#supposed to be placed along with the other one that i drew earlier today

[o-kettle-art]

mike wheeler doodle

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

Prince Katsuki Bakugo x Female Reader

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You are now reading Part 3 of Promise! Enjoy my lovelies <3

Part 1 Part 2

When you were six, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse" again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country...where your wedding to the heir to the throne fifteen years ago is seen as valid.

Turns out, he's lying to you? Wait...WHAT?

"I was wondering if you were still interested in marrying Prince Bakugo to my daughter, Princess Uraraka."

Wait... What?

Your heart leapt in your chest as your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. You turned to Katsuki, observing the snarl on his face, and then to his parents, who seemed amused by the situation.

"I think you forget your place quite often, isn't that so?" Queen Mitsuki stood up, arms crossed over her chest as she glared down at the other woman.

"The purpose of this dinner was to meet the potential future Queen of the Dynamite Kingdom," King Masaru added, standing up as well.

The room fell silent, everyone staring at you.

"This is absurd! Truly, you do not mean that a mere commoner can handle a kingdom of such greatness," the lady retorted, causing mumbles of agreement to erupt within the audience.

You felt a sudden surge of anxiety, and your confidence began to falter.

"Watch your mouth. She's more capable than you can imagine."

A loud voice immediately silenced the entire table of nobles and dignitaries. You looked up at the bearer of such power and found Katsuki looking down at you with a look you couldn't quite decipher.

Then it hit you.

Right. This was supposed to be all a game of pretend. He holds no genuine concern for you. You are just another pawn in his game.

You only nodded emotionlessly at him, who shot you a confused look before glaring at the entire table. The people turned their attention to the King, who, despite his now cold demeanor, had a glint of amusement in his warm eyes.

The night progressed further, and the members of the King and Queen's Council all introduced themselves to you, along with a couple of special guests, some other lower-ranking Kings and Queens, and a few dukes and duchesses.

Unfortunately, you had to shake hands with the unsightly woman from earlier—the one who'd dared to question your presence, comparing the ethereal beauty of someone such as yourself to a mere princess. She met your eyes with a forced smile, her grip a bit too firm, but you held your composure, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

As you turned to greet another guest, you heard the woman mutter under her breath, "This farce won't last. A commoner can't hold a crown."

You stiffened, feeling a surge of anger. Katsuki's grip on your waist tightened. He was about to step forward until you untangled yourself from his grasp.

"Oh, my apologies, Miss Uraraka. Does my presence threaten you?"

The woman's eyes widened, and she quickly looked away. Katsuki scoffed and dragged you away from her. "Don't go throwing hands now, dollface."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart racing at the nickname he just called you. "She had it coming," you muttered, but the tension in your body slowly eased as you felt Katsuki’s protective hold around you.

"Yeah, but she's not worth it," he replied, his voice low but fierce. "Don't let people like her get to you."

A commotion near the entrance drew your attention. The doors burst open, and a young man with striking green hair and intense jade eyes strode in, flanked by a tall, dual-colored-haired man with heterochromatic eyes.

"Second and Third Princes, Prince Izuku Midoriya and Prince Shoto Todoroki," a guard announced, his voice shaking with the unexpected arrival.

And wow, were they hot.

The male with glossy jade eyes had his eyes fixated on you, or rather, the tight grip that Katsuki had on your waist. He laughed, walking up to the both of you.

"Kacchan! Long time no see, huh?" he gave a dorkish grin and Katsuki groaned. "Shut the fuck up, damn nerd."

They seemed to be longtime friends because the other Prince, Prince Midoriya, only rolled his eyes mockingly. Katsuki only nodded to Prince Todoroki who returned the gesture politely.

Oh, so these must be the other two high-ranking Princes of Japan, huh? They looked so different from what Mina had explained. You would have thought Prince Todoroki to be ugly, considering the way she emphasized the scar around his eye.

But genuinely? You thought he looked cool with it.

And the other dude with the mop of messy green hair was astonishing. He looked at you and winked, causing you to go red. "Midoriya, leave the poor girl alone. She looks helpless," the voice belonged to the now smirking male with those piercing heterochromatic eyes.

You felt like putty when Katsuki laughed, the sound of it causing you to lean back into him more.

You gave a polite nod, trying to mask your embarrassment at the two more princes. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"The pleasure is ours," Midoriya replied, his smile warm. "I've heard a lot about you."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

"What's wrong, Kacchan? Is she shy?" Midoriya teased, earning a glare from Katsuki.

"Shut up, Deku," Katsuki growled, his grip on your waist tightening.

Todoroki stepped forward, a small smile on his face. "It's understandable. Tonight has been overwhelming."

Midoriya grinned and leaned closer to you. "Don't worry, Princess. We'll make sure you're comfortable here. If you ever need anything, just let me know." He winked at you, causing your blush to deepen.

Katsuki's scowl intensified. "Back off, nerd. She's with me." He snarled, and Midoriya laughed like that wasn't a threat to him. He and Todoroki exchanged a mischievous look.

Midoriya chuckled. "Relax, Kacchan. I'm just being friendly." He turned to you again, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But really, are your parents beavers?" he asks, tilting his head to one side.

"Uh... No?" you deadpanned, looking at a snickering Todoroki. What was that supposed to mean?

"'Cause dammmmmm!" he drags out. You chuckle a bit, and Katsuki screams at his friend, holding your waist tighter.

"Stop hitting on her. You're making the pomeranian angry."

"Ha! Like I'd be angry because of a damn Deku!" Katsuki pointed to himself and beamed.

"Snowflake, are you sure you want to be with someone like him? Come with me to the Todoroki Kingdom, I'll pamper you like a princess." He winked, playfully glaring at Bakugo.

The ash-blond male froze for a second. Would you really leave him for Todoroki?

You glanced at Katsuki, who seemed to be on the edge of snapping. "I think I’m quite happy here," you said softly, trying to diffuse the situation.

Midoriya’s grin widened. "Just remember, the offer stands." He winked again, causing the crimson-eyed male to growl lowly.

Without warning, Katsuki leaned down and kissed you, right there in front of everyone. Your eyes widened as a few tears brimmed them.

You heard a chorus of gasps from around the room. His kiss was fierce and possessive, making your mind swirl. You felt a rush of warmth at his protectiveness, even though you knew it was all part of the act.

Right?

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless and stunned. Katsuki’s eyes bore into yours, a mixture of determination and something else you couldn’t quite place. He turned to face Midoriya and Todoroki, who were both watching with varying degrees of surprise and amusement.

"Just making sure everyone knows," Katsuki said, his voice low and dangerous. "She’s with me."

You stood there, still trying to process what had just happened. The room was silent, all eyes on you and Katsuki. Finally, Midoriya broke the silence with a chuckle.

“Well, that certainly clears things up,” he said, grinning. “Congratulations, you two.” Todoroki raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face. "You suit."

Katsuki huffed, pulling you closer. “Damn right. And don’t forget it.”

You nodded your head coyly and smiled up at them, watching as they bid Katsuki goodbye and slandered off to, as Todoroki called it, 'cause trouble'.

Katsuki let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Idiots," he muttered under his breath before turning to you. "You okay?"

You nodded, finally finding your voice. "Yeah, I'm okay. They seem... nice."

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Don't let Deku get to ya. I dunno what's gotten into him. Damn nerd." He felt like Midoriya had tried taking you away from him. He decided he didn't like that feeling and would speak to the jade-eyed womanizer in the morning.

Knowing them, they would spend the night.

You chuckled softly, the tension easing a bit. "What was that?" You asked, referring to the almost animalistic snarl he had released on Midoriya.

"Nothing. Just a habit from my teen years," he grumbled. You grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Mhm?"

"Yeah," he looked to the side and blushed a little, causing you to want to tease him. He was so adorable like this.

"Is it okay for a Prince to skip events?" you asked, batting your eyelashes up at him innocently.

"Maybe. What're ya suggesting?" he has you backed in a corner, one of his hands on the wall, at the side of your head and he was leaning in very close to you. Too close.

You could smell his cinnamon perfume and was that vanilla too? Or maybe you were just imagining it.

But a surge of confidence appeared out of nowhere, and before you knew it, you had grabbed his hand and darted off to a secluded place in the palace, away from the nobles and dignitaries, away from the guards and maids. You took him somewhere nobody would bother you, somewhere you had wanted to visit since you entered the castle. He'd never admit it, but that would turn out to be his favorite place.

The library.

You learned a lot that night. Katsuki was surprisingly easy to talk to. He told you about his past, his extremely feisty behavior, how he changed, and Japan's greatest war. You realized that's how he got his scar. He thought of himself as a monster. You placed a reassuring hand on his face and opened up to him, sharing your deepest secret.

He seemed astounded. You had faced so much, and yet here you were, comforting him. Your past seemed complicated, and he sort of wished he wasn't a prince. He hoped he could've been a commoner, like you, and grown up with you.

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, gently waking you from a deep sleep. Ugh, was it morning already? You only closed your eyes for like... two minutes? You stretched languidly, a soft smile tugging at your lips as memories of the previous night with Katsuki flooded back. Your heart felt lighter than it had in a long time and your face heated up with a warm hue.

Just as you were about to get out of bed, the door burst open, and Mina barged in with her usual spirit. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" she sang, practically bouncing into the room. "Up and at 'em! We've got a busy day ahead!"

You groaned playfully, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. "Mina, it's too early for this kind of energy."

"Too early? It's never too early for exciting news!" she said, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously. She plopped down on the edge of your bed, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, spill! What's going on between you and Prince Bakugo? You two are the talk of the town!"

You blinked, feeling a blend of embarrassment and nervousness. "The talk of the town? Really?"

"Yes, really!" Mina exclaimed, grabbing a hairbrush from your vanity and starting to brush your hair. "Everyone's talking about how you two disappeared from the event last night and weren't seen again until the wee hours of the morning. People are saying all sorts of things!"

You couldn't help but stare in bewilderment.

"I promise, it's not what they think!"

Taglist!

@faemagic88 @cgmajor @sleepyeri @justagirlfr @aphrodite-xoxo @tojiswifereal @yoyolovesdaiki @king-dynamight @yuckiman @liluvtojineteyam @xdyledz @the-hangry-otter

[mirrortouchedsea]

(CW for Suicidal Ideation)

Hinata’s breath was heavy as he landed the final move of their act. The tinny music playing from their speakers went quiet and the audience clapped politely. It was always the same song and dance as the crowd moved on with their day. A few of them tossed some yen their way but otherwise it was time for them to regroup for their next performance. Yuta knelt down by the hat with some coins and bills sticking out of it, counting their earnings thus far. 

“Hey aniki! We might be able to eat well tonight! There’s like 3,000 yen in here!” Yuta exclaimed. The idea of a filling dinner made Hinata’s mouth water. Oh what he wouldn’t do for even warm noodles not from a cup. 

Hinata turned to grab the iPod from its place on the speaker, choosing the next song to play. He put the phone back and turned the volume up a little more to play over the evening rush. The music started and he and Yuta moved in unison around their little stage, taking in the crowd. There were some regulars that Hinata recognized, the businesswoman who was perpetually tired but always stopped for their performances and a few kids who looked up at them in awe as their parents were trying to usher them away. There were always new faces too, of course people traveled across the country all the time or took new trains or moved cities, but there was something different about the boy with the bright red hair at the back of the crowd. His sky blue eyes pierced straight through to Hinata’s heart and made him stumble when their gaze connected with his own. 

“Hey, aniki focus! We’re almost done, don't fail on me now!” Yuta whispered, carefully shielding Hinata from the crowd as he regained his footing. Yuta was always so quick thinking. Hinata got back to his position and finished up the routine, eyes looking for that boy he had spotted earlier. He half hoped the boy would come talk to them afterwards while they were packing up for the evening, but when he finally saw that shock of red hair, it was moving away with the rest of the crowd. 

Hinata sighed, disappointed. Maybe that boy would come back someday. There was something about him that drew Hinata in. 

Someone bumped his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. “Hey, aniki, are you alright? You seem out of it today.” Yuta’s hand rested on his shoulder and Hinata couldn’t help but smile. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around, the older brother checking in on the younger one? 

“Hey hey everything’s fine Yuta-kun, don’t worry about me. I was just thinking about that delicious dinner you’re treating us too~” He playfully pushed back on Yuta, the red haired blue eyed boy all but forgotten now. 

“Hey! It’s technically our money so I’m not treating you to anything!” Yuta scowled but the smile in his voice was obvious to Hinata. 

“Hehe, then dinner’s on me! Say ‘thank you aniki!’” 

--- 

It was a week before Hinata saw the red headed boy in their audience again. He had all but slipped his mind, but those striking blue eyes were impossible to forget. Yuta was introducing their next performance which allowed Hinata to take a better look at the older boy who had made his way to the middle of the audience. He was tall and what Hinata could see of his outfit seemed ill-fitting at best, along with a headband holding his hair away from his eyes. 

Hinata scrambled to his position as the music queued up and let his instincts take over. Every so often he found himself glancing at the red haired boy, trying to see what he thought of their performance, but his face revealed nothing. 

Why was he so focused on this one boy? It’s not like they didn’t have strangers who watched them sometimes, and none of them had caught Hinata’s attention quite like this boy. He really couldn’t be much older than Hinata, maybe 17 at the oldest. Was he an older brother too? The boy’s eyes made contact with Hinata’s and it took everything in him to not look away. 

Once again however, Yuta snapped him out of whatever trance he had been in and everything was forgotten. 

“Are you really okay aniki? You’ve been out of it a lot recently…” Oh how it pained Hinata to see the concern on Yuta’s face. Nothing was even really wrong per se, but Hinata was distracted nonetheless. 

“I’m fine, Yuta-kun. Geez, can’t your older brother have some peace?” His mouth ran faster than his brain and he immediately regretted it. Yuta’s face flipped through several emotions; hurt, confusion, exhaustion. It wasn’t like him to hide things from his brother, so why was he doing it now? “Whatever, let’s get some dinner. My treat~” 

“It’s our money!” 

--- 

The boy continued to make appearances at the twins’ performances on the street, becoming something of a regular but disappearing before Hinata could flag him down. Hinata wasn’t even sure what compelled him to want to talk to the older boy, but he wanted to say something. He had even noticed that the boy seemed happier and his clothes fit a little better, not like they were just the first thing he grabbed out of a donation pile. 

Finally, after almost a month of trying to say something to the boy, Hinata saw him walk up to their hat on the ground and drop a few coins into it. 

“Thank you!” He said, walking up to the boy. “Hope you enjoyed the performance!” 

The boy froze as if he wasn’t expecting to be greeted like that. There was a slight flush to his face. “I-it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. You uh…you were great?” The boy seemed unsure of how to reply, though Hinata was happy with the compliment nonetheless. Maybe… 

“What brings you here? I mean--agh, sorry! I just mean…I noticed you don’t have a regular schedule?” The words were practically falling out of his mouth and Hinata wasn’t really sure what they were doing. “Like you show up a few days in a row but then go three weeks without stopping by at all!” He was just digging a bigger grave for himself! Great! 

“Ah uhm…I’m not from around here.” The boy scratched at the back of his neck. Maybe Hinata should back off. 

“O-oh, yeah of course. Duh. Are you visiting family or something?” 

“Not quite. I really should get going though. See you…later?” 

“Yeah, see you later.” 

“Hey Aniki, are you coming or not? The food’s gonna get cold!” 

“Coming!” 

---

It was almost a month before the boy appeared again. In the time between, Hinata had come up with a million different ideas for what his life was like. Was he a delinquent who skipped school to hang out on the street with gangs (how scary! But he looked strong enough to fit in)? Or was he a runaway from a city far away, somewhere Hinata only dreamed of visiting like Okinawa? Maybe he had a bad relationship with his dad and ran away, a thought that Hinata hated to admit had crossed his mind more than once. Or maybe he just passed through the city on the way to somewhere else. That seemed to be the most likely option, especially if he couldn’t come very often. 

When the boy did finally show up again, Hinata had to hold himself back from practically jumping him after the performance. Something looked…different about him though. His eyes seemed more tired? Like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Hinata thought of a fight he had with his dad a few weeks ago that made it hard for him to sleep and thought maybe this boy was the same as him in that regard. 

Hinata decided to wave him down after the performance, hat in hand (they had done pretty well! It felt heavier than normal and even without counting everything, they’d probably have enough for breakfast too). 

“Hey! You look tired, are you--did you want to get something to eat?” Please say yes please say yes please say yes--

The boy’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Did Hinata mess up? Oh he overstepped and now there really wasn’t any chance of getting to know him. Why was he so interested in talking to the boy anyway? Hinata had been asking himself that for a while now and he still had no answer. 

“I…I can’t. I need to go.” The boy turned and ran off before Hinata could ask more. He just kept messing up, didn’t he? Maybe he really was just a burden to Yuta and their dad and the restaurant owner. He shouldn’t have been born and Yuta would’ve been better off--

“Aniki! Sheesh, get your head out of the clouds. How much did we make?” Yuta grabbed the hat out of Hinata’s hand and quickly counted out the coins and bills. “Woah! We could eat a whole five course meal with this…” 

“Think with your head a little Yuta-kun. We’ve got breakfast paid for if we don’t blow it all tonight!” 

Yuta nodded before handing the hat back to Hinata. “So, my pick tonight?” 

--- 

Hinata signed the note, trying his best to keep the tears from dripping on it and smudging the ink. After his blunder with the red haired boy, he hadn’t shown up to their performances for over two months. Hinata was certain that he had messed up and was too forward. He didn’t even know the kid’s name! Why did he think the two of them could ever be friends? 

And on top of all of that, Yuta had become more and more distant from Hinata, as if Hinata just existing was dragging him back from his full potential. Yuta would have been better off as an only child and maybe Hinata deserved this life. Thirteen years living with their father, who had treated them as nothing but monsters, blaming them for their mother’s death and everything bad that had happened since, Hinata had resolved to run away. He’d make his way to the mountains and maybe he’d find someone willing to help him or maybe he’d slip into an endless sleep. 

Dear Yuta-kun, the letter had started. I’m sorry that I’m leaving like this, but I know that I’m just a burden to you. I’m sorry for that. I wish I had more to say but I just want you to be happy and maybe father will treat you better without me. I love you. 

The other letter, already folded and placed on the table, was much shorter, addressed to his father. 

Dear Father, I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better son. Please don’t take this out on Yuta-kun, it was my decision. 

The less words he spent on that man, the better. Hinata folded Yuta’s note and placed it on top before quietly exiting through the front door. 

---

Everything was cold. Hinata slumped against a tree, head between his knees in a last ditch effort to keep warm. Sleep should come soon and he could painlessly move on, at least that’s what he hoped. He barely registered someone approaching him, but didn’t look up. 

“Hey.” The voice was vaguely familiar, but where did he remember it from? A warm hand shook at Hinata’s shoulder. 

“‘M fine.” The words were barely a whisper. The other voice grunted before walking away. It was another minute before Hinata felt something drape around his shoulders and a cup shoved in his hand. Whatever was in it was steaming, warming his fingers. 

“Drink.” The voice said. And he did, the tea was very, very bitter. That voice… 

Hinata looked up, meeting a pair of bright, sky blue eyes. That’s where he recognized the voice from. Did he…live? In the mountains? The boy seemed to recognize him too. He was wearing a headband and what looked like very warm clothes that Hinata wished he had. Hinata finished the tea, trying not to focus on the flavor. It helped at least, in warming him up a bit. 

“Why are you here?” The boy finally spoke again. It sounded like he was unsure if he should be mad or concerned, or both, but he offered Hinata another cup of tea, which he accepted if only to warm his fingers up. He pulled the blanket closer around his body. 

“I…ran away.” Hinata looked downward, as if admitting this out loud was a cardinal sin. The boy gestured for him to continue. “I guess I just…I was dragging my brother down. I’m not really talented at anything like he is and I’m the reason our dad sees us as monsters. He shouldn’t have to deal with a brother like me.” Hinata wasn’t really sure why he was spilling this so easily. The boy was a good listener though, hanging on every word Hinata spoke. Was he shaking? He’d never admitted this out loud before and it felt oddly freeing to say it to someone. 

He waited for a response, anything to chase away the uncomfortable silence Hinata had created with his confession. He really fucked up, didn’t he. He should have just kept that to himself like he always did instead of burdening a stranger like this! 

“I…” The boy started, barely audible above Hinata’s racing heartbeat. “I’m glad you’re alive.” He sounded unsure of his words. Was he just trying to be nice? Of course he was, how else do you respond to a kid telling you something like this? 

“You don’t have to pretend.” 

“I’m not. When I saw you singing and dancing…I think I realized something--” The boy cut himself off, the suddenness of it making Hinata look up. A moment later he heard his brother calling out from the woods behind him. 

“Aniki! There you are!” Yuta tackled him to the ground, squeezing Hinata like he might just blow away in the wind if they weren’t careful. “You scared me! I can’t believe you’d do something like that!” 

Tears pricked at Hinata’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, Yuta-kun. I’m really sorry.” He buried his face in Yuta’s jacket. His nose started to run, from the cold or the tears he couldn’t tell. 

“You aren’t a burden to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you around Aniki!” Yuta pulled back, hands gripping Hinata’s shoulders. “Promise you won’t do something that stupid again.” 

Hinata wiped the tears from his eyes, sparing a glance where the boy had been. It was as if he had never been there at all and Hinata had just hallucinated the whole interaction. He looked back at his twin brother. “I promise.” 

“Now let's get you home and warmed up. Where’d you get this blanket anyway? It doesn’t look like one of ours.” 

“I…” The boy had been real, and he told Hinata he was glad he was alive (even if his explanation was cut short by Hinata’s brother rushing in). “I guess I just found it. There must be people living nearby or something.” 

--- 

The chatter of the night club died down for the night as everyone was getting ready to go home. Hinata’s feet were sore from running around, but it was satisfying to be back in a restaurant like this. It reminded him of his childhood working for the Chinese restaurant with Yuta. 

Rinne, the leader of Crazy:B who had wanted to get closer to Hinata, and by extension 2wink, slid a drink down the bar. It looked like a horrible mix of syrups and club soda, but one sip was all it took for Hinata to drink it all down. 

“Great job tonight Hina! You’re a real natural at this stuff.” Rinne was washing the other glasses behind the bar now as Hinata finished the rest of his soda. 

“Yuta-kun and I used to work in a restaurant so it comes pretty naturally to us!” 

“That so?” 

“Mhm!” Hinata slid the empty glass back to Rinne, who quickly dumped the ice and washed it before tossing the towel over his shoulder. The entire week they’d been working the club together, there had been something bugging Hinata at the back of his mind. “Hey, Rinne-senpai…did you ever watch our shows?” 

“Huh? ‘Course I have, vice prez wants us to work together so I’ve seen a few of ‘em.” 

“That’s not what I mean. I mean like…back when Yuta-kun and I did street performances.” 

Rinne paused for a moment. “Why’re you askin’?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing. You just reminded me of someone who used to watch them.” 

“Well I’m sure whoever it was is proud to see you singin’ and dancin’ on stage.” Rinne had come around the bar and stood next to Hinata, ruffling his hair. “Let’s get goin’ or I’m never gonna hear the end of it from Niki-kun.” 

[revolutionale]

Revolution Tale Chapter 4 pt 2

4 (continued)

The night drew closely around the manor, dark and deep. Out there in the inky black where people were divided, you could almost taste the discontentment on the air. The cold stuck to skin and bone alike, leaving no doubt in the minds of the affected that a change would have to come. Whether naturally or by force was the only question left to answer. The night creped up the stone side of the house, looking for a way in, a way to carry its negative air to the people who resided within. But up on the second floor it was forced to shrink away from a bright light, and the sound of children laughing. Seven children to be exact, all brought from different corners of the world to live as siblings under one roof. 

The oldest was named Theodore who wore purple, then came Azelie in dark blue, and Cara in green. After that are Chun-hei and Fernando in yellow and orange respectively.Finally the two youngest, Lueam in light blue and then Frisk, who you know already. 

They all laughed and clapped for Frisk, who had just finished a performance to inform the other children of their day. Frisk bowed dramatically, and giggled. It had been a long day filled with adventure and new friends, and while it had been nice to see more of the world it was also comforting to be back in the nursery with their siblings. All thoughts of sadness and worry from earlier that evening had gone, replaced with the excitement of what tomorrow would bring.

“What is all this noise?” Nanny aksed from the door. She shifted a pitcher and basin in her arms skillfully, shutting the nursery door behind her with her foot. “Not having fun without me I hope.” She smiled warmly.  

“Nanny!” Chorused four of the seven children. Fernando and Chun-hei jumped to their feet and ran over to her, Azelie, Cara, and Luam, close behind. Frisk and Theodore stayed behind on the beds, watching from a distance. 

“Frisk was telling us about what happened today!” Chun-hei hopped along behind Nanny. 

“Is it true?” Azelie chimed in.

Nanny reached her destination, a table opposite the bed 

where Frisk sat. “Is what true?”She asked, putting a towel into the basin and pouring the warmed water from the pitcher over it.

“Did the monster save frisk?” 

Nanny set the pitcher to the side, “yes, I suppose he did 

Strange as it seems.” She said her voice, soft and confused. It was odd to her that a monster would go out of its way to protect a child, it was contrary to what the professor had told her, and the professor was never wrong. She shook her head slightly to clear it, “Frisk come over here please.” 

Frisk hopped down off the bed, doing as instructed. 

“You missed bathtime, so a quick wipe down will have to do.” She picked up the toddler and set them down in a chair, ringing out the towel and wiping the childs face. “Huh…you're practically clean, how odd. It’s like you already had a bath today.”

“Does that mean that monsters aren't really bad guys?” Cara aked from the other side of the table, Luam was beside her, just his eyes peeking up over the edge. 

“What has the professor told you?” Nanny put the rag back 

into the bowel, there was no point in cleaning a clean child.

“Monsters want to kill all humans,” They all recited, a montra they all had memorized. 

“But frisk said they are going to be friends with the monster.” Chun-hei countered.

“They also said all the monsters are nice. So are they bad guys or not?” Cara added. Beside her Luam signed. “And Luam wants to know if that means we can be friends with them too.” Cara translated. 

“It's not as simple as that.” 

From behind them came the voice of Theodore, one simple command. “Explain” 

Nanny sighed. She knew now that Theodore was invested there was no way she would get out of the conversation. Once he had the desire to know something, nothing could stop him till he had an answer.

“Listen my dears.” She sat down, placing Frisk in her lap, “The only thing you need to know is what the General tells you. He has everything under control, he knows what's best. All these thoughts on good or bad don't matter in the end.”

“But what about Frisk making friends with the monsters?” Fernando looked to Chun-hei and she nodded, “Yah, what about the general saying Frisk should be friends with them?”

“He has given Frisk a very important mission, even if it doesn't make sense, it's what he has decided. So it's what will be done. Alright?’

“Yes nanny.” The five of them coursed, Frisk and Theodore remaining silent.

“Good, let's get you all into bed.” She got to her feet as the children whined. “Now now, I let you stay up until Frisk got back. It's late. Time to sleep.”

.oO0Oo.

Grillbys pub was full of life and noise despite the late hour. From inside the light glowed warmly, inviting monsters off the streets for a bit of company and good food. It was a ramshackle building, like the others surrounding it, but on the outside was a nicely curved wooden sign stating its name proudly. It was probably the nicest looking bit of architecture in the slum, making the pub all the more inviting.

“FWAHAHAHAHA!” Undyne's laugh bellowed above the rest of the noise. “SANS!? A NANNY!?” 

“go ahead, laugh at my pain.” Sans grumbled, he was leaning over the bar, resting his boney cheek on its smooth polished surface. The coolness of the wood felt nice on his bruises. The candy had upped his hp, but it hasn't completely healed his injuries. He made a mental note to talk to Alphys, the recipe would need to be tweaked some.

“Oh man.” Undyne wiped a tear from her eye, “what an image. You walk around with a little human on your heels, the spitting image of a mother hen.”

Between them Papyrus was hiding his amused grin behind a mug of sarsaparilla. 

“it can't be that odd of an idea, i mean i did practically raise this guy.” Sans wrapped his arm around Papyrus shoulders, “he turned out pretty okay.”

“YOU MEAN GREAT,” Papyrus corrected.

“no one grater.” Sans amended. Grillby set a plate down on the bar in front of Sans, then held out a fork. “geeze grills, i only asked for a tomato, you didn't have to go cut it up and plate it.”

“Last time I gave you a whole tomato when you bit into it you squirted juice everywhere.” Grillby held out the fork again.

Sans took it, “you’ll have to fork-give me for that. It 

was overly ripe.” He skewered a wedge of tomato, “besides i’ve gotten kind of used to bein’ covered in tomato.”

“WELL I HAVE NOT, AND WE JUST GOT YOU CLEAN, SO YOU BETTER BE CAREFUL.” 

Sans held his fork with his pinky out, then daintily took a small bite of his food, finishing off his act by dabbing his mouth with a napkin. 

“STOP IT” Papyrus said, swatting the brim of Sans’ hat so it fell into his eyes, Sans laughed. 

“When’s the kid gonna show up?” Undyne asked. Sans 

paused, thinking back to the conversation. Did the General say anything about timing? 

“uh…tomorrow.” 

“I know, but what time tomorrow?” 

Sans Shrugged. “he didn't really say.” He took his hat off 

and ran a hand over his skull. “actually, with all the talkin’ he did, he didn't say much.” 

“So you don’t know anything? That doesn't give us much to start with.”

“i wouldn't say i don't know anything. i know that the professor didn't seem to like me very mu-wate.” Sans squinted suspiciously at Undyne. “what do you mean ‘not much to start with’?”

“For the plan.”

“what plan?”

“We trick the kid into giving us information on the enemy.”

Now it was Sans’ turn to look amused. “what?” 

“You gain the kids' trust, then trick them into giving up information. It's a simple plan.”

Sans laughed, “information? from a toddler?” 

“Yes.”

“a simple plan? no. a plan made by a simpleton…” Sans shrugged, and trailed off, eating more of his fruit. 

“What was that you just called me?” Undine got up from her stool, her grip on the bar made the wood creak.

Grillby laid his hand atop hers, causing her to hiss and pull her hand away. She shook it to cool it off, then glared over at Grillby. He pointed at a sign behind him that read

‘No fighting! 

‘Cool off or get burned.’

“If you break my bar I'll drag you up the mountain to chop me down a new tree to replace it. And you,” He turned to Sans, and glared, sparks flying from atop his head. Sans stopped snickering and put on a serious face. 

“sorry grills, i’ll behave.”

Grillby walked away to a new patron, not taking his gaze from Sans, pointing a finger at him accusatory.

The three friends sat in silence for a little bit. Undyne taking deep breaths trying to convince herself that taking Sans outside to dust him wasn't actually a great idea.

“Okay, as I was saying. You are going to gain the brats trust, then when it likes you, you get it to spill the beans.”

“alright, let me know how that works out for ya’.” Sans hopped down off his stool. “i'm goin’ ta’ bed.” He yawned.

“Oh no you dont.” Undyne quickly overtook him with her long strides, blocking his way out. “We still have to go talk to Asgore.”

Sans let out an annoyed moan, “haven’t i been interrogated enough for one day? can we do this tomorrow?”

“COME NOW SANS.” Papyrus placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. “ASGORE WAS KIND ENOUGH TO WAIT UNTILL NOW TO TALK TO YOU SO YOU COULD EAT AND CLEAN UP. LET'S NOT MAKE HIM WAIT ANY MORE.” 

Finally, Sans nodded in agreement. “fine. lets goat-ell asgore what i’ve been up to then.” 

(( PEOPLE READING FOR THE FIRST TIME!!!!! Yes the story will be in written form from now on, you are in the right place (^~^) Sorry for the confession! 

I hope this is how I'm supposed to post stories on Tumblr, I've never done it before. If there is a better way and you know it then please tell me!

Im unsure how to add picks to the writing also (^^;). Ill draw picks to go with the chapter and just upload them to my regular gallery until I figure it out. I haven't drawn them yet because I feel bad for making you wait so long and didn't want to make the time longer. 

So~let me know if there are any mistakes iI'e made with the formatting and ill try to fix it. 

Thank you so so much everyone for your kind words on my last update post. I almost cried at how lovely))

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[bedlamsbard]

Star emoji! I love director’s commentary

Oooh, let's talk about Howard's conversation with Natasha at the beginning of Of Home Near 7.

This is set at Beaulieu Abbey, which is a real place and was used for SOE (Special Operations Executive) training in WWII, as Special Training Schools 31-36, which I've just conflated into one for the purposes of this fic. Today it's the home of the Secret Army Exhibition, about SOE. None of the description of the house is accurate, since I couldn't find floorplans and have never been.

“Lift your left arm?”

Natasha did so, allowing Howard Stark to make a minor adjustment to the cuff of the tunic-style jacket he was fitting on her. His expression was intent with concentration, two dress pins sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and his hands were unerring as he made the modification with quick, neat stitches. For some reason it was the least like Tony Natasha had ever seen him look, even though she had seen Tony make similar quick alterations to the Iron Man suits a hundred times before.

I like the idea of Howard being really hands-on with his work, which is borne out by CATFA and AC.

Sunlight spilled in through the room’s bow windows, which looked out over the lawn where Howard had landed his plane a few hours earlier. Going by the room’s big desk – now heavily battered from use – and empty bookshelves – mostly covered up by maps and charts – Natasha suspected it had been a study in the building’s previous life as a manor house. Howard Stark had commandeered it upon arrival to do uniform fittings in, since along with the new shield he had brought uniforms for both of them.

He drew back when he was finished and took the pins out of his mouth to ask, “How’s that feel?”

Natasha worked her arm experimentally, then warned Howard to step back and went through one of her shorter kata. He watched without any of the half-expected erotic interest, his attention totally focused on the motions and her new tactical gear.

“Good,” she told him when she had finished, a little to her own surprise, but she supposed that if he regularly made Captain America’s uniforms he had to know the importance of flexibility.

The corner of his mouth curled up a little, as if he had guessed the direction of her thoughts, but all he said was, “Try it with the gear belt,” and handed it to her.

Natasha inspected it as she took it from him Howard had clearly been paying attention to the gear that she had arrived with; he had consulted with her on the design for the new uniform, with Steve doing the initial sketches. The tunic came down past her hips to mid-thigh, with the front fastening at her left shoulder like a motorcycle jacket. The gear belt was made of black leather and was actually two belts crossed over each other, joined by a rivet that let them flex; the holsters were empty at the moment, as were the utility pouches.

This is Natasha's "Liberty Belle" outfit, though it's not named as such here. It's not based specifically on anything and I don't have a very clear mental image of it.

She buckled the belt on and shifted around a little, testing the placement, then went into a brief tumbling routine. Howard watched with that same clinical, calculating interest, his gaze sharp; he made a couple of notes in his sketchbook as she came upright. “How’s that feel?”

“Straps here and here on the holsters, or they’ll flap around.” Natasha pointed them out. “Like Steve’s got,” she clarified when he frowned.

“No, I know what you mean. For a lady – a married lady –”

“God forbid that anyone in the United States Army or the Wehrmacht learns that a woman has legs,” Natasha said dryly, rolling her eyes. “If anyone is looking at my legs, that’s their problem. Especially in the middle of a fight.”

Natasha's usual catsuit would NOT fly in 1945, especially for PR reasons. They're not only designing for practical use, but with the full knowledge that as soon as the fact that Captain America's married is made public Natasha's going to be on magazine covers and newspapers, and she has to not only match Captain America and the other Howling Commandos, she has to be acceptably feminine (by WWII standards, which are...interesting).

“Point taken.” Howard nodded absently and jotted it down in his sketchbook – actually Steve’s sketchbook, she was amused to note; apparently Steve hadn’t succeeded in getting it back from him yet.

I love the detail of it being Steve's sketchbook.

“Am I going to get any of my own gear back?” she asked, rubbing a thumb over her bare wrist. She was expecting the answer to be no and wasn’t surprised when Howard shook his head.

Later Howard gives her her bites back! But not yet.

“But I brought some stuff for you to look at,” he offered encouragingly. “You can give it a try and keep whatever you like. And Dugan said you’d be taking over as sniper, so I brought some rifles for you to try out too.”

Howard chewed on the end of his pencil for a moment before he finally said, “You know about the Commandos’ last sniper –”

“Yes,” Natasha said. “I know about Bucky Barnes.”

1945 Bucky is the ghost in this story, but there was never any intention for him to appear (in 1945). Howard, of course, thinks she knows about Bucky either from the newspapers (he's only been "dead" for two months at this point) or from Steve telling her; Natasha knows him personally.

Howard nodded grimly and looked away, then sat down heavily on the chair he had dragged over from behind the desk, bracing his sketchbook on his knees as his pencil moved over the page.

“Did you design the Howling Commandos’ uniforms too?” Natasha asked eventually, unbuckling the gear belt and weighing it thoughtfully in one hand. “I know you did Steve’s, and I know you supply the Commandos with weapons and tech –”

Howard nodded. “Steve did most of his himself, but I made it,” he said. “I helped with the Commandos, yeah. Steve did some of it, they did some of it, I did some. What do you think?” He held the sketchbook up and turned it around so that she could see.

He had a fine draftsman’s hand, without the sense of suspended life that Steve’s sketches had. Natasha wondered briefly what he would have made of the CAD programs Tony used or if given the option, he would still draft his designs by hand the way Rhodey did when he was working on the War Machine suit.

“I like this rig,” she told him, and Howard nodded, making a few more notes to himself.

“I can have that done today, it’s a minor fix,” he said. He took the gear belt from Natasha and set them both down, then looked at her for a long moment before saying, “I’m glad Steve got married. Or whatever,” he added with a solemn wink. “It’s good for him.”

Howard figured out pretty much immediately that Steve and Natasha weren't really married, but never brought it up; he figured that if Steve was going to the trouble, then he had a good reason.

For a moment his expression was wistful, then his gaze flickered sideways, as if he was embarrassed that he had let the emotion show.

“Did you and Steve ever –” she began, and then stopped, uncertain how to end the question. Or if she should be asking it at all; this wasn’t the twenty-first century, and even there it wasn’t a harmless inquiry.

Meeting Howard Stark explained a LOT of things about Tony, Tony's relationship with Steve, and Steve's relationship with Tony. Note that Natasha is also aware that Steve sleeps with men (Peggy isn't, as she remarks in an earlier chapter), but isn't sure about Howard, which is why she stops.

Howard looked back at her, wary now and frowning a little, but whatever he saw on her face seemed to reassure him. “What, and get both of us shot by Peggy? That wouldn’t do the war effort any good. She’d do it, too. Anyway, Steve’s been a little busy fighting a war.”

Peggy would have killed Howard if she thought he was serious about it or if they'd actually done anything. She knows that Howard wants to sleep with Steve, but has mentally categorized it as "a little silly" and is unaware that Steve's bi.

“Do you know who the woman was that Agent Carter caught him with in 1943?” Natasha asked, with a mental tick of observation that he hadn’t bothered to deny that Steve liked men as well as women. Not that either one of them was saying anything outright, just half-spoken asides. “I’ve heard the story, but no one will say who –”

“Sure,” Howard said. “But I don’t think you have anything to worry about; Steve’s crazy about you.”

“I’m not worried, I’m curious,” Natasha said. “Or did Agent Carter push her out of the SSR?” She didn’t think Peggy Carter was that petty, but if she was, Natasha wanted to know about it.

Natasha's experience with Peggy isn't anywhere close to the 21st century image of Peggy Carter or with Steve's memories of her.

“She’s still here,” Howard said. “It was Irene Lorraine, Colonel Phillips’ secretary. Steve came in looking for me and she cornered him.” He grinned, amused at the memory, and explained, “It was right after we got back to London from Italy and Phillips got Steve transferred from the USO to the SSR, so the big rescue was all over the papers. Apparently she was thanking him on behalf of the women of America, only Peggy caught them. Scared the hell out of both of them.”

The shooting the shield scene is fucked up from a 2023 perspective, and I really think it's been grandfathered in as ~sexy and absolutely would not fly today.

In the previous chapter's scene with Lorraine Steve remarks on the fact that Peggy's reaction completely screwed up the social dynamics of the women of the SSR.

He chewed absently on the end of his pencil, then shot a look at the closed door and went on slowly, “I don’t know how much Steve’s told you – I guess it wouldn’t really matter up then in 2018 – but he and Peggy…they were and they weren’t, you know? They didn’t go out to dinner, they didn’t go dancing; I don’t know if they ever even kissed. But he had her picture in his compass and if he hadn’t gone down with the Valkyrie, then –” Howard shrugged. “They might have gotten married later, yeah, but they never actually talked about it. Stupid thing to do in a war,” he added, then thought about it and grimaced, making a vague gesture with the pencil towards himself as if to say, but I did the same thing.

Howard has a lot of regrets, and I don't think he knows what he would have done if he had known that Steve might not really come back.

He flicked another glance at the door again while Natasha was chewing over what to say in response to that. “Don’t repeat this to Steve or Peg,” he warned, and waited for her to nod before he went on. “It’s not that Peg didn’t like Steve back then, because she did, and it’s different now, obviously, but she set her cap for him as soon as he came back from Austria and not a minute earlier, no matter what anyone else here says about it, including Steve. And that was it as far as she was concerned. There were girls like that in my old neighborhood,” he added knowledgeably, “not that any of them ever had anything to do with me back then.”

I have some very clear and possibly controversial thoughts about Steve and Peggy's relationship, and how both Steve and Peggy perceived their relationship, throughout CATFA. If you look at the pub and SSR scenes, they're having two COMPLETELY different conversations, and Steve's constantly playing catch-up to the conversation that Peggy's having even though she never says anything explicitly and just expects him to get it. I also DON'T think that Peggy was even remotely romantically interested in pre-serum Steve, though later on she convinced herself that she was, and she wasn't all that interested in "Captain America" Steve, either.

“There are women like that everywhere,” Natasha said dryly. It wasn’t a personality type that usually survived the rigors of the Red Room, but she had known one or two Widows who had managed it.

She considered Howard with a little more interest. The Stark family’s origins were a farrago of obfuscation, fairy tales, and what Natasha was fairly certain were a few outright lies, though she wasn’t certain how aware of that Tony was. Howard Stark had told the newspapers several contradictory stories over the years, one variation of which was on the Stark Industries website, and the only consistent point seemed to be that he had been born in Manhattan in 1917, though which part of Manhattan was up for debate. Natasha also strongly suspected that the family name had started out as something a lot less Anglophone than Stark, though she wasn’t sure if that was Howard’s doing or if it had happened at Ellis Island; both seemed equally likely. She wondered if Howard would tell her if she asked.

Off Howard's statement in Agent Carter that he was born in the Lower East Side, which in the early 20th century was an immigrant neighborhood with a heavy Jewish population around the time Howard was born and growing up. Pretty much this theory about Howard's background. Steve mentions in a later chapter that Howard speaks Yiddish and is Jewish, but Natasha doesn't know those details at this point, and it's deliberately vague. Tony knows NONE of this because Howard buried it back in the 1920s or 1930s.

Howard slid a third look at the door and started to say, “Steve –” and then stopped, chewing on the end of the pencil again. Finally, he said, “I think if either he or Peg had pushed harder, it would have gone further between the two of them, but neither one of them ever did. In a way it is – it was – probably easier that way. I mean – it is when people make assumptions. Easier, I mean. Leave enough gaps in any story and people will fill them in for you – hell, you’ll start filling them in yourself.”

He sat in silence for a few moments, his expression abstracted; Natasha thought about his playboy reputation, that he hadn’t married until 1965, the few things Tony had said about his father and his parents’ marriage – the way Howard looked at Steve when he thought Steve didn’t know. For that matter, the fact that he hadn’t looked at her with anything more than aesthetic appreciation over the course of the past two weeks and change.

My version of Howard is that he's bi, but while he prefers men he sleeps with more women as part of his Be Totally Normal campaign. (Peggy also mentions this in an earlier chapter.)

Eventually Howard shook his head and said, “I’m surprised Steve had the guts to ask you out.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Natasha allowed, accepting the change in subject. When Howard’s eyebrows went up, she explained, “We were on the run from the government, so I don’t think he thought he had all that much to lose.”

Well, it was technically true; Interpol still had red notices out on them back up in 2018, and Thaddeus Ross would be happy to have both of them drawn and quartered.

“Sounds like quite the story.”

“You have no idea,” Natasha said.

Howard took her unwillingness to expand on that in stride; for all Natasha knew, he assumed that instead of dinner and a movie, she and Steve had consummated their mutual interest in the back of a truck while on the run, which wasn’t even that far from the truth, minus the truck. He looked back down at the sketchbook in his lap as if he had forgotten it was there, then at the chewed end of his pencil in equal surprise. He glanced up at Natasha, down at the sketchbook, and up at her again; she raised her eyebrows in response.

“You okay with the color?” he asked. “I thought we’d match you and Steve, give the photographers something to coo about.”

Natasha blinked at him, though by now she was used to Howard Stark’s rapid changes in subject, then realized that he meant her new uniform, which was dark blue with a little red detailing down the sides and sleeves, with the Howling Commandos’ winged insignia on the left shoulder. Both the red and the blue were a little lighter in color than any of Steve’s recent uniforms, either because of changing aesthetics between 1945 and 2016 or because they would show up better in the black and white photographs the newspapers used. She hadn’t had a chance to see Steve’s new uniform yet, though she doubted it could be all that different from his last WWII uniform.

Steve's new uniform is never described in detail, but it's a mix between his CATFA, CATWS, and CACW uniforms. Captain America and Liberty Belle DO have to match.

“It’s fine,” she said, then cocked an eyebrow at him and said, “Do I really have to worry about photographers? Isn’t that mostly Steve’s problem?”

The Howling Commandos had featured a little in some of the old newspaper articles and newsreels she had seen, but most of the attention had been on Captain America until the 1960s, when there had been a resurgence in Howling Commando stories for a few years on both sides of the civil rights movement, not helped by Gabe Jones’ death in 1965. It had been on the job for SHIELD, but SHIELD’s existence hadn’t been publicly known until 1975, when along with the NSA it had been revealed as part of the Church Committee hearings that had followed the Watergate scandal. Even in 2018 there was a persistent rumor that Jones had been assassinated; knowing about Hydra’s interference in SHIELD, Natasha wasn’t sure that he hadn’t been, but there had been never been any proof.

SHIELD and Howling Commandos history based on some real world history. The SSR was made public knowledge post-war, but SHIELD followed the NSA's path and was secret until the post-Watergate Church Committee congressional hearings about American intelligence abuse in 1975. The NSA came out of the Signals Intelligence Service in WWII, which post-war was reorganized into the Army Security Agency, and the NSA itself was formed in 1952. SHIELD likewise probably had one or two names between the SSR and SHIELD.

Steve says in an earlier chapter that Gabe Jones worked for SHIELD and was killed on the job in 1965; no one knows if it was normal line-of-duty death or if he was assassinated, either by Hydra (after 2014) or as part of something like COINTELPRO due to being a prominent Civil Rights figure.

“Nope,” Howard said. “Come on, Captain and Mrs. America? The papers and the newsreels will eat that up. If Ike and Monty weren’t running roughshod over the Germans right now Senator Brandt would probably have the two of you doing photoshoots for a week. Instead Sherman – you met him the other day when he was taking pictures of Brandt and Steve – will have to squeeze them all in tomorrow, and a couple more at the front after you arrive.”

Brandt's assistant Michael Sherman -- name from me, credited only as Brandt's assistant in CATFA -- is the one who gives Natasha the Liberty Belle name, which shows up in this bit of faux-historical writing (which is going to be part of a post-Home historical errata story). I checked as carefully as I could that there wasn't a preexisting Marvel character with the Liberty Belle name; there's a DC character (who, yes, debuted during WWII) and Amalgam Comics (Marvel and DC publishing together) had an American Belle that was a mashup of DC's Liberty Belle and Marvel's Miss America (who hasn't made it to the MCU). I hesitated a bit over the name, but the DC character isn't well-known so I decided it was probably fine. Also it doesn't show up THAT often in this story.

Every historical event mentioned in this story is based on the real events that took place on those dates -- this is March 31, 1945, a little over a week after the crossing of the Rhine as part of Operation Plunder and the invasion of Germany, just prior the Race to Berlin.

Natasha grimaced. She had done the publicity circuit up in the twenty-first century, but hadn’t enjoyed it anymore than Steve had; unlike Steve, she also wasn’t used to it. At least then that had been as another Avenger, rather than as Captain America’s wife. She didn’t enjoy being defined in relation to Steve – to Captain America, really – but it kept anyone from looking too closely at her own entirely fictional background and with any luck it wouldn’t have to last.

The Captain America propaganda machine in 1945 is nothing like the Avengers PR circuit 2012-2016, especially with the glamor of "CAPTAIN AMERICA RETURNED FROM THE DEAD!" and "REDHEADED BOMBSHELL KNOCKS CAP OFF THE MARKET, LADIES!" Brandt's already got the fictionalized versions of the Cap propaganda machine -- Timely Comics, the Captain America Adventure Program, and various Hollywood films -- working on both resurrecting Cap (they were all trying to figure out how to handle his disappearance/death) and introducing Liberty Belle. Natasha doesn't have any context for how aggressive the Captain America propaganda machine is, since a lot of it didn't survive to the present day, and she's thinking about it in terms of the PR circuits the Avengers have done. It would not have been like that. (This is also one reason that Peggy wasn't willing to go anywhere with Steve during the war -- Peggy absolutely was not willing to be part of the Captain America propaganda machine.)

“They’re not expecting – I don’t know, a demure secretary, are they?” Natasha asked warily. “Or a nurse, or –” She knew women had done just about every job but combat in the Second World War, but she was also aware that not all of those jobs had equivalents in the twenty-first century.

This is basically the only point in American history until quite recently when it would be publicly acceptable for Captain America's wife to be as much of an ass-kicker as he is, but Natasha doesn't know enough about WWII to be sure about that.

Howard snorted. “What, for Captain America? Only if you listen to Roxxon’s faradiddle – they sponsor the Captain America Adventure Program.” When Natasha’s eyebrows shot upwards, he explained, “It’s a radio show. Roxxon is –”

From Agent Carter. Interestingly, Timely Comics' Golden Age WWII-era love interest for Cap (Betsy Ross, a.k.a. Golden Girl) was not a demure nurse like AC's Betty Carver. (Comics Peggy Carter was not introduced until the 1960s.)

“I know what Roxxon Energy is,” Natasha said.

This time it was Howard’s eyebrows that went up. “Roxxon Oil Corporation now,” he said. “I’ve been trying to buy them out for years, but Hugh Jones – that’s the CEO – hasn’t been having it. Cap’s sweetheart in the show is some nurse who’s always getting herself kidnapped by Nazis, when she’s not mending split trousers or making dinner for five hundred. I keep telling Peggy she should sue for defamation.”

“Not Steve?”

Howard’s mouth twisted. “Steve doesn’t have any legal right to his name or image. Well, the Captain America name, anyway, not the Steve Rogers part. The United States government can license the rest of it to anyone they want.” A muscle in his jaw twitched and he looked away. After a moment, he added, “I’ll get my lawyers on it after the war, though Brandt’s people are pretty good.”

“I know,” Natasha admitted. “Steve’s still having that fight up in the twenty-first, mostly unsuccessfully.”

Based on the U.S. government establishing John Walker as Captain America in FATWS, and to some extent on She-Hulk having knock-off Avengers ("Avongers") merchandise. If it's a knock-off, then there has to be a reason it's not official. An earlier chapter mentions that the U.S. government has occasionally tried to revive the Captain America role since 1945, and Howard Stark shut it down every time. Steve's not been successful in getting the rights to the Captain America name or even his own image back, it's too entrenched in American culture and history. On the bright side, post-Sokovia, the government's way less eager to use either.

[qnewsau]

Being gay in Australia's alternative music scene

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/being-gay-in-australias-alternative-music-scene/

Being gay in Australia's alternative music scene

Paul “Browny” Brown is the founder of Australia’s largest alternative music site Wall of Sound. We chat with the Brisbane-based owner about the site, his LGBTQIA+ journey and the queerness of alternative music.

First of all, tell us all about Wall of Sound.

Wall Of Sound is Australia’s leading alternative music and culture publication. Our purpose is to shine a spotlight on the best heavy metal and alternative bands from down under and beyond by giving them a platform to have their music and messaging heard by our readership and community. 

Why did you decide to start up the site?

It started as an outlet for me to interview heavy bands on the side of my career as a commercial radio announcer.

After my mother passed in 2016, I became a full-time carer for my brother, which also allowed me to focus more on Wall of Sound (alongside caring duties). In 2018, I left radio and put all my attention into building the site, producing one of the world’s first heavy/alternative music-based podcasts and growing the business and brand into what it is today.

We connect with over 500,000 people each month and help to break and continuously nurture some of Australia’s most promising new bands, as well as chat with some of the biggest names in the industry and cover the best gigs and music festivals in our country and the world.

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Finding alternative music

What drew you to alternative music initially, and why is it still such a passion of yours? 

As a closeted adolescent, the heavy/alternative music scene gave me a place to feel safe and welcomed, where everyone looked after each other without prejudice and came together to mosh or headbang to some of the heaviest riffs and breakdowns imaginable.

I also found myself connecting more with the once “taboo” subject manner that most alternative acts wrote about; including mental health struggles, anxiety, depression, suicide, oppression and homophobia.

These kinds of songs weren’t allowed in mainstream outlets, but the lyrical content, alongside those heavy instrumentals, provided a cathartic way to scream along and feel a release from life’s daily struggles, especially at a live show.

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Discovering his sexuality

Tell us about your own journey with your sexuality.

I was closeted up until I was 30 but would sneak around behind friends’ backs to “hook up” back in the Gaydar/Manhunt years. I always felt ashamed or lesser than afterwards – probably due to the way gay men were perceived or portrayed in media at the time and I didn’t relate to the flamboyant gays I’d see on TV and radio, or even in my social circles at the time.

Growing up, I thought that all gay men were supposed to be outrageously camp and that just never felt like me. So I hid this side away from prying eyes and the opinions of others until the 2017 YES vote was passed.

That night I let it all out online and was met with nothing but love and support from those nearest and dearest to me.

I’m 37 now and finally comfortable with my sexuality and all that comes with it, including being a gay dad. I’ve walked this journey on my own, meeting new people, trying new things and exploring what it means to be a gay man, on my terms. I’ve still got a lot to learn, but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with my true self.

Being gay in the alt music industry

What is it like being an out gay man in the alternative music industry? 

To be honest, no one really bats an eyelid. As I mentioned earlier, the heavy/alternative community is one of the most welcoming and encouraging groups I’ve ever been part of and people only tend to judge you, in jest, for your taste in bands, rather than your sexuality.

On the flipside, what are reactions like within the LGBTQIA+ community when it comes to alt music? 

Hahaha, I LOVE showing non-metalheads in the LGBTQIA+ scene the bands we cover and listen to. Usually, initial reactions are met with shock or fear when they hear bands like Beartooth, Bring Me The Horizon, Polaris or Architects screaming at them; but then you show them a group like Spiritbox, BABYMETAL or Electric Callboy – who all combine both melodic and heavy elements to their music and that serves as a gateway to eventually getting into heavier music.

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Alternative music has had quite a long queer history hasn’t it?

I’ve always looked up to Rob Halford of Judas Priest, who gave zero fucks when he came out as the metal scene’s first openly gay vocalist in the 90s, at a time when bigotry and homophobia were rife.

In the modern day, there’s a stack of artists flying the flag openly and proudly including Jess Origliasso (The Veronicas), Lzzy Hale (Halestorm), Roddy Bottom (Faith No More/MAN ON MAN) and his boyfriend Joey Holmann (MAN ON MAN), Laura Jane Grace (Against Me!), Jodie Flange (Flangipanis), Billie Joe Armstrong (Green Day), Lynn Gunn (PVRIS), Lauren Babic (Red Handed Denial), Fat Mike (NOFX), and Connie Sgarbossa (SeeYouSpaceCowboy) to name a few.

Highlights and challenges

What have some of your highlights been while running Wall of Sound?

I launched my podcast series with Corey Taylor (Slipknot/Stone Sour) as my first guest back in 2017. Since then I’ve been able to interview so many of my musical heroes including members of blink-182, Linkin Park, KoRn, Disturbed, Parkway Drive, Rage Against The Machine, BMTH, Sum 41, Garbage, Architects, Beartooth, MAN ON MAN, Every Time I Die, Spiritbox, The Ghost Inside, AFI, and even chatted with iconic horror movie director, John Carpenter. 

Last year we were invited to cover the UK//EU Festival circuit which found us at Download Festival UK, Copenhell in Denmark and Graspop Metal Meeting in Belgium. We spent a total of 9 days inside music festivals and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

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Has there been any challenges running the site? 

Plagiarism in music media is still an ongoing issue that I’ve faced since day one. I’ve had my work, and my staff’s, ripped off by some of the bigger music sites as well as by Triple J. I will continue and encourage others to always fight for your intellectual property.

We’re also a 100% independently owned and operated organisation, so we work on a contribution basis – meaning the majority of what we do is for the love of the community. We have big dreams we’d love to bring to life but don’t have the funds to get the ball rolling. 

Life for Browny now

What is LGBTQIA+ life for you now? 

I think it’s time I start being more vocal about my sexuality and experiences, in the hope it helps others become more accepting and comfortable with their true selves. Growing up without a gay role model was isolating and difficult to navigate, and no one should go through this journey alone, especially now the world is much more accepting of who you are.

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I also went to my first dance party at Sporties not long ago and can be spotted hanging out with my metal pal Billerwell at Come to Daddy. Not really a big scene guy, but you’ll definitely find me hot and sweaty throwing down in the centre of a circle pit.

Find out more about Wall of Sound at wallofsoundau.com and follow Browny at @brownypaul 

Read next:

Queer Aussie musicians releasing out, proud & loud new music

Meet the man behind Brisbane’s new queer bar Come to Daddy

The 1975 sued by music festival for $2.4M over gay kiss

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[forbidden-creepypasta]

The Basement – And The Inexplicable Thing Within

I am yet another example of a person on the long list people with strange, creepy basement stories.

Even today, just hearing the word "basement" still sends a slight shiver down my spine, even though it's been about 35 years since the events in my childhood memories occurred. The word "cellar" provokes a similar response in me, although to a slightly lesser degree.

[semi-related] In the movie "Donnie Darko", Drew Barrymore's character claims that a famous linguist (it was actually J.R.R. Tolkien) once said that the phrase "Cellar Door" is the most beautiful combination of words in the English language.

[sperg] Well, he was wrong for saying it in the first place, and she was wrong for repeating it and perpetuating the idea that the phrase is somehow beautiful. It's not. It's downright disturbing. FUCK THAT, and FUCK HER, and FUCK THAT MOVIE and FUCK TOLKIEN (even though I really did actually like the movie, and Tolkien). Fuck ALL of them right up the ass for using that phrase at all, in any context. "Cellar Door" is, to me, one of the scariest possible combination of words.

(and yes, I know that Tolkein was both famous and a linguist, but "famous linguist" is a poor way to describe him. It's like calling David Berkowitz a "famous evangelist") [/sperg] [/semi-related]

This story was originally posted on a message board, where another member had posted an earlier 'basement' description. That other member's description seems very apt, and I'd like to quote an excerpt from that post:

Quote:

Also, there was a basement which had the whole "evil presence" thing going on. My mother flat out refused to go in there after the first time she did, and that was during broad daylight. My father only did with the door open and every light in the vicinity on. I remember vividly the feeling of abject terror I felt the one time, to my memory, that I went in there, not the kind of scared you feel when you're a kid and your mom turns the light out and shuts your room door, but the kind of scared you feel when every horror movie you've ever seen comes to life and coagulates in the form of suffocating, total darkness punctuated by a hundred eyes all staring at you with a deep burning hatred.

This is a very good (if somewhat understated) description of the feelings invoked. There are some differences; his basement was cold and seemed to affect everyone, while mine was warm and only affected children. Still, there are enough similarities to make me wonder if our basements may have been siblings born from the very same hell, or perhaps they were even connected at a deeper level; some twisted "dionaea basement" in which each of them was only a small part of a larger entity.

OK, I suppose that's enough of that particular rant - Here we go, on to the much longer ranting....

It's going to be a long story, filled with many irrelevant details and sidetracks that serve no real purpose other than to demonstrate how clearly I remember it; how it has burned itself into my mind. I will also make every attempt to portray my childhood memories (or perhaps imaginings) in a rational, skeptical adult manner.

I don't know how many of you are prepared to read the rambling, incoherent ravings of a madman recounting events from the lunacy of his childhood memories, so at this point you have two choices: (a) Skip my post and proceed to the next one; there is no "I looooooooooooooove them balls" (b) Sit back, relax, settle in, and prepare yourself for the ride.

If you choose option (b), I apologize in advance for my writing style, my propensity toward excessive verbosity, and for my apparent A.D.D.

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

Prologue: Introduction, and a Small Bit of Back-Story

As I mentioned, my 'basement story' is along the same lines as the "evil presence" mentioned in an earlier quote. It's quite a bit more complicated than most of the other basement stories I've read, including one that involved hearing strange noises only to discover that the noises were the result of a brother making out with girls.

I'm not saying that there weren't strange noises - there absolutely were, although just how strange is debatable. In retrospect, they may have been (and probably were) perfectly mundane "basement noises", but they did add an element of extra creepiness.

Noises like the occasional erratic metallic 'clink' or 'thunk' sound of pipes being tapped on. A steady 'bloop' at about 10-second intervals, suggesting a drip from some unseen leak. The sound of rushing water. All of those were likely just plumbing issues. Less frequently, I would hear a low 'moaning' sound, which quite probably was just wind somehow entering from outside, or circulating in some plumbing vents.

Looking back, there are many completely rational explanations for such noises, and it's likely that every old basement in every old house makes noises like these. At the time though, in my young mind, they were unfathomably ominous warning sounds. Those erratic 'clink' and 'thunk' tapping noises were intentional, and were designed to stimulate my curiosity; drawing me down into the basement to investigate their source. The dripping 'bloop' noises were maddeningly loud - much louder than they had any real right to be - and were similarly intended to lure me down in the hopes of shutting off whatever infernal faucet might be open. The rushing water noises only served to confuse me, but the damned moaning....

Oh, the moaning - Thankfully, it wasn't as constant as the drip, or as common as the tapping, but on the occasions that it did occur, it was indescribably horrific. It both drew me and repelled me at the same time. I didn't know if it was the call of someone who needed my help (perhaps the last victim who had made the unwise decision to enter that pit), or if it was a chorus consisting of all the voices of previous victims, warning me to stay the hell away.

To make things worse, none of the noises ever sounded entirely real - They all had an artificial quality, like sound-effects from a movie - Like shaking a piece of sheet-metal to simulate the sound of thunder, or clapping coconut-halves together for the sound of a horse galloping. I could never (and still can't) quite place my finger on it, but something about the noises was always very 'off'. The 'not-quite-right' feeling inherent in the sound may have been due to the shape/acoustics of the room. All sounds coming through the door from below the staircase seemed to be amplified, and a short echo/delay ambiance was applied before the sound waves reached my ears.

I didn't understand concepts like 'acoustics' at the time. Maybe the alteration of the sounds were simply due to acoustics of the room, causing the sound waves to resonate in such an unusual fashion....

But then again, maybe the sounds were altered intentionally to disguise their artificiality. Hearing the noises through the open door at the top of the staircase created the feeling that the noises just somehow just didn't belong. As if they had actually originated from some other source, elsewhere in the universe, but had been transported into this basement through some rift in space-time. When the door was shut, the noises could (mercifully) no longer be heard at all. I'm not saying that the door simply muffled the noises, but rather that it somehow canceled them out altogether.

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

The Story Begins... Herein Lies Danger

During my childhood, my family moved around a lot. My father worked for a government agency that would transfer him to different locations on a fairly regular basis. Every year or two, we'd be in a different city or state, moving into a new home.

I was probably about 7 years old when we moved into the house with the “haunted” basement. Perhaps "haunted" isn't even the right word to use - It was never really clear to me whether the basement itself was alive, or if something else, something very evil, was residing within it. I suppose the distinction is meaningless, because whatever it might have been, it's energy was always focused in that one particular part of the house.

I'm not certain exactly when, how or even why I came to the conclusion that it was haunted. I only knew that it terrified me to my very core, in a way that I had never been frightened before and haven't been since.

The house had a small storage/utility room just outside of the kitchen, around the corner from the pantry closet. The room itself was largely unremarkable – It contained a deep-sink with one of those old-style hand-crank laundry wringers attached, the type that squeezes the water from fabric by pressing it between two rollers. In one corner of the room were the usual basic items you might expect to find in such a room – A mop & bucket, a broom & dustpan, nothing out of the ordinary. There was an arched entryway leading to the kitchen, a door leading outside and of course, the other door – the door which I later concluded led directly into hell.

The door's handle was on the left, and hinges on the right. It opened inward toward the stairs, where there was about a 4-foot long platform before the staircase descended along the left wall. Thinking back on it, this was a pretty poor design and potentially dangerous to someone who might have been coming up the stairs. Opening the door at the wrong moment could easily knock someone down the staircase, or send them plummeting over the railing. Of course, I never thought about such things at the time. There was a light-switch on the left wall just inside the door.

From the doorway at the top of the staircase I couldn't actually see much of the basement, even if I flipped on the light-switch. The light illuminated the stairs well enough, but not much of the basement itself. That godforsaken room seemed to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. I could just barely make out the shape of the washing machine at the far right of my field of view.

At some point within the first week of moving into this new house (before I had become aware of IT), my natural inclinations toward exploring led me toward the basement, just to play around, as children are often wont to do. At the time, the basement was new to me - it was (in my mind) 'unexplored territory'. Like most young boys, I was prone to silly delusions of being an explorer, a discoverer, even when my 'exploring' or 'discovery' was limited to something as mundane as rooms in my own home.

I was a young child, and I didn't know any better - It wasn't until much later that I realized it's a bad idea to intrude into areas where something might prefer to be left alone - a sleeping beast is best left undisturbed - once awoken, a beast is obligated to behave in a manner consistent with it's beastly nature.

Whatever force it was, it had decided I was unwelcome, and I somehow, instinctively knew it didn't want me around. I got the unmistakable impression that it didn't like me very much at all - or perhaps it did. Maybe it liked me a little too much.

The basement stank, as well. Standing atop the stairs, I could smell a very unpleasant fetid, musty odor – like the stench of decay mixed with mildew and something else – something hot. I could feel warm, dank air emanating up from within those murky depths, and I also felt a presence – A sentient presence. It hinted at secrets waiting to be unearthed - It knew something I didn't, and it wouldn't reveal it's dark secrets unless I went down and succumbed to it's clutches. At times, it seemed only to be playfully mischievous, trying to coax me in. At other times there was no mistaking that it basement had wicked, malevolent intentions.

I never actually even set foot inside it; I was too frightened. Just looking down into it, I could feel the small hairs all over my body standing on end, as if even my very skin could sense the danger that lurked within that subterranean crypt, awaiting my arrival. I distinctly remember standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down into the emptiness, the dark abyss of the unknown and unknowable, desperately trying to muster up enough courage to descend into what I was convinced must be a magical portal to some other world; simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.

I could never do it. Fear would paralyze me before I could take even the first step down that foreboding staircase. I would stand there in complete and utter horror, sweating, on the verge of tears, until eventually something would snap and I'd regain just enough control of myself to run away. And run, I did. Every single time.

Over time, my fear of whatever unimaginable evil lurked within the basement extended to the doorway leading to that monstrous room. I began avoiding even the door to the basement, as if getting too close to the door would cause me to be sucked in, where I would surely suffer unspeakable atrocities. I did my best to keep at least five feet away from that malignant, venomous doorway.

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

Friends visiting

Much like any other child, I had friends who would come to visit, play, or have the occasional sleepover. On a few occasions (when my parents weren't around, or weren't paying attention) I would dare my friends to enter the basement. None of them ever did. I never told them exactly why the basement was a scary place (and to be honest, I really didn't understand it myself - I still don't).

They all seemed very willing to take the dare, but as they approached the door they always faltered. One of them (Paul) came closer than most; and (admittedly) closer than I ever had - He walked down the stairway to almost the halfway point, where he froze. Solid. After a moment, he turned and bolted back up the the stairs. He didn't stop once he reached the kitchen, either. He kept running straight through, and locked himself in the bathroom for 10 or 15 minutes. When he finally came out he was sweating, shaking all over, and unable to maintain eye-contact - with anyone - for the rest of the night. He refused to talk about it.

My parents seemed to think that he might be ill, and they called his parents to express their concerns. I don't know exactly what transpired in that phone call, but I guess it was decided that everything was OK, because Paul's parent's didn't come pick him up. At least, not right then.

In the middle of the night, Paul woke me up and said that he had to go home. I told him to shut up. I wanted to go back to sleep. He started crying and babbling about wanting to go home. After a little while, the noise woke my parents up. It was tremendously embarrassing to me - I was sure they'd never allow another sleepover after this kid woke them up in the middle of the night with his blubbering. After all, he was my friend, I was the one who invited him here, and now he's causing problems, interrupting their sleep. They told me it was OK, sometimes kids get scared for no reason. They said the best thing to do would be to let him call home, and maybe it would help him to feel better.

My father made the phone call. He woke Paul's mother, and explained (as best he could) the situation to her. Then he gave the phone to Paul. Paul immediately resumed crying the moment the phone was put into his hand. He begged his mother to come pick him up, that he needed to go home... I can still hear the tone in his voice, and the way he stretched out the vowels; the "e" in the word "need" and the "o" in "home". He told us all that was feeling sick, but he couldn't look any of us in the eye, and I could see the look of abject terror on his face. I knew it was the basement that had frightened him away from my house. I felt bad for daring him to go down there. He wound up gathering the few belongings he had brought with him, and my father drove him home.

Paul and I never spoke much after that - It was almost like we weren't friends anymore, for some reason. Over the short course of time that I lived there, I'd see him at school and he'd usually avert his gaze, as though there was some unspoken thing which he didn't want to acknowledge. In any case, we were never really friends again; he seemed to get very uncomfortable around me and distanced himself - In fact, I don't think I ever saw him have any friends at all for the rest of the time I went to school there.

[unrelated side-story] It's not really pertinent to the story, but a few years ago, my mother sent me an email containing a web-link to a news story about Paul - She'd stayed in contact with his parents throughout the years. As it turned out, Paul had grown up (as we all do), married a very nice woman, and had 2 children. He also got a job as a schoolteacher in the same town and school district where I had known him.

Apparently at some point, Paul developed an unhealthy sexual appetite involving 9-yr-old girls He was teaching third-grade, and one of his students had come forward with allegations of molestation, quickly followed by several other girls he had taught. While he was awaiting trial on multiple charges, he died from a self-administered rapid overdose of lead poisoning delivered directly to his brain via the barrel of a shotgun. [/unrelated side-story]

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

The Grown-Ups Couldn't Sense It

Judging from the reactions of every single one of my childhood friends who ever came into close contact with the basement, we children seemed to be (in some fashion) attuned to the presence of whatever was lurking within it. We could sense it, even though adults were entirely unaware of it, and thus unaffected.

Maybe it's one of those senses that naturally become duller as we age, like the gradual degradation of our eyesight, or losing the ability to hear high frequency sound waves. Maybe it's just due to the fact that as children, we are more vulnerable and thus more inclined to pay attention to such instincts. Whatever the reason, we could feel it, while my parents never showed any signs of being even the slightest bit frightened by the basement. I never mentioned my fear to them for a variety of (completely illogical and nonsensical) reasons that I'll attempt to explain later.

Occasionally, I'd see my mother coming up from the basement; usually carrying a hamper full of clean laundry or performing some other routine household chore. I marveled at the courage she must possess, to have dared enter that abomination beneath the house. I was in complete awe of her bravery, she had willingly entered the room alone and unafraid (and even more surprisingly, she had returned safely from it's depths). This led me to a simple conclusion, and brought me a small amount of hope – After all, I knew how powerful the presence in basement was – If it felt the need to hide itself from her, then she must be even more powerful still, for it to fear her. I don't recall ever seeing her actually enter the basement, only seeing her return. I may have just 'blacked-out' any memory of seeing her enter, as the thought would have been too traumatic for my young mind to cope with.

I'd like to think that if I'd seen her entering that dreadful tomb, I would have warned her not to go, even pleaded with her if necessary. Truth is, I probably wouldn't have. I would probably have been too afraid to voice my objections, knowing that the basement might hear me. I knew that it was evil, and I knew that it was dangerous, yet I had the suspicion that just maybe, it didn't know that I knew. Somehow, my intuition told me that I'd be safer if I didn't let it find out that I knew about it. As long as it didn't know I was aware of it, I could avoid it - but if it found out that I knew, it would have no other choice – it would be forced to get rid of me.

For the rest of the time that we lived in that house, I avoided that door like some demonic infectious disease that was absolutely, without-any-doubt, determined to destroy me (or worse). As I said before, I didn't mention my fear to my parents or anyone else. Using my childhood logic, saying it out-loud might awaken "the bad thing" and bring it directly to me, like some unearthly spectral dog-whistle. It seemed to be confined to the basement (for now), perhaps it was even trapped there and unable to come out. Speaking of it aloud might be like "calling it's name", which could free it from it's underground prison and allow it to come for me. I tried my best to hide my fear, because I somehow knew that if my parents found out about that fiendishly diabolical and loathsome entity, then the basement would be forced to deal with them, as well. It must have had some nefarious reason for not making itself known to them – it didn't want them to know about it. As old superstitions go, saying something out loud calls it to you, and telling someone else brings it to them.

Looking back on it, I suppose they had to know how frightened I was even though I never told them. I don't think they could have possibly not noticed how consciously I avoided that door, and how quickly I moved when I did have to walk by it.

----------------------- Relief at last -----------------------

After about a year, we moved out of that house and to a different state. I still remember that basement (well, what little of it I ever actually saw) in great detail, and I'll never forget how I would become consumed by sheer terror whenever I came into close proximity to it.

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

Epilogue - More recent times

A couple of years ago while I was visiting my mother, we were talking and something reminded me of all this. I don't remember what, exactly. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was at the time, most likely something inconsequential, but something she said, or something I said, or perhaps something on TV reminded me (all it usually takes is hearing the word "basement").

In an off-handed sort of way, I mentioned it to her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember being shocked by the way she reacted to it. What I said was probably something mostly innocuous, like "remember when I was little, how scared I was of the basement".

She just stared at me blankly, with a very strange look on her face, and didn't say anything all. After a few seconds (not your usual 'few seconds' - these were seconds that felt like days, or perhaps weeks - timeless, infinite seconds during which I became increasingly uncomfortable), when the silence had reached a deafening crescendo and my discomfort level had peaked, I tried to change the subject. She wouldn't allow that. To my horror, she only stared at me quizzically and asked me to repeat myself. The remainder of the conversation proceeded something like this:

Quote:

"What did you just say?" "Ah - mmm, nevermind, it's nothing - just thinking out loud." "No, you weren't - What did you just say?" "I'm going to get another cup of coffee - do you want one?" "Stop avoiding my question - I want to know what you meant - Something about a basement?" "It's not important, really" "Tell me." "I was just saying how much it scared me when I was little." - [blank stare from mom] - "I was really glad when we moved out of that house." - [blank stare from mom] - "It's silly, I know." "We've never had a basement."

Of course, I didn't believe her. I even argued with her a little. I described the door, the stairway, the noises... All to no avail. I tried reminding her of the night that Paul came for a sleepover, and how he had awoken so frightened that he refused to stay - she remembered the night, but she insisted that Paul had just gotten sick.

I mentioned that the laundry machines were in the basement - She simply had to remember it; she'd been down there many times. She refused to hear any part of it - She remembered the small utility room outside the kitchen, but according to her, the laundry machines had been located in that room, and there was no door leading to a downward staircase. After a very frustrating conversation, it seemed that there was simply no way I would ever be able to make her remember, and she seemed to give up on trying to convince me.

Later that evening, she brought out an old photo album. She sat down with me and went through photos of every house we had lived in while I was growing up. Photos of every location we had ever moved to, every city and state. She could tell me what years we lived in each home and how old I was at the time. She wanted me to point out which house I was talking about. I couldn't identify which particular house it had been. Although I could narrow it down to two possible houses based simply on my age at the time, neither one of them looked like the right house from my memory. The pictures were all familiar to me, I remembered the houses, but I couldn't place precisely which one of them it had been since none of them looked quite right. She could narrow it down to one particular house; being that it was the town where we had met Paul's family. She swore that it didn't have a basement, nor did ANY home we'd EVER lived in

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

In Conclusion

I sometimes wonder if perhaps the basement managed to somehow erase itself from her memory - Of course that would mean that it had altered my memory as well, rendering me unable to identify the house in which it dwelt, and thus preventing me from ever disclosing it's whereabouts.

I try not to think about it too much, or too often, and I've once again decided that I probably shouldn't ever tell this story out loud.

Rationally, I realize that there's no real danger in vocalizing any of this, but a part of me still thinks that maybe, just maybe, there just might be. I have nothing to gain by saying it out loud, but I also stand to lose nothing by remaining silent about it just in case it can still hear me.

Credit to: Volponi

[casspurrjoybell-21]

Pirate Chains - Volume 1 - Strong Tides

*Warning Adult Content*

Chapter 39 - Cuddles - Part 1

Agenor

I entered my cabin, taking a moment to calm my breath and compose myself. Nyx was sitting on the floor near the bed, briefly glancing back to see who had entered before returning his attention to the window. The room was dimly lit, so I reached for the nearest lamp and turned it on. Thankfully, Nyx was facing away, allowing me to notice my blood-stained shirt before he did. I quickly removed it and hurriedly discarded it outside, then closed the door. Taking a deep breath, I sent a silent prayer...

'Thank God Nyx hadn't seen the fucking splatters of blood on me.'

Composing myself, I approached Nyx. I have no regrets for my actions. In fact, I probably should have inflicted even more pain on them. However, Nyx would likely have his own thoughts on the matter and would continue to nag me about it. Plus, after the intensely passionate encounter we had earlier... I smirked as I reminisced about his naked body on top of mine. Aye, he rode me at some point and it was heavenly. Him straddling me with his head thrown back as I invaded him over and over... Fuck me, it was heavenly.

My eyes follow the black bed sheets as they cascade down the side, covering his alluring thighs. He looked so beautiful, so peaceful... Aye, for now, I wouldn't disclose what had transpired below deck. As I drew nearer to him, a wide smile tugged at my lips. He was simply adorable, hugging his knee with an injured leg stretched out on the floor, gazing up at the night sky through the small window. The memory of his precious moans while I pleasured him played in my mind, igniting my desire once again.

I took a long, soothing breath that ended with a suppressed groan. With Nyx by my side, I found myself developing an affection for my cabin. Once merely a place to store my treasures and escape the stench of the crew under the scorching sun, it now emanated a cozy feeling that sated the beast within me. I sat down beside him, playfully mimicking his pose by hugging one knee with one arm, my other arm stretched across the bed above his head and I sensed his shoulders tense slightly.

"Have you finished reprimanding your crew already?"

I chuckled.

"You heard?"

"Not the whole speech, fortunately."

He continued staring at the sky while I gazed at him. Despite the dim lighting, his beauty remained unaffected. All the unsettling events I had been a part of before entering this cabin seemed to fade away. Surprisingly, my voice now sounded deep and completely calm as I said...

"Did the shouting wake you? Sorry for disturbing your much-needed rest."

"It's okay, I've slept enough," he replied with a slight smile, then hesitantly added...

"So..." he hesitated for a moment before continuing...

"Is it my turn now?"

"Your turn?" I asked.

"The scolding... If you're going to lecture me, just get it over with. I'm really sore from..." his words trailed off and he averted his gaze, realizing what he was about to say.

His cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink before he continued...

"Well... from what happened today obviously."

I grinned.

"Hmm... I suppose what happened was quite... heated?" I remarked, causing him to blush even more and shift uncomfortably, trying to suppress a guilty smile.

I affectionately ruffled his hair, my hand lingering in his silky black locks.

"I'm not going to scold you, Nyx. I believe you're aware that keeping something from me was wrong. But aside from that, you were incredibly brave to face them all. I hope today was the last time you put yourself in such a situation. Just... try to control the urge to challenge pirates, especially when you're sober," I said, delighting in watching him laugh timidly as his head leaned back into my hand.

I noticed his pants lying beside him, along with a wet cloth in his right hand. Leaning, I planted a gentle kiss on his upper arm, the one supporting his knee, before smirking and asking.

"Did I interrupt your cleaning ritual?"

He rolled his eyes in response to my sarcasm.

"I had already finished, thank you. But you..."

"What about me?"

"You could use some cleaning yourself. You smell like you've been training or something," he observed.

I raised an eyebrow and caught a whiff of myself. Training? Well, I suppose beating those bastards did help me vent my anger, so in a way, it was akin to training.

"The water is clean, by the way. Baril changed it," Nyx informed me.

"Baril was here?" I inquired.

Nyx nodded.

"He also brought dinner," he gestured toward two covered plates on the table.

"And when he noticed I used your water, he changed it."

"And... did he say anything?" I asked.

"I asked if something was wrong because he seemed too tense and... oddly silent. But he wouldn't say. He just mentioned that I was gutsy and left," he replied, pulling the bucket closer and placing the cloth inside before squeezing the excess water off it and handing it to me.

Thank God Baril didn't let slip anything. I had reached my limit for disobedience today. I could handle Nyx easily if that had happened but I'd avoid antagonizing him and making him worry about worthless things. Lost in thought, I hadn't taken the cloth from his hand. I was snapped back to reality when the cold sensation slid across my arm, causing me to flinch slightly.

"Alright," Nyx said in a conceding tone.

"I'll help you with this. You seem quite tense."

Leaning closer, he glided the cold cloth from my shoulder to my chest.

"I wonder what happened to make you so sweaty," he said, casting a sidelong glance at me with a mischievous eyebrow raised.

I grinned in response.

"Nothing much. I just gave my crew a piece of my mind."

Nyx sighed and muttered...

"I'm glad I didn't witness that."

I chuckled and tilted my head to watch him. With one hand ensuring the bed sheets kept him adequately covered and the other carefully wiping my chest, a sense of calm washed over me in his presence. I enjoyed watching him clean himself, always amazed by his dedication to personal hygiene despite living among ruffians. It was a testament to his pride and something I found endearing, the delicacy of his moves, the sweetness of his natural smell, the embarrassment from doing it in front of someone.

No matter how hard he tried to do it privately, he couldn't escape my watchful eye. As he soaked the cloth in water and ran it over my skin, I observed him intently. His focus was unwavering while he followed the contours of my muscles. I moved my necklace aside, granting him easier access to my chest and diverting his attention solely towards me. With my right hand settled on his thigh, I couldn't ignore the stirring in my groin when my eyes followed his body lines down to the curve of his ass, partially clothed by the bedsheets.

Minutes passed and his touch became bolder, leaving trails of cold fingers that set my skin ablaze. A smile played on his lips as he grew more eager to explore rather than clean. I gasped as his brush tickled my left nipple, earning a chuckle from him. His eyes, shining with a sea-blue hue, never strayed from my body. His daring hands roamed freely, dispelling all traces of tension. My hand reached for his inner thigh but he swiftly grabbed it, restraining my movements. The hunger for him surged within me and my other hand traced his back, eliciting a shiver.

I then gripped his neck from behind and pulled him into a passionate kiss. He responded eagerly and soon a seductive moan escaped him, fueling my ego. I refused to let him pull away as my passion intensified. My tongue invaded his mouth, dominating every inch. I started pulling him closer. In the midst of my rising excitement, I must have inadvertently hurt him. A sharp moan escaped him. I released him, concern flooding me as he sat back, breathless.

"Are you okay?" I asked looking at his wrapped foot, my tone demanding yet calm.

He glanced at me through his lashes, his hand reaching for his neck.

"It's... my neck... It hurts but I'm fine."

Realization struck me. It was because of when Ken had touched him. That wretched bastard managed to hurt him.

"Let me see," I offered, extending my hand toward him.

I refrained from pulling him forcefully, not wanting to add further pressure to his already taxing day. To my relief, he moved closer, willingly complying with my request. As I attempt to lift the collar slightly, Nyx winced in pain.

"It... hurts, the collar is..."

"Nyx, what exactly did he do?" I interrupted, my voice filled with anger as I referred to the despicable vermin.

He pouted, tiredly but also angrily.

"That bastard... tried to drown me. He held my hear under water. I really thought it was my end then and there. He gripped my neck so hard, he only let go when I stabbed him."

His complaints tugged at my heart, igniting a desire to embrace him. But first, I needed to tend to his injured neck. I swiftly removed the key from my necklace, unlocked the collar and straightened my posture. Nyx halted my hand, hissing in pain.

"Awe... Wait, it hurts. It feels like... it's stuck to my skin."

"I'm just removing the collar to take a look," I reassured him, determined to assess the extent of the damage.

Despite his protest, I continued taking the collar off, causing him to wince and his shoulders to tense in pain. The leather peeled away, revealing his bruised and discolored skin. Red marks imprinted the edges of the collar, with deeper scratches and traces of dried blood on the sides. The collar had become adhered to his skin, causing additional discomfort. Cursing inwardly, I enveloped him in a careful hug, seething with anger.

"That damned rat, I should have killed that son of a bitch."

Nyx patted my back lightly, attempting to reassure me and even attempting to tease me.

"Worry much?" then he added.

"It was awful but I dealt with it".

'Fuck, he shouldn't need to...'

[sunny6677]

THE AUDIO LOGS OF ANDREW HUDSON.

SUMMARY: The following are real audio tapes of tapes left by an animator at the forgotten studio Joey Drew Studios. Please ensure that you are ready to listen with these with caution, dear listener. What you may hear may cause you to never want to hear again. What you may picture may make you never want to see again. Please be aware of the consequences you may have if you do not have permission to listen to these tapes. If not permitted, then [REDACTED]. You have been warned.

(This is fiction btw, so no worries-- I know some people with anxiety issues might think this is real so this is just a clarification.)

TW FOR CHAPTER/TAPE: NONE.

TW FOR SERIES: MANIPULATION, TRANSFORMATION, UNHEALTHY MINDSET, OBSESSIONS, CULTS, CULT MENTIONS, MURDER.

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

TAPE #5.

2 HOURS AFTER THE 4TH TAPE.

THE VOICE OF WALLY FRANKS, ANDREW HUDSON, AND JOEY DREW.

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

W: "So get this— I'm walkin' around, doin' my rounds like usual, right? When that Andrew fella from earlier randomly shows up covered in ink! It's like he appeared outta thin air or somethin! I tell ya, the guy was practically soaked! When I asked 'em what on earth happened, the guy answers that he crawled through the vents of the place! I dunno what's up with this guy, but if this keeps up for long, I'm outta he—"

A: "Whatcha talkin' about?"

W: "A— Andrew! What'aya doin' here? You... aren't you— aren't you supposed to be in the Art Department right now? You ain't supposed to be walkin' 'round here, bud—"

A: "Eh, yeah—but hey! Thats the gift of bein' a little faster at your work than others, I guess. Anyway, you recordin' a tape thing? Seems almost everyone 'round here has one."

W: "Well.. I was before you interrupted me."

A: "Huh?"

W: "N— nothin.. Anyway, how'd you get clean so fast? I'd assume the ink stains from earlier would leak on your clothes somehow."

A: "Eh, they did, but I just ran back home—put some of my other pairs of clothes on, and ran back. So I guess I'm prepared for anytime I lose my clothes, heh!"

W: "Ya.. ya have a spare pair of the same cloth—"

A: "Anyway— holy shit, it's cloudy today!"

W: "Uh.. yeah, I guess it is. Didn't notice that."

A: "Looks like a Van Gogh paintin' today.. ya think it'll be foggy sometime soon?"

W: "Hm.. maybe, I dunno. Depends on—"

A: "That'll be fun, seein' fog if it ever comes 'round here. I'd like to go cloud-watchin' with someone sometime, it's real pretty to watch the clouds movin' along. It's like watchin' a painting come to life right before your very eyes! Oh.. wait a minute, wait a minute! That could be a new toon idea! I should tell that to Joey! Paintings Come To Life! Hell yeah, nice one, me!"

W: "Heh, I don't think I've ever seen anyone around here compliment theirself. Must be real into yourself to do somethin' like that, buddy."

A: "Well, what can I say! I'm fuckin' awesome! Everyone here's fuckin' awesome, your fuckin' awesome!"

W: "Heheh—okay, relax, pal—we only just met today, no need for any praises."

J: "You two seem to be getting on well."

W: "J— Joey!"

A: "Ahhh, shit, hey, big man! What's up! I came up with a new idea for a toon we could do! Paintings Come To Life is what it should be called, man! No idea how it's gonna go, but the cogs are already turnin' in my head just thinking about it!"

J: "Hoho, okay, relax, Andrew. I'd like to hear some more about it though! We could use some more ideas around here."

A: "Oh, hell yeah, you would! Maybe we should get all the animators in on this too, we could have real fun playin' around if we take the title literally!"

J: "Woah-kay, Andrew, I'm in charge here— I'll decide if you all get to play around or not. By the way, what are you doing talkin' to Andrew, Wally? You two haven't ever really talked before."

W: "Well, uh—"

A: "Oh, I met him a few hours ago, he's a real cool guy! The people 'round here could make his job easier if they actually picked their shit up, though. No idea why they think the floors a trash can."

J: "Oh? Seems your makin' friends like you said you would then, huh?"

A: "Yep! Never thought I'd be makin' friends with 'em though— you don't seem to talk much, do you, Walls?"

W: "N— No, I guess I dont—"

A: "Yeah, he boogiein' around, doin' his own thing, so I didn't think we'd be pals! Guess I thought wrong though, 'specially considerin' we're goin' out to have dinner later tonight!"

J: "Really! So soon?"

A: "Yep!"

W: "And— Andrew, i—"

J: "Well, I guess since you two are gettin' along so well, might as well leave you two alone to talk. See ya!"

W: "Wait, hold on a minute, Joey—"

[WHAT SOUNDS LIKE A DOOR CLOSES.]

W: [SIGHS]

A: "Thats weird, he never randomly leaves like that. Usually he always barges in randomly and doesn't leave until he wants to."

W: "Yeah, yeah.. I gotta get back to my job now though, or else I'm really gonna be outta here!"

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

NOTES: NONE.

[lilacsandwhiskey]

Hiiii can I request a drew rough smut, they have to film an intense make out for there characters but then bc of covid drew and reader have to quarantine together but there’s to much sexual tension force him to handle

Method Acting

Pairing: Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, smut (my first drew smut pls don’t look at me i’m embarrassed), m/f, language

You grab Drew’s hands, letting a shaky breath escape your lips. “This doesn’t change how I feel about you, Rafe.” This was the moment Rafe admits everything to your character, his love interest in the newest season.

“You’re the only one who sees me, for me. You see past it all. I know I’m fucked in the head. I know I am. I’ll be better for you.” Drew is tugging you towards him, burying his face in your neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He mutters. “I love you, Rafe.” You respond.

Drew is pulling his mental notes out of his back pocket as he slowly kisses from your neck up to your lips. When his lips meet yours, he applies the passion that you can only wish for without the cameras. His hands find home on your body, one behind your head, the other on the small of your back, pulling you up to towards him.

You think of how in character Drew is at this point, but how you are pouring all of your admiration for this man into this scene. The friendship that the two of you had grew into was arguably a little bit less than more than friends.

You’d find yourself over at his place, drinking a little bit too much, pouring out each other’s life stories. He’d brush the hair out of your face as if it was something he was supposed to do. His hand would find comfort around your waist when hanging out with your friends.

Every bit of that was being poured into this kiss right now. Drew is pushing you back on the bed, using his knee to push apart your legs for his leg to rest there. His body is hovered over your own as he lets out a small groan, your stomach in knots. His lips move slowly from your lips down to your neck. Placing small kisses on your shoulder, his hand moves to play with the ends of your hair before kissing the top of your chest. And cut. Scene over. Every fantasy you’d ever dreamed of - that’s as far as it’s going to get.

Drew helps you off the bed, smiling and giving you a high five. A damn high five. “We’re pretty great partners, huh?” Drew tugs you along with him to get water. “Just the best.” You reply before taking a much needed drink.

Later that evening, you find yourself sitting on his couch, knees pulled to your chest and script in front of you. Drew and you had been spitting out lines for the past hour and you were finding yourself fairly tired. Something about the wine and the existence of the boy next to you caused the lines to blur and your body to desperately seek rest.

“I should probably head back to my place.” Your apartment was only a couple of floors down, but it seemed like miles right now. “You’re not gonna stay here tonight?” Drew asks. It’s not what it sounds like, truly. If only it was.

There’d been several times you’d stay at his and he’d stay at yours, or you’d even stay at the others places like this. You’d just get too caught up in shenanigans and Drew was lucky enough to have another bedroom unoccupied, unlike you. “Fine.” You finally reply, rolling your eyes. Just as you stand up, both of your phones are going off with a group text from the director.

Hello everyone. Sorry for the late text, but I do have some unfortunate news. We had a crew member test positive today, someone who started experiencing symptoms earlier this evening. They went for a test and unfortunately the rapid is positive. Because of the prolonged contact with each other, we are making the decision to quarantine. With that being said, we do ask that if you are around someone during this quarantine period that you stay only directly with that person or group. This is so anyone who may test positive can stay isolated and cause no further exposure. I trust you all will be careful during this time. Please reach out if you need anything, if you experience symptoms, etc. We are here for you! Stay well.

The two of you look at each other and groan. “Okay, well maybe I do need to head to my room tonight then.” You say, cleaning up your dish from the coffee table. Drew frowns, running his hand through his hair.

“Wait, I have an idea.” Drew perks up, walking towards you. “Just stay here!” Your head whips around to face him. “What?” “Just stay here! Come on, ultimate method acting. We’re supposed to eventually live together anyway, let’s get into character with it.” “You’re ridiculous.” You shake your head, rinsing your dish off.

“We’re best friends, we’re together all the time anyway. Trust me, I’ll get bored all by myself here. You’ll have your own room and space. Lets do it. What could go wrong?”

——————

What could go wrong?

Boy, did he eat those words.

Drew attempted at all costs to downplay the feelings he’d developed for you. So much so that everyone could see it but the two of you, and he’d shut them down quickly just saying, “that’s what best friends do.”

Drew was kicking himself just days into quarantine with you, trying to recall who thought it’d be a good idea asking the girl he’d been fawning over for a while now to move in for two weeks. Oh yeah, it was him.

Drew sat in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone as he sipped on the coffee he’d brewed only minutes ago. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the door open to the extra room, revealing none other than you in an oversized t-shirt, covering up the tiny shorts you were sporting. Hair in a quick bun, only glasses accessorizing your face - and this boy thought he was going to explode at the simplicity of your beauty.

“Morning.” You grumble, attempting to pull a mug out of the cabinet. “Why do you put the most important things in the highest places?” You joke, about to climb on the counter when Drew’s fall stature comes over you, grinning down at you as he simply sweeps a mug out of the cabinet and sets it on the counter. “Go sit down, sleepyhead. I got it.” He bumps your hips to go join the small table while he makes your coffee just how you like it.

He clinks the spoon on the edge of the cup before laying it on the neatly folded paper towel next to the sink. He sets it down in front of you, watching you take the first sip to make sure he did it just right. “You always hit the spot.” You say, letting a content sigh escape your lips. This only drives Drew to insanity, thinking of how he knows he could always hit the spot and how these thoughts are pure filth and he needs a shower.

Drew picks up his cup of coffee, letting it slide down his throat in a hurry, letting the burn fills his insides as he stands up abruptly and makes his way to the sink. “I’m going to shower.” He announces, not daring to make eye contact with you. “Oh… Okay? I was going to ask if you’d want to run lines this morning.” “Uh, sure. Let me just shower first.” He says, running into his room to grab clothes before closing the door and locking it behind him.

You sit on the couch, changed into fresh clothes as you had showered last night before going to bed. You dressed in simple leggings and a tight crop top, sitting cross-legged, engulfed in the scent of the candle you lit and the script in front of you.

Drew walks out, joggers hugging his hips, no shirt, and using his towel to ruffle his hair once more. “Sorry, just wasn’t feeling well.” Drew says, coming over to you. He gives you a smile and does the thing that makes your heart skip a beat - he moves your hair behind your ear. You shake your head at him. “Feeling better?” “Much.”

He throws his towel in the dirty clothes before taking his spot on the couch next to you. He runs his fingers through his wet messy hair, water droplets decorating his very much bare chest. You catch yourself staring at the way his body moves forward, his arms perfectly fit, as he reaches under the coffee table for his script.

When he looks towards you, he only smirks before asking where you’re at in the script. You feel a blush creep up to your cheeks as you shake your head and the both of you prepare for the scene in front of you.

Drew feels his heart flutter at the thought of you choosing to start at yet another make out scene. Are you doing this on purpose or is he looking too much into it? Drew situates himself across from you. “I think we really need to practice so we’re not deers in headlights day of.” Drew remarks. “I agree.” You take a slow easy breath as he gives you a reassuring smile. “You’re great, nothing to be nervous about.”

This scene is after the two of you escape the cops together, you’ve been keeping Rafe protected and hidden at all costs. The two of you at this point are supposed to be entering a random motel room. “We’re going to get caught if you keep going out like this.” You start. “I know, I know, baby, I’m sorry. I had to.” “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, Rafe. I love you but I am putting everything that I am on the line for you. Can’t you appreciate that?” Your voice gets louder, breaking at the words. “I’ve put my entire life on the line for everyone! Can’t you see that?” Drew argues, Rafe’s roughness compared to Drew’s usual gentleness spews out. “But at the end of the day, fuck me, right? If I’m not your dad, then I am nothing. I am doing this for you. I have spent every last penny to board us up in these damn motels for you to do something so selfish and almost blow our cover. I’m sick of it and I’m sick of you!” Your chest moves up and down, looking at Drew who’s eyes meet your own.

“You don’t mean that.” Drew croaks out. “You love me. I love you. We’re supposed to be endgame, remember?” “Then start acting like it, Rafe Cameron. Because I’m tired of feeling like this.” Drew moves closer to you on the couch, noting that the two of you would be on a bed when the time came for this scene. Drew holds his arms out, you falling into them. “I’ll be better, for you.” You nod into his embrace, feeling your heart erupt being in Drew’s arms without the cameras rolling.

“Should we…” Drew insinuates the next move in the script. You let out a small laugh, breaking the tension that has occurred between the two of you due to that precious conversation in the script.

Drew repeats the line. “I’ll be better, for you.” While pushing you back enough to capture your lips in his own. His lips are minty, fresh from him getting ready just minutes before. His skin is warm on yours, your hand finding his bare chest as you carefully scratch your nails against it.

Drew deepens the kiss, letting a small moan leave his lips as your kiss his bare skin. Drew mentally curses himself, hoping you’ll take that as acting. But this feels too real. Every kiss, every look of reassurance. There’s no cameras around to capture this moment and though this was supposed to be strictly acting, both of you aren’t foolish enough to pretend this is fake.

And that’s when the next words slip out of your lips with no resistance. “I want you.” Those three words encourage Drew to kiss you harder until he recognizes… that’s not your next line.

“That’s not in the script.” Drew whispers. “I know.” You say shyly. Drew pulls back, his eyes meeting your own. He can see the nervousness in your eyes from your simple yet bold statement. “Are you- are you sure?” Drew feels like his heart is going to be right out his chest. You nod your head, only for Drew to kiss you, whispering in your ear. “I need to hear you say it’s okay, sweetheart.” “Yes, yes, Drew. I’m sure.”

Drew swiftly stands up, using his arms to hoist you around his waist, where you wrap your legs around him. The both of you grin into the next kiss, both in shock that this is happening. Every admiration for each other, all of the adoration the two of you felt for each other, was being poured into this single moment without the cameras rolling, with two very vulnerable people ready to explore this next step.

Drew carefully keeps you in his arms, your lips never disconnecting as he finds the door to his room, only kicking it behind him before gently laying you on the bed. “You are so, so beautiful.” Drew says above a whisper. Your hands interlock behind his head, pulling him down to you as you play with his hair.

Drew’s hands meet the bottom of your shirt, tugging to take it off. The two of you part long enough for him to sweep it over your head, your hair left in a disheveled mess over your face only causing the two of you to giggle. Drew pushes your hair out of your face, but takes notice of the beauty in front of him. His eyes take over your body, his arm now behind you and unhooking the clasp to your bra.

When he pulls the bra away, his breath is caught in his throat, only causing him to dive right to your neck to leave sweet, sloppy kisses. He trails down to chest, one hand massaging your breast gently. His other hand is trailing down your side as he stops right at the waistband of your leggings. “May I?” Drew looks up at you with longing eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Yes.”

His mouth moves back up to your lips and his hands toy with the fabric right below your stomach, sweeping his hand further down into your pants just to find out how wet you are for him. Drew feels himself growing even harder at the thought that you are this turned on for him. You’re sensitive to his touch, and the moment his finger meets your clit, you’re a moaning mess. Drew swallows your moans with deep kisses as he works magic with his fingers.

“So wet for me. So good for me.” He praises in your ear. “Drew.” “Yes, sweetheart?” “I need you in me.” You speak with confidence. “Are you sure?” “Yes, please. I need you.” You whine beneath him. Drew lets out a shaky breath, excitement, infatuation, adoration, every feeling and emotions has captured him.

He reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a small point packet as you shimmy out of your leggings, putting yourself on display for him.

Drew hovers over you, slipping his dick through your folds before slowly slipping into you. The both of you gasp at the entrance, you holding on tightly to his shoulders. “Oh my…” Drew moans, his full length inside of you. “Are you okay?” Drew whispers. You say yes, giving him the go ahead.

Drew places on hand behind your hand, the other holding his weight at the side of your head. Drew is neat with strokes at the beginning, grunts leaving the back of his throat as sweat gathers at his forehead. The two of you sing your own song with moans, and the way you sound beneath him only drives him insane. Those once neat strokes have turned messy, hitting your sweet spot each and every time.

Drew feels you clench around him. “Drew, I’m there, I’m there.” Tears fill your eyes as you come around him, only making his body convulse harder into yours. With one final stroke, Drew is releasing himself with a loud moan of your name, with a string of curses following.

His body collapses onto yours, both of your rapidly breathing and attempting to come down from your euphoric high. Your fingers toy with the hair at the back of his neck as he lays sweet kisses on your chest. He slowly pulls out, disposing of the condom and bringing you a wet wash cloth. He helps clean you up before joining you in his own bed.

He looks over at you, a sight for sore eyes. Your cheeks are red, eyes glossy. Your lips are full and plump, red. Your bare chest is still slightly heaving deeply. The absolute woman of his dreams, the woman he has been crushing on so hard, is laying next to him. Your eyes meet his own. “Method acting, huh?” You breath out. Drew grins. “You’re ridiculous.” Drew props his head up with his elbow, his hand meeting the bare skin of your stomach as he absentmindedly rubs your skin. “I think there’s some conversations to be had, Mr. Starkey.” You give him a wide smile. “I think so too, sweetheart.”

[infernalrevenge]

Hello Hello 👋🏻

I would like to request (NSFW) the Dimitrescu Daughters getting dominated by Reader with a strap.

Just for Fun

Bela = Bed

Cassandra = Wall

Daniela = Sink

(But of course only if you‘re comfortable with it 🙈)

HELL YEAH ANON, I am more than happy to do this!

I'm guessing you want drabbles? I did all the sisters (hehehe) in this post, under the cut. (Also I'm sorry this took a while, I actually misunderstood the prompt and had to redo it though I had already finished the first two HAHAHA)

Reader shall be gender neutral, though they make use of a strap.

(NSFT text under the cut, 18+)

----------

Bela Dimitrescu

You pulled and pressed down on the last of the velcro for adjustment, looking down at the new toy attached between your legs. A pleased smile curled over your lips as you looked on at your girlfriend, who seemed... a little less enthusiastic.

"Is something wrong, love?" you asked in concern.

She looked down at the crumpled sheets, a sign of your earlier activities to prepare. "Just a little... nervous, I suppose."

You frowned slightly, not wanting her to worry. This was supposed to be fun for the two of you, after all. First times did tend to bring nerves though, no matter who you would do it with.

"I'll go slow, I promise. And if you want to stop, you can tell me," you assured her, cupping her cheek. Bela let out a shaky breath, but she nodded, seeming more sure this time.

She laid back down on the bed, her golden hair splayed around her like a halo as you spread her legs apart. Watching the way you licked your lips, that hunger in your eyes when your gaze locked onto hers -- it helped ease her worries somewhat. You only looked away for a moment to see where you were aiming, and once you started to move, you flicked back to her.

It felt much thicker than when she only had your fingers inside her, but it filled her so wonderfully at the same time. Her head pressed against the pillow, eyes closed as she savored the feeling of having you deep inside. She turned slightly to press a kiss to your palm, still on her cheek, and you took it as a good sign.

"You're doing wonderful, Bela. Such a good girl," you whispered. Every move drew a gasp from her lips, breath hitching slightly when she felt you speed up. All the while, you sung praises of how good she felt, how beautiful she looked laid out like this.

Your hands roamed over her bare chest, to her waist, then her hips, pulling her in to meet every thrust. She gripped the sheets underneath, nearly overwhelmed by the sensations before deciding it wasn't enough. She reached up for you without thinking, pulling you down just to feel your flushed body against hers. You responded in kind with kisses and suckles onto her neck, keeping a steady pace.

When she wrapped her legs around your waist, you couldn't help but smile. "Faster?" you asked. She could only nod to reply, words lost in a haze.

Her groans echoed in the chamber, mixing with the slapping of skin as she started to gush around you. All she could moan out was your name, and it was a hell of a drug to keep you going.

Everything making her tingle was building up in her core, toes curling and muscles tensing with her mind filled with want for you and only you. Until finally, finally -- her thighs pressed against your sides to keep you still as she was rocked with pleasure, shaking from the waves of an orgasm. She seemed almost dazed when you pulled back and saw her face, prompting a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll take it this means we can do this again some time?" you teased, just about to slip out before she crossed her legs over your waist once more.

"Again," was all she said, looking up at you pleadingly.

You weren't about to say no.

----------

Cassandra Dimitrescu

"You always carry that with you then?" the brunette said with a laugh, running her hand over the length of the strap on.

"Just in case. Knowing you, you could hardly wait 'til we get to a bed," you replied, leading her against a wall. She had essentially seduced you away from your work to a secluded room in the castle, where hopefully no one would disturb you.

Cassandra planted her hands in front of her, looking over her shoulder to see you rubbing the length of the toy between her ass. She bit down on her bottom lip, pushing her hips back impatiently.

"Ah-ah-ah, what's the magic word?" you chided, a mischievous smirk curling on your lips.

She only growled in response, but you stood firm as the hand on her hip kept her still. You traced its tip along her wet folds, making her stiffen and shiver in anticipation. You weren't going to just let her have this, not after the trouble you might wind up in for letting her whisk you away in the first place. She was going to earn it.

"Well?"

A soft hum passed as if she thought it over, glaring up at you.

"Put it inside me now... please." She had whispered the last word, but you supposed that should do for now. You couldn't wait too long either.

You eagerly pushed into her, watching her mouth drop open at the sudden intrusion -- one that was entirely welcome. She clawed onto the wallpaper, digging her nails with every thrust that resulted in that beautiful friction. Your hips rolled into hers, searching for that spot that would have her seeing stars, and you knew you found it from the way she arched her back and moaned out your name. By Mother Miranda, you wanted to hear it again.

Cassandra could feel her legs cramping from under her, but the pain only melded with the pleasure of being pounded into. You pulled her face toward you and sealed her lips with yours, swallowing the sounds spilling out of her as you kept up a punishing pace. The heat inside her was ready to burst, chasing the feeling with every rock of her hips to meet yours. When you broke off to catch a breath and locked eyes with her, your gaze dark with lust -- it was enough to push her over the edge.

She gushed around you, resting her cheek on the cold wall and shaking as you rode her through her orgasm. But you wouldn't slow down, catching her by surprise when you reached down between her legs.

"Might as well... make the most of this... right?" you panted, seeing her golden eyes roll back and jaw go slack, getting lost in the overload of sensation. Your other arm wrapped around her torso, chest pressed against her back as you leaned into every thrust.

She was still so sensitive from her first orgasm that a second one wasn't too far behind. Her clit throbbed under your fingers as you rubbed circles and she was unable to help herself from grinding into it, ragged shocks of pleasure running through her. Goosebumps littered her skin before she burst once again and cried out your name, head lolling back onto your shoulder as you pressed deep inside her.

You gently caressed her legs as she started to come down from the high, hearing her whimper as you slipped out. Your fingers traced along her quivering inner thigh, collecting some of her slick before bringing them up to your lips for a taste. She barely managed to catch the erotic sight as she turned her body towards yours.

"Want me to help you clean up?" you whispered, resting your forehead on hers.

She responded with a soft kiss, and an even softer "Please" before you got down on your knees.

----------

Daniela Dimitrescu

The redhead's giggles bounced off the bathroom walls, her legs wrapped around your waist as you set her down on the edge of the sink.

"You really couldn't wait until I finished showering?" you teased, watching her dangle the toy by its strap.

"You were gonna get dirty again anyway, you can finish later," she replied with a playful pout. As much of a brat your lover could be, it's not like you could deny her, especially when it came to such desires. It didn't take long for you to get ready, adjusting as quickly as you could while keeping your focus on the hungry look on Daniela's face.

You pushed her dress up to her waist, smirking as you felt up her bare legs and ass, noting her lack of underwear. "Naughty girl."

She wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you closer. "I just like to come prepared."

Lining yourself up to her entrance, you heard a small gasp as you slid inside. Her fingers curled around you, looking up with half-lidded eyes as you rested your forehead on hers, moving ever so slowly. She should've known you'd be a tease, as she deserved for interrupting you. "Please," she whimpered when you paused, seated within her.

"Please what, baby?"

She groaned in frustration, "Please-- please fuck me already."

With pleasure. "Good girl."

You pulled back and thrust harder, her moans ringing in your ears. She pushed her hips forward to meet yours to push in deeper, the creak of the sink under her going ignored as the two of you got lost in the act. Her nails clawed at your back, muscles tensing as she left red marks which only encouraged you to go faster.

You reached down to press your thumb onto her clit and rubbed quick circles, groans of pleasure spilling from her lips as she desperately held onto you. "Fuck, Y/N!" Her legs tightened around your waist as she could feel her climax building.

Suddenly, you heard a loud crack, and Daniela dropped from her position. Luckily, your hands under her thighs managed to keep her from landing on the floor. What wasn't quite so lucky was the crooked sink that broke off its pipe, the two of you quickly getting soaked with water. Even when you moved away, stray lines still splattered onto you both, and it left you laughing at the irony. Maybe you were meant to finish your shower after all.

"When I wanted to get wet today, this was not what I had in mind," she remarked, shielding herself from the spray but to no avail.

"You were kind of due for a shower too anyway," you joked, earning you a slap on the shoulder.

She pursed her lips, holding onto you tight with the hard length still inside her. From the way she was shivering, you knew she was still recovering from earlier. One thrust forward got her to yelp, nails digging into your shoulder.

"Fuck!" She covered her mouth, looking down at you pleadingly, "Please let me finish, Y/N."

You raised an eyebrow at her, "Someone definitely heard that crash and is gonna come in any--"

"I don't care! Please, just let me come. I was so close already!" she whined, bouncing in your hold and biting her lip as she clenched around the toy. Not even a broken sink could kill the mood, you supposed. Besides, who else could make her feel this good?

[babybluebex]

good doctor kreizler ch.3: o come, all ye faithful

summary ↠ part 3 of good doctor kreizler // on christmas eve, as you and your new husband prepare to host your friends, there's a drastic change in plans, and the sudden need for an extra place setting. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 5.6k warnings ↠ explicit language, smut, oral (f!receiving), sexual content involving a pregnant woman, explicit descriptions of childbirth (and everything that goes along with that), mentions of medical procedures, abduction a/n ↠ finally here it is! masterlist/taglist in bio!

The rustling of the bedsheets was a comfort to hear. Laszlo often woke up earlier than you did in order to prepare for his day at the Institute, and he tried his best not to wake you up. Your doctor had advised that you rest as much as possible, especially in the coming few weeks; as you learned, you seemed to have inherited your mother’s “weak womanly constitution”, as the doctor called it. You had to scale back your help during the investigation because of your weak stomach and over-eager emotions. It broke your heart into pieces when Laszlo finally told you that you were off the case entirely, but you understood his hesitations. At least, you considered, your husband knew better than you.

Not a day went by that you didn’t revel in your new title. The ceremony was a quiet affair, hardly even reported in the society papers, and you had just the most important family there. Sara served as your maid of honor, John as Laszlo’s best man, Marcus and Lucius as the legal witnesses. Laszlo had managed to secure a ring for you, and it glittered on your left hand every single day. The wedding, if you could call it that, had happened on a Saturday morning, and, when you went into work on Monday and had to alert Commissioner Roosevelt to your name change, Teddy had given you a warm smile that secured in you the thought that you would never truly be alone ever again. And you liked it.

You gave a soft moan and threw your arm behind you to capture your husband before he rose from bed. “Las,” you mumbled. In an instant, your hand was filled by his, and Laszlo was pressing his mouth to your cheek. “It’s still dark out.”

“Yes, my beloved, I know,” Laszlo said softly. “But I need to get an early start today.”

“Do you need to?” you groaned. “It’s awfully cold, sweetheart, I’ll freeze up if you leave.”

Laszlo gave a soft coo and kissed your cheek again, and he whispered, “I must get the house ready for dinner tonight.”

“For… What?” you mumbled.

“We’re hosting dinner tonight,” Laszlo explained slowly. The old wife’s tale of pregnancy brain seemed to be a certifiable malady in your case; you were constantly forgetting dates and appointments and misplacing things that you had in your hand. There had been more than one occasion where you had torn apart a room looking for the eyeglasses that you had perched on your nose. Laszlo, in his never-ending loveliness, was patient with you, and he would repeat things as many times as needed for them to stick. “Sara, John, Marcus, and Lucius are joining us.”

“Oh, God,” you huffed. “What’s the occasion?”

“Christmas dinner,” Laszlo said. His hand rested gently on your hip, his thumb making soft circles on your skin, and he nuzzled his beard into your neck. “I suppose, for Marcus and Lucius, it’s just dinner.”

“Oh, damn!” you murmured. “I forgot! How could I forget about Christmas?”

“You’ve had quite a lot on your mind lately,” Laszlo chuckled. “Please, my love, go back to sleep. You can’t help me with this anyway.”

“Why not?” you asked. You struggled to sit up, and Laszlo put his hand on your back and aided you upright. By you and your husband’s calculations, you were about eight months along, and you could feel every moment of it. Your back was constantly aching, and you had headaches that were so awful that you could feel your brain pulsing inside your skull (migraines, Laszlo called them, but you didn’t give a damn what they were called). All of the aches and pains meant nothing, though, when you felt your son kick up into you. Yes, Baby Kreizler was an active one, and, more often than not, you found yourself being woken up in the morning by his movements and kicks.

Laszlo placed his hand gently on your swollen belly, and his palm was met with a nudge. “It involves your Christmas present,” Laszlo told you. “And I can’t very well have you spoil your own present.”

“You—!” you began. “I thought we said we weren’t doing presents! Oh, Las, I have nothing to give you!”

“You must be joking,” Laszlo said. The room was dim, only the dull flame of a gas lamp lighting the bedroom, but you could see your husband’s glittering dark eyes as easily as if it were in the daytime. “You are giving me the best present that I could ever ask for. I could never ask you for anything more.”

You pouted, but drew Laszlo into a kiss. You often forget about your husband’s stubbornness, and, while it had made him the successful man he was, it was rather difficult to try to surprise him with anything. You had told a little fib when you said that you hadn’t gotten him a Christmas gift. The small leather-bound book was stashed in a drawer under your stockings, a neat ribbon around it, the front page reading a personal inscription from the author itself. Laszlo had a habit of reading literature that made you sick to even think about, and he had grown fond of an author that was published in a Boston newspaper, a man named Poe. You had acquired a collection of Poe’s stories and sent him a letter, explaining your situation, and he had sent it back with haste. You had peeked at the inscription, and you smiled just a bit at the words “you and your work are an inspiration, Doctor Kreizler”. Laszlo would like that, you were sure of it.

Laszlo moved his hand from your belly to your cheek, and he held your face as he deepened the kiss. You gave a soft laugh at his boldness (you supposed, though, that a husband’s need for his wife was hardly bold), and you lifted your arms to wrap around his neck. In an instant, Laszlo abandoned his need for being early, and he pressed a line of fluttering kisses down your jaw and neck. You let your fingers run through his hair, still mussed from sleep, and Laszlo pressed a sweet, open-mouthed kiss to your breast. That was another surprise of pregnancy; not that your breasts would grow as your milk came in, but that Laszlo would form an odd attachment to them. If it were anybody else, Laszlo would have looked at the behavior as codependent and perhaps leaning towards neglect from one’s mother, but, since it was him, you knew that he didn’t think about it. The moment your beautiful and eloquent doctor had one of your breasts in his mouth, he turned simple-minded.

So simple-minded, in fact, that he hardly seemed to notice the way his hand slid and crept up your thigh. Or perhaps he was aware of it, and was being coy for your sake. Either way, you keened up into his hand, whimpering just a bit, silently pleading for him. You two had become experts at reading each other, and Laszlo knew what you wanted without you having to utter a word. You didn’t want his hand, he knew that. He gave one last kiss to your hard nipple, then continued to trail feather-light kisses down your body. His hand tangled in your nightgown and rucked it up past your hips, and he gave an open-mouthed kiss to your hip. Your hands clawed at your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head to free your body completely, and Laszlo took a departure from your hip to lavish your belly in kisses. The skin had been permeated with light marks where your skin had stretched to accommodate the baby, and, while you didn’t quite care for the look of them and worried if they would persist, Laszlo never stopped for one second to consider them anything but beautiful.

“Laszlo,” you whimpered out. “Please, my love.”

Laszlo kissed down your hips to your thighs, and he pressed your legs open and pulled them over his shoulders. Then, finally, mercifully, he pressed his mouth to your cunt. He wasted no time, placing open-mouth kisses all over your sensitive skin, and your fingers closed in his hair. You tugged a bit, telling him to go further, and Laszlo licked a stripe up your waiting cunt. You gave him a satisfied little moan and your hips jerked a bit when he gave a harsh suck to your clit. “Las!” you squealed, and you felt him smile against you. “Fuck, more.”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Laszlo mumbled, looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pressed his mouth against you again. The sight of it had you whimpering, and you felt your release close at hand. That was how it seemed to go, as of late; Laszlo hardly had to stimulate you, and you were a wet, spent mess within minutes. He said it was the baby, and you didn’t know enough to dispute him. Laszlo detached his mouth from your cunt and lifted his hand to stroke your throbbing clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Taste so good… How could I ever have lived before you?”

You hardly had the brain to wax lyrical at the moment, but, if you did, you would have said that perhaps he wasn’t truly living before you, just as you hadn’t before him. The world had changed with him, and you could never want anything else except him for the rest of time. “Las,” you gasped, the pleasure he gave you making your legs shake. While his hand worked, his mouth went to your thigh, and he placed wet kisses all over the skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you writhed under him, and you moaned and keened at him. “Las—” you gasped. “I-I’m gonna—”

The wonderful and heady relief washed over you before you could even finish your sentence, and you basked in it for a long while. Your chest heaved as you smoothed down Laszlo’s hair, and he stood up with a soft grunt. “Gosh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you mumbled, sitting up on your elbows; you hadn't meant for him to kneel down on the hard floor, but he didn't seem to mind it much. His robe had come undone during the act to show his chest and stomach, and you worked yourself fully upright so that you could wrap your arms around him. Your head landed on his chest and you kissed over his heart, and Laszlo gave a quiet little sigh. “You grow lovelier every day,” he whispered, and he landed a kiss in your hair.

You smiled into his chest. But you felt as if something was off. Yes, your muscles and fibers had relaxed with the orgasm, but there was still an odd tightness in your core. It felt almost like the cramps you had to endure monthly, or, at least, the onset of one. “Oh, no,” you mumbled. You knew what that feeling was.

“What is it?” Laszlo asked.

The contraction finally landed and settled fully in your core, and it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God!” you yelped, drawing your husband closer to you. “Las— I’m in labor.”

Laszlo didn’t seem to fully process your words, because he looked down at you with a sort of bleary-eyed confusion. “Labor?” he repeated. “As in…?”

“As in labor, Laszlo!” you cried. “As in I will give birth sometime in the next few days and it’ll be your head on a pike if you don’t get the doctor here now.”

Laszlo stepped away from you and looked around the bedroom, a little frantic. Finally, he clenched his jaw and tied up his robe, and he went to the door of the bedroom and threw it open. “Cyrus!” he yelled. “Cyrus! Ring the doctor! Y/N’s gone into labor!”

You heard Cyrus respond to Laszlo, and suddenly his hands were on you again. The pain, while not awful, was certainly unpleasant, and you moved slowly as Laszlo helped you back into your nightgown. His hand was shaking almost as badly as yours were, and you grabbed his hand and drew it to your mouth for a firm kiss. “I love you,” you whispered. Your eyes watered, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t see Laszlo’s eyes wetting as well.

“I love you too, my beloved,” Laszlo said softly, laying you back amongst the pillows. “The doctor will be here soon. Can I get you anything in the meantime?”

You bit your lip at an onslaught of pain that rocketed down your spine. “Get me Sara,” you said.

“S-Sara Howard?” Laszlo asked.

“She’s practically my sister,” you said. “Please, Las, I need her.”

“Of course, of course,” Laszlo said quickly. “Can I get you anything else?”

You gave a shuddering sigh as the pain died down, and you mumbled, “A glass of water?”

John took the steps into the house two at a time. He had just been sitting down for breakfast with his grandmother when their telephone had sounded. While his grandmother raged at the thing, he answered it and had the briefest of conversations with Laszlo that went something like this: “She’s in labor. Come quick.” “... Now?” “Childbirth waits for no man, John, and I intend for my child to meet his uncle as soon as possible.”

The energy inside the house was an odd one. The place was done up with garlands of holly, obviously having been prepared by the little motley family of Laszlo, Y/N, Cyrus, and Stevie, to stand as a lovely locale for Christmas dinner. It should have been so cheerful— chattering and laughing— but there was just silence. “Laszlo?” John called, looking upwards from the base of the stairs.

“Top floor!” He heard Laszlo call back after a moment. Usually, the doctor would have greeted him at the door, and now he wasn’t even coming down to debrief the situation. John steeled himself and prepared for the worst.

Thankfully, the top floor wasn’t a tragedy zone. Laszlo stood in the hallway, pacing restlessly, mumbling to himself in every language he spoke. “John, Mein Gott,” he sighed. “Thank you for coming quickly.”

“Is she really in labor?” John asked.

“Yes,” Laszlo replied. “We woke up only a few hours ago and… Her water broke. The contractions have been ebbing and flowing ever since, but she is insistent that a doctor get here.” After a moment, and noticing John’s trepidation, added, “A real doctor, she said. Someone who has experience with delivering children.”

“That’s probably a good call,” John said. “Is she in there?” He gestured at the closed door that he could only assume was Laszlo and Y/N’s bedroom, and Laszlo nodded.

“Sara’s in there as well,” Laszlo said. “Comforting her.”

“Why are you not in there?” John asked quickly. “I mean, my God, Laszlo, this is your wife and son!”

“I know,” Laszlo snapped. “I wish I could be, but… I can’t bring myself to. The numbers of women who die in childbirth… And most of the time, there’s nothing to be done to stop it… I-I would only blame myself. If I were in that room, with my knowledge, and she died, and I couldn’t help, I would blame myself.”

There was a sharp yelp from inside the room, like a hurt animal, followed by muffled shushing; the mother and Sara, John supposed. “Where’s the doctor?” John asked.

“The one we chose to schedule when we would go to wellness checks was booked until this afternoon,” Laszlo said. “He’ll get here when he can. Until then, we… Wait. I will allow myself to go in every so often and check dilation, but it’s getting to the point where… The sight of it makes me ill.”

John didn’t know much about childbirth, but the word dilation helped him figure up enough of an image to make him a little ill as well. “Can I get her anything?” John asked. “Something from the shop on the corner?”

“She says no,” Laszlo said. “She’s only asked for water. A kiss, every so often, but I feel that’s less vital and more encouragement.”

John nodded in agreement, and he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “How long do we wait?” he asked.

“However long it takes,” Laszlo said with a shrug. “For some women, it’s mere hours; others, days.”

John sighed and took up a place leaning against the wall, and he mumbled, “I guess dinner’s off, isn’t it?”

Laszlo finally cracked a gentle smile, and he leaned next to John. He wore the beginnings of an acceptable outfit, pants and a buttoned shirt with his suspenders, but no vest, no cravat, no jacket. This was a worried man, an expectant father, a ready doctor. “I’m sure we can find a way to have dinner,” he said. “Perhaps, if the timing’s right, we’ll have to put out an extra place-setting.”

John still could hardly believe that, out of their entire group, Laszlo was the first to have a baby. Just meters away, behind the door, Laszlo’s wife was in the beginning stages of bringing new life. On Christmas Eve, no less. “Did you ever think you’d have this?” John whispered.

“No,” Laszlo replied after a moment. He looked down at his boots and wrapped his arm around himself, and he chewed on his thoughts for a moment. “Even just last night, as we were going to bed… I watched her enter the room, and the lamp lit her up… Her body was silhouetted against the lamp through her nightgown. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’ll never forget the sight. If I had any artistic inclination, I would have captured it. The memory might be greater than any piece of art, though.” He took a moment to savor the image, and he gave a short sigh. “But I have done my share of worrying. Every day, every moment, I was terrified. I have never known greater fear, truly. When she was at work and the Institute would get a phone call, I felt physically ill until I could answer it. Every day, I woke up and asked myself… ‘Is this the day where we lose him?’. It’s not a good way to live, John. But every night, after another successful day, when I would get her in my arms, it was the most perfect thing. It is unbelievable. Me, a father?” He scoffed. “I just hope he looks like her.”

“Why?” John asked.

“I don’t want him to be plagued with my visage,” Laszlo said. “If he resembles me, people will know he’s mine, and he won’t ever escape my reputation. I know the name Kreizler is an unusual one, but he can deny relation. If he has my name and face… There’s no denying it.”

“And you’re ashamed of that?” John asked. “Laszlo, there is nothing but pride to be had in your name. Kreizler is… You’re a man of science, a world-renowned alienist. You are intelligent, smart as a whip! You are dedicated to your work and your family, and you treat people with the utmost respect… Well, you treat your patients with the utmost respect.” John paused to dig his elbow playfully into Laszlo’s ribs, and Laszlo gave a little huffing laugh that held no true humor in it. “And you’re kind. You’d give your life for the people you love. A man can only ask for a friend as loyal as you. And you’re quite handsome, Laszlo. A child with any resemblance to you is a blessed one.”

“Alright—” Laszlo started plaintively.

“No, truly,” John said. He cast a glance at the door, then added, “May I confess something?”

Laszlo gave John a sideways glance, then nodded, and John took a deep breath. “I promised the good Mrs. Kreizler to keep this secret, but I feel it’s past time to tell you. The day you two met, when Sara brought her from the police station to the Institute, I heard her and Sara speaking as they left. I heard her say ‘That Kreizler fellow is quite handsome’. I confronted her on the basis of light teasing a few days later, and she implored me to not tell you. Got quite emotional about it, in fact. She said that she… She wanted to prove her place in the job. She said she didn’t want to be one of those women who joined a man’s work and fell in love and become some subservient housewife. She wanted to be a detective. But, before your wedding, she admitted to me that she was glad that what had happened had happened. She told me she couldn’t see any other life that didn’t have you in it. She told me that she had even considered naming your son after you, but she knew that you would fight her tooth and nail about that. She loves you, Laszlo, and she’ll make sure that your son does too. Hell, he’ll be proud to carry the name Kreizler. All the more so if he looks like you. Don’t be ashamed of who you are or your past. The future has yet to come and, from what I can tell, it’ll be a good future. Don’t waste it by worrying about if your son is proud of you or himself, because, frankly, that’s a fucking ridiculous thing to worry abut. He’s your son, Laszlo; the part you should worry about is how to shrink that ego that he’ll have.”

Laszlo smiled once more, and he drew John into a tight hug. The men were quiet, and John gave Laszlo a few firm pats on his back. “Thank you, John,” Laszlo said softly. “Those are kind words.”

John shrugged. “It’s the least I can do,” he said. “I suspect that you’ll wear divots on the floor if you keep pacing, though.”

“Can you blame me?” Laszlo asked. “Just beyond that door… It kills me.”

Just then, there was another cry of pain, and John heard you cry out: “Laszlo! I need you!”

Laszlo couldn’t have moved faster if he were shocked by electricity. He flew from his place on the wall and opened the door, and he was instantly by your side. John hesitated for a moment, seeing your nakedness and open legs, but Laslzo beckoned him in. John entered slowly, taking in the smell of sweat and blood, and then he really examined you. The bedsheets around you were dark with birthing fluid, your nightgown discarded on the floor. Sara sat next to you, undressed down to her underskirt, with her sleeves rolled to her elbow, holding your hand and giving you soft encouragement. Your skin was shining with strained perspiration, your hair matted to your forehead. Your bottom lip was nearly bitten raw, and your hand clambered out for Laszlo’s. Your chest heaved as you tried to breathe slowly, and Laszlo pushed your damp hair from your face. “You’re doing great,” he whispered and planted a kiss on your temple. “John, come here. Hold her hand while I check her dilation.”

The two men switched places, and you gave John Schuyler Moore a smile. “Glad you could make it, John,” you said, reaching for his face and drawing him in to put a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Christ, it hurts.”

“I know it does,” John said gently. “But you’re being so strong. I’m proud of you.”

John looked expectantly down to Laszlo, examining you, and, when he looked at you, his eyes were tearing up. “It’s time, my beloved,” he said, and you gasped. “You need to push.”

“What? No!” you cried. Fear radiated through your body, and you sobbed. “No, it’s too early! The doctor isn’t here yet!”

“There’s no choice,” Laszlo said. He was firm, his jaw set, but you could see the emotions welling behind his eyes. He was scared too. He was as unprepared as you were. Sure, he was a doctor, but he hardly knew how to deliver a baby. “He’s coming now. Sara, run to the kitchen and get water, a clean rag, a large empty bowl, and a pair of scissors; a sharp knife would be sufficient.”

Sara nodded and, before she left, she gave you a quick kiss on your forehead. “You can do this,” she said. “I believe in you.”

You could hardly focus on your husband’s words, telling you to relax as much as possible and push when he said. The sensation of pushing was an odd one, your middle cramping with the force of it, and a whimper fell from you. You held John’s hand tightly, so tightly that your brief moments of levity from pushing had you apologizing for it, but the contraction would return, and you had to push again. Sara returned after the second bout of pushing, bearing all the tools required, and Laszlo quickly dipped his hands in the water to cleanse them. For the moment, he was bearing the dual responsibility of father and doctor, and he wore both roles on opposite sides of his face. His eyes were steadied and focused, using his Harvard-granted education, but his mouth was screwed up in concern. His forehead shined with sweat, and he paused in-between the fifth and sixth round to roll up his sleeves. Sara and John picked up the familial slack, encouraging you and helping you where they could.

Your vision grew spotty after ten rounds of intense and strenuous pushing, and you gasped out, “Las, I-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t—”

You wished that you hadn’t looked down. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have seen Laszlo’s white shirt spotted with blood, the stuff caked under his fingernails. The sight of it made you sniffle and hold back a gag. The wrinkles in your husband’s forehead were deep, but they dissipated when he looked at you. “Yes, you can,” Laszlo said firmly. “You’re too far along, there’s no stopping now, my love.”

“Laszlo, I can’t,” you croaked. “I can’t, I— I can hardly breathe or see, I-I cannot do it anymore!”

Laszlo paused, studying your face for a moment, and he stood up from the floor in front of bed and leaned forward to capture your chin in his hand. “You have to,” he said firmly, pressing his forehead against yours. “He’s nearly halfway out, coming feet-first. You need to finish what you’ve started, my dear. Goddamn it, finish this, for me, for you, and for him. Do you hear me? Fucking finish this.”

You nodded, gritting your teeth. Under any other circumstances, you would have slapped him outright for being so harsh with you, but you needed to hear it. You had no idea that you were that far along, and the thought that perhaps you were a few minutes away from holding your son gave you the strength you needed. You took a deep breath and readjusted your grips on Sara and John’s hands, and you waited for Laszlo to tell you to push. And you did. You felt a popping in your ears and a fierce snap in your hips, and the culmination of what felt like eons of work made you give one, hoarse, exhausted, gut-wrenching scream.

And then… There was another. But not your screams. They weren’t coming from your mouth, tearing up your throat what felt like beyond repair. No, no, they were coming from—

The soft snip of scissors interrupted the air of high shrieks, and then the weight of an even six pounds was settled on your chest. You looked down through spotted and tearful eyes, and you found a small being laying on your chest, wailing his little lungs out. All pink and wrinkled, still covered in little flecks of blood and other such stuff. He had a small swirl of dark hair atop his little head, and his mouth was like a rosebud. He had a tiny nose and, when you looked at Laszlo, you saw the same one. “Oh my God,” you gasped, instantly putting your hands on your baby’s back. “Oh my God! Hello there, baby. Oh my God, Laszlo—”

Laszlo took up John’s place at your head, and you looked to see his shirt splotched with your blood, tear tracks shining bright on his face. You had never seen him smile so big. He placed a gentle hand on his son’s back, touching him as if he would disappear the moment contact was made, and he swallowed thickly. “Welcome to the world,” he said softly, and he leaned down and settled a kiss on his son’s head. Almost instantly, he stopped his crying, devolving into quiet coos and whimpers, and you laughed.

“God, of course he loves you more,” you laughed. “Oh, Las… Oh, he’s here.”

“What’s his name?” Laszlo asked.

You didn’t have to think. You had been pondering ever since you found out you were pregnant, and you had come up with the perfect name. “Friedrich Wolfgang Kreizler,” you said.

“Nietzche, Mozart…” Laszlo mumbled, stroking his beard in wonderment. “Yes, that’ll do quite nicely, I think.”

Laszlo settled down on the bed next to you, and you carefully passed Friedrich to him. He held him in the crook of his left arm, and his heart nearly stopped when his son looked at him. Dark brown eyes, with a small dark birthmark just at the top of his left cheek. Just like Papa. “A spitting image, eh?” Laszlo chuckled lightly.

“Chip off the old block,” John chuckled. Sara moved to pull the blankets up over your body, and you captured her and pulled her into a tight hug. You whispered a “Thank you” to her, and she smiled. Sara was always so supportive in her own way, and the smile meant the world to you. “Congratulations are in order, Kreizlers.”

Kreizlers. Plural. There were three of you now, a full family. Mama, Papa, and baby. “Thank you for your help,” you told John. “I truly couldn’t have managed it without you.”

You let your head fall back on your pillow, and you glanced at the window. The sky outside was painted with ink, the smallest pinpricks of silver coming through; it had taken all day and into the night. “Is it past midnight?” you asked, and John quickly looked at his watch.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s Christmas Day.”

You laughed, and looked at Laszlo. “You did say he was the best present you’d ever gotten,” you told him.

“I did say that,” Laszlo agreed. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Friedrich since you had given him to him. You could hardly place the emotion he had in his eyes, but you knew that it was some form of love. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“I love you,” you told him.

Laszlo finally looked at you, and he saw an entirely new woman. He thought that the whole spiel about a “mother’s glow” was a myth, a way to make women feel beautiful after the strain of giving birth, but he saw it more clearly than anything. You were radiant. Your skin was sparkling and your eyes were bright, and your smile could have lit up a thousand street lamps. Motherhood suited you. “I love you too,” he said. He leaned over to kiss you, and even that felt new.

Finally, Laszlo broke the kiss, and he said, “Let me take him to get clean. You rest up, my beloved; I’ll have Cyrus bring you something to eat.”

You nodded. You had no qualms about Laszlo taking Friedrich. He was his father, after all, and you knew that Laszlo would sooner burn his library than hurt his son. “Can I have a moment alone?” you asked.

“Of course,” Sara offered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You should go hold your nephew,” you said. “That is, if Papa Bear will release him for long enough.”

The four of you laughed, and Laszlo stood up from the bed. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Laszlo could only gaze down at Friedrich as he carried him into his nursery. The place was decorated with images of animals, per your request, and John had managed to paint a collection of birds that lined the top of the walls. He took special care to wipe Friedrich clean, tilting his head as he listened to his little man’s curious vocalizations, and he chose a blanket that Lucius Isaacson had knitted to swaddle him in. Laszlo had done the stereotypical practice, tormenting the small bags of flour that sat in the kitchen, and he had gotten quite good at doing it with his one arm. He slowed to a stop, though, and he looked at his right arm for a moment. He looked back at Friedrich, seemingly asleep in his warm wool swaddle, and he took his arm by the wrist and guided it to his son. Carefully, he pressed his cheek into his palm, and his heart swooned at the feeling of his warm, soft skin against his fingers. He nearly felt like he would pass out. He loved you, yes, but he could never love anything more than the boy in front of him.

The moment was shattered, though, when, down the hall, Laszlo heard you give a clipped shout of his name. “Las—!”

“John!” Laszlo called, and John took his place with Friedrich as he raced to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he expected the worst. He expected pools of blood, perhaps a corpse, his wife and the mother of his son to have succumbed to an unknown complication in the time it took him to clean Friedrich.

He didn’t expect an empty bed and an open window, the thin curtain rustling with the breeze. He didn’t expect a small slip of paper amongst the stained sheets. He didn’t expect to read the page and grow so angry that he let out a howl of anguish: Mother Mary has delivered. She must repent. Happy Christmas, Doctor.

[skzsauce01]

Hymn to Myself

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: The Goddess of Spring tells a mortal the story of her abduction by the King of the Underworld. Follows the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.

Warning: kidnapping

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: fem Persephone!reader x Hades!Hyunjin

Dear mortal, listen closely, for I have deemed you worthy to hear my tale. You have danced in my name, burned offerings to me. You shall be rewarded for your worship. Lend me your ear now, and perhaps I will lend a hand in the future.

You know me by many names — The Maiden, The Younger, the Goddess of Spring — but today I will be the Queen of the Dead. There is no need to be so frightened. Your time has not come yet, nor will I be the one to ferry you to the Underworld, as you well know. Trembling and bowing your head for mercy will serve you no purpose but do as you like.

You have heard the tale, I am sure. The Dark-Haired One seizes a maiden and makes her his bride, as her mother, holy Night-Mare of the golden double-axe, ceases the earth’s harvest in her despair. The story you may have heard prior is my mother’s version, without the details of me in the Underworld.

Like most stories, it begins with the Cloud Collector, my father. Seeing that the King of the Underworld had no queen and that no goddess or nymph desired him, he offered him a bride, the flowerfaced daughter of the Corn-Mother. The King of the Dead accepted.

As you may have guessed, I did not know about this arrangement. The nymphs I surrounded myself with then, daughters of the Titan God of Rivers, did not either, yet they braided my hair and wove flowers in. Roses, crocuses, and hyacinths entangled with violets and irises to make a crown of spring. I still remember the way they fussed over me, singing songs and pulling at my scalp. I hated it. I only wanted to pick my blossoms. Once they had finished, I walked through the meadow, leaving them behind, gathering as many of the flowers I could into my arms.

Then I spotted a narcissus, its center as radiant as the sun and its petals the color of fresh milk. Its honey-sweet fragrance filled the sky and enchanted me. I approached it with both hands, ready to hold the bud to my nose, when the earth beneath me broke open.

A golden chariot drawn by sable-black horses leapt out, and I was snatched by the gloomy Lord. I cried out for my father, he of the thunderbolt, but he was the one who promised me, and I did not know that then. The King of the Dead had me in his grasp. He refused to let go. But still I cried a piercing scream, begging the pantheon of gods seated at Olympus to help, pleading Lord Helios in his own golden chariot to come down and save me. No one heard a thing when the chariot descended back into the earth.

And when we finally entered the Underworld, my voice had gone hoarse, my body limp. The flowers I clutched to my chest were the only remnants of the sunlit earth I had, but their petals had scattered into the wind and their stems wilted in the dark. The Dark-Haired One kept his arm on me, making sure I would not be able to flee. The shades wandered in the fields below us, their moans a constant hum.

Soon we stopped in front of his palace, a cold and imposing labyrinth with a locked gate reaching to the sky. A three-headed dog stood guard, saliva dripping from its maw. The King stepped off first and offered his hand to me, but I remained frozen on the chariot. It was still warm from the sun, and I wanted to soak in every last piece I could. The hound growled and lowered its center head to sniff me when I latched onto the side, even as the Lord of the house tried to drag me off.

“Leave me be,” I cried, pushing at his chest. “My father will punish you for this. He is the king of the heavens, and you will be struck with his bolt.”

“At the behest of the Thunderer, you are now my wife. Come, my queen, into your new home.”

I had no tears left, and I mutely followed him, keeping my eyes on the back of his wine-dark cloak. He led me through the gates, the corridors of his palace, all the way to the throne room. Two chairs stood next to each other, both as black as the horses and the sky. His was obsidian, etched with bone-white carvings and lined with onyx gems. The other, the ebony one intertwined with asphodel and pomegranates, belonged to me now.

“Are you pleased?” he asked.

I said nothing, for the fight in me had died along with the flowers I left between the paws of the hound.

“Are you frightened?”

Again, no sound left me. He made me sit on my throne, and I did with my head hung low. He cradled my face, and I shut my eyes. If he desired a kiss, then he could take it. I was a wife now, to the king of the Underworld too, and I would let my husband put his mouth on mine.

“Tired,” he declared after some time. “I will bring you ambrosia and nectar, so that you may recover.”

He brought the divine foods to me, but I did not eat. He tried to make conversation, but I did not speak. The scent of the asphodels and pomegranates were suffocating, and the musk of death coated the air untainted by natural fragrance. The thick slabs of wood underneath me were unyielding, and so was I. The Dark-Haired One was dismayed.

“What is it that you require?”

“I require that I be returned to my mother and to the earth.”

He smiled. “I have all of the riches of the earth. See what I have made for you.”

Humans called him the Wealthy One on occasion, and I understood that it was not merely a euphemism when he presented my crown to me: a golden-leaved garland with apple-red rubies the size of hen’s eggs and emeralds as vivid as moss, not a hint of death clouding its elegance. It was magnificent and befitting for a queen of spring. He undid the nymphs’ braids that still remained in my hair and placed the crown on my head.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

“I will never be happy until I see the sun again.”

He frowned and left me alone on my throne, hoping I would change my mind. The ambrosia and nectar laid on the moonlight-silver tray. They glistened and glowed, their dangerously sweet scent enveloping the room, doing their best to entice me. Instead, I sat as rigid as a tree for days, languishing in my misery. Color faded from my features, and I looked like the very image of the Queen of the Dead, with my soulless eyes and ashen skin.

Day and night, I remained there. The Lord of the House was patient, as his realm was eternal and as I was immortal. He brought gifts to try to sway me: diamond birds perching on bronze branches, amethyst crocus bouquets with delicate sprigs of roses the colors of ripe peaches. I left them on the ground. They reminded me too much of what I no longer had. The treasures around me grew, but he persisted with his prizes and his attempts at conversation.

“There are many souls arriving today,” he would say. “How lovely,” I would reply.

“What do you think of the sky here?” he would ask, and I would tell him, “It is like you.”

“Would you like to see Cereberus again? I think he liked you,” to which I would answer, “I am content here.”

It was his offer to visit the Asphodel Meadows that drew me out of my fog.

We took his chariot, golden and gleaming as before. This time, he held out a hand for me, and I accepted. The three-headed dog at the entrance of the palace whined when I did not pat his heads like his master. The flowers I left as a peace offering earlier were gone, not even a broken stem lingering. I could only imagine that they were played with and eaten.

“He does like you,” the King whispered. He placed one arm around my shoulders as he held the reins with the other. I shrunk as much as I could, burying my nose in my hair so not to smell the death radiating off of him.

“Yes, I suppose he does.”

We stopped in one of the many fields, the asphodel ghostly white and fluttering in the breeze. The shades kept their distance when I stepped off the chariot and into the flowers. My bare feet touched the Underworld dirt, my ankles brushed the stalks as I roamed the meadow like I did that fateful day, plucking the prettiest blooms from their roots. The Dark-Haired One followed closely behind, and I did my best to keep my eyes on the iron sky as I wandered through more of the fields. Lone petals circled in the wind, adorning the false flowers of my crown with themselves. I thought about the nymphs — their songs, their chatter, their life — and nearly wept. Then I thought about my poor mother, with the beautiful garlands in her hair, finding no trace of me among the meadow, and I dropped to the ground.

“There is no need to cry,” said the Dark-Haired One softly. “The shades will not hurt you.”

“I want to go home,” I replied in-between my gasps. I thought that picking flowers would somehow soothe me, but they only pained my heart. “Please, let me return home.”

He held me up, and I saw up close the famed black locks that framed his face. “Home,” he smiled.

My spirits soared, and I clamored onto his chariot, eager to see the wispy clouds and splendid sun again. But I had deceived myself. For the Queen of the Underworld, the palace was home.

The throne was too far for my limp body to retire to, so he set me down upon a funeral couch. There, I laid and stared out the window at the vast number of souls inhabiting the fields. He brought me ambrosia and nectar once more, a feeble attempt that even he knew was wasted.

He ordered entertainers to sing and dance for me, but I stared at them like one of the many skulls carved on his throne.

However, my prayers were soon answered months later. The mighty Messenger of the Gods, with his golden wand, came and relayed my father’s message: I was to be returned to my mother, for she was wrathful against the gods. The Lord smiled and did not disobey the Thunderer’s orders.

“Go to your mother,” he said to me, “for I am not an unseemly husband. But you are my queen, and all those who do not perform your rituals with reverence, all those who do not perfectly burn offerings for you, will be punished.”

I did not care about those things. Still, I rejoiced and leapt from the couch with liveliness, my crown falling to the ground in my eagerness. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, to see the vibrant earth, to be with my mother — those were what mattered to me.

“Before you leave, I ask that you try the Underworld’s fruit,” he said, holding out a pomegranate. “As a blessing to us from the Queen of the Dead.”

“You have been nothing but kind to me, so I will,” I told him. I ate four of the seeds, red as the rubies on my Underworld crown and sweet as honey, before I could tolerate my impatience no longer.

The King’s chariot was already drawn with his sable-black horses. The dog eyed me curiously as I got onto the chariot with the Immortal Guide rather than his master. The messenger took the reins, and we ascended to the upper world. The taste of the pomegranate still coated my tongue when the earth cracked open.

We burst forth like a new sprout. The nymphs came out from the sea and flocked around, fussing like they did before. This time, I did not mind. I let them pull at my clothing and let them weave fragrant flowers in my hair.

My mother, with a dark robe, soon arrived. She saw me, stretched her arms out, and I ran into them, breathing in her familiar scent. She stroked my hair, all while murmuring in my ear about how I was safe now, how happy she was. I was happy too. I recounted my tale to her in a frenzy, words crashing into one another like the churning tides. We stayed together, roaming the fields, soaking in the sun and earth I had missed. I danced in the streams, playing with my nymphs in celebration, for I was home.

It was later that I learned that I was bound to the Underworld, having eaten the pomegranate seeds. I left with a heavy heart and arrived to the expectant Lord, smiling with his brows.

“You tricked me,” I said. I would not weep; I could endure my time here.

“It was a request you accepted,” he said as he strode to me with my crown. He adorned me with it, and I let him brush the loose tendrils from my face. “Welcome home, my queen.”

In the beginning, it was a partial home.

I left the palace as often as I could to roam among the asphodels and the shades. The shades grew acquainted with my presence and bowed to me, moaning cries of worship in that strange tongue of theirs. I learned to feed the horses with sweet pomegranate seeds to entice them into being obedient, and the golden chariot of the King became one of my possessions. I stayed away from him, for I still felt betrayed.

Despite my frigidness, he adored me like no other. The entertainers seemed to be a constant at his court now that I present. He offered to dance with me, to which I rejected every time. He played knucklebones with me on the rare occasion I was receptive. I suspected he let me win on several occasions in an attempt to open me up like a blooming flower. And whenever I returned from a walk through the fields, he would have a lavish bouquet of false flowers waiting on my throne.

However, over time I grew to recognize my stature. After all, not many goddesses could say that they had power like mine. I began to wear my royal title like a mantle, draping it around my shoulders and letting it trail behind me in my wake. I was not always merciful, as you may well know yourself, mortal, but it is nigh impossible to say that I was not fair. The Lord took this fervor of mine as a sign that I had forgiven him. I still do not know if I have.

I sit beside him, as his equal, commanding the dead just like he does. I let him kiss my cheek and sometimes return the favor if I am feeling kind that day. I dance with him, resting my head over his heart and breathing in his musk.

But he is the one who made me his bride and thrust the Underworld upon me.

It is difficult to say that I resent him. It is much easier to say that I cannot, and will never be able to, love him in the same way he loves me.

Thus, for four months of the year, I live as the Queen of the Dead, never as his wife.

Now, dear mortal, you have heard it all. Tell it to the world.

~ ad.gray

Extra: Sorry for the unholy amount of name euphemisms and epithets. The TL;DR is that I didn’t want the associations of the Greek gods’ relationships, and by extension their names, in this story because they’re a mess by modern standards, so I opted for euphemisms and epithets instead. I decided to not use names at all because consistency, I guess? This kind of works though since “Persephone” is telling the story to a mortal and mortals avoided saying certain god’s names, Persephone and Hades among them, out of fear or respect (source). Saying a god’s name gets their attention, and getting the god’s of death attention was considered unlucky (source). This story’s version of Persephone is pretty understanding, I guess. Also, I tried to mimic the style of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (this was the translation I used), and the amount of descriptors is insane. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

Hope you enjoyed this! <3

[queenshelby]

The New Assistant (One Shot)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

Words: 3985

Summary: You are Cillian Murphy’s new assistant for Season 6 of Peaky Blinders.

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

Your First Day at the Peaky Blinders Set

‘Mr Murphy, I am Y/N, your new assistant’ you said as you stood 1.5 feet across from him, complying with the social distance requirements.

‘Please, just call me Cillian’ Cillian said with a smile before telling you that it is nice to meet you.

‘Sorry Mr Murphy, uhm Cillian’ you said, causing him to laugh.

‘So, here are the scripts for today and a coffee’ you said. ‘Rose told me that this is how you drink your coffee, but if you like something else just let me know’ you added.

‘Thanks Y/N, it’s perfect’ Cillian said as he took a sip and getting on with his work.

You only recently began watching Peaky Blinders as you applied for the job and you couldn’t believe that, when you met Cillian, he had as much charisma as he displayed on camera.

His piercing blue eyes and smile were almost hypnotising, yet he seemed kind and down to earth.

You noticed that he was lost in his own little world as you observed him work for the morning. It was like he transformed into Thomas Shelby and, every time he spoke to you, it took him a little while to lose his Birmingham accent.

After you accompanied him on set for five hours, he asked you whether you could prepare the scenes for the next day for him.

You drew up a schedule for him, putting together transcript for each scene. You made two copies and placed them in small folders.

You were very organised and he appreciated it.

‘Two folders? Please tell me that they are not both for me’ he said with a slight worry as he stepped back into his trailer after finishing off for the day.

‘No, just one is for you. The other one is for me. Rose said that you like to rehearse your scenes in advance’ you said before offering him to rehearse the scenes with him.

‘Yes, but I usually do this alone’ Cillian said with a smile.

‘You sure? I mean, I am not a good actor but I did take some drama classes back in high school many years ago and I could point out any mistakes with the lines as I read along’ you said with some slight laughter as you pointed at the script.

‘Well, I suppose why not. This could be fun’ Cillian said, gladly accepting your offer. After all, it was better to have some company than talking to himself in the mirror.

‘Alright let’s do it then’ you said as you sat down on the small lounge in his trailer, giving him little time to prepare.

After Cillian took 15 minutes to read the scripts, he put the folder down on the table. You couldn’t believe that he remembered the lines already.

‘Alright Y/N, Scene 7, let’s go’ he said with a cheeky smile, waiting for your acting skills to surface.

‘Thomas, you cannot be serious’ you said putting in a terribly bad Birmingham accent, causing Cillian to a have a slight chuckle. You tried very hard to stay serious.

‘You should know that I am serious Lizzie’ Cillian responded, having memorised his script, Tommy’s thick accent surfacing.

‘You are going to get us killed Thomas. But you don’t care, do you? You never cared’ you said, improving slightly in your tone.

‘When have I not cared for you Lizzie, ey?’ Cillian said before continuing on with his lines.

The script was slowly moving towards the intimate scene between Tommy and Lizzie but you were only rehearsing the words, not the actions. A shame you thought, but you knew you had to remain professional.

‘Lizzie, you need to understand that this is what I need’ Cillian said as he went on. In the script this would be where Tommy steps closer towards Lizzie, wearing nothing but his black suit pants.

‘Oh trust me Tommy, I know what you need. Just fucking kiss me already’ you said, biting your lips and feeling slightly awkward as you spoke the line with such passion. Your thoughts wandered to the scene, playing it out in your head.

‘You should consider a career in acting Y/N’ Cillian smirked as he didn’t continue with the script. He became to notice that you were feeling slightly awkward.

‘I don’t think so’ you said shyly as you starred into his deep blue eyes. There was an awkward silence between you until Cillian finally spoke again.

‘Can we do this again?’ Cillian asked as he noticed that he missed a couple of words within his lines. You didn’t want to point the mistakes out to him as, in your mind, he was perfect.

You agreed to another round of rehearsals and all went smoothly the second time around until you reached the final line.

‘Oh trust me Tommy, I know what you need. Just fucking kiss me already’ you said, inhaling deeply before taking a break.

‘You sure do Lizzie’ Cillian said as he finished off the script for Scene 7, causing you to simply stare at Cillian.

‘And then Tommy gets to romp Lizzie’ Cillian said laughing before he suggested that you rehearse the next scene with him.

‘Lucky Lizzie’ you giggled just before you realised what you had just said.

‘I am not so sure, it looks pretty rough’ Cillian said as he flicked through the script.

‘Well, some women like it like this’ you said.

‘So I’ve heard’ Cillian said, not sure where this conversation was going.

‘How do you do it, acting scenes like this?’ you asked curiously, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘Well, you just switch off and do it, I suppose’ Cillian chuckled.

‘You know you still missed a word here’ you said shyly. ‘Do you want to try again?’ you said, causing Cillian to nod.

Without missing a single word, Cillian acted his entire script for the scene until your line came up once again.

‘Oh trust me Tommy, I know what you need. Just fucking kiss me already’ you said.

‘You sure do Lizzie’ Cillian responded, but you weren’t finished with your script this time.

Having read on from the last time, you knew what was happening in the script. Tommy and Lizzie were getting it on but not before Tommy grabs hold of Lizzie’s throat, looking into her eyes without speaking a word. His eyes were doing the talking in the end of the scene. So, you went on, finishing Lizzie’s final line before the cut.  

‘Don’t you want to fuck me?’ you asked with your eyes full of fire.

‘What?’ Cillian asked surprised.

‘That’s Lizzie’s last line and the final line in the script for Scene 7’ you answered.

‘Right, yes’ Cillian said, blushing slightly before an awkward silence erupted once again.

‘Shall we go the next scene now?’ you asked, causing Cillian to nod.

Acting it Out

The next day, you got to watch the scene you had rehearsed with Cillian the evening before and you couldn’t help it but be amazed by his acting skills.

At the same time, you were somewhat turned on by watching him with Lizzie, roughly throwing her onto the bed before taking her from behind.

You would have loved being in her shoes for a moment, but for real.

‘I watched your scene with the script in my hand, it was perfect’ you smiled as you gave Cillian some clothes to cover his half naked body.

You couldn’t help it but gaze over his freckled chest as he stepped closer and he was sure to notice.

‘Well, I had some good practice’ he smiled, not bothered by the fact that he was half naked and that you were clearly staring at him.

‘I am always here to help Cillian’ you said as you handed him the script for the next scene.

‘Thanks Y/N’ Cillian said before getting ready for the next scene.

The day went fast and Cillian pretty much disappeared to his apartment right after the day was finished.

As you went into his trailer to get your handbag, you noticed that he left his notes.

You knew that he was going to look for them to rehearse before tomorrow and decided to drop them off to him.

You were staying at the same hotel building so it wasn’t an inconvenience.

As you arrived at the hotel, you knocked on his door and he was quick to open.

‘You left this on set’ you said as you handed Cillian his notes.

‘Thank you Y/N’ he said before taking a pause.

He noticed that you were gazing into his apartment through the open door and raised his eyebrows slightly, smiling at you. It was like his eyes were asking you what you were doing without his mouth actually moving.

‘Oh sorry, I was just trying to see what the score was. I don’t have pay tv in my room’ you said with embarrassment, pointing at the TV.

‘Uhm, right. Would you like to come in and watch the game with me? I’ll even put on a shirt’ Cillian asked with smirk.

‘You know we aren’t allowed, with social distancing and so forth’ you said.

‘I won’t tell if you don’t’ Cillian said with a chuckle. He knew it wouldn’t have mattered as you spent a lot of time together already.

‘Alright then, it can stay our little secret’ you said as you walked inside his studio apartment.

Cillian was quick to put on a t-shirt, although you would have preferred if he didn’t.

‘You never mentioned that you liked soccer’ he said.

‘It never came up’ you responded, still somewhat nervous by his presence, being in his apartment.

But, you soon relaxed and sat down on the lounge with him.

Cillian offered you some wine as you were watching the second half of the game.

It was a tight finish with a score of 1-0. The last goal was scored in the final 10 minutes and it was nerve wrecking.

Cillian’s team won and you couldn’t help it but be a little disappointed as you were cheering for the opposite team.

‘Tomorrow is going to be a busy day’ you said as the game had finished, not knowing what else to say.

‘Yes, I am not looking forward to it’ Cillian said leaning forward to pour some more wine, cringing a bit as he moved.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked as you noticed that he seemed uncomfortable as he leaned forward.

‘Yes, I just hurt my back earlier during one of the scenes’ Cillian said.

‘Where does it hurt?’ you asked as you began tapping over his back, causing Cillian to look at you with surprise.

‘Oh god sorry’ you said, removing your hands quickly. ‘Bad habit’ you were quick to say.

‘Bad habit ey?’ Cillian asked with a smile.

‘Before COVID I was a physiotherapy student’ you explained. ‘I like to fix people’ you added with a laugh.

‘Right’ Cillian responded with a warm smile.

‘Would you like me to take a look and see if I can fix the pain?’ you asked.

‘Now that would defiantly break social distancing requirements’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I won’t tell if you don’t’ you said with grin on your face, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘Alright then, give it a crack’ he said.

‘Take off your shirt’ you said, causing Cillian to raise his eyebrows again before obliging with your request. It wasn’t like you hadn’t already seen him half naked.

You climbed behind him and couldn’t help but stare at his freckled skin again as you began to run your hands over his back, pressing hard on several trigger points until he eventually cringed.

‘Is that where it hurts?’ you asked.

‘Yes, fuck’ he said after you pressed down on the area harshly.

‘Sorry, but this might hurt a little’ you said while beginning to massage the area.

After about two minutes, the pain subsided but Cillian didn’t think to tell you. Instead, he let you continue with the movements. He began to enjoy the massage you were giving him.

‘That feels better’ you said, noticing the tension in his back disappearing slowly.

‘It does, but I don’t think I want you to stop now’ Cillian said jokingly.

‘I can keep going, if you like’ you said, moving your hands to other regions of his back while breathing in the sweet scent of his aftershave.

As your hands moved to his shoulders and over, slightly towards his chest, Cillian could feel a tingling sensation emerging in between his legs.

Hoping that you wouldn’t notice what was building up in between his legs, he placed his t-shirt across them, hiding his emerging erection.  

As you continued the massage for a few more minutes and he noticed that his erection would not go back down, he felt the need to tell you to stop, but he couldn’t bring it across his lips. It felt too nice and pleasurable.

Your hands were roaming across his back, up and down and you began to notice his breathing getting heavier.

As your hands suddenly stopped on his lower back he looked back over his shoulder, not realising that this was exactly where your face was at this moment.

His blue eyes gazed into yours for a moment as there was an awkward silence between you.

As you starred at him, your hands moved up again, causing him to breath in heavily once more.

In that moment, with your hands still wandering up his back, you leaned forward in sixty-degree angle, pressing your chest against his back and brushing his lips with yours.

Cillian gave into the kiss, turning around slightly to caress your face and pull you closer towards him. The kiss was intensifying and became more urgent with every moment.

‘I think all of the social distancing is out of the window now’ Cillian chuckled as your lips drifted apart and you climbed away from behind him.

Within just seconds, you pulled your t-shirt over your head and climbed onto his lap with one leg placed on each side of him before leaning in for another kiss.

Cillian ran his hands over your back as you exchanged a passionate kiss and you could feel his erection beneath you.

‘Let’s take our rehearsals a bit further, shall we?’ you said in between kisses as you grinded yourself against him.

‘We shouldn’t, you are my assistant’ Cillian responded while running his hands over your breasts, without any intention of stopping.

‘I won’t tell if you don’t’ you giggled as you stood up, taking off your jeans as well and letting them drop to the floor.

Cillian gazed over your body, taking in everything and admiring your curves.

‘I suppose it can stay our little secret, although I think it’s a bad idea Y/N’ Cillian said as he stood up in front of you, pressing his lips against yours while you reached for the zipper of his jeans.  

‘I think it’s a great idea. We both want this and need to get it out of our systems so that we can work well together. Despite, you are stressed, let me be a good assistant and relief that stress of yours’ you smirked as your hand ran beneath his briefs, taking hold of his erect cock.

Without responding to your comment, he pressed his lips onto yours again before guiding you backwards towards his bed.  

‘If I'd have known we'd be doing this I wouldn't have worn this’ you added, looking down at the underwear.

Cillian grabbed your chin lightly and pressed his lips to yours for a short moment.

‘It’s coming off anyway’ he winked at you before reaching behind you to unclip your bra. His gaze dropping to your small but perky breasts.

He took them in his hands grabbing onto them gently before pushing you onto the bed.

Next his hands went to your panties and pulled them down your legs and before you knew it you were laying on his bed completely naked and Cillian’s deep blue eyes devoured you.

You didn't feel self-conscious like you usually would because you could tell from that look in his eyes and his facial expression that he clearly liked what he saw.

Cillian’s eyes locked on yours as you sat up against the pillows and his fingers went into his waist band pulling down his briefs.

His erection stood proudly pointing at you and you weren’t disappointed with that either, he sure was packing down there!

He climbed onto the bed and pulled your legs apart, kneeling in between.

‘Is it bad that I’ve been fantasising about this?’ Cillian asked, still gazing over your naked body.

‘No. I've wanted this too’ you admitted, your eyes fixated on his hand moving up and down that cock of his.

‘I always had to touch myself whenever I went to bed because I wanted you so much’ you said.

‘Show me’ he breathed out, your eyes closing at his words and then opening as your hand slid down your body and stroked through your already damp folds.

He groaned as you pushed two fingers into your wetness.

With a quickness you had never witnessed before he grabbed a hold of your wrist and raised your fingers to his mouth, his eyes closing as his full lips wrap around your fingers sucking off your juices.

He then grabbed onto your other wrist and pinned them both above your head as he leaned down and ran kisses over your breasts and trailing them all the way down to your wet folds.

His hand went in between your legs, instantly finding your clit. He began to rub it, in small slow circles while his tongue ran through your wetness.

‘Fuck, Cillian’ you moaned as your hands reached down and grabbed onto his shoulders.

His movements became quicker and he increased the pressure, pressing down harder and harder. He then replaced his finger with his tongue on your clit as he shoved two fingers inside you, pumping them slowly in and out.

‘You're so fucking wet Y/N’ Cillian groaned, his eyes never leaving yours.

His fingers soon curled upwards against your g-spot as he continued to pump them in and out of you.

You gasped out at the sensation and could feel yourself racing towards your first orgasm of the night and you had a sneaky feeling that it most definitely wouldn't be the last.

As his force and speed increased so did your moans and you reached down and gripped his hair, pulling on it.

‘That’s it, oh god’ you moaned loudly as your walls began clenching around your fingers while your orgasm washed over you.

Cillian slowed down the finger action and let go of your clit then wickedly flicked his tongue against it once more making you flinch.

He grinned at you as he moved up your body and then took your mouth in a deep kiss.

You shoved your tongue into his mouth, tasting your own arousal and then somehow flipped him over so you were straddling his hips.

You tasted the skin of his neck. Then you made your way down that freckled chest, gently biting his left nipple on the way down.

You licked at his toned abs and then reached that hard as steel erection that was already oozing precum. His breathing was becoming deeper as you encircled your hand around him and pumped a couple times before flicking your tongue against the head.

‘Fuck’ Cillian moaned as his hand reached for your hair while you began bopping up and down his shaft.

You enjoyed the taste of his precum as you continued your movements for several moments while using your fingers to play with his balls.

He loved every moment of it but, after a while, had to ask you to stop for obvious reasons.

You obliged. You wanted him inside of you badly.

Cillian then reached for the bedside table, grabbing a condom from the draw and putting into his hard cock.

Before he could change position you climbed on top of him.

‘No need to be gentle, I like it just like Lizzie does’ you smirked, causing his eyes to roll into the back of his head as your pussy slid over his hard cock and you guided it inside of you.

You were unbelievably tight causing Cillian to moan out load on that first stroke.

Your hands were resting on his chest as you slowly raised yourself up and then dropped back down over and over teasing him to the point where his hands were digging into your thighs.

You began to quicken your pace, riding him faster and faster.

Cillian held onto your hips as he thrust his up to your stroke by stroke unknowingly getting faster until he was holding you up and thrusting into you so hard and fast that you were crying out his name.

It was obvious to you that he also liked it rough and, as soon as your walls began to contract around him, he flipped you over onto your back.

He wanted to take control and you were absolutely fine with that.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he continued to thrust into your tight hole for several more minutes.

Unhooking your legs from around him, Cillian leaned up and rested them over his shoulders before increasing his pace.

His hand reached down and began rubbing your swollen clit, making you cry out once again continuously.

‘Oh god yes’ you moaned as you were so close again.

Just as your walls began tightening around his hard cock, he pulled out of you.

‘Not yet’ he smirked before he told you to get on your hands and knees.

‘Please Cillian, just fuck me’ you pleaded as he was tasing your entrance with his hard cock from behind you.

‘As you wish’ he said as, all of a sudden, with one deep thrust, he buried himself inside of you again.

You cried out as he entered you and his thrusting was slowing down for a moment as he pushed his hips into you as deep as humanly possible.

The thrust was hard and deep, but he soon picked up pace again.

‘Oh god yes. Fuck me hard’ you groaned out into the pillow beneath you.

That was all he needed to hear, his hips slamming into you harshly as you pushed your back.

Second later, remembering the scene between Tommy and Lizzie, he grabbed a handful of your silky hair and pulled on it, making you arch your back as he fucked you from behind.

‘Yes, don’t stop’ you moaned as his speed picked up more and more with each thrust.

‘Fuck Y/N’ Cillian groaned, his hands regaining their grip on your waist.

‘Oh my god Cillian’ you moaned, your voice muffled by the pillow and your walls tightening around his cock.

Your orgasm came running over you like a speed train as you screamed loudly, sending Cillian over the edge also.

Within seconds of your own orgasm, Cillian found his release, his thrusts slowing down as he rode out his orgasm.

‘Fuck’ was all he managed to say as he pulled out of you and disposed the condom filled with his sweet cum.

You were still huffing, your body limb just as he collapsed next to you.

‘Feeling better now?’ you grinned.

‘Yes actually’ he smiled before giving you a quick kiss.

After you spent about ten minutes curled up with each other it was time for you to leave. After all, you both had a busy day ahead.

‘So, just let me know if you ever need some more stress relief’ you smirked as you said goodnight.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not allowed v, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of jungkook x reader – est. poly relationship

summary: BTS have had a long, busy day. Heck, a busy week, preparing for 2021 Grammys performance and interviews. It’s finally over, and all Min Yoongi wants is to take a shower and sleep with his favorite person. There’s no one like you. He deserves some special treatment – some belated birthday wishes granted perhaps?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; domestic shower care (aww) and shower sex (hell yeah); feels and fluff; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, fingering, nipple play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, handjob / blowjob (with tongue technology), f-receiving oral, doggy, spanking); idol!BTS; occurs the night of the 2021 Grammys

part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: MYG asks JJK to fuck you, again, let’s keep this going, oop JK dyed his hair blue; based on real time.

–

"I'm sorry you didn't win."

"It's okay. It was a long shot anyway."

"Well, you are good at basketball, so you can make a long shot, easy."

A deep, raspy chuckle. "Next time."

Water drummed against the tile, the rhythm interrupted by you working shampoo through black hair, conjuring fistfuls of lathered white clouds. The head lifted a little and you were about to chastise him, but one look into those black-brown eyes and small sheepish smile looking down at you, and you forgot what you were going to say. 

"It was never about us anyway. We wanted to win so ARMY could brag about us."

You grinned, chuckling a little. "They always brag about you, Yoongi."

You saw something flit across his face, but he didn't say anything. You already knew. I wish you could brag about me. And you did, but not in the way he wanted, because he was Min Yoongi, SUGA of BTS, Agust D sometimes, and your secret all of the time. You closed the distance, a simple, sweet kiss in response to his wordless wish, I know, me too, hands curling in his soapy hair, smiling gently against his lips. Hm. You could feel Yoongi was thoroughly enjoying your wet breasts against his chest. 

Something hard was poking you quite insistently.

You drew back a little and Yoongi's hands circled your waist, keeping your hips to him.

"Thought you said you were sleepy?" you teased.

Yoongi grinned slyly. "I changed my mind."

You chuckled, tipping his head back to rinse his hair off, forcing him to close his eyes with a displeased grunt. You could tell from his dark circles that he was tired from the stress of the day, having to wake up at two in the morning and be ready for his call time at five, but he still insisted for you to come, still insisted for you to sneak around and be here when he came home. You didn't get to see Yoongi on his birthday and not during the weekend before either. He was too busy filming content and preparing for the Grammys.

You did send him a voice message of you singing happy birthday and he replied with, thank you, my love, instead of the usual, you would benefit from a vocal coach, which meant he missed you far too much to tease you. 

You carefully straightened his neck and Yoongi breathed out, raising a hand to push his black hair away from his face, slicking it back and exposing his forehead. 

Oof.

Sexy. 

Yoongi's eyes opened, dark brown orbs reflecting the mischief in his smirk. 

"You sure you don't want me to call the maknae?" he asked not-so-innocently. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. He knew what he was doing. 

Your boyfriend had posted a selfie this morning, only to be followed up by Jeon Jungkook’s adorable pose in a colorful fluffy flannel shirt on Weverse. Earlier in the week, Jungkook had cutely invaded and sang happy birthday on Yoongi’s celebratory live, and then put up a picture of himself on his post for said hyung’s birthday.

The absolute gall of the Golden Maknae. 

Needless to say, you were disappointed, but not surprised. Only slightly though. Jungkook was like that. A little bit – alright, a lot – of a naughty little shit that needed his cock brutally choked by your throat or pussy every once in a while. Actually, no, definitely both, just to be on the safe side. But this day was not that day.

"You said you wanted to be selfish today," was your calm response to Yoongi's question, reaching behind him to rinse off your hands, pressing your tits into his chest. Your eyes flickered up to his. Yoongi raised an eyebrow as your fingers trailed on his back, drawing small patterns. 

"Has he been a bad boy?" he chuckled, referring to, of course, the shameless audacity of your other boyfriend, well-loved and doted-on Jeon Jungkook. 

Your expression matched his, inquiring but already knowing the answer. A silent conversation between kindred souls that followed the same thought process. Closer, water gliding between your bodies, lips fitting against his, lightly nipping at his lower lip as if to say, we're both a little mean, Yoongi chuckling in agreement as he captured your lips forcefully. Hands all over wet bodies, pressing him to you and him reciprocating, hot water seeming hotter, steam getting steamier, kisses passionate and intense, Yoongi pushing you into the shower wall, not letting you get away.

Jungkook had known you were coming, but he wasn't allowed to attend this time. 

He said he was tired from the events of today and he wanted you to spend time with Yoongi alone because it had been Yoongi's birthday recently and they should definitely get special treatment during their birthdays, right?

"I want special treatment on my birthday, so I suppose hyung should as well..." 

"Ah, that's too bad, I was looking forward to punishing you."

"Noona...!" You could hear the shy pout in Jungkook's voice as it lowered, whispering into his phone. "Don't say stuff like that..."

You heard a sneaky cat-like purr in the background. "Say what?"

Jungkook started and you heard the violent rattle of the phone falling, followed by scrambles to retrieve it. Ah. You could see now why Jungkook's phone was taped.

"Hyung! Don’t... I thought you were still in the bathroom..."

"Mmm." You knew that what that hum meant. You've been on the phone for a while. And Jungkook had, lamenting that he wished they could have won the award and had a celebration live with ARMY and you had to reassure him over and over that there would be more chances and ARMY was already very proud with the nomination, yourself included. 

"Uh... do you want to talk to hyung? He's here..." Jungkook did not sound like he wanted to give his phone up. He was only asking out of politeness.

"No, Jungkook, I'll see him in a bit."

"She said no, huh?" Yoongi mused and then you heard the sounds of footsteps wandering away. 

Jungkook made a questioning noise, but you reoriented him rather quickly. 

"I want to hear your voice some more, Jungkook." You recalled the opening of the Grammys 'Dynamite' performance and his teasing, cocky nose scrunch. "Was feeling rather sexy during the recording, weren't you?"

"You saw?" An edge of excitement to his tone. "That was for you, noona," he added playfully. 

"No, it wasn't."

His faint, wicked snicker. "Okay, you're right, but I did think about you while doing it."

"Mmmhmm. What part of me? My smiling face or my warm mouth wrapped around your cock?"

"Noona!"

Alright, you did end up giving Jungkook a little bit of punishment, because neither you nor himself could help it. And at the very end, he played along, whining for you because he knew you wanted him to. Fuck, he was getting clever now, remembering all the things you liked. Stupid sexy Jungkook and his duality.

"Can't I come too? Please, noona?"

It took a lot of refuse his cute voice, but you did make a promise to Yoongi and you never broke your promises.

"Sorry, Jungkook, you're not allowed this time."

Reliving your memory was abruptly interrupted by two fingers sliding into your pussy.

"Excuse you," you muttered into Yoongi's lips. 

"What are you thinking about that's gotten you so wet, hm?" he drawled, dripping water down your cheeks and chest, kissing from your lips and up your jaw, slowly working his fingers in and out, your wetness thicker, warmer than the water, leaking down his knuckles. His voice in your ear, low and dangerous, making you fall for him more and more. "Thinking about me or the maknae?"

...

Min Yoongi knew you too well.

"T-That's..."

Couldn't think of a smart comeback, not with Yoongi's voice so sensual and invasive, staring up at the hazy ceiling while he sucked on your ear, biting your lip to stifle your moans, nerves lighting with shivering arousal. His fingers controlled, measured, focused on deeply penetrating you to graze your favorite spots, rubbing your walls and pressing his thumb into your clit, slow circles causing throbs of pleasure to glide through you. Yoongi knew all the places that made you weak, licking right under your ear to make you whimper for him, kissing and sucking up and down the curve. The warm water created a steady hum, background music for his dirty words. 

"Is that why Jungkookie ran so fast to the bathroom earlier today, hm? Mmm, you shouldn't mess with him so much. You should know better as his noona," Yoongi murmured softly, speeding up, catching your earlobe with his teeth and tugging on it, words slightly muffled as he continued, waves of heat flaring upwards with every thrust. "He'll keep teasing you, pretending it's for ARMY, and then when he has you next, he'll make you beg for his cock…" Teeth biting down, leaving a visible mark, his gravelly whisper sparking inhibitions. 

"And I'm going to watch you."

Fuck you, Min Yoongi, for always knowing the right thing to say.

Yoongi flicked your clit and you cried out, bucking into his hand, almost losing balance, but his left arm came up behind the small of your back and held you in place, strong and unyielding, orgasm cut short with your sudden worry of straining his recovery, but Yoongi already knew, cooing comfortingly in your inflamed ear. 

"I was dancing during the recording, remember?"

Right, he was cleared to dance, but still...

And again, Yoongi led you back into the proper headspace, kissing and nipping down your neck, tongue against your collarbones, stroking your side with his left hand as his right pushed in and out of you, building the pace and your needy gasps once more. 

"Shh, you're a good girl, don't move and nothing bad will happen."

A tinge of menace in his voice, indicating the double meaning, I won't get hurt and maybe you won't get punished. Only a maybe though, sending a delighted spark up your spine, pressing your shoulder blades into the shower wall, instinctively raising one of your legs to give Yoongi more space. You glanced down, but he wasn't looking at you, eyes calmly closed, soaked black strands sticking to his forehead as his pink lips wrapped around one of your nipples. Instant pleasure from his expert tongue, teasing the moans of his name out of you, praising him, fuck yes, Yoongi, so good, I love this, fingers filling you repeatedly, thumb knuckle grinding onto your clit, sucking on your hard nipple. You were so focused on the feeling that your torso froze up, head and hands pressed into the wall, back arcing as you came, pulses of ecstasy enveloping you, but Yoongi didn't stop, forcing another finger inside your tight hole, whines in your throat as your shuddering pussy sucked it in, still riding waves of aftershocks.

His left hand slid up and pinched your ignored nipple. 

"Yoongi, fuck...!"

You could only curse the gods that created the genius that was Min Yoongi, chuckling as he rubbed your left nipple, sucked on the right, thumb knuckle on your clit, three fingers fully stuffed inside you, so hard and so fast that his forearm was nearly vibrating. Too coordinated, too rough, too much, mind going blank, already orgasming, and again, and again, not stopping.

He was too good. 

Yoongi wasn’t going to stop until you made him. 

Your eyes rolled back, rocketing bolts of pleasure overtaking everything, entire body shaking and quivering with overstimulation, your own knuckles white because your fingers somehow curled into fists, moans rattling your chest as wave after wave of pleasure attacked you, pushing you to the brink of collapse.

"Y-Yoongi, oh, fuuuuuuuk, Yoongi!"

Your body made the executive decision for you, left hand shooting down and grabbing his forearm, gripping it tightly, gasping for air, making sure to keep his long fingers buried all the way inside, his hard muscle flexing under your palm. Fuck, so hot. Yoongi immediately stopped, detaching his mouth from your nipple, and you could barely protest, tremors thundering through your torso as your pussy spasmed and soaked his fingers with your sweet-sour juices, your inner muscles rapidly clenching and unclenching around him, his low moans filling your ears as he felt each strong pulse, stretching his fingers against your convulsing walls to amplify your pleasure and feel it all.

"Fuck..." Yoongi panted, leaning against you and your heaving chest. "Fuck, you're so pretty when you're wrecked." 

His lips on your temple, kissing you fiercely, grinding his crotch into your hip and revealing how hard he was as you tried to come down, tried to calm your heart threatening to pound out of your chest. You turned your head to face him and he was there, devouring your lips with rough kisses, pulling his fingers out to tug and pinch at your nipples with his knuckles, smirking at your submissive whines, your hands wandering down and gripping his length, leisurely stroking him.

Now Yoongi was the one gasping into your mouth, switching to rubbing your hard sensitive nipples to coax you to do more, switching your positions in the shower so his back was to the water. The two of you were only half-finished washing up, but neither of you seemed to notice or care.

You backed up a little, breaking the kiss, seeing Yoongi’s dazed expression as you lightly cupped the head of his cock in your palm, gently rolling into the slickness, continuing for several seconds before adding a little more pressure. He inhaled sharply, pleading for more with his breathing alone. His chin was slightly tilted upwards, black hair sticking to his forehead, pink lips slightly parted, water trickling in rivets down his neck and chest.

Yoongi noticed you staring and gave you his trademark open-mouthed smirk.

Who taught Jeon Jungkook how to be hot as hell?

It had to have been Min Yoongi.

You mentally took note of this image of wet Yoongi so you could masturbate to it later.

He cocked a brow and you cocked one back, challenging him. Then you dropped to your knees, careful with the slippery floor, and yanked his hips to your face so he blocked all of the water with his body. His stiff length smacked you in the lips and smeared pre-cum on them. You heard Yoongi gasp and you looked up, seeing him watching you, expectation and hunger in his dark eyes.

You smirked, tongue snaking out and licking your lips to taste him.

“Is my good girl going to do all my favorite things?” he drawled in his extra-low octave.

Your pussy throbbed at his domineering tone. You didn’t have to say anything, your scorching gaze alone creating that amused smirk on Yoongi’s lips. I know what you want. One hand holding up his cock, leaning forward, and Yoongi groaned in satisfaction, your mouth sucking in one of his balls, your deft tongue circling the other in loud, messy slurps, suffocating one while licking the other. You flicked your wrist back and forth, pumping his cock as you worked his balls, lips tight and pulling slightly, tongue flexed and slapping against the other.

You looked up at Yoongi’s dilated pupils, knowing that he could see flashes of your pink tongue against his balls, your hand stroking him slowly and deliberately.

“You’re so good, fuck… So fucking good at that,” Yoongi panted. “Every other man in the world is jealous that they’re never going to get to experience this.”

You popped your mouth off, making him hiss with pleasure. “That’s not true. I’ll give it to Jungkookie eventually.”

“Ah, he’s lucky that I picked him.”

You raised your eyebrows, you picked him, uh huh, I was the one stalking him on Twitter, and Yoongi nudged you with his hips, eyes narrowing dangerously, put my balls in your fucking mouth, and you obeyed, switching to his right side and sucking it into your plush lips, tongue snaking out to lap at his left one, now pumping him with your dominant right hand. He sucked in a breath, moaning softly, clenching his jaw as you increased to his favorite pressure and speed.

“Fuck, yes, make me cum just like this,” he snarled, as much a plea as it was an order, rocking his hips a little so he tugged on his balls in your mouth, forcing you to suck harder and lick more roughly to keep him in place, obscene slurps adding another layer to the song that was the falling water, Yoongi’s moans, and the rapid slap-slap-slap of your hand furiously jacking off his twitching hardness. You glanced up at him and he was observing you closely, drinking in every second of your mouth, hand, and spread-open thighs as you kneeled for him, water dripping off your nipples and ass, groaning your name, tone saturated with lust.

“Ah, fuck, I love you so much, you look so fucking good like this…”

You could tell he was getting close with how shallow his breathing was becoming. Tighter, harder, so devoted to the cause that you were whimpering to add vibration to the multiple sensations, drunk on the taste of his skin and the scent of his pre-cum right next to your head, needing it, wanting it, right now, your eyes telling him, please Yoongi, cum for me, want you to cum for me so bad, and he bit his lip, tense growl contained in his throat that morphed into a drawn-out wail.

“Fuck, now, fuck!”

You abruptly pulled off his balls and Yoongi gasped, startled and confused as you quickly repositioned yourself so he shot thick strings onto your mouth, painting your red swollen lips with drizzles of white, up your cheek and onto your nose, dark eyes wide as he witnessed his indecent mark on you. Like something out of a literal porno, your lips coated with glossy lines of his semen. You looked up at him, still holding his cock, sinfully triumphant.

Your devious smirk covered in cum.

“You wicked, dirty woman,” Yoongi breathed in amazement.

His hand was travelling down so you removed yours, already guessing what was coming next. You placed your hands on your thighs, sinking into the softness as Yoongi groaned, wrapping his fingers around his cock, pumping himself slowly to the image of your cum-covered puffy lips, red and white, upper body tilted back so your hard nipples pointed upwards towards him, squeezing your breasts together with your arms while your hands kept your thighs spread, wet pussy exposed to him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, so hard you could see the flashes of veins standing out through his fingers. “You’re too much, too sexy, come closer so I can use that mouth.”

You scooted nearer and Yoongi pushed his cock into your lips, moaning as he watched his orgasm smear down his length and disappear with each centimeter his cock into your tight, hot mouth, your eyes taking in the jerks of his shoulders and slack jaw, forcing you to take him all the way to the base. He was so turned on that you knew he wasn’t going to last as long as he wanted, but there was no stopping him now, already shallowly thrusting. You knew how to make him pause though, tightly tensing your throat muscles around the tip. Yoongi threw his head back, your name a desperate whine.

“Please, shit, I’m so fucking sensitive, fuck…”

Slowly Yoongi’s head rolled back and you took the chance to slide your tongue out, hands coming up to cup his balls, licking them in playful figure-eights with his entire length crammed down your throat, barely able to breathe.

You didn’t care.

Yoongi was in literal heaven.

Swearing, gasping, moaning, enjoying it for a good twenty seconds before fitting his right hand behind your head, tangled in your wet hair.

“Hold me,” he gritted out. “Hold me so I can fuck your face.”

You backed up a little to take a deep lungful of air, placing your hands on his hips. There was so much adrenaline coursing through your veins that you didn’t even notice that your knees were screaming in pain, completely focused on getting your throat ready for Yoongi’s abuse.

Your eyes flickered up to him, giving him the signal.

Yoongi grinned and began to thrust into your mouth. You adjusted your neck a little and Yoongi hissed, the throbbing head of his cock now rubbing against the roof of your mouth with every slide down your throat, rolling his hips into your face. You could tell he wanted to keep it slow, but his body craved the speed and he finally gave in, fucking your face mercilessly, fast and rough, nearly choking you but not quite, and that was the best part, Yoongi always knowing the edge, always knowing how much you could take, chuckling darkly as your moaned around his cock, trying not to dig your nails into his skin.

“It’s okay, do it,” Yoongi nudged, devilish edge to his voice. “Do it. No one is going to look there.”

Eye contact.

You sure?

He ticked a brow.

How many people were going to look at his ass? Eh, he was right.

You sank your nails into his hips and dragged them down, creating red scratches around his crotch.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Yoongi gasped with your name, urging you for more, you clawing at his ass as he forced himself between your tight lips, marking him up, praying no one was going to ask why his ass looked like a cat’s scratching post, but it was doomed, your cries vibrating his cock, Yoongi losing control, lustful shudder as his cock jolted in your mouth, spilling down your throat. You swallowed greedily, puffing breath around his thick length, sucking a little so you could feel every quiver, his taste strong and salty, so delicious that your pussy pulsated with satisfaction even through it wasn’t being stimulated.

You felt Yoongi caress your wet hair, soft praises floating down to your ears. You licked him delicately, ghosting your tongue around and around the head. He shivered, exhaling hard.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well…”

You felt his cock soften. You did what any sensible human would do and took him all the way in your mouth to bounce his balls with your tongue.

Yoongi chuckled.

“You’re crazy.”

You gave him your gurgled response with his dick still down your throat.

“You’re right, I do love it.” He tapped your cheek. “But the water’s getting cold, so let’s finish this shower and get into bed.”

-

“Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“What happened to my ripped panties?”

“From last time? Don’t know. Jungkook had them in his pocket.”

You frowned, working product through your wet hair. “I hope he threw them away safely.”

Yoongi looked thoughtful. “Ah, is that what he snuck over to Jimin’s room for?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “It would be a good cover.”

You gawked at him.

Yoongi didn’t elaborate, going back to daintily and dutifully applying his skincare.

-

Get into bed.

This wasn’t exactly what you thought Yoongi meant, but you weren’t mad at it.

“Fuck, that’s so insanely hot…”

You were kneeling on the bed, chin on the pillows, knees spread, hands on your ass cheeks to spread your pussy open so your boyfriend Min Yoongi could watch you flex your wet opening.

At least he gave you time to blow-dry your hair before ordering you around.

For the moment, you were staring at the headboard, keenly concentrating on the exact precision and force needed to open and close with varying degrees. Most of the time, there was no need to be this focused, but Yoongi had asked for a show, so you were going to give him one. You could hear him slowly stroking himself, panting with exertion and awe. The bed sank a little as his weight was added, coming up behind you. Anticipation zipped through your veins, heartbeat spiking.

“A-ah!”

You felt a cold, fine spray on your ass and back. The fuck? Then the scent hit you, sudden citrus mixed with a verdant musk and the base of pine wood. On your skin, it immediately morphed, turning warmer, almost smokier, different than how it smelled on Yoongi. You twisted your head around, giving Yoongi’s smirking face a startled look.

“Did you just spray me with your cologne?”

He tucked his tongue between his neat white teeth. “No.” Which obviously meant yes.

You narrowed your eyes. “You shouldn’t do that. Someone might figure it out.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow underneath his fluffy black bangs. “I’m sure many people buy and wear my cologne, including women. Can’t keep anything a secret these days.”

There was a twinge of arrogance and wistfulness in his deep voice, but before you could break it down and ask, what about me, Yoongi leaned in and shoved his tongue into your pussy.

“F-fuck, Yoongi!”

His satisfied groan trembled through your nerves, igniting arousal and causing you to clench around his tongue involuntarily. He didn’t have to say it, both of you already thinking it, keep going, but now you were gasping, getting wetter and wetter with the addition of Yoongi’s tongue lazily sliding up and down as your muscles contracted and relaxed, letting him feel your skill and power, his moans vibrating through you from your core. It was already slick and getting slicker, Yoongi’s tongue gracefully sliding through your folds, thrusting into your hole, your juices like honey seeping onto his greedy mouth, so fucking good you didn’t need to control it anymore, it was just happening, and it took everything in you not to shove your ass into his face even though you wanted to, because you didn’t want to make any sudden movements and accidentally hurt him when he had already worked so hard today.

Yoongi chuckled.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, knowing he could see the strain in your arms and the tremble of your hips trying to keep your position as he sucked on your clit.

He removed his mouth and you grumbled in disappointment, cutting yourself off when you heard the distinct rip of a foil packet.

“No, fuck you.”

Yoongi said it as if he was telling someone the time and not about to forcefully plunge his dick right into where his mouth was a second ago.

“Ah, fuck yes, Yoongi…”

He sank right in, stretching you out deliciously, sighing as your wet walls molded around his cock, familiar and wonderful. You finally had the chance to remove your hands from your ass so you could hold yourself up, relieving some of the pressure on your poor knees.

“I’m choosing to ignore your disrespect,” Yoongi purred, placing his hands on your hips and bottoming out, his balls smacking your engorged clit roughly, earning a low hiss from your throat. Your fingers twisted into the sheets, breathing hard as your body adjusted. He was asking you how you wanted it. You clicked your tongue and turned your head back, seeing him watching you closely under his black hair shadowing his dark brown eyes.

“What a nice guy,” you remarked in a cool, defiant tone, borderline bored.

Come on, Yoongi, mess me up.

His lips curved into that devious, open-mouthed smirk you loved so much.

“Mhm.”

He slid out and slapped his crotch into your ass, hard.

“Yes, Yoongi, fuck!”

Your nails sank into your palms and you shoved your fists into the sheets, locking your upper body so you could push back into his rough thrusts, pleased grin on your lips, his perfect cock filling you over and over again, core tensed tight to feel all of him, the thick head forcing its way deep inside slick velvet, the rock-hard length twitching against each ridge, his balls bouncing against your inflamed clit, so full, so good, so intense that it almost hurt.

It wasn’t enough.

Panting hard, chest shuddering, you reached up and planted a hand flat against the headboard and clenched your jaw, bucking back into Yoongi’s crotch. His voice was mind-numbingly deep, full of desire and danger.

“Harder it is, my love.”

You smirked, then gasped as you felt the hot sting of Yoongi’s palm on your ass, the sound reverting against the apartment walls. He didn’t stop, fucking you hard into the bed and slapping your ass as you kept up with his pace, doing half the work for him so he could focus on each sharp spank to make your ass bounce on his cock, the bed screaming for you two to stop, but neither of you noticed, completely focused on chasing wild, feral pleasure, Yoongi growling your name and you moaning at his carnal tone, soaking his skin with thick, sweet-smelling juices, pussy violently massaging his length.

“That’s it,” Yoongi hissed, breathing rapid and shallow, ceasing his slapping of your red ass to seize your hips and fuck you even harder, digging his nails into your skin and marking you with his lust. “Feels so good fucking this perfect body just the way I like.”

Fuck, his voice, taking your heart and setting your world into lustful wildfire, no one like him, nothing like this, making you lose your mind and fuck back against him harder, the roller coaster climbing higher and higher and higher, Yoongi cursing under his breath, and you were so far gone that you almost didn’t pick up his words.

“Shit, Jungkookie would have loved watching you get wrecked by me.”

A low moan ripped from your throat, the thought of Jungkook’s needy voice and expression seeing you get pounded by Yoongi’s full strength, being told to watch and probably not being able to help touching himself, fuck, you wanted it, wanted Jungkook so bad at that very moment, wanted to show him how ruined you were, knowing he would love it, crave it, desire it, fuck, it was too much and you came hard, seeing stars, planets, fuck it, the whole fucking galaxy, fingernails curling into the headboard and whining at the sensitivity, body rolling onto Yoongi’s cock and squeezing it powerfully. Yoongi gasped out your name, grip tightening as he spilled into the condom, his length pulsating and twitching into your walls. You thought that was it, but Yoongi’s fingers snaked down between your legs.

“Oh, fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, fuck!”

He roughly rubbed your aching clit with two fingers, forcing you to cum again around his cock, moaning loudly with every convulsion of your overstimulated pussy, viscous juices clinging to the insides of your joined thighs, completely defeating the purpose of the fucking shower, but neither of you seemed to remember that, Yoongi too busy using his last ounce of strength to push you to your limit, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves and vibrating his fingertips against it, your eyes rolling back and spine clattering as another orgasm blasted through you, up your torso and straight to your head, numbing pleasure overtaking everything, arm going slack and forgetting to hold yourself up, hand slipping on the headboard, fatigue finally having its way.

Yoongi was quick to slide his hand up your belly and keep you up, wiry strength of his right arm balancing between your breasts to prevent you from falling into the bed.

“Holy f-fuck…”

The words sounded far away even though they were yours, the resounding beat in your ears being your pulse trying to catch up, nerves tingling all over, acutely aware of the tiny flinches gliding across your skin, aftershocks of a particularly explosive orgasm. Your pussy was still throbbing around Yoongi’s spent cock, locking him in your embrace. You planted your hands onto the bed and lifted yourself up rather shakily, taking the burden off Yoongi’s arm.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, caressing the underside of your breast lightly.

You had the energy to raise one hand and give him a thumbs-up.

He rapped your ribcage. “Stop that.”

You chuckled, finding your voice a bit hoarse. “Why? You always do it in pictures.”

You heard Yoongi mumble disapprovingly behind you. “Is that why you do that? To make fun of me when I take photos?”

“Almost eight years of being an idol and you still don’t know what to do with your hands in pictures,” you teased.

He pinched your nipples roughly and you yelped.

“I know what to do with my hands around you,” Yoongi growled, rubbing them between his fingertips, your moans radiating off his walls. “And that’s what matters.”

-

interlude 20210419 drabble — “This is not allowed, you two.”

part vi “Shh, you’re not allowed to tell anyone.”

--

masterpost

[writemywaytoyourheart]

Aim For The Heart | Chapter 5: Crimson Pages

Pairing: hitman!jungkook x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, angst, drama

WC: 6k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, mentions of murder, blood, alcohol consumption, kook is an ass, tae is hot af, I think that’s it let me know if I need to add anything else

Tag list: @moonchild1 @hopekookies @barbellastyles98 @teresaisla @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @jaebeomsblackgf @sugaslittlekookies @moon-asia @armyhollander @yoonchrisgullwrites @njkbangtan @higashikatasgf

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn’t sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn’t his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

Previous → Next

The sound of pans clanging around in the kitchen brings Jungkook out of the deep slumber he was in. It was the first time in more than a week that he actually got a decent amount of sleep. 

Jungkook groans and rubs his eyes tiredly. 

When he is finally able to orient himself and remember where he is, he squints in the direction of the kitchen to see a shirtless Taehyung digging around in his pantry. 

"The hell are you doing?" Jungkook slurs.

Taehyung turns around when he hears the younger's voice, "Oh, morning Kook."

Then he turns and continues to rummage around noisily. Jungkook sighs and drops his head back down onto his pillow. He flings one of his arms over his eyes to block the sunlight streaming in and reminding him of the precious sleep he just lost. 

After a minute, Taehyung walks over and slaps Jungkook on the stomach.

Jungkook flinches, then groans in annoyance, "What the hell?" He snaps at Tae.

The older boy just smirks down at him, "Do you even eat? There's literally nothing to eat here but ramen and a few mushy apples."

Jungkook rubs his eyes, "What?" 

"Food. Sustenance. You have none." Tae speaks up louder making Jungkook flinch again. 

"If you're gonna complain then get the fuck out," Jungkook mumbles sleepily, turning away from his idiotic friend and closing his eyes again. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes, then slaps Jungkook's ass, hard.

The sleepy boy jerks up and turns to grab at Taehyung angrily, "Leave me alone, asshole!  Go find your own food!" He shouts, slapping at Tae's chest. 

"Come with me."

"No."

"Please."

"Fuck off." Jungkook snarls then lies down again. 

Tae sighs and sits on the edge of Jungkook's bed, "Grumpy butt." He mutters. 

Jungkook turns his head to peek at Tae, then he sighs, "Fine. Get dressed."

"Yippee!" Tae gets up and runs over to where his bag is, pulling out his clothes as fast as he can. Jungkook sighs tiredly and forces himself to get up and dress too. _

"So, when are you supposed to be finished?" Tae asks around a mouthful of food. He and Jungkook are in a small cafe, eating the breakfast that he so graciously offered to pay for. 

Jungkook finishes chewing and swallows before answering him, "They wanted it done within a month."

"A month? That's a big window. Most hits are a few days to a week." Tae muses as he takes another bite of his pancakes. 

"I know," Jungkook mutters, confused himself. They had assured him that a month was expected, even when he told them, again and again, he could get it done within a week at the most. 

Turns out he was wrong. 

There must be something they know that he doesn't.

Jungkook still can't shake the feeling that the target is playing with him somehow. She must be putting on an act to catch him off guard when he least expects it. 

"Sooo," Tae drawls, "Are you going to take a month to get it done?"

Jungkook sends him a glare, "Of course not, why would I waste time on one target?"

Tae shrugs, looking at Jungkook closely as he takes another bite of his food. 

"How long has it been?"

"That's none of your business-"

"Why are you being so secretive all of the sudden?" Tae snaps, making Jungkook glance around to see if anyone is listening to their conversation. 

There are only two other tables with people at the moment and none of them seem interested in anything going on around them outside of their little bubbles. 

Good. 

He turns back to his older friend and whispers fiercely, "Stop being so loud for fuck's sake. Are you trying to let the entire restaurant know what we're talking about?"

Tae just sneers at him before continuing to devour his breakfast, "I bet you a thousand bucks I'll be done with my hit before you're done with yours."

"Fuck off."

"No, I'm serious," Taehyung swallows the chewed-up pancake in his mouth, "I bet you one thousand that I'll be done first."

"No." Jungkook takes another bite, trying to ignore the young man sitting on the other side of the table. 

"What? You scared you'll lose?" Taehyung taunts with a smirk on his face, "Why should someone as good at what he does as you be afraid of a tiny school teacher?"

Jungkook glances up at Taehyung, his eyes burning with anger, "Fine, you know what? I'll take your bet."

Tae drops his fork onto his plate and reaches across the table. When Jungkook takes his hand, he shakes it once, "Deal," Tae says triumphantly. 

Jungkook just shakes his head and goes back to eating. He rolls his eyes when Tae speaks up again, "So, what's your plan?"

"You think I'd tell you?" Jungkook scoffs. 

Taehyung shrugs, stuffing his mouth again. ______________

"Miss ___?"

You look up from the worksheets you were going through at your desk. The kids have been working quietly at their seats with whatever they wanted to do at this time. 

A tiny girl named Minju is looking at you with big brown eyes, her long black hair is in two ponytails, one on each side of her head. You smile at her and set your pen down. 

"How c-can I help you, M-Minju?"

She hands you a picture that she drew, "This is for you." 

You look at it and see a few stick-figure kids smiling and holding hands in a line, at the end of the line is you, smiling and holding onto Minju's hand. You're even wearing your favorite white skirt and peach blouse, along with your chunky tennis shoes. 

A few tears spring to your eyes and you look back at the small girl, "It's b-beautiful Minju. This m-must have taken you s-so long to do!"

She shakes her head and smiles shyly, "It only took me maybe a little bit of time?"

You laugh and hold the picture to your chest, "I l-love it. Thank y-you so much."

She nods again, then she leans in closer to whisper softly, "You know we love you, right Miss ___?" 

You try your best to hold in your tears as you nod, "I love you little d-ducklings too."

"Oh yes, we know!" She whispers enthusiastically before turning and hurrying back to her seat. You smile at her as she sits down and gets to work on another picture. 

You place the picture as carefully as you can into your bag, wanting to frame it when you get home later. You're sure you have a frame somewhere that will fit it. 

The rest of the school day goes by smoothly, nothing much happening besides the kids getting a lot of their school work done. You always give them time to do their homework on Fridays so they don't have to worry about it over the weekend. 

You haven't seen Jungkook for a few days now, ever since you two hung out that day earlier this week. You were starting to wonder if there was something about you that he found annoying, then you reminded yourself of Mina's words to you a few years ago. 

"If someone doesn't like you for who you are, please don't waste your precious time on them, ___. You're worth more than that."

It isn't your problem if someone doesn't like you, you're just going to keep on doing what you do best. And that's being a friend to anyone who wants it.

With that in mind, you pack up your stuff after seeing the kids off and wishing them a good weekend. 

You look up when someone suddenly opens your classroom door, not even bothering to knock. 

When Mr. Baek walks in, you feel your stomach drop. 

"How c-can I help you?" You ask politely. 

He chuckles darkly and you feel a shiver go down your spine when he walks over and sits on the edge of your desk, pushing his glasses up his long nose. 

"Next week is the last week of school," He says casually. 

You nod, "Y-Yes, it is."

He looks at you pointedly, "Are you coming back next year?" 

You swallow thickly, "U-Um, I th-think so."

His demeanor changes suddenly and he glares at you before standing up, knocking some of the papers off your desk as he does. 

Then he leaves without another word, practically slamming the door shut behind him. 

You stare at the door in confusion, wondering what he has always had against you. He hasn't been very pleasant to you ever since you started working here back in August of last year.

You shake it off and finish packing your things. 

When you're all packed up, you peek outside of your door, checking both ways down the halls to see if he's lingering around anywhere. When you don't see him, you slip out of your classroom and hurry down the hall towards the front.

You peek your head out the front too, glancing both ways before coming out and cautiously walking down the front steps. 

Fixing your bag on your shoulder, you hurry down the sidewalk, just wanting to go home and not stop anywhere today. 

"Hey, wait up."

You jump out of your skin at the sound of a voice right behind you. Then you turn and see Jungkook walking closer to you, a look in his eyes that you can't decipher. 

"Heading home?" He asks casually. 

You nod, a smile slowly spreading on your face at the sight of someone who you think might be your friend after all. 

Jungkook smiles at you, but you notice something flash in his eyes before he smothers it and comes closer, "Can I walk you home?" He asks.

You look at him closely, trying to figure him out. When you can't, you nod once again, "Yes, tha-that would be ni-nice. Thank y-you."

Jungkook walks next to you as you continue on your way home. You try your best to think of something to say, but you aren't sure what to ask to make the awkward tension between you two break. 

You glance over at Jungkook and see him watching his feet as he walks. That brings a smile to your face again. 

You look down at your feet and notice how much bigger Jungkook's feet are than yours. Even with your tennis shoes, his feet look huge. 

A tiny giggle escapes your lips and Jungkook lifts his head to look at you.

"What's so funny?" He asks in confusion.

"Oh, n-nothing." You assure him before biting your lip and looking down at your feet again. Jungkook squints at you suspiciously but lets it go. 

When he looks back down he notices that your walking pace has matched with his. 

He looks to the side at you and feels a tiny pinch in his chest when he notices how concentrated you are on trying to make sure your pace matches his. Jungkook forces himself to look away, not liking the feeling that's coming over him all of the sudden. 

Remember why you started this, Jungko-

"Where h-have you been, J-Jungkook?"

He starts at the sudden sound of your voice, then when he regains his composure he laughs sheepishly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. 

"I've been busy with work." 

"Oh."

"And an old friend of mine came to town." He explains further, not sure why he feels the need to. 

"Ah, r-really?" You ask enthusiastically, clearly excited for him, "That m-must be so n-nice."

"Meh, he can be a pain." Jungkook chuckles and you smile at that, then you frown. 

"If your f-friend is visiting, you ought t-to be h-home with him."

"Nah, he's fine," Jungkook reassures you quickly, "He's probably just eating my food and watching TV." 

You laugh at that, a bright sound that makes Jungkook genuinely smile for the first time since meeting you. You can see the smile in his eyes. 

Then it's like it vanishes into thin air as he clears his throat.

"Anyway," He mutters, "Want to hang out this weekend?"

You look at your fingers that you are fiddling with, it's a habit you've had for years. Then you nod, "S-Sure, we c-can invite your friend-"

"No, it's fine," Jungkook cuts off your suggestion. For some reason, he doesn't want you to meet Taehyung. 

Or maybe he doesn't want Taehyung to meet you.

Either way, he doesn't like it. 

"I mean," He continues when he sees the look of confusion on your face, "He has something with work this weekend. He's on a business trip right now. So, he doesn't have a ton of time to hang out." Jungkook explains in a rush.

Now he's just rambling.  

He clears his throat and nods, shutting up. 

"Oh, ok." You say simply. 

Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief when you don't push it any further. 

You make it back to your house a little while later, Jungkook walking you up the stairs and right to your door. 

"Thank you, f-for walking me h-home." You say sweetly, smiling at him. Jungkook just nods, then after a moment of silence he speaks up, "So, what time did you want to hang out tomorrow?"

"Um, maybe w-we can meet for l-lunch?" You suggest. 

Jungkook agrees quickly, "Alright, then I'll meet you downstairs at noon." Then he turns and hurries away, just like he always does. 

You laugh at his behavior, wondering why he always seems to be in some kind of rush. Then you go inside, setting your things down before heading to your closet to find that frame you know you have that will fit the picture from Minju perfectly.

-

"Where were you?" 

Jungkook rolls his eyes at the words Tae speaks right as he comes into his apartment, "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was bored all day long." Taehyung pouts.

Jungkook makes a face at him, "Entertain yourself then, idiot. I wasn't even gone for longer than an hour."

Tae watches Jungkook as he pulls his shoes off, "Were you working?" He asks with a lilt to his voice. 

"If you must know, I needed to take a walk alone, without you talking my fucking ear off." Jungkook snaps. 

Taehyung's eyebrows raise to his hairline, "Fuck, someone's grouchy. You on your period, Jeon?"

Jungkook looks up at Tae, dropping his shoes on the ground, an unamused expression painting his features. 

He sees Tae's mouth twitching as he fights the urge to laugh. That just pisses Jungkook off even more. He bends to grab his shoes to put them back on, but Tae jumps up from the couch and hurries over to knock the shoes out of his hand. 

"I was kidding, JK. Jeez."

"Why are you even here?" Jungkook asks in exasperation, "Aren't you supposed to be getting a hit done or something?"

"Don't pretend you don't like having me here," Tae smirks and punches Jungkook lightly on the arm. 

"I don't."

Tae frowns, "You used to be a lot more fun."

"Well, I'm not anymore, so leave me alone." Jungkook brushes past Taehyung to get to the kitchen. But he gets stopped once more when Tae grabs his arm. 

He looks at Tae in annoyance, "What is it?"

"I should be asking you that. The last time I saw you was a year ago and you were my same old Kook. What happened-"

"I grew up, okay?" Jungkook yanks his arm back and continues his trek to the kitchen to scrounge through the fridge. 

"Growing up doesn't equal being an asshole to your best friend," Tae mutters before moving to the couch and plopping down onto it, now in just as much of a funk as Jungkook is.

The younger boy pulls a bottle of soju out of the fridge and glances at his friend sitting on the couch, his brows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. 

Jungkook purses his mouth before moving over to the couch and holding the bottle out to Tae. 

The older boy looks away in a huff. 

Jungkook sighs, "Look, Tae. I'm sorry, okay?"

Taehyung glances at him, "Sorry for what?"

Jungkook fights the urge to roll his eyes, "For being an asshole." 

Taehyung snatches the bottle and opens it with ease, taking a quick sip before grinning at Jungkook, "Ok. I forgive you, you little shit."

Jungkook's nose twitches in irritation but he doesn't say another word. 

"Well, I'm hungry," Tae says simply, taking another swig. 

"Me too." Jungkook sighs, sitting on the couch. 

"We need to go grocery shopping." Tae looks pointedly at his young friend. 

They sit there in silence for a minute before Jungkook heaves a huge sigh, "We can go on Sunday."

"Why not today?" 

"Because they have a lot more deals on Sunday," Jungkook says, making Tae choke on his next drink. 

"The fuck, Jeon? What are you, an old woman?" He wipes his lips, smiling at the glare Jungkook gives him. 

"No, I just prefer not to spend a fortune on things like food."

Tae shakes his head in disbelief, "Who the fuck are you these days?"

Jungkook just stands up to head to the bathroom, "I'm taking a shower. There's some ramen in the pantry." 

"I'm sick of ramen," Tae moans. 

"Good." ______________

You swipe the lip gloss over your lips gently, not wanting too much. 

You never really wear make-up but you decided you wanted to try it out today and ask Jungkook how it looks. Mina is usually the one to tell you all the things you can do to improve it or tell you how good it looks. Since your best friend won't be back for another three weeks, you suppose Jungkook will have to do. 

You look at the simple look you did, with just a little coverage, some mascara, gloss, and a tiny bit of blush. You think it looks okay, it's definitely a subtle difference. 

Then you hurry to your closet to get out your favorite white skirt. You decide to wear your peach blouse today as well since it always lifts your mood and you could definitely use a mood-lifter. 

When you're finished pulling your clothes on, you look at your phone and notice that it's a little after noon. 

"Oh!" You run out to grab your purse, tripping a little on your own feet before you get on the ground and pull your shoes on. 

By the time you're running down your steps, Jungkook is wondering if you've forgotten your plans as he stands downstairs and looks at the time on his phone. 

Then he looks up to see you bounding down the steps, your hair flying around and your skirt hiked up as you hold it so you don't trip. 

His eyebrows shoot up as you stumble in front of him. 

"So-Sorry I'm late." You huff out as you struggle to get your hair out of your lip gloss where it decided to stick. 

Jungkook shakes his head, "You're not late. I just got here." He isn't sure why he lies to make you feel better, but he does. 

Then he notices that you're wearing make-up. It's not a lot, a very light look. But, it doesn't look that bad-

He shakes his head again to clear it. 

No. No, no, no. 

Jungkook clears his throat as you watch him curiously, "Y-You okay, Jungkook?" 

He nods, "Fine. Let's go."

Then he turns and starts to walk briskly.

You hurry to catch up with him. 

-

"You p-pick the food thi-this time." You say with a smile when he asks you what you want for lunch. 

Jungkook looks around, then he points to a little restaurant, "How about that place?"

Well, that was easy. 

You nod, "Sure! I've n-never been there."

"Me neither," Jungkook admits as you two make your way there. 

You laugh at that and Jungkook finds himself fighting a smile. 

Stop it. 

Stupid. 

Jungkook opens the door and walks in, once again leaving you to grab the door before it hits you. You brush it off and follow him in. 

"Table for two?"

You see a girl in a black and white dress holding two menus and smiling at the two of you. Jungkook nods uncertainly and you two follow her to a table in the middle of the room.  

After you sit, you look around and see a few couples eating at different tables around the restaurant. You look at Jungkook to see he's already looking through the menu. 

"This place is fancier than it looked from the outside," Jungkook says with a frown as he looks over the options. He hadn't meant to take you to a nice place. 

You grab your menu and open it up, almost gasping at the prices. 

Then you look at Jungkook again. He glances up to see your huge eyes peeking at him from over your menu. 

"L-let's get out of h-here." You whisper suddenly. 

"What?" He whispers back. 

You glance behind you to see the waitress coming over with some water for you both. She sets it down and smiles graciously. 

"Would you like to order some other drinks?" She asks politely. 

You look at Jungkook in a panic. 

He gulps and looks back at the waitress cluelessly. You realize he is just out of his element as you are, so you speak up. 

"C-Could we have another m-minute p-please?" 

Her whole face changes when she hears your voice. Her eyebrow twitches and she bites back a laugh as she bows and moves away. 

You have no idea why she did that so you just brush it off, but Jungkook has a feeling it had to do with your stutter. He looks at you as you glance around the fancy room cluelessly, that same feeling coming over him that he got the other day. He pushes it down again. 

Then he jumps a little when you take his menu away from his face and whisper, "C-Come on, let-let's escape while she isn't l-looking." 

Jungkook stares at you like you're crazy when you watch her walk away into the kitchen before jumping out of your chair. 

"We haven't even b-bought anything yet. Co-Come on!" Then you reach over and grab his hand, dragging a very confused Jungkook out of his chair and practically running out of the restaurant. 

You're giggling like a little school girl as you run down the sidewalk, still holding onto Jungkook's hand tightly. He doesn't fight it, just follows you until you run into a small dress shop. 

When you finally let go of his hand, you turn and the smile on your face is bright as you reach a hand up to cover your mouth. You can't seem to stop laughing at the situation. 

Jungkook is frozen in his place, still trying to figure out what just happened. 

"W-We should find somewhere else to eat f-food." You say, still giggling a little.

Finally, Jungkook seems to come out of his shock and nods, "Uh, yeah...where should we go?"

You shrug, "It's s-still your tu-turn to pick." 

Jungkook can't help staring as you blink a few times, looking around the shop, then your head cocks to the side for a second. 

It's almost like you can't control it. 

Then you look back at him and notice him staring at you, making your already pink cheeks turn even pinker. 

"Uh, y-you okay Jungkook?" 

You snap in front of his face and he blinks back into reality, "Oh. Oh yeah, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward that you caught him staring at you. 

You just send him a bright smile and shake your head, blinking hard a few times, "It's okay, I-I b-blank out sometimes t-too." 

Jungkook takes a deep breath and looks out the window, watching people walking by on the sidewalk. 

"Let's just find some food. I'm starving." He mumbles, then he hurries out of the shop, you hot on his heels. 

You two find a small cafe that isn't nearly as fancy as the other place and go inside. 

Jungkook leads you to a table for two and you take a seat. There are already menus on the table and you reach for one. 

Jungkook reaches at the same time and your hand brushes his. He pulls back like you burned him and you look at him apologetically, "S-Sorry."

He just swallows and gestures for you to take one, so you do. 

"Ohh, this looks m-much better." You say happily when you glance over the menu. 

Jungkook mumbles an agreement, relieved you two aren't at the other place anymore. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, he's glad you got both of you out of that. 

You end up ordering a few different dishes that you agree to share so you can try more things. There isn't much talk until the food comes, then you're both too busy stuffing your faces to speak. 

When you've had your fill, you sit back and sigh, rubbing your tummy with your hand. "Ohh, I'm so f-full," You moan, "Lo-Look, I've got a food b-baby!" You exclaim, laughing. 

Jungkook snickers for a second before smothering it and continuing to eat the rest of the food that you can't stomach. 

You frown, wondering why he won't just let himself laugh. Then you decide right then and there that you'll get him to laugh someday, whatever it takes. 

Jungkook ends up asking for a box for the leftovers because apparently, he isn't a bottomless pit like you initially thought. He explains when he sees the confused look on your face, "I was going to bring some back for my friend if that's alright?"

"Oh! Of c-course." You say with a smile. Jungkook wonders again how you can smile so much all the time and not have sore cheeks. 

You and Jungkook bicker for a moment over who pays the bill, then you end up deciding to split it up. Jungkook pays for more than half of it, insisting that he ate more anyway. When the bill is paid and the rest of the food is packed up, you two head out. 

Jungkook looks up at the clouds for a minute before speaking, "So, what should we do now?"

You're quiet for a minute, then you hold up a hand, "I h-have an idea!" 

Jungkook nods, "What is it?"

"F-Follow me." Then you scurry away. 

-

Jungkook looks at you in confusion. 

You had him sit down on a big rock in the nearby park as you dug through your bag. Now, you're finally pulling out a sketch pad and some pencils. 

"Want t-to draw?" You ask happily. 

Jungkook feels a pinch in his chest at the sight of blank paper and colored pencils. He hasn't picked up a colored pencil since he was fifteen years old. 

Since right before this all started...

He snaps out of it when you gently place a blank piece of paper on his lap. Then you pick out all the colors of the rainbow and reach out to grab his hand. You open his hand and place the pencils in his waiting palm. 

Jungkook feels his palms get sweaty when he closes his fingers around the pencils.

"Th-There you go. Now, d-draw whatever you'd l-like." You say, the teacher in you coming out. 

You see a small smile on his face before he again hides it and adjusts himself on the rock. He hands the pencils back to you, pushing them into your hands roughly. 

"I don't want to, thanks though." 

You frown at that, wondering why he's upset all of a sudden. 

"Did I d-do something wro-wrong?" You ask anxiously, aware of his change in behavior. 

"I'm tired is all," Jungkook says as he stands up suddenly, the piece of paper you gave to him floating down next to you on the ground. You take it carefully and place it in your bag along with the pencils. 

"Ok. I'll j-just go home then." You say, picking yourself up off the ground, "You sh-should go get some r-rest, Jungkook." You say kindly, putting your purse over your shoulder. Jungkook doesn't meet your eyes as he nods. 

"See you later," Jungkook says stiffly before turning and walking away. 

You bite your lip, waving goodbye to him even though he can't see you.

-

Jungkook runs up the stairs to his apartment, bursting through the door and tugging his shoes off. He notices that Tae isn't here as he walks over and sits on his bed. 

What the hell is the matter with him?

Why does he feel like this?

Suddenly the door opens and Taehyung struts in, pulling his shoes off and dropping them by the door. Jungkook looks up and does a double-take when he sees his friend. 

Taehyung is in a black and white suit, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, the tie loosened and his black hair a bit messed up. He looks rumpled like he was just in a fight. But that isn't what takes Jungkook by surprise. 

His friend is covered in bright red blood.  

And he's smiling brightly, his white teeth a shining contrast against the dark stains on his clothes. 

Jungkook swallows, "What the fuck, Tae?"

Taehyung just grins wider, "I win." 

Jungkook hangs his head, "You came up the damn stairs like that? You fucking dumbass. What if someone saw you?"

"No one saw me, chill JK!" Taehyung walks over and holds his hand out, "I believe you owe me something." 

Jungkook fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out the amount they promised before shoving it into Tae's bloody chest. 

Then he walks to the kitchen and grabs the to-go box he brought back. He holds it up for Tae to see, "This is for you. Wash up before you eat it though."

Taehyung walks over and touches Jungkook lightly on the chin, "Thanks, sweetie." Jungkook pulls away, feeling something on his face that was on Tae's finger. He reaches up to wipe the blood off of his chin, "Go wash up," He snaps. 

Tae just nods and saunters off into the bathroom. 

A few hours later, Jungkook is in bed and listening to Taehyung rant about how fucking satisfying it was to rid this world of that rapist bastard and how Jungkook should've seen the look on his hit's face when he realized who he was and why he was there. 

"So, how is your hit coming along? How is ___ doing?" Tae asks suddenly. 

Jungkook tenses at the sound of your name, then he remembers that Taehyung saw the file and that's how he knows your name. 

"I'll be done soon," Jungkook assures him quietly. 

"Mm." Tae responds, then he yawns, "What does she look like anyway? I didn't get to see since you tore up the picture."

Jungkook swallows thickly, "Why does it matter?"

"Is she hot?"

"No."

"Come on, I bet she's a fucking cutie. That's why you're so down in the dumps." 

"She's just a fucking idiot. She's annoying, stupid, ugly, and can't even speak correctly." Jungkook huffs out in a single breath before turning on his side and slamming his head down on his pillow again. 

The silence after that is deafening. 

"The fuck you mean she can't speak correctly?" Taehyung guffaws suddenly. 

"It means exactly how it sounds. She's just a worthless nobody." Jungkook spits. 

Tae laughs quietly, "Damn, that's harsh, Kook. Even for you."

"Shut the hell up and go to sleep."

"As you wish. Night, JK."

"Goodnight." Jungkook grits out. 

When he's finally able to drift off to sleep, Jungkook finds himself in an apartment that he's never been in before. His brain tells him that it's his target's place. 

He looks around, wondering why it's so quiet. He walks to the back, looking at all of the childish pictures decorating the walls of the hallway. 

"Hello?" He calls out cautiously. 

When he gets no answer, he walks into the room at the end of the hall. There's a big bed with a giant octopus stuffie on it. Next to the bed is a pair of pink slippers. 

Jungkook turns and walks into the bathroom inside the room, there's no one. When he moves to leave, he sees his reflection in the mirror and freezes.

He's covered in blood. 

A dark crimson color decorating every inch of him. 

Jungkook turns and sees the bed again, but this time, there's someone in it. He walks out of the bathroom and sees a body lying motionless on the mattress. It's also covered in blood. 

His heart rate picks up as he sees sudden flashing images of the target, holding his hand and dragging him out of a restaurant, laughing giddily. Then you're kneeling in front of him on the grass and offering him a blank piece of paper, "You can d-draw anything, Jungkook." You stand up and swing your arms out, "Draw m-me!" 

Then the images are gone and he once again sees the lifeless body on the bed. It's wearing a long white skirt and a peach-colored shirt, their socks are bright pink with frills. He can't stop seeing all of the little details. 

Jungkook stops breathing as he inches closer to see the face.

A feeling of dread washes over him as he steps closer and closer. 

"J-Jungkook?" A small voice whispers somewhere near him, but he doesn't stop walking closer. He needs to see it. He needs to see their face. 

"Jungkook, I th-thought you were m-my friend-"

He swallows thickly his throat suddenly dry as he is about to see the face of the person he just killed. Then someone walks through the bedroom door, he looks up and sees Taehyung smirking, covered in blood as well. 

"Nice, JK. I guess you really had it in you." 

The small voice doesn't stop as Jungkook turns back to see hair covering the girl's face. He reaches over and moves the hair gently-

"J-Jungkook-"

"Jungkook..."

"Jungkook!"

"JUNGKOOK!"

Jungkook shoots straight up, his eyes wide open as he grabs at his chest. He starts to cough while he feels himself, trying to make sure he isn't covered in blood. 

He's in his own bed. 

Fucking hell he's in his own bed.

"Shit, the hell kind of dream were you having?" Taehyung's voice rings out next to him. Jungkook flinches and looks to the side to see Tae sitting on the edge of his bed. 

"You're sweating like a turkey the day before Thanksgiving." Tae laughs.

Jungkook ignores him and stumbles out of bed, trying to get to the bathroom.

Taehyung watches in confusion as Jungkook fumbles his way into the bathroom and then he hears his younger friend fall on the ground before he starts to gag.

"Hey, whoa. You okay, Jeon?" Tae gets up and moves to the bathroom to see Jungkook hunched over the toilet and throwing up whatever was in his stomach. 

The older boy plugs his nose and gags at the sight, "Shit, Kook. Fuck." 

By the time Jungkook's stomach is emptied of its contents, Tae has all the young man's clothes off apart from his boxers and has tossed him into the shower to rinse him clean. Tae gags again at the smell as he rinses Jungkook off before putting some shampoo in his hair and rinsing him again.

"Fucking pain in my ass," Tae mutters angrily. 

Once Jungkook is all cleaned off, Taehyung grabs him some fresh boxers and a pair of sweats to put on. He tosses them on the closed toilet seat and closes the door behind him so Jungkook can get dressed in private. 

A few minutes later, Jungkook comes out of the bathroom, his hair wet but he's clean and in nice new clothes. His cheeks are pink from embarrassment, but Tae just waves it off when he tries to speak. 

"Ah shut up. I know, ya ate something bad. Blah blah blah. We never speak of this again, understood?" 

Jungkook just nods at Tae's words, then he speaks up quietly, "Want to go shopping now?"

The older boy stands up and claps his hands, "Finally! We'll have something to eat around here."

Jungkook is relieved that it's all in the past by the time they get to the grocery store, but that relief is short-lived when he sees a girl in a long pink skirt and light yellow shirt carrying a basket down the candy aisle right in front of them. 

She trips a little on thin air but catches herself, her usual bright smile gracing her features still. 

Then she looks up and sees him, her smile getting wider as she raises her hand to get his attention.

Fucking hell.

____________________

a/n: so sorry its late my loves, but i hope you liked it!