

TW: Some fairly graphic descriptions of violence under the cut, just lots and lots of blood, and Merlin being a little very terrifying.

ONCE AGAIN the gang (5 knights, A+M) are in the woods doing some shit.

A large group of mercenaries had been reportedly ransacking some outlying villages. Arthur had been crowned for less than a year, so in a show of solidarity and loyalty to his people, he took himself, his five best knights, and the newly appointed Court Sorcerer, instead of just assigning it as someone else's problem.

The first couple of days are uneventful. Everything's been so busy in recent months, with Leon taking charge of the knights whilst Arthur gets on with his kingly duties, the change in laws, and the complete change in Merlin’s life; it was nice for everyone to just catch up and goof around.

Of course they were focused on helping their people, but they might as well relax themselves on the way there. Everyone knows, a happy, de-stressed fighter, is a good fighter.

They come across the mercenaries quicker than expected. Apparently they had grown in confidence and ventured further into the kingdom.

That also means the gang wasn't expecting it, and even Merlin is taken by surprise.

There are also far more attackers than they were expecting, and six knights, even six of the best knights, was no where near enough to keep pace with the 30 or so group of attackers, and the fight was over before it really began.

Which is what lead to the current situation.

The gang had been dragged to a clearing, all clapped in cold iron shackles (with Camelot's new change in laws.... well, the mercenaries weren't taking any chances, any of them could be hiding sorcery).

A man who has clearly established himself as the leader starts shouting orders:

"Someone get a fire lit, a big one. Chain the knights to the trees, but that one-"

(He points directly at Merlin, the only one of the group not in armour)

He gives a horrid grin before continuing:

"- bring that one here, and unshackle him. Perhaps the King will pay up quicker should we pre-emptively send a.... message."

All the knights widen their eyes at this. Apparently these idiots hadn't realised that one of the men they had shackled to a tree was the King.

I guess if they were from outside of Camelot, they might not know what he looks like? But none of them question it, all hoping that once Merlin was free of his shackles, he could make a run for it and bring an army back.

Merlin just smirks slightly to himself, so small and brief, that only Leon notices it, and allows himself to be dragged towards the man in the centre of the clearing.

The Sorcerer stands casually, trying not to gag from the smell of the mans breath.

He rubs his wrists absentmindedly, and subtly takes in a deep breath as the shackles are removed, and he feels the magic flow back through his body.

Merlin lays a steely glare on the Head Merc as the knights watch on in fear, why wasn't he running? Fighting?? Anything??

He goes to say "That was a very bad move on your part." but just as he opens his mouth to speak, he feels a sharp pain in his chest.

He opens his mouth but all that comes out is a harsh gurgle, as blood starts dripping from between his lips.

He can vaguely hear the screaming of the knights as he takes a stumbled step back, before falling to his knees, only then looking down to see the hilt of the dagger, poking out from his chest.

He coughs up some more blood as he looks up at his attacker, unable to do anything but tremble, and pull a face of confusion, blinking rapidly in shock.

He can still hear the shrieking. Someone yelling his name. Someone screaming curse words, a lot of "NO!"s

The head honcho gives him one last smirk before walking over towards the knights, who are yanking so tightly at their chains, and screaming so loudly, they're almost certain to have fractured wrists and strained vocal cords.

Merlin kneels there, looking back down at the dagger, still coughing up blood and struggling to draw breath, his whole body trembling, as The Merc begins to address his chained friends.

"His carcass will be dropped at the gates of Camelot. Hopefully that will deliver the message to your powerful King."

He starts chuckling at the knights pleading, but before he can gloat more, Merlin starts wheezing. Loudly.

He turns around, about to yell at someone to finish him off and shut him up, when he realises in horror, that the wheezing, is slowly morphing into laughter.

The knights turn their stares back to their friend, confused and horrified, as Merlin looks up at The Merc from his place in the floor.

He slowly stands, swaying on his feet, grinning wildly, blood now pouring from his mouth, his teeth stained. A dribble comes out of his nose, his eyes manic, and his body still shaking.

"How... how is this possible?!-"

The Merc takes a step back, as all of his... employees... stare on, too shocked to act.

"- even if you were a sorcerer this is.... this is IMPOSSIBLE!"

He takes another step back, getting paler by the second, and a blood soaked Merlin grins at him,

He tilts his head, looking like a madman, and wheezes out a crazed:

“You think you get to kill me?”

The knights stare on in near-revulsion, as he lifts a hand wet with blood up, pulling the dagger from his chest, groaning briefly.

The red streak on Merlin’s chest begins to grow rapidly at this, and he bends over, almost falling, as he coughs up an impossible amount of blood, keeping the dagger gripped tightly in his hand.

As Merlin looks up, once again grinning, the leader regains a small part of his composure, and yells:

“KILL HIM! FOR GODS SAKE SOMEONE KILL HIM!!”

Before the swordsmen can take even one step towards Merlin, the grin drops from his face, his eyes glowing gold as he begins to snarl.

He begins taking disjointed steps towards the Head Merc, not even looking at the other men, trusting his Magic to do what he wants without much guidance.

He is vaguely aware of the screeching all around him, and begins to smirk again as the man he’s heading towards darts his gaze around the clearing in pure terror. The knights are also looking horrified, staring at the sharp vines bursting from the ground, and viciously ripping their attackers to shreds.

The Head Merc looks back towards Merlin, somehow managing to look even more petrified, as Merlin’s walking, and breathing, seem to become easier with each step.

The shrieks die down, and the clearing becomes silent, save for the harsh, frantic, panting of the only man left. The glow fades from Merlin’s eyes, his magic settling back into him. He spits out one last mouthful of blood, still walking, his chest fully healed, and the threats taken care of.

Still, he smirks.

The man falls backwards to the ground, rabidly scrambling away from Merlin, paler than ever:

“What.... what are you??? Please.. please!! I DIDN’T KNOW!!”

Still, Merlin walks towards him.

Still, he smirks.

The knights just about manage to tear their gazes away from the carnage in the clearing, staring at Merlin in fear.

Merlin’s eyes flash briefly gold once more, as he absentmindedly waves his hand, using his magic to pull the Merc to stand before him.

He’s trembling hard, but is too scared to make even a single noise.

Merlin tilts his head and, whilst still smirking, says:

“You attack my friends. You put me in cold iron. And you think you’re the one that gets to kill me?” 

The knights shudder at the deadly tone of voice, one they’d never heard Merlin even get close to before.

Merlin’s hand rushes up and grips the man’s hair, yanking it back, as he drops his smirk and starts snarling again.

Quick as lightening, he thrusts the dagger that had previously perforated his own chest, up into the man’s heart, staring him into his eyes as the breath leaves his body:

“You don’t get to kill me.”

The Merc stops moving quickly, clearly falling to a more accurate blow than the one he’d given the sorcerer.

Merlin drops him, his eyes following his carcass in clear disgust.

The Sorcerer lets out a short, huffed, laugh, but before he can do anything else, he’s pulled from his thoughts, by Lancelot’s trembling voice:

“M... Merlin?”

Merlin’s head snaps up towards his friends, and his eyes widen just a fraction, before he casually waves his hand in their direction.

The chains that hold them to their trees crumble to the floor, and each of them slowly stands on shaking legs.

Merlin notices the fear and horror in their faces, levelling a short, assessing, stare at each of them before glancing back down to the body at his feet.

He looks back to Arthur before smiling. It’s his normal, sweet smile, as opposed to the smirk he held earlier, but it does little to comfort The King. If anything this smile is more terrifying after what they had just witnessed, and the fact that Merlin was still covered head to toe in his own blood didn’t help either.

Arthur continues to stare at him, trying not to look scared, but failing miserably. At that, Merlin shrugs slightly, before looking down at his hands, seemingly no longer even thinking about the knights (or...anything that had just happened).

He gives an irritated huff at all the blood, before moving his attention to his shirt:

“Bollocks. This is gonna be a bitch to wash. He could have at least slit my throat, instead of putting a giant hole in my shirt.” he mumbles it to himself, but the others draw in shaky breaths as they overhear him.

The knights glance at each other quickly, before slowly making their way to Merlin. None of them come within arms reach of him however.

(Though they are all now aware, after that terrifying display, that Merlin didn’t have to even be thinking about it, to hurt them).

It’s Leon that gulps, and speaks first:

“Merlin? Are you... feeling alright?”

Merlin looks up in confusion about that, but the speed of it makes the knights all flinch.

He looks around at them as he replies:

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be? I already told you guys, I’m immortal.”

He looks down at himself, looking frustrated again, before perking up with sudden happiness:

“OH! I can just-”

He once again waves his hand, eyes flashing gold, as the blood disappears from his clothes and skin, and the hole in his shirt repairs itself.

The knights look amongst each other again, before Leon pipes up once more:

“Merlin you just... you laughed. You wiped them out. Do you... does your head feel alright?”

Merlin frowns at that, before turning around and looking at the carnage for the first time.

His voice is quiet when he speaks again:

“Oh. Yeah. My magic is pretty protective of you guys. I told it I wanted them all dead for hurting you, and I guess... that’s what it did-”

He looks back at them once more, his expression holding slight, worrying, amusement:

“As for the laughter, I just think it’s kind of funny that people keep underestimating me. And they keep dying for that mistake.”

He glances at the bloody scene again, only quickly, but when he looks back this time, he’s biting his lip and looking worried. Looking much more like the scared Merlin they used to get, all those years ago. He fiddles with his hands roughly, and seems to shrink in on himself as he looks at Arthur:

“Was that... was that wrong? You didn’t want any of them alive did you? I’m pretty tired now, but I could probably summon one of their spirits if you wanted to ask some questions or something?”

Arthur is taken aback at that, but he calls upon his bravery, and is the first of the knights to move closer to Merlin, only hesitating for a second, before pulling him into a brief hug:

“No, no it’s fine Merlin, you did great. I... we just haven’t seen you show off the extent of your powers yet and it was a little... unnerving.-”

The King pulls back, but keeps one hand on Merlin’s shoulder, glancing at the others, finally shuffling closer, before continuing:

“-I have a feeling we won’t be seeing any more of these guys, if there are others. Though one or two survivors would be great, next time.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully at that, as he receives a shaky smile, and clap on the back from Gwaine.

As Arthur lets go, and starts to pick his way through the bodies, looking truly unnerved, Gwaine following him, the rest of the knights briefly smile as they pat Merlin on the back one by one.

All of them get to work piling the bodies in one big heap, to burn them, and All of them are thinking the same thing:

“Thank fuck Merlin is on our side.”

THE END ✌

Soz lads, I know this is lot more gory than what I normally go for, but I just LOVE the concept of Merlin letting his dark side getting the better of him when the people he cares about are in danger.

Plus the idea of the gang finally seeing, finally understanding, why Emrys is worshipped by like 95% of magic users they come across....finally understanding that Merlin... their sweet, innocent, must-be-protected-at-all-costs Merlin,,,,, is basically a God. Noice

[hanatiny]

[4:04] Heart Not Found

a/n // disclaimer: I’d like to make it clear that I neither condone nor endorse any of the behavior described in this fic. Each of the characters acknowledges that it is beyond unacceptable and unjustified; this is merely meant to be an experimental look at the psychological processes within a yandere’s mind. Furthermore, this work is purely fictional and I do not claim to personally know exactly how any of the ateez members behave.

a/n: If there’s anything potentially triggering that I have forgotten to list in the warnings, please let me know and I’ll fix my mistake asap!! thank you <3

pairing: yandere!San x genderneutral!reader x pianist!boyfriend!Hongjoong

genre: angst

word count: 2602

warnings: non-idol AU, murder, descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood and death, mentions of knives, San is highly obsessive in this, he threatens the reader but doesn’t actually hurt them, kidnapping, trespassing, swearing, I did my best to keep the violence as vague as possible

-----

It was around 3am and you had yet to return home, and to say San was unnerved about this fact would be a massive understatement.

It wasn’t unusual for you to get home when it was already dark outside but it was never after midnight, much less in the early morning hours it was approaching now.

San tapped his fingers against the glass of his window anxiously as he watched the streets below attentively. You had turned off your phone a while ago, or at least that was the conclusion he drew after he stopped getting a signal from the tracker he had secretly managed to install on your phone.

3:12... why weren't you home yet?

His jaw went tense when he finally caught sight of you a few excruciatingly long minutes later, and he absolutely fumed as he saw you holding hands with another man he had never seen before in his life- he paused.

He did recognize the man, as none other than the pianist Kim Hongjoong who had been gaining quite a bit of popularity in the recent months. Kim Hongjoong, who he had gone to high school with until the older dropped out to focus on his career instead.

San didn't care much for that though, because a pretty face and a talent like Hongjoong's didn't mean he could love and care for you like you deserved it.

San believed that only he could give you everything you needed and wanted, and everything beyond that. Which was exactly why he was seeing red, punching the wall next to himself angrily. It caused his knuckles to bleed from the force behind the action, but the rage he felt overshadowed his pain.

Why didn’t you realize you were destined to be his and his alone? That you shouldn’t go whoring yourself out to other men? That only he should be the one to hold you in his arms, the one to protect you from everyone and everything.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you couldn’t feel his attraction to you, why you insisted on turning a blind eye to him and found him “weird.” That’s what he assumed to be the case, at the very least.

San loved you, why was that so damn difficult for you to understand?

His narrowed eyes flickered over to the knife resting on his bedside table, and he had it clutched tightly in his bleeding hand within the blink of an eye.

He darted down the stairs without a second thought, blinded by the rage he felt deep within himself.

Meanwhile, outside, you were hugging your boyfriend goodbye for the night. His dark eyes shone innocently as he kissed your nose affectionately, causing you to giggle while still having your hands intertwined.

“So I’ll pick you up at 10 tomorrow for brunch, yeah?”

“Sounds good, Hongjoongie~ I’ll see you then.” You playfully blew him a kiss before he turned and walked off into the night, rounding the corner shortly after.

It was San’s time to strike, using your distracted state of mind to creep up behind you and tightly wrap an arm around your torso while he held the knife to your throat in warning.

You didn’t recognize his voice at first when he whispered into your ear, your brain much too clouded from the feeling of fear filling you, “If you make any sound at all, I’ll personally slit your throat and cut your vocal cords. You don’t want to lose an angelic voice such as yours, do you~?”

Realizing your situation was hopeless due to the unexpected amount of strength the man holding you possessed, you stopped trying to kick him and wrestle yourself free. This was the only answer he needed, starting to take slow and deliberate steps backwards from your house over to his. His hold on you remained tight, borderline suffocating even, just in case you would dare to get bold and try something.

He had left his door slightly ajar, kicking it shut behind him once he had finally brought you inside of his living space.

You still found yourself unable to figure out the identity of the man who had burst into your comfort zone out of nowhere but you didn’t want to find out what he was capable of doing to you if you attempted to resist whatever he was in the process of doing and pinpoint who he was, considering the amount of ease with which he snuck up and took hold of you just a few minutes ago.

Casually dropping his knife onto a nearby cupboard, he led you down the hallway of his house to a spacious bedroom. It was then a figurative lightbulb went off in your head and the fog clouding your mind cleared, upon seeing certain pieces of furniture he had placed in the room.

You had been here before. You had been in this house before when he had just moved in and his furniture was all over the place, he was the ‘cute neighbor’ who had offered you some coffee and invited you over to ‘get to know each other a little.’ Now all you needed to do was remember his name- it clicked. You remembered.

His grip on you (probably purposely) loosening, you whirled around and took a few steps away from him. San didn’t seem all too fazed by it though, simply grinning knowingly at you and crossing his arms while you did your best to subtly gain proper awareness of your surroundings.

It seemed like he noticed, however, because that was when he finally spoke up again.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to recognize me, love. You know who I am, don’t you~?” His tone was so calm that it unsettled you to the point of having to avert your eyes, your head hanging low as you nodded hesitantly, hardly even noticing his use of the pet name.

“I knew it...~” San’s voice trailed off into a purr that you weren’t sure how to feel about, deciding that being wary was likely the smartest thing you could do in your current situation.

Too lost in thought, you didn’t realize he had stepped closer to you while you were internally debating with yourself, pleased that you seemed to remember what he said about speaking.

“Now, I have something to take care of for a little bit... I trust that you’ll be good and not leave this room.” Although a smile was painted on his features, it didn’t make his tone sound any less threatening. Not willing to find out what might happen if you didn’t react, you nodded once more.

“That’s my good dove~” All of it disgusted you - from the way he cooed at you, over the way his lips twitched upwards into a grin, to the way he looked at you like you were the only person in this twisted world.

You hated it and yet there you stood, in the middle of this sicko’s bedroom, frozen with uncertaintly and fear. You only scarcely resisted the urge to punch him in the face, watching closely as he left a few moments later and closed the door behind himself.

You heard him lock it as well, heaving a shaky sigh when you believed him to be out of earshot.

Your body shook with rage, how did he have the audacity to just kidnap you like that and walk away like he didn’t commit a goddamn felony? Your first instinct was to break something, and you figured that the window might be the first best thing - just in case it’d give you an opportunity to escape.

Looking around, you were quick to find a small hammer in a drawer. You swung it against the glass with every bit of force you could muster, only for the object in your hand to bounce back without leaving even so much as a crack. Dumbfounded by the fact that San had even reinforced his windows to keep you from leaving him, clearly having planned this for a while, you dropped the hammer next to you and sank to your knees.

You curled in on yourself, sobs wracking your body as you were forced to come to terms with the reality that you were trapped. Trapped in this room, trapped with your not-so-innocent-and-sweet neighbor.

Meanwhile, San’s steps were hurried as he sought out your boyfriend’s house, knife in hand while he occasionally glanced at his phone. It probably wasn’t very smart of Hongjoong to have his personal address publicized for fan mail purposes, considering how easily it could be exploited by people like San.

He should’ve been freezing out in the cold air at 3:35 in the very early morning, but the blood practically boiling in his veins kept him from being affected by it much. It was almost too easy for him to trespass onto the desired property when he finally reached it, breaking the lock on the door effortlessly with the blade of his knife.

Hongjoong had a habit of staying up as late as it was humanly possible, and it was rather common knowledge that he sometimes didn’t even sleep at all. As such, San was not the least bit surprised to faintly hear someone playing the piano when he stepped into the house as quietly as he could.

He followed the sound, eventually coming to a large room filled with a variety of instruments of different sizes. In the middle was, as San had to begrudgingly admit, a beautiful piano. Its seat was occupied by his very target, Hongjoong, who was aware of the younger man’s presence and let his fingers press against the black and white keys once more.

The sound the action produced was so disharmonious that it made San physically cringe as he stared the young pianist down, the latter of whom finally lifting his head with a deep, exasperated sigh.

“This is about y/n, isn’t it? I’ve noticed the way you look at-”

“You saw nothing! You know nothing! Do you have any fucking clue how painful it is to see the one you love with someone else, to not even have them spare you a single glance because of how little they care about you?” San was furious at this point, blinded by his rage, Hongjoong flinching and recoiling in his seat at the harsh tone employed by the other male as he continued, “I know you don’t. You were always the prodigy and excelled at what you did, got everything you wanted so easily... including the one thing I wanted too. I can’t live with that, and neither will you.”

“I-I didn’t- That’s not-” Hongjoong stammered, trying to defend himself before quickly realizing it was a futile endeavor when he saw San lunging at him with his knife clutched tightly in his hand. His reflexes were fast as he tried to reach for a nearby violin to whack the latter unconscious with but the crazed younger was, to his demise, much faster and pinned him to the surface of his piano while the keys beneath him produced another dissonant sound.

It didn’t exactly help that San was not only taller but also more muscular than Hongjoong, so the latter’s tries to wiggle and struggle free were for nothing. He groaned in pain as the wooden edges of his instrument forcefully dug into his skin; he clawed at it, but to no avail. He had no chance against San.

Despite knowing how hopeless it was for himself, Hongjoong refused to go down without a fight and proceeded kick and scream in San’s hold, “You’re making a huge m-mistake-”

His vision spun before going black, his pleas going silent while his body went limb. Everything stopped, except for San. He continued to stab and mutilate the older until he deemed it enough and was satisfied, stepping backwards after. He got what he came here for. Taking a quick picture with his phone to show to both you and the police what had taken place (although he’d come up with an alibi for the authorities, of course), he backtracked his steps and left the house as fast as his feet would take him.

Still under the safe and dark blanket of the night, he made his way back to his own house. Making sure to hide the bloody knife where no one would find it, he cleaned himself off briefly before he got an idea for how he could use the ‘souvenir’ he brought for you.

You jumped slightly in your spot on San’s bedroom, curled up and hiding your face behind your knees even now, when you heard him slam the front door shut which signalled you that he had returned from whatever he was out doing. You feared the worst as you listened carefully, presuming the noise he was making to be coming from his kitchen.

You looked up when the bedroom door clicked open and San entered, a smug and satisfied grin on his face as he moved to set a jar on the bedside table before crouching in front of you.

“I’m home, bunny. Did you miss me~?” His falsely innocent, sweet tone was still something you despised, although you felt genuine fear for what he could do to you simply by looking at the tiny smudge of blood lingering on his cheek, so you nodded obediently.

“Good. I just had to have a little chat with your pretty boy, and look what he gave me~!” San cheerfully nudged his head towards the bedside table, and the sight you were met with made you feel sick to your stomach.

What you assumed to be Hongjoong’s bloody heart. In a jar. You kept glancing back and forth between him and the object, gaping at him in both shock and disbelief of what he had done.

“What do you think of it, love? Pretty, isn’t it~? Go on, tell me.” He encouraged you softly, "You told him he had your heart right? Now you have his forever!” He chirped, and your voice was shaky as you spoke.

“Y-you monster!” You exclaimed, cursing yourself internally for your stuttering as you cursed at him, “You heartless bastard, you didn’t have to kill him!”

“I didn’t want to kill him,” he admitted softly, looking down as if he felt any sense of remorse for any of his actions within the last hour or so, “but he left me no choice. He refused to break up with you. He refused to let me love you without... all this.” He gestured vaguely, pulling out his phone to show you the photo he took, “He refused to let me have even one thing I wanted for myself, even though he always got whatever he wished for. Desperate times require desperate measures, I had no choice...”

San trailed off, your own face paling at the realization that Hongjoong had been murdered because of a petty rivalry of sorts from the past that San had yet to let go of.

Feeling lightheaded by the abundance of information swimming in your already aching head, you blacked out. When you came to your senses again, it appeared to be morning and San was making noise in another room.

Tears wet your face as you shakily reached for your phone, wishing you hadn’t because the very first notification you opened was a headline you had prayed wouldn’t be reality, accompanied by the very picture San had taken the previous night.

“Up and coming pianist Kim Hongjoong brutally murdered in his home last night; investigations still ongoing”

----- Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added):

@cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva  @galaxteez @innosintsan @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx​ @twancingyunhoe​  @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy​

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet​

[kimnjss]

round two | jhs

⤑  series: groupie love

⤑ genre: smut, rapper!hoseok x youtuber!reader, idol au.

⤑ rating: explicit.

⤑ word count: 4.4K

⤑ warnings: cursing, hickeys, (slight) oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex (wrap it up, loves!).

⤑ A/N: wow, this is sooo late and i literally have no excuse bc i’ve been at home all day - i was just too lazy to pick up my laptop. LMAO. buuut! i really, really hope you guys like this part! 

Your conversation with Jimin is cut short, his words rushed as he tells you Yoongi is trying to FaceTime. He's hanging up before you have a second to wonder when the two of them had gotten close enough to be FaceTiming... and why there was so much excitement in his tone. 

 Before he was rushing you off the phone, you two had been talking about the dos and don'ts for you to follow tonight. Do: be flirty and offer a few laughs at his jokes here and there. Don't: decide everything falling from his lips was hilarious and deserved a reaction. Mentally, you took notes as Jimin listed off the simple rules for you to use as guidelines.

 You had been seconds from asking him to help you pick out what you were going to wear tonight, but he was off the line too quickly. Either way, you were going to at least try to be yourself tonight. It was no secret to you that Hoseok was mainly interested in the persona that you put on, you were determined to get him to like the real you just as much.

 Which meant the new clothes that you had bought when the two of you first started talking were pretty much a waste. Not comfortable in any of those outfits and they really didn't match your personality.

 Just because you had decided to be yourself, didn't mean that finding out which outfit highlighted your best self would be easy. It was hours before you were nodding at yourself in the mirror, satisfied. Your favorite white lace tank top neatly tucked into the waistband of a comfy pleated skirt. Casual, but still cute. This was your style. Hair done in loose curls, makeup kept natural... this was you.

 Your phone is dinging with a message from Hoseok, just as you're slipping your arms into a knit cardigan. He's outside, ready and waiting for you and the calm that you had been feeling earlier had been washed away. A nervous patter in your chest as you typed back your response, tucking your phone into your purse and making your way down the stairs.

 Hoseok is sat behind the wheel, dark sunglasses hanging off of the bridge of his nose and hair falling in messy curls onto his forehead. He grins when he sees you, leaning over the threshold to push the door open for you. You're sliding in beside him, instantly being intoxicated by his sweet scent that fills the car.

 “You look pretty,” He's complimenting as soon as you're settled, eyes dragging over your attire before he's smiling, nodding to himself and turning his attention to the road ahead of him.

 You smile your thanks, watching as he shoves the car into gear and pulling away from your house. 

 “Where we going?” Curiosity getting the better of you after you've been moving for a little bit, no destination in sight. He had his latest mixtape playing through the speakers, loudly, and you couldn't help but find it interesting he actually listened to his own music like that.

 “Studio,” He replies simply and you want to ask what kind of date could be had at the studio. But you don't, just nod your head and allowing your body to sink into the leather of his seats. 

 “So what's up with the new get up?” Hoseok is tilting his head in your direction and despite already knowing what you're wearing, you're looking down at your attire and scanning it over. “I mean, you look good. Just different from the first time I saw you,” He's quick to buffer when you're not answering him right away.

 Hands reaching for the hem of your dress, fingers toying with the edge as you shrug your shoulder. “This is more my style,” You reply simply, shocked at the smile that breaks onto his features. He's nodding his head, body bobbing with the action while he faces the road again.

 “I like it. Looks good on you,” 

 The compliment has butterflies rising in your stomach. The smile on your lips growing and the worry that you had of him not being interested in you anymore slowly washing away. It felt good to receive compliments for looking like yourself. Surprised that he had even noticed the change to begin with, to anyone else it would look like you had just decided to add some color into your clothes.

 It was as if he knew that what you had first presented to him, wasn't you.

Hoseok's studio building was much larger than you would've imagined. Looked like a tall industrial tower rather than a rapper's recording studio. Seemingly made of glass with the large windows that surround it. A thick laugh falls for his lips, noticing your awe at the sight. “It's not as dramatic on the inside,” He's reaching for his door, pulling it open and walking to the front of the car.

 With his hands tucked in his pockets, he waits. It takes you a moment to realize that he's waiting for you... and not coming around to do the gentlemen like thing and open the door for you. You step out behind him, his arm easily finding your waist as he pulls you close.

 “We won't be here for long, just gotta meet with the guys for a bit.” With a gentle tug he's leading you inside of the building.

 The two of you walk past the security check-in, not even having to go through the whole rundown you notice others are. Perks of being one of the biggest artists on this label. He's greeted with each step he takes, not a single person batting an eye at the fact that you're hanging off his arm. He must bring girls here a lot then, right?

 One short elevator ride later, you're turning the corner and facing a large door. 'GL' written in thick black lettering, spelled out underneath much smaller is 'genius lab'. So that's what they called it? He's pushing the door open immediately, expecting you to follow as he steps inside.

 The 'guys' he had referred to earlier were the same men you met at his show the other night. Scattered around the room, doing their own thing and not even flinching at the fact that someone new had entered their sanctuary.

 Joon stood in the both, determination wrinkling his brow as he tried out rhymes over the beat that Jungkook was playing for the controls across the room. Yoongi lounged on the couch, iPad in hand – fingers flicking frantically against the screen as he half-listened to the way Joon's voice voice caressed the beat.

 “You're late. Did you ask her?” Joon's voice echos around the room in place to the mumble rap he had been spewing just seconds before.

 Her? You take a second to peak around you, checking to see... you were the only 'her' here. They couldn't be referring to you, right? Ask you what? “Not yet,” Hoseok is replying with a roll of his eyes, shrugging off the colorful jacket he had been wearing.

 “Yoongi wants you to do adlibs,”

 Your brows furrow instantly, confusion riddling your features. “I don't sing,” Never once thought of it, your vocal cords just didn't work that way. What in the world made them think that it would be a good idea to have your voice mixed in with their track? That was just crazy talk.

 “First of all, it was your idea.” Yoongi's bored drawl fills the room, he's standing with a roll of his eyes and you can't help but notice the hickeys coating the side of his neck. When Jimin wanted to mark his territory... “And you wouldn't be singing, just like talking? Hobi here says you have a pretty voice, so why not?”

 Despite the way your eyes widen, your cheeks darken at the fact that Hoseok thought your voice was pretty. Was it bad that knowing that alone was able to turn you to mush standing where you were.

 “You think I have a pretty voice?” You're turning to face where Hoseok had sat, the smile not being able to be wiped from your lips. He's shrugging his shoulders, avoiding looking at you – focusing on what Jungkook's doing. “I watched some of your videos... it sounds nice and your laugh...” He's trailing off, acting as if he had become really interested in Jungkook's fingers when in reality he was hiding his blush.

 “Okay,” You're turning to Yoongi, smiling up at him. If this was Hoseok's idea of a date then you were down. Who knows, it could be fun being featured on one of their tracks... people listening and hearing your voice and wondering.

 “Alright, cool. You can go in once they're done. Say whatever you want, really. Moans aren't required but, hey... get into it.” Moans!? Were you going to... Yoongi is reaching for his iPad, tucking it under his shoulder and turning his attention to the remaining guys. “Now I need to go replace some Chanel earrings, y'all good until I get back?” You're nodding even though the question is not meant for you.

 The boys call back their answers as Yoongi makes his way out of the door. Sinking onto the couch, you watch Hoseok as he works. Admiring the way he looks, totally in his element as he gives direction and listens.

 You don't miss the way he steals glances in your direction, trying his hardest to cover it up. Gaze flickering away from you the moment that you catch him, but he's peaking back just seconds later not able to hide the smile on his face.

 Ignoring the butterflies that arise each time your eyes connect, you try your hardest not to let it go to your head. Like Jimin said. Completely uninvolved, your feelings should be. That's how it worked with guys like him. Yet, you couldn't shake the fact that he didn't act like guys like him... at all.

 It had been fun. Watching them work, the way they bounced ideas off of each other. How comfortable they were in the environment they created for themselves. A little while of you just watching passed before Hoseok was worrying that you might be bored, so lost in his work that he seemed to forget he was supposed to be entertaining you. It didn't matter, though, you were enjoying just watching him.

 He was ushering you over with a wide smile, arm slipping around your waist in the way you were starting to get use to. Without plan, you were leaning into his side, looking up at him with bright eyes as he spoke. 

 “What do you think of this beat?” A much slower pace from the songs that they usually released. Namjoon's voice leaked through, as a guide of the temp of the song and just as his verse was ending the beat was dropping. The slow sound speeding up, but still holding that powerful feeling. Hoseok's voice was heard next, his fast stylistic rap bleeding through.

 The song remained upbeat from that point on, lines being shared between the two of them. “This is really good!” You're exclaiming once the music was cutting off. Jungkook is leaning back in his chair, a triumphant grin on his face.

 “I told you. It works better this way,” He was standing now, cocky that he had won the little argument that you had ignored earlier. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he's making his way to the door. “You guys can play with the rest,”

 “Don't even get like that, because-!” Namjoon is chasing behind him, the slam of the door cutting his sentence short. Left alone with Hoseok, you can feel the atmosphere of the room shifting. His eyes are on you as he's sinking into the seat that Jungkook had just been in, teeth nibbling on his lower lip.

 “You want to try?” Despite his casual question, there's a fire in his eye. A look that hadn't been there before, you don't think. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close in front of him. Face level with your belly and getting in the doing an adlib is the last thing on your mind right now.

 The tips of his fingers trace over the curve of your back, sending chills down your spine. Heat cruising through your veins and forcing a stutter in your chest. Space. Some space would keep you from jumping him right now, you're sure.

 Taking a step back, you're nodding your head. “Yeah, it seems fun.” You're smiling and he's gesturing with his hand for the open doors of the glass room. You step in, securing the headphones onto your ears while watching him mess with the buttons on the panel. Suddenly, the song that you had just listened to was playing in one ear.

 “Just say whatever, when you think it'll sound good,” His voice is heard overhead and you're nodding. “Okay,” You can hear yourself in the ear that is not playing the music, the sound pushing a grin onto your lips. This was so cool.

 Hoseok watches you the entire time you're babbling, random phrases, and sayings falling from your lips. There's a sweet smile on his face, his eyes never leaving you even when the song has played out. “Do a laugh,” He's clicking on the talk button, his voice filling both of your ears. The sound so deep and husky, it has a pang of arousal rushing between your legs.

 He restarts the song and you wait, letting out a laugh where it sounded good. A soft smile pushes onto his lips at the sound and your heart warms. So content with the sound of your laugh, it seemed. You did it again, a quiet giggle this time. 

 There was no way you were going to get over how handsome he looked in this moment. Comfortably dressed, but fresh... clean. Plush lip trapped between his teeth, long fingers toying with the nobs and buttons and you can't stop yourself from thinking how good it would feel to have his hands on you again.

 The first time (and only time) you two were together, it had been a bit fast. Not much foreplay involved, not enough time to really get to know each other's bodies. Everything with him seemed fast to match his fast pace life. He didn't have time for formalities, he made that part pretty obvious. 

 But tonight, right now, it felt different. Just from the way he was looking at you, how he had been talking to you. The fact that he brought you along to work with him, when he clearly could've pushed hanging out to a later date. He wanted to see you, couldn't wait until he could; so having you in the studio with him was a great compromise.

 And it was funny, even without the proper chance to get to know each other, the knowledge of the stress that would come along with getting involved with him; you still liked him. Still craved him. Always wanting more. Couldn't get the thought of being together with him like that again out of your mind.

 Would it be different? Or the same? Better, most likely. You two had some time to get to know each other, become comfortable around each other. Who's telling what the two of you could get into the second time around.

 Feeling bold and growing bored with trying different laughs and mumbling phrases, you let out a moan. A tiny one at first, that he hardly even notice. Too concentrated on perfecting the audio levels. So you do it again, louder and more drawn out.

 Hoseok's head is whipping up, eyes wide as he stares at you. A smirk on your lips, you keep your eyes on his as you do it again. Eyes closing slightly and head rolling back. “What the...” It's like he had been frozen in place, wide eyes never leaving you. And to make matters worse, you decide to let a giggle fall from your lips at the sight of him.

 “How's that sound?” Your question has him falling back to reality, blinking a few times as he shakes his head. You watch the way a smirk lifts the corners of his lips, his hand lifting to push his messy hair back.

 “Ehh, sounds a bit forced. If you're gonna make those sounds, they need to sound natural.” His backs straightening, as if he's getting ready to stand up. Oh, how you wish he'd come in here and help you make these moans sound natural.

 Your eyes never leave his, not even for a second. “I'm not sure I know what you mean,” Head tilting and eyelashes batting the in the cute habit you picked up through the years. “Think you can help me?”

 He's standing before the words can leave your lips, long strides taken into the booth. Not daring to move a muscle as he moves to stand behind you, his hand wrapping around your stomach while he pulls your back against his chest. “It all depends how you want it to sound,” He's mumbling, freehand lifting to push your hair to one side.

 “Breathy?” His lips find the skin of your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the length and pulling a breathy moan from your lips. It echos in your ears and your vaguely aware that all of this is being recorded. You can't bring yourself to care, though. Just a passing thought, your full focus on Hoseok.

 His tongue drags over your skin until he's able to catch your earlobe between his teeth. The palm of his hand is grasping at the fabric of your loose shirt, tugging at it until its being released from the waist of your skirt. “Surprised,” His hand is quick with the way it travels underneath your shirt, finding your bare breasts.

 He squeezes, a short yelped falling from your lips; not expecting him to do that. You can feel his grin against your skin, his little lesson long forgotten now that he had your tit in his hand. His fingers toy with your hardened nipple while he sucks hickeys into your neck. Head drawn back and resting against his shoulder, quiet moans falling from your lips and filling both of your ears.

 “I had a whole dinner planned,” He's speaking, pulling back from you just slightly. His hand still moves underneath your shirt and you're barely registering what he had said. “But... fuck, I just want to take you home. Can we skip it?” You're turning in his arm, catching the last bit of his sentence. Arms wrapping around his neck, chest pressed against his. “Let's skip it,” A breathy sigh falls from your lips, he's leaning in to cover your lips with his.

 The kiss so sweet, soft and there's a tinkle in your chest from the feeling of his lips on yours. He's pulling back slowly, but shaking his head before leaning in for another kiss. And then another. And another. Soon enough you're breaking into a fit of giggles, his smile felt against your lips.

 He pulls back enough to see your face, pretty eyes searching yours. Hoseok lifts his hands, cradling your cheeks in his palms. Thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he smiles. “I think you could drive me crazy,” He's saying, not quite understanding the weight of his words. The questions instantly floating in your mind the second you register what he's just said.

 Not tonight. You'll over analyze later. Instead, you're leaning up on your toes, catching his lips one last time before mumbling out: “Take me home,” 

 When you had said 'home' not for a second did you think Hoseok would be driving the long distance back to your apartment. Parking his expensive car in your shared lot as if it was a normal place for it. Not enough time to mull over it because he's quick with helping you out of the car, allowing you to lead the way to your complex.

 Needy lips and desperate hands clash the second you two are closed within your four walls. Stumbled steps taken to your bedroom, bodies falling onto the mattress as his lips trail hungry kisses down the side of your neck. Strong hands on your hips, pushing your body up further on the bed as his kiss travels lower.

 It's a moment before you're realizing what he's doing, fists dragging your skirt down your legs. He groans at the sight of your simple panties, dark eyes lifting to find your face. “You're so fucking cute,” You can only imagine how you look right now, cheeks flushed and eyes blown. Mouth agape as you wait on heavy breaths on his next move. 

 His long tongue drags along your slit through the material, your back instantly arching at the contact. The moan that falls from your lips as his cock twitching in his jeans and he dives in, covering your mound with his mouth in hopes to hear those sounds again.

 Not long until your panties are soaked and sticky against your heat, nearly breathless and mind effectively turned to mush. He's looking at you again, watching your face as he peels your wet panties out of the way. The hem of your shirt is found by your hands, quickly being lifted and discarded.

 Hoseok's eye go wide slightly, train of thought lost as he lifts his body from between your legs. His lips wrap around your newly exposed nipples, lapping at the hardened skin. “Fuck,” You pant, fingers tangling in his soft hair.

 The tips of his fingers find your clit between your legs, rubbing figure eights into it's sensitivity while his mouth works against your once neglected bud. A string of curses, nonsense sentences slip past your lips as you feel your body warming.

 So fast. Just like everything else with him. No thinking required. The built is easily felt throughout your whole body, his fingers moving faster and his teeth beginning to nibble. You don't notice the way he's fumbling with his other hand, too focused on reaching your end.

 It's not until you feel that snap, your orgasm washing over you at the same time his cock pushing his way past your tightened folds do you figure what all the fumbling was about. “Oh, fuck!” You shout, legs lifting to wrap around his waist and pull him closer – ignoring the sensitive sting between your legs.

 “So... fucking, tight.” Hoseok gasps out, head now buried in the crook of your neck as he holds onto your hips.

 There was just something about being with you like this... being with you at all, that had an unfamiliar swell rising in Hoseok's chest. It was safe to say that he liked you, way more than he liked to admit. 

 Enjoyed your company, thought you were pretty in the most delicate way, and felt this insistent need to protect you. Be there for you. Hold you close when you needed him. Wanted to be needed by you.

 It was something that he noticed when he first saw how nervous you were when you had met him. Something that he tried to ignore, keeping the mindset that he could just sleep you and that would be it. Boy, was he wrong. That just made everything worse. There was no way he could get you out of his mind now, after. He needed more of you. Craved it like a crackhead looking for their next fix.

 And you were so adorably transparent he didn't even need to wonder if you were feeling the same. Realized that you had changed your look in a way to impress him, get his attention... when in reality you would've had it no matter what to begin with.

 It was true, you caught his attention because of that whole thing... but there was something deeper than that. Something more to you that he couldn't really place at first. So no, he didn't start liking the persona that you tried so hard to keep up with, as if you didn't have tons of videos up of you actually being yourself, he liked you for that girl. The one with the pretty smile and the bright eyes.

 That's the girl that he could see himself being with. There were already too many fakes in the world, he liked you a whole lot better.

 The only problem was, he had no idea how to put that into words. Had a knot in his chest every time the thought came to mind. So he hoped this would be enough. Taking you back to his place, inviting you to his job, sleeping with you twice... this time in your room something that he usually never did. He hoped you'd pick up on the differences, be able to see that he was only like this when it came to you.

 Only softened to the feeling of your nails running over his scalp, only truly lost it when it was you wrapped around him like this. Squeezing him so tight as you reached your second peak of the night, wanton moans falling from your lips, cries of his name. He really only liked the way it sounded on your tongue.

 “Shit,” Hoseok's grunting out from the tightness of your fingers in his hair, the muscles in his legs and back tightening as he pushes into you fully. Body ridged as his arousal leaves his body in thick spurts.

 The warmth coats your walls, body falling limp against your sheets. He pulls out short after, his seed instantly rolling down the side of your leg. A sheen layer of sweat on your body makes you sticky, but he doesn't care. Rolling onto his back, he's reaching for you to hold you close.

 You're too tired, too spent to protest, complain about how you stink and should probably wash up before cuddling. Not like he'd be willing to let you go anyway, not with how at peace he felt just by holding you close.

 Head laid on his chest, you listen to his slow breathing an arm wrapped around his torso as the two of you laid in silence. What you would give to peek into his mind, find out what had him so quiet.

 Little did you know, his life was flashing before his eyes. The Hoseok he had once been, the dick who treated girls as nothing more than a whole slowly passing. This new refined Hoseok, ready to cherish you, respect you in ways he wasn't even sure of was blossoming.

 He was ready. Not for a second would he make you feel the way he knew he made the other girls feel. All he hoped was that you'd be willing to accept him. Losing you all at once becoming the scariest thing to him.

– he’s ½ of the famous rap duo, the 94′s. when stumbling upon a pretty youtuber, he’s quick to decide he wants to have her. but one night with her just doesn’t seem like enough.

⬿ masterlist ⤳

taglist: @randomkoalablog​​ @smoljams​​ @dee-ehn​​ @angjeon​​ @moarmynation​​ @diminieshoe​​ @butterflylion​​ @withlovestudyblr​​ @uxwi​​ @hazefilter​​ @honeyoongles​​ @flantasticpr​​ @ratking101​​ @jinhitwhore​​ @thisistrashperson​​ @hehehehahahohohuhu​​ @jaiuneamesolitaiire​​ @hellotherehoneybee​​ @bangtansonyeondayyyum​​ @okaysoplshelpme​​ @rather-not-sayy​​ @betysotelo18​​ @bluefaeriefury​​ @tae165​​ @kookiesjoonies​​ @bangtansbun​​ @koostime​​ @justastupidnick​​ @ashleyjoyx​​​ @kooinluv​​ @alpaca1612​​ @sw33tnight​​ @taefect94​​ @houseofarmanto​​​ @flantasticpr​​​ @amoreguk​​​ @kim-ji-hyeons-world​​​ @mochibabycakes​​ @beeeb05​​ @tommasauras​​ @diorhobii​​ @kimsouthjoon​​ @korkanswers​​ @samros95​​ @soulstaes​​ @masterpiecejoonie​​ @melonmochi​​ @aizuwusho​​ @marifujioka​​ @elliemeetsevil​​ @thesunisup-theskyisblue​ @thecityrain​ @alterlovess​ @leovaldezisfire​

A/N: timestamps are important throughout the fic!! if you want to be added to the taglist, send me an ask! also if you asked to be on the taglist and aren’t on there, it’s because tumblr sometimes doesn’t let me tag ppl for some reason.

[zootopiathingz]

Thrill of the Kill

Part 1/2 (TW for blood and gore)

What if Judy and Nick didn't switch the Night Howler serum?

Just when their luck seemed to be turning around, Judy and Nick were once again struck by another surprise. Only this time, the shocking turn of events was something neither of them could have predicted. The new mayor Bellwether (formerly the assistant mayor), whom they thought was just a small and kind sheep was the mastermind behind the savage attacks in the city. She was the one targeting predators. It was her cronies doing her bidding, making the Night Howlers into a serum that infected all types of predators.

Judy was fast to realize this, as it was suspicious as to how she and the rams found them in the closed museum on their way to the ZPD. Thankfully, Judy didn't give the case to her. If anything, she held it tighter, and tried to insist she and Nick take it to the ZPD instead. But that plan backfired quickly. Their exits were blocked, and their only choice was to run and maybe come up with a plan to outwit Bellwether and her men.

But as the two ran into a closed-off section of the museum, managing to outrun the ram following them, Judy tripped over a tusk display, dropping the case and falling to the floor. She let out a painful cry as she held her injured leg, noticing the tear through her jeans and the blood caused by her cut. "Carrots!" She heard Nick say as he ran back to her. He picked her up as she grabbed the case and carried her over to hide behind a nearby wall.

Well, now that had two problems. There was a power-hungry mayor chasing them, and poor Judy couldn't even walk. How were they supposed to get out of this?

As Nick tended to her leg, they both heard Bellwether's voice call out, beckoning for Judy to reveal herself. They didn't have time, they had to get the case to the police somehow. Judy abruptly held the case up to her friend, since he was the only one between the two of them that could complete the job. "Take the case. Get it to Bogo." She knew it wasn't the best plan, but they were running out of options.

However, Nick refused to just leave her here, understandably. He didn't know what Bellwether and these rams were capable of, and he would never be able to live with himself if anything happened to Judy. "I'm not gonna leave you behind." He argued, pushing the case back to her, "That's not happening!"

"I can't walk!" She whispered urgently.

"We'll think of something." He said, trying to ease her nerves. But could they do? They were outnumbered and surrounded on all sides. It would take a miracle for them to escape unharmed.

While Bellwether continued to try to get them to surrender, they spotted a rabbit mannequin display, almost the same size as Judy. They decided to use it to trick the rams while they made their way out. Nick set it at an angle that it's shadow could be seen, then quickly scooped Judy into his arm while he held the case with his free paw.

It worked for a minute, and though when one of the rams saw it was fake, it caused some confusion which should've bought them some time. Up until they heard the clanging sound of Nick bumping into something.

"Over there!" Bellwether signaled the rams to follow the pair. Nick made a run for it toward the exit, but he struggled to carry Judy due to her limping. She held onto him tightly so she wouldn't fall, but it still slowed him down.

Unfortunately, the ram caught up to them and head-butted the two into an exhibit pit. And even more unfortunate was the gun case didn't fall in with them. Instead it was brought right back into the sheep's hooves, and now Judy and Nick were trapped.

Bellwether laughed as she walked up to the edge of the display, looking down at the two mischievously. "Well, you should've just stayed on the carrot farm, huh?" She said to Judy, "It really is too bad. I.. I did like you."

Judy sat up and glared up at her, trying to keep a brave face. "What are you gonna do? Kill me?!"

"Oh, no. No, of course not." Bellwether chuckled, then revealed the dart gun she had been hiding behind her back, her expression switching to an evil grin. "He is."

Right as the gun was fired, Nick felt a sharp pain in his neck caused by the serum pellet. He fell to the ground with a harsh grunt, holding his neck where he had been shot. "NO!" Judy yelled in horror as she scooted to his side, watching him start to twitch and tremble. "Oh, Nick!"

While Bellwether faked a panic call to the police, Judy stared down as the fox try to maintain control over his mind and body, unsure on how to help him. It wasn't like there was some magical antidote for Night Howlers she could give to him. "No, Nick, don't do this. Fight it!" She urged him, rubbing his back to try to soothe him. But it was no use. He already made contact with the serum, and now they were both screwed.

"Oh but, he can't help it, can he?" Bellwether asked mockingly after hanging up the phone, "Since preds are just 'biologically predisposed' to be savages."

Judy frowned nervously up at her, feeling guilt build up at those words. If she hadn't said something similar at the interview a couple weeks ago, she and Nick wouldn't even be in this situation, and he wouldn't be savage right now.

She gasped, now seeing Nick direct his attention to her. His widened eyes stared at her menacingly, his pupils beginning to shrink, the affects now completely taking over. And now there was nothing she could do but try to avoid his attack for as long as she could until the cops arrived. She quickly pulled back and scrambled onto her feet, having to limp away due to her injury.

Seeing her run away sent Nick into an immediate rampage. On all fours, he began to chase the limping rabbit with a loud snarl, doing whatever his instincts told him to do. It was hard to get away from him, being that even if her leg wasn't hurt he would still be faster than her. She tossed a nearby deer mannequin in his way to distract him and hopefully keep a distance between them.

Bellwether watched the scene unfold completely amused. It was working out better than she thought. If all went according to plan, Judy would be dead, Nick would be caged like the rest of the savage predators, and prey would finally have the high ground in society.

"Gosh, think of the headlines! 'Hero cop killed by savage fox'!" She taunted, walking around the exhibit to be right above the bunny.

Judy backed up against the wall, gasping in fear as she watched Nick chew and tear up the dummy, showing it no mercy. If that's what he did with just a mannequin, then she wasn't looking forward to witness what he would do to a live animal. She swallowed and looked up at Bellwether with a glare, "So that's it? Prey fears predators and you stay in power?"

The mayor shrugged, "Yeah, pretty much."

"It won't work!" Judy shook her head.

"Fear always works!" She retorted angrily, but then resumed her smug expression, waving the gun around casually. "And I'll dart every predator in Zootopia to keep it that way."

Judy didn't have time to give a response, as now she saw the fox beginning to crawl closer to her, poking his head through the fake grass. She gasped, trying to scoot away, but there was no room left behind her. She was trapped.

"Oh Nick. No..." She whispered sadly, observing her friend's state; his bearing sharp teeth, his shrunken eyes, his flaring nostrils, his low growls. This wasn't the Nick she knew and loved. It wasn't him, she kept telling herself. No matter what he was about to do to her, she kept in mind the real Nick would never do.

Bellwether laughed before her expression went cold, "Bye-bye, bunny."

As Nick closed in, Judy took a deep breath to brace herself for whatever would happen next. If this was how she died, then so be it. Hopefully someone else in Zootopia would find out the truth and stop Bellwether once and for all, so that predators could live in peace again.

Suddenly, she let out an agonizing scream as she felt Nick bite her neck, sinking his teeth into the skin under her fur. Nothing could've prepared her for that kind of pain. She felt a warm liquid roll down the side of her throat, and she knew it was blood.

She choked out a cough, pressing her paws on his shoulders, trying to push him away or at least pry his teeth out of her neck. But her attempts only made it worse and further angered the fox. He growled and pulled her up by her throat, tossing her into the fake grass. Although his actions nearly strangled her, it did cause him to release her, but only for a moment.

Right as Judy tried to stand up, she was shoved back to the ground and pinned down by the savage fox. He began to bite her chest and shoulders, tearing through her shirt with ease, tasting the blood that spewed out with every slash he made. Judy screamed and cried with her weakened vocal cords, placing her paw over her neck to try to prevent blood loss.

"Nick, stop it!" She demanded, despite knowing it was useless. Nick didn't know who she was right now. Hell, he didn't even know his own name. Right now he was on a hunt, and he wasn't gonna stop until his hunger was satisfied. Still, Judy had to do something. She squirmed and threw her legs around to try to kick him away, but no matter how much she moved, Nick wasn't setting her free.

She caught a glimpse of Bellwether, who was staring down at her, rather enjoying the sight of the bunny being mauled. How could someone be so sick and twisted to think this was entertaining?

Judy tried one last time to make this stop, and she prayed it would stall for enough time. She raised her leg up to shove her knee right into his stomach. He yapped and hunched over, in which she instantly seized her chance and crawled out of his loosened grasp, hauling herself away from the fox as fast as she could.

But her efforts were once again unsuccessful, as now Nick was even more irritated. He growled loudly and swiftly grabbed her leg with his teeth, dragging her back towards the wall. Judy cried out desperately, grasping onto random objects that she couldn't seem to hold onto for long enough. Her open wounds left a trail of blood as she was pulled back to the previous spot, where there was already a puddle of thick redness waiting to expand.

Judy felt too weak to continue trying any longer. The loss of blood was getting to her, and any hope she had of being rescued was fading. She stared up at the fox as he gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes at her. She wasn't as scared as she was a moment ago, now she was more devastated than anything. What was Nick going to do if he was ever brought back from this savage state? How was he going to live knowing he killed his friend?

"I'm so sorry, Nick." She whispered weakly, closing her eyes as a tear fell onto her face. All that was left to do now was accept her fate, and hope everything would sort itself out.

Right as Nick was about to finish her off, he suddenly froze. Judy opened her eyes to see him collapse on the ground next to her, seemingly passed out. She tried to sit up to see what was going on, but she could barely move her arms. Luckily, she could see everything from where she was laying.

To her relief, the other officers arrived just in time, and apparently had tranquilized the fox. A couple of them used an emergency ladder to climb down into the exhibit, while Bellwether tried to "explain" to Bogo what happened. It was at this point Judy had to say something while she could. She couldn't let Bellwether get away with her plan.

"W-wait," She spoke up in a frail voice, but it was loud enough for the others to hear. "D-don't listen to her. She's been..targeting p-predators."

Bellwether laughed 'innocently', regaining her guiltless facade. "Don't be silly, Judy. I would never hurt anyone." She looked up at the Chief, "We better get her to a hospital quick, she's not making any sense."

Bogo was about to say something, until he and the rest of them heard the mayor's voice. But it wasn't actually her that was speaking. It sounded more like a recording.

"And I'll dart every predator in Zootopia to keep it that way."

Everyone looked to see Judy holding up her carrot pen that she managed to hold on to this whole time, playing back the recording of Bellwether revealing her evil schemes. They all widened their eyes and turned to the sheep, watching her face drop.

The rams tried to make a break for it, but there were too many cops for them to get away. While the ones above were busy arresting Bellwether and her cronies, the two cops down in the exhibit ran to Judy's side to aid her. One of them wrapped a towel around her to apply some pressure to her gashes. The other kneeled down to Nick, pulling out a muzzle from his belt's pouch.

Judy's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the muzzle. She couldn't let them do that to Nick, not when it was the one thing he tried to avoid his whole life. "W-wait, no." She reached her paw out, signaling the officer to stop what he was doing. "D-don't hurt him, please.."

Although they were confused by her request, they obeyed and carefully carried her and Nick out of the exhibit, preparing to take them to the nearest hospital.

[starxscream]

Invideo: Hate

[Hazard]

Heavy footsteps echo through the quiet hallways of the run down apartment complex you called home.  You passed by a couple of the other tenants, but they barely spared a glance your way- if at all.  Despite being such a hulking figure, most tended to ignore you, which you never could decide if that was a good or bad thing.  Well, it made work easier at the very least.

Creeaaaak.

You should really get this door fixed.

Shutting the noisy door behind you, you look around your pathetically small and empty apartment.  What little amenities you had were old and rusted, barely functional yet served their purpose.  You never needed much after all.

You didn’t deserve much better either.

    Knowing that this is where you belonged.

        You figured that out so very long ago.

Your heavy boots thud on the ground, tail dragging behind you on the floor as you take step after step to the bedroom.  Your fingers peel off your gloves, work the zipper on your coat, slowly peeling away layer after layer after layer.  Jagged strands of hair flew out in a mess as you pulled off your tight hood.  The grime of your work sticking to only your clothes, but you were still clean.

    Clean of the grime, but not of the sin.

Stripped off all the heavy adornments you wore, leaving behind only your pair of pants, you had some modesty after all, you stared down at the heap as your clawed fingers pressed on the heavy mask that you always wore.

Krrsskk…

    Krrsskk…

        Krrsskk…

You could hear yourself breath, filtered through the heavy piece of equipment.  No one knew what you looked like thanks to it, and you never wanted them to, finding a slight comfort in anonymity.  In being overlooked.

A sigh.

Most assumed you wore it because of the nature of your job.  Dealing with dead bodies, chemicals, cleaning supplies, all of that would be terror on the senses; and sure, while it did make the job nicer that was not the real reason.

Click.

      Clack.

Click.

      Clack.

Adept claws work the straps open, loosening them enough so the mask falls from your face.  The “fresh” mildewy scented air of your apartment floods your nostrils, a raspy tongue sweeping across your cracked lips.  Jagged fangs stuck out from your mouth, a drip of substance running down one before falling to the ground.

SsssSHHHKKK…

The wood beneath it sizzles for a moment, you turn your head to stare down at the new divot in your floor, to match all the rest.

No, it wasn’t for your safety that you wore this mask.

It was for everyone else’s.

Using the back of your scaly hand, you wipe away any remnants of venom still on your lips, setting aside the mask on your bed and picking the heap of clothes back up.  Casually you make your way to your washer, stuffing the clothes inside and putting in some soap.  If anything stained you would clean it out after the initial wash.  After doing this for so long you knew how to get blood out of anything.

It took a couple tries, and a couple thumps, to get the washer running.  A long sigh escapes your lips once it finally does.

That needs to be replaced too…

But you won’t, until it breaks entirely.

You needed to wash up, now, another part of your routine.  Needing to get it over with quickly before you were called into another job.  Your occupation was a sleepless one, always needing to be ready at the drop of a hat, but you were fine with that.  Someone had to do it.

Yet, despite knowing that, your footsteps are still slow and dull, practically dragging yourself to the busted up bathroom in your shoddy apartment.  It was much too small for someone of your size, but somehow you made the cramped space work, even if it was a little uncomfortable.  As you loom in front of the stained porcelain sink, you plug the drain and fill it with water.  The rushing noise from the faucet sounded more like a rattle, the faucet shaking angrily and threatening to break off of its hinges, but it was always like that.  By now you had gotten used to it.

Once the sink is full, you turn off the faucet but a constant leaking plop falls every so often.  Your water bill was a mess thanks to the constant leak, but the apartment was cheap enough that it wasn’t a huge deal.  As run down as your ‘home’ was, you were fine with it, quirks you called it.  Broken and run down just like you.

Plip

   Plop

Plip

   Plop

The leaky droplets continued to fall as you stood over the sink, resting your hands on either side of the porcelain.  Tentatively you gaze into the dusty mirror overhanging the pool of water and are greeted with the same face you see everytime you look into the mirror.

Dark sunken eyes stare back, a deep hollow void of emptiness that looked as if they had not shone in years.  Hair that was jagged and course, the strands burnt and torn away to never grow back properly.  A body of hard scales and old scars that littered all around your large and hulking frame.  A neck that had it worst of all, ugly deep scarring that tore away at your vocal cords, never to speak again.  Claws trace at your throat for a brief moment, trying to think if you could even remember what your voice sounded like before the knife slashed into it over and over again.

You can’t.

You haven’t been able to for a long time.

You wish you could.

Though you could never bring yourself to completely hate the person who did this to you. Ordered his men to take away your voice as a punishment for failure.  Knowing that you would never be good enough, yet still pushed to your limits to be nothing but the best.  It was a living hell, but one that you asked for.

Hate was such a strong word anyways.

Reserved for only the worst of the worst, the unforgivable dregs of society that could never be redeemed no matter how hard they try.

Splash.

You splash water onto your face.  Droplets run down your scales, dripping onto your chest.

You got what you deserved.

Splash.

You filthy.

Splash.

Good for nothing.

Splash.

LIAR.

Splash.

MURDERER.

SPLASH.

B E T R A Y E R.

C R A C K

The sink cracks and bursts into pieces thanks to your hands slamming into it over and over again.  The porcelain explodes and cuts into your hands, falling into pieces onto the ground, the water splashing and hitting the ground leaving a soaked and disgusting mess on the ground.  Droplets of greenish red slide from your palms, bleeding into the clear water and blending together into a disgusting murk.

You try to take a step back, but only hit the wall, sliding down until you were a slumped pile on the floor, water seeping into your pants.  Ignoring the blood on your hands, it wouldn’t be the first time, you rest your face into your palms and just sit there.  Head pounding, heart hurting, hatred blooming.

Hate was such a strong strong word.

Reserved only for the worst of the worst.

And the single worst person that you undoubtedly hated more than anyone else in the world…

...Was yourself.

[apsaraqueen]

what the body knows

A gift of smut and angst for the wonderful, magical @coppercrane2, one of the mods over at @ssminibang, and also? Very much one of my favorite people. I hope you enjoy this, Charlie!

title: what the body knows fandom: Sailor Moon characters/ships: Rei/Mars x reincarnated!Jadeite rating: R for explicit sexual content below the cut, along with canon and non-canon character death

“You just a little hungry, or,” he wonders, warm breath shivering across her breastbone, “you starving?”

what the body knows

…

In the windows the sky is thickly concrete, a fine film of drizzle that had gone all morning and kept them indoors, and perhaps it’s only because of a brief lull in its gentle rush against the roof that he can even hear her pause, sock–footed and quiet, on her way down the hall. Feet arrested on the threshold to the kitchen where he stands facing the sink. She listens to the ripe snap of his teeth, breaking the taut skin of a plum; the back of his hand abortively wiping juice from his chin as he turns partially around. Dim light silhouettes the edge of his jaw.

“Hey,” Junin says to her, mouth full, not even looking in her direction, “it’s getting late. Eat something.”

Sunday, and so far she’s spent it in the pantry, clearing out the back for the first time anyone’s done in – years. The smell of old crumbling contact paper lining the shelves, ringed with rusty stains from canned tuna, pineapples, curry, all with expiration dates embarrassingly long gone by. Twine, cracked soup bowls, aluminum foil, a casserole someone had gifted her (bizarrely) after the funeral. Other things. Packets of her grandfather’s aspartame, the mints he nibbled when his sugar slid, protein shakes with ingredients she still couldn’t pronounce. Milk protein concentrate, calcium caseinate, 1% or less of the following: inulin, cellulose gel, magnesium phosphate, artificial flavors. What does the body know, Rei thinks, recalling how she poured down the drain half-glasses of chocolate-flavored fluid while her grandfather dozed, his belly rejecting the decoy of sustenance, patiently eating itself down to something that could be lost or wander away, float off on a breeze. Into trash bags they all went, revealing space in the pantry like new skin. When she had emerged blinking into the hall even that darkening afternoon had seemed too bright. Now here she is – and here he is. In one hand the plum, in the other a bowl with a second one. Cut up how she liked, to keep her lip balm intact.

This was what stopped her short. How he would’ve had to have seen her pickily dicing her fruit like that; how alarming, to find herself the focus of such complete and close attention.

She’s already moving without conscious thought, hand on his arm, turning him. Rei gives him no chance to see her face. Her fingers climb the shaved sides of his head, taking the slightly grown-out hair atop for purchase; her eyes fall shut as her jaw cants up, triangulating from memory where his mouth is. His small surprised laugh is swallowed down her throat. “Rei.”

What does the body ask for? Under her palms the cord of his neck, his chest and stomach are all tangibilities, warm blood and muscle, and it feels, almost, as if she’s the one who might fly away. Months ago when he’d first reached for her she’d jumped back as if scorched; it had been so long since she felt another person’s skin. Now, she sucks his tongue from his mouth, sticky plum juice off his day-old beard. If she could she’d suck the air out of his lungs. She gets her hand in his briefs, around his cock, and he does not hesitate. The fruit goes rolling across the floor when he hoists her on the counter, accidentally dislodging her hand; there’s a brief struggle of crossing limbs, she straining for him as he steps between her legs, somehow both tugging down and rucking up her short dress. It’s faster than he usually moves, unlike him to accede to her impatience. He palms her breast in a rough squeeze, ducks his head to lick the nipple. Tiny hairs rise all over her skin. When she rubs her thumb over the wet tip of his cock he laughs and gasps both at once, and it’s so exactly what she’d wanted from him without needing to ask that closed, still, the corners of Rei’s eyes suddenly sting.

“You just a little hungry, or,” he wonders, warm breath shivering across her breastbone, “you starving?”

She wants to tell him, but what’s lodged in her gullet is an animal or the selfish type of spirit (her own) she read about in childhood, devouring whatever would come out, ravenous for anything coming in. So she tells him by doing, gets a brusquer hold on him, throttling down, the rough edge she’s learned he craves. When they’re like this he’s vocal but not about his desires; always they seem matched to hers, as if he’s afraid she’ll balk. I like everything you do to me. But what does the body want? Surely there are acts he had begged from others before her, as they kissed and touched skin and shed their clothes on the floor, acts he and she have yet to perform. Clear directives and not only suggestions found in the jump of his stomach, his head lolling back to the futon in lamp light, brow strained, almost as if he’s in pain. Maybe he is. Starving the same as her, desire tamped down inside. But in his presence it’s impossible to swallow her wants, hide or make them casual. As she beats Junin off, her hand sure in a way she does not feel, he drops his face in her chest, shuddering. His fingers insinuate themselves along her inner thigh, twist away her underwear. The tip of one dipping there, barely into her sex. Maybe he doesn’t realize. How much of him she would take.

The air in the kitchen feels heavy and cool, window cracked open (broken), all that unspent water loading the sky. In her ears is the hushed mix of their breaths and she finds herself counting his, noting each hitch, each sigh. Familiar. But Junin feels more solid than anyone she has held, hips digging into her thighs, width of his torso crowding her, his head tucked under her chin in the guarded apostrophe of her throat. She has an urge to take him further into herself somehow, a sentiment that feels protective but lacks the associated tenderness: selfish again, the frank way she would consume air or water, things the body needs. When he leaks a little the friction eases, so she grips harder to compensate, drags slow from root to tip. His answering groan is muffled into her sternum, a low, defenseless thing, and her mouth goes wet. A dozen unwired thoughts light up her mind at once. The noise her father made when the hospital called – Kaidou’s lips tensely closed under her own – Junin’s thumb stroking her throat as she kissed him, imbuing her with an odd, illogical sense of safety – the deep chill of her grandfather’s forehead the time she touched it last. Going out under the eaves this morning, looking at the sky, wondering if the drizzle was rain, really, or only mist. Putting out her palm to check as if this was a distinction that mattered. Sustenance, decoy.

What does the body know? Her eyelids flutter when Junin pushes two fingers into her, long and recurving like a bow, hooking at the place where she already feels something – not pleasure, not quite – starting to take form. Something stronger and less anodyne, like biting the inside of her cheek and tonguing the resulting wound: a sharp, dizzy sensation of brilliance, copper dissolving in her mouth. Something her body already knew for itself, what was asked for, wanted, needed. The first time he’d so much as touched her hand – that recognition – instant. In that moment she had understood what was known could never be unknown. But where did that leave her without him? The broad slope of Junin’s back encompasses her field of vision, the old gray college T-shirt in graying light, his shoulder moving up and down. Breaths burst from her in harsh little pants. He shifts into focus, making no attempt to delay or tease, working the tips of his fingers into that tenderness again and again with brutal efficiency. As if from someplace far away Rei hears herself whimper.

Junin kisses the divot of her collarbone. “You good?” he murmurs. His voice ragged. “You okay?”

The gentleness in his words calls up that thing in her gullet again, another pang of hunger, and she feels as if she’s being carved wide, skinned and left out open. Any moment he could glance up and witness her. The late day shines darkly through the windows, through the gleam of what could be rain or mist or nothing at all. Her skin feels like a bruise everywhere he’s against it, throbbing and too soft to be touched. Down where she’s holding him she can feel the trip of his pulse. What does the body know? The length of his cock overfills her small hand and she wonders if when they make love this will be enough to sate her. If anything is.

“I’m fine,” Rei tells him. She licks her lips, swallows. “Go harder.”

[tommysparker]

Man In Leather

Harrison Osterfield x Fem!Reader

A/N: Woah, two fics in a row? Crazy I know. Anyways, here is the LONG awaited fic! I’m sorry it took so long to write, but here it is. Black&White CH.2 will be the main focus of my writing until I get it done, so stay tuned for whenever the hell that comes out. Till then, enjoy :)

Warnings: smut, couple no-no words, Harrison going commando in leather pants, fluff at the end and a bit of pining, kind of Grease!AU, hints of sub!haz, bad porn with an even worse plot

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

The music was loud, the people were drunk, and you were hanging around the snack table while scanning the room, solo cup filled with death juice in hand. Totally normal Friday night. 

Your friends had left to go mingle, but not before encouraging you to find someone to get busy with, someone to get your mind off of him.  

Your mind wandered at the thought of him. Taken back to the summer nights on the beach, the sound of waves crashing against rocks as you cuddled on the bench-swing. Those late nights and early mornings filled with passion and intimacy…only to be ripped away when autumn decided to fall. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t Y/n Y/L/N,” a british accent sang over the music. 

You turned your head to see the infamous Tom Holland, with Greg Birks and a boy you didn't recognize standing behind him. 

“Tommy, long time no see,” you smiled. Tom had been a close friend of yours growing up, but grew apart under...unfortunate circumstances. “Thought you were too cool to hangout at shitshows like this?”

Tom laughed, “Only you would call one of the biggest parties on the block a “shitshow” darling. I’m actually here because a certain person wanted to see you,” his eyes glanced back at the guy standing next to Greg. 

The boy stepped forward, and you nearly fainted right there after one look. 

Harrison James Fucking Osterfield...in leather pants. 

The blue-eyed boy stood composed, but on the inside you knew he was nervous. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, which was new. Who were you kidding, everything about the person that stood in front of you was new. 

Last time you saw Harrison, he was wearing a cream-coloured sweater and sweatpants, hair messy and glasses pushed up on the bridge of his nose. And now, a year later, here he was. Except this time decked out in a leather jacket and white-tee, pants that honestly did not look comfortable, hair gelled back and eyes illuminated by the flashing lights. 

It took a few seconds for the initial shock to wear off before you collected yourself. “H-Haz I-...I didn’t recognize you, um, you look good.” You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering. Get it together Y/L/N. 

Harrison smiled, taking in your appearance while his mind went back to the time you spent together. No matter what you were, or weren’t, wearing, you always looked incredible from his perspective. “Hi Y/n…” 

Tom took one glance between you two before pulling on Greg’s arm. “We’ll let you two catch up,” he not-so-subtly winked at Haz before soon being swallowed by the crowd of pissed partiers

The air suddenly became stiff once it was just you and him, neither of you knowing what to say next. Harrison fiddled with the silver ring on his finger, something you quickly took notice of. 

“That’s new...I mean, well everything about you is new. What happened to Haz who wore knit-jumpers and spec?” You questioned, genuinely curious how and more importantly why the sudden transformation from ‘library nerd’ to ‘biker gang’. 

He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. “Yeah well, the boys thought it was time for a makeover...d-do you like it?” He studied your face, hoping for a positive reaction. 

You took in his attire again, except this time with more focus on how the material hugged his legs and arms tightly, and how the white-tee really brought out his eyes in the dim light, and how fucking sexy he looks with his hair gelled back like that. Oh yeah, you definitely like it. 

A wave of confidence flooded your body as you grabbed the sides of his face and crashed your lips onto his. Haz, startled at first but quickly came back to his senses, kissed back almost immediately. The familiar feeling of your lips moulding with his brought back so many memories. 

Stolen kisses before bed, hands all over each other, you pushing him onto the bed, holding his arms up and-- 

You were the first to pull away, breathing slightly heavier and a small smile forming at the corner of your mouth. “let me show you how much I love it.” You whispered in his ear, placing a gentle kiss at the edge before taking his hand and maneuvering your way to the upstairs rooms. Luckily for you, the owner of the house was a friend of a friend, so you had no problem finding a place with a decent sized bed. 

Harrison followed you eagerly, more recollections passing through his mind as he felt his pants become tighter than they already were. The whole journey up the stairs was a mess between quick kisses and tripping over one another, but a remaining constant was his hand laced into yours, without any objections. 

Once you both stumbled into the empty room and closed the door, Harrison pulled you into a needy make-out session. Your back was pressed against the wall while your hands wandered beneath the leather jacket, feeling his toned muscle through the thin shirt. Meanwhile, the blue-eyed boy gripped your hips, squeezing the love-handles gently causing a light hum to emit from your vocal cords. His fingers gently tugged at the hem of your shirt, and that’s when you knew it was time. The music from downstairs drowned out from both your awareness, in that moment the only thing you could focus on was each other and the burning desire that was cutting the tension in the room. 

Hesitantly, you pushed Harrison off of you, not missing the soft whine he let out and the slightly hurt expression he wore on his face. It, however, was quickly replaced with a smile when crossed your arms over and pulled your top off slowly. His eyes drank in every part of your torso, thinking how someone like him ever got the chance to score someone like you.

Little did he know, you were thinking the same thing. 

Once your shirt was tossed aimlessly across the room, you swiftly recaptured his lips with yours and carefully guided yourselves to the bed. Harrison followed your lead, walking backwards until his legs hit the frame and he fell on to the mattress. 

Unfazed, you climbed on top of him, like a predator about to pounce on its prey. Your body hovered over his, breathing in sync as you straddled his waist. His hands went to grab your waist again, however they were quickly pushed above his head and into the duvet. Naturally, he didn’t expect anything less, and the dark look in your eyes only excited him further. 

“You gonna be a good boy for me, Hazzy?” You asked, smirking when you felt something twitch against your core. Seriously, who let this man wear these pants?

  The boy beneath you nodded. He knew how this worked. You were always in control, always the top, even when you weren’t. No matter how many times he’s gone down on you, it’s you who always has the authority. He wanted to be good for you, to please you like no one but him could. He wanted more than a summer fling or casual hook-up, he wanted you to be his. Only fitting seeing as, though you may not have realized it, he was already yours. 

The whole reason he asked Tom to help him change his ‘style’ was to get you to take interest in him again. You were always on his mind and he needed to do everything in his power to win you back in his life, even if that meant playing dress up in order to look more appealing. 

Harrison was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling your lips on his neck, hot kisses trailing up and down his throat. The sensation alone was enough to grab the attention of the little guy. 

You smiled slyly as you left marks on his neck, biting and sucking on the spots you knew would gain the most reaction. The blue-eyed boy let out breathy moans beneath you, hands switching from resting on the bed, your waist, your thighs, finally settling on cupping your breasts through your bra. You sat up as he squeezed the material gently, reaching around to unclip the undergarment while Harrison struggled to take the jacket off. 

Harrison heard you chuckle in amusement, blushing lightly as he finally managed to free his arm from the gripping sleeve. He didn’t hesitate to follow up by removing his shirt from the equation, which was much easier considering he was smart for once and put on a loose-fitting tee to give himself some breathing room. 

You stared shamelessly at the now-shirtless man in front of you, and all-be-damned if the greek gods didn’t bless him overnight with that gorgeous build. Holy shit, is the only thing you could think of as your fingers grazed over his torso, fingers tracing every ab and indent. 

Harrison squirmed under you, hips bucking up ever so slightly. He was slowly starting to get desperate and really needed any form of friction, so he took to grabbing your waist and grinding up into you, letting out a small sigh at the relief. 

You gasped quietly at the sudden sensation, instinctively moving your hips in sync so you were moving in unison, the sounds of small moans filling the room. You resumed your previous actions, planting your lips on different areas on the boy’s throat, slowly moving further down to his collarbone, a.k.a the sweet spot.  

Harrison mewled when he felt your teeth graze against the area, nipping and licking some of his most sensitive places. His hips moved faster while the grip on you tightened as he tried to get you to do the same. However, this apparently wasn’t the ideal. 

You grabbed his wrists, pushing them into the mattress above his head. You adored how he willingly let you do this, even though he could easily turn the tables with the amount of muscle the boy packed, he still continued to submit to your needs. “Getting needy, baby boy?” 

He nodded his head quickly, shifting beneath you. “Pants off, now.” 

“Not with that attitude,” you teased, letting go of his hands and moving your own down to his belt.

Harrison rolled his eyes, a smile forming on his clean-shaven face. “Please will you take off my pants before they’re too tight to move in?” 

You grinned, “Atta boy.” 

Hooking your fingers under the waistband, slowly pulling down the piece of clothing, Haz lifting his hips to aid the process. You struggled a bit, whacking yourself in the head with your arm more than once, earning a couple giggles from both parties, before finally getting past the -ahem- obstacle that prevented you from removing the material. 

Harrison audibly sighed in relief, happy to be free from his restraints. 

And to your surprise, his cock slapped against his lower-stomach, red and already leaking from the head. “Going commando, handsome? You dirty boy.” 

The flustered boy could only smile coyly, “In my defence, it was the easiest way to put those bloody things on.” 

“That’s fair,” you replied as you wrapped your hand around the swollen member and stroked it lightly. 

Haz let out a shaky breath, head leaning back as his eyes fell shut. Memories flashed before his eyes. 

Your mouth on his cock, moving your head up and down swiftly while he writhed beneath you. You held eye-contact, mischievous and confidence powering your every move. 

The feeling of your thighs shaking against his shoulders as he ate you out like it was the last meal he’d ever have, small whimpers coming from above while he rubbed his thumb against your clit. 

His hold on your ass as you rode him, kneading the flesh and overall desperate for something to hold on to. Your breasts bouncing in front of his eyes, a hand on his chest while the other gripped his hip. 

The sound of soft drawn out moans filling his ears. The feel of constantly being right on the edge, your walls squeezing him perfectly, his muscles twitching. Both backs arched in unison, a silent cry being released into the air as you both flew into total bliss. 

In real time, his body was reacting to the thoughts, as if he was really experiencing each scenario. Before he knew it, Harrison’s moans grew louder as he approached his climax, he looked down at you and immediately flung his head back into the pillow, the sight of you being too much to handle. 

Your tongue circled his tip, one hand pumping vigorously while the other massaged his balls. His cock twitched against your touch, but before it could reach it’s breaking point you eased up, retracting any stimulation provided and watched in amusement as Haz whined. 

“Oh come on! I was so close…” 

“I know,” You said while sitting up. “You didn’t think I would let you cum so soon, did you?” 

Harrison shook his head slowly, blue eyes dark with lust as he watched you shimmy out of your bottoms. He took in your image, every piece of you being painted in his mind like a beautiful muse. Every stretch mark, every battle scar, your body was like a drug he was addicted to.

You straddled his waist, this time bare skin against bare skin, grinding against him. You moaned every time your clit caught against his tip. Leaning down, your mouth explored every part of his torso, tongue circling his nipples before sliding up and tracing his collarbone, your lips leaving love bites in its wake. The sight of him under you, all marked up was enough to put an end to your own game. Afterall, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were teasing him. 

Harrison, as if sensing what was about to happen next, held your hips and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Th-there’s condoms in my pocket...either my jacket or pants, don’t remember.” 

“Seems to me like you planned this,” You said as you got up and started searching through the discarded clothing. 

The boy blushed, “Well I knew you would be here so... thought might as well take the chance,” he shrugged, subtly eyeing your ass when you bent over to pick up his jacket. 

You hummed in response, smiling when you found the small square packet. You were about to put the leather down, but instead decided to put it on. You shivered a bit when the cold material touched your skin, turning around to see Harrison gaping at your new look. 

“You...look really hot in that.”

You chuckled, climbing back on top and tearing the plastic away with your teeth. “According to you, I look hot in everything.” 

“I’m not wrong though,” He grinned, biting his lip as he felt the latex slide down his cock. It wasn’t always ideal, but better safe than sorry. 

In one swift motion, you connected like two puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. His tip nudging that spot inside you without even trying. You both let out a sigh at the familiar feeling, not moving, just letting the memory of sex on the beachhouse balcony pass through your minds, all the moments of enjoying each others presence in pure bliss. 

Your own bodies betray the wishful thinking of staying in the moment. You clench around him and he moans lightly, and a simple sound like that was all you needed to set off that fire boiling inside your core. 

You raise your hips until only the head of his cock is in and sink back down on his length, setting a passionate yet frantic pace, your heart wanting to feel every second but your brain forcing your body to tend to its pleasurable needs. 

The room feels silent, save for sounds that follow your actions. Neither of you hear the people downstairs, nor can you feel the vibrations of the music blasting through speakers. You only hear each other’s moans, feel each other’s touch. 

It goes by in a blur. At one point his mouth was on your breast, your hand was on his throat, both of you lost in the time spent together. 

After all was done, you both laid in the other’s embrace, his hand playing with your hair while you traced shapes on his naked chest, the warm leather jacket increasing the sense of security you felt around him. 

“You know…” You spoke suddenly, breaking the otherwise comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you, “You don’t have to change your clothes just to get me into you.” 

Harrison tensed a little, unsure where this conversation was headed. “Yeah…? I-I guess I just figured since you were into the whole ‘Greaser’ look more...if I was like that then...maybe you’d...uh...go out with me? For real this time.” 

You smiled, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on his now-swollen lips. “You div, if you asked months ago you would’ve known I don’t care about what kind of pants you wear. I just want the Harrison I had last summer…” 

The blue-eyed boy smiled back, “Then you have him...you’ve always had him, darling.” 

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

Happy Birthday Harrison!!

All: @greenorangevioletgrass @allegra-writes @soraitmnt @worldoftom @farfromparker @angel-spidey @parkerpeter24 @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​ @the-panwitch @rebekkah4766 @hollandsamor @spideygirl2003 @theactualprincessofeverything @halfblood-princess-505 @the-crazy-fanfictionist

Harrison Osterfield: @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

[bansept]

Protector

Part 1

[Cop Ichigo X Victim Orihime]

A few days back, maybe even a few weeks back, I was scrolling down the Ichihime tag like always do, when I saw @nneefa ‘s request for a fanfiction of a headcanon they had. So, because I obviously can’t help but write about my favorite cuties, and the idea was just fantastic, I tried to put their idea in shape.

This is the first part for an AU that should be 5 parts long? I’m not certain about it, but I’m excited to write this!

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

“This morning, in Karakura Town’s Eastern side, a massive explosion occurred at a local bakery, harming multiple civilians and killing the two owners in the fire. The firefighters are rapidly handling the situation, as the flames are already extinguished. But, alas, the victims are numerous, and the police have no clues as to why such a devastating accident occured.”

 The presentator was cut short, the tv flashing into a black screen as the chief of the police sighed heavily before staring coldly at his team.

“The explosion is going to make much more noise, now that the tv is broadcasting live, right in front of what was the bakery. And that means delaying even more the investigation. So gather everything, I want to know whether we have more victims, if they were dead before, if that was a suicidal explosion… Everything.”

All the policemen and policewomen nodded in agreement, saluting their chief before rushing out, running to gather and investigate. Ichigo saluted his superior too, ready to help his partners and figure what in the hell had happened, but was called back.

“Wait a second, Kurosaki.”

The young man turned around, eyes already asking what did that mean, wondering what would he have to do.

“Some of the victims are still conscious, and thankfully, in rather good health. Among them is a renowned astrophysicist, Orihime Inoue. She’s a real prodigee, and she needs to be guarded.”

Ichigo squinted his eyes, ready to ask why would he guard someone : wasn’t it better to entirely focus on the investigation, what happened and who did it?

“You will be the one in charge of her protection. I’ve read your reports, and seen you act both on the terrain and indoors, and you’re the ideal man for the job.”

The chief stood up from his chair, cracking a bone or two in the process, and Ichigo straightened his body.

He wasn’t used to the praises, or an investigation given to him like that. The young man wasn’t dumb enough to misunderstand his worth, but never thought of being picked to look after a person in particular. Especially an important one.

“I gladly accept the mission, Sir. Is Miss Inoue aware someone will come to guard her? I wouldn’t want to traumatize her further.”

“Always the caring cop. Continue doing that, you give us a great reputation.” The chief smiled, his joke not landing on Ichigo, who looked as neutral as he could. “Ahem, well, she’s been told yes. Wasn’t too warm at the idea, of course, but she understands her security is at stake.”

Ichigo nodded, hand reaching for the papers, quickly reading them to have a visual on who the woman was. And the moment he stared at her picture, oh he knew, he was going to protect her with all he had.

Orihime Inoue wasn’t just the pretty girl you remember from your school days, someone that could easily be a model and haunt the dreams of so many admirers. Her burnt orange hair, gentle and wide yet so intelligent and perspective grey eyes, the cute button nose, plush lips… All those and more made his chest ache sweetly, the desire to know her burning in his heart. Who was she? What was more to the astrophysicist and the beauty?

Would she be cold, like her profession would push her to be, or dreamy and kind, like her eyes revealed?

Ichigo heard the chief cough lightly, and the young policeman faked clearing his thorat, looking up to salute his superior.

“I will go to the address then.”

“Yeah, yeah. But don’t get too cosy with her, Kurosaki. She’s someone you don’t want to drag in the police’s business.”

.

.

.

Figured out, Orihime Inoue lived in a delicate and breath-taking bubble of her own, away from the trouble of the streets, the sound of the wind and the children’s laughter the only thing to worry about. Her small house was stuck between more modern ones, the orange roof tiles slowly but surely invaded by greenery, star jasmine, if he recalled correctly.

Lowering his head to not be hit by the misplaced roof tile, and the little lampions hanging from the outside ceiling, Ichigo looked at the address once again.

It was definitely her house.

“Okay… Here we go.” He told himself, voice hoping to sound casual, not too scary or shaky. Looking like an idiot wasn’t in his plans.

After calming his nerves, and thoroughly wiping his hands in his jeans, Ichigo knocked on the door, loud enough to be heard, and low enough to not be banging.

“Coming~!”

He heard the voice crystal clear, because how could he not?

In real life, in a normal world, where people didn’t live in a fairy tale house, homey and the smell of jasmine wasn’t so sweet, he wouldn’t have heard a kind voice. Someone, with less harmonious vocal cords, would have yelled an impatient and grumbling yes. They would even not have answered, leaving the people waiting feeling oh so lost.

That’s what usually happened.

But today, when his head was in a permanent effort of not rubbing against a blue lampion with a tiny dolphin on it, when his eyes were scanning the tiny frog in ceramic with a wide sign welcoming the guests, the door opened, Orihime Inoue coming out, and he was thankful he had been the one chosen to watch over her.

The red headed woman in front of him batted her lashes curiously, lost for a few moments before Ichigo saw her gaze landing on the documents in his hands. The woman brushed a soft looking strand of hair behind her ear, not fully opening the door.

"Are you the policeman in charge of looking after me?" She asked, voice not as sweet as before, a serious facade replacing the bubbly look on her face. She looked as beautiful as before, only now, he would have the door in his face if he acted like a dick.

"Yes, Miss Inoue. My name is Ichigo Kurosaki. I've been informed of the accident that occured a few days ago. Would it be alright if I ask you questions about it, so you could tell me anything you light know?"

"Is it a way of interrogating people? Pretending to guard them?"

Ichigo was surprised, because never in this little paradise would he have believed she could have an icy stare.

"No, Miss Inoue. I'm not here to interrogate you, simply ask a few things so you can live peacefully again."

Orihime frowned slightly, curve of her eyebrows arching perfectly. She stared into his own eyes, digging up what was true and what was just a fake act of kindness, only to, apparently, see he wasn't lying. The smile returned on her features, and the door was opened.

"Good! Come on in, I guess it's chit chat time."

[hoodoo12]

Roses and Rot

This is based of a loose prompt: “Jealous and possessive Keatlejuice where the boy goes feral”. My pals @vicunaburger (Last Train Home)and @clairjohnson (Night Out) also wrote for this prompt; go check them and their fine stories out!

NSFW. Possessiveness, extreme violence and gore, smut, minor bondage, dub-con. This is a darkfic.

~

There hadn’t been any sound. No warning, and that was the scariest thing of all. There was some asshole douchebag who’d been catcalling you and who jogged after you down the sidewalk, even though you’d made it plainly clear you wanted nothing to do with him. The guy had the balls to grab your shoulder, and that was the end.

He’d been torn away from you so abruptly you’d been jerked back too, stumbling and losing your balance. You shouted, because you’d first thought the guy had done it himself, but when you gathered your wits your shout died in your throat at the sight that met your eyes. The douchebag was on his back and screaming, although his voice also went the way of yours. For a different reason, however: it was hard to scream when there was no breath capable of being drawn after the hand shoved in his gut ruptured his diaphragm and was now elbow deep into his chest. “Heart’s still beatin’. Pity,” Beetlejuice laughed. “Not for long though, buddy.” Straddling the man’s legs like they were wrestling or they were lovers, he extracted his hand slowly, like that would be a kindness to make it hurt less. When just his hand was still inside, he cocked his head. “I think that’s your liver. Spleen feels a little less smooth, an’ if I’d gone through it--whoa! You’d have bleed out way too soon! Oops, looks like my damn ring is caught on something--”

With a more violent jerk than maybe needed to happen, he yanked his hand out of the guy with the thickest wet sound you’d ever heard. You retched involuntarily as Beetlejuice examined what looked like a rope of intestine in his hand. Your gag caught his attention. Quick as a snake, he looked up and caught your eyes. Typically pale blue, his eyes were blown dark with what you would have classified as arousal, except he was drenched in blood and was pawing through a person’s innards like picking up candy from a destroyed pinata. Beetlejuice grinned ferally at you, licking his teeth. He seemed to realize he’d gotten some blood sprayed onto his chin, because he licked further down to remove it. You weren’t sure what to think. Or say. Or do. You felt frozen, a rabbit, pinned by a predator’s gaze. Your choices were to not move and maybe he’d ignore you, or run and hope he was having too much fun with the soon-to-be corpse under him. “What’s the matter baby?” he said with much too much amusement in his voice. “I did this for you.” You could barely wrap your head around that, and you shook your head slightly because of it. The amusement on his face melted to a scowl, and you flinched. Luckily, Beetlejuice seemed to believe it was due to the man twitching and still trying to draw breath underneath him. He turned ferociously back to him. “You fuckin’ cocksucker--you apologize to the lady!” he spit, literally, in the dying man’s face. 

It was unfathomable to you the amount of pain and shock the guy must be in, with his guts systematically being pulled from the hole Beetlejuice put in him. When he didn’t respond to the order that had been given to him, the specter snarled and used his unoccupied hand to grab the guy’s chin to twist his head up and over awkwardly to look at you. “Fucking apologize,” he demanded again. He held on with so much force his nails cut into the man’s cheeks. The guy who may or may not have assaulted you given the chance, whose only ‘crime’ was being a prick in public and daring to lay a hand on you, managed to raise his eyes enough to meet yours. He was crying, but still no real noise came from him; collapsed lungs didn’t provide enough air to pass through vocal cords. He wheezed, a little. 

Beetlejuice cranked his head back to a more proper position. “That’s much better,” he said brightly, like a teacher praising a pupil that finally understood something complex. “I’m sure you’ll never do anything like that again, will you?” The guy wheezed again, and you could see that his tears made clean tracks through the blood on his face. “WILL YOU?!” Beetlejuice screamed suddenly, dropping his face within inches of the man. 

The guy still had enough strength to flinch. That made Beetlejuice laugh again, and he planted an opened-mouth kiss to the man’s mouth. It prevented you from seeing what his hands were doing, but you didn’t miss the specter sucking in like he was stealing the last of his victim’s breath. When he sat back up, a string of bloody saliva bridged between the two men’s lips. With one hand on the man’s chest and the other still running intestines through his fingers like fine silk, Beetlejuice cocked his head. “Heart’s giving out, buddy. Maybe, if I’m quick--” And again, with no warning, he torn into the man’s torso with a frenzy. You’d never known how strong he was; you’d never considered how strong he was, but skin and muscle split and ribs were cracked, and before you even had the chance to look away, Beetlejuice had his prize: exposure of the guy’s heart, still in his ruin of his chest, beating erratically from blood loss and rapidly dropping blood pressure. Beetlejuice looked up at you, gave you a wink, and gave the heart a vicious flick. Luckily the guy didn’t feel it; he was obviously dead. Hawking something up from the back of his throat, the specter spit a gob of mucus directly into the dead man’s open chest. You’d never seen someone die before. You’d never seen such frenzied carnage. If you could have torn your eyes away from the show of wanton destruction, you would have. You felt numb and shocky yourself, like you wanted to vomit and curl into a fetal position all at the same time. All your limbs were cold. The fact that it was done so casually, that Beetlejuice looked just as he’d always looked--grimy, moldy, the corners of his mouth always just about to turn up like he was always one step ahead of anyone else around--he didn’t look monstrous at all except that his favorite suit was now that start of a joke--what’s black and white and red all over--

--your thoughts felt fractured, a skipping record, and a giggle slipped out of you, less for amusement or approval and more because you had no reference on how to respond to any of this.

Beetlejuice took your giggle the wrong way, of course. In a flash, between one blink and the next, he was at your side, arms around your waist to hold you upright and against him. The blood soaked into his suit felt clammy and left smears on you. There was still a feral light in his eyes, and pressed this close, it wasn’t any secret he was aroused. “Nobody gets to touch you but me, baby,” he informed you. Just as he leaned down for a kiss that you dared not refuse him, he continued, “You’re mine.”

His mouth covered yours and you held your breath. The taste of him, damp soil with base notes of roses and rot, was familiar; the new flavor of iron from the residual blood on his face was not and you did not care for it much. Naturally, he didn’t care. While you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to act too put off in case that made him angry, an odd pressure surrounded you and when he released you and you opened your eyes, you were back in your bedroom. You didn’t dare point out that if he could just remove you from the situation on the street he didn’t have to tear that guy apart. 

Wiping his thumb along his lower lip as he stared over you with hungry eyes, he repeated in a low voice, “You’re fucking mine,” as if you’d argued. 

He still seemed to think there was some disagreement, however, maybe because you were still shocky from the events and you weren’t as responsive as typical to his advances. He lifted his lips in what you thought was supposed to be a smile but came off more as a snarl. “Men. Always sniffin’ around, always thinkin’ they can touch whatever they want without consequences. Never thinkin’ that what they’re touchin’ might belong to someone else!” he ranted. This was not the time to try and educate him on the fact that the word “belong” was offensive and demeaned you into being property. 

He took a breath that you know was for show because he didn’t actually breathe any longer, and focused on you again. “I know you didn’t flirt with that guy, baby. I know you didn’t ask for him to follow you and touch you. He was just a prick who got his just reward. But I gotta say . . . seeing him try and get your attention . . . it got me a little possessive.” Once again you held your tongue, although that was damn obvious. You weren’t against possessiveness, per se, and had occasionally breathed into his ear that you only wanted him, you were his, those sentiments and the like slipping from your lips as he fucked himself into you, but this was a little more than typical. The standard thrill of his aggressive behavior was there, even if your pulse also pounded out of fear. Beetlejuice gave you a much softer smile, and it almost made you relax. When he stepped up to you again, however, the smile slipped and a rock settled in your gut because your subconscious better recognized the not so sweet intent behind him coming close again. He grabbed the back of your head, his ragged nails catching in your hair. That was not uncommon; his hand being tacky from mostly dried blood was. You gasped and automatically pulled your head back in response. That only made him laugh. “Gotta be a way to show assholes like that you’re mine--” he growled half to himself, but loud enough for your ears too. “Gonna show them you’re mine--”

With that, he spun you around. Off balance because you weren’t expecting it, you fell front first onto the mattress. Before you could twist or protest or anything, you found yourself without a stitch of clothing on; one of his ‘parlor tricks’ that sometimes you liked very much. A new element had been added, however: your arms stretched forward and wrists restrained with exactly what, you didn’t know. You didn’t keep any ties or shackles in your bedroom; there’d never been any talk of tying up or restraint--

“--gonna prove it, I know you know you’re mine, baby, but other people, other people need to know--”

His obsessive rambling didn’t calm you. He drew his tacky hands down your back to the swell of your ass, and he kicked open your legs, putting you in a more precarious position without your feet under you. You heard the soft noise of a zipper, even with both his hands still on you, spreading you open so your pussy was exposed. 

“--I’ll show ‘em, it’ll be a giant neon sign announcing to the world--”

You had no idea what he meant, but could only imagine it was some sort of other phasmagorical trick he could conjure. Maybe he’d brand you with his name? Maybe he’d claw you till you were bleeding, leaving scars which would give other people pause to even talk to you? His cold fingers dragged themselves through the folds of your pussy and automatically your back dipped to allow him better access. He chuckled through his word vomit and now the head of his cock, wider than his fingers, followed their same trail. You relaxed as best you could against the restraints stretching your arms, knowing what was coming next. With one hand still gripping your hip, when Beetlejuice found where he wanted to be he thrust forward and filled your cunt with one motion. With zero preparation and a slaughtering as foreplay, the friction was immense and you cried out. You’d fucked him often enough that he opened you up easily, and the tight drag and pull lit up your nerve endings anyway. Your cry of surprise that devolved into a moan made him chuckle again. The hand he’d used to hold the base of his cock while he seated himself inside you came up and slapped your ass more sharply than you expected and you jumped and yelped, which only spurred him on more. He did it again, this time spanking you lower on your ass. You felt the extra sting of his ring making heavy contact with the thin skin of your upper thigh. 

Through it, he fucked you at a blistering pace. 

You cried out with each thrust; you groaned each time he pulled back. You’d have reached behind yourself to grab at him, to hook your fingers into his waist, or slipped a hand under you to finger your own clit, but neither of those were options since he decided he wanted all the control himself. You had no choice but to enjoy the rough ride. Beetlejuice hadn’t stopped talking, although it was now interspersed with his own guttural groans. “--fuck-fuck-fuck, your fuckin’ cunt is the best, baby--it’s mine an’ I’m gonna make sure people fucking know it--”

Going to your tiptoes, even with your legs spread to accommodate him, helped tilt your pelvis so he managed to thrust against the perfect spot inside you, even if he didn’t do that on purpose. Drool made a wet spot under your cheek on the mattress, because he drove such pleasure into you it was difficult to remember to do something like close your mouth or swallow. “--gonna fucking fill you up, fuck! Gonna, gonna--” Beetlejuice leaned over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. He hadn’t shed his clothing, you learned with a start, as the still damp-with-blood fabric of his jacket and shirt chaffed over your back. You wiggled more out of disgust than pleasure at the feeling of it, but he didn’t seem to recognize that subtle difference, or he didn’t care. He moved one hand to entangle itself into your hair again, to steady himself and stretch you back towards him. With his face now against your neck he grunted, “--gonna fill your cunt with come, baby--”

You gasped at those words, and he laughed again. “--oh, you like that? You like the idea of this dead guy’s come up in your pussy, smelling like me, huh? No one’d mess with you then, so full of rot--gonna flood your cunt--”

Was that even possible? Typically he liked to pull out and come on you, and yes it didn’t smell great but it was easily washed away. If he came in you, would the stench linger? The thought terrified you. The thought also excited you. You should be ashamed and alarmed, but just couldn’t be; him positioned on top of you, his cock still hammering into you, throwing sparks of bliss keep into your belly, promising that no one else would want you, you couldn’t do anything but take what he gave you and it was so, so good--

With a howl, you came around his cock, your pussy spasming even as he continued to thrust into you. He was still talking but your ears were ringing, and in another few moments, while you worked to catch your breath, Beetlejuice yanked your hair hard enough to make you cry out, and shoved his hips so hard into you it actually hurt, and groaned during his own release, deep inside you, just as he’d promised. 

He didn’t immediately pull out and roll off of you either, as typical. He stayed right where he was, rocking his hips through his orgasm as if actively working his come to where it needed to be to leave your pregnant. After several moments and slowly feeling like you were going to have to struggle to get him off you so you could draw a full breath, he pushed himself up and back. You heard him fiddling with his fly again, and wondered if he even dropped his trousers during at all. 

As his cock left you a gush of wet soaked you and the edge of the mattress. Beetlejuice grunted and shoved his fingers up against your pussy as if to push his come back in. You stretched and wiggled against the restraints on your wrists, and suddenly they were gone too.

You rolled over, not caring that whatever bloody mess he’d transferred to you would be on your bedding now. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel.

The specter still looked like he worked in a particularly unsanitary butcher shop. Instead of stripping or anything else remotely politely human, he dropped onto the bed bedside you and spooned into you, like all this had been normal.

“I fucked up, baby,” he whispered, to your amazement. 

Oh! Maybe he did see that he went overboard and unnecessary!

He sighed and kissed your shoulder. You felt the imprint of his teeth, but he didn’t bite you. In an even lower voice, he continued, “I should’ve kept that guy alive so he could’ve seen all that we just did there. Then I shoulda fuckin’ offed him.” You kept your mouth shut once again, and just lay with him like he wanted. 

fin

[leam1983]

On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

[justcallmenikki7]

BTS Reaction To: You Are the Lead Singer in a Rock Band

Summary: you’re the lead singer in a rock band

Warnings: fluff, the appearance of All Time Low and Pierce the Veil, fluff, slight mention of Jungkook getting turned on, crack, Namjoon breaking readers guitar and reader wanting to kill him (lmao), understanding bts.

Request:

Hello, can u do a bts reaction to the reader (their gf) being the lead singer in a rock /metal band?

W.C.: 2.5k

Notes: ooof, my life has been freaking hectic.

Jin:

You were upset.

You always became upset when it was the last leg of your tour. Touring was a huge part of your life – seeing your fans who have supported you since the beginning, meeting them, and connecting with them. You knew that you always will see them again and be on that tour bus with your band members, but it still did not make you feel any better.

The sounds of your fans screaming could be heard from your dressing room, a sound that you will forever love. You were putting on your eye make up when your boyfriend, Seokjin, walked in with your stage outfit, holding a shocked look on his face.

“Why do you have that look on your face?” You asked with a small smile, only to be given a ‘what the fuck’ look in return.

“You’re really asking me that question?” Jin asked, “You’re wearing this outfit? What are you going for? A dead bride?” He asked, not knowing that he hit the jackpot.

“Actually, yes.” You answered, laughing at the confused look. “Remember? The last leg of the tour is all about the first album ‘The Dead Bride’?”

Making an ‘oh’ face at your explanation, your boyfriend sat the outfit down on the couch, walking up to you. He could sense your mood, a frown showing on his face. “You’re upset.” He stated, smirking at your face. “You know that I can sense whenever you’re upset. And I am assuming its because of the last leg of the tour.”

“How do you know me so well?” You sarcastically asked but sinking into his touch. “I just hate the thought of the tour being almost over. I just wish it could last forever.”

“I feel the exact same way, sweetheart.” He stated, only to chuckle a few seconds later, “You are exactly like Kook, he always becomes upset when tour is almost over.” Pausing, “Just remember, you have only three more months before Warped Tour starts, and you’ll be able to see All Time Low!”

“Two Minutes!” Your manager yelled.

“Yeah, you’re right…” You trailed off.

“I’m always right. I am Worldwide Smart Guy,” Seokjin said proudly, smiling at you through the mirror. “Now, go out there in your dead bride dress, and scream your lungs off. But not all of the way cause you need to save your voice for later tonight. Good luck, sweetheart!” He finished quickly, not giving you a chance to reply.

Yoongi:

Yoongi’s arms are crossed over his chest, body leant against the wall, eyes watching you intensely as you practice. He could not deny that you looked so beautiful in your casual, laid back – but dressed up outfit you were in. He knew that you loved looking presentable, but being comfortable, which is your beanie, ripped skinny jeans, black and white converse, black tank-top topped with a black and white flannel.

Every now and then you would glance to look at your boyfriend, always blushing when you notice that he is staring at you. To make you more flustered, Yoongi would wink at you, smirking at how you would try to hide your face with your hair. Once you were done speaking to your band members, you made your way to Yoongi. Smiling up at your boyfriend once you got to him, you allowed him to pull you in for a quick peck on the lips.

“What did you think?” You asked curiously, resting your head on his chest.

“I think you are badass.” Your boyfriend stated, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

“You think so?” You asked, insecure laced in your tone.

Looking down at you with a blank face, “You’re really an idiot sometimes.” Yoongi commented, earning a glare from you. “You have sold out three stadiums, performed at the Wembley stadium, and you’re questioning your ability to perform, play both guitar and drums, and sing like an angel? Damn, I am doing terrible as a boyfriend…” Yoongi trailed off, shaking his head.

Tears pricked your eyes, emotions overwhelming your senses, which led to you crashing your lips on Yoongis. Yoongi chuckled into the kiss, his smile having you pull away because his smile is rarely shown, so whenever he does smile, you cherish it.

“What?” Yoongi dragged out the ‘a,’ a whine gracing his voice. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Cause you’re beautiful when you smile,” you cheekily said, earning an eyeroll from the silver haired male.

“Okay you love birds,” your manager spoke, scaring the two of you. “Enough with the lovey dovy stuff, Y/N has to finish vocal warmups.”

Hoseok:

The first time you met Hoseok was when BTS was touring in the United States, the same time you were on tour – ironically in the same state. You were at a bar with your band, getting a drink after a concert. As you were heading to the bathroom, you bumped into a smiling man who was a little drunk off of whiskey. The sum it up, he pulled a terrible pick-up-line that he knew in English and you could not help but fall for him.

So, five months later, the both of you are dating.

Truthfully, Hoseok was shocked to learn that you were in an Alternative band, especially being the lead singer. When he found out that you could scream several lines without hurting your vocal cords, he somehow fell more in love with you. But he could not deny that he sometimes worried about you.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Hoseok asked, wanting to make sure that you are up for this song. He knew that you struggle with this particular song since it has more aggression than your usual mellow, upbeat songs.

“Yes, Hobi, I am sure about this.” You chuckled, giving him a weird look.

“I know, but I worry about you hurting yourself by overdoing it.” He sighed, giving you his puppy dog eyes.

Smiling wide up at him, heart beating just a little quicker by how loved and cared for you are by this man. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Don’t worry, I know my limits, like you know yours when it comes to dancing. So, if it doesn’t feel right during the performance, I’ll tone it down and give you our hand signal to let you know.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

Namjoon:

“Namjoon!” You screeched, heart stopping for just a quick second due to scene that is appearing right in front of you.

Your boyfriend, Namjoon, the clumsiest man you know, is handling your precious baby, Lydia. Turning around with an innocent look on his face, Namjoon watched you run up towards him like a mad woman. “What? What’s wrong?” He asked, oblivious to what is happening.

Grabbing Lydia, ever so gently but quickly, you took your pride and joy in your hands, holding her to your chest to protect her. “Are you okay, my precious little one.”

Realizing what is going on, Namjoon’s faced morphed into a rejected look. “Did you seriously think I was going to break your guitar?”

“Her name is Lydia.”

Scoffing, “You name your guitars?” He asked incredulously.

“Are you calling me crazy?”

“What? What – are you serious?”

“Are you?”

“No? I am just offended that you would think I’d break your guitar by just holding it—”

“-Her name is Lydia. And yes, you broke a glass floor, Namjoon.”

“You know what, I am ending this conversation and going to go and get me a pop.”

Looking at him with wide eyes, you could tell that you made him feel bad. So, quickly putting away Lydia, you grabbed your other guitar, Leo, and chased after your boyfriend. Jumping in front of him, you realized that you surprised him by your sudden appearance. A wide grin was on your face, now becoming skeptical by your actions.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“Yes! I’m sorry for making you feel bad – no, don’t try and deny it – so I wanted to apologize by giving, well, not giving, letting you play with Leo!” You said excitedly, handing Leo over to Namjoon, who hesitantly took into his hold. “Go ahead!” You encouraged your boyfriend to play your guitar. With one strum, two out of the six strings snapped, causing a yelp to escape from Namjoon.

Your face was blank whereas Namjoon’s held a scared look. “Uh, baby?” He asked after two minutes of silence.

“You have five seconds to start running before I kill you.” You stated in a mono tone.

Turning around, Namjoon took off into a full sprint, wanting to get away from you as quick as he could, not wanting to be taking on your wrath.

Jimin:

“So, you’re the Park Jimin that our Y/N talks about.” Alex Gaskarth assumed, walking up to Jimin with Jack Barakat and Vic Feuentes behind him.

Internally, Jimin felt intimidated, but on the outside,  he tried to stay calm. Jimin knows that Alex is a sweetheart, but he always knew that the man was never afraid to approach someone and tell them how he feels. With that, he knew that All Time Low and everyone on Warped Tour were protective of you because of how young and likeable you are. Plus, everyone viewed you as their little sister – the little sister with her first boyfriend.

“Yes, I am.” Jimin smiled, bowing at the group of men.

“How long have you known Y/N?” Jack asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“We met in May of 2019, have been dating since August of 2019. So, a year and two months now.”

The group of three men looked at each other, silently communicating with each other. “So,” Vic started, “What are your intentions with Y/N?” He asked, trying to not laugh at the blush on Jimin’s face.

“Well, I really do like her, love her actually. And, if things go as planned, I see myself with her for the rest of my life.”

The three men tried to not ‘awe’ at the orange haired man’s admission. As Alex was going to ask his next question, your voice cut him off, now having the four men attention.

“Guys! Do not scare Jimin away!” You exclaimed, running to your boyfriends’ side.

Even with the crazy hair and dark eye makeup, Jimin still thought you looked so beautiful.

“Oh, that’d be impossible.” Jack commented, smirk on his face.

“Very impossible.” Alex added, giving Jack and Vic a knowing look, a look that confused you greatly, but a look that Jimin knew which had him blushing.

“Okaaay,” you replied awkwardly. Looking up at Jimin, you smiled to him. “In This Moment is about to start! I want you to watch them live cause they are so good!” You stated before dragging your boyfriend away.

“He’s so going to propose to her soon.” Alex stated, earning a nod from the other two men.

Taehyung:

“I’m confused.” Taehyung admitted, catching your attention from on the stage.

“About what?” You asked, jumping off of the stage and walking over to your boyfriend who was seated in the first row.

“How are you able to scream and not lose your voice? Like, one time I yelled, and I lost it instantly! Do you have some sort of voodoo stuff to help you with that? What is your secret?!” Your boyfriend burst, catching you off guard.

“Uh, I guess it’s just from practice? Chris from Motionless in White and Maria Brink from In This Moment have been my mentors ever since I have begun my career.” You commented, laughing at Taehyung’s face morph into an understanding look.

“Wait. The scary guy and girl that I have seen you in pictures with?” He asked, causing you to laugh.

“Yes, those two.” You answered, “And they are not scary, it’s just their makeup and how they seem on stage and in music videos. I used to think the same thing until I talked to them.”

Taehyung was quiet for a moment. “So, would you teach me how to scream?” He asked in all seriousness. “I want to learn how you do it and maybe we can be the power screaming couple.”

You choked on your spit. “Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I am not serious?”

“I mean it does, but I just want to be sure. Plus, you’ll have to talk to Bang PD and see what he thinks.”

At your comment, Taehyung reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Clicking a few buttons, he put the phone to his answer. After a few words and silent moments, he hung up and put the phone in his pocket. “Bang agreed. But he wants me to have professional help and a lot of vocal coaches.”

Smirking to yourself, “Okay, I’ll give Chris and Maria a call and we can set up a day to begin!” You said excitedly, laughing at your boyfriends scared look.

“Wait! I didn’t say them!”

Jungkook:

Jungkook and the rest of BTS were seated in a VIP section while they waited for you to perform. Jungkook was antsy, this being the first time watching you perform live and seeing you in your, and in your joking words, ‘Emo clothes.’

“Are you nervous, Kookie?” Taehyung asked, noticing how antsy Jungkook was due to his constant need to be bouncing on the top of his toes. Taehyung’s question caught the other members attention.

“You okay, Kook?” Namjoon asked, giving a once over Jungkook, automatically noticing his younger brother’s nervousness.

“Yeah, I’m just a little nervous I guess.”

“Awe, how cute!” Seokjin exclaimed, making a baby face at his Maknae, earning a glare from the younger one.

“Now! Dear Me is on!” The announcer yelled into the microphone, earning cheers from the stadium and BTS.

Jungkook’s jaw dropped as he saw you walk onto stage in your performing clothes, clothes that made Jungkook sweat at his brow. He could not deny that you looked both innocent and sexy at the same time, the aura that you carried making you look unstoppable. Gulping, Jungkook tried to get his mind out of the gutter, wanting to focus on your performance. The other members could not help but chuckle at Jungkook’s reaction.

Once the concert was over, Jungkook was blushing severely when you walked up to him, a huge grin on your face, a grin only he and performers knew when they had the best concert ever.

“So!” You began, “What’d you think?”

Before Jungkook answered, Taehyung walked up with Hoseok on behind, the two men throwing their arms over Jungkook’s shoulders. “Oh, Y/N, Jungkook loved the concert.” Taehyung began, smirk on his face.

“A little too much.” Hoseok finished, a smirk on his face also.

Realizing what they meant, your face heated up, earning laughs and cheers from everyone around you besides Jungkook who was feeling the exact same way.

[alwayschoosechocolate]

One-night stands and one-shot chances (part x)

University AU

Pairing: Jin x reader

Who says sex has to mean anything? Who says you can’t just screw around without all the heartache? Who says only guys get this privilege? What happens when the biggest playboy on campus suddenly meets his match and gets a taste of his own medicine?

Genre: casual sex, mentions of sex, bestfriend!Hoseok, onenightstand!Jin, romance

Word count: 4k

Taglist: @esplosionedicoloriintesta​​ @jeonjunggoodgod @rjsmochii​@spookidema​​ @pariz-lover​ @mymochimchimmy​ @seokjinnieismine​ @cloudyelizabeth​​ @livesmileandstaystrong​@thisistoooooomuch​@okaysoplshelpme​ @secondstanza​ @eanielsen07​ @lidda​ @6bottlesofwine​ @honeybeeforv​

Masterpost with the other parts of the story can be found here and my masterlist is here

A/N: Hi my loves! I am finally back with an update! Thank you for being so patient with me! I will try to be better moving forward. I even made a schedule for myself, so I should get better at posting regularly! Enjoy! And as always, let me know what you think in the comments!

Cuddling meant nothing. Cuddling meant nothing. Cuddling meant nothing.

Like a mantra, Jin chanted the words internally as the movie played on the screen in front of you.

No flirting. Nothing.

Gritting his teeth as he tried to pick up the movie playing on the screen once more, he reminded himself of how you always cuddled whoever was closest to you. It didn’t even have to be someone you knew. You were just always touching the person next to you. So that you were pressed against his side now with an arm draped across his stomach meant nothing, right?

Of course not. Before you had slept together, you had often cuddled him. Granted not alone in the house while watching a movie, but backhugs weren’t uncommon nor was the occasional shoulder rub.

Suddenly a lightbulb lit up in Jins head and he widened his eyes in realization.

If you didn’t consider cuddling to be flirting, then he could be as clingy as he wanted these days! No strings attached. No hidden meaning. Just free uncomplicated cuddles for an entire week!

Grinning at his own discovery, he suddenly felt way more at ease at the prospect of spending an entire week alone with you. He would just direct all his flirting into cuddling, and you would never need to know.

Settling deeper against the backrest of the couch, he confidently pulled you tighter in his embrace, making you look at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Just getting more comfortable. I’m getting sleepy and I don’t want to have neck pain from sitting in a weird position if I fall asleep,” he reasoned, doing his absolute best to hide his mischievous grin, when you simply shrugged your shoulders and allowed him to rest his head on the top of your head.

Fighting back the victorious smile from appearing on his lips, Jin took a deep breath as he tried to calm his heart. Despite the comfortable silence between you, the coziness of the blankets around you and the calmness of it all, he felt a tinge of danger in the air. Like a false sense of security.

He was so used to being on high alert around you that it felt wrong to actually be at ease with you.

“Can I ask you something?”, he asked, voice hesitant and slightly slurred as sleep had already seeped into his vocal cords.

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t we fighting right now? You usually hate me. What changed?”

Biting back a chuckle, you reached up to ruffle his hair slightly and heard him hum slightly in response.

“You did, Jin. You usually treat me like dirt, but you’ve been nice to me today, so I’m reciprocating that,” you spoke sincerely and giggled slightly when you saw him frowning in confusion. “It’s really that simple. You’re nice to me, I’m nice to you. If you treat me like you have been before, I’ll give back just the same.”

Silently taking in your words, he kept his gaze on the movie in front of him.

“So if I’m nice to you and treat you well, you’ll be nice to me as well? We can go back to being friends?”, he asked slowly as if picking out each word carefully, like a kid learning something new and repeating it back to make sure they actually understood it right.

“Sure. When you stop treating me like an unintelligent object that you only want to sleep with, then yeah, we can be friends,” you shrugged, shifting slightly so his head wasn’t resting on you anymore and you were able to face him instead. “I mean that, Jin. I never hated you, but I did hate how you talked to and about me.”

Giving him a slight glare at the memories, you saw him wince and avoid eye contact just the same as he had when you confronted him about calling you a whore.

“I know, I was an idiot,” he admitted, giving you a sheepish smile. “I’m really sorry. I promise I won’t treat you like that again. I really do want us to be friends and honestly I think it would make everything easier.”

Now it was your turn to tilt your head in confusion, only making Jin roll his eyes at you.

“Oh, come on. We both know this has been awkward for the others. Me constantly disappearing, us fighting all the time. We’re like an old married couple who should really just get a divorce, but we haven’t even been dating,” he chuckled with an amused smile as he got up to fetch some water, leaving you alone to sort through your thoughts.

Sure, you knew everyone had been a bit on edge, but had it really been that bad?

Vaguely remembering Hoseoks reminder for you to try to not disagree with more of his housemates, your felt a twinge of guilt shot through your chest. Maybe this whole thing with Jin had gotten out of control, you mused as you looked towards the sound of him moving around the kitchen. If that was true, then Jin was right. You should at least try to make it work. If anything, then for Hobi’s sake. You didn’t want to be the reason he disagreed with his housemates.

And you did make it work. The two of you spent the weekend bundled up on the couch watching movies, eating Jins excellent cooking and actually getting to know each other. Though most of the time was still spent squabbling and teasing each other, the air between the two of you had gotten a lot lighter and the teasing a lot more friendly.

As the weekdays rolled around, you found a new rhythm; you went to work in the morning and when you got home, Jin had cooked dinner for the both of you. There were no problems, no arguments, no name-calling and more importantly, there was no flirting at all.

Walking home Thursday evening, you found yourself actually looking forward to coming home to Jin and as you opened the door and was met the heavenly smell of roasted lamb, you bit your lip to contain a giddy giggle of happiness.

“I’m home,” you called out, as you slipped off your shoes and tossed your bag next to the couch, before walking to the kitchen, where Jin greeted you with a casual smile from his hunched over position in front of the stove.

“Hi flower! How was work?”

Grabbing a piece of carrot off the cutting board and popping it in your mouth, you gave him a smile and a shrug as you hopped up on the counter next to the stove.

“Fine. Can’t complain. The receipt printer is still broken though, so I had to write all the receipts by hand,” you chuckled with a headshake as you munched on your snack.

“And you’re laughing at that?”, he asked with an amused smile playing on his lips, eyes still locked on the content of the pots on the stove, as he carefully stirred the content.

As per usual when he was cooking all his focus was on the food. Carrying out a conversation was somewhat possible, but you had quickly realized that he never looked away from the food for too long.

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, taking advantage of his distracted state to observe him. Actually, observe would be the wrong word to use. You were blatantly staring at him, but you couldn’t help it. There was just something unbelievably comforting about seeing him move around the kitchen so confidently as he cooked. “I couldn’t fix it or do anything about it, so there wasn’t really any point in getting annoyed.”

“Oh? So I guess you won’t be needing the bottle of wine I bought you?”

Widening your eyes at his words, you let out an excited giggle as you hopped off the counter and practically skipped the few meters to the fridge and eagerly pulled out the wine with a wide grin.

Turning around to find two glasses, you missed the way Jins eyes had followed your happy steps with a fond smile and how he was now shaking his head with a soft chuckle, before he turned back to the stove.

Walking back to him, you carefully snuck your arms under his to give him an awkward backhug, holding both glasses in front of his chest to make sure you wouldn’t spill it.

“Thought so,” he hummed with a knowing smirk as he accepted one of the glasses and clinked it with yours, before you withdrew from the embrace taking your glass with you.

“How did you know I would like a glass of wine today?”, you asked, as you hopped back up to your vantage position now with your wine in hand.

“I didn’t really,” he shrugged with a cheeky smile, as he put the wine glass down on the opposite side of the stove. “But I figured it couldn’t hurt to have a bottle around.”

“Kim Seokjin,” you scolded with a laugh clinging to your words. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“From a shared bottle of wine?”, he snorted out in a laugh, as he sent you a sassy smirk. “I know you well enough to know, that it takes a lot more than that to get you drunk.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. the-mininum-of-shots-per-round-is-5,” you countered, as you raised a knowing eyebrow at him.

“There is no need to drag the eyebrow into this, missy,” he scolded, reaching up to tap his index finger against said eyebrow, causing both of you to break out in cackling laughs.

“So what did you do today?”, you inquired as you crossed your legs under you on the tabletop and took a sip of your wine.

“Not much. Went for a run, walked around town for a bit -” waited for you to come home – “nothing too wild,” he ended, sending you a small smile before turning off the stove and arranging the food on plates for you. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

“Uh, I was scrolling through insta on my break and found this recipe for a homemade facemask, I wanted to try,” you explain excitedly, while accepting the plate he offered you. “It’s like moisturizing and supposedly really good. I’m gonna try and make it after dinner and probably watch a series while it sits.”

“Mind if I join you?”, he asked, smiling at the way your face lit up in excitement.

“Sure, I can make like a big portion so there’s enough for both us,” you nodded as you dug into the food, already doubling up the quantities it would take to make enough for two facemasks in your head.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Jin chuckled anxiously, feeling his ears burn in embarrassment. “Why would I want to do a facemask? I just wanted to join you for the tv series.”  

Raising an eyebrow at his statement, you tilted your head as you calmly finished chewing the bite in your mouth, before answering him.

“Why wouldn’t you want to do a facemask? It’s simple skincare, Jin.”

“Isn’t it a bit girly to do facemasks?”, he snorted, only making you squint your eyes at him.

“It’s a facemask, Jin. How on earth do you find that girly? Skincare isn’t gendered.” You tone was teasing, but the ice behind your words was hard to miss. “Besides, we agreed that this house would be both sexless and genderless this week, so even if it was, your words has absolutely no weight here,” you spoke in a firm voice, popping another piece of food in your mouth as your calmly observed him. “Your sexist understanding of the world has no hold in this house, Jin.”  

Feeling your eyes piercing through his and hearing the firmness in your voice, left him feeling like a little boy after a scolding, and his ears burned as he thought about how incredibly stupid you must think him to be.

That was until he heard your giggling ringing through the room, making him snap his head back up to find your eyes sparkling and your face split in a breathtaking grin.

“I’m just toying with you, Jin,” you laughed, only feeling slightly guilty for the horrified expression on his face. “You are wrong though. Very much so. But this lamb is so delicious that I’m gonna let it slide,” you winked at him, as you took another bite. “And we’re both gonna do the facemasks later, because it will be good for us and I really want to do this with you.”

Turning back to your food, you missed the way Jins face scrunched up in irritation at your words.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbelievably bossy?”, Jin scoffed, as he tried to stop his heart from galloping away in panic at the mere thought of making you angry at him again.

“Of course,” you giggled with a mischievous grin. “Hobi says it’s one of my key characteristics.”

“Well, he would know,” he muttered under his breath, as he silently finished his dinner, only faintly aware of you talking about the annoying customers you had had that day.

Pushing his food around in his plate, he felt annoyance stir in his veins. This wasn’t the first time you had shot him down and sure, he had said some incredibly mean things to you at some of those instances, but enough was enough.

“Remember, when you told me that how you treat me depends on how I treat you?”, he asked, interrupting your story about the non-fat double chocolate girl and making you slightly flustered, as you simply nodded with wide eyes at his firm tone and stern eyes. “Well, I’ve been nothing but kind to you this week. Cooking for you, buying your favorite snacks and drinks. Hell, we only watch the movies you want to watch, because God forbid, we watch something without a female lead,” he mocked with an eye-roll, as he forcefully put his unfinished plate down on the counter with a loud clank, making you flinch in surprise. “And I can live with that. But you need to stop treating me like a child. You boss me around, you mock me and you make me feel like the most idiotic person on the planet. Yes, you might know more than me about certain things, but there are other ways of letting me know that, than rolling your eyes and belittling me! I need you to stop it!”

With each word his voice rose and by the end he was heaving for air and had his fists clenched by his side, as he all but glared at you.

Eyes still widened in surprise by his outburst, you found it impossible to break the intense eye contact between you, as you took in his clearly frustrated state.

“You’re right,” you spoke softly, as realization hit you. “I’m so used to being on the fence about people being assholes to me, and you used to be one of those people. But you’re right. You’re not anymore, so I shouldn’t have kept treating you like one. I’m sorry, Jin.”

Your apology was sincere and the second Jin heard it in your soft voice, the anger evaporated and left him feeling empty. Not even better, just empty.

“I- Yes, exactly!”, he rushed out, frantically trying to hang on to the anger, causing you to smile gently at him.

“You’re not used to people apologizing to you, are you?”, you asked him softly, as you slowly slid down from the counter and walked over to his side and gingerly wrapped your arms around him as if afraid of breaking him. “I’m sorry, I belittled you. I really am. And I promise, as long as you’re kind to me, I won’t be such an asshole to you. But please stop being mad at me. I don’t like seeing you upset,” you spoke against the fabric of his hoodie, turning your face slightly and pressing a kiss to the soft skin on his neck.

Hugging him in complete silence, you allowed him his time to calm down, and when you finally felt his arms snake around you, you squeezed him tighter for a moment, squinting your eyes shut in the process when you felt him shake slightly in your arms.

“I’m sorry, I yelled at you,” he mumbled against your hair, his voice slightly unstable as he kept his hold on you firm. He felt the tears pressing for reasons he didn’t understand, he definitely didn’t need you to see them.

“’s okay. At least you didn’t call me any names this time,” you joked against his chest in an attempt to lighten the mood, though shock shot through you, when you realized what you had just said.

Pulling back from the hug with eyes widened in regret of your own words, an apology ready on your lips, it was all forgotten the second your eyes fell on his tear-glazed eyes.

“Oh, Jinnie. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry,” you rushed out in concern, as you reached up to cup his cheek, only to have Jin swat your hand away and walk away from you as an incomprehensible sentence left his lips, leaving you to look after his figure in bewilderment as you saw him disappear into his room and close the door after him.

“Dammit,” you whispered to yourself, as you felt the ache in your heart at his tears. Shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as you contemplated what to do, you felt completely torn and aimless as you stood alone in the middle of the kitchen. “You really should just leave him alone,” you muttered to yourself as your feet slowly carried you towards his door. “You really shouldn’t meddle. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it,” you scolded yourself quietly, as you stopped in front of his door.

Raising your hand to knock, you let it hover over the wood for a second, before letting your hand fall back against your side and leaning your head against the door frame.

He didn’t want your help. That’s why he walked away. You knew this. You needed to respect his boundaries, you reminded yourself. He had just scolded you for treating him like a child, and here you were ready to barge into his room to console him, like some overprotective mother. Lifting your head from the doorframe, your gaze stayed locked on the door, as if trying to see through it and make sure Jin really was alright on the other side. As the sight of his tear-filled eyes popped into your mind again, it took everything in you to not barge through the door to get to him.

Forcefully pulling yourself back from his door, you steered yourself to the kitchen and quietly started cleaning up with a sigh.

Normally the process would be accompanied by music from Jin’s little red speaker sitting on the windowsill, but it felt disrespectful to play it without him, so you worked in silence, packing up the leftovers, washing both the dishes and pots and pans and wiping down the counters.

As you finished, all that was left was the half-empty wineglasses staring back at you from the otherwise empty counter. Glaring at them in annoyance, you let out a sigh of defeat as you picked them up and cleaned them up as well. Staring around the empty and clean kitchen, you felt fidgety and aimless.

“What now?”, you sighed to yourself, as you thought back to your original plan.

You were definitely not in the mood for facemasks or tv series. Throwing a look towards the hallway and Jin’s room, you felt your feet carry you towards him once more, and this time you made no attempt to stop yourself.

When your knocks sounded through the hallway, your heart leapt into your throat and for a second you contemplated just slipping into Hoseok’s room on the other side of the hall and acting like you were never there.

“What?”

His voice was gruff and definitely not inviting in any way, but you couldn’t help it. You needed to make sure he was okay.

“Can I come in?”, you asked hesitantly, hand already resting on the doorknob.

“Why?”

“I just want to make sure, you’re okay. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. I just want to be next to you. If you’ll let me.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, and when you finally heard his accepting grunt, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding, as you pushed open the door to Jin’s room.

The room was unlit and the light from the hallway threw long shadows on the opposite wall. You hadn’t been in there since that night, you realized as you closed the door behind you and carefully made your way across the room towards the bed, where Jin was lying on his back looking up at the ceiling.

Carefully taking a seat next to his figure, you were reminded of how he had been sprawled out on the bed sleeping the morning after when you had left the room. The memory left a faint smile on your lips, as you fiddled with your hands in your lap to keep yourself from reaching out for him.

Lifting your head to look at him, you found him already looking back at you. In the dark of the room, his eyes rested on your features and yours on his as you carried out a conversation though none of you uttered a single word.

I can’t talk about. I don’t even know why. I’m sorry, his eyes pleaded, making your heart soften.

You don’t have to, yours reassured him, as your hand fell into his giving it a comforting squeeze.

Lie with me?, he asked, as he gave your hand a barely existing tug, making you smile gently as you nodded and curled up next to him on the bed.

Feeling his arms settle around you and hearing the distraught sigh of contentment leaving his lips as he pulled you closer, strung your heartstrings even tighter than they had already been, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

Goddammit, Y/n! What the hell is wrong with you, you scolded yourself mentally. Don’t tell me this is all it takes for you? You see him cry once and suddenly you’re back in his bed again?

Trying to distract yourself from your own head, you focused your energy on softly tracing patterns on Jin’s shirt, very careful not to get too close to his pants, as you were suddenly awkwardly aware of what had happened last time you were here.

This is ridiculous, you thought with an eye-roll.

You cuddled with all the others all the time. This was no different, you reminded yourself as you walked yourself through all the times you had cuddled with the others. Hell, Jungkook had even cupped your ass in his sleep once, and there was absolutely no awkwardness between the two of you.

And just as you had succeeded in calming down your mind, you heard a soft snore coming from the man next you. Lifting your head to look at his face, you found his features smoothed out in his sleep. Smiling at his peaceful state, you decided that leaving him to get some rest would probably be for the best, but as you tried to free yourself from his grasp, he stirred slightly in his sleep rolling onto his side and tightening his hold on you.

“Stay with me, flower” he whispered into the darkness, and though you had no idea if he was still sleeping or awake, you felt no need to argue with him, settling deeper against him and closing your own eyes.

// Part xi //

[bellarxse]

for the ship questions: Riona/Mason and Kit/Farah, please! <3 #7 (general), #1 (domestic life) and #11 (love)

Under the cut for length <3

Riona/Mason

Who takes the lead in social situations? Riona, all the time. Although, sometimes if it’s someone like the Mayor, or someone (usually a man) who doesn’t accept that Riona’s competent (because she presents in a very feminine way), Mason’s brusque manner can be very useful…

If they get married, who proposes? Listen, this is kind of involved for what is, in effect, quite a simple answer: it’s Mason. Mostly because Riona has been burned so many times looking for something more in what Mason says or does that she very aggressively focuses on the “now”, and doesn’t respond to hints unless he’s very explicit. One of her most common pastimes is that she will buy interior design magazines or “Good Housekeeping” magazines and flick through the aesthetics. So Mason, because he isn’t sure how to start having the conversation…buys wedding aesthetic magazines and lays them around the apartment like bait. And she notices, yeah, but…maybe they were just out of the normal magazines? It would be beyond embarrassing if she read too much into it, right? Right? So she doesn’t say anything, and it gets to the stage where he’ll blurt it out at some point because the pressure has built (without her knowing) for weeks. And then she starts crying and he gets anxious (“Nat said she’d be happy, why is she CRYING—“) until she kisses him. And then he gives her one of his cords as a placeholder, but then she keeps it and wears it all the time (though usually under her clothes, because she’s just as committed to her aesthetic as he is to his).

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise? I’m really bad at song stuff for pairings, but I listened to Hell Yeah by Rev Theory on a loop when I was writing born in love produced by fear so…yeah

Kit/Farah

Who takes the lead in social situations? In casual settings, Farah – Kit doesn’t really see the point in small-talk, and they usually try to keep themself to themself (they get a little anxious at the idea that other people might know too much about them). In professional settings though (like maybe :eyes: the ball we’ve been promised :eyes:), I think Kit would feel more confident because the roles are defined?

If they get married, who proposes? Kit, although Farah is probably vocally for it for a good while beforehand. I think Kit would try and propose quite quietly – an intimate setting, just the two of them. I kind of think for them that they’d get a bit “scary quiet” just before doing it, as they’re taking Farah to the perfect place they’ve picked out where they’ve calculated that at 10:32 exactly the moon will be as big and beautiful as Farah’s eyes. But then when Kit starts talking (and they can’t quite get the words out quickly enough, there’s a lump in their throat), Farah starts to get anxious because Kit’s been so quiet all day? Is this it? Are they going to break up with her? So when Farah starts crying, it’s as much about relief as anything else – Kit still wants her just as much as she wants them, and that hasn’t changed.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

I Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany – there’s a teen pop vibe I like generally for an F route, but Kit really needs to be on their own with Farah to not feel under pressure and to shine the way they can.

[psalloacappella]

Sirens - Ch 4

Title: Sirens Pairing: SasuSaku obv Chapter:  IV / Ao3 | FF Additional Details: AU verse; Sakura isn’t here to be saved, but she also has a lot of secrets; Sasuke has daddy issues; always hot mess express

.

.

“I assumed you would be picking me up from a station one day,” he says. Hates himself for the heat in his face that seems to crop up only in conversation with her.

With a wry smile, she responds, “So we’re both very lucky little delinquents.”

.

.

On the 28th day after they’ve met, she calls him from a police station.

On an unassuming Friday evening in which the bar is quite busy and all three of them are running ragged — well, Shikamaru is in the back office plodding through routine tasks even though Sasuke bestows his signature, smoldering, get your smoking lazy ass in the front look, pointed and serious, which does nothing to ward off the women lingering and coiling like clingy plant tendrils, hoping for a second of his time. By mere virtue of his pretty face, he’s left to the night wolves.

Naruto, sidetracked and distracted from bartending by a loquacious brunette with hair in two buns and blunt-cut bangs, hears it first.

Completing her drink full of gin as sharp as the flashy knives she’s rolled in with, he places an orange peel in it with a flourish and gives her a nervous, dangling half-smile. Cute, but her hobby is definitely one for someone more adventurous and decidedly not for him. Still, her grin suggests a gentler side and as he slides the cocktail to her, he reflects perhaps it’s something he can overlook.

“Thanks,” she says. “And keep it open; my friends and I just arrived.”

“No problem,” he responds, preparing to move on to the next.

“Ah, one thing . . .” Her eyes, a color in between hazy shades of silver and hazel, beckon him closer. Naruto inclines his head and leans in to hear her against the noise.

“I have to ask, who is he?”

Nods her chin at Sasuke, who hands off the next drink with the most minute, fleeting smile he can bestow, more of a movement of the head than any actual friendliness. There’s always an easy grace about him and frankly, paired with his looks, it’s infuriating to Naruto how a person can be given such tall, dark, and handsome sexuality and miserably fail to wield it.

A quiet chuckle, and he whispers, “A bastard, honestly.”

Interpreting it as a joke, she giggles.

“Seriously, he’s just complicated. You’re welcome to try, though.”

Lifting the cocktail and pinning a napkin to the perspiring glass with her fingernails, she winks and disappears into the crowd.

Naruto then hears what he thought he had before but shook off as his imagination — the ringing of a phone sounding not like the stock default tone of a mobile but the staid ring of importance, belonging to a lawyer’s desk or doctor’s office. Not the one in his pocket, but the one on the wall that hardly ever makes a sound and overall, hasn’t been used in any useful capacity since a month ago.

It rings longer than it should; he wonders if they have voicemail. That’s definitely a Sasuke question. He’s drawn to the unusual event and though he’s unable to put a finger on it, there’s an air of happenstance and fate. Put that way, it sounds like he’s crazy or clairvoyant.

Frowning, he puts up a finger to the next patron crowding the bar and says, “Be right with ya.”

Sasuke of course hears it too, though he’s currently drowning in a deluge of women who likely already have drinks in their hands but are eager to talk to him longer than necessary. If the bland expressions of disinterest, slivers between each interaction, aren’t enough indication, perhaps the kind but firm manner in which he ignores the flirting and lingering touches as they connect to exchange liquor and money is; the inquiries glossed with a breezy veneer but trying to gain a foothold on what he considers inappropriate topics and details. Glaring at Naruto over his shoulder, who’s treating this unanticipated phone call with more solemnity than he’s ever offered anything else in his life, he savagely wishes he had picked it up instead if only to get away.

They meet one another’s eyes. He’s known him long enough that it betrays its importance.

Extricating himself from a woman with blue hair and a sparkling silver chin labret, he leans in close and waits for details. Naruto covers the receiver and says, “It’s her. Your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my—”

“Maybe go to the office. Sounds important.”

A sensation in his gut, dripping dread. “Transfer it,” he says impatiently.

“Ah, I don’t think I— oh!” Naruto puts the phone back to his ear, listening to Sakura speak. Realizing it’s upside-down, he fumbles it. Nodding, he says, “Sure, he’s here. Jus’ let me . . .”

Jabbing a button on it, triumphant, he’s energetic and proud like a puppy as he slaps the phone back onto the wall with gusto. Grins.

A beat. Another.

“You fucking idiot,” he snaps, yanking it back off the wall. Pointing at the correct button, Sasuke’s eyes dance with what looks like the casual threat of homicide. Slams it back so hard his friend flinches. “If you hang up on her again—”

The ring echoes in stark contrast to his fury, and he snatches it up as Naruto opens his mouth. “Yes?”

“Not how your mom taught you to answer a phone,” Naruto whispers, shaking his head. Pivoting to show him an irritated shoulder, it’s the closest equivalent to a fuck off that Sasuke can give in full view of the bar. He strains to hear her over the din.

And then, there she is sounding so close. Echoes of the way her whispers curl and settle in his ear when she slips out of his bed, reverberating in the silent days that follow when she disappears on a schedule all her own, known only to one. Twenty-eight days can caricature a lifetime, a narrative he can clearly see in his mind’s eye, even if she’s weaving in and out of his life and their reality for most of it. It doesn’t bother him so much as long as she returns.

The strain of her lovely voice is noticeable, tensed twine. The way people speak in crowded rooms on terse topics and desperately carve a bubble of personal space for private, intimate words.

“I’m always speaking to you in unconventional ways. Always odd and in the dead of night.” Humor painted over the tightness of her vocal cords and wavering at the end, the tremolo of an instrument approaching repose.

“Are you all right?” Sasuke brings the receiver closer. No sounds from others on her end, just a gloomy quiet and possibly shuffling paper.

“Sure,” she says, laughing a little. A nervous skittering. “I always end up in police stations on my off nights.”

The beat that follows skips, stalls, as if there’s a space ballooning between each begging to be filled.

“Which one? I’m coming.”

“Sasuke—”

“Are you hurt?” The way he asks this is a gentleness defying his usual prickliness, so soft. Enough that Naruto glances at him over his shoulder as he manages the throng, piqued by the whispers.

“No! No, not really. I’m not sure what’s going on. They brought me here and I was sure I’d be arrested—”

“Sakura—”

“—but I don’t think so. No handcuffs, no fingerprinting. But this officer’s definitely not sure what to do with me.”

“Don’t talk to them. Just wait.”

Before she can protest, he hangs up abruptly. To Naruto: “I have to go. She needs help.”

“Is she okay?” Naruto sends another customer off, trying to hide his worried eyes. A mark of the short catalysts required for the fascinating chemistry of bonding, of friendship. She becomes a fixture for two wandering men with the inevitably and grace of astronomic orbits crossing paths.

“Police station,” he mutters.

Sasuke heads for the back office, not seeing Naruto’s eyes wilt even more as he goes.

Whipping open the door, he ignores the fact that Shikamaru was absolutely asleep a moment before all over a scattering of ledgers and rouses him with his classic abrasion. “Get out front. I need to handle something.” To drive home the point, pulls his jacket off the hook and swings it on quickly.

“Ah, right,” Shikamaru rasps, rubbing the indented depressions and ink off his face. “Emergency?”

“Sort of,” Sasuke mumbles. Reaches into his jacket pocket and casts about, in his mind, on who he can ask to dig into a situation that hasn’t yet yielded an arrest.

He always knows someone, though. The curse of the name.

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

Sasuke surveys him from the threshold, already aiming to leave. He wonders what he must look like when he thinks of her, when she’s in a room and has her beautiful hands on him, because the expression Shikamaru’s giving him is inscrutable and poignant all in one. She has the uncanny ability to splay his heart as a cadaver, pinned and primed for inspection. And it always feels that everyone understands something beyond him.

“Go,” Shikamaru says. “We’re here too, if you need us.”

He nods in response, and doesn’t bother with the zipper as he jogs down the hall to swing open the back door and depart into the night.

.

.

.

A well-placed phone call later, he’s at the police station front desk in an unfamiliar trendy neighborhood, asking after a girl with pink hair whose last name he doesn’t have.

“Pink, you said?” An austere expression creeps into the desk manager’s brows, sinks into her jowls; sharpness in her eyes. Clearly regarding him, and this, as ludicrous.

“Probably fake,” he volunteers. “She was brought in a couple hours ago.”

“‘Probably fake,’” the woman echoes, setting down her pen.

Anxiety flits about in his chest, a moth stuck in a dangerous, fated tryst with lamplight.

A door opens to the right of the front desk and an officer leans over the threshold. Serious and composed in contrast, badges gleaming. “Uchiha Sasuke?”

“Yes.” It’s a reflex, something about the way he speaks reminding him of another imposing, authoritarian presence that still lingers at the edge of his nightmares. Never quite sure if he’s relieved or regretful that he’s gone. Growing up, everything was suffused with it, the power and the name.

“She’s back here. Oh, he’s with me, no need for that,” he says to the woman. Waves a hand, blithe, sweeping away the very notion of procedure.

Sasuke follows him down a hallway expecting to be taken to holding cells, and the creeping familiar feeling settles into his shoulders. Instead, the officer sighs, yawns. They stop outside of a closed office door.

“Listen, this Sakura, your girlfriend? She’s fine. I’m apt to believe what happened, but the scene got — well, it was disorderly, let’s say that. We talked a little and the little lady she was defending is with her, too. Once she mentioned your name, well,” and here he puts what’s intended as a fatherly hand on Sasuke’s shoulder, who glances at it surreptitiously, “I knew and respected your father. Head of your family, very helpful to us over the years.”

Unable to express the fleeting, frenzied analysis that takes place as he’s speaking, the myriad implications, defending someone, little lady, girlfriend, my father, helpful, and the swift undercurrent of distaste at the remembrance of his family name, how his father was a pillar rather than any sort of parent or individual, and how reputation always came first:  Sasuke nods a few times and swallows everything he wants to say, instead responding, “I . . . appreciate this.”

Nodding once, satisfied presumably at staying in a dead man’s good graces by way of assisting his son, he smiles broadly. Such a contrast to the way his father ever did, who perpetually seemed sour. Still, many men can commandeer space whether with a jovial smile or the most straightforward intimidation.

They both startle as the door clicks open:  Sakura in the left chair and a woman with long, luscious dark hair on the right. They exist as another illustration of contrasts — hair colors on opposite sides of spectrums saturating the drab, taupe-beige space, one’s eyes green and sharp and the other’s, soft and mottled, cream.

There’s a spark of recognition when he glances at the unknown girl, a feminine personage and assumed offspring of a family he’s met before, perhaps as a child. Now though, nothing resonates. Instead he watches Sakura, who tucks a strand of pink hair behind her ear and meets his eyes, lips tugging into a smile despite the circumstances.

Does she know she could get away with anything with a face like that? Sasuke’s heart skips uncomfortably, the sensation of missing a step in some stairs.

When she sits up from the chair and sways, it’s the other woman who catches her first. By the forearm, and with a butterfly-delicate touch.

“Hah, I forgot,” Sakura mutters, more to herself than them. With a weak grin at her companion, she explains, “My ankle.”

“What happened to you?” Sasuke asks. Frowning, he passes the pad of his thumb across her cheek to sweep away what he assumes is cosmetic. It smears and fades but stubbornly stays.

And he knows that color more than he’s ever wanted to.

Sakura winces. “You should see the other guy.”

“I can explain,” the officer offers. Taking a seat behind his desk with another dismal yawn, Sasuke stands behind Sakura’s chair. Heat dashes across the back of his neck in irritation, confusion; she uses his arm as leverage to lower herself into the chair, intensifying the cloying atmosphere. The other woman keeps her head down, bowed. A familiar gesture.

“The ladies here were at a popular lounge downtown, separately. From their statements, they arrived at different times and did not know one another before tonight.” Pausing, his eyes sweep between the two, offering space for contradiction or comment. He continues. “Neither were unreasonably intoxicated. Over the course of the night, miss Hyuuga here,” and that name sparks something in Sasuke’s mind, neurons seeking details, “was dealing with the unwanted attentions of an intoxicated young man. At some point, miss . . . oh, the ink is smudged. Sakura, here, approached her,” here he flips an upturned palm to indicate her —

“Hinata,” she says quietly, inclining her head to Sasuke.

“— concerned for her well-being around this man. He apparently had friends as well, and the situation escalated to alleged harassment. Heated words were exchanged, bystanders becoming involved, and unfortunately it progressed to this man grabbing miss Hyuuga, and, well—”

“He received a face full of gimlet,” Sakura interrupts, folding her arms. “And then my fist.”

“You punched him?” Sharp, inquiring, but bewildered.

“No, with a palm to the nose. I didn’t want a broken hand.”

Sasuke’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The officer winces and glances at Sasuke, under the assumption perhaps that he’s already aware of her tart retorts and lives lovingly with them.

There’s a pause, and Hinata yearns to fill the gap. “If she hadn’t been there to intervene, I don’t know how it would have gone. I truly, really appreciate what she did, even if it was, ah, unorthodox?” She smiles at Sakura, then the officer, and finally Sasuke. “Her form is quite good,” she adds, blushing furiously.

“Look, I don’t think we’re in the business of charging anyone tonight.” The officer has both palms up now in a show of calm.

“I asked you before, I’m not sure why you’re just letting me go,” Sakura says, sounding accusing. Folds her arms across her chest. “I understand why I’m here. I don’t know if that’s right, for nothing to be written up.”

“There’s much to be said for defense.” The tiniest air of condescending patience, a parent refusing to elaborate for a child. Redirecting his attention, he says to Hinata, “Your father will be here soon.”

The way Hinata bows her head again, bent as grass in the wind as if ready to bear difficulty, resonates with Sasuke deeply. A father whose existence was imposing and a relationship fraught with the inability to measure up.

Sakura pulls her phone out of her shimmering shirt with two fingers, plucking it from the magical ether with a certain polite grace in front of the men, and hands it to the woman next to her. Blushing, Hinata fumbles with the latch on a small clutch in her haste to exchange numbers.

Upon finishing, Sakura asks if there’s anything for her to sign.

“No no,” he says, again with that wave. A brushing away of rules and regulations by the mere implication of his authority. “Let your boyfriend take you home, rest that ankle.”

Pink eyebrows could brush the ceiling with how high they rise; Hinata steals a glance but doesn’t make a sound. As if relenting to the chain of events, the circumstances weaving far from the controlled loom of her own hands, Sakura’s shoulders sag and accepting Sasuke’s arm plays out as the next movement in a piece of music, an obvious outcome.

They stand apart on the sidewalk:  Him in all black from the work he hastily left, her in a shimmering shirt, barefoot, sandals in her hand. The bruised knot on her ankle matches the navy of her skirt. For a few moments, they don’t speak.

She doesn’t cry, doesn’t unravel, simply stands on the chilled sidewalk and idly swings her fingers with the sandal straps woven in them in time to an unheard rhythm. Noticing her shivering, his coat becomes hers once more, draped over her shoulders and covering the spatters of red and an abundance of glitter inherited from the lounge that will take days to erase, months to lose in the fibers of his carpet.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says softly. “Got me off the hook.”

“I didn’t.”

A noise of disbelief, settling in the throat. Constrained.

“He said he knew and respected my father. That happens often.”

Musing on this, she turns and raises her eyes to his. “It must be interesting, to have people grant that to you wherever you go.”

She’s quite short without her shoes. Wilting and exhausted, withdrawing in a way that could leave her as mere wisps as clouds on a cold night.. Even in this tension and the aftermath of another surreal chapter in a chaotic narrative, the urge to sweep glitter off her cheeks and lift her, carrying her off to another planet, is strong and vivid.

“I assumed you would be picking me up from a station one day,” he says. Hates himself for the heat in his face that seems to crop up only in conversation with her.

With a wry smile, she responds, “So we’re both very lucky little delinquents.”

But her face falls, humor dissipating. When she falls against him, only then do her fears take shape between them. “This is why I leave.” Arms around him and fingers in the fabric of his shirt to stay upright. “Because strange things always happen and it always feels like I can’t stop any of it. Like fate.”

Taking on her weight, his fingers find strands of her hair dancing aloft from the wind; they slip through like silk. When he speaks, it’s a quiet murmur. “Sounds like that girl needed your help.”

“Both of them made it sound much more noble than it was.”

Untangling from him, she passes the back of her hand over her eyes, green and glimmering even in the wan, washed out glow of streetlights. Continues, letting weight off her bruised ankle. “The truth is, I was dancing and tipsy and full of false bravado, and spoiling for a fight. He just happened to trip into my orbit, stupidly bothering someone in front of me. The perfect storm of circumstances.”

Following the movements of her lips, an ache radiating in his chest; how can she tell him not to fall in love with her?

“Isn’t that everything?”

His words seem to take the wind out of her sails. Breath stolen, strength gone. She concedes his point with a small smile and nothing more.

Wincing as she readjusts her weight, he’s about to tell her he’ll find a car when she steps forward to the curb, albeit wobbly, and firmly thrusts an arm out, reaching into the blank night. Leaving him always wondering on her earthly origins as she summons one from the dead street with the enchantment of nothing other than her will.

They fall in against the seats, drunk on nothing but novelty.

As she pulls him close by his lapels and dips her tongue into his mouth

— skin humming and warm, as if she’s still moving and undulating underneath hot lounge lights; music in her bones, the echoes of beats hours before; a tang of tartness and botanics, the tastes on her lips that she shares with his; the sharp inhale that tumbles out when she pulls away and nips his bottom lip —

he’s apt to wonder which cabs they haven’t kissed in yet.

.

.

.

Damp locks fanned beneath her head, pink waves splayed wide as if dropped from above with the luck to land and lie tenderly in a field, cradled by earth. But it’s just her on the couch, chin crushed to her chest and face partially obscured, half of it pressed into the cushion as if burrowing for sleep.

“So I know I’ve asked you for enough already.”

It’s a tentative beginning, leaving a question unasked. Sasuke moves his thumb in light and repetitive movements against her ankle, skimming the fabric of the wrapping. She opens one jade eye, brilliant even in the twilight. He makes some noise of assent, and she continues.

“I have this work event,” she says. “It’s stupid, really, but I think it’s somewhat of a formal thing. I tried to get out of it, I did, but one evening the owner of the company — the actual company, not the manager of our subsidiary media branch or whatever — was around listening to my show and he spoke to me afterward.” She frowns, the expression of a sour conversation in her mind. “Anyway, he strongly implied it was an event that you wear something nice, and bring someone with. All above my usual social standing.

She pauses to blow a strand of hair from her face, then looks askance, eyes concentrating hard on the cushion.

“I need someone who’s good at these things. Navigating events like this, all those important people with wealth and to know what they’re actually saying, not just what comes out of their mouths.”

Her meaning is plain: Who better than you?

Not speaking just yet, he instead places a hand on her thigh; hours later her skin still hums, pliant and warm and dashed with glitter missed from her wash.

She shifts beneath his touch, nudging his fingers in an unconscious request. Staring at him fully with open eyes which survey each atom of his face in incisive and keen patterns, memorizing. The sensation, again, of the precipice and the twinge in his stomach and swift wind in his ears, obscuring hearing, drowning out any rational thought. Testing the notion, his hand skims the hem of her skirt; the tug of her lips which stifles a sharp inhale isn’t enough to go on, but the way her eyes brighten as he maneuvers her body easily, considerately, and he’s feeling like the desired target at the barrel end of a poised rifle —

she, eager and him, obsessed.

She trembles like aftershocks — hips caged in by his arms and his handsome chin so close and the fleeting thought of yanking him by his beautiful dark hair and making a mess of that gorgeous face is only to be postponed for another thirty seconds, maybe.

“So,” she exhales, “Will you be my date?”

He responds simply, “Yes.”

An amused smile on her face, eyes alight. “Sometimes, you’re a man of few words.”

Shifting again, her hips sinking into a softer dip in the cushion with a little satisfied sigh. Prompting him to continue the charged venture between her thighs, where his fingers from before are replaced by his lips and the catch of air in her throat is enough to rouse him. Vulnerable things, stupid things, rise to his lips and he swallows them whole, and she senses them; he’s defenseless enough to cough them into her waiting, shaking hands. Instead he whispers against the hot skin of her thigh:

“Do you trust me?”

Sakura reflects it’s a trite question to ask, much less to answer, with him between her legs. Fingers plucking at the edge of her skirt, she says, “Yes.”

And the rest is a whisper lost in her gasp, because despite her caution she’s a failure at any rational thought like this, so dizzy and losing the concept of what’s real and what’s bliss, and it’s possible it was never voiced at all.

But only just.

.

.

.

Bringing him to life with her soft hands on each side of his face and the fruity scent of her shampoo, she whispers, “I’m starving.”

On the floor, both sprawled out on his luxuriant living room rug, verdant like lush jungle and comfortable enough to serve as the night’s chaise. Neither’s slept for much time, the sun’s aurora crowning the horizon with a prophetic red crescent. Again, waking up next to her has the unmooring sensation of devastation and they’re scattered as debris.

They pull the previous night together in languid movements:  Refolding blankets, resetting pillows. Quick face rinses. She limps around on her own despite his quiet protests, intent on breakfast — food this time.

“I’m okay,” she laughs, running her hands over counters and underneath couch cushions. Likely her phone.

Sasuke finds it facedown on the floor, and flips it over. Immediately it lights up and reveals messages upon messages, and as another comes in they flash again, regroup as they hit a limit. Blinding in the dark. All of them from the same number, unsaved, tender and worried and beseeching in a way that doesn’t strike him as a lover and his heart rate falls but the way Naruto has messaged him after disappearing without preamble in a seedy bar or out a back alley, intent on a scuffle with someone to make him feel alive. A best friend who’s rescued another one from numerous poor decisions and choices when they’re feeling low like a layer beneath dirt.

The sound of her nails clicking against the case and scraping his skin startles him as it’s snatched from his hands; it’s a rough motion, jarring. Eyes jejune and dismayed. Emotional whiplash from the previous second as she swallows hard and clutches it to her chest and a sense of an animal cornered.

“Don’t,” she hisses.

“Sakura—”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Are you all right?”

Sliding it into her pocket, she pivots away; he takes her forearm and she shakes him off with the same ferocity with which she usually pulls him close. “Fine.”

“Would you be honest if you weren’t?”

Lips twitching, a response he can see her holding in. Instead, she swings her purse onto her shoulder in a wide arc that keeps him at arm’s length and makes an attempt to limp out the door with her chin high. She’s moving too fast on that sprain and he knows that she knows, pre-med and all, (and from the way she’s discussed it, close to finishing.)

He heads out the front door after her, snatching up his jacket and keys as he goes.

Frustration mounts as she punches the door close button with a loud smack so he has to take the next one. Head spinning at the shift in it all and the horrible weariness that surfaced in her eyes; and everyone has something like that, the trigger to the shutdown and a signal to bar the doors. Taps his foot impatiently at the elevator ride that seems to last for years.

Lobby, out the doors. She’s crossing the street against the lights, and he calls after her.

“Sakura!”

“Leave me alone!”

Bewildered, he plunges forward into the crosswalk—

The screech and hiss and smell of overworked brake pads; at the loud thumping sound Sakura pivots with a small scream mingling with cursing and raised voices—

Sasuke waves the driver’s screaming and his near-fatal experience away with the same annoyance of flicking away an insect, and it seems to bring him to an aggressive and lethal sort of calm. Something in his shoulders and jaw that lifts him, comprises control. And now she’s loath to move, feeling rooted to the spot by his glimmering dark eyes and the aberrant brush with catastrophe that intertwines their souls delicate as lace. Thinking perhaps he can survive even me, knowing as he advances that she could fall into his arms and he would break bones and move the world to remain in her space; he would lay it all at her feet.

Raises a hand to him, reaching as he safely makes it onto the sidewalk—

A thin arm causes her to pull up short, a horizontal barrier swung firmly into her path. Stumbling a little, she follows the long blonde hair with her eyes and drinks in the stance of this woman with her back to her.

Something breaks, a ballpoint hammer to a vulnerable crack in her decrepit heart.

“You better back off!” A voice Sakura knows in every fiber of her being, rattling her bones. Sasuke stops in his tracks at the sight of this blonde woman in his path, and shows his palms in conciliation and confusion.

With a toss of her hair, the woman turns to Sakura and holds her at arm’s length like she’s sprung from the grave, reborn and she’s unable to believe it. Fingering her long hair and her eyes so blue, ocean and skies, beg for recognition. “It’s me. It’s Ino!”

Mouth falling open, Ino takes her lack of response as shock and shakes her head in a rapid motion, back and forth. “Shit, Sakura. I’ve been looking — I found you.” Laughs in a light trailing way, stunned. Voice revealing a lightheadedness, a lovely giddiness.

Without warning she tackles her in a violent hug, the vehement and frenzied embrace of someone whose whole of her soul was lost and then found. Fingers clutching at hair and fabric and then Sakura obliges, relents and their behavior’s the same, scrabbling and wavering voices.

Sasuke watches as Sakura lets her chin rest, heavy and weary, on Ino’s shoulder. The reunification of two who have traveled on significant roads alongside one another, the mortar and brick of what he recognizes as found family.

Tears cutting salty paths down Sakura’s cheeks as Ino says again,

“I found you.”

[sapphosclown]

Treat You Better - Tyrus AU

Cyrus finds himself stuck in a toxic relationship and TJ knows that if given the chance, he could treat Cyrus so much better.

this is inspired by an edit i saw on yt and it’s kind of a fun fic idea so here i am. I haven’t written a multi part fic before but honestly i’m so inspired by this idea so i really hope you like and want a second part, but i’ll probably do a second part anyway. so yeah, enjoy this vv angsty part 1

tw: toxic relationship

-

-

“Okay, I’ll see you after class.”

Cyrus looked his boyfriend in the eyes and let out a small sigh. “Okay.” Exhaustion tainted his voice, but Dylan was none the wiser.

“Okay.” He smiled before kissing Cyrus on the cheek and then walking off to his next class.

Cyrus watched him walk down the hall, his chest feeling heavy. He walked into the classroom and took his usual seat by Andi and Buffy. They were already chatting animatedly as he sat down, so in an attempt to keep the mood light he pushed back the ache in his chest and forced a smile onto his face as he watched his friends gossip about some other boy drama Andi was having. Although, Cyrus couldn’t seem to hear their words. All he could think about was Dylan. He truly cared about him, so why did it feel like someone swung a baseball bat at his heart every time they had a conversation?

“Earth to Cyrus?” Buffy was waving a hand in front of Cyrus’s face, making him realize he must have failed at looking unbothered. However, he put on another plastic smile, hoping to avoid the topic as long as possible.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He tried to sound nonchalant but it came out exhausted.

Andi and Buffy exchanged worried glances. “Cyrus, what’s going on?” Andi asked.

“Yeah, you haven’t been your usual self lately. We’re getting kind of worried.” Buffy added.

Cyrus sighed. “I don’t know. I guess things with Dylan have been kind of weird. I still really care about him but it’s like, every moment we spend together the farther apart we seem to drift.”

“Why don’t you break up with him then? You’re clearly unhappy.” Andi said, the worry on her face only making Cyrus’s gut twist more.

“I-” Cyrus began to speak but was cut off by the sound of their teachers voice. Relief began to flood his body, that is until Buffy leaned over to him and whispered, “This conversation is not over.” Oh well. For the next 45 minutes all he had to do was focus on conjugating verbs and he couldn’t be more thankful for the distraction.

Alas, the bell rang signifying the end of class. As they put away their papers, a vaguely familiar voice greeted them. Well, one of them.

“Aye, Driscoll!”

The three of them turned only to be greeted by Marty, Jonah and another kid Cyrus didn’t know walking up to their table.

“Sup Marty.” Buffy greeted before turning to the kid Cyrus didn’t know and giving him high five. Andi and Jonah started talking amongst themselves as well and Cyrus looked back down at the table and picked up his pace. Dylan was gonna be there any minute and he really didn’t want to get in a fight with him, so it was best he didn’t stay longer than he had to. He had just finished putting all his stuff away and was about to walk to the door but then-

“Hey.”

Cyrus inhaled. So close. He turned around and was face to face with the guy he didn’t know. He had dirty blonde hair that was styled up with what was probably considered too much hair gel, but for some reason, Cyrus found it endearing. He was wearing a hoodie with some ripped jeans and he was currently smiling at Cyrus, causing his eyes to crinkle ever so slightly. His eyes. They were light green, packed with vibrance and yet were perfectly calm as well. They weren’t so much an emerald color, but more of a grassy meadow on a nice summer day. They perfectly complimented the pale freckles he had running across the bridge of his nose that you could only really notice if you were paying close attention. But Cyrus wasn’t paying close attention, so he really didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast.

“Hi, I’d um- I’d love to chat but I- um- I really gotta- go.” Cyrus was picking at the corner of the notebook he was holding, a nervous habit he had picked up a few months ago. He turned around and began walking to the door but was once again stopped.

“Wait,”

God what does this kid want?

“Can I at least get your name?”

“Cyrus.” His attempt at holding back an aggressive sigh caused his response to come out strangled, but the blonde boys expression softened anyway.

“Cyrus.” He repeated, no longer looking at him. “I like that name.”

Cyrus simply nodded and then turned back to the doorway, finally able to leave. But of course, just his luck that Dylan was standing right there. He saw the whole thing. But it wasn’t even a thing really, so he doesn’t need to panic.

Don’t panic.

“Hey!” He greeted his boyfriend innocently. Because he was innocent. He didn’t do anything.

“Who the hell was that?” Dylan wasn’t looking at him, but rather still into the classroom where the kid was now talking to Buffy and Marty.

“I don’t know, he was just asking for the time.” Cyrus said casually. Please let it go.

Dylan continued to stare down the guy for a moment longer before turning to Cyrus.

“...Okay. Just, don’t talk to him again.” He said eventually.

Thank god. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Cyrus smiled.

But Dylan’s face remained hard. “Good.”

He took Cyrus’s hand and squeezed it, a little too hard causing Cyrus to wince, and then proceeded to guide them down the hall. For whatever reason, Cyrus felt his head swivel back towards the classroom. And there were those green eyes, staring right into his brown ones.

***

“Cy he’s not good for you! Look, you’ve barely touched your taters at all.” Buffy was never good at controlling her tone when she was irritated, which she seemed to be a lot with Cyrus recently. He just kept staring at his hands but he could feel the hard stare Buffy was giving him. He didn’t want to see her face.

“Dylan and I are going out later, he doesn’t like when I eat before hand.” Cyrus said, his voice small.

“Cyrus, look at me.” Buffy demanded, and Cyrus complied. He slowly raised his head and saw his two best friends staring at him. Andi’s face riddled with worry, Buffy’s hard and cold, but her eyes were begging. Exactly why he didn’t want to look at them.

“You don’t have to live like this. Why can’t you break up with him?” Her voice was soft, but steady.

And suddenly Cyrus was really irritated. He hated the way they were looking at him. He hated the way everyone had control over him. He hated that he had no control over himself. And he wanted to yell, he wanted to scream so loud that his vocal cords bled. But right now his eyes were welling with tears, and the last thing he wanted to do was cry. Not in front of them at least. Dylan said other people don’t need to know he’s upset, he said “it’s a personal issue”. So Cyrus stood up and threw some cash on the table before he ran out the door.

He didn’t stop running until he reached the park. It was rather cloudy outside so it was also colder than it usually was this time of year. It’s early november and the leaves have well turned bright oranges and reds and yellows. They’re colors looked photoshopped in contrast to the dreary atmosphere. The park was empty, probably due to the fact that it could start raining at any second, but Cyrus didn’t care. He didn’t want to be locked up in his room. He needed the space to think and if that meant getting rained on, so be it.

He walked over to the swings and sat down. He knew Andi and Buffy were right. He was unhappy. He really didn’t enjoy being around Dylan at all. But he couldn’t break up with him. “Why” they asked him, and the question scared him. “Why?” Why? What was he so afraid of?

Maybe he was on the verge of a break through, but he wouldn’t know because suddenly there was someone else with him.

“Hey, Cyrus, right?” The voice should have been unrecognizable, but Cyrus knew who it was immediately. Why did he know who it was?

He turned his head and just as he expected, there were those green eyes staring right at him.

“In the flesh.” Cyrus said, attempting to conceal his sorrows with a light tone.

“I didn’t get to properly introduce myself earlier. I’m TJ.” The blonde boy stuck out his hand for Cyrus to shake. Dylan wouldn’t like that Cyrus knew his name now.

“Pleasure.” Cyrus took his hand and gave it a quick shake. It barely lasted a second, so why did it feel like electricity was coursing through his body?

“Do you mind if I sit?” TJ asked. Cyrus knew he should get up and leave, this whole situation was begging for a fight to start up with him and Dylan. But his hands were gesturing towards the empty swing next to him and he didn’t have it in himself to stop them.

“What brings you here?” TJ asked.

“Just clearing my mind I guess.” Cyrus answered. There was a voice in the back of his mind screaming at him, what do you think you’re doing, you shouldn’t be talking to him, leave now. He ignored it. “How about you?”

“I was walking around and saw you here looking all,” He stopped talking and made an exaggerated sad face. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You tell me.”

Cyrus looked at the boy in the swing next to him. He didn’t sound worried, he wasn’t being condescending, he just sounded curious. And it felt like that should have made Cyrus mad, but it didn’t. And for whatever reason, the next words came falling out of his mouth before any sense of logic could stop him.

“Relationship stuff.” He looked back to the ground and begun kicking the mulch at his feet.

“Man, that’s rough. You wanna talk about it?”

Cyrus furrowed his brows. “With you? I just learned your name.”

“I guess. But sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who has an unbiased opinion.”

“And that’s you?”

“Maybe.” They looked at each other for a moment. Cyrus just noticed TJ’s smile. It was just a casual one, resting on his face, acting as an accent to the invitation his eyes were handing out.

“It’s stupid.” Cyrus said eventually. “I just feel us drifting apart, I don’t know how I feel about him anymore.”

“Ah, a classic dilemma. But there’s more, isn’t there?”

There was. “My friends don’t like him, they want me to break up with him.” Cyrus answered cautiously.

There was a pause.

“Do you want to break up with him?” TJ asked, turning his head to face Cyrus.

Another pause.

“I don’t know.” Cyrus’s head now turned toward TJ’s. And they continued on looking at each other. It was a weird feeling, one Cyrus hasn’t felt before. It was like, TJ saw him, he saw every secret hidden within him, like he knew everything about Cyrus just by looking in his eyes. And Cyrus felt he could do the same.

“Well, your friends don’t like him, you don’t seem to like him very much,” TJ looked back to the ground front of him for a moment and then back to Cyrus. “I think you should break up with him too.”

“That’s your unbiased opinion?” Cyrus asked, unsure if he was satisfied with the answer.

“Yes.” Came the response. “Do you want my biased opinion?”

“Why not.” Cyrus looked back to the sticks he was kicking. But TJ didn’t look away.

“I think you’re too cute to be sitting by yourself worrying about some guy who clearly doesn’t appreciate you as much as he should.”

Suddenly an alarm was going off in Cyrus’s head. Oh my god what are you doing?! Dylan is going to kill you! Why are you talking to this guy, you cheater.

He jolted out of the swing very suddenly. “I uh- I have t- to go, um-” He suddenly was at a loss of words as he looked frantically around the park. It was empty still, but how long had they been talking, what if someone had saw them? What if Dylan saw them?

“I didn’t mean to upset you, I just-” TJ started but Cyrus cut him off.

“Just, do me a favor, don’t talk to me again. Please.” And with that he was running again. Cyrus knew he sounded harsh, but he was just covering up the much more present feeling that was currently twisting around in his stomach; fear.

***

That same feeling remained as Cyrus layed awake in his bed, staring at his ceiling. It was well past midnight and the moonlight was streaming into his room through his open window. Cyrus’s thoughts were racing a mile a minute and he couldn’t stop them.

Why was he so afraid of Buffy’s question? Were they not the same questions TJ had asked him? Why could he so easily trust this random guy he had just met, but he couldn’t trust his own friends? He remembered a time when he wasn’t afraid to cry in front of them. When they would hug him and tell him he’d be okay, no matter how big or small his problem was. He expected Dylan would do the same for him, but he didn’t. He told him to stop being a baby, that he didn’t want to hear his problems, that no one did. And Cyrus believed him. But TJ wanted to hear his problems. Why did Cyrus feel so safe talking to him? He hasn’t felt that safe talking to someone since he and Dylan started dating. So why now? And why was it TJ?

There it was again. That damned question, “Why?” “Why” this, “Why” that. It made Cyrus so angry. He didn’t know “Why”. It just was. That’s how it is. TJ was just easy to talk to, Buffys questions just didn’t have an answer. That’s just how it was, right? Like, he knew she still loved Dylan right? He still loved him. Did he still love him?

And that’s when his heart stopped and it hit him.

Was Cyrus afraid of Buffy’s question? Or, was he afraid of his answer?

------

------

Next