say that you love it, yeah, don't make me turn it down

chapter 10 paragraph xvi

Gyuri left us out in the Sixties, not far at all from the Barbours’. “This is the place?” I said, shaking the rain off Hobie’s umbrella. We were out in front of one of the big limestone townhouses off Fifth—black iron doors, massive lion’s-head knockers. “Yes—it’s his father’s place—his other family are trying to get him out legally but good luck with that, hah.” We were buzzed in, took a cage elevator up to the second floor. I could smell incense, weed, spaghetti sauce cooking. A lanky blonde woman—shortcropped hair and a serene small-eyed face like a camel’s—opened the door. She was dressed like a sort of old-fashioned street urchin or newsboy: houndstooth trousers, ankle boots, dirty thermal shirt, suspenders. Perched on the tip of her nose were a pair of wire-rimmed Ben Franklin glasses. Without saying a word she opened the door to us and walked off, leaving us alone in a dim, grimy, ballroom-sized salon which was like a derelict version of some high-society set from a Fred Astaire movie: high ceilings; crumbling plaster; grand piano; darkened chandelier with half the crystals broken or gone; sweeping Hollywood staircase littered with cigarette butts. Sufi chants droned low in the background: Allāhu Allāhu Allāhu Haqq. Allāhu Allāhu Allāhu Haqq. Someone had drawn on the wall, in charcoal, a series of life-sized nudes ascending the stairs like frames in a film; and there was very little furniture apart from a ratty futon and some chairs and tables that looked scavenged from the street. Empty picture frames on the wall, a ram’s skull. On the television, an animated film flickered and sputtered with epileptic vim, windmilling geometrics intercut with letters and live-action racecar images. Apart from that, and the door where the blonde had disappeared, the only light came from a lamp which threw a sharp white circle on melted candles, computer cables, empty beer bottles and butane cans, oil pastels boxed and loose, many catalogues raisonnés, books in German and English including Nabokov’s Despair and Heidegger’s Being and Time with the cover torn off, sketch books, art books, ashtrays and burnt tinfoil, and a grubby-looking pillow where drowsed a gray tabby cat. Over the door, like a trophy from some Schwarzwald hunting lodge, a rack of antlers cast distorted shadows that spread and branched across the ceiling with a Nordic, wicked, fairy-tale feel. Conversation in the next room. The windows were shrouded with tacked-up bedsheets just thin enough to let in a diffuse violet glow from the street. As I looked around, forms emerged from the dark and transformed with a dream strangeness: for one thing, the makeshift room divider—consisting of a carpet sagging tenement-style from the ceiling on fishing line—was on closer look a tapestry and a good one too, eighteenth century or older, the near twin of an Amiens I’d seen at auction with an estimate of forty thousand pounds. And not all the frames on the wall were empty. Some had paintings in them, and one of them—even in the poor light—looked like a Corot.

I was just about to step over for a look when a man who could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty appeared in the door: worn-looking, rangy, with straight sandy hair combed back from his face, in black punk jeans out at the knee and a grungy British commando sweater with an ill-fitting suit jacket over it. “Hello,” he said to me, quiet British voice with a faint German bite, “you must be Potter,” and then, to Boris: “Glad you turned up. You two should stay and hang out. Candy and Niall are making dinner with Ulrika.” Movement behind the tapestry, at my feet, that made me step back quickly: swaddled shapes on the floor, sleeping bags, a homeless smell. “Thanks, we can’t stay,” said Boris, who had picked up the cat and was scratching it behind the ears. “Have some of that wine though, thanks.” Without a word Horst passed his own glass over to Boris and then called into the next room in German. To me, he said: “You’re a dealer, right?” In the glow of the television his pale pinned gull’s eye shone hard and unblinking. “Right,” I said uneasily; and then: “Uh, thanks.” Another woman—bobhaired and brunette, high black boots, skirt just short enough to show the black cat tattooed on one milky thigh—had appeared with a bottle and two glasses: one for Horst, one for me. “Danke darling,” said Horst. To Boris he said: “You gentlemen want to do up?” “Not right now,” said Boris, who had leaned forward to steal a kiss from the dark-haired woman as she was leaving. “Was wondering though. What do you hear from Sascha?” “Sascha—” Horst sank down on the futon and lit a cigarette. With his ripped jeans and combat boots he was like a scuffed-up version of some below-the-title Hollywood character actor from the 1940s, some minor mitteleuropäischer known for playing tragic violinists and weary, cultivated refugees. “Ireland is where it seems to lead. Good news if you ask me.” “That doesn’t sound right.” “Nor to me, but I’ve talked to people and so far it checks out.” He spoke with all a junkie’s arrhythmic quiet, off-beat, but without the slur. “So—soon we should know more, I hope.” “Friends of Niall’s?” “No. Niall says he never heard of them. But it’s a start.”

The wine was bad: supermarket Syrah. Because I did not want to be anywhere near the bodies on the floor I drifted over to inspect a group of artists’ casts on a beat-up table: a male torso; a draped Venus leaning against a rock; a sandaled foot. In the poor light they looked like the ordinary plaster casts for sale at Pearl Paint—studio pieces for students to sketch from—but when I drew my finger across the top of the foot I felt the suppleness of marble, silky and grainless. “Why would they go to Ireland with it?” Boris was saying restlessly. “What kind of collectors’ market? I thought everyone tries to get pieces out of there, not in.” “Yes, but Sascha thinks he used the picture to clear a debt.” “So the guy has ties there?” “Evidently.” “I find this difficult to believe.” “What, about the ties?” “No, about the debt. This guy—he looks like he was stealing hubcaps off the street six months ago. “ Horst shrugged, faintly: sleepy eyes, seamed forehead. “Who knows. Not sure that’s correct but certainly I’m not willing to trust to luck. Would I let my hand be cut off for it?” he said, lazily tapping an ash on the floor. “No.” Boris frowned into his wine glass. “He was amateur. Believe me. If you saw him yourself you would know.” “Yes but he likes to gamble, Sascha says.” “You don’t think Sascha maybe knows more?” “I think not.” There was a remoteness in his manner, as if he was talking half to himself. “ ‘Wait and see.’ This is what I hear. An unsatisfactory answer. Stinking from the top if you ask me. But as I say, we are not to the bottom of this yet.” “And when does Sascha get back to the city?” The half-light in the room sent me straight back to childhood, Vegas, like the obscure mood of a dream lingering after sleep: haze of cigarette smoke, dirty clothes on the floor, Boris’s face white then blue in the flicker of the screen. “Next week. I’ll give you a ring. You can talk to him yourself then.” “Yes. But I think we should talk to him together.” “Yes. I think so too. We’ll both be smarter, in future… this need not have happened… but in any case,” said Horst, who was scratching his neck slowly, absent-mindedly, “you understand I’m wary of pushing him too hard.” “That is very convenient for Sascha.” “You have suspicions. Tell me.” “I think—” Boris cut his eyes at the doorway. “Yes?” “I think—” Boris lowered his voice—“you are being too easy on him. Yes yes—” putting up his hands—“I know. But—all very convenient for his guy to vanish, not a clue, he knows nothing!” “Well, maybe,” Horst said. He seemed disconnected and partly elsewhere, like an adult in the room with small children. “This is pressing on me—on all of us. I want to get to the bottom of this as much as you. Though for all we know his guy was a cop.” “No,” said Boris resolutely. “He was not. He was not. I know it.” “Well—to be quite frank with you, I do not think so either, there is more to this than we yet know. Still, I’m hopeful.” He’d taken a wooden box from the drafting table and was poking around in it. “Sure you gentlemen wouldn’t like to get into a little something?” I looked away. I would have liked nothing better. I would also have liked to see the Corot except I didn’t want to walk around the bodies on the floor to do it. Across the room, I’d noticed several other paintings propped on the wainscoting: a still life, a couple of small landscapes. “Go look, if you want.” It was Horst. “The Lépine is fake. But the Claesz and the Berchem are for sale if you’re interested.” Boris laughed and reached for one of Horst’s cigarettes. “He’s not in the market.” “No?” said Horst genially. “I can give him a good price on the pair. The seller needs to get rid of them.”

I stepped in to look: still life, candle and half-empty wineglass. “Claesz-Heda?” “No—Pieter. Although—” Horst put the box aside, then stood beside me and lifted the desk lamp on the cord, washing both paintings in a harsh, formal glare—“this bit—” traced mid-air with the curve of a finger—“the reflection of the flame here? and the edge of the table, the drapery? Could almost be Heda on a bad day.” “Beautiful piece.” “Yes. Beautiful of its type.” Up close he smelled unwashed and raunchy, with a strong, dusty import-shop odor like the inside of a Chinese box. “A bit prosaic to the modern taste. The classicizing manner. Much too staged. Still, the Berchem is very good.” “Lot of fake Berchems out there,” I said neutrally. “Yes—” the light from the upheld lamp on the landscape painting was bluish, eerie—“but this is lovely… Italy, 1655‥… the ochres beautiful, no? The Claesz not so good I think, very early, though the provenance is impeccable on both. Would be nice to keep them together… they have never been apart, these two. Father and son. Came down together in an old Dutch family, ended up in Austria after the war. Pieter Claesz…” Horst held the light higher. “Claesz was so uneven, honestly. Wonderful technique, wonderful surface, but something a bit off with this one, don’t you agree? The composition doesn’t hold together. Incoherent somehow. Also—” indicating with the flat of his thumb the too-bright shine coming off the canvas: overly varnished. “I agree. And here—” tracing midair the ugly arc where an over-eager cleaning had scrubbed the paint down to the scumbling. “Yes.” His answering look was amiable and drowsy. “Quite correct. Acetone. Whoever did that should be shot. And yet a mid-level painting like this, in poor condition—even an anonymous work—is worth more than a masterpiece, that’s the irony of it, worth more to me, anyway. Landscapes particularly. Very very easy to sell. Not too much attention from the authorities… difficult to recognize from a description… and still worth maybe a couple hundred thousand. Now, the Fabritius—” long, relaxed pause—“a different calibre altogether. The most remarkable work that’s ever passed through my hands, and I can say that without question.” “Yes, and that is why we would like so much to get it back,” grumbled Boris from the shadows. “Completely extraordinary,” continued Horst serenely. “A still life like this one—” he indicated the Claesz, with a slow wave (black-rimmed fingernails, scarred venous network on the back of his hand)—“well, so insistently a trompe l’oeil. Great technical skill, but overly refined. Obsessive exactitude. There’s a deathlike quality. A very good reason they are called natures mortes, yes? But the Fabritius…”—loose-kneed back-step—“I know the theory of The Goldfinch, I’m well familiar with it, people call it trompe l’oeil and indeed it can strike the eye that way from afar. But I don’t care what the art historians say. True: there are passages worked like a trompe l’oeil… the wall and the perch, gleam of light on brass, and then… the feathered breast, most creaturely. Fluff and down. Soft, soft. Claesz would carry that finish and exactitude down to the death—a painter like van Hoogstraten would carry it even farther, to the last nail of the coffin. But Fabritius… he’s making a pun on the genre… a masterly riposte to the whole idea of trompe l’oeil… because in other passages of the work—the head? the wing?—not creaturely or literal in the slightest, he takes the image apart very deliberately to show us how he painted it. Daubs and patches, very shaped and hand-worked, the neckline especially, a solid piece of paint, very abstract. Which is what makes him a genius less of his time than our own. There’s a doubleness. You see the mark, you see the paint for the paint, and also the living bird.”

“Yes, well,” growled Boris, in the dark beyond the spotlight, snapping his cigarette lighter shut, “if no paint, would be nothing to see.” “Precisely.” Horst turned, his face cut by shadow. “It’s a joke, the Fabritius. It has a joke at its heart. And that’s what all the very greatest masters do. Rembrandt. Velázquez. Late Titian. They make jokes. They amuse themselves. They build up the illusion, the trick—but, step closer? it falls apart into brushstrokes. Abstract, unearthly. A different and much deeper sort of beauty altogether. The thing and yet not the thing. I should say that that one tiny painting puts Fabritius in the rank of the greatest painters who ever lived. And with The Goldfinch? He performs his miracle in such a bijou space. Although I admit, I was surprised—” turning to look at me—“when I held it in my hands the first time? The weight of it?” “Yes—” I couldn’t help feeling gratified, obscurely, that he’d noted this detail, oddly important to me, with its own network of childhood dreams and associations, an emotional chord—“the board is thicker than you’d think. There’s a heft to it.” “Heft. Quite. The very word. And the background—much less yellow than when I saw it as a boy. The painting underwent a cleaning—early nineties I believe. Post-conservation, there’s more light.” “Hard to say. I’ve got nothing to compare it to.” “Well,” said Horst. The smoke from Boris’s cigarette, threading in from the dark where he sat, gave the floodlit circle where we stood the midnight feel of a cabaret stage. “I may be wrong. I was a boy of twelve or so when I saw it for the first time.” “Yes, I was about that age when I first saw it too.” “Well,” said Horst, with resignation, scratching an eyebrow—dime-sized bruises on the backs of his hands—“that was the only time my father ever took me with him on a business trip, that time at The Hague. Ice cold boardrooms. Not a leaf stirring. On our afternoon I wanted to go to Drievliet, the fun park, but he took me to the Mauritshuis instead. And—great museum, many great paintings, but the only painting I remember seeing is your finch. A painting that appeals to a child, yes? Der Distelfink. That is how I knew it first, by its German name.”

“Yah, yah, yah,” said Boris from the darkness, in a bored voice. “This is like the education channel on the television.” “Do you deal any modern art at all?” I said, in the silence that followed. “Well—” Horst fixed me with his drained, wintry eye; deal wasn’t quite the correct verb, he seemed amused at my choice of words—“sometimes. Had a Kurt Schwitters not long ago—Stanton Macdonald-Wright—do you know him? Lovely painter. It depends a lot what comes my way. Quite honestly— do you ever deal in paintings at all?” “Very seldom. The art dealers get there before I do.” “That is unfortunate. Portable is what matters in my business. There are a lot of mid-level pieces I could sell on the clean if I had paper that looked good.” Spit of garlic; pans clashing in the kitchen; faint Moroccan-souk drift of urine and incense. On and on flatlining, the Sufi drone, wafting and spiraling around us in the dark, ceaseless chants to the Divine. “Or this Lépine. Quite a good forgery. There’s this fellow—Canadian, quite amusing, you’d like him—does them to order. Pollocks, Modiglianis— happy to introduce you, if you’d like. Not much money in them for me, although there’s a fortune to be made if one of them turned up in just the right estate.” Then, smoothly, in the silence that followed: “Of older works I see a lot of Italian, but my preferences—they incline to the North as you can see. Now—this Berchem is a very fine example for what it is but of course these Italianate landscapes with the broken columns and the simple milkmaids don’t so much suit the modern taste, do they? I much prefer the van Goyen there. Sadly not for sale.” “Van Goyen? I would have sworn that was a Corot.” “From here, yes, you might.” He was pleased at the comparison. “Very similar painters—Vincent himself remarked it—you know that letter? ‘The Corot of the Dutch’? Same tenderness of mist, that openness in fog, do you know what I mean?” “Where—” I’d been about to ask the typical dealer’s question, where did you get it, before catching myself. “Marvelous painter. Very prolific. And this is a particularly beautiful example,” he said, with all a collector’s pride. “Many amusing details up close—tiny hunter, barking dog. Also—quite typical—signed on the stern of the boat. Quite charming. If you don’t mind—” indicating, with a nod, the bodies behind the tapestry. “Go over. You won’t disturb them.” “No, but—” “No—” holding up a hand—“I understand perfectly. Shall I bring it to you?” “Yes, I’d love to see it.”

“I must say, I’ve grown so fond of it, I’ll hate to see it go. He dealt paintings himself, van Goyen. A lot of the Dutch masters did. Jan Steen. Vermeer. Rembrandt. But Jan van Goyen—” he smiled—“was like our friend Boris here. A hand in everything. Paintings, real estate, tulip futures.” Boris, in the dark, made a disgruntled noise at this and seemed about to say something when all of a sudden a scrawny wild-haired boy of maybe twenty-two, with an old fashioned mercury thermometer sticking out of his mouth, came lurching out of the kitchen, shielding his eyes with his hand against the upheld lamp. He was wearing a weird, womanish, chunky knit cardigan that came almost to his knees like a bathrobe; he looked ill and disoriented, his sleeve was up, he was rubbing the inside of his forearm with two fingers and then the next thing I knew his knees went sideways and he’d hit the floor, the thermometer skittering out with a glassy noise on the parquet, unbroken. “What…?” said Boris, stabbing out his cigarette, standing up, the cat darting from his lap into the shadows. Horst—frowning—set the lamp on the floor, light swinging crazily on walls and ceiling. “Ach,” he said fretfully, brushing the hair from his eyes, dropping to his knees to look the young man over. “Get back,” he said in an annoyed voice to the women who had appeared in the door, along with a cold, dark-haired, attentive-looking bruiser and a couple of glassy prep-school boys, no more than sixteen—and then, when they all still stood staring—flicked out a hand. “In the kitchen with you! Ulrika,” he said to the blonde, “halt sie zurück.” The tapestry was stirring; behind it, blanket-wrapped huddles, sleepy voices: eh? was ist los? “Ruhe, schlaft weiter,” called the blonde, before turning to Horst and beginning to speak urgently in rapid-fire German. Yawns; groans; farther back, a bundle sitting up, groggy American whine: “Huh? Klaus? What’d she say?” “Shut up baby and go back schlafen.” Boris had picked up his coat and was shouldering it on. “Potter,” he said and then again, when I did not answer, staring horrified at the floor, where the boy was breathing in gurgles: “Potter.” Catching my arm. “Come on, let’s go.” “Yes, sorry. We’ll have to talk later. Schiesse,” said Horst regretfully, shaking the boy’s limp shoulder, with the tone of a parent making a not-particularly-convincing show of scolding a child. “Dummer Wichser! Dummkopf! How much did he take, Niall?” he said to the bruiser who had reappeared in the door and was looking on with a critical eye. “Fuck if I know,” said the Irishman, with an ominous sideways pop of his head. “Come on, Potter,” said Boris, catching my arm. Horst had his ear to the boy’s chest and the blonde, who had returned, had dropped to her knees beside him and was checking his airway.

As they consulted urgently in German, more noise and movement behind the Amiens, which billowed out suddenly: faded blossoms, a fête champêtre, prodigal nymphs disporting themselves amidst fountain and vine. I was staring at a satyr peeping at them slyly from behind a tree when, unexpectedly —something against my leg—I started back violently as a hand swiped from underneath and clutched my trouser cuff. From the floor, one of the dirty bundles—swollen red face just visible from under the tapestry—inquired of me in a sleepy gallant voice: “He’s a margrave, my dear, did you know that?” I pulled my trouser leg free and stepped back. The boy on the floor was rolling his head a bit and making sounds like he was drowning. “Potter.” Boris had gathered up my coat and was practically stuffing it in my face. “Come on! Let’s go! Ciao,” he called into the kitchen with a lift of his chin (pretty dark head appearing in the doorway, a fluttering hand: bye, Boris! Bye!) as he pushed me ahead of him and ducked behind me out the door. “Ciao, Horst!” he said, making a call me later gesture, hand to ear. “Tschau Boris! Sorry about this! We’ll talk soon! Up,” said Horst, as the Irishman came up and grabbed the boy’s other arm from underneath; together they hoisted him up, feet limp and toes dragging and—amidst hurried activity in the doorway, the two young teenagers scrambling back in alarm—hauled him into the lighted doorway of the next room, where Boris’s brunette was drawing up a syringe of something from a tiny glass bottle.

A Scathingly Brilliant Idea, Not So Much (Sam Drake x Reader)

I cannot believe I never published this one shot here! I put up the AO3 link but never the story itself, so, here you go guys!

Description:  You and your friend Jenn spend time scoping out your hot neighbor Sam Drake. What happens when you add 3 bottles of wine? This is just a piece of fluff that was rolling in the head that I had to get out. Not my best work but it was fun to think about.

Rated T for language

“Oh my god, you’ve got to see this!”

You went over to your friend Jenn's house to unwind and unload about your morning. You were expecting a couple of glasses of wine and maybe some bad TV. Now, she was dragging you through her house onto the balcony on the second floor.

“What?” You question her as you approach the balcony doors.

"I have a new hobby," She says with a rueful smile and opens the doors dramatically. Her balcony was a decent size, big enough for two solid Adirondack chairs and small table which, at the moment, held two glasses of ice and a pitcher of bright red sangria.

“Day drinking is not new, Jenn,” You tell her, still thankful there is booze to be found.

    “Sit down and look to your right,” She says, pouring large glasses from the pitcher for the both of you. Putting your purse down with a sigh, you plop down in the chair and take a look. Jenn’s balcony overlooks her neighbors' backyard. The house was a fixer-upper and had been on the market a while, but your friend had told you someone had moved in two weeks ago.

"Whoa," You utter, finally getting a good look at her new neighbor, who was outside mowing the lawn in his backyard. He was older than both of you, probably in his late 40s, maybe early 50's if you had to guess. His dark brown hair was receding, showing off a prominent forehead and nose. He was wearing a dark pair of jeans and an open Hawaiian shirt over a white tank top and filled out everything just right.

    “Oh trust me,” Jenn says as she roots around behind her chair, “It just gets better,” Finally finding what she was looking for, she hands you a pair of binoculars.

"Are you serious?! He's gonna see us!" You protest, your face turning a little red, the thought of spying on a hot guy like a couple of teenagers.

"Trust me. He can't see us past the railing. Just look at him!" Jenn says, pointing towards him.

    Oh, what the hell. You hold the binoculars up and see exactly what she is making a big fuss about. He had to be almost six and a half feet of taught, lean muscle, pushing a lawn mower across the yard. His forearms were solid and muscular. His eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses, but you could make out a tattoo on his neck below a chiseled, beard stubbled jaw. As he stops suddenly, you tense up. Crap, he must have seen you. Instead, he takes off his Hawaiian shirt and throws it on the stoop of his back porch. Your jaw drops open. His arms are sculpted, the kind that comes from actual work instead of working out, and his shoulders are broad. You can see another tattoo on the curve of his left arm. His whole torso was covered in sweat, the back of his tank top damp on his lower back just above what could only be called a fantastic ass in a pair of jeans.

    “Oh my god,” You groan and slump back in your chair as Jenn grabs the binoculars eagerly out of your hands to get a glimpse for herself. You watch as he methodically walks the mower up and down the yard, his arms, his legs, the fluidity of his body and its movements.

    “Who is he?” You ask, taking a couple of gulps of your drink to cool you down.

    “Not a clue but lucky for us, he sure loves his yard work!” Jenn says giggling.

THREE WEEKS LATER

"I have a scathingly brilliant idea!" Jenn says to you, pouring the last of the bottle of wine into her glass as the two of you stand in the kitchen. It was the third bottle the two of you had polished off that night and both you had a good buzz going.

"What?" You ask cautiously. Jenn's ‘scathingly brilliant ideas' tended to always end up more on the severe end of the spectrum and less on the brilliant end.

    “C’mon! Let’s go spy on the hot neighbor!” She whispers loudly, chugs the rest of her wine and heads out of the kitchen cackling wildly. Knowing you’ll need it, you drain the rest of your glass quickly and go after Jenn.

    “Why aren’t we going upstairs?” You ask her as you follow her out the front door instead of up the stairs. In the dark, Jenn runs around the fence that separates her yard from the neighbors and into the bushes under the back windows. You duck into the shrubbery next to her, twigs and sticks poking you as you hide.

    “Are you out of your mind? You’re gonna get caught! We’re gonna get caught!” You say in a harsh whisper.

    “I wanna see him naked!” Jenn whispers, giggling, obviously more drunk than you are. She starts to stand up and grab the ledge of the windowsill.

    Pulling her down by the waist, you get her back into the shadow of the bushes. “No! Jenn! He’s gonna see you!”

    “I bet he’s huge,” She whispers emphatically before going for the window again to get a look inside. Suddenly, from inside the house, comes the bark of what can only be a large dog causing your eyes to go wide and Jenn to drop from the ledge and land noisily on her butt against the side of the house.

    “When did he get a dog?” You ask in a furious whisper over the barking. Jenn shrugs when you hear the sliding glass door at the back of the house open and footfalls into the backyard.

"Hello?" A husky, male voice says. You duck down with Jenn as quietly as possible and slap a hand over her mouth.

    “Quiet Buddy!” He calls back into the house causing the dog to go silent. You manage to keep a drunk you and your drunk friend motionless. A few seconds pass. Please, please, please go back in the house, you think. Just when you think are home free, Jenn wrenches your hand off of her mouth and lets out a muffled belch.

    “I know you’re there and I’m tellin’ you right now, I got a gun,” He says, a little bit of an accent in his voice. You think it might be New York. Maybe Boston.

You stare in horror at Jenn. She shakes her head in doubt, causing the bush to move just enough to swing a few leaves.

    “Come. Out. Now. Last warning,” He commandingly cautions loudly. You look at Jenn. You know the gig is up, and you need to stand, but your feet are frozen in place, your knees locked in fear. A loud bang echoes and you feel a sudden, hot pain in your upper arm. Jenn takes off like a shot out of the bushes, shrieking, running past her house and fleeing down the road in horror like a babysitter in a bad slasher movie. You stumble out of the shrubs, knees wobbling. In the moonlight, you see a large dark patch forming on your shirt, right on top of the throbbing spot on your arm. You touch the spot, feeling the warm blood. The pieces slowly fall into place in your boozy brain, and for the first time, you look up. You see your friend's neighbor standing twenty feet away, lit by the warm lights inside of his house. Though you can't make out the details of his face, you can see a hard expression change to surprise. He almost looks like he recognizes you.

    “You shot me you fucker!” You yell at him as the world begins to go hazy.

    “Oh shit,” You hear him say as you feel yourself falling back, the world going black as you faint, not even feeling yourself land.

    You open your eyes slowly and squint against the brightness of the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Your arm and your head are throbbing. With the sounds of bustling people and beeps and the smell of disinfectant and old people, it could only mean that you are in a hospital. Your eyes adjust as you find yourself in a curtained off little corner alcove of what you assume is the emergency room. Your friend is nowhere to be seen, but a tall, handsome man is leaning sideways against the wall, arms crossed in front of him.

Oh god, it’s the neighbor.

You look down sheepishly, thanking God that you aren't in a hospital gown. You still have on the green tank top that was under your sweater, which your pretty sure is now a bloody rag.

    “Hi there,” He says. Embarrassed, you raise your head to meet his eyes, vibrant hazel ones. You were right with the age range, the lines, and wrinkles on his face giving him a rugged, weathered look. The tattoo that you had spotted on his neck was barely visible over the edge of the collar of his shirt. With his arms crossed, the muscles in his biceps strained against the dark brown shirt on top of them. Lord, he's handsome, and I'm a fucking idiot, you think to yourself as you drop your gaze back down to the blanket across your lap.

    “Where’s Jenn?” You manage to mumble.

"Your partner in crime? She made it three blocks before I could catch her," He says, with a surprisingly complete lack of anger in his voice.

    “You shot me,” You say, looking at the bandage and sling around your arm, your friend completely forgotten.

    “I told you I was gonna shoot,” He admits, holding up his hands in defense.

    “Who shoots a gun in a suburb? That’s just wrong,” You grumble to yourself, trying to move your arm a bit.

"Stop that. You're gonna make it hurt more,"

    “Well, I’m sorry, I’ve never been shot before!”

He pulls a chair next to the upright head of your bed.

    “Ok, let’s start fresh. I’m Sam,” he says, offering his hand. You manage to introduce yourself and take his hand, giving it a quick shake. His hands are calloused and strong.

    “So why were you guys in my bushes?” He asks in an amused tone.

    “Um, Uh…well. Huh,” You stall, trying to think of some viable excuse, any viable excuse at this point.

    “View from the balcony wasn’t good enough anymore?” He offers with a cocky grin. Your mouth falls open in disbelief.

Oh no, he can't see us! You think in Jenn's voice. Yeah, uh huh, sure. Fuck you, Jenn.

    “You saw us?”

    “Yeah.”

    “The whole time?”

    “Yup.”

    “Even the binoculars?” You cringe as you wait for the answer.

    “Sure did. I really liked the time I was out choppin' wood, and you guys had your little scorecards with the numbers you were holdin’ up to each other. I thought that was funnier than hell,” Sam answers, causing you to wince in embarrassment.

The curtain opens, and the attending comes in and asks Sam to step out, giving you a once-over before handing you your discharge papers.

    “Um, are the cops going to come in or are they waiting for me outside?” You ask as you shove the papers in your back pocket. Hiding in a stranger's bushes and being shot just had to be something a person gets arrested for.

"Mr. Drake has agreed not to press charges for trespassing. Consider yourself lucky ma'am," The doctor says condescendingly before turning on his heel and stalking back to the ER.

    “Lucky? I’m the one who got shot!” You say to yourself. You hear a chuckle as Sam pulls the curtain aside.

    “You’re finding this pretty amusing,” You scowl at him.

    “I really am,” He says smiling. God, even his smile is handsome. Well, I’ve got no chance with him now. He thinks, no. He knows I’m a peeping Tom.

    “You’re not pressing charges?”

    “No. Well, on one condition.”

    “Community service? Manual labor?” You question and wait for your inevitable punishment.

    “Dinner.”

    Confused, you ask, “You want me to cook you dinner?”

"That'd be alright, but I was thinkin’ more along the lines of taking you out to dinner.”

"Excuse me?" You ask, wondering if you hit your head, and you were hearing things because this was sounding like a date to your screwy brain.

    “Honestly, I’d been meaning come over and introduce myself to you, but I kept missin' the opportunity," Sam admitted.

    “Oh,” Your brain trying to process this. “So, let me get this straight, you shot me, and you want me to go to dinner with you?”

    “Yeah, I do.”

    “You shot me.” You reiterate.

    “I can call the cops instead. Not sure what trespassing charges are these days, probably just some fines. Maybe a night in jail,” Sam says jokingly as he pretends to reach for his cellphone.

"7:30 tomorrow night work for you?" You say quickly. He gives you a chuckle and that sweet damn smile, and you know this is gonna be one hell of a story to tell someday.

Matrimony - Pope x Reader (Let Me Make You A Martyr) [Part I]

Synopsis: You and a skilled hitman are forced to work together to take out a mutual ‘friend’ through teamwork. But together is the opposite of how Pope works, and he already despises you. 

Aka the super filthy, depraved fake marriage au no one asked for :) 

Notes: this will be a three parter, with updates every three days! Enjoy! 

Tagging: (ask to be added) @peachynun​

PART II 

PART III

Pope barely lets the guy finish speaking—he’s already rejected the terms, regardless of the pay.  

“I haven’t even told you the haul yet,” the man who had come to him, Jack Redman, chuckles. Pope does not share his amusement, which he makes clear through a scathing glare. Pope’s glares had the ability to convey a particular type of anger, so intensely that nobody usually challenged him any further… but it meant Redman’s ass if he returned without a yes. 

The two were sitting in Pope’s cabin, devoid mostly of decoration, only the necessities surrounding them. The kitchen table they sat at was low, homemade out of rain-bleached wood from around the area. On their plates, the two had almost finished cuts of red deer meat Pope had offered. It was rare enough for Redman to pick at it, and Pope to devour it.

The propositioner sighs. “She’s a peach. Trust me. Easy on the eyes, all that.”

Despite the bloody mess on his plate, Pope cuts his food with the manners of a King, lifting his fork to his mouth delicately. “She’s a drug runner. I don’t work with drug runners, I kill drug runners.” He has an underlying southern drawl to his voice, a false comfort that eases his targets. Fear always spoiled the hit, just like hunting. 

Redman pushes his plate away in exasperation. “She’s a drug runner who has potential. She wants to help you. This could be an opportunity to--"

“I work alone. That’s final.” Pope gets up from the kitchen table, ending the conversation. Redman shakes his head, chasing after the tall, bullheaded hitman. 

“Fuckin’… stubborn piece of shit… listen, Pope!”  

“I ain’t listening to anything you have to say,” Pope turns, face calm and stern. “I’m done listening. And you’re done talking.” Redman eyes Pope’s rack of guns which he is standing in front of, and swallows.

“Look. My boss is prepared to give you a big fucking bag of dough for this.”    

“How big is fucking big?” Pope asks, taking a pistol off the rack and beginning to clean it. Redman keeps his eyes on the weapon warily.

“It’s a lot, man. At least a million dollars is in this for you if you just test the waters, and finish the job.”

Pope purses his lips. “Half for me, half for this slut I’m supposed to carry around?”  

“Each,” Redman replies. Pope sets the gun down, and the rag with it. He takes his glasses off, polishes them with his shirt, then puts them back on.

“Three days. That’s all it’ll take. We'll see what happens.”

---

You tuck your gun in your back pocket. You’d never had any real reason to use it thus far, since your job, while dangerous, thankfully never got that physical.

Drug dealing seemed a natural path for you to take. Your parents had both been in the business of the black market, your mother an illegal arms dealer and your father working for your mother. Growing up in a family with a “small business”, it had led you to a code of morals that are currently getting in the way.

Morals that say Daegland Pierce, notorious dealer, needs to die.

Since you and your boss both knew you couldn’t carry it out alone, you had been eager to find someone who could carry out the job with you. Your boss got to talking, and as it turns out, there’s some kind of agreement that’s been made. You’re in the dark about the whole thing with him, but all you really need to know is your role in all of it. 

“His name’s Pope.” 

“Any file on him?” you ask, crossing your arms. Lane swirls his drink around. 

“There’s no file for this guy anywhere. He just… is.”

“How do you know what kind of killer he is?”

“Word of mouth. Everybody knows Pope, and nobody knows him.”

“I’m one of the nobodies, would you mind giving me a little more insight, so I know the guy I’m going to be working with?”

Lane shakes his head. “Ask him yourself. You’re meeting him at the rendezvous point, by Exit 19 on the Tollcross back road. Nothing but farmland out there, ‘til you reach the woods Pierce has shacked up in.”

“These the coordinates?” you ask, tapping a map that had been placed in front of you.

"Wrapped up inside. Quit asking questions, will ya? Go do the job, don’t run your mouth at this guy or he’ll shoot it off, and come back richer for the experience." You go to get up, but Lane stops you. "(y/n). I know you think you're real tough, kay? You ain't shit compared to this guy. He'll rip your spleen out if you get on his bad side. So just lay low, do you gotta do, and don't piss him off."

"What makes you think I would?" you ask. Lane sighs, shaking his head.

"There's gonna be two corpses out there by Friday, I swear to god."

--

You drive a crappy throwaway VW bug up a grassy back road, studying the map closely. There's an x marked where you're supposed to meet Pope, and you're coming up on it now. You toss the map to the passenger seat, and crane your neck to see from the sunken seat. There's a black car up ahead, with a man leaning against it.

You park the bug, grab the map, and toss a match in, burning the thing out. You walk up to him, and take a look as you approach. He's tall, got glasses, and has cropped black hair. He's got a few tattoos, maybe more, you notice as he lifts a cigarette up, but most are covered by long black sleeves. How he could wear long sleeves in this heat is beyond you, but you're not here to question his attire. He's actually pretty well dressed, if you'd go so far as to admit it. He's not bad looking either, for a man in his early to mid forties.

The bug blows up behind you, and you smirk.

"(y/n)," you say, sticking out your hand. His dark eyes move over to you boredly, taking you in with a vertical sweep. He finally puts his cigarette between his lips, which are curiously dainty, and shakes your hand. Whatever elegance his features hold are balanced out by the roughness of his hands-- his skin is like leather, and his nails are chipped and dirty.

"You know who I am," he says simply, in a buried genteel southern accent.

You take a spot next to him, leaning against the car as well. He glances sideways at you, but doesn't say anything. He just smokes in silence. You wonder if it'll be like one of those miraculous bonding moments, where he'd offer you a drag, and it would be like some unspoken code of respect had passed between you two.

You lose hope for that as Pope continues to do his best to ignore you. You eventually clear your throat.

"So. I've got a plan."

"No. I've got a plan. This ain’t your show, kid."

You frown. "Don't call me kid."

"Okay, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart!"

"What do you want me to call you then? Cause I've got a few ideas."

You scoff. What a fucking asshole! Still, your boss' warning is present in your mind, so you shut your mouth, and get in the car. Pope drops his butt, snuffs it out carefully with his shoe, and gets in the driver's side.

"I heard we're going to be taking the cabin next to his," you bring up.  "Must be nice to live out in the woods. Plus, I bet the asshole's place is nice and furnished. He's loaded to hell." You purse your lips. "Is it a long drive to the cabin?"

Pope doesn't answer. Instead, he turns up the stereo, which is just finishing up Johnny B Goode. Then, an old country song that sounds like a bloodhound wailing to the tune of a two string banjo comes on. It's got some lyrics about preaching the gospel, and you sigh, resting your head against the window.

"This is fucking terrible."

Pope looks ahead. "Mhm."

"You seem like a rock kind of guy, not this."

"'Mhm."

“Not even classic rock?”

"Mmm."

With a huff, you turn to look out the window and let the grumpy older hitman, who apparently only knew how to communiticate by varying grunts, enjoy his lovesick religious whining on the radio.

Eventually, you make it down a dirt path, leaves and branches hitting the sides of the car.

“Welcome home,” Pope says, pulling up at the cabin the two of you would be staying at. You get out, looking around. It’s pretty remote.

"Where's his place?"

"Just down the way a little," Pope replies, unloading some things from the car, "Before you ask, no, we are not going over right now. We're setting our rooms up-- far away from one another-- and settling in for the night."

"And lemme guess, you're gonna pour some whiskey sour and spin 'Solitary Man' on vinyl while scraping your boots on the porch?"

He can't even be bothered enough to muster up a glare. He simply gives you a bored look through those wire rimmed glasses, and walks toward the house. You look around, and when you think you hear a cracked twig, follow him quickly.

 ---

Pope sets a lantern on the table, and pushes you your plate of food.

"Thank you," you say. It was genuinely nice of him to prepare food for the both of you, something you hadn't expected him to do.

"Uh huh." You eat in silence for a bit, the crickets outside the window your only accompaniment to dinner. It's a nice cabin, in a pretty nice little thicket of forest. You can certainly see the appeal of living out here-- especially as someone in Pierce's line of work.

Pope finally speaks. "So what kind of drugs do you sell?"

"Why? You interested?" You already know the answer, but so far, it’s been fun teasing him. He tents his fingers.

"I don't fuck with drugs. They dull the wits, and I need those to not die."

"Depends on the drug," you grin. He miraculously cracks a small smile, and you go on. "Just homegrown shit. I don't bother with trying to sell party drugs. That scene just gets the cops all over your business." Pope nods. "You ever get cops on you?"

He cocks his head. "Around here? The three good, upstanding police officers who actually care enough to know what's going on beneath their noses are on my payroll. Any marshals or anything are easily deterred."

"You just use your charm and good looks?"

"Believe it or not, I'm pretty good with people," he says. You scoff.

"That's a good one."

He spends a long time staring at you. You can feel his gaze on you as you eat, and it prickles your skin. You can't tell if you like it or not. You wonder if you should say something else. Eventually, he gets up, taking his plate to the cabin's quaint kitchen. You missed your chance.

He cleans his plate, and stops by the stairs. "Why'd you want to come out here to put two people on a one man job?"

"I wanted to see it get done. I guess I... didn't trust you."

"Do you now?"

"What?"

He looks at you over his glasses. "Do you trust me now?"

You sit forward. "I don’t trust anyone but myself."

He nods. "You don’t trust me cause you haven’t seen me do what I do."

You chew on your bottom lip. You hadn't gotten the chance to tell him your plan, and by all accounts, you know he's not going to like it. These three days may be more difficult than you thought.

After slowly finishing the rest of your dinner, you head upstairs to find the remaining bedroom. As you're passing the doors, you catch a glimpse of one partially open. Inside, Pope is lying awake, staring up at the ceiling. You quickly hurry past, hoping he didn't see you, and find the empty bedroom at the end of the hall. Finding it furnished with a few old blankets, you toss a pillow down. You slip out of your clothes to your bra and panties, and get into bed.

You don’t know what to make of the man in the other room. Until you do, you’d better keep him at arm’s length.  

THE YOUNG MARINE AND THE START OF IT ALL, THE BARE BACKING BULGING MUSKY FUCK  

M.A.R.I.N.E.  -  MUSCLES ARE REQUIRED INTELLIGENCE NON ESSENTIAL

The young Marine thought there was something odd about the Starbucks and its location overseas, in a desert in the middle of absolutely nowhere that was only there for the Marines on the base and no one else, but he was told by his Gunnery Sergeant to go and ask for and drink a specific coffee called a “TRIPLE B MUSK” and then report back to the Gunnery Sergeant at the private quarters for superiors.

The young Marine joined the Que at Starbucks where he noticed one of the guys in the queue was absolutely butt fucking naked with the exception of his boots and a semi-hard on sticking outwards at half mast, he had a good few tattoos and what looked like a sun burnt set of butt cheeks, but given the heat of the sun it wasn't unusual to see Marines walking around like this semi to absolute naked, but the hard on was usually reserved for when they slept, so thinking nothing of it he continued to wait patiently for his turn to order hearing the naked Marine say "can I have another TRIPLE  B MUSK please", and then walked off in the direction of the latrine building as soon as he got his second coffee, where he seem to join another naked Marine who was desperately groping his crotch while waiting nervously but patiently inside the door for some one to cum in to the large strongly built “golden shitter” as it was called.

When his turn came the Marine noticed a large mature muscular black guy behind the counter in the Starbucks trailer, his body was hairy which had turned white as some older black guys hair does with age ironically, he also noticed he was a retired Sargent because of his now old issued thorn t-shirt and subsequently addressed him by his rank and as instructed he asked, "could I have a TRIPLE B MUSK please Sargent Sir!", whereupon the black retired Sergeant said "sure no problem boy! one bulge coming up", the retired Sargent then placed his hands down near the area of his crotch out of sight below the counter where he seem to fondle himself for a while before winking at the young Marine saying “whats your name boy! and how long are you in for” to which the young Marine said “5 years Sir! straight out of military school, may I ask when you retired Sir!”, and as the retied Sargent handed the coffee down he said “15 years ago until my money ran out where upon Starbucks and the Department of the Navy bought my balls of me and know I go where I am told by them, the name is Joe by the way whats yours” the young Marine then promptly offed up his full name “its Charles James Hayden Sir!” to which Joe replied with “you should change that to just Charlie, its a more domineering but friendly and sounds better when its being called out during sex, oh! and sip that coffee slowly, very slowly and enjoy your life to the fucking fullest you can as it may be a short one and remember Charlie, you will always obey all your orders, always”, to which the Marine replied with  “yes Sargent Sir!, I will and thank you Sir! for the coffee and the advice”.

While drinking the special coffee the Marine noticed the odd but extremely musky stinging taste on his tongue and strong impaling smell riding the barrels of his nose, but his taste buds and widening nostrils where soon the least thing on his mind as he was suddenly distracted by the freak bulging of his biceps which where practically skin and bone only minutes before he started downing the coffee.

Seconds later he felt a bulge forming in the front of his pants while in the rear his butt cheeks where also bulging out tightening the pants he was wearing against his front waist making the front budge look even bigger in the fatigues, this was then followed with an seriously fucking unmerciful urge to moan rub and grope his crotch with his now fucking large free hand, and he was further temped there and then in the middle of the compound to take his cock out and jack the fuck out of it which was something he hadn't done in months, regardless of who would be around to watch or hear, he also noticed that the shitty tattoos he had gotten as a young teenager had suddenly changed, the one on his upper right arm was now a Marine Sword with the one further down changing to a Bar Code of some sort, he also felt a tingle on his left butt cheek wondering what that tattoo which was originally a tweety-pie had changed too, The Marine then moaned in a much deeper voice than he had before mainly as he felt his balls slip out of his boxers and drop severely down one trouser leg, and as a result he dawned a big fucking smile because he now knew he could shoot a load not squirt it when the time came, he then paused for several minutes in a semi attention and erect mode downed some more of the coffee before strutting back military fashion in a very cocky but sudden confident manner in direction of the Gunnery's quarters.

On arrival he paused again for a while enjoying his reflection in the glass panels of the superiors build door, he then finished his coffee removing the lid and with the aide of his now longer tongue completely licked out the whole of the inside of the cup grit and all before throwing the empty cup in the trash can outside were several used coffee cups appeared to be, he then used his hard and firmly clenched big knuckled fist to rap a solid set of knocks on the Gunnery's door, and Seconds later the Sargent shouted "get your butt hole in here Charlie boy!" so the Marine promptly opened the door and marched in.

The Gunnery Sergeant was on his bunk, butt naked, face down with his butt hole which had a large letter B on the right cheek protruding promptly up in the air, and where he continued to shout further orders at the Marine saying, ”do you notice anything unusual Marine!" to which the young Marine said Yes Sir! parts of my body are bulging out. my arms, my butt, my cock, my nuts, my hands, Fuck! Sir! I think I need to seriously jack off Sir! I’m so fucking horny, "NO!" barked the Sergeant "you need to strip! butt naked boy!, put your kit on to the spare bunk, put your boots back on, spit on your cock and the crack of my fuck hole and then slide your cock deep inside me boy!".

The Marine did as he was ordered and within less than a minute he was in his birthday suit having folded smartly his fatigues on the spare bunk beside other piles of kit, he then quickly put his boots back on and tied them up before gurgling up a wad of spit dropping it down on his seriously hard larger cock, pulling back his overhanging knob canopy in the process to revel a very musky smell similar to that he had tasted in the coffee, then he immediately producing another wad of spit this time from the back of his throat which he then promptly spat with great fucking force off his tongue on to the ass crack of the Sargent hitting it with perfect per-session, this caused the Sargent to jump and to brace himself for the invasion of cock that he knew would soon follow, The young Marine then slapped his knob in to a solid fixed position right at the cavity entrance of the Gunnery's spit covered hole waiting a good few seconds for both wads of spit and musk to mix, he then grabbed the muscular bubble butted hips of his Superior and proceeded to slide his knob and shaft with one full muscular armed trust deep inside the unprotected fuck hole of his Sargent, with out any hesitation just as he was ordered.

The Gunnery then let out an immense cry of enjoymental pain as almost 11 inches of now formally straight cock was being rammed deep inside his rear, shouting “ fuck me Charlie that feels fucking good boy!, the Marine turned on more by his name being called out by the Sargent proceeded to pound the Gunnery's hole harder and balls deeper for several minutes until he eventually too cried out loader than he had ever done before with absolute fucking joy that was long long overdue, sending the first of two loads deep inside the Sargent's nether regions, But the Sergeant then shouted "keep plugging Charlie you need to give me a second load to complete the session" So as ordered the Marine continued to bang away for a further 10 minutes using the now first load of cum to lubricate the hot fuck hole of his superior until his second load of baby seed was ready to fly, shooting it just as deep as the previous load crying out even louder than before, throwing his head back and up to allow his big balled deeper manly voice to boom of the buck room ceiling for all to hear, as he came just as generously as he did with the first deposit.

After the fuck session was over and after they had both caught their breath particularly the young Marine, the Sergeant got up from the bunk and handed the Marine a large bottle of water instructing him to quench his thirst, which he did in almost one swallow practically emptying the bottle with a hefty downward sucking thrust, he then told the Marine to stand at ease and as the Marine did a load of cum proceeded to dribble out of his still swollen flesh covered knob head and drop down onto the already damp bunk room floor, to which the Gunnery shouted "that floor was just cleaned you fuck now get down on your fucking knees and lick every drop of that shit up" And again the Marine promptly did as he was ordered taking several minutes to make sure the floorboards were cleaner than they were before his man juice hit the now well soaked planks.

While the young Marine was on his knees cleaning up his own man seed dribble the Sargent walked to the Marines rear where he proceeded with out any warning to start slapping the beautiful muscular butt pound chunks of beef that made up the young Marines backside, using the full swing of his arm and the full force of his wide open hand each time he slapped, this he did a dozen times a cheek until the you Marines cheeks looked like he had gotten sun burnt, the Sargent then commented on how deliciously edible looking the Marines actual shit hole was, and while slapping he said “you should have a tongue up there on a daily basis boy!, its good for getting you rock hard” “and preferably a superiors tongue boy!, but a tongue is a tongue so never say no to a good cleaning at least” or a good spit covered index finger to keep you alert and to regularly check your prostrate Charlie!, to which the Marine replied “Yes Sargent Sir!” chocking slightly as he finished cleaning the floor with his own tongue, and while trying to forget the stinging sensation from his very first ass spanking said “ your welcome to do that anytime Sargent Sir!, both with your tongue your hand or finger Sir! at any time you please”.

The Gunnery then instructed the newly muscled up fuck of a young Marine to get back up and again to stand at ease and to listen very intensively to five specific orders that related to the use of his cock and what it was now to be used solely for in the future whilst serving in the Marines, and while casually finishing his water the Marine listened intensively to what the Sargent was about to say,

1. The first one was for peeing and where possible in or on someone, or in to a bottle or jar for consumption at later date by some Fag, or for when water is low when your stuck in the desert then you must share and recycle it and your buddies, and always pee after you cum as it helps to clean your fluid pipe and always make sure you have a buddy in the latrine to hold your manhood for you when you do have to pee, as its important to see who has the biggest piece of pee and fuck equipment as future fucks will be based on size not rank.

2. The second was for the jacking session he would regularly give himself, every day twice a day, in the bunk house even if his buddy's where there, he was to proudly take out his cock spit jack and come to his utter delight or in a session with them or the same in the shower room, and if he missed a session or sessions to pop some U.S military issued Viagra so he could have a sucksession of load blowing jack offs preferably on his newly formed abs, or on to a clean surface so the loads could be recycled by him a buddy or a Superior licking tongue and swallowed down a hungry mouth.

3. The third was for when he was getting a blowjob something he should never refuse regardless of who was offering it especially if its an offer from a Superior rank, or a faggot civilian who appreciates his right to be a fag because of what you do to keep the country free, it is also for fucking a guy or girl in their mouths and down their throats making sure that the respective cocksucker swallows every drop of protein to avoid waste, and where possible some fresh pee to clean out the pipe afterwards.

4. The fourth was for male butt hole fucking and only male butt hole fucking, and where possible to use only man spit or if needs be some of his personal U.S. military issued Gun Oil if the hole becomes dry in mind fuck, especially if a second load is being contemplate and taking longer to delivered, however the fucking of a female Marines hole is also permitted to avoid getting the bitch pregnant unless that is your intention.

5. While the fifth was definitely for the occasional hot wet snatch he would get where appropriate, and he should include older married and widowed women especially as younger snatch should only be reserved mostly for the creation of his children, and he was not to discriminate against looks race color creed or gender, although he if decided to only do guys he could change this to cum donations at the nearest sperm bank free of charge for all any woman wanting a Military kid or kids, making sure to leave his personal details including photos with every donation, he was also to leave a load for any fags who needed the use of pure protein globes, either way what ever he did was fine along as he had several children before his 25th birthday at least.

The Gunnery then said your bar code tattoo will get you fucking serious amounts of discounts and free stuff wherever you shop on every fucking thing your Purple Heart desires, you could even use it to charge the government for call girls and or rent boys if needed buy only while still enlisted, but he was to expect and if needs be demand an a “thank you for your service” quote at every transaction saluting the person afterwards to make them feel safe in their lives...

“Do you understand and obey this and these 5 cock rules boy" To which the Marine promptly replied with "Yes Sir! Gunnery Sargent Sir! Yes!.

The Sargent smiled and then kissed the Marine on his ear lobe whispering...

 “Right now so Charlie, your now a real  M.A.R.I.N.E.! so leave your uniform in that neath pile and go out and get yourself another coffee from Joe and then head down to a comrade in arms at the latrine for a hour or two, ohhh and by the way that sure is a hot little tattoo on your butt cheek, the taz- manian devil, very hot and very appropriate, oh and and remember the letter B on a fags butt means no condom, understood” to which the now hot hung tall muscular Marine said with a big fucking smile, “yes Fag, understood”...

Hughes/Hawkeye Swap/Apprentice Hughes AU Outline

notes and general outline for my ideas for a FMA AU that swaps Riza and Hughes' roles in the story. includes lesbian Riza and self-indulgent Roy/Hughes shipping, but you can imagine it's platonic if you want.

Original Art Post Here

Read on AO3 Here

Read on Google Docs Here

AU in which Hughes and Hawkeye switch roles. Hughes is Roy's First Lieutenant and bodyguard with the secrets of Flame Alchemy tattooed on his back, Riza is Roy's best friend and informant within Central's investigation team.

- Berthold Hawkeye refuses to teach Riza Alchemy, being old-fashioned and wishing to protect his daughter from that lifestyle. Instead he opens up an apprenticeship to any teen boys willing to learn. He receives one in the form of a young Roy Mustang.

But things become complicated when a 2nd boy by the name of Maes Hughes also arrives to accept the apprenticeship. Neither him or Roy want to back down, so Berthold wearily agrees to teach them both on the condition that only one of them will receive advanced studies if they earn his trust and approval. Roy and Maes agree.

What follows is 2-3 years of Roy and Maes competing as rival apprentices as they live with the Hawkeyes in their estate, slowly growing from bitter rivals to close friends (with tenuous romantic/sexual feelings for each other later on).

Roy is petty and competitive, eager to prove himself against Maes as the better Alchemist and earn his Master's respect, hopefully enough to learn the secrets of his infamous Flame Alchemy research. Maes only wished to learn basic Alchemy at first, but he's driven to try harder as he butts heads with Roy, taking great pleasure in knocking the ambitious boy down a few pegs and seeing him frustrated.

Meanwhile, a young Riza watches them from afar, then eventually befriends the two, admitting from her observations of them that they actually seem to like each other's company. Roy and Maes vehemently disagree with this, too proud to admit otherwise.

This becomes obvious as the adolescents' sexuality comes into bloom (Roy and Riza being gay, and Maes being bisexual), with Riza being the first one who becomes comfortable in who she is and what she likes, and keeps trying to encourage the boys do the same. But their pride and stubbornness keeps getting in the way of admitting their attraction to each other.

+ Eventually a harrowing event or two brings them closer, like the Academy OVA

Things change as Roy's ambition shifts, and he shows interest in joining the military and helping his country with its constant wars. Riza shares similar interests, but this draws Berthold's ire. He pushes them away in favor of Maes, who he deems his most trustworthy apprentice now.

Maes shares similar sentiments with his friends, but he's better about hiding them from his Master. After hearing about Berthold's Flame Alchemy from Roy and Riza, his inquisitive nature made him curious to learn the secrets, so he's been staying on Berthold's good side to earn his trust. He aims to share the secrets with his friends once he gets them.

Once Berthold makes it clear he favors Maes, Roy makes clear his desire to join the Academy and parts ways with his Master. He begrudgingly bids farewell to his friends before he leaves. (He's almost 18, several months older than Maes, and nearly 4 years older than Riza.)

Roy promises to see Riza on the battlefield and fight with her someday. His parting with Maes is more tense, as they've finally settled their differences and become friends, but still haven't resolved their deeper feelings for each other. Maes isn't clear on whether or not he will join Roy at the Academy, despite showing interest earlier. Instead, Roy hesitantly promises to see him again, and Maes promises likewise.

Roy spends several months adjusting to Academy life, then is surprised when the next batch of students has Maes among them. He joined after all, saying he stopped his studies with Master Hawkeye because he no longer wants to become an Alchemist, and has signed up as an average soldier, like Roy. He doesn't go into detail about his decision, but Roy assumes it's because Maes finally stood up for himself and what he really believes in, rebelling against Master Hawkeye.

No longer rivals, and being more mature, Roy and Maes revive their friendship and finally come to terms with their feelings for each other. Maes admits to grappling with heartbreak after Roy left, making him finally realize the true nature of his feelings. Roy admits to missing Maes in a similar way since coming here. Eventually, they confess their love for each other and become an item.

But Roy notices Maes having a strange paranoia over his body that wasn't there before, never undressing in front of anyone and being more private in his bathing rituals. Sleeping together is also off-limits. Roy wonders about this but respects Maes' preferences, trying to be a good boyfriend.

They survive the rest of their Academy training and graduate with flying colors, all the while enjoying an overall happy relationship together. Roy is a strong soldier and natural leader, and Hughes proves to be an accomplished marksman and sniper.

Roy and Maes return to the Hawkeye Estate to visit Riza, like they promised her. She's happy to see them, and even more happy that they finally hooked up. But things are tense under the surface, and Riza admits that her father is on his deathbed. Roy agrees to see him, but Maes suddenly becomes quiet and distant, and refuses to see him. Riza seems to understand, and takes him aside while Roy meets with Berthold.

The dying Berthold gives his parting words to Roy, admitting he would have favored Roy with his secrets had he not agreed to join the military, and it seems he made a mistake in trusting Maes after all, since he followed the same path. But what's done is done. Roy asks about happened to the secrets of his research. Berthold forces a chuckle, remarking that Roy should know about this already.

Roy asks what he means by this. Berthold admits that he gave the secrets to Maes not long before he left for the Academy. But apparently, Maes never told him this.

Regardless, Berthold makes Roy promise to watch over his daughter and keep Maes' secrets safe, only using Flame Alchemy for a good cause. Roy is confused, but agrees to this. He comforts Berthold as he takes his dying breaths.

Afterward, Roy finds Riza and Maes comforting each other in Riza's bedroom, and confronts them over what he's been told. He demands to know what Maes has been hiding from him, feeling hurt. Maes gets upset, and Riza calms them both, telling Roy that it isn't personal, it's been very hard for Maes and she only found out about it after he left for the Academy.

Roy wants to know what "it" is - so, Riza gently encourages Maes to take off his shirt. Hesitantly, with great pains, Maes does this - revealing a series of Alchemy tattoos covering most of his back, containing the secrets to Flame Alchemy.

+ Alternative: Roy walks into the room just as Maes is showing his back to Riza, causing even more shock and confusion.

Roy is shocked and horrified. Maes forces a calm, nonchalant tone as he relays how he earned Berthold's trust, but only enough to earn his secrets in a way he could never actually use them. Instead he was coerced into being their keeper, sedated and operated on by a tattoo artist Berthold hired. The operation and grueling recovery was a terrible, violating experience, and has ruined Maes' passion for Alchemy entirely, to the point that he hates and avoids it now. As soon as he was able, he quietly slipped away from the Hawkeye Estate, returned home, then left to join Roy at the Academy to become a soldier. He finally breaks down as he apologizes profusely to Roy for never telling him about this, even when they became an item.

The two embrace, with Roy understanding of Maes now and saying he should apologize for getting mad and assuming the worst. He promises to be better to Maes, as long as he doesn't hide things from him anymore. He loves him, and if they're going to survive together, they need to be honest and trusting with each other. Maes tearfully agrees. Riza comforts them both.

Afterwards, Roy uses his soldier's pay to arrange a proper burial for Berthold, and the three mourn at his grave. Roy relays his dreams to help his country from the bottom up, even if he's just a disposable soldier. Maes agrees with him and promises to stay by his side, and offers to give Roy the secrets on his back so he can revive his dream of becoming a State Alchemist. Roy accepts this, especially coming from his boyfriend. Riza is warmed by all this, and promises to support them as well, once she's able to. Roy leaves a business card with her so she can look for him after she graduates from the Academy.

Roy and Maes return to Roy's new apartment in Central, moving in together and working to decode the tattoo. Once they do, Roy develops his method of Flame Alchemy, inventing the ignition gloves. He trains until he feels ready, then applies for his State License, impressing the Fuhrer and others with his flames. He earns the title of The Flame Alchemist. Maes supports him from the sidelines as best he can, still very nervous around Alchemy, especially this kind.

Then, Roy is deployed to Ishval, with Maes following soon afterward. They're separated for a time, but eventually meet again in a tearful reunion. Roy has become a murderer, and their idealistic dreams have shattered.

Eventually they also reunite with Riza, who has become an unofficial squad Captain. She's graduated early, showing a penchant for investigation, strategy, and knife-throwing. The three friends take comfort in each other in this terrible time.

On a good note, Riza reveals she has a girlfriend in Central named Gracia, and she plans to marry her once they go back home. Roy and Maes are happy for her - but also a bit sad, since their careers prevent them from doing the same due to fraternization laws.

Once it's over, Roy changes his dream to ascending the ranks and becoming the next Fuhrer, protecting everyone beneath him with his newfound leadership responsibilities. Maes and Riza pledge to support him to the bitter end.

Before going back home, Maes approaches Roy privately, and asks him to burn his tattoo. He feels equally responsible for the lives Roy's taken with his flames, and has decided the secrets need to be destroyed to prevent the possibility of another Flame Alchemist being created. He has discussed this with Riza beforehand, who agreed. Roy refuses to hurt Maes at first, but after some begging and arguing, he finally relents.

After Ishval, Roy is promoted to Lt. Colonel and transferred to East HQ under General Grumman, Riza's grandfather whom she pulls strings with. Maes is promoted to 2nd Lieutenant and assigned as Roy's personal aide and bodyguard, trusting no one else with the role. Maes will protect his back like Roy did for his, and put a bullet in it if he strays from his path toward Fuhrer. Riza is transferred to Central to join their investigations department, working on the inside to supply Roy with information.

Over the years, Riza marries Gracia, and Roy and Maes attend their wedding as her best men. Months later, a sperm donor is used to help Gracia become pregnant, and they welcome the arrival of their daughter, Elicia.

The rest is mostly the same as canon besides the reversed roles, and Roy and Maes have a somewhat-secret relationship that they struggle to keep balanced and healthy between their professional lives, power imbalances, and promises to each other.

+ Possible: Riza's fast enough to narrowly avoid dying at the hands of Envy, but she does have to go into hiding and/or ends up in a coma. If comatose, she only revives after The Promised Day - the Nationwide Transmutation Circle takes her soul out of her body and Hohenheim's counter-circle returns it, causing a sort of hard-reset on her consciousness and returning her to the waking world. After recovering, she is happily reunited with her friends and family (but is probably worse for wear, due to the bullet wound and whatever resulting injuries or nerve damage it caused).

Cookies & Kisses💋 Pt.2

.BTS Jungkook.

Summary- Jeon Jungkook is a broke college student who’s just trying to get his degree and find his place in the world but things aren’t always that easy. Especially when you’re only 21 years old and have a 4 year old daughter.

Warnings- Mentions of underage sex, brief mentions of past drug & alchol abuse. Mentions of past depression, self harm and suicidal thoughts. Quite a bit of swearing but nothing too harsh, don’t read if you’re sensitive to anything mentioned above.

Word Count- 2.9k

-

The sun was blazing down onto Seoul and the new summer heat brought about various types of people who were keen to soak up the rays before returning home. Happiness was the expression covering most people’s faces as they laughed with their friends, families played cheerfully on the different rides the park provided. Some people who clearly didn’t dress appropriately for the weather made you chuckle as they wiped the sweat off their forehead, carrying around the layers they were forced to remove by the overwhelming blaze. It was an overall pleasant day and the already red faced, excited children made you content from their innocence. How you’d wish to go back to those days where the only thing that mattered was the type of flavour ice cream you would get from the corner store.

Yet here you were. 21 years old and struggling to find a job to fit around your busy university schedule to help pay the never ending list of bills. You found peace in watching strangers live their lives, it was a weird hobby that you gained over the years but you liked to imagine what everyone else’s life was like. It sometimes got you in trouble with some of the wrong people for staring for to long but you couldn’t help being intrigued in your surroundings. You just found it fascinating how everyone had their own thoughts, family and relationships and how no two people on this planet were the same as one another yet here you all were.

The once cold metallic bench you were seated on was now covered in an uncomfortable amount of sweat which signaled that it was your time to leave if you wanted to get to your daily rehearsal on time; however a tall, tattooed man came running into the already overcrowded park with whom you assumed was his sister due to his seemingly young age caught your eye. He was probably about 20 with a muscular frame covered in a short sleeved shirt and a pair of blue denim shorts, showing off his heavily tattooed, yet toned legs that go perfectly with the black and white artwork on his arms. You smiled at the sight in front of you, he was clearly struggling to put suncream onto the young girls face as she kept moving around and eventually slid through his legs and skipped off giggling to herself as she climbed onto the slide, surprising you when the words “come play daddy” left her small mouth. Never would you have thought he was her father and you somewhat felt guilty for judging them so quickly.

Seeing the two play together so happily made you weirdly jealous of the women who got to call them her family. The young father was one of the best looking men you had even seen and his daughter was beautiful with long curly hair that complimented her small frame perfectly. You started to imagine the young girls mother, shiny brown hair, tall with big hazel eyes that never lose their shine no matter the occasion. Looking around you began searching for someone matching the image in your head however no one seemed to be taking notice of the pair. In fact a lot of people were keeping away from the young father, some were other parents shielding their children’s view of the two and others were staring down the fathers overly tattoed body. The sight made you frown, who were they to criticise someone else for what they chose to do with their body? You thought his tattoos were beautiful, they were like pieces of art placed perfectly on his skin and you couldn’t see any problem with them at all. They made him unique.

A loud buzz broke you from you gaze. Shaking your head slightly you looked down to your phone and gasped “fuck!” You exclaimed and collected your things in a hurry. You were extremely late for your rehearsal and you knew if you didn’t leave now, your professor would literally kill you. Taking one last glance at the pair in front of you, you quickly jogged towards the exit of the park, hitting yourself after getting distracted.

What you didn’t see was the young dad looking over at you when he heard you curse. Finding your panicked expression and rushed exit amusing.

-

“Youngjae, sooyoung I’ve already told you, it is a duet not a solo! You need to harmonise together!” Professor Richards shouted, waving around her sheet music from her spot on the piano. The production of the play had just started yet she was already stressed with the numerous challenges the students always seemed to provide. Deeming yourself as successful that she hadn’t noticed you were late, you slipped into the chair next to your puzzled friend.

“Why are you so late? You should have been here 20 minutes ago! You’re so lucky she didn’t notice you were gone cause she literally would have literally killed you” Luna exclaimed punching you fairly hard in the arm. You smiled sheepishly “I’m sorry I was at the park and got distracted.” She looked like she was about to ask another question but a booming voice interrupted her before she could. “Miss Y/L/N can I speak to you for a minute please” You turned your head to see your professor looking straight at you with a pleading look in her electric blue eyes. You nodded slowly before looking back at Luna who smirked and winked at you as you got up, ‘fuck’ you mouthed as you walked towards Mrs Richards.

She didn’t wait for you to catch up with her, instead walking speedily into a room just outside of the theatre that was oddly quiet despite the amount of people inside the block of classrooms. Mrs Richards got a flyer out of her bulky folder and handed it to you. ‘Grease the musical! Choreographer needed!’ Was labeled on the front in big bold letters and you looked at it confusedly, thinking your friend Carter was meant to be doing the choreography. “Carter rang me this morning, he’s broken his leg and can’t do the show.” She looked at you after sighing and sitting down on the closest chair next to her. “Since you’re my female lead I would love for you to help me in the audition process for the new choreographer.”

You sighed quietly. This is just another job to pile onto your already busy enough schedule yet you knew you couldn’t say no, especially to Mrs Richards. You and her had always been quite close due to the fact she knew you were insanely talented and she loved working with you and helping you improve. “Yeah okay, it’s not gonna take long though is it? Im really busy at the minute” you say biting your lip, scanning through the information on the sheet again. She shook her head, “No It’ll take about 3 hours, 4 at most but I really need you there Y/N.” You just smiled and thanked her, telling her you’ll see her there before bowing your head slightly in goodbye and walked out of the room to join the rest your class.

-

The deafening sound of music filled the dance studio as Jungkook tirelessly worked on his new routine. The strong stench of mixed Red Bull and sweat overpowered the room and if anyone were to enter then he was sure that they’d be paralysed by the smell. He’d been practicing since 6:30am, almost 7 hours now and Jungkook was unsure if the normally baggy material of his grey Nike shorts could stick to his skin even more then they already are. Frustrated, he turned the music off and ungraciously fell to the floor. He needed this extra credit and was willing to work long hours for it, even if it meant missing out slightly on having a social life.

His loud breathing symbolised that it was time to leave and Jungkook was beyond happy to be going home after his tense day a practice. He slowly got up and packed his things away before gulping down the last quarter of his energy drink, that he hated himself for having as they did nothing but make his teeth ache from the bucket full of sugar, and made his way back to the apartment. It was far to hot in Seoul for Jungkooks taste and he made a mental note of buying suncream for Eunha on his way to the nursery. He walked his usual root home that led him through the park where a few people were sunbathing and he smiled at the thought of picking Eunha up early and treating her to an ice cream and a play on the games at the playground.

He arrived back at home 10 minutes later, shouting a quick ‘hello’ to Hoseok who was sitting in the living room, in front of a fan, shirtless and groaning about the heat before running up the stairs and jumping in the shower. The cool water made him instantly relax his tense body and he really didn’t want to leave but he needed to be quick if he wanted to pick Eunha up and go to the park before the rush of the mass of families who had the same idea that he did, beat him in getting there first and taking all the best rides.

Slipping on a simple white t-shirt, a pair of three quarter, blue denim shorts and black & white vans, he sat down next to Hoseok and sighed as he leant back into the comfy, cotton sofa. “Fuck I literally want to stay here for the rest of my life” he said moaning quietly. Hoseok chuckled and shook his head “no way, I’d get butt cramp.” The two laughed. “What are you gonna do today?” The older male questioned as he joined Jungkook in leaning back on the sofa. “I’m about to pick up Eunha and I’m taking her to that huge park down the street.” Hoseok nodded and reached into his pocket to pull out a few dollar bills and placed them in Jungkooks hand.

“Here, treat Eun to an ice cream or something.” The younger frowned as he glanced down at the money. “Hoseok you don’t have to I’m doing alright with money at the minute” he tried to hand the money back but he refused. “I know you are but that doesn’t mean I can’t help out a bit and treat my favorite niece to some ice cream every once in a while.” Jungkook smiled. “She’s your only niece, but thank you I really appreciate it.” He waved his hand to dismiss the comment and Jungkook patted his back, saying bye before grabbing his keys & cigarettes making his way out of the door.

The young dad has always hated taking money from the people around him. He thought if he took it, it would make him look weak and make people question if he could really raise a child as he wasn’t financially stable. The whole thing use to make him panic, so much that he himself started to question if he was really capable of raising a child. Looking back at himself a few years ago and comparing him then to where he is now, he can confidently say that he no longer has those thoughts. He had done a great job of raising his little girl for the past four years and he was awfully proud of her, saying that she’s the kindest, most beautiful girl in the world.

After walking another 10 minutes Jungkook made it to he nursery, he walked up the steps to the front entrance and pushed the buzzer on the side of the door and patiently waited for the receptionist to let him inside. The receptionist smiled once she saw who it was and flicked her straight blonde hair over her shoulder; she had always had a thing for the young dad and Jungkook was flattered,but wasn’t interested.

“Mr Jeon it’s nice to see you again! How are you?” She asked leaning forward slightly so her cleavage was on show, the gesture made Jungkook raise his eyebrow at her openness but he continued to answer her question.

“I’m great thanks Michelle, just here to pick up Eunha.” He smiled and closed one eye into a wink in a way to almost tease the blonde. Michelle blushed and looked away from the eye contact and pressed the button which allowed the doors to the school be opened. “Do you need me to show you to her classroom?” Her voice hopeful as she began to rise from her chair. The father shook his hand is dismiss “No I’m okay thanks, I’ll see you soon.” He said as he paced his way into the main school area, waving goodbye yet not waiting for her to respond.

Jungkook took his time as he walked through the bright hallways, stopping every so often to look at the children’s artwork draped along the corridors; his heart clenched with pride as he saw a piece of work with the name ‘Eunha Jeon’ written on the bottom of a drawing of a herself and Jungkook. She had made sure to draw a few of her fathers tattoos on his arms and even wrote next to the side of him “My awesome daddy!” Which continued to make Jungkook smile. He pulled out his phone and quickly checked to see if anyone was around before he snapped a shot of the family portrait and saving it as his home screen. The student carried on down the corridor and soon arrived at Eunhas class. The door was open due to the hot weather and the children were busy playing with their toys. His daughter was playing by herself in the corner of the room with a box of barbie dolls, she had recently taken an interest in playing with them after Jin had brought her one for last years Christmas and Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it when she had forced him to play with her.

The student knocked on the door to gain the teachers attention before he walked in, she was sat at her desk looking through the plans for her lessons when Jungkook made his way over to her. “Miss Matthews? Hi” He smiled.

“Oh Mr Jeon, you here to pick Eunha up already?” She took of her glasses, stood from her seat and walked towards the father. Before he could respond a loud bang followed by a small cry gained his attention. His daughter was on the floor after obviously being pushed over and Jungkooks heart dropped. A young boy was standing above her with a smirk wedged on his face after he realised she was crying. “Eunha!” The panicked father shouted as he raced towards his little girl, not caring about the teacher calling after his name.

Jungkook immediately scooped her up into his arms and she buried her small face into the crook of his neck, tears still streaming down her face. He turned to the young boy who looked rather frightened now that Jungkook was sitting in front of him. “What on earth do you think you’re doing to my daughter?” He said trying to contain his anger as afterall, he was speaking to a child and as much as he’d like to shout and scream at him, he knew that would be an asshole move.

“I- I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to hurt her!” The boy spoke, looking up at his teacher for help. She shook her head and kneeled down to his height. “We saw what you did Jacob, and it wasn’t very nice! You could’ve seriously hurt Eunha.” The boy frowned at her words and gazed his eyes back to his classmate who had stopped crying now but was still sniffing into her fathers neck. “I’m sorry Eunha it won’t happen again.” Jungkook rolled his eyes at the boys statement, his apology was clearly forced and he couldn’t wait to talk to the boys parents about the situation.

“You okay Eun?” Jungkook asked as she pulled her face from his neck. Her eyes were red and puffy from the crying and his heart felt like it was being smashed to pieces. She didn’t deserve this. The young girl nodded and sniffed again. This wasn’t the afternoon Jungkook had planned. “I’m sorry about what happened Eunha, I’ll see you tomorrow okay sweetie” Miss Matthews smiled and stroked the hair out of Eunhas eyes. The dad got up from his kneeling position and began to walk out of the room, calling out a bye and a small ‘thank you’ to the teacher.

He pulled Eunha closer to his chest and kissed her forehead, “Well baby, my plan was to go to the park so we can have some fun but we don’t have to go if you’re not feeling up to it.” Jungkook suggested whilst they were walking through the school halls and her head perked up at the plan of the park. “I’m okay daddy let’s go to the park!” She wriggled happily in his arms and Jungkook laughed at her enthusiasm. He muttered a quiet ‘of course baby’ in her ear and she giggled at the warm breath on her skin and Jungkook felt all the stress leave his body when he heard the cute sounds fall out of her mouth. She was the best thing to ever happen to him and he was 100% sure of that.

1,000 sleepless nights// Han Jisung Au

A/N: Wowowowow it’s been a loooooong time, I apologize for that. This admin had to change schools in the middle of their senior year which was a pain in the butt. I’m finally glad I’m able to write again because writing has always been an outlet for me. I hope you enjoy this I’m not sure yet how many parts yet. I’m thinking maybe four but I hope you enjoyyyyy. Honestly if you can’t tell already I’m a sucker for Han Jisung- Admin Nicki

Word count: 1.8k

Genre : Angst/Fluff/Heartache

Paring: Han x Reader

“Han I think we need space apart” You say quietly looking at him

He takes two steps back and you can’t help but laugh

“We don’t know what time apart means and it’s tearing everyone else around us. We drag them into our shithole of a relationship” You run your fingers through your hair as he grabs your wrist

“How long do you need?” He asks and you look up taken aback by his answer. You did not think it would be that easy. You raise an eyebrow “I’m not sure Han.., just space”

He nods and leans in kissing you “I’ll give you what you asked for”

It’s been three days since that talk and there is a knock on the door. You roll out of bed not getting much sleep lately from your late night swifts at work. You rub your eyes as you head to the door and open it

“You know you should ask who it is before opening it” Han scolds you

“What are you doing here Han? It’s only been three days” You whine from being tired

“I know but I can’t sleep without you here and you know I have..” you nod before he could finish

“Okay I know. Just sleep on the couch” you walk away grabbing pillows and blankets, walking back and handing them to him

“You look good in my shirt” he smirks and you look down and frown

“Shut up Han and go to sleep” You groan knowing you want him to pull you close but you have to stand your ground. You are constantly giving into him and you have no willpower to say no. You force yourself to sleep missing the feel of him on your body.

“No No!” Han screams from the couch and you pop up hearing him get louder.

You rush to his side “Hey baby wake up” you touch his clammy skin as he opens his eyes and you smile softly “come lay with me” you suggest and he shakes his head no “Distance remember” he says sadly

“You already broke that shit by coming here” you half laugh

“We both won’t get sleep if you keep having your nightmares” you run your fingers through his hair

“Come on baby” You pull him up and walk towards your room. Your skin was on fire from his touch. Your breathing becomes heavier as you got lost in the thought of him touching you

“Y/N?” You hear Han call and your snap out of it realizing you haven’t opened the door

“S-Sorry” you were glad it was dark so he couldn’t see your face

“What were you thinking about?” He smirks knowing you like the back of his hand. He knew every movement, every breath you take, every change of expression… you hated that he knew you so well

“You were thinking of me between your legs weren’t you” He smirks and you smack his arm “I’ll make you sleep on the deck” you move away from him going to your side of the bed.

“You’d never do that Y/N” he gets in bed and automatically pulls you into him

“I’ve missed your touch too” he draws on your bare thigh.

“The way you look at me when you suck me off with those innocent eyes” he says into your ear and you groan and sit on his lap

“Stop toying with me Han. I can’t take it” you were so frustrated… mainly sexually frustrated because he was here and you could feel him on your body

He pulls you down and kisses you

“Don’t be that way kitten you know you enjoy this” He groans as you start to move your hips

“Oh gosh Han we can’t. We can’t have sex to fix our problems” you moan as you rub yourself against him

“Why not, it’s worked before” he says kissing your neck

“No it just goes away after we have sex and it always seems to come u-up later” you state as he smacks your ass

“Then stop” He says

You wake up and rub your head. You keep having these terrible dreams about your next door neighbor. He is way older than you and not suitable for you image. His friends as not the best influence either but you are drawn to the way he walks and the tattoos covering his attractive body. You get up from your bed and peel back your curtains to his bedroom light on. You smile as you see his silhouette but frown when a female figure comes to play. You quickly step away from the window and climb into your bed and let a few tears slip

“It’s never going to happen”

You finally go to sleep without any thoughts of him in your mind. You had to teach an art class this morning so you got out of bed and took a shower. You look at yourself wondering what you could change to maybe catch his attention. You look at your colorful closet and pick a crooked knitted sweater with light jeans that hug your curves and doc marten boots. You put the outfit on before doing light makeup and applying gloss. You place your hair in a low ponytail before heading downstairs

“Hi Mom” you kiss her before heading over to your dad “hi daddy” you smile at him and he smiles back. You dad was a judge and was well respected and his family was expected to uphold an image as well

“You put makeup on today sweetheart” You father comments as you pour yourself a glass of apple juice

“Yes I did daddy. I wanted to do something a little different. I made sure to not go overboard with it knowing you don’t like it” you always wanted to please your father. Your mother was a handful and you two weren’t always on great terms. You often wondered how your parents got together

“Well be safe on your way to art class today” he gets up kissing his wife and then you before walking out

“What were you doing up last night?” She asks and you look at her

“Oh I couldn’t sleep. Sorry if I made too much noise” you respond back simply

“No just wondering. It’s good you put on makeup you look tired” she comments and walks away. You hated the way she treated you at times. She was never satisfied with the way you look and always commented on your appearance. You finish your glass and grab a small fruit bar before looking for your keys to your BMW. Once you find them you give your dog a kiss and head out. You lock the door and turn your head to see your neighbor already looking at you. You give a soft smile before unlocking your car

“Y/N right?” He says as he approaches you. Your heart is beating fast

“Y-Yes that is correct” you could barely usher out

He bites his lip looking at you “It’s good to see a change of style” his eyes rank up your body

His words wrap around your mind ‘that means he actually notices me’ you smile “thanks” you walk towards your car

“Where are you headed” he brushes his hair back

It’s strange that he is asking all these questions. He usually only utters maybe two words at most

“Work” you answer shortly as you see yourself turning red

He nods “Bye” as he walks away you want to call out to him but stop yourself. He only noticed you because you have skin showing. You got in the car slamming the door before reversing and driving off.

Work was a handful but you enjoy teaching kids to draw and paint. You clean your items up and replay earlier events in your head

“why the hell would he talk to me” although you already had the answer figured out earlier. You had a nice figure when you wore the right things but you were modest and wanted to cover up. You didn’t want every guy to see what you had. You wanted a certain 20 to see what your eighteen year old body had and was capable of. You sigh heading back to your car deciding on getting coffee and grabbing a few books from your back to read. You were a hopeless romantic, you believed you could change anyone with love. I mean clearly it worked for your parents

“Can I have a matcha iced latte please” you smile at the cashier. He was a cute black haired boy who had been looking at you from the moment you walked in

“Yes of course” he punches buttons on the machine and you pull your wallet out

“This one is on me if you let me take you out” he smiles. His nose ring glistens under the light and you were taken back, blushing like a made women

“M-Me?” You have never had a man ask you out ever. Well maybe expect for kindergarten when this kid named Nathan wanted to hold your hand so he asked you to be his girlfriend

“Yes you… it’s only you and the male behind you and I’m definitely not asking him” He smiles and you turn around to see Han looking at the two of you not showing any expression.

You turn around quickly and nod “O-Okay I’ll go out with you” You bite your cheek and he writes his number on the cup and smiles before passing it on for your drink to be made. As you turn to walk away you feel fingertips brushing your bare abdomen and you look at Han who looks down at you and gives a small smirk. You quickly push away from him and take a seat in the corner pulling out your book.

‘The nerve of that stupid bastard and the look on his face’ you think as you read the book but you couldn’t deny the warmth your body got when he touched you. You are snapped out of your trance when your cup was brought over by Han

“Thanks” you mumble out looking at the number on the cup smiling as he takes a seat

“Someone has a secret admirer” he snickers

“So what if I do what is the problem?” You become defensive

“Easy there kitty cat” he sips his black coffee “don’t take offense to it I just would’ve done it better”

You lean back crossing your legs not believing the words that came out of his mouth

“Excuse me?” You gasped “who asked for your damn two cents”

He laughs “I decided to add to the change”

If steam could come out of your head… it would most definitely be fuming

“Oh yeah and how would you do it better?” You raise an eyebrow as he places his cup down

“I’d just bend you over” you raise your hand to stop him. You grab your cup and your book getting ready to leave

“You’re a disgusting pig” you spat at him and he licks his lips

“But I’ll be having you call me daddy very soon”

190822

It was on the ride home three days ago when I first noticed them. They could have been there weeks before without my having considered either or both. On the day I did see them, they were apart though I now feel certain working together. One, the squat older fellow sat on the back row beyond the door and facing my direction four rows away. There! And I was here just behind the operator facing the rear, trying to read my book in peace. It too is a mystery.

He wore scruffy jeans with hand-rolled cuffs, cheap imitation slip-on deck shoes without socks and a loose orange-red ombre shirt with black prints. Palm trees and pineapples I believe. He had but a few thin hairs, the jowls of a bulldog, a fat nose like a boxer and dark, beady eyes that did most of the work. He seemed particularly interested in her but didn't seem to take notice of me in the least. Thumbs for fingers, they mostly sat clenched on his lap in rounded prayer. His actual thumbs twirled away as if burning off the adrenaline of anticipation or fear or both. There was a pair of thick black frame glasses waiting in the shirt pocket. I presumed them more for distance than close work.

The other one, thin and tall sat there across the aisle from me. One row closer to and facing his cohort. His clothes were nicer though seemed somewhat out of place. I said he was thin but it was a sickly, almost terminal kind of thin. He didn't appear frail so I judged him a junky or severe alcoholic. He chain-smoked Marlboro Reds from a hard pack, stamped out the butts on the bottom of well-worn cap toed Derbies and flicked them out the open window only to retrieve another and light it with a stainless Zippo. It had a skull emblem with the American flag in it. The cover was loose and the fluid was running low.

My fingers rubbed at my lips then poked at my left pocket. I remembered my lighter was in the center drawer of my desk at home. He wore dark grey cuff-less slacks and an Oxford white shirt with the sleeves rolled just above the elbows, at least it was on the right. He had a tattoo on his right forearm but it muted to the point I never settled on what it was. I believe there may have been an anchor in it but as I said, I was left uncertain. His hair was short black but choppy in he cut it himself kind of way. Oh, his left ear was pierced. I noticed it when he looked to the window, a silver screw back and single clear stone setting. He had high cheek bones and a bridging nose.

"And Mrs. Ericksen, where was she?" the Detective asked.

She, missus did you say, I-I wasn't aware. My hand scraped at my face and consoled my chest. I knew her only as Diane and don't recall ever seeing a ring. She was always impeccably dressed, well enough I often questioned her riding a streetcar. It was queer. She seemed more a debutante than in anyone's employ. Anyway, she was here, the same row as the thin man but on my side of the aisle. With no one in the seats between us, we faced one another, her and I.

She would only sit in a forward facing seat. She said that to another one of the regulars some time back and it obviously stuck with me - Mrs. Whitney who had never learned to drive. Her husband Jack had driven her until his death in a car wreck no less. After that she began walking and using public transportation for the bulk of her travels. She too recently passed, though from natural causes as I understand it.

Though quite my junior I always held a certain affection for Diane and had multiple times sensed some interest from her. I felt she had an old soul. I could never afford to venture such a pursuit. Could you imagine.

It was a summery Spring day and she was wearing a knee length dress, white pleated skirt, large pleats with Pink Bougainvillea climbing the hem, a wide, crisp white leather belt with a flower applique buckle, pink bodice and an invisible back. She almost always wore simple round cut diamond studs of course each was bigger than a supermoon. She had a thin gold box chain with a subtle gold cross and a Faget hummingbird broach, a thin band gold watch on her right wrist, Longines I believe but no, no ring. I can't ever remember her wearing a ring, of any sort.

"I see," said the Detective.

And nylons and pink patent leather pumps, open-toed. That finished her outfit. Oh and she had a small white leather clutch with her.

"Do you recall her speaking to or with either of the men you described as suspicious?"

I'm not accusing them, just stating they seemed interested and knowing now what I didn't know then it seems so un-circumstantial. To think it was the last time I would ever see her alive. If I had only known but then how could I.

"So you have no recollection of them speaking?"

No sir I don't recall any actual conversation but there was something. The fat guy at her rear appeared to go unnoticed, oblivious to her, a trait I believe she developed in dealing publicly with her looks. She was a stunning beauty, easily could have been one of the top five models in the world in my opinion. Most of the time she seemed a million miles away in a world she created only for herself.

There wasn't anything said but I do remember at one point she looked ill-tempered in regards to the thin man. She looked around as if she was thinking of moving to another seat. I remember thinking it odd that she got off one stop before her usual departure. She seemed to be watching to see if the thin man was going to follow her. He didn't but the fat guy did get off. The thin man climbed off at the next stop and headed north, where we had come from.

"You did nothing to intervene?"

I-I didn't know, especially in the moment, I had no idea what would or could come of it. It wasn't until after that the pieces really started falling into place, hindsight being what it is. I love reading mysteries and have developed what most feel is an overactive imagination so I've learned its oft best to keep my thoughts to myself. And maybe that's all this is me imagining something that didn't happen.

"Sure, sure. I appreciate you meeting me here today. If there's anything else, I'll phone you."

I'm certainly happy to help, especially for Diane, um, missus, what did you say her married name was?

"Ericksen, Mrs. Charles Ericksen III of Ericksen Industries."

The family that owns the shipyard?

"Yes, the shipyard, a tug and barge line, barge manufacturing, rail cars, trucking lines, multiple food co-packer facilities, the largest beverage distributorship in the state and all in all, more money than the Pope."

And possibly more political power too.

"Right, so this one's being tracked with a stop watch."

Well Detective, whether it's the two I described or not, I do hope you get your killer.

"Thanks, all I have to do now is to find Laurel and Hardy."

If I come across either of them, I'll phone you straight away.

"You do that. Oh before you go maybe you could answer one more question."

I waited.

"You described the two men and Mrs. Ericksen so well, can you tell me about anyone else on the streetcar that day?"

I imagine so. I thought back to the day. George the building maintenance supervisor sat behind me, behind the operator William, they are both African Americans and friendly toward one another. They like to chat the whole way. George often brings an egg or tuna salad sandwich and a sandwich bag of Charles Chips that he shares with William. He not supposed to eat and drive at the same time but he's been doing it for so long, no one ever complains, it doesn't affect his performance. George rides all the way to the barn, the end of the line.

"Who else?"

The chatty Kathies were there that day in the seats directly across from me. They get off three stops before Diane's usual stop, seven before mine. All three are named some sort of spelling of Kathy and they all live near one another and believe it or not all three are paralegals. They work for different law firms and the chatter like hungry sparrows the whole of their ride. They typically keep the conversation at a respectful level but do occasionally get loud with a laugh or rebuff.

Old man Fine was there that day too in the front seat across from George. He had been into the city to see his wife at TMC, she was down with pneumonia, real bad from the sound of it. He was quiet with worry, his face was drench in it. He lives on the same street as me, but opposite side of the line. I thought about seeing him home but had a pressing engagement that evening. Beyond that, some college students and strangers got on and off here and there but nothing that stands out.

"What was your, how did you put it, pressing engagement?"

A retirement party for a man who was a great mentor to me most of my life.

"Ah. Good party?"

Actually, I never made it. I took to not feeling well soon after arriving home and wound up in bed early.

"That's too bad. There are far too few parties in my opinion."

Right.

"If I asked you about your ride to work the week before, would you be able to provide such detail?"

With some time to chew on it, I believe so.

"So do I Mr. Thompson, so do I."

Steve, please. Mr. Thompson is a son-of-a-bitch? The Detective snickered and shook my hand. I made my way home and cried for her and for failing her. I hoped I had provided some measure of assistance to Diane.

© 2019 Henri Jenkins

Adventure: Part 1

Pairings: John Winchester x Reader (SOA/SPN crossover)

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst

Word Count: 4,063

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jax… please let me go on this run.” You asked for the hundredth time as you sat on your shared bed watching him pack his over night bag for the annual bike show down in Arizona. “I promise, I’ll stay out of the way…”

“I said no, (Y/N)!” Your husband snapped as he shoved his shirts in his bag. “God, why can’t you just listen to me for once?” You scoffed, crossed your arms over your chest and actually started pouting as he checked the magazine of his gun and shoved it in the back of his jeans. 

“This is unbelievable, Jackson.” He rolled his eyes and flipped the top of his bag closed with a shake of his head.

“You can come with me next time.” He placated as he came over to your side of the bed and gave you a harsh kiss good-bye. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you.” You grumbled as you watched him walk out the bedroom door, yet again. It had been the same thing at least once a week, every week, for the past ten years you had been married. And it was the last time you were going to sit back and let it happen. The second your front door closed behind the man you had fallen out of love with so long ago, you lurched to your feet and started packing. 

You weren’t that girl that would just sit back while her man went off on all sorts of adventures. You were the girl that went searching for your own adventures. You were the fire house baby foster child that had bounced around the state of California since you were two days old, who started working at a grocery store the day you turned 14 so that the day you turned 16, you could put every penny you saved into a beat up, Ford Maverick. From that day on, with your GED in hand, the world was yours… until you met Jax Teller.

He and Opie had found you, fast asleep, in the back seat of your car in the lot next to Teller-Morrow one early morning after you had raided the garage for tools in a vain attempt to fix your car by yourself by the light of the street lamps. They had knocked on your open door with the wrench you had taken, and startled you so bad, you slammed your head against the low roof of your car. The two men had taken a step back and simply watched as you screamed at them for sneaking up on ‘a poor, defenseless woman like that’ and by the end of the day, Jackson Teller had found his way into your heart and you wrapped yourself around his little finger. 

The two of you did everything together; snuck out until all hours of morning to cause all sorts of trouble and disappeared for entire weekends to the club’s cabin without a word to anyone. Gemma realized quickly that having the pair of you under the same roof would lead to absolutely no good, so she had Chibs take you in just to get you out of your car. That lasted all of a week before you were sneaking into Jax’s bedroom window and he into yours. No matter how hard they tried to keep you apart, there was nothing they could do to stop you from being together. You were just north of eighteen when you got his crow across your lower back and two days after you turned nineteen, you got married. If you had known then what you knew now, you would have never said I do.

“My turn for an adventure, Jackson.” You mumbled to yourself as you pulled the tarp of your old car that was sitting in your garage. You tossed your bag of clothes in the back seat and shook your head, knowing that you were going to have only twenty-four hours to get rid of this car. You checked the stash of cash you had hidden away in the past few months in the middle console as you slid into the driver’s seat and grabbed the keys from the visor.

“It’s my Goddamn turn.”

——

“Stupid piece of shit.” You grumbled to yourself as you stood, staring at your smoking engine on the side of interstate 50 some where in Nevada. “You couldn’t even get me out of Sons territory, could you, you hunk of junk?” You sighed loudly and stood up straight. You watched yet another car drive by without stopping and shook your head. 

“You know, you would think a half dressed, twenty something in itty-bitty jean shorts and a tank top would get someones attention but noooo. They’re just gunna leave me here to die all by my lonesome.” You continued to mutter to yourself as you leaned in the driver side window and grabbed your bag from the backseat. The wad of cash, totaling a sum of just over a couple thousand dollars was shoved in your bra and you shoved your cell phone and your small purse in your backpack.

“And so the adventure begins.” You said as you grabbed your headphones and shoved them into your iPod. With a single glance back at your car, you pulled your shirt down over your tattoo and hand gun, put your bag on your back to try and keep them covered and started walking east. You only walked for an hour before someone finally pulled over and came to your rescue.

“Where you headed?” A handsome man called out as he pulled up along side you in a black GMC pick up truck. You smiled up at the older gentleman through the open passenger window and shrugged.

“No where. Just looking for an adventure.” He chuckled and nodded his head as he leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door.

“Well get in. I can take you as far east as Colorado but I’m going north from there.”

“I’ll take whatever ride I can. That’s the whole point of an adventure, right? I’m (Y/N).”

“John.” The man said as he put his truck in drive and pulled back onto the highway. “You been on the road long?” You smiled and shook your head as you glanced in the side view mirror at the life you were leaving behind.

“Been away from the road too long is more like it.” You looked over at him as he nodded his head in understanding.

“Yea… I know that feeling all too well, sweetheart.” He smiled at you as his brown eyes found yours. “Welcome home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, dinner’s on me.” You said as John pulled into the parking lot of a small diner somewhere in northwest Colorado. “Just a thanks for giving me a ride.”

“Oh I can’t let that happen, sweetheart. I got dinner.” You scoffed as you subtly grabbed your Beretta 92FS from the back of your jean shorts and leaned forward to put it in your bag; missing John’s glance over at the black ink sprawled across your lower back.

“What, do I not look like a girl that can handle herself?” You teased as you glanced over at him with a smile. He chuckled as he grabbed his wallet from the slot in the dashboard and shoved it in his jacket pocket.

“I don’t doubt you can. But I know you’re running from something and you don’t have a car or a destination in mind. You’re gunna need all the help you can get so if I can buy you dinner to help you out, I’m gunna.” You hummed and nodded your head as you put on one of Jax’s flannel shirts to keep you warm against the slight bite of cold air outside the warm truck.

“Well thanks. For everything.” He nodded at you as the two of you headed into the small diner. You grabbed a corner booth so that you could face the door; a habit you picked up from years of always having to watch your back. John watched you like a hawk as you tucked yourself into the corner of the booth and scanned the diner for any glimpse of a kutte.

“Can I ask you something personal?” He asked after you both ordered coffees and waters. You nodded as you pulled your left knee up to your chest and propped your foot up on the booth. You watched him sigh as he ran his hand across his salt and pepper scruff. “Did he beat you? Is that why you’re running?” You met his eyes and chose to play dumb.

“Who?” His face deadpanned slightly as he reached across the table and picked up your left hand. You glanced down at your wedding ring and swore softly under your breath for forgetting to leave it at home like you had wanted. You sighed as you pulled your hand back and really looked at your ring. “No. No, he wasn’t abusive.” You said with a slight shake of your head as you pulled off your ring and moved it to your other hand. You looked up at John and shrugged as your waitress set down your drinks. Once you ordered, you sighed.

“We got married when I was nineteen and we had absolutely no business doing so. Sure we loved each other but Jax was the first person that ever made me feel safe. He was the first person that gave me a reason to actually call somewhere other than my car a home. I was naïve when I said ‘I do’ but in the last ten years, I grew up and realized that the life I was in wasn’t the life I wanted. The life style he lived wasn’t where I wanted to be anymore. So I left. You know, he wanted kids? Kids. In a bikers life style? That’s just begging for trouble.”

“So you’re a biker’s wife?” John clarified, the thrill of it sort of exciting to him.

“Soon to be ex biker’s wife.” You reminded him. “All he has to do is sign the papers that I left on his pillow. Like I said, wrong life style. I mean at the same time, who am I to judge when it comes to that kinda shit though? I was a gutter rat growing up. I stole, I lied, I beat the shit out of some girl when I was seven for trying to take my blanket at the group home I was in. Hell, I wanted to join that biker life when I married into it. I wanted to prospect and get patched in. I don’t know. Maybe this is just me being butt hurt that I can’t be one of the guys or whatever. But I’m done. Done with California, done with being a wife to someone who’s never home. I wanna be back on the road and sleeping in my car. I honestly miss being a street rat.”

“Are you sure you’re not just running from your problems?” You looked up at him from the straw wrapper you had been tearing up and startled a bit.

“What?” He sighed and folded his hands on the table.

“Look, I’ve been around the block a time or two. I’ve got two kids and I’ve seen those two run from their problems left and right. Hell, so have I…” You held up two fingers to stop his sentence as the waitress set down your dinners. You gave her a small smile and waited for her to walk away before you looked back at John.

“I am running.” You said matter of factly. “From what, I’m not entirely sure. But I am running and I don’t regret that I’m running. I just… I need something more out of my life. I need…” You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders as you tried to figure out exactly what you wanted to say. “I need to find me again. I don’t know where she went but I need to find her again.”

“I get it.” He said with a nod of his head. “I get it.” He smirked at you as he picked up half of his burger. “Well shit, girl. You want adventure… I got more adventure than you could probably handle.” You smirked as you reached over and snagged one of the fries off his plate.

“Well bring it on. I’m always down for a new adventure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“OK… brunette or red head?” You asked as you held up the two boxes of hair dye. John glanced up from the thick notebook he was writing in and looked between the two boxes.

“Both.” He said as he looked back down at his book with a smirk. You sighed as you looked at the two boxes again and groaned.

“You’re supposed to be helping me.” You whined as you looked at the colors on the top of the boxes. “And picking a color is being a helpful.”

“Sweetheart, just pick one.” John groaned softly as he pulled off his reading glasses. He searched your eyes for a moment before laughing and pointing to the red color in your left hand.

“Thank you.” You said with a laugh as you set the box of brown dye down on your bag.

“You’re gunna be difficult every step of the way, aren’t you?” He asked as you ripped open the box and rummaged through the directions for the plastic gloves.

“I used to drive my husband crazy because of it. Always indecisive but at least I make driving you crazy fun.” You looked at him through the mirror by the TV with a smile as you started putting the deep red dye in your bottle blonde hair.

“Yea, I’ve known you for less than 12 hours and I already know that.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you sectioned off another part of your hair to dye.

“Hey, you could have left me at the diner. Shit, you could have left me on the side of the road. Why you are keeping me around is beyond even me.”

“Hey, you said it yourself.” John said as he looked back down at his book. “You need an adventure. I could use a little adventure in my life.”

“What, you miss the fun you had in the roaring twenties?” You teased before you dodged a bed pillow he threw at you.

“Ha ha you little shit.” He laughed as he leaned back against the headboard. “Don’t make me regret saving you.” You opened your mouth to retort at the same moment your phone started ringing in your backpack. Both you and John looked over at your bag as Jax’s custom ringtone filled the room. You couldn’t bring yourself to move in that direction to answer it and come up with a lie about what you were doing so you simply let it ring.

“You’re gunna have to answer that eventually, sweetheart.” He said as you went back to dying your hair.

“I have until at least tomorrow night before he realizes I filed for divorce. Once that happens, I’d like to be as far away from California as I can possibly get.” John nodded at you in the mirror as he went back to writing in his notebook. You let him be as you covered every inch of your hair and wrapped the strands in a wet bun on the top of your head.

“So what are you writing anyways?” You asked as he snapped his notebook closed and set it, his pen, and his glasses on the table between your two queen sized beds.

“That is a story for another day.” You nodded as you picked up the remote and turned on the little TV.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me catching a ride with you?” You asked as you flipped through the static riddled channels to find something mindless to watch.

“I’m sure. I know my friend Bobby could use the extra hand and then you’ll have more adventure than you can handle.” You smirked and glanced over at him as you draped Jax’s flannel over your lap to keep you warm until you could wash the dye out of your hair.

“Just passing off the buck. I get it.” John laughed as he toed off his boots and climbed under his blankets.

“Don’t stay up too late. I wanna get on the road early.”

“Yes sir.” You said with a nod as you turned down the volume a bit and turned off the light in the room. You heaved a sigh and looked back at the TV; not noticing John watching you in the glow of the TV.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know you can still go back.” John said softly as he watched you staring at Chibs’ caller ID picture on your cell phone later the next afternoon. He had been the only one calling you every twenty minutes for the past two hours, meaning the guys were back from their run early and Jax had absolutely seen the divorce papers. You shook your head as you forced yourself to hit the ignore button and send him to voicemail.

“I can’t.” You said softly with a shake of your head. You sighed and looked up at the hood of John’s truck with tears in your eyes. “I’m drowning out there. I can’t go back to that life.” He nodded his head as you glanced down at the beep your cell made to announce the newest voicemail. He nodded his head in understanding as he pulled into a place called ‘Singer Salvage’

“Just… know that you can always go back. You just have to ask, OK?” You nodded over at him as he stopped in front of an old, two story house between a black Chevy Impala and a tow truck. 

“Thanks, John. That means a lot.” With a nod from him, you grabbed your bag and got out of the truck. The two of you made it a couple steps toward the door before a loud shout grabbed your attention from inside the house. You and John both drew your guns (for different reasons) and headed up to the porch as the same man shouted once more.

“Bobby?” John called out over the men arguing inside as he pushed open the door and headed inside. You followed after him as the shouts finally became understandable.

“Tell us where the fucking vamps’s are, Crowley!” A younger man that you recognized as Dean from the photos on John’s dash shouted at a well dressed man standing in the middle of the book covered living room. You stumbled over your own feet and caught yourself on the door frame as the four men in the living room looked over at your slight gasp.

“Well now. What have we here?” The well dressed man with a British accent asked as he sized you up.

“Leave her alone, Crowley.” John growled as he side stepped in front of you. “Tell them what they need to know and get the hell out of here.”

“Oh, I’m much rather deal with her, thank you.”

“You’ll deal with us!” Dean growled as you looked around at the men trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

“Tell them what they need to know.” You said as you took a half step around John and looked at Crowley. “You wanna deal with me, you tell them what they wanna know.” You met the man’s deep brown eyes and waited with your gun held out in front of you. You forced yourself to hold your ground as he studied your eyes with a hungry smirk on his face. His head tilted the slightest bit to the side as his eyes trailed down from Jax’s button down over your white tank top to your blue jean clad long legs and the worn out converse you had owned since you were a teenager that were held together by super glue and duct tape.

“Where’d you come from, kitten?” He asked as he found your eyes once more but you shook your head.

“You’re not asking the questions here.” He nodded slowly as he crossed his arms over his suit clad body.

“Oh is that so. Well I don’t think I like those terms…” Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed the large bowie knife John had on his hip. With expert precision, you flung it across the room and the blade nicked Crowley’s ear before embedding into the wall behind him.

“Answer them.” You said evenly.

“And there’s that.” The older man to your left who you assumed had to be Bobby grumbled.

“Don’t. Throw things. At me!” Crowley roared as he glared at you with suddenly red eyes.

“Answer them!” You yelled once more as you cocked your gun. Crowley glared at you for another long moment before sighing the slightest bit.

“Barn, six miles north of town.” You nodded your head at him and lowered your gun the slightest bit.

“Sam, lets go.” Dean said as he headed past Crowley toward the door.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to let me out of this?” Crowley shouted at Dean’s retreating back.

“No.” All four men said as John moved to let his boys go out the door. He sighed as he looked back over his shoulder at you before looking up at Bobby.

“She wants adventure in her life. And obviously, she can handle herself.” Bobby looked back at you and studied you for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.

“Go on, help your boys. I got her.” John nodded at Bobby and pat your shoulder on his way out the door. 

“I’ll be back, (Y/N). Bobby’s better at explaining. Just… stay out of Crowley’s reach. Trust me.” Your brows shot to your hair line as you watched John head out the door quickly. You huffed a laugh as you turned and looked back at Bobby as you put your gun away in the back of your jeans.

“So, what do you got for me? Rock climbing in the Grand Canyon? Maybe white water rafting on the Ocoee?”

“Werewolves in South Carolina.” Bobby said as he moved into your eye line to see how you were going to handle the information. You stayed quiet for a moment as Crowley paced in a circle in the middle of the room.

“Werewolves.” You clarified as you looked between the two men.

“Werewolves. Look, kid. I ain’t the best one to have this talk with ‘cause I ain’t one to sugar coat it. All the shit that you see in the horror movies are real and then some. We hunt ‘em an’ kill ‘em. You stick with John or the boys and you’ll be just fine. They’re the best the hunter world’s ever seen, ain’t that right, Crowley?” You looked back over at the man who was still pacing the floor but he simply shrugged and kept walking.

“Most annoying hunters in the entire bloody universe’s more like it.” He mumbled.

“So what is he? Red eyes like that mean something freaky, right?” You looked back at Bobby as you took a half step more away from Crowley just to be safe.

“Demon. Here, read this first. It’s about as basic as I can get.” You glanced over at Bobby and took the notebook he was handing you. “And uh… sit over here. John’s right. Stay away from Crowley.”

“I’m right here!” The demon shouted as you sat down in the dust covered, single person chair Bobby was pointing at.

“OK, am I allowed to be freaking out here? This isn’t like…”

“Normal, I know.” Bobby said as he started looking at papers on his desk. “Freak out all you want, kid. But welcome to the world. Now you can either get to reading or take the keys by the door for the red hunk’a junk out front and head out. Your call but I got some stuff I could use an extra set’a eyes on.” You nodded your head slowly as your phone started vibrating in your back pocket. You took a half second to weigh the weight of the two worlds before you sat back in the chair and opened the hand written notebook that looked a lot like the one John was writing in the night before.

Part 2

Chapter Fourteen - The Beautiful Mess

sorry we didn’t post this last night, but here we are finally! @papa-chibs

thankyou so much for all the messages and likes and reblogs we’re getting! we are so happy you’re enjoying it and look forward to future chapters! we love you <3

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Xoxo

Babydoll and Lassie.

--

Three days had passed since Chibs was reuinited with his family and things were changing pretty quickly. The Scottish male had gotten back together with his estranged wife Fiona and was giving their marriage another go since there was nothing standing in the way anymore. Fiona and Kerrianne were crashing at Chibs' house as they planned on staying in Charming for a couple weeks or so. Chibs felt awful and guilty for breaking off his 'thing' with Rissa and instantly getting into a relationship with his wife. He knew she deserved so much better than that, than him... Maybe it was for the best?

Roxxie's love life had also taken a new turn recently. After having sex with Tig the other night, the pair of them could hardly keep their hands off of each other! But they made sure to do it discreetly since it was only just sex and it wasn't like they were in a relationship. Roxxie was annoyed at herself for being so interested in the crazy and sleazy biker. But man, he knew how to please her. Besides, they were only having some fun. It wasn't a big deal... When Roxxie and Tig were around people, they acted their normal argumentative and sarcastic selves, but when they were alone... Well they acted the same but with far much more sex and passion.

While her friend and ex lover's lives became fun and exciting, Rissa life was a big stupid mess. Fiona and Kerrianne had now been in Charming for a few days and everyone, except Rissa and Roxxie, were quite happy about it. Seeing Chibs happy was great... But seeing him with another woman hurt her heart every single time. Plus, Fiona was a total bitch and made it crystal clear that she didn't like Rissa. Everyone knew it. So, Rissa had decided that acting like Chibs and his family didn't exist was the best plan, that way she wouldn't cause trouble between the insane Irish women and the sweet Scotsman. The girl put on a brave face and acted like she was fine, but what she didn't realise was how much of a bad job she was doing. She didn't cry or break down like everyone assumed she would. Instead, she got blackout drunk every night, wore clothes she'd never usually wore and right now she was inside a small and surprisingly clean tattoo studio. The tattoo studio was totally not what she imagined one would be. Growing up with a snobby and judgy mother made her believe tattoos were gross and insanitary. But this plan was squeaky clean and aesthetically pleasing. "Tattoo virgin huh?" The man, who was covered head to toe in tattoos asked her with a chuckle. "Yep." Rissa replied, emphasising the 'p'. It didn't take her long to decide what she was having and where she'd get it and before she could talk herself out of it, she got prepped and ready to be inked. Rissa had picked a quote that said; "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." It's a statement to live your life without fear of judgement because your actions won't always make sense to people who don't understand the circumstances. And right now, that quote seemed very fitting. She knew that no one at the Clubhouse understood why she was drinking so much or acting different. But if she didn't put on the brave, party girl act, she'd never leave the dorm and she'd sleep as much as she could just so she didn't have to deal with her thoughts.

The man had been working on her piece for a few hours now and was just adding the finishing touches to her skin. Rissa bit down on her lip as the tattoo guy hit a painful spot on her ribcage, she was so ready for this to be over. It didn't hurt as much as she assumed but it definitely made her wince a couple times. Her prayers were answered when the man placed the tattoo gun down on a little metal table beside him. "All done beautiful." The man said, making Rissa let out a happy sigh. Rissa jumped off the tattoo table and ran over to the mirror, excited to see her first ever tattoo. Her eyes widened and she grinned as she stared at her ink. It was better than she imagined it would be. "Thanks so much, I love it." She said, looking back at the tattoo artist. The man gave her a smile. "Anything else I can do for ya?" He asked as Rissa brought out the money from her bag. "Not right now thanks, but I'm sure I'll be back." -- 2 hours later, Rissa was back at the Clubhouse and slightly drunk, which probably wasn't the best of ideas since she'd just gotten a tattoo. But try telling that to the stubborn girl and you'll get a bloody nose. People had wondered where Rissa spent her morning, especially Roxxie. She was curious as hell and a little worried since Rissa's change in behaviour was a bit all over the place at the moment. "Come on, tell me?" Roxxie whined as she poured Rissa another drink. She was stood behind the bar serving a couple of regulars. The brunette looked around the somewhat busy room. Happy and Tig were playing pool, Bobby was sat on a couch daydreaming, Jax was sat at the other end of the bar and Kozik was sat beside her. Luckily Chibs wasn't there, he was probably spending time with his witch of a wife. Rissa turned back to her friend and gave her a grin. "Right okay, i was gonna wait to tell you but.... I was at a tattoo parlor!" Rissa said with excitment in her voice. "Fuck off, no way!" Roxxie exclaimed making everyone jump. "You always said you'd never get a tattoo." She furrowed her brows, slightly suspiscious. "You have to show us? Where is it? Is it in a private place?" The older blond male said, butting into the girls conversation and winking at Rissa. Rissa smirked. "I just wake up and had the idea to get a tattoo so... That's what I did." The brunette said right before necking back the rest of her drink. "Who even are you?" Roxxie said as she shook her head, she didn't even recognise the person her bestfriend was becoming and she didn't like it. It scared her a little. "Show usssss" Kozik piped up again. Rissa stood up so everyone could get a good view, she pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her stood there in just her bra and her denim shorts. "Happy now?" She raised a brow. "Did someone say my name?" The serious bald male said from across the room, his eyes landing on the brunette. "Damn.." He muttered, staring at the girl's ink. She looked even hotter than before. Rissa sat back down, not even bothering to put her shirt back on. "Another drink please, Roxxiepops." She pushed her empty glass towards her friend. Roxxie rolled her eyes."Call me that again and i will tattoo 'I'm A Cunt' on your forehead when you're sleeping." The red head replied with a warning in her tone of voice. "You know, I think it's really cool." Kozik said as he eyed up Rissa. "Sexy even." Just as Rissa was about to reply, the Clubhouse door opened and in walked the last person she wanted to see. "Ayyy, are you all partyin' without me?" Chibs said in his thick Scottish accent. He walked over to the bar and took a seat next to Jax, deciding that he'd leave Rissa be. She deserved that at least. But once he noticed she was sat with no shirt on, drinking out of a vodka bottle and getting too close to Kozik, he felt anger and jealously rise up inside him. "I know I definitely want more now." Rissa said to Kozik, ignoring a certain male's presence. Kozik nodded. "They are addictive, once you have one there is no going back." He sipped on his drink before speaking again. "And you'd look hot as fuck with more." He teased. Rissa's lips curled up into a smirk at the blond's comment. "Tell me about yours?" She began tracing the one on his neck with her finger, leaning against his body. "Oh erm..." Kozik paused and glanced over to Chibs, who was watching their every move. "Maybe another time darlin', think we are making someone a lil jel." He whispered in her ear before getting up and walking to the pool table, making sure to give her a little wink before he did. Rissa sighed and for the first time since he had walked in, she looked over to the Scotsman. He was looking straight back at her, his face softening as he did. "Get ya shirt back on before you give one of these old men a heart attack." Roxxie said, pulling Rissa out of her little moment with Chibs and throwing the piece of clothing at her friend.. Chibs and Jax went on to have their own conversation before things got awkward. "One condition... Only if you get your butt round here and get drunk with me." Rissa gave Roxxie a sweet smile which made her laugh. Roxxie grabbed another bottle and took a seat beside her friend. "You don't have to ask me twice." She let out a laugh, maybe she could get used to this side of her friend afterall. -- A couple hours later, the red head was dancing in the middle of a couple of croweaters and bikers. She wasn't even that drunk for once! She had had a few drinks, but she was still in control of herself. Roxxie happily sung and danced along to the music, surrounded by her friends and family. Over the past few days, her mood had completely changed. Rather than constantly feeling on edge, jealous, depressed, she was actually starting to feel somewhat okay... The feeling of hands grabbing hold of her hips broke Roxxie out of her thoughts. She looked over her shoulders and saw the serious-faced bald man. Roxxie giggled and twirled around so she was facing him and then wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Roxxie and Happy danced together without a care in the world. Well that was until Roxxie caught sight of an angry Tig watching her every move. The girl's brows furrowed when noticing Tig at the other end of the room, why did he look like he was about to throw a temper tantrum? She mouthed 'what' to him, which he either didn't know how to lip-read or he just was ignoring her. Roxxie's lips curled up into a smirk when wondering if Tig's mardyness was because he was jealous. Part of her wanted to really get it on with Happy just to see what Tig's reaction would be. But the other part of her wanted to give him a piece of her soul to let him know that she only wants him... But that was only because she enjoyed having sex with him... Right?

"Hap? Can we go somewhere and talk?" Roxxie asked the bald biker, moving out of his grip. "I kinda need to talk to you?" Happy nodded and silently followed the ginger girl outside of the Clubhouse. Once they were away from the noise, Roxxie turned to him and sighed. "Um, i, uh... Fucking you was great!" Roxxie exclaimed, using her hand actions as she spoke. "It really was. You know what you're doin'..." She awkwardly looked down at her feet. "But i think that we need to cool off, y'know? The biker kept his serious facade, listening to the rambling girl. "I don't know why i'm acting as if i'm breaking up with you.." Roxxie let out an awkward laugh. "Basically, i don't want to fuck you anymore. Or kiss you.. Or flirt with you and stuff.. But it was fun being with you!" Roxxie wanted to run away and hide away forever, god this was so awkward and embarrassing. Not just because she was telling Happy she didn't want to have sex with him anymore, but because she was doing it for Tig! "That's cool." Happy said with a nod. "Let me know if you change your mind, yeah?" Before Roxxie could reply, the man turned around and went back inside. Roxxie sighed heavily and sparked up a cigarette. Man, that was cringeworthy. -- Later that night, the clubhouse was pretty much empty now. After hours of drinking, dancing and smoking, most people had left, Roxxie included. She had told Rissa she was getting tired and wanted to stay over at Gemma and Clay's. But unbeknown to her brunette friend, Roxxie had actually gone back to Tig's house. Rissa was still in the main hall drinking herself silly. She had had quite a good night... Kind of? She had hit a new level of drunk and couldn't remember half the things that had happened today.. So she just assumed she had a good night. "Drinking on ya own is no fun, you know." Kozik called to the girl, walking over to the bar and taking a seat beside her. She looked up at the man and sighed. Gosh, he was pretty. "Drinkkkkkkk with me then?" Rissa replied with a smirk. The blonde male sighed and ran a hand through his hair. How could he say no to her? "You are going to get me in trouble, girl." He chuckled, grabbing a bottle of beer. Rissa let out a small giggle, drinking from the half empty bottle of vodka she and Roxxie had started earlier in the day. "Youu ar-re reallyyyyyyyyy hotttt." She slurred, before leaning in to kiss the male. "Woah baby, you are far too drunk for this!" Kozik pulled away quickly, much to Rissa's disappointment. "I'd loved to rip your clothes off and have you all to myself, but my names not Tig and I like it when my girls know what they are doing." He joked. Rissa groaned in annoyance. Didn't he find her attractive enough or something? "C'mon, let's get you to bed." Kozik said, downing the last of his beer before putting his arms around the beautiful mess and helping to her dorm. Kozik pushed open the door and helped Rissa inside, gently placing her onto the bed. Rissa lay back as Kozik took off her shoes. She lifted up her head and looked at the man with a sad expression on her face. "Am I pretty?" A drunk Rissa managed to mumble out. The man gave her a smile and took a seat beside her on the bed. "Sugar, you are fucking stunning." He reached up and tucked her messy hair behind her ear. "Kiss me then?" Rissa's eyes closed as she spoke. She felt so undesirable after everything with Chibs. Kozik sighed, he wanted to kiss her so bad, but he'd much rather wait until she was sober to do it. He placed a small kiss on her forehead before getting up and leaving her to sleep. Once the brunette heard the door close she jumped up from the bed and hurried to find her phone. She wanted to feel loved and wanted! And she knew there was only one man who could do that... When finding her phone, Rissa dialed the number she knew all to well and waited impatiently for the person to answer her call. "Hello?" The gruff male voice on the other end said. "Do you still love me?" Was all Rissa said. "Clarrisa?" The man asked. "Tell me you still love and want me?" Tears began falling down her face when hearing him say her name. She had missed the sound of his voice. "Of course I do baby, I always will." "Then why did you hurt me so much, Elliot?!" As if she sobered up suddenly, she realised what she was doing and quickly hung up the call and threw her phone across the room. She collapsed to the floor, balling her eyes out. What had she done?! How could she have done that?! She could barely breathe, it felt like the world was caving in, it felt like she was dying! She knew that feeling very well.. She was having a panic attack. The door opened and she hoped her Scotsman had come to her rescue, but instead the arms that wrapped around her were unfamiliar, the chest her head was buried in didn't smell like whiskey and cigarette smoke. It wasn't him, It wasn't Chibs. "Hey, shush it's okay, you're okay." A voice told her. Rissa looked up at the person who's arms she was in and saw Kozik. She tried to speak but no words came out, instead she began to sob uncontrollably. She knew that her calling Elliot would come back to bite her in the ass... It was just a matter of time.

If I’m Lucky - Ch.7`Ten

Member: Ten (NCT) Genre: Angst, dark, and a sprinkle of fluff Word Count: 2,442 A/N this chapter is long and it’s been a??? month?? sorry lol -Admin Ay Warnings: profanity, talks of: body modification, drugs, weapons and sex oh my gosh this makes this chapter sound really bad but it’s not i promise

[previous chapter] ~ Ch.7`Ten ~ [next chapter]

recap:  As you had moved you had caught sight of Ten’s out of place shirt, it lifted slightly revealing a piece of his skin slightly above his hip. A black mark peaked from above his pants that you assumed to be a tattoo. 

Curiosity overwhelmed you. You tried your best to pull down his trousers to reveal the rest of it without causing Ten to wake up. Just as you had gotten a peek at the mark, a hand grabbed your wrist.

    As Ten laid in bed he traced the familiar marking on his hip over and over again. He’s had the scar for so long that he had nearly forgotten about its existence all together.

 Ten felt his lips quiver involuntarily as he spoke, “Dad, do I have to do this? Aren’t I already part of Squalo Nero by default since I’m your son? I should get a free pass or something.” Ten could feel the beginnings of sweat threatening to drip down his back as he sat in a severely uncomfortable wooden chair in the middle of the room.

His butt was starting to hurt from how long he had been sitting trying to talk his way out of his initiation. Yuta, the older man in charge of the procedure, towered over Ten’s figure as he shifted from side to side impatiently.

“Soon you’ll find out that no one gets it easy here, kid. Stop talking and get it over with.” Ten’s father’s brooding figure was planted at the door where he could easily get a view of the process. The rest of the gang lined the walls of the room observing alongside the leader. By the way his father waved him off, Ten knew that it was decided.

Yuta, after receiving a signal from Ten’s father, erected himself as he got ready to start the the branding process. Yuta sneered as he picked up the hot rod shaped as a shark. Ten tuned out the sounds of the other members mumbling insults around him. He knew that none of them liked that the boss’ scrawny fifteen-year-old son was allowed to join so easily.

Everyone had to go through the branding, no matter who it was. However, there were more...physically demanding trials to the initiation. Sometimes you had to withstand a beating from fifteen different men at once. Sometimes you were whipped six times in the back. If you were a woman, you were given the option to sleep your way into the gang.

Ten acknowledges that he indeed had a handicap.

Yuta eyed the instrument in his hand with one of the most sadistic smiles Ten had ever seen on a man. “This’ll hurt you more than it will hurt me, squirt.”

Lifting up the soft material of Ten’s shirt, Yuta hummed a soft rendition of a children’s song.

All Ten remembered after that was the heat gradually moving closer to his skin before he passed out.

    The faint knock on his bedroom door interrupted Ten’s memories of the past. He knew before humming an invitation to come in that it was you on the other side.

“Hey, you’re pretty good at school stuff, right?” You inquired as you plopped onto the edge of Ten’s bed, disrupting the previous quiet of the room.

“I guess, but how did you get in here?”

You giggled, “We do this every week, Ten. I picked the lock.”

“At least tell me you locked the door behind you.” Ten groaned. You had a habit of forgetting to do so.

“Don’t be a bitch, I doubt anyone would care enough to break in and hurt that pretty little face yours.”

Ten felt his mouth threaten to form a smile. Although there were definitely people out to get him, your teasing tone somehow made that reality disintegrate into the air.

“But yeah, I did. Anyway, could you help me study later? I’m lacking in a few subjects.”

Ten rolled his eyes as he spoke, “Maybe if you weren’t always slacking off during your free time your GPA would be higher.”

You gasped in mock offense, “Excuse you, but you’re lying if you were never tempted to click on one of those twenty minute vine compilations.”

Ten let himself release a breathy laugh.

“When do you want to get together then?”

“How about tomorrow at my place since we both don’t have class?” You prodded Ten’s covered knee with your finger as you awaited Ten’s reply.

“Why not just do it here?”

“Wendy and Doyoung aren’t gonna be there and my room is actually clean for once. I wanna show off, okay?”

Ten only shrugged, which was enough for you to pop up from your position on the bed.

“Great, be there at three!”

Ten watched as you zoomed out of his room and out the apartment room. As soon as he heard the sound of the door slamming behind you, a muffled ring sounded from the drawer of his bedside table. Ten huffed as he pulled the black burner phone out. A familiar number sprawled out onto the small screen.

“Yes, Dad?” Ten answered, all previous lightness in his voice gone.

“Be at the main building at nine. There’s a meeting.”

Ten didn’t bother to answer back, the gruff command from his father punctuated with the beep of the ended phone call. Squalo Nero didn’t consist of a single building, as it was too dangerous. Small buildings scattered around the city, each of which specializing in the different branches of the gang. The abandoned storage facility that Ten was in charge of was only for the drug trade. Other buildings worked with selling illegal weapons, member training, the sex industry, and so on. However, the main building that his father resided in was a good hour away, serving as a meeting place for all those in charge, this including Ten.

Ten glanced at his clock, the bright red numbers irritating his eyes. Classes started in an hour. Ten groaned as he forced himself to go back to sleep. Morning classes were a bitch.

    When Ten had knocked on your apartment door the next day, he was met with Wendy’s shorter figure in the doorway.

Wendy shifted uncomfortably, “Hey.”

Ten nodded, “Hello.”

Before Wendy could question him you appeared behind her.

“Oh, Ten! Come in! You’re like ten minutes late.”

Ten decided to ignore both your shit-eating grin and the obvious joke you were trying to make as he pushed his way inside past Wendy.

“Well, I’ll leave y’all two alone. Y/n, please do not burn the place down.”

“That only happened once!” A laugh caught in Ten’s throat as he heard the the defensive pitch in your voice.

“Yeah, well make sure that doesn’t turn into twice.” Wendy signified the end of the conversation with the slam of the door as she stepped out.

Ten allowed himself to observe the room as you muttered curses under your breath. Despite the similarity of build of you and Ten’s apartments, they both gave off different auras. There was a worn out ikea couch in the middle of the living room, across from it a small tv. Soft lamps and other decorative lights littered the room. On the polished wooden coffee table layed a couple of photos of the trio of friends that occupied the apartment.

Your apartment was warmer than his. The colorful personalities of the three dripping all over the room, in contrast to the lonesome black that was Ten’s.

“My room is on the left over there,” you jerked your head towards a door decorated with stickers and a big sign with your name on it, “Go put your stuff in there.”

When Ten finally settled his things and emerged from your room, he spotted you hunched over the island in small kitchen area. Ten slipped behind you, observing as you placed an array of snacks on the table.

With a sudden spark of playfulness, Ten slowly reached over your shoulder, hoping to alarm you. He smirked as the effort proved successful, you jumping and placing a hand over year heart like a middle-aged woman.

You hissed, “Can you maybe not do that?”

Ten smiled as he reached for a cheese cube you had dropped in the moment, popping it into his mouth.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Ten cooed at your exasperated demeanor. You pouted, choosing to throw a handful of grapes into your mouth instead of giving into Ten’s taunting.

Rather than resorting to mindless chatter, you stayed silent, picking at the foods on the kitchen island. Ten relished in the comfortable silence that hung in the air.

After several days of contact with you, Ten had gotten used to your talkative ways. It had gotten to the point to where he would go so far as to say that he missed it late at night while he floated through his empty apartment. Then, the yearning for your voice to hold the place of the ringing silence in his ears evolved into the desire to have you fill the space next to him. Your presence at this point was enough.

How you managed to insert yourself into his life and get him this comfortable around you, he wasn’t sure, but he would blame it on your persistence.

Munching on a few crackers, Ten stretched his body, not bothering to think about how his shirt lifted over his stomach until he noticed the frown that crawled onto your face. The brand was in such a visible place, he should have known to wear a clothes with better coverage.

Just as you had cleared your throat, the sound of the front door opening cut through the tense smog that occupied the room.

Ten could visualize your ears perking up as you recognized the obnoxious laughter following right after.

“Doyoung?” You asked as you maneuvered to get a better view of the front door. Ten followed you, peeking over your shoulder to see the unexpected company.

“I thought you said you’d be out with...Jaehyun?” Your your question faltered as soon as said man stepped through the door.

Doyoung sighed, “Well, yeah, cancelling of plans. Jae here got us kicked out of the arcade.”

Jaehyun, who had stayed frozen since meeting eyes with Ten, spluttered as he tried to gather a response.

“I-- uh, yeah. A parent...didn’t exactly enjoy me shoving their kid during laser tag.”

You suppressed a laugh as you spoke, “You should get that aggressiveness of yours checked.”

“It was an accident! And he looked big for a eight-year-old alright.”

Doyoung chuckled as he pecked Jaehyun on the cheek. “I love you.” Ten, had he not been preoccupied with the current situation, would have taken the time to acknowledge the fond tone in his voice with a look of distaste.

“By the way, Jaehyun, this is Ten. He’s a friend of mine. Ten, this is Jaehyun, Doyoung’s boyfriend if you couldn’t guess.” You waved your hands between the two as you went on with introductions.

The fact that Ten had known Jaehyun for about a year already stuck to the tip of his tongue as he smiled enough to not be suspicious.

Errors that had let up to this meeting flipped through Ten’s memories like a children’s book.

Maybe if he had talked his way out of helping you the day of your first encounter. Maybe if Ten hadn’t let you inside his home when you were locked out of your own. Maybe if Ten hadn’t gotten so dangerously comfortable around you.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to meet one of his rookie underlings outside of Squalo Nero in such an unguarded state.

Now, since Ten was under the stares of both you and Doyoung, he would have to deal with Jaehyun as subtly as possible. This opposed to his normal method of an icy scowl and a fleeting threat that would guarantee no information of his private wearabouts floating around if he did it right.

Jaehyun sucked in a deep breath before holding out an unsure hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Ten’s eyes flickered from the hand and back to Jaehyun’s face.

“Likewise.”

Ten pivoted towards your room, patting your shoulder before walking in. “I’ll go ahead and start studying.”

    The study session lasted an hour before either of you said anything, a stiff air accompanying the both of you as you worked. You wanted to say something. Ten could see it from the way you fidgeted, stealing glances of him from across the room.

“I know you want to ask.” Ten gave in, tired of your hesitance.

You choked as Ten met your eyes, catching you during your attempts to peek at him again.

“I mean…” You tensed, not sure if you should continue. Ten tried urging you on quietly with the raise of his eyebrows.

“What’s the marking, Ten?” The question flew out of your mouth like a puff of air.

Ten sighed. As aware as he was that this conversation would happen, he wasn’t necessarily ready.

“It’s a branding,” he lifted his shirt for you to see, “Of a shark.”

Papers rustled as you crawled over to Ten to get a better look. You reached out towards the marking, waiting for Ten’ approval before touching it.

Your hands were cold, the gentle nature of your fingers against Ten’s skin feeling foreign to him. A shiver ran through Ten’s body as you traced around the plain shape.

“Why do you have it?”

Your eyes peered through Ten’s soul, disassembling every evasive answer Ten had prepared.

“It was for...an initiation.” Ten heard his voice crack as the sound of Jaehyun and Doyoung’s laughter erupted through the walls. You hadn’t wavered at the interruption, instead halting the movement of your fingers around Ten’s hipbone as you spoke.

“Are you part of a gang?”

Ten could have attempted to give you an unconvincing response.

“No, I just thought the design was cool. When I looked up it was apparently associated to some gang...wild, am I right?”

Except, everyone knew who Squalo Nero was. Practically the most influential group of organized crime in the area, their dirty hands controlled the streets. Schools and parents alike had to keep rash teens from associating with gang activity. None officially joined, but many took part in petty crime in the name of Squalo Nero, spray painting the black shark symbol on trains and the like.

“Yes.”

You sighed, resting your head on Ten’s shoulder. Ten considered himself excellent at reading others. It was a quality he needed for his job. Now, however, he found himself unable to read you. The different possibilities of your reaction ran through his head, waiting for you to say something.

“Why?” The question came out quiet. Nervous.

Ten was just as nervous, maybe even more so. He wondered why you still sat next to him after he had confirmed your suspicions. Most people, he would think, would peel themselves away from him in an instant. Most people would become scared of him. Most people would turn around and call the police as soon as possible. But you didn’t.  

A dangerous attraction

Anonymous said: “Hey! Can I request a bad boy jooheon au? I reaaly love your writting❤”

A/N: This is just an introduction(?), I guess to a multi-part series (save me I keep doing series after series for Jooheon but I can’t resist). This was such an interesting request/prompt, because even though Jooheon is an established soft-dimple-boy and aegyo king, I forget how badass he can actually be (just listen to some of his solo songs lol). ((Titles, omg someone help me with titles. Pretty sure this one has been used over and over again for heaps of fics but I cannot, for the life of me, come up with good titles))

Bad-boy!Jooheon | Angst(?) | 1367 words

You inhale sharply as you let go of the handlebars, praying that the bicycle you’re riding will stay upright. It does, and you continue pedaling, holding your arms out at your sides. You had almost forgotten what this feels like. Freedom - freedom from responsibilities and deadlines. Freedom from traffic jams and the bustling city life. You are visiting your hometown for a few weeks, taking a well-deserved and much needed break from your stressful office job. Although your hometown is not as large and loud as the main city, it isn’t as quiet as a rural village either. After all, it is just half an hour away from the central business district. Like the big city, it still gets crowded and loud at times, and crime is still very much a thing. But you like to think of it as otherwise - an escape from the repetitive and mundane city life.

You are staying at your parents’ place during your stay, and you had just arrived the night before. You had barely finished unpacking your things this morning when your mother sent you out on your first delivery. You don’t mind, however, as riding around town on a bike and getting to meet new people was better than staying at home the whole day, watching re-runs of daytime dramas. Your parents own a local pharmacy, and your father makes deliveries to customers who are not well enough to go out and get their own prescriptions. Today, straight after eating breakfast, your mother had told you to “Go out and take the bike for a spin. Get some fresh air and sun” and take on your father’s job for the day. So, off you went. 

It is just after 2 pm, and you have just finished your last delivery for the day. You decide to ride around town and visit some old spots you and your friends used to hang out at. You ride your bike downhill to one of the more secluded and older parts of the town. Your heart starts to race as a familiar old building comes into view. The ‘meat mill’ was what you and your friends used to call it. It used to be a meat processing plant, but it was shut down a few decades ago because they found hordes and hordes of rats in the walls, and rat droppings in the minced beef they used to process and distribute. It was a prime meeting location for you and your friends. Although you could not get inside the actual building itself, (it is boarded up pretty securely) you and your friends would climb the still intact fire escape and would spend hours on the roof, just doing what stupid teenagers would do. You smile to yourself as you reminisce on the conversations you had, and you blush as you remember your first kiss - sitting on top of that rusted roof and underneath the light of a waxing moon.

You ease the bike to a stop as you near the building, clamber off, and walk it around to the side of the building where the fire escape is. You lean the bike against the crumbling brick wall, and tug on the first metal rung of the fire escape. Yup, still stable. You hoist yourself up and climb the partially rusted rungs one by one, silently praying that the old metal ladder will take your weight. Your prayers seem to work, and you eventually make it to the roof. 

You grin as you take in the view. You can see the tops of houses and stores, and the distant skyline of the city. You’re about to sit down on the corrugated metal when you notice all the empty beer cans and cigarette butts, spread out all over the roof. You let out a small ‘tsk’ as you kick a nearby can away from you. You didn’t mind the generation of teenagers after you making use of the mill, but they could at least take better care of it. You walk along the roof, stepping carefully around the cans and the butts. You decide that after your deliveries tomorrow, you would take a garbage bag and a pair of disposable gloves with you, and give the roof a little clean-up. The old mill deserved better. 

You’re about to turn around and head down the ladder again when you hear the corrugated metal creak behind you. You spin around, ready to give a small scolding to the delinquent that left this place in a mess. Your mouth closes instantly when you see the person who has just joined you on the roof. A shock of silver hair frames his pale face, and he has multiple piercings on both his ears. He’s wearing a black shirt, distressed jeans, and combat boots that look like they’ve actually been through combat. What is the most striking about him is his arms. They’re covered in vibrant and intricate tattoos that must have taken hours and hours of patience and high pain tolerance to finish. The main tattoo on his left arm is that of a hornet, somewhat stylized with bold colors and bold lines. On his right arm are two thick, black lines diagonally intersecting each other at their centers. It looks like an ‘X’. The ‘X’ is surrounded by smaller tattoos of brightly colored roses and thorns. You give an involuntary gasp, surprised at both the tattooed man’s presence and appearance. He looks to be around your age, but it seems like he’s already been through rougher years.

You gulp before you speak. “Is this your mess?”

He says nothing to you, and you can’t tell if he’s glaring at you, or if he just looks naturally mean.

You clear your throat. “You know, you really shou-”

“Get out of here.” His voice comes out aggressive and commanding. You almost take a step back, suddenly struck speechless by his hostility.

You try to speak again. “I-”

“Are you fucking deaf?” he demands, taking a step towards you. This time, you actually do move back. “I told you to get out of here.”

You’re paralyzed, terror making your blood freeze. There is something about him - something in his voice, in the way he stands, in the mean glint in his eyes - that tells you that if you don’t take him seriously, you are going to regret it. He watches you as you edge your way around him to the fire escape. Without taking another look at him, you climb down the ladder, your hands shaking. You surprise yourself when you make it to the ground without incident. You get on your bike as quickly as you can, your feet pedaling faster than they ever have before. You ride a few dozen meters away from the mill, and you decide that you’re at a safe enough distance to stop and take a look back. You see the man, standing on the edge of the roof, his silver hair and bright tattoos clearly visible against the mid-afternoon sky. You’re already far away from him, but you swear you can feel the bloodlust emanating from him. 

You get on your bike again and ride back home without stopping, taking a few detours that you think are unnecessary, but make you feel safer. You make it home, panting and sweating. As you wheel the bike to the back of the house, dozens of thoughts race around your mind. Who was that guy? Did anyone else know about him? And how could he strike so much fear into you with just a few words?

You make a resolution as you put your bike back into the shed. You are going to go back to the mill tomorrow. Is it dangerous? Yes. Is it stupid? Definitely. Is there any chance of you getting hurt? Almost certainly. But there was something else about the man that draws you to him. He made your heart race, not just with fear, but with a sort of… excitement. You grin to yourself as you head back to the house. Oh, this is definitely going to be more interesting than your daily city-life activities. You’re sure of it.

Character Chart

Character’s full name: Kit Aleksovich Yelchin Character’s nickname: to be determined Reason for nickname: to be determined Birth date: March 23rd, 1992

Physical Appearance

Age: 25 How old does he/she appear: 25 Weight: 148 lbs Height: 6′2″ Body build: slight, slender Shape of face: round Eye color: blue Glasses or contacts: none Skin tone: pale Distinguishing marks: tattoo over left shoulder blade. small, round scar on thumb-forefinger webbing on right hand. Predominant features: none that stand out Hair color: light brown / dark blond Hairstyle: very short, nearly to the scalp Voice: low, quiet Overall attractiveness: average, plain Physical disabilities: none Usual fashion of dress: something simple and nondescript, jeans & a plain t-shirt, a dark jacket, dark boots. usually also a beanie of some kind. Favorite outfit: a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Jewelry or accessories: none

Personality

Good personality traits: resourceful, adaptable, adventurous, daring, hardworking, intuitive, organized, self-reliant Bad personality traits: abrasive, anxious, asocial, cynical, dishonest, impulsive. paranoid, possessive, reactionary Mood character is most often in: Kit spends most of his time being pretty convinced everything about his life is about to blow to pieces all over again, leaving him feeling paranoid. Years of doing his job and doing it well, however, has taught him how to hide this feeling. However, he would be very, very unsurprised (albeit crushed) if his secret got out. Sense of humor: dry humor, anti humor, sarcasm Character’s greatest joy in life: Kit finds it difficult to slow down and enjoy his life, but the time he spents with Luka ranks high on the list. He tries not to put too much weight on that, though, because after the loss of his parents he learned to detach a little from people. Outside of Luka, he takes a lot of joy in running, in smoking the most pretentious cigarettes in the world (lucky strikes, obviously), and winning. Character’s greatest fear: His greatest fear is being found out. This means a lot of things. Kit is afraid of his Big Secret(tm) being found out, he’s afraid his sexuality will be found out, he’s afraid his deep seeded inner fear will be found out. Basically, Kit’s biggest fear is every lie he’s ever told being paraded out in front of him, and at this point in his life there’s very little out of his mouth that isn’t a lie. Why?: Because he’s afraid of losing Luka, he’s afraid of losing the new place he discovered in society, he’s afraid of everything about him being nonredeemable. What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: being outed as a spy for the Rosteks. Character is most at ease when: he’s running. it doesn’t matter where, why, or from what. Most ill at ease when: he’s forced to sit still for too long. Enraged when: he sees people being cruel to animals, children, or Luka. Depressed or sad when: he is reminded of his parents, of his place in the world, or of the reality of the world around him. Priorities: His priorities differ depending on the day. There are days when his main priority is the Rosteks and what information he can give to them, then there are days when his main priority is the Lesyas and keeping the few friends he has made there safe. However, this is all just a convoluted way of saying that he is always his number one priority. Whatever path is the one of least resistance seems to be the one Kit takes. Life philosophy: he’s 25, he doesn’t have one. If granted one wish, it would be: freedom from the Rosteks v Lesyas war Why?: because then there would be no reason for him to be a spy, or for the lies, or for the secrets, and things would be a lot simpler. However, if given the opportunity to answer this question himself, he’d say “a real philly cheesesteak, because you cant get them in Moscow.” Character’s soft spot: Luka. his 3 legged cat, три (3). Is this soft spot obvious to others?: No. Well, maybe yes about три. Greatest strength: Kit is adaptable, above all else. He can learn to deal with any situation. His adaptability has led to him being a survivor. He doesn’t fear death. Greatest vulnerability or weakness: His lack of ability to relate or connect with people is a weakness. It assists some in his ability to be adaptable, because he doesn’t need anyone around to survive, but it also leaves him very isolated and lonely at times. Without those connections, his decisions become more irrational and reckless, as he doesn’t think about anything but himself. Biggest regret: his cowardice Minor regret: minor regrets are pointless, he’s done what he’s had to do to survive. Biggest accomplishment: He managed to move up the ranks and be trusted as a spy, he’s well paid, and he lives on his own. Minor accomplishment: not punching people in the face on a regular basis. Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: Any time he had been outed as a spy. Character’s darkest secret: his true allegiance, or his desire to switch sides Does anyone else know?: the rest of the rosteks, no

Goals

Drives and motivations: survival, to be seen as “good” in the end, to make his parents proud Immediate goals: to provide the rosteks with relevant information on the lesyas, to earn money Long term goals: to survive, to eventually be able to flee the city and travel the world, possibly to have the guts to switch sides How the character plans to accomplish these goals: finding his voice, his balls, and waiting for the right time. How other characters will be affected: the rosteks will be betrayed, but ultimately fine without him. his lack of personal connections makes this a non-issue for him. however, he fears what it will do to Luka, or to Luka’s opinion of him.

Past

Hometown: Moscow, Russia Type of childhood: pleasant, loving, safe, protected Pets: none, mother was allergic to everything First memory: his first solid memory is driving in the car with his parents to see the lights of the city around the holidays, but he has brief glimpses of his father shaving, his mother pin curling her hair, the smell of pancakes in the morning, a feeling of peace. Most important childhood memory: his mother and father’s constant reassurance that everyone is absolutely, unequivocally equal. Why: because this forms the basis for his betrayal. he’s betraying himself, his parents, their teachings. sure, he’s betraying the lesyas and wants to betray the rosteks but before that he’s betraying himself and his past. Childhood hero: Zanjeer the Labrador Dream job: ice cream truck driver Education: left senior school at age 15 and never went back Religion: non-practicing orthodox Christianity Finances: middle class

Present

Current location: Moscow, Russia Currently living with: no one Pets: one cat Religion: agnostic Occupation: in order to maintain his cover story with the lesyas, he works as a cashier in a convenience store, however his true occupation is a Rostek spy. Finances: he appears to be lower class, but has a lot of money thanks to his true occupation as a Rostek spy

Family

Mother: Nadya Ivanova Yelchina Relationship with her: Kit loved his mother. She kept him safe, made him feel loved, and always did her best to raise him the right way. She was often his best friend and the first person he turned to when he had any kind of issue. Father: Vladimir Yelchin Relationship with him: the relationship here was a little more strained, probably because Kit and Vladimir were very similar. When he was very young, things were normal, but when he got a little older his own attitude started to come forward so they started to butt heads. Siblings: None Relationship with them: n/a Spouse: None Relationship with him/her: n/a Children: None Relationship with them: n/a Other important family members: Tatiana ‘Ana’ Aleksovna Yelchina, Marko Aleksovich Yelchin

Favorites

Color: blue Least favorite color: orange Music: pop, hip-hop Food: french fries Literature: anything george orwell Form of entertainment: movies Expressions: “shut the fuck up.” Mode of transportation: running Most prized possession: his dad’s zippo lighter and his mom’s prayer rope

Habits

Hobbies: card games, dice games, games of chance Plays a musical instrument? no Plays a sport? no, but would kill it at track and field How he/she would spend a rainy day: reading, watching movies, cooking, anything that he can do while also doing 2 other things   Spending habits: he spends lightly and keeps all of his rostek earnings in a tin below his bed. Smokes: no, bad for the lungs Drinks: occasionally Other drugs: occasionally What does he/she do too much of?: lying, eating sweets What does he/she do too little of?: self care, relaxing, sleeping Extremely skilled at: lying, pick pocketing, running fast Extremely unskilled at: sitting still, anything that requires a great deal of fine motor skills, walking in a straight line, not falling down Nervous tics: lip biting, leg bouncing, nail picking, skin picking, hair pulling (which is why he keeps it so short) Usual body posture: just slightly slouched Mannerisms: he pinches the bridge of his nose a lot Peculiarities: he’s a very slow typer, he still only hunts and pecks with one finger.

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? realist Introvert or extrovert? introvert Daredevil or cautious? daredevil Logical or emotional? both, depending Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? methodical and neat Prefers working or relaxing? always has to be moving Confident or unsure of himself/herself? appears confident Animal lover? yes

Self-Perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself: he’s not a fan of himself. One word the character would use to describe self: liar One paragraph description of how the character would describe self: “I’m, like, you know. I’m just a guy. Not a particularly good guy. I mean, okay, I guess I’m kind of a bad guy. I lie a lot. I don’t regularly hurt people that I like but when the truth comes out they might be hurt beyond repair. I’m not worth much, honestly, I’m just here to survive.” What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? his ability to survive What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? his cowardice What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? blue eyes What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? too skinny How does the character think others perceive him/her: quiet, controlled, even tempered What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: he’d want to be brave

Relationships With Others

Opinion of other people in general: he tries to keep away from other people, but he generally sees everyone as just doing what they have to do to survive Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? yes Person character most hates: tbd Best friend(s): luka, tbd Love interest(s): Luka Person character goes to for advice: tbd Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: tbd Person character feels shy or awkward around: tbd Person character openly admires: no one Person character secretly admires: Luka Most important person in character’s life before story starts: Luka After story starts: Luka?? tbd

Name: Setirasuri (Halsted Shen)(Pharos)

Meaning of Name: Seti:"of Set", which indicates that he was consecrated to the god Set (also termed "Sutekh" or "Seth"), Ra: Sun , Suri: Red rose/ Halsted: place of shelter, Shen: “Tooth” “ivory” “change” "god" "deity" "spirit" / Pharos: the name of an island (now a peninsula) lying off Alexandria; the name of the lighthouse at the eastern end of the island; a lighthouse

Nickname(s): Seti,

Age: 19-35

Birthday/Time/Place:  March 6,  Around 3000BC, Egypt

Species/Nationality:  Human, Ancient Egypt

Accent: No

Language spoken:  Egyptian(Coptic form), Afro-Asiatic languages, English,

Powers:

Earth Manipulation

Weaknesses/Illness/Allergies:  No known weaknesses outside of typical human ones, Dyscalculia, Type 1 Diabetes, Bronchial adenoma, Pyromania, Bipolar, No known allergies, Weakened immune system

Pet: A ton of cats at the abandoned temple to keep him company, especially when Husani chains Seti there

Occupation:  Youngest Prince, Exiled, Wanderer

Faceclaim: Rami Malek

Description: Scarred neck, Scars from being shot by arrows, Burn scars, Scars from getting scratched/bitten by Humanoid/larger creature.  Hair color is light brown, with a reddish brown tent , that is ear length. Seti’s eyes are an emerald green color. Several birthmarks. No Tattoos.

Outfit/Accessories/Jewelry: Neck Bands. Upper left arm band. Upper right arm band. Rings on left hand.  Rings on right hand. Second band on left arm. Third band on left arm. Ring given to him by Sean O’Hare.  Bracelet on Right wrist. Bracelets on both arms. Bracelet on left wrist. Bracelets on both arms. Worn on ankles. Worn on the feet. Warn on the fingertips. Seti in his Main Verse will usually wear next to nothing, or thin, airy soft fabrics. In a verse set in Modern times he would wear all sorts of colors, t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, he would be adventurous. Seti likes to wear stuff, jewelry can pretty much be found on most of his body parts, in his main verse. In a modern verse he wouldn’t wear too much like he would in his main, he would wear all sorts of bracelets, necklaces and some rings though. They wouldn’t be as flashy as in main, more earthy or Hippie like. In his main verse he could be viewed as extremely flashy at time, mostly pointing out his princely, royal, status. Though he is more so treated like an object and a lot of things are also just given to him.  In a modern verse it’s all more down played, casual clothing. Probably a few magical items he’s come across. Some of them look like normal jewels, and such. A lot of the things he wears, the artifact, The ring Sean gave him. Seti carries around a bag that he has his trinkets in and extra jewelry. Some scrolls, some with spells, or just for reading. A lot of things with text. Usually oils, which he massages himself with often. He bathes a lot as well, mostly for enjoyment, and not so much for grooming. His clothes are all well made, considering where he lives. And the time in which he lives in. Thin breathable fabrics that, at the bare minimum would cover up from the hip to the knee, Survival item, Small little trinkets, Interesting rocks, Pieces of jewelry,

Height: 5′10″

Weight: 133

Body Build: Slim

Backstory/Background:

Past

Seti was born in the Kingdom of Lower Egypt, to the kind and queen that ruled there. Seti was the youngest born to his parents, who had already had several other children, both boys, and girls. He was treated well by his parents like any of his other siblings when he was younger. He was made to train alongside his brother and had been expected to work just as hard as the older male. Though Seti had no interest in these things as a child. He would rather explore than be stuck inside all day learning out to wield a weapon of some sort.  Seti had noticed early on that he would probably never become the pharaoh and so had aspired to do something else that had nothing to do with that. He wished to make a name for himself.

As a young prince, he would often go out to the popular locations in his kingdom and associate with the locals. At first, he would play with the children around his age. Before a guard would come around and pick him up in the evening at his mother's request.  Seti would at times even stay home and toy around with an instrument or read when he was unable to leave his palace.  Which wasn't so bad, even though he would rather be out getting some fresh air. Eventually, his father had started to crack down on all the children's training. When the upper and lower Kingdoms were beginning to butt heads with one another. His father wanted to be sure that if something were to happen his children would defend themselves properly.

When he was only twelve years old his mother had gotten sick with a mysterious illness. Seti would visit with her most of the days leading up to her untimely death from the strange illness. Her death had hit the entire family harder than they had expected. Which had drawn them apart from each other as each one of his elder siblings would go off and have their own lives to try and ignore the pain of losing their mother. His father had almost completely shut himself away. Seti would often wander the halls of his palace home for hours, but after his mother's death, it felt like there was a much more sorrowful atmosphere to every inch of the palace. Especially when he would get memories of her walking a hall to meet with him, his sisters or brothers at her side.

The fighting with The Upper Kingdom of Egypt had grown into a full on war around this time as well. Which had caused more stress for both his family and the rest of the Lower Kingdom.  Seti had been walking around at night when he was around fourteen years old. His sisters and brothers had been married off to others by then leaving only him in the palace with his father, as well as guards. Most nights anyway. Seti had heard a noise across the layout which he ran toward and walked onto a scene of men garbed in dark clothing. One had grabbed him before he could move to run away, holding him tightly against their body as they moved in closer toward their target. Seti quickly had realized what was about to happen but before he could shout anything and alert the guards that hadn't already been killed by the assassins he was stabbed in the throat and tossed to the ground and left gasping for air.

One of the last few things he could remember was the sound of his gasping breathes as the men made their way toward the Pharaoh's rooms. His hand reaching out as he still attempted to cry out to warn his father or the guards of the intruders. But after a few minutes, he passed out. The next time he woke up he realized he was not in the same area he was before. His second eldest brother standing over him smirked and said something, but no sound had come from the others mouth. Trying to speak he made a wheezing noise which got the others attention. His brother knelt down and ran a hand over his chest before roughly grabbing onto his jaw and jerking it up to look at something. Seti's eyes had scanned the room and found the bloodied body of his father and then his brother's words started to filter into his ears. His brother had planned to pin his father's murder on him.

Days later Seti was chained up in a cell under the palace. Where his eldest brother had ordered him to remain until they could get him a proper trial. Seti, unable to speak, was unable to defend himself and having been set up had no evidence to support he wasn't the one to kill his father. And probably even plan the murder of the rest of his family members. But his elder brother took some pity on Seti's attempts to plead. On the day the trial was carried out Seti had been allowed to live. But that he would be exiled from the kingdom and his royal titles stripped.

Present

These days Seti wanders from place to place with a brand on his neck pointing out his being exiled from the lower kingdom. Though sometimes he does return to his kingdom to bargain and meet with old friends. Which his elder brother has allowed so far.  His second eldest brother has been laying low since that day. But Seti knows the other is planning on doing something. With the wars still going on between the Upper and Lower Kingdoms, he believes his second oldest brother is waiting for the war to end before making a move. But without any proof and being mostly hated by his own people Seti has no way of confirming these things and getting people to believe him would be a miracle.

Seti now lives just outside the upper kingdom of Egypt where no one knows him all that well, or at least that he is the exiled prince from the lower kingdom. But through Seti's travels, he has been hearing a story recently. One that says there's a powerful object that if found could grant some ancient gifts to its wielder and would be the true heir to all of Egypt.  Seti has since grown far too curious and a story or not, his adventurous nature forbids him from just dropping it from his mind. Which has led to the young male preparing for his excavations and the journey across all of Egypt's to find something that's probably not even real. He figures it a far better time to spend on his life than sulking over things he can really see being repaired, as far as his family is concerned. So why not waste time on a hopeless endeavor?

Future

                  ___________________________________________

(The Sean O’Hare Future) As he was wondering one day he had found a stranger, some might even say, spooky and eerie forest. It had just appeared on day out in the middle of the sandy barrens that he had been wondering at that point in time. As he trekked through the woods a figure appeared out of his view. Taking this time he tried to sneak quietly to the tree tops. Aiming his bow at the mysterious figure then he gave a warning to the creature, seeing it as nothing more than a human at the time. Though as the person neared ever closer he shot a warning shot toward the person.

It was in the following moments, when the person appeared beside him and seemed almost as mystified with him as Seti had been with them. They introduced themself as Sean O’Hare. Injured however in their encounter Sean escorted the wounded Seti to their Carrot colored home in what they had called...Wonderland. A mythical place, one that Seti of course had never heard of before Sean had brought it up, despairingly. As it would seem, many people from his home world did not believe in such a thing as ‘Wonderland’

Once magically healed up at Sean’s the pair started growing closer as Sean had, for some reason, forgot that Seti might need to go home, back to his world. It however was never brought up by either. As months went by the pair grew closer, becoming more than just friends and eventually had fallen in love. With this turn of events Sean had went to go find a ring that would remind Seti of ‘home’ in Egypt. Bringing back an engagement ring that had resembled the Eye of Horus.

Though the morning after this Seti had switched genders to that of a females. Sean proceeded to then sway Seti to have sex with him while they figured out how to change Seti back. As it was not yet known at the time that the ring Sean had given Seti had caused the sudden change. Though with this Seti had become severely emotional over the situation. Which left Sean and Seti to having an argument, Seti then ran off, leaving Sean pouting at home. As he was walking to get a breath of fresh air he ran into one of Sean’s old friends, a man known as Darius. Who had also been known as “The Hatter” It seemed, as well.

With the offer of tea Seti went with Darius to the others home, feeling that the other, knowing Sean, might not be too horrible of company. Though while there Darius had taken advantage of the situation, drugging Seti with the tea. From their most of the following events had become very hazy to Seti. Up until he murdered Darius with his plant manipulations, using vines to do so. As well as injuring Sean in the process who had been in the process of an argument turned fight with Darius before Seti showed up and stopped them.

After Sean had healed from his injuries enough he soon went back to Seti, leaving his sisters palace and returning to his own home to do so. There, he had informed Seti that he knew how to change Seti back to his old self....

SOMETIME later, the pair have their first son, Julian.

Julian and Sean have a rough relationship as Sean is rarely ever their for his son. Which leads to Seti having to mediate between the two. Which often leans to jealousy from both Sean and Julian. One of which Seti often feels he has to choose between, and for the most part chose their son...

At one point Sean had left for quite some time, only to return again. Now that Julian had been an adult he requested that he and Seti move to Egypt, permanently, and abandoned Julian in Wonderland, with The Corruption. Seti agrees to go with Sean, believing Julian is now grown up enough to handle himself. With Sean’s Sister, Shay, looking over him from time to time.

However, this did not last for long as Seti had returned to Wonderland to take care of a matter that Julian requested for him. This lead to Sean returning as well, as Julian showed up claiming something bad had happened to Seti. Then, using Sean’s own powers again him, Julian lead Sean through a mirror that’s destination was changed to take Sean to the Diamond Kingdom’s Prison below the castle, where all magic had been switched off due to an unknown force. There Sean remains. Seti however, was taken over by The Corruption and used against Sean.

                   ___________________________________________

FUCKIN’ DED

(Work In Progress)

Personality: 

Gentle, Thoughtful, Calm, Angered Easily, Protective, Mischievous, Trickster, Loyal,  Bratty, Mysterious,  Adventurous, Childish, Frightening, Skillful, Clumsy, Curiosity, Judgment, Brave, Perseverance, Fairness, Forgiveness, Self Regulation, Appreciation of Beauty and Excellence, Logical, Friendly, Open, Moody, Indifferent, Intolerant, Naive, Lazy, Strict, Bold, Fierce, Proud, Smartass, Unpredictable, Troublesome, Sympathetic, Mature,

Quirks/Savvies/Other:  Can wiggle his ears and touch his nose with his tongue as well as other tongue tricks, Seti eats in a polite way usually. Keeping his mouth shut not trying to talk if possible as he is chewing. But sometimes he will toy with his food a bit,  Usually prefers to be as comfy and cozy as possible. Though he doesn’t like to feel suffocated, so if he’s sleeping with others it could be a little problematic, 104IQ,  For the most part Seti’s speech is clear and he will mostly speak English. Outside of that, sometimes he will carry an accent when in high stress situations. Or mix up words/ slip in some things from his native language,  Thrives in hot weather, hates cold weather, Has a noticeable scar from a weapon,  Plays with hair, Shifts from foot to foot, Wakes up after noon,  Drinks alcohol excessively when around others, Uses drugs recreationally, Is strongly susceptible to “brain freeze”,  His bedroom is styled appropriately, with an abundance of pillows and blankets, Blood Type: AB, Would dress up as Nightcrawler for Halloween, The ring that Sean gave him changes the wearers gender while wearing it, Laughs when they see nudity,

Likes: Sketching,  Singing, Instrument playing, Whistling, Archer,  Exploring, Table games, Dancing, Fictional stories, Instrumental music, Lock picking, Monster Handling, Cartography, Swords, Ranged weapons, Fire building, Riding, Hunting, Desert survival, Deduction, Persuasion, Botany, Hiding, Parry,  Snacks, Sleeping in, Sex, Partying, Fruit, Staying up late,  The Journey To The West,  I, Robot,  Astronomy, Snapping turtles, Cats, The color: Emerald Green, Spring?, Rice, Wine, Noon, Medieval history, Snakes, Hair-styling, Monster movies, Architecture, Porcelain sculptures, Movies about animals, Guinea pigs, Sandcastles, Genies, Aliens, Bowling, 

Dislikes: Hand to Hand, Playing Brass Instruments, Tailoring, Survival Arctic,  Firearms, Aura Perception, Harry Potter, Black Panther, Car racing, Birds, Grey, Passion fruit, Winter, Water, Mornings, Rats, Renaissance music,

Fears: Being crowded, Traumatic situations, Things getting bloody, Hurting someone, Having a panic attack and losing control over his powers, Being in tight spaces, Blood, Being put into situations out of his control,

Personality Tests: ENTP - A,  Big 5 Test:  OCEAN, Soul color: Pink, Ambivert, Optimistic, Phlegmatic, Positive outlook, Patronus: The Fox, Slytherin, Slytherpuff, 

Other: Pisces, 

Secrets: He was framed for the murder of his father. He has been abused by several people, mainly his brother Husani. Husani’s wife has in the passed forced Seti to have sex with her, in order to make her husband happy when she ends up pregnant with a child, that thankfully have almost all have been Husani’s, the living ones anyway. Can be easily manipulated into having sex with someone when drunk. Has, in the past more so then presently, sold his body merely to spice things up in his sex life. Has also had sex forced on him, whether drunk or not.

Religion:

The religion they follow (if any): Egyptian polytheistic  

Beliefs: In Egyptian gods, ritualistic things.

Superstitions: A lot.

Virtues: Unknown

Parent(s):

  -> Father: Fuck you

  -> Mother: Fuck you

Siblings: Husani, Unnamed older sister, Nenet,

Children: Julian, Phoebe, Pfieffer, Phoenix

Ancestors: Mekh, Narmar, Akhenaten, Nefertiti, Seti I and Tutankhamen bloodlines,

Starters

Chat’s

Para’s

Face

Stuff

Information

Asks

All

                                                                              Alternate Universes

Storm Coast AU

Divergent AU

Zodiac AU

Hunger Games AU

Harry Potter AU

Planet AU

Pokemon AU

Greek God AU (Aether)

Wonderland AU (King of Clubs, Skunk)

Until Dawn AU

True Blood AU

Band AU

Artist AU (The Paintbrush)

Zombie AU

Witch AU

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina AU

Lost Boys AU

Vampire AU

American Horror Story AU

Supernatural High School AU

High School AU

Childhood AU (Modern)

Modern AU

Doctor AU

Buffy The Vampire Slayer AU

Genderbent AU

AUs