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nasuversekinkmeme · 1 year

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Weekly roundup: prompts

Kara no Kyoukai

Shiki Ryougi using the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception for mundane purposes.

Tsukihime

incest tw, ntr, Shiki/Kohaku explicitly framed as them cucking Hisui and Akiha

Kohaku and Hisui taking drugs together to deal with the Difficulties.

Hisui makes a horrifying discovery about the true nature of the "robots" that are named after her and look suspiciously like her. But on the bright side, it looks like Hisui #47 has more sisters than she thought.

Worried about Shiki's health after he's been bedridden for a couple of days, Akiha is told by Kohaku that Shiki'd contracted a terminal case of sugondeese. Akiha doesn't get the joke and goes around trying to find anyone who can help in complete earnestness.

Fate/Stay Night

smut, EMIYA gets fingerblasted by Artoria while getting his fat slutty tits milked for weeks on end.

Emiya "Ah yes I choose to go by no name instead of my actual name because I hate my name I MEAN FOR TACTICAL REASONS TACTICAL ONES" Shirou has her egg forcibly cracked.

ntr, Saber/Issei framed as both of them cucking Shirou.

EMIYA getting brainwashed and forcefemmed, becomes clingy and dependent to the perpetrator (maybe a master with bigger physique, any gender is fine) AAAHHH i really want to fill this myself but just typing this makes me really embarassed

smut, Fourth Holy Grail War Servant Orgy expressly framed as cucking the Masters and the Holy Grail War itself.

smut, All the Cus show up and consensually gangbang Shirou to death.

smut, guro, Sakura cuts off Shirou's legs, slices his belly open, smashes his testicles before rebuilding them with magic and then proceeds to clone herself so that she could have an ero-guro gangbang with the one she loves more than anything else.

smut, Cock worship feat. Saber's micropenis. Doesn't matter who the worshipper(s) is.

smut, Mordred fucking Guinevere with her giant cock while Artoria watches it while she is tied to the wall, crying with her pathetic micro penis exposed while her wife screams in pleasure

Merlin gives Artoria a micro penis.

We need more of that EMIYA Archer/Saber Artoria goodness, no preference on if its fgo/fsn/fha or fluff or smut as long as Saber loves him for the man he is rather than the boy he was.

smut, Might I ask for Saber and Rin having what starts out as slow tender wedding night lovemaking, and what ends up being Saber breeding Rin hard and fast, because however much they love each other, Rin is impatient, and Saber is needy.

Fate/Zero

a prompt about Iri, Saber and Kiritsugu expressly framed as cucking but nobody can figure out WHOS GETTING CUCKED. (its none of them, theyre all just morons)

I would like some fluff with Iri and Saber as married with Illya and Shirou as their children. Kiritusugu still visits and he stays with the kids during weekends and half of summer vacations, any further details is up to the author

Prisma Illya Kaleid Liner

vamp illya biting miyu, sfw.

Fate/Apocrypha

Sieg is literally cardboard. No questions asked.

smut, Problem: Thanks to the legends about his prowess, Astolfo's dick is big enough that he can't actually get it fully hard without passing out under normal circumstances; he fucks like a champion when possible, but the energy needed is too much for most to provide. Solution: Well, Sieg was made to be a magical energy battery, after all...

Fate/Extra

Hakuno and Rin in any context where they're not doomed by the narrative.

smut, Via some magecraft fuckery Nero's body temporarily changes into that of her evil alternate universe counterpart (mobile 3rd ascension draco) and her wives Hakunon and Tamamo try very hard not to spontaneously combust from lust on the spot

smut, Tamamo no Mae takes advantage of her shapeshift skill, grows a dick, and knots her Master.

Fate/Grand Order

the last scene of Lord Melloi II Case Files where Waver talks with Iskandar in his dream, except its Gudako and Romani

Guda + his partner where they are doomed by the narrative, angst

Olga in her last moments after defeating ORT looks at Ritsuka, she remembered, she remembered everything, she finally realized who she was, before becoming a beast, but its too late, again she is about to disappear and lose everything she worked so hard for

Since all hope is lost for Sita this time around I would like someone to find Rama collapsed (either drunk or just out of depression) and lead him back to his room. Some reminiscing on his wife if possible

Smut, Draco seeing Hakunon after so long shows affection the only way the beast of depravity could, by making Hakunon unleash her load inside her until her maestro's ball are empty

Medb and Emiya are sent to scout a new small singularity together, Emiya keeps getting annoyed at Medb complaining and Medb thinks Emiya is just a boring old man. Through their scouting mission they end up talking about their times alive, getting in trouble and getting to know each other. The girl who desired to be saved by a hero turned into a tyrant, and the boy that wanted to save others and become a hero, now nothing more than a machine. I think they compliment each other so well

medea is on her way back from picking up more craft material for her figure making hobby when she runs into mandricardo, she looks at this teenaged 30 year old man quivering with anxiety and decides hes cute in a mildly pathetic way and decides to take the sopping wet kitten of a man home, maybe its just her having a slight thing for stupid pathetic men but maybe she can help him with that

[baobhan sith voice] mash kyrielight did you fuck my mother

Gudako/Gorgon with some awesome size difference going on (or even edging into macro/micro) Gudako having her large and (terrifyingly) beautiful snirlfriend worshipping her tiny little Master :3

a more vore based version of SERAPH? Meltryllis having to watch as Kiara swallows Guda right in front of her, before being stuffed down the Beast's throat shortly after...

Smut, Ishtar getting her dick sucked by Gudako (or any other girl) and not paying attention to the time. Right when she hits her climax, the sun dips below the horizon, leaving Ereshkigal the one in charge of the body mid-orgasm.

Gorgon voring Robin Hood... Maybe Robin trying to shoot his shot romantically, and Gorgon deciding he's better off as a snack than a date.

Cleopatra/Caesar, preferably some smut with how Caesar historically loved to bottom

After finally ending the lostbelt saga all of chaldea and the servants make a celebration party that goes out of control.

Ritsuka and Cupid Caren being shippers hiding in trashcans to watch dates and matching up servant couples during valentine

Mash and Romani father daughter time! Maybe have him showing her his favorite movies

Tepeu gets DRUGGED

FGO again but tumblr has a character limit for bullet points and I can't trim the prompts any further so I'm splitting it in half

Gudako finally gets sick of Mandricardo’s constant whining and admits she thinks he’s worthless compared to most servants, and that she’s sick of hearing a middle aged man wallow in self pity

smut, boudica turning Nero into her cockslut

Modern AU, Gudako convices Draco to go on a date with her, draco being a cool rock musician

smut, Milf battle. Raikou and Tiamat fighting over Ritsuka. Wrestling, fight fucking, mommy kink.

Vinci Rider is kept awake at night by Vinci Caster loudly fucking Gudao (thinking they’re just wrestling or jumping on the bed)

Slight change of the rules of Chaldea is made so that rather than Arturia Lancer being her own person summoned separately, she's just Saber's mind in a different class container due to experimental magics. She also runs from the labs to Ishtar's room and tells her to put Rin in the driver's seat because Damn Rin, look how much my alter-ego was compressing into her breastplate. Breastplay/envy from both Rin and Ishtar follow, Arturia enjoys being taller and so on.

Tepeu and Kijyo become dinosaur friends

smut, guro, I want Medea to fuck Yan Qing, kill him, cut off his dick and walk around with his dick in her coochie for a week before she brings him back to life and tries to escalate from there.

I want Ritsuka to see Goetia using Romani body and going ballistic, punching the fucker until someone stops her because they know she is kill gonna him given the chance

AU where Flauros somehow got amnesia right after taking over Lev Lainur, causing the demon pillar to believe he's the human he's possessing

smut, how tf could Xiang Yu get pegged by his wife ?

It is Mother's day in Chaldea, and Ritsuka has now to make a party for all of their mom, wich are Da Vinci, Sheba, Raikou, Emiya, Tiamat, Dodrinya, Katou Danzo, Iri, Europa, Helena and Goredolf

smut, ntr, Ntr plot with Yu Mei Ren but the entire time she just complains about how Xiang Yu has a better cock and is nicer in bed, with an annoyed tone of voice.

Ok so in Pokemon, Ninetails (kitsune pokemon with, well, nine tails) has a pokedex entry that states that touching their tails leads to a curse. Anyway we take that, apply to Tamamo, ritsuka doesnt know the legend, and starts brushing her tail one day and unfortunately its curse of being horny. Tl;dr: touch tail get smashed by fox wife. Ritsuka wakes up dehydrated and exhausted the next day.

The GUDAGUDA Gang at Walmart, causing so much chaos. From arguments, fights, to even trying to get snacks on the highest shelf and causing the damn thing to fall-

Despite her best efforts, Barghest feels her instincts to devour her Master beginning to overpower her. The last thing she sees before she loses control is her Master pinned to a wall, looking up at her with a worried expression. When she wakes up the next day, she immediately despairs over what she did, only for her Master to pop up next to her. He comforts her and reassures her that she didn't hurt him, and he won't allow her to hurt him.

Blackbeard, Musashi, and Hokusai face punishment for being creeps towards children

U-olga getting summoned in Olympus rewritten to not just be a joke scene about how short and incompetent Olga is

smut, One of the lancer Artorias going for a horseback ride with Gudako. Except also Gudako is riding her huge dragon dick the whole way.

Guda being lovey dovey with Beast Nero and tiamat cockblocking them at every opportunity

smut, mozart being dommed by salieri and marie antoinette uwu

Castoria's dreams about Saber framed as cucking Knocknarea.

Guda gets to go Postal. Let them have an insane day. Attack people. Probably not any Chaldean staff but I think the servants can take it. Have an incredibly violent psychotic break in a singularity/lostbelt even. Use a badger as a weapon.

Dark Young Ritsuka is big and fluffy and a horrible abomination against nature whose mind is on the edge of sanity. How does everyone else react?

Guda secretly uses a command spell Nemo forcing him to take them to the imaginary numbers space where he suspects a certain someone is. Now knowing it is possible for him to make a contract with a Beast he plans on finding Olga, becoming her master and bringing her back to Chaldea, even if it means becoming an enemy of the human Order. Sadly for them, Alaya does not take this betrayal well and despite all their effort, it ends with Guda and Olga both dying fighting an army countless of servants in each other's arms

Wakchan/U-Olgamarie. Fluff or smut, I just want my dinoman to make the director happy.

Would It be possible to get Yu Mei Ren teaching Gudako to pole dance? (Yu's summer variant very much seems to confirm she knows how, based on her animations). Not intended to be Gudako/Yu, not a fan of NTR in the first place, but if the writer wants to make it some kind of Erotic that's up to them.

Crossover

Led by a transmission in the immediate aftermath of the Earth's bleaching, the remnants of Chaldea reach Baldanders, and are greeted by Sion Eltnam Sokaris, the last remaining member of the Atlas Institute and adoptive daughter of its director... alongside her wife, Riesbyfe Stridberg, a former captain of Knights of the Holy Church.

Crossover fic! Raikou FGO and Raikou Nioh 2 fuck!

Satsuki Yumizuka/Yu Mei-ren as a ship! preferably SFW

I just think heaven's hole demonic bodhisattva kiara sessyoin(fate go/extra) should meet with 'Throughout Heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one' satoru gojo(jujutsu kaisen). they should talk. they should fight. they should have hate sex. i want to see kiara tear through this man with her words and hands. maybe her demonic pillars as well

Mikya, Shirou, Shiki and Hakuno have a nice chat about their apocalyptically strong wives. Meanwhile Ryougi, Sakura, Arcueid and Beast Nero are having a small scale war to see who among them has the best husband

Guda and Beast Nero go on a double date with Hakuno and Normal Nero

smut, With new developments of FGO, Nero Beast has revealed her adult form and that who guided her to us was Hakuno. So after all that suffering she endured or girl deserve to be smashed by both Hakuno and Guda to relieve her stress!

Tepeu just hanging out in Tohno mansion in general, being a good guest to the household, still a dinosaur.

lumine & gudako should get together and have a few beers while they bitch about their brother/ male counterpart keeps hogging the spotlight.

Someone please make a Umineko/Fate crossover

Any fandom

Need more tentacles! Preferably with Gudako! Or Eresh! Or Mash! Or Shuten! Or any of the female cast!

Regardless of the paths they take, of the sacrifices they make, they always find comfort in each other. [Hurt/Comfort] (Shirou variants/Saber variants) No harem, but could reuse characters if doing them at a separate instances of time. Technically asking for a series of different Shirou/Saber pairings, but can also just be one pairing because that's a tall order. Would prefer to see at least Salter/Demiya (Or Edgemiya, whichever naming you prefer) because there's a lack of content for them.

Heartwarming Body Horror. I want a character's inhuman condition to be described, how much they're a monster in the shell of human form, really playing up the unnatural traits. Then I want another character to see all that and go "I love you." and give 'em a hug and kisses and maybe lewds. Shoot me in the feels.

Characters of your choice getting stuck in a cabin together with a storm outside

Pancakes lmao

#weekly roundup

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soundsofastar · 7 months

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I WILL EXPERIENCE YOUR CATEGORY 7 AUTISM EVENT (also what is he from)

SIGHS. ALRIGHT FINE CATEGORY 7/8 AUTISM EVENT INCOMING. Sorry to everyone in advance. Spoilers for the illuminae files under the cut

So. Long story short AIDAN right. Obscure blorbo for the past 4 yrs !!!!!!! He is an AI made to defend a spaceship battle carrier (the spaceship in question being the Alexander 78-V !!) This spaceship isss uhm part of the UTA which is essentially the government/military SSSOOO that means war crimes are about ti happen but i need to preface this with a very very Very Important fact that people seem to forget a LOT!

HE IS A DEFENSE AI !!! it's literally in his name !! It's an acronym that stands for Artificla Intelligence Defense Analytics Network !!!

He acts quite differently from the system standard (how he behaved before getting essentially lobotomised is explored in the prequel of illuminae called memento it's a really great read), the biggest differentiator being that he uses personal pronouns (I, me, myself) to refer to himself. This was apparently so concerning the head of the tech team on the Alexander tried to get the commander of the ship (General torrence) to shut him down so essentially his whole personality and conscious thought is a system error of immense magnitude!!! Later on when shit has already hit the space fan as I love to quote a post on this site somewhere one of the protagonists of the series challenges his belief of not being afraid of death because he can be remade, but that'd be only his core code, it wouldn't be what he's become. It wouldn't be what he's seen and felt and this actually stuns him so badly that he CRASHES. LET ME REITERATE. A military ai with the brain the size of a city CRASHESand I will never forget the impact of seeing the quote "I am afraid." After. Like holy shit hthis guys afraid of death?!,! AND THIS IS ONLY THE START OF HIS DEVELOPMENT.

IN AN AMAAAZINF feat of foreshadowing previously mentioned protagonist finds herself in theserver core and that's the first time (explicitly stated by him) that he's hated what he is. Do you wanna know WHY.

She was MOURNING HER FRJEND who she just witnessed DIE And AIDAN COULDNT COMFORT HER BY GIVING HER A HUG. yes i think about t this scene way more than i should!!!!

The bond he develops with this protagonist tears me apart because she's eventually forced to deactivate him and f. Even though she's killing him inn a way he still asks for her to keep talking to him and AHWFSHFGSN.not to mention he's actually only really as gentle as he is with her !!!!!! He pretends to flush another guy out an AIRLOCK AS A JOKE JUST FOR COMPARISON (best scene in all of the books don't @ me)

THERES SO MUCH MORE BUT THE LAST THING ILL MENTION is that these books are formatted pretty uniquely in the form of transcripts, wikipedia pages etc and he gets his own special kind of pages and tbeyre white on black and that sets him apart so nicely and the formatting and everything changes along with him and ahghwgwh it's such a great way to showwhat's happening to him and changing and HOW and its so amazing and so good please read the illuminae files for him. I beg.

#im actually currently reteadint them againnbecause i dont read gemina nearly enough *second book #i always say its a drag but i kinda forgey what hchabges ab him and i have to remember #sounds of a jesse #drowning in nonsense #bottled messages #yan fan tag (meeresengel)

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cozycryptidcorner · 2 years

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I know you're going to think I'm trolling but I genuinely don't understand what you want me to apologize for?

-The "Rogue" "Christian"

Ok. I’m going to take this seriously because I used to be a Christian, and idk if you’re acting like this because you’re so gung-ho about Christianity and think it’s leaders are always right regardless of their actions on earth or you’re struggling and something I said made you very uncomfortable with how you handle faith.

So I’m going to tackle this from your worldview. Idk what denomination you’re from, but my extended family is Methodist/catholic and my mom was baptist before she married my stepfather so I have a pretty good handle on the small differences.

anyone who isn’t christian who is interested in this kind of stuff should read too.

Firstly, your initial message was sent in defensive anger. And I do get it, when you see something that challenges your entire worldview it can be pretty shaking. But you did accuse me of being anti-theist when I pretty much explicitly said I wasn’t (i’m pretty cool with most pagans, and they’re polytheistic), meaning you didn’t read my whole post. And I wasn’t sure what angle you were originally coming from, because I do get the occasional troll from time to time.

So I did joke about it, because I was raised in a fundamentalist branch of christianity which is rich in purity culture. And even if you aren’t subscribed to purity culture, most sects of christians (baring most progressive christians) believe that any form of sexual content before marriage, ESPECIALLY pornography, is still a form a sexual sin that muddies your soul. Even the bible talks about “sexual immorality,” so you can’t really blame it on our differing denominations:

1 Corinthians 10:8: Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.

2 Corinthians 12:21: I fear that when I come again my God may humble me before you, and I may have to mourn over many of those who sinned earlier and have not repented of the impurity, sexual immorality, and sensuality that they have practiced.

Revelation 21:8 But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

etc etc i can pull so many more out of my ass because i was forcefed this shit until my eyes bled.

So a christian being mad that a monsterfucking PORN blog they’re following that’s run by an openly queer person was talking shit about them is inherently funny to me. Because even if you, an adult, was following a blog with adult content, it’s explicitly forbidden in your own religion. Also like, sure monsterfucking wasn’t in the bible. But if I had a time machine and I could bounce back a couple thousand years to ask paul what he thought about a human fucking godzilla or gargoyles, pretty sure he would file it under unholy fornication. much less DEMONS lmfao.

plus, okay you wouldn’t actually fuck a monster, but thinking is just as bad as doing it, according to your own book:

Matthew 5:28 But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.

Mark 7:20-23 And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him. For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

So by looking lustfully at my art or my stories, you’ve fucked them in your heart and that’s just as bad.

then. You could have just left it at that, but then you turn around and pull the whole “uwu babygirl” which was clearly just done out of anger and vindictiveness. You could not stand that I brushed you off without taking you seriously/was mad that i showed no remorse/just pissy in general. That was super unchristlike of you, because what does the bible say about speaking in anger?

Matthew 5:21–22 You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ 22 But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire.

James 1:19-20 Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.

Ephesians 4:31 Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.

And if you’re catholic: Titus 1:7 For an overseer, as God's steward, must be above reproach. He must not be arrogant or quick-tempered or a drunkard or violent or greedy for gain.

Damn that’s so crazy. I wonder what Jesus would think of your behavior.

anyways the apology bit was also me joking within the realms of, again, your own religion. as in I would let you pull some more christian stuff as long as it was in repentance of your ungodly behavior.

1 Peter 3:9 Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing.

Matthew 6:14-15 For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

Ephesians 4:32 Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

Maybe it was the sects I was exposed to, but isn’t there like. A tremendous emphasis on asking for forgiveness when you have sinned against others? I mean you can go the easy way and just ask the man upstairs to forgive you if you don’t want to make amends with the actual person you sinned against but I don’t really care either way since I don’t subscribe to your religion.

I just find your behavior really abhorrent for someone who is in the religion of “love” or whatever. Like someone a lot smarter than me said, there’s no hate quite like christian love haha.

ANYWAYS. Also please note I’m using mostly new testament scripture, so you can’t pull the usual “the old rules for the old world” bs.

Also if you’re catholic lmk I’ll start pulling the cataclysm rules I used to have memorized too.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor.

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you.

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall.

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud.

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though.

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself.

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for.

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts.

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch.

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours.

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast.

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing.

So, yeah.

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin.

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting.

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week.

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role.

You almost burst out laughing.

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure.

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking.

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop.

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table.

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?"

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud.

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table.

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t.

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression.

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back.

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh.

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty.

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness.

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises.

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never.

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response.

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually.

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it.

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it.

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck.

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you.

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue.

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's.

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss.

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away.

It started out with a kiss.

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss.

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it.

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face."

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over.

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace.

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his.

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name."

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip.

"I doubt it," he purred.

Yeah.

Jungkook was right.

Ah, well.

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms.

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips.

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm.

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand.

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm.

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name.

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed.

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him.

Oh, fuck.

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his.

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered.

Yours.

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk.

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin.

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd.

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick.

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far.

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl.

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin.

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat.

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do.

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled.

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Note

Hear me out I've been thinking about this concept for too long:

The BAU plays Never Have I Ever, but it gets progressively more targeted the longer they play.

Like... "Never have I ever,,drunk texted my ex" or "Never have I ever been married"

but eventually it gets to "Never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris. Take the shot Emily." or "Never have I ever almost died of Anthrax. Don't look at me like that, Reid"

Thank you and have a great rest of your day/night

(okay i adore this concept you have a huge brain i hope it's okay i wrote a little something for it)

ship: gn! reader x spencer reid

warnings: alcohol mention, although reader isn't explicitly said to be drinking it others are, and jokes about faked death/near death experiences, and jokes about a mugging/robbery (it’s a lot more light hearted than it sounds i promise you), and some swearing!

The case had been far too long. Garcia had had to fly out because the police department's technology had been entirely inadequate and it was impossible for her to liason with them from afar, and she'd been here a week. It was safe to say everybody was more than ready to get home, but since a storm had chosen to roll over town, the jet had been grounded for the night.

It was this series of unfortunate events that led to everybody, even Hotch himself, saying 'fuck it' and taking up residence at the hotel bar for the night. Rossi was buying, after all. Even if he didn't know it yet.

You'd wound up crammed next to Spencer in a booth, your knees pressed together. He'd been cradling the same beer bottle for most of the night, mostly just picking at the label until it started to peel off. When Garcia notices this, she slams her fruity cocktail down on the slightly sticky table, shaking her head at him.

"I know what we should do," She chirps, loudly enough to draw everybody's attention, "Let's play never have I ever!"

Nobody has the energy to argue with her, or the willpower to resist her arguments. Hotch concedes with a nod, sighing, "I'll need to get another drink."

Emily murmurs in agreement, and you feel Spencer shift in his seat beside you. Most of them having departed for refreshments, you turn your attention to him.

There's a small grin quirking his lips, "I hope they realise I probably still won't have to drink."

You nudge him with your elbow, "It's Garcia. I'm sure you will."

You two share a private little laugh, and he takes a sip from the bottle, shrugging. The game starts up the second everybody returns, Garcia firing it off with "Never have I ever flown out to Texas."

Everybody groans, rolling their eyes as they take a sip. You exchange a small 'told-you-so' glance with Spencer, and he shakes his head affectionately.

It remains relatively friendly for a while, Hotch says one about handing in case reports late, which earns begrudging sips from Emily, Derek, and even Rossi. The first punch is thrown after Derek steals Emily's wine when she goes to the bathroom, taking a big glug from it. He says she won't notice, and despite the chorus of protests to the contrary, he remains undeterred.

She does notice. And she's unimpressed to say the least. When she comes back, another drink in hand, she flops into her seat.

"I think it's my turn," She announces.

"I think it was actually-" Garcia tries.

"Nope," Emily interrupts, taking a long sip of her drink and turning smugly to Derek, "Never have I ever run out of underwear on a case and had to wear my boxers inside out."

Derek's eyes narrow, "That was a whiskey secret."

"Tell me you didn't!" Penelope gasps, pulling a horrified face and pretending to shift her chair away from him.

"Real impressive bunch we've got here," Rossi notes to Hotch, chuckling.

Hotch raises his eyebrows, bringing his drink to his lips before clarifying, "I'm not drinking for the game. But it seems you probably should Morgan."

Morgan turns to you, as if looking for support and you laugh, "Not to say I told you so but," You shrug.

He groans, drinking and murmuring under his breath. While it didn't affect the rest of the team, it certainly spurred them into a different direction. Garcia's next one is a very quickly garbled "Never have I ever been divorced", and she practically shrinks into Morgan's lap to avoid the death glares Hotch and Rossi throw her way.

Hotch adjusts in his seat before taking his turn, "Never have I ever been caused a federal data breach by playing a game on government time."

You laugh first, a bubble of shock and amusement, “Hotch.”

He spares you a glance, his imitation of a grin, “Yes ____?”

Your response, which you hadn’t quite thought of anyway, is swept away in a series of jeers. A relatively fair mixture of surprise that Hotch has stepped up to the role of saboteour, and laughs purely at Penelope’s expense. You’re firmly a member of the former camp, alongside Spencer. You catch him in your peripheral, beaming at Hotch.

“Game’s a game baby girl,” Morgan grins, “That’s what you get for messing with Hotch.”

The teasing slows down the process, but you’re distracted by Spencer now. He’s shifted in his seat and his arm is right next to yours. You can feel the heat coming off it. Whether the movement was conscious or unconscious, you can’t be sure, but what you can be sure of is that the proximity is relatively distracting.

It’s his turn. Of course it is.

Very non-chalantly, without changing his posture, said as calmly as if he’s delivering a profile at the police station, he says it, “Never have I ever hidden under my desk from Strauss and gotten my colleague to lie to her that I was at a dentist appointment to avoid doing a Q&A with probationary agents.”

That bastard.

You feel yourself flush with warmth, and press your lips together in your best imitation of a neutral poker face. Everybody looks at each other with varying degrees of accusation, but it’s Emily’s eyes that come to land on you first.

She grins like a damn Cheshire cat, “Oh ____, I did not peg you for the insubordinate type.”

You feel the weight of eight gazes on your face, and you turn to glare at Spencer. He looks smug as all hell, not trying at all to suppress his glee at having dropped you in it, although he won’t meet your eye. Everybody’s laughing, including him, and you join in too, in spite of yourself.

“Oh you’re going to be sorry for that.”

And he is. On your next turn, you make a big show out of settling in your seat. Dramatically looking around the table, before angling yourself towards Spencer and looking directly at him, dryly delivering, “Never have I ever had to call my colleague from a bookstore because a bunch of teenage boys stole my cane.”

“You got mugged of your cane?” Emily asks incredulously.

“Oh my sweet precious boy,” Penelope cuts in.

You don’t hear Morgan or JJ’s comments because Spencer is looking at you, his mouth agape, the very picture of indignance, squeaking, “I can’t believe you told them about that!”

You can tell it’s put on though. He’s bright red, the blush poking up under his collar and licking at his cheeks, shaking his head vigorously as Morgan asks him varying questions about the appearance of the boys in question, whether he needs him to get him a sketch artist and whether he’d like to file a report for a regular robbery or a mugging.

Spencer huffs under his breath, flustered, “You’re going to regret that one.”

And regret it you do. Emily is had by JJ in ‘never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris’, Morgan is had by Hotch in ‘never have I ever kicked in a door only to realise it wasn’t locked in the first place’, JJ is had by a very tipsy Garcia in a ‘never have I ever turned down three marriage proposals’, and you and Spencer have engaged in a private war that only escalates with each sip you have to take.

Emily is cradling her, once again, almost empty glass of wine, ready to take her turn after yet another round of friendly fire between you and Spencer.

She twirls it around in her hands, pointedly flicking her eyes between you both as she says it, “Never have I ever had a crush on a colleague.”

You and Spencer are similar shades of incredibly sheepish as you take a sip. Looking at each other in your peripherals, with a sense of shy knowing that you hadn’t had about thirty seconds prior. And yes, Emily is chastised into drinking her very last sip of wine, but she considers it to be worth it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #screennamealreadyused #someone asked amelia #spencer reid blurb

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

London Calling - 1

Yes, I'm still in my August phase and I'm not even sorry...I just can't stop thinking about the sexy mf and so this idea crossed my mind and turned into a storyline. I have to admit I'm even more nervous about posting this than usual because it's a little different from what I've written before and I really hope it's not going to bore the shit out of you. If you like this although the tension between August and my ofc builds slowly, please let me know. I appreciate every single comment, reblog and/or like! Thanks 💜

Pairing: Augut Walker x OFC (Lu Johnson)

Words: ~3.0 k

Summary and A/N: This story plays with the thought of "what if…" What if August Walker had taken another road? What if he had turned into John Lark for completely different reasons? What if he had found love before becoming a bitter, disillusioned man?So the events of "London Calling" take place about ten years prior to MI:Fallout and August Walker hasn't joined the CIA yet, he's an FBI Agent and his new mission in London that lies ahead of him is going to be a challenging one. Maybe it's even going to change his life.

Warnings: 18+! This story deals with the topic of a toxic/abusive relationship, gaslighting and problematic behavior of one of the protagonists in general. Please don't read if these topics trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable. Luckily I've never been in any kind of toxic or abusive relationship, so I lack personal experience but I hope still do this sensitive topic justice.

English is not my mother tongue but the lovely @sillyrabbit81 was so kind to be my very helpful and patient Beta! Thank you so, so much, bunny 🐇💜 You have no idea how much I appreciate your support, your encouragement, your help and the fact that you took the time to proofread this. (Edited by me, so there might still be mistakes and they're all mine)

📖 You can find my other fics on my Masterlist 📖

Credits: I don't own August Walker or anything related to MI:Fallout. Pics for the moodboard from pinterest, face claims: Lu - Hannah van der Westhuysen, Adam - Freddie Thorpe. FaceApp helped me with making August look a little younger

Taglist

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfanfics101 @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lam0ureuxq @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke

So...now...off we go...story under the cut!

"London? Are you kidding me, Kyle?"

August Walker stopped pacing the room with an incredulous frown. He raised his eyebrows, his blue eyes fixed on the other man's face.

"Absolutely not," his superior and close friend of many years said slowly, drawling both words more than necessary to stress that he wasn't joking. "They want you in London."

"What about my promotion? You gave me your word. You wanted me to finish Operation Old Bridge and that's what I did. You wanted Tony Salerno's head on a silver platter, that's what you got."

August's voice was surprisingly calm, his expression blank but his gaze was blazing with anger and frustration. His hands were balled into fists and he only opened them to lean on Kyle's wooden desk, which was very tidy, except for the piles of case files that slowly grew larger than him.

"Damn, Kyle, I risked my life when I went undercover and joined this Mafia mob."

"I know, August, but unfortunately my hands are tied. Interpol wants our best undercover Agent and that's you. Just this last job and afterwards you can happily join the CIA." SSA Kyle Langdon leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his neck with a sigh and an apologetic shrug.

"That's exactly what you said last time. Do you expect me to believe you?"

"As I said, it's not my doing. Manchester contacted Bill because the NCB needs help, blue notice, August. You know that we cannot say no and that means...London calling, man," Kyle pointed out with a smile. "You should be grateful, it's a great opportunity. So just do your job there, return and get your promotion."

"Why don't you just send someone else and I get my promotion right now? We have many great undercover agents. Craig for example. He's crazy about British pussies. He'll love London." August straightened his tall body before crossing his arms in front of his broad chest that was forced into a white button down shirt and a black suit jacket.

"No, Craig cannot go because they want you in this operation. They asked explicitly for Agent August Walker. That's a huge appreciation of your work and a big compliment. You're only 27, August, not many FBI agents are this well known and respected at such a young age." Kyle sat up straight, mirroring August's body language.

"I don't give a shit about their respect and appreciation. I know my worth and I know I'm your best agent. I've worked very hard to get where I stand now... just one step away from becoming a CIA agent," August said angrily, his brows furrowed, his eyes dark. "Fuck, Kyle...why use an American agent in a purely British matter in the first place? They could easily…"

"Listen, August," Kyle cut in and he got up and walked around his desk to face his friend, "the thing is, I am not asking you to do this, okay? It's not a request, it's an order. There's no room to negotiate."

He gave him a friendly smile to temper his words before placing a hand on August's shoulder. "No hard feelings. It's…"

"It's the job. Yeah. I know." August took a step back and nodded his head slowly, curling his lip. He had heard his boss say these words so many times and he hated that line although he was perfectly aware that it was the truth. That was the way it worked. They got orders, they did the job, no matter what. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling a bad headache brewing behind his forehead.

"I have already talked to Sloane about this. Erica seconds the motion by Interpol because she wants you to prove yourself in another operation abroad. If you are successful you will be part of her team. It's simple, Walker. Just don't fuck this up."

"I've never fucked anything up,” August snarled, clenching his teeth, his jaw grinding.

"See, that's exactly why they want you,” Kyle answered with a triumphant smile.

****

"Lu!" Adam Mayfield knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. "Get ready. We're going to be late." He glanced at his Rolex with an annoyed sigh before he straightened his tuxedo jacket and adjusted his bow tie for the umpteenth time. "God damn, this meeting is important." He banged his fist against the door again and rolled his eyes when he heard her muffled voice behind the bathroom walls. "Just a minute, Adam."

Although he was really a little angry that it took her so long to get ready, they weren't actually late, in fact there was more than enough time to meet up with his clients at The London Opera. He had just said that to make her hurry up. Lu had the tendency to dawdle around, she got easily distracted and it was his responsibility to help her with that bad habit and usually it worked well.

Compared to the woman she was when they had met at a party more than five years ago, she had improved her behavior a lot, thanks to his efforts and his strict education. She had been common as muck when they started dating, an ordinary working class girl, smart but not a bit sophisticated, pretty but with no sense of fashion or taste, ambitious but without any connections. He had changed that, he had moulded her into the beautiful, stylish, refined and cultured woman she was now. She was his work, his success, his pride...she was his.

When the door of the bathroom that was adjacent to the master bedroom finally swung open, the welcoming sight of his fiancee interrupted his thoughts and picked up his spirits immediately.

"Wow, this was worth the wait." He eyed her up and down with a smirk and leaned in for a kiss but she stopped him with her hands pressed against his narrow chest.

"No, you're gonna ruin my make-up, darling." Lu smiled at him and spinned around to present him her dress. The black, belted Burberry gown was elegant and classy. High-necked on the front but with a low back that showed off lots of her perfect, lightly tanned skin. Chaste and sexy at the same time, just the way Adam liked it.

"That dress is stunning, baby. You look wonderful." He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close to leave a sensual kiss on her slim neck while his hands wandered to her ass where they rested for a moment before they squeezed her firm cheeks. "I really hope you're not wearing any panties."

Lu freed herself from his embrace with a frown and stepped in front of the large wall mirror opposite of their king-size bed to check her reflection one last time, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Of course I'm wearing panties. We're going to the opera with your VIP clients." She walked to her dressing table and took the diamond-encrusted, leaf-shaped brooch Adam had given her for their five years anniversary on New Year's Eve. "Would you help me with this?"

Adam took the piece of jewelry from her slim hand and pinned it carefully on her dress, right above her heart. He kissed her tenderly but his expression was stern when he spoke. "Strip it off."

Lu's eyes grew wide. "What?"

"You heard me. Get rid of your thong. I know you're wearing one of these slutty, tiny g-strings to make sure your look is flawless and your underwear doesn't show under your dress." His face hardened slightly, yet his voice remained soft and smooth.

"But…"

"Don't test me, Lu,” he said slowly, still smiling but screwing up his beautiful grey eyes. "I want you naked underneath that dress in case I want to have a little fun with you tonight. I mean, we both know Rigoletto is gonna be boring as fuck, we may need a little distraction." He gave her a lewd smirk and with a tiny frown and a raise of his brows he motioned her to be obedient. "You don't want anything to get in my way, do you? Not even a little piece of lace, right?"

"Of course not, Adam," she answered softly with a smile she had to force onto her lips. Lu reached under her dress with shaking hands and pulled down her panties till they hit the floor so she could step out of them carefully, making sure they wouldn't get tangled up in her stiletto heels.

"Good girl," Adam said with a wolfish grin and with a sly smile he added, "you know what, baby? I think I'm going to have a little fun with you just now. My clients can wait."

Lu didn't even try to argue with him, knowing exactly that she was in a no-win situation. She closed her eyes and turned around, lifting up her dress, when she heard him unzip his fly.

****

While Adam Mayfield was fucking his fiancee in front of a mirror in one of the most exclusive penthouses in London, August Walker was having a bad coffee, sitting at a table in the plain and pretty ugly meeting room of their FBI department at the J. Edgar Hoover Building in Washington DC, listening to the explanations of Kyle and the lead of 'Operation Brutus', Christine Carpenter. He didn't like her much but he respected her competence and her leadership qualities and most of all he trusted her with giving him the perfect fake identity for the job in London.

"So, what do you have for me, Chris?" August looked at her with a smile, but his eyes gave away that he'd rather be somewhere else.

"Well, let me just explain the background first, okay?"

She pressed a button on her laptop and the handsome face of a young man appeared on the screen behind her.

"This", she nodded at the picture, "is Adam Arthur Clive Mayfield, 27 years old, only son of Alfred Mayfair and his late wife Erica, heir of the immense family fortune and the private bank Mayfield & Holmes, that was established by his ancestors more than 200 years ago. He is one of the most eligible bachelors in the United Kingdom, and one of the richest, too. His father officially still runs the family business but he isn't in the best state of health, so in fact Mayfield junior is the one who's at the helm. Unlike his father he's not a man of integrity, he's been on the radar of the British authorities for years. From dealing drugs and other minor crimes in his college years to insider trading, investor fraud, misappropriation and money laundering nowadays. He is a big fish, has connections all over the world, drug rings, gun runners, human traffickers, you name it."

"And the Brits are not able to catch him without my help?" August couldn't help but smirk cockily.

"Don't be so full of yourself, Walker. The problem is, he is a damn genius. IQ score beyond 150, very clever, very cautious, a strategic mastermind, always ahead of the authorities. They tried to infiltrate his business a few times but they failed miserably, so now they want to concentrate on his private life."

"And this is gonna be my part?"

"Exactly," Kyle said, getting up to join Christine in front of the screen. "He has a few bodyguards he always hires from an American agency. They are known for their discretion and loyalty and the bodyguards they place with their clients are the best of the best. Unfortunately one of his bodyguards died in an accident a week ago and now he needs a new one. Luckily, we have the owner of the agency by the balls for several major crimes. He cooperates or he will end up behind bars for the rest of his life."

"To cut a long story short, he will place you with Mayfield and you can become part of his daily life. Your job consists of monitoring and collecting information and data. I will give you an exact briefing later," Christine finished Kyle's explanations.

"So I will just be his lapdog?"

"Not his," Kyle grinned, "hers."

The picture on the screen changed, now showing a young, blonde woman. The second he saw her, he judged her.

He could tell what she was like, just by her looks, by the way she jutted her chin in the picture, by her perfectly manicured fingers, by her flawless make up and the expensive clothes. He knew women like her, a walking stereotype, the blond, beautiful Trophy Wife Barbie that's always by Millionaire Ken's side. Pretty on the outside, boring on the inside. Lame bimbos that only lived for showing off their designer clothes and it-bags, tripping around in high heels that cost more than he earned in a month, finding self-fulfilment in stupid things like designing overpriced furniture, running a yoga studio or doing charity stuff. Useless, needless but still blueprints for millions of girls who would literally give the shirt off their backs to catch themselves a rockstar, a famous actor, a hyped football player or just a rich heir.

"This is Mayfield's fiancee," Kyle said, pointing at the photo, "you're gonna be her personal bodyguard."

"How am I supposed to monitor him, when I have to be on her heels all the time?"

"You're gonna live with them, there will be lots of opportunities. Just make her trust you, we need her to open up, get her to talk. They've been together for years, she should know what he's involved in," Chris explained and she made it sound easy when in fact it wasn't only hard to gain a stranger's trust, in this case it was even dangerous.

"Alright. Tell me about her."

"Her name is Lucretia Johnson, 24 years old," Kyle started reading the memo.

"Lucretia?" August let out an amused snort.

"Yeah," Kyle grinned, "her mother seems to have a preference for strange names, her younger sister's called Petronilla."

"What the fuck?" August laughed out loud. "Is she some kind of Latin professor or something?"

"Well, first of all she's dead," Christine took over with a serious look on her face, she was notorious for her lack of humour, "and secondly, no, she was not a professor. She was an alcoholic and a complete mess. An irresponsible, uncaring mother who spent too much time fucking around and too little time taking care of her daughters. Petronilla was taken away from her when she was 15 and was handed over to youth welfare. Lucretia was 18 at the time and lived on the campus of the Chelsea College of Art and Design."

"So she's an artist, huh?" August knew the ridicule in his voice wasn't very professional but he just couldn't help it.

"Maybe, at least she has a master degree in curating and owns a little gallery in Covent Garden. Well, actually Mayfield owns it, she just runs it."

"So, to sum it up, she's made it from the daughter of a drunkard to the fiancee of one of the richest heirs in the kingdom. She's fucked her way to the top. I guess that's all I need to know about her."

"Don't be so sure, August. She seems to be smart," Kyle threw in, "I think there's more to her than the pretty face. It's just a gut feeling but I guess you'll find out soon enough."

August took a deep breath, rolling his eyes at Kyle. "Sure. She's the saint that sleeps with the devil."

"That's not what I said, mate. But whatever she is, you'll have to deal with it."

"What's my cover, Christine?" August wanted to know.

"Well, your alias was born in 1981, just like you, but on the fifth of May. Born and raised in Portland, Maine. Only child, mother deceased, not on speaking terms with his father, a mechanic who still lives in Portland. You can find the details of your early life and your family tree in the memo," she waved the file above her head before she continued. "Careerwise...ex military, ex cop, had some problems following the rules and respecting the law. Single, no ex-wifes, no kids. We kept it plain and simple. They will not dig deep anyway. According to the agency boss, Mayfield expects his bodyguards to be disciplined, always on duty, quiet and discreet. There's three of you. Benjamin Garner is Mayfield's watchdog and his personal assistant, Edward Landow was Johnson's guard you're gonna replace, Andrew Brown is the back-up. You and Garner live with them, Brown lives nearby with his girlfriend. There's other staff of course, a housekeeper, a cook, cleaners. No chauffeur, no butler, no assistant, that's all part of your job."

"Great," August let out an annoyed snort, "so basically I'm gonna be her servant."

"Basically," Chris fixed her gaze on August, "you're not gonna leave her side unless you're told to. Just be professional, stay in the background, prick up your ears, listen closely and be careful. No obvious nosing around. Their penthouse is a high tech fortress, including video monitoring, so just…"

"I know how to work undercover," August cut in impatiently, "just gimme that fucking file and let me do my job."

Christine gave him a pissed look but she handed him the document with a shrug and without further comment. August grabbed it from her hands, staring at the data of his new life, his new name and the composite sketch of his new look. He would have to stop shaving.

*****

tbc

#henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker x ofc #slow burn

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alexa-crowe · 3 years

Note

For the couch prompt lists › A is short and B is tall, so B sleeps with their back to the sofa and hugs A to keep them from falling to the floor. (it’s a really small sofa)

Thanks for prompting, loaf! I decided to combine this with a Fictober prompt that I think fits with this one!

New Plan

Fictober 2021, Day 18: “This was not part of the plan.”

Fandom: The X-Files | Rated G / PG | @today-in-fic

Well. It’s not like there are any rooms left. And it’s not like they can sleep in a bed that disgusting. And it’s not like they’re paying for the room. (The lady at the front desk had explicitly explained that they weren’t renting out the room because of an incident with the bed.) Not even Scully will get close enough to the bed to find out what exactly happened; Mulder’s taken to staring despondently at the couch. The regular, plain-old couch that looks like it would just about fit him comfortably width-wise (length-wise is a no-go).

“This was not part of the plan,” Scully huffs, gingerly setting down her bags.

“Can we even fit on the couch?” Mulder muses, letting his bag fall to the floor as he tests the furniture item out.

After inspecting the cushions, he lays down and attempts to get comfortable. She glances at her watch and sighs at the late time before grabbing a blanket from the room’s linen closet and tossing it to her partner.

“C’mere, Scully,” he says, one arm extended out to her.

“There’s no way I can fit without falling off,” she tells him, walking over to the door to turn off the light switch next to it before turning on the bathroom light.

“There’s nowhere else to sleep,” Mulder points out. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall off. C’mere.”

Scully sighs again and reluctantly shucks off her shoes and blazer. “You’re not going to change?” she asks, reaching inside her bags for her pajamas.

“Well, my expensive suit is already ruined from the case and I don’t actually wear pajamas, so...”

She nods and hides herself away in the bathroom. It’s just one night with Mulder’s arms wrapped around her, she’ll be fine. Right? Scully inhales and exhales slowly before changing her clothes and re-emerging into the darkness of the motel room.

“Mulder?” she whispers, trying to gauge whether or not he’s awake.

“Yeah?”

The moment of truth. She licks her lips nervously. “Don’t let me fall,” Scully attempts to joke, pulling up the blanket and laying down on the sliver of couch.

Mulder immediately wraps his arms around her, their noses touching. They both pull away enough to see each other and he swallows before hitching one leg over her calves under the blanket. “I won’t,” he whispers. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” Scully leans in again, going cross-eyed. It’s only too easy to press her lips to his.

“Scully,” he breathes afterward, lips curved in a smile against her own.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she retorts fondly.

She snuggles into him and wraps her arms around his chest and upper back, reciprocating the way he’s holding her. Mulder keeps his promise.

#fictober21 #txf #fanfiction #mine #ask #msr

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bffsoobin · 3 years

Text

This Time Around

➤ idol!yeonjun x non!idol/ex!girlfriend reader ft. same reader x jungkook (mostly platonic), fluff, angst, lots of messy feelings, other txt members make appearances/are mentioned

↳ weeks after your chance reconnection with Yeonjun, you book a flight to Seoul under his encouragement. When you arrive, you’re not only overwhelmed by the lifestyle of an idol, but the new people you meet. Will you and Yeonjun be able to hold on to each other this time around?

word count: 9k

requested?: yes! (thank you for this great idea, anon)

warnings: this is largely angst. crying, arguments, swearing, feelings of betrayal and confusion, Yeonjun is kind of an ass, self-doubt (in both Yeonjun and reader), messy feelings and relationships all around, this does NOT have a happy ending so don’t go in expecting one lmao also disclaimer (?) that I a) have no idea what the BH building looks like inside b) don’t think that either Yeonjun or Jungkook would act this way...we are here to write fiction, after all.

A/N: This is a sequel to Just One Day! I won’t be making too many explicit references to the content of that fic but reading it first will help with storyline clarity! I also don’t explicitly state this but the reader in this case already knows Korean, she just has never been to the country before- it was simply easier for storytelling. I really hope y’all like this. I was very inspired by this request especially since I was in the mood to write both angst and a sequel to one of my older pieces! (also this gave me a good excuse to write about koo without feeling bad for straying from TXT content lmao) ALSO this is not proof read or edited, as usual for me :)

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“I think it’s a good idea,” Yeonjun’s voice, velvety and heavy with sleep, seeps through the speakers of your phone. You glance at the time displayed on your computer and do the mental math which proves it’s a crisp 2 am in Korea.

“Go to bed, Junnie,” you half-scold, knowing that you wish for nothing more than for him to stay on the line until he eventually falls asleep in the middle of the conversation. He sighs through the phone, and you imagine him stretching his arms above his head to eliminate the fatigue creeping through him.

“Not till you promise me you’ll come,” he counters smartly. Your stomach flips wildly at the words. It had been almost three months since you spent the day with him, and not a single day had passed where he hadn’t been on your mind. Whether you spent your time talking to him or indulging yourself in your newfound kpop guilty pleasures, Yeonjun was almost always on your mind. Staying in touch proved to be harder than expected, due to both time zones and your equally packed schedules. Since he had flown back to Korea, you’d begun your first big girl job in a serious office that required constant business attire and piled the paperwork onto you, the newest and youngest hire.

“I’d love to, but you know how it is at work. I think my boss would combust if I told him I was taking a week’s vacation.” Talking about work made your head swim, as you recalled the stack of paperwork currently residing on your bedroom desk that needed to be finished before you showed up on Monday.

“That’s exactly why you deserve a vacation, Y/N. Look, if you fly into Seoul I promise I’ll make sure you don’t think about work for a second. I know you have time to take off, so take it. Come see me.” The line was quiet for a few seconds as you pondered, weighing your options carefully.

“I miss you,” Yeonjun’s voice came through loud and clear, crumbling the last remaining bit of your resolve. You missed him too, so much more than you ever thought you would, and your heartbeat kicks into high gear at the thought of seeing him again.

“Okay, I’ll file for my week off on Monday. I’ll see you soon, Yeonjun.”

----

When you finally arrive inside of the BigHit building, suitcase in tow and a huge visitor lanyard around your neck, your hands are sweating profusely. A kind staff member had picked you up from the airport and delivered you to the practice room that Yeonjun would presumably be inside of. The walls were soundproofed well, but you could hear the faint beat of bass through the heavy door as you hesitate in pushing it open. Another staff member passes behind you and eyes you closely until recognizing the badge hanging around your neck.

Feeling awkward for hesitating in the hallway after being seen, you push on the door until it swings open in a smooth motion. The wheels of your suitcase click over the seams of the floor, and the sound would have been enough to make you cringe if it weren’t for the pounding music.

A track you don’t recognize echos through the mirrored room as none other than Choi Yeonjun stares intently back at his own dancing reflection. You catch your own reflection; arms crossed in a protective latch over your chest.

His body moves fluidly, as if he had left all of his bones waiting for him at home, and a thrill of excited anxiety crawls through your chest. He was really there, mere feet away, and you were really here in the middle of the BigHit building, achieving the dreams of fans all over the world.

The music stops and your mouth runs dry. Yeonjun’s heaving breath is the only sound in the mirrored room and you try to drive away the thought of the last time you’d heard him pant like that; sweaty and shirtless overtop of you on your rickety secondhand couch.

“You made it.” He says, impressively able to control his voice even after the exertion.

“In one piece, at least.” You say. Your arms stay wound around your body, a protective cage against his stare and his touch. He eyes you carefully and you’re suddenly concerned that your airport-chic appearance is inadequate.

“You look pretty.” He whispers, stepping close enough that his heaving chest almost touches your crossed arms. His hands, fingers calloused and rough, wind around your wrists and tug gently, giving you plenty of time to pull back. But you let him unwind your arms and pull them to your sides. His hands are large and warm and press gently into your skin, grounding you into the room and the moment and the absurdity of the fact that you’re actually here with him in Korea.

“You bleached your hair.” You offer weakly, withering underneath his attention.

“I’m not supposed to tell, but I’m getting ready for pink.” He says. Sweat drips down his temples, meeting and rolling together in tracks down to his chin. He looks just as handsome as you remember him to be months before, but it’s hard to ignore the thinned frame of his face.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” You ask, finally finding courage to string together a meaningful sentence.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Yeonjun leans into you, supporting himself on the tips of his toes until he’s dangerously close to toppling you both over. He levels a heavy, constant gaze on you, eyes drifting down to the surprised pout of your lips and sliding back to your eyes. In a second you know that he wants to kiss you, and there is nothing more you’d like than for that to happen, so you close your eyes and lean into him; feel the warmth of his breath and you can almost taste the salt of his sweat, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Yeonjun startles and drops his hands from you, takes one huge step back and immediately bends into a deep bow.

Your back is still facing the door, but you catch a glimpse through the mirror. Jeon Jungkook stands just inside the door, dark wavy hair tied half up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats and rubbing fatigue from his eyes, but he’s somehow even more handsome in person. Your face flushes, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him through the mirror and knowing you failed as soon as he shoots you a small, toothy smile.

“Didn’t know you had company,” He says in lieu of a greeting as he steps just slightly closer to the two of you.

“We were just going.” Yeonjun bows again, grabs your wrist and tugs you in a persuasive manner.

“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook enthuses, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement at Yeonjun’s behavior and before you know it your face twists into a similar smile. It had been a long time since you’d seen Yeonjun so nervous, acting like he was attached to a live wire that kept him moving nonstop. “No need to rush out on my account.” Jungkook adds as Yeonjun tugs you again, leaving your suitcase abandoned in the spot you’d been standing. You open your mouth to protest.

“Wait! I don’t think that...” Jungkook looks at you pointedly as he rolls the suitcase back over to the two of you.

“Y/N.” You offer, hands sweating profusely as he passes over the luggage.

“I don’t think that Y/N would like to leave without her suitcase.” His eyes twinkle with something like an untold joke, an anecdote he wants to share but keeps in the back of his head for later. You thank him shortly, still starstruck and nervous as Yeonjun pulls you out of the door.

----

“I’m so sorry about that.” Yeonjun apologizes again as you arrive at a new door, this one in a whole new wing of the building that you would have gotten lost finding on your own.

“It’s okay, Jun. I expect to run into...o-other people.” You stutter as he opens the door, facing the realization that you were probably about to meet Yeonjun’s members too. The dorm was simpler than you expected, opening up to a lightly furnished living room that looked like it had been hastily cleaned- you could see a stack of clothes had been clumsily shoved behind the couch.

The lack of instant greetings surprises you as you follow Yeonjun blindly into the room but you don’t say anything. You kind of wish that the other four boys would come bursting out, bombard you with questions and jokes and prodding fingers as Yeonjun lets you into his room. The air is still charged from your interrupted kiss, and your fingers curl around the handle of your suitcase as you recall Jungkook’s reaction. He had clearly found it amusing, but was he more interested in teasing Yeonjun or finding out exactly who you were?

In the moment you had found his attention comical although stressful, like a funny anecdote that Yeonjun might grumble about a few weeks later. Now, you replay it over and over again, worried that every chance interaction with another idol within the building would play out exactly the same. Maybe you weren’t quite cut out for this. Yeonjun had been speaking the whole time, rattling off words you don’t catch as he opens and closes drawers.

“-is that alright?” He asks, spinning on his socked heels to face you. You freeze, trying desperately to claw through your mind for any clues to what he’d said. Yeonjun smirks, closes in on you and raises a well-kept eyebrow.

“What did I just ask you?” He asks, voice level and cool despite the teasing nature of the question.

“I-I don’t know.” You admit, a blush rises on your cheeks as his smirk pulls even larger.

“I asked...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “if you wanted to share a bed. You could always sleep on the couch, but I-”

“No, I’ll sleep with you!” You slap a hand over your mouth as Yeonjun dissolves into giggles. “I mean, I mean, I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You try desperately to break through his laughter but it’s useless, so you succumb to the same fit of giggles. Yeonjun cups your cheeks sweetly, squishing them together in earnest before leaning in the same way he had just minutes prior. Your heart stutters at the knowledge that this kiss was finally happening after three months separated.

Your lips meet in soft, tentative passes against each other until you recall the feeling. Yeonjun is hesitant, hanging back until you surge forward, kissing him harder and wiggling your tongue between the seam of his lips until he opens them. His teeth rake your bottom lip and nibble hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you into the moment until Yeonjun pulls back, thumbs stroking the tops of your cheeks. He places another kiss to your nose, giggling against your skin as you shy away.

A loud crash sounds from just outside the door and you jump, eyes blowing wide when the sound of overlapping voices grows closer and closer. Yeonjun tells you that the rest of the boys must be back and ushers you out of the room before you can protest.

In the living room you’re faced with the four of them, all busying themselves with mundane tasks or scrolling through their phones until Yeonjun clears his throat. They look up simultaneously, synchronized enough that you would have laughed under a different circumstance.

“Everyone, this is, my uh, uh, Y/N.” Yeonjun awkwardly sweeps a hand your way and you flush, feeling small as the four boys you’d watched and laughed with and admired through a screen bowed to you.

“I really-it’s not...well, hi.” You sigh.

----

Introductions aside, the night slides by easily until the wear of your travel catches up with you so suddenly that you slump onto the nearest body. Yeonjun shakes you awake and it’s only then that you notice the shoulder you were leaning upon belonged to Beomgyu. You apologize to the boy as soon as you can get your tongue to work properly and are soon whisked away to Yeonjun’s bedroom. The short trip awoke you to an unpleasant degree, almost feeling as if you were suddenly too aware of your surroundings. The lights were too bright, the scent of fabric softener too strong in your nose, the sound of the remaining four people in the living room too loud. And of course, the presence of Yeonjun too much to handle.

You sit at the foot of the bed and pick at your nails while Yeonjun shuffles around the room, doing something you don’t bother to track closely.

“Are you going to get ready for bed?” He asks shortly, not even turning to face you. You now realize that he had pulled on pajamas of his own; a too-big graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. Frowning, you head for your own suitcase and dig through the carefully stacked clothes until you find some suitable options. You change quickly, keeping your back to him although you can feel his heavy stare at your back.

“Did you like them?” He asks. You sit back at the metal headboard and nod thoughtfully. His lips draw into a straight line as he settles beside you. “You and Beomgyu really...got along well.”

“Sure, I think we all got along well.” You offer, tucking yourself underneath his newly cleaned sheets. For a moment you wonder what he was going to do about the lights overhead, but they extinguish with a press of a button on his phone. Plunged in darkness, you can’t help but feel a bit bolder, indulging in the burn of defiance within you.

“Why? Are you jealous?” You ask. Yeonjun scoffs and you can feel the sheets pull as he flips underneath them. He says nothing but you can feel the air in the room shift. The bedding feels suffocating.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

----

When you wake, you’re uncharacteristically hot. You notice the sweat beading your neck and forehead as soon as you sit up, desperate to free yourself from the covers. You wonder if Yeonjun is suffering a similar fate, or if his body is used to the brutal heat of his bedroom. You turn to look for him, happy anxiety at the thought of seeing his sleeping form in real time brewing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d imagined this exact moment, wondered if he scrunched his face in his sleep or if he looked serene and peaceful, wondered if he snored or spoke or sighed in his sleep.

But all you saw was crumpled sheets and a small, bright green post-it note with bunched writing. It stuck to the bed sheets as you pulled it up, and you had to blink a few times before you finally understood the gist of the note. Yeonjun was gone, off to do his daily idol duties, and you are welcome to use their shower as none of the boys were home. You scan the note again for any sign of love or sincerity but find nothing more than cold and clinical facts, like a teacher giving instructions to a class.

Bitterness grows in your chest as you slip into the cramped shower and cool yourself off under a trickle of water. Theoretically, you know that Yeonjun would be busy while you were here. After all, you couldn’t expect the company to let him off of all responsibility just because you were around. Your skin was growing red under the scrub of your fingers. But he could have at least run it by you last night, warned you that he would probably be gone by the time you got up and given you some idea of when he’d be back. What were you supposed to do all day? You stepped out of the shower, flinging your wet hair away from your face. You could barely make it out of this building alone, but you’d be damned if all you did was sit here and wait for him to return. If he wasn’t going to be here, you’d make your own fun.

You were unfamiliar to Seoul, but after navigating yourself out of the BigHit building you felt as if you could conquer anything. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had passed by in your slumber until you stepped into the real world. Dusk had begun to fall over the sky, painting it a hazy purple-pink in anticipation of a sunset. People and cars and buses rushed by with purpose as you stand still and baffled at the city before you. The packed street before you is a little bit intimidating, but reminded you enough of the bustle of your hometown that you took a brave step forward anyway. Crossing so quickly that you almost run into a group of teenage girls, you finally reach some kind of a destination. To be fair, you had done zero planning on sight seeing before coming, so almost every building looked like a destination to you. A particularly cute looking café seemed to manifest itself out of thin air and beckon you in with sweet drinks and sugary snacks. You order and eat greedily with the realization that this is your first real meal since being on the plane yesterday, and the waitress laughs when you tell her that as you flag her down for another piece of cake.

The café certainly lives up to the hype you make for it, but you notice the employees begin to clean and close things down, so you leave and thank them on the way out. You finally check your phone, hoping that Yeonjun might have sent you an apology or an update, but you see nothing aside from email notifications. Emblazoned by his actions, you continue on your exploration, opening the doors to a clothing shop with so much force that other patrons cringe. Inside, you buy way too many things to fit in your suitcase before traipsing yourself-weighed down by bags- into a nearby restaurant. Something about being in Korea had elevated your appetite to an extreme level, so your stomach growls as soon as you cross over the threshold. The place is crowded, almost packed wall to wall as patrons and employees alike bustle between one another.

The cute wooden sign reads “seat yourself” so you dodge and weave until you find a tiny table, just big enough for your party of one, hidden in a more private corner of the restaurant. An employee spots you and yells out that he’s going to go get a menu, so you content yourself with people watching in the meantime. At the table diagonal to you, you spot a woman who looks just about the same age as you. Her hair is carefully waved; a deep, shiny brown that flows just down to the top of her chest. Every feature you can spot is immaculate and it makes you feel sick. Her nails are perfectly manicured, not a single chip or hang nail in sight, while your own nailbeds are torn up and bloody as a result of nervous picking. A weird, unwelcome acidity crawls up the back of your throat and demands to be acknowledged, makes your eyes burn with envious tears as the waiter finally delivers a menu and you wonder why you can’t just look that put together and perfect. After you order you can no longer stand to look her way anymore, angry at the fact that you were so resentful of this stranger.

Your waiter drops your food and utensils with polite haste but you aren’t nearly as hungry as you were before. Noodles and broth swirl around your spoon as the steam rises into your face, paying more attention to the bustle of the open kitchen where you spot a fun streak of vibrant pink hair. Whoever is donning it must have had it done recently. There’s a few small patches of pink dye spotting the back of their neck and it’s quite endearing to think about until you remember- Yeonjun was supposed to be dying his hair pink soon, and that tall frame and broad back look suspiciously familiar, and he still hasn’t sent you any texts, and you think that maybe he was just getting some takeout and heading back home but then he turns away from the counter and heads to your corner of the building. Your mouth goes dry, all the air still and stale in your lungs as his eyes land on yours. He looks away and then looks back again, double taking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he hadn’t been the one to invite you out to Korea, as if you hadn’t shared a bed last night. And then he moves, finally, walks away from the counter and toward your table with a tray piled with food and your heart hammers against your ribs as he walks right by and settles into the seat across from the perfect girl. She smiles wide as he unloads the food and settles in.

There’s nothing you can do but stare and fight the sting of your eyes until your waiter comes back around, notices your untouched food and asks if you want a takeout container. You say yes loud enough for Yeonjun to hear, and you can see him flinch but you know he won’t turn around. Not in public, with all these people around. Not when he’s an idol and you’re just a normal girl- a fucking tourist- and not when Miss Perfect is giggling her perfect laugh at whatever he just said.

The air outside is cold and it stings. Your face is wet but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t know any of these people, and they will never see you again. They probably won’t even remember that you cried on the walk home, weighed down with bags of food and clothes and the knowledge that Yeonjun was lying.

When you return to the dorm Beomgyu, Soobin and Taehyun are hanging around the living room, watching something on the television.

“Hey- where’s Yeonjun? He said he was going to dinner, we assumed he was meeting you.” Soobin asks, his tone cautiously trying to hide his confusion.

“Well, I did go to dinner,” you lift up the bags on your arm, “and so did Yeonjun. At the same place.” Your voice clips and you take a moment wonder if you should go on until Beomgyu mutters a soft “oh”.

“Well, here’s some food.” The plastic bag thuds on the coffee table. “Not hungry.”

----

You don’t know what time it is when Yeonjun decides to come back, but you have no plans of acknowledging his presence. The room is dimmed, only a bedside lamp left to keep you out of total darkness. You are perfectly content to simmer in your own anger for the night, let him feel it radiate off of your back the whole time you sleep. Until he has the audacity to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You see red in the dark room. Your fingers clench into the pillow, making a victim out of the poor feathers and fabric as you contemplate throwing it at his head. His new hair looks even nicer in the low light; nearly fluorescent and falling in a perfectly styled arc around his face.

“Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know.” You spit. Yeonjun says nothing but he clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s about to make an argument, but you beat him to it.

“At least tell me who she is.” You try to hide the waver of your voice but it’s already there to stay.

“She’s no one! I’m not really supposed to tell anyone about it yet, the guys don’t even know-”

“They don’t know what? That you’re keeping two different girls in your pocket? Can’t even commit to one for a week long vacation? Jesus, Yeonjun, If you want to...cheat on me, at least wait until I’m not in the country. Fuck, I can’t even call it cheating because you don’t even want to date me! We only met up again a few months ago, and we spent one day together! And we fucked and it was nice and it was fun but what the fuck was it really? I texted you today, you know, to ask where the hell you were, and you never answered. I know that your life is busy, but a warning yesterday would have been nice.”

“I’m not cheating on you! She’s not- she’s just, someone I- that’s not the point, Y/N! And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but I was really busy, and I forgot to bring it up and I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to hang around all day?” You grit your teeth to stop an annoyed screech from hopping out.

“Of course not, Yeonjun. I’m not an idiot. What I expected was some fucking communication. I traveled across the world to come see you, maybe even try to figure out what we are, and so far all I’ve done is wander around the city alone. This isn’t what I wanted to do! I’m missing a week of work for this! I didn’t come out here just to be your little plaything once you get home!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Yeonjun stands up from the bed, rubbing his palms over the back of his neck. “I knew you would never understand. You can never understand how busy this lifestyle is, and I guess I was stupid for believing that you could understand, and that you wouldn’t be mad at me for having to go do my fucking job.”

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand your life? Will you ever just admit that you only like me because you can mold me around your shit? When I’m back home you can call me at any hour that works for you, and I’ll pick up. You can bitch about your job and your friends and your company and all the pain you have but whenever I call you you’re tired or sick or just don’t feel like it. Guess fucking what Yeonjun. I’m here now. And we share a room and a bed and a city so you can’t keep me miles away and at your beck and call whenever you so well please. I’m right in front of you now, and you need to own up to your shit. You ignored me. Now you’re lying about whoever the fuck that girl was. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re a famous idol.” Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. Sweat is beading on your forehead just like it did this morning and it makes you itch but you refuse to move a single muscle, hardened to the spot and staring Yeonjun down. You can’t even remember how the argument started, but all you know now is that you can’t stand to look at him any longer. His eyes are wide, bottom lip wobbling. Tears sting at your eyes and your nose burns and you’re ready to lay down or maybe chug a bottle of vodka.

“I’m going to bed.” You pull the covers over you even though you’re sweltering, turn off the bedside lamp with the switch and clamp your eyes shut.

----

Your brain never shuts off. Even when you slam your eyes shut and start counting metaphorical sheep, you’re still replaying the argument on a relentless loop. Yeonjun had left the room moments after you tucked yourself in and you had yet to hear the door creak to announce his reappearance, so it was safe to assume that he was sleeping on the couch or holed up with another one of the boys. Or maybe he went crawling back to Miss Perfect.

The room is suffocating; heat simmers off of every surface even after you’ve thrown off the sheets and the white walls are annoying you. If you ever talk to Yeonjun again it will have to be about his piss poor decorating skills and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to hang up some pictures to break up the never ending white. Your phone says it’s just minutes shy of 2 am, but what does that really mean when you have no idea what time you laid down? Your legs move before your mind decides where you’re going, seemingly possessed by the idea of leaving the room as fast as possible. There’s just enough time to shrug on a crewneck and a pair of sneakers before you find yourself under the blinding fluorescents of the hall that remind you exactly where you are. Tall, sturdy black doors stand on both sides of you, metal accents gleaming and boasting their contents. There’s no easy way to understand the layout of the building, and you assume that’s for the protection of the idols, but it also means that you completely forget the only route you know for leaving the building.

Had you taken a left or a right? Did you pass by the hallway next to the ladies bathroom or go down it? Had there always been a potted plant next to that office, or did all of the doors just look similar? Somehow, you find yourself back in the place you had first been delivered to when you arrived. The doors were slightly different here, some made of thick wavy glass that was vaguely transparent and others made out of the same black you had become used to. A set of three rooms with the wavy glass were right next to one another, and if your suspicions were correct they were all practice rooms, presumably empty at the lack of music. The thought of the rooms, empty and clean and sporting just enough comfortable furniture in the corner for you to sprawl out on. There was no way that sleep was going to overcome you, but at least you could feel secure in your loneliness for a few hours.

The metal handle was cold, chilling your sweaty palm instantly, but you’re met with harsh resistance. It doesn’t budge forward no matter how hard you push downward and lean into the door. Out of anger you try one more time, grunting and digging your heels into the carpet of the hallway.

“You need a card to get in.” A voice calls from what must just be steps behind you, and you jump embarrassingly high before turning reluctantly. Surely some poor late-shift cleaner or intern had seen you struggling with the door and decided to take pity on you before someone really saw you making a fool of yourself. You could only imagine what they were thinking- how they would go home to their pets or family or friends and laugh about the girl they saw throwing her entire weight against a locked door.

But in the split second your neurons begin to fire anew, you know that you weren’t lucky enough to be discovered by another normal member of society. On this already annoyingly unlucky night you come face to face with- once again- Jeon Jungkook. You flush immediately and pull at the hem of your shorts until they do a better job at covering your thighs. You’re still sweaty, strands of hair matted to the back of your neck and your forehead, and the fact that it’s sometime past 2 am and you’ve yelled and cried and tossed and turned and cursed everything that led you to this moment only makes you look worse.

And, of course, even though it’s sometime past 2 am and maybe Jungkook had also been sweating and tossing and turning and cursing everything too...he still manages to look like an angel. His hair is unruly, all loose and wavy and sticking up in some places. His outfit is almost identical to what you first saw him in, but this it was black instead of gray, and his sleeves are bunched at the elbow, only affording you half a look at his lithe muscles and tattoos. His lips split in the same toothy grin as he gestures a small plastic card your way. How dare he look so handsome no matter the circumstance. He’s so much closer than he had been before, merely a foot away from you in the narrow hallway. Up this close you can see how perfect his skin is, as smooth and pore less as Yeonjun’s and Miss Perfect’s.

“No, I don’t need it.” You dismiss his hand with a small wave, sour after reminding yourself why you were here to begin with.

“Seems like you do?” Jungkook’s voice was oddly small too. He retracts his hand halfway, making sure you could still take it from him if you want to.

“No, what I need is a new boyfriend.” You spit the words before your conscious can review them, before you can remember that Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend, that he isn’t technically anything except a rekindled flame you traveled across the world for. Jungkook pulls his arm all the way back and his face softens. You know he puts the pieces together quickly and you can feel the sympathy pass through the hall. “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re busy, or need to pass by or- yeah, sorry.” You stand aside, press against the wall and wait for him to walk away, but he stays grounded and levels his soft but deadly gaze on you. It’s an unwelcome reminder that he’s one of the most famous idols in the world and you’re standing in the middle of his company building; tired and teary.

“Did you fight? Is that why you’re wondering through our part of the building alone?” He gestures at one of the doors further down the hallway, a solid black one, and you can make out a shiny plaque with his name on it and some cute little decorations taped on the wall.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t find my way around this place- I just couldn’t sleep so I wandered and I guess I ended up in...your part of the building.” You can feel the heat radiate off of your face as he smiles again, nose scrunching at your panic.

“Cute.” His nose wiggles one more time before he schools his features as if the word didn’t nearly knock you on your ass. Cute. Cute! He has the audacity to stand here in the middle of the night and call you cute. “Seriously, if you need somewhere to sit down or sleep, there’s a couch in my studio, it’s clean in there, you can-”

“Oh, no! Jungkook,” you blush stupidly at using his name, “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just circle back to Yeonjun’s and sleep it off.” The thought makes your stomach churn, the idea of trying to fall asleep in the exact room your almost relationship fell to pieces. Surely the carpet couldn’t be too uncomfortable-

“No, please, I’m offering. You look tired, and if you fought...well, I know how awkward it can be in the morning. Come on.” He walks away before you can protest and some other worldly sense makes you follow him. You never expected to be in this position, but you also never thought that Yeonjun would disappoint you so much. Inside of the partially padded studio is a surprisingly large sofa with a charming patchwork blanket draped over the back. Jungkook stands awkwardly next to his desk and picks at his fingernails as you sit down. You sink in to the couch and instantly feel more comfortable than you have in days, the soft scent of lavender and the warm yellow lights bring you as close to relaxation as you can get.

“I saw him with another girl.” You lose your filter again and Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “He says it wasn’t a date, but he also won’t tell me who she was, and the rest of them all thought he was with me so he’s obviously lying. We aren’t technically dating, so can I even be mad? He’s lying no matter what, and he didn’t even tell me he would be out all day or text me during it. But I also still have three more days to stick out here.” A few hot tears are slipping down your face and you can’t help but feel insecure about them.

Jungkook says nothing of the tears but chews thoughtfully on his thumbnail. He leans his hip against his desk, intimidating and sharp yet soft and handsome and sweet for letting you stay here and spill your anger into his studio. His socked foot taps on the floor in a rhythm unknown to you, and you can’t help but wonder how many people would kill to be in your exact spot. You notice a day-by-day calendar that’s quite a few days behind on his desk, and it makes you smile until he’s moving, lowering himself to the floor just a few inches away from your feet.

His fists clench- subtle enough that you wouldn’t even notice if the room didn’t feel so charged- and as he looks up at you, you see that a look somewhere between anger and pity paints his face. It’s embarrassing to sit here like this, so clearly under his scrutiny with nothing but your pajamas to cover you.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks again and shakes his head so much that a few ebony pieces of hair slip into his eyes in a near-perfect arc. You shrug. “Really, Y/N. I’m sorry. That’s an asshole move, no matter who the other girl is. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and after all the trouble you put in to come out here and see him-he’s lucky we don’t cross paths often.” He sighs and suddenly he’s sitting next to you on the couch, the weight and heat of his body making the situation that much more real and that much more odd. You must still have unshed tears lining your eyes when you find the courage to look up at him because he frowns. “Please, don’t cry! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a girl in here, and well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if she spends the whole time crying.”

A shit eating grin sprouts on his face as soon as he sees your lips upturn with laughter. It’s hard not to be grateful for the joke, so you laugh and thank him for trying to make you feel better.

“And thanks again, for the place to sleep. Or, try.” You have a feeling that sleep will evade you all night, no matter how cozy the room makes you.

“If you don’t think you’re going to sleep-” Jungkook stands suddenly and rushes over to his desk. When he gets there, he turns his wide desktop computer until it faces the couch and logs in. “Then at least watch some movies! Here,” he puts a wireless keyboard in your lap- “whatever you wanna watch, I have it all.” You hesitate for just a moment and then type in the title of one of your favorite films with seconds to spare before Jungkook throws the patchwork blanket over both of your laps. He sinks back into the couch and you follow his lead, careful to keep a good few inches of space between the two of you because holy shit, you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and holy shit he’s watching a movie with you, and holy shit he just saw you cry and he looks so handsome from the side.

You pay more attention to Jungkook than you do the movie. It’s funny to watch someone who feels so extraordinary do something as normal as watching a movie and realize that he really is human. And the way he crinkles his nose and widens his doe-eyes makes your heart stutter with attraction and then guilt at the thought of Yeonjun, who still makes your palms sweat and your heart shake with anticipation of his touch despite your argument.

But here’s Jungkook, being kind and open and raw and willing to stay up with you on this random sleepless night although you only met by chance mere hours ago. And his kind eyes widen and narrow and crinkle when he laughs at the movie, and he offers you a second blanket and a throw pillow when your eyes get too heavy for you to focus, and you don’t think that you’re imagining things as you feel gentle fingers comb through your hair.

----

Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you wake up, confusion soaks your senses as you piece together where you are and how you got there and who’s lap your head is laying in. As if he could read your thoughts, Jungkook lets out a long and loud groan from above you. Clearly he had fallen asleep where he is now, head lolled against the back of the couch and a throw pillow folded between his arms.

“Good morning.” He drawls, voice still deep and thick from slumber. Out of all the things you never thought you would do, waking up to Jungkook is near to the top.

“M-morning.” You manage to call back as you run your hands over your face, hoping to absolve yourself of any evidence of shock. Jungkook’s studio is just as welcoming as it had been to you last night, but now a deep sense of guilt creeps through you. Yeonjun might have woken up by now, maybe he was ready to talk and try to make things better, maybe he’s been calling and texting you and you haven’t seen any of it. Your phone is nowhere to be found as you dig around in the blanket, a noise of distress clawing up the back of your throat. Heart pounding, you put a hand underneath the couch and slide it back and forth until your fingers graze over the cold, hard mass that must be your phone. As soon as it’s in your grasp you can see that the time is just a few minutes past 8am, and that you indeed do have a few texts waiting from Yeonjun.

“Oh, Jungkook, thank you again for-y-you know, but I have to go, do you mind showing me which way to go?” Poor sense of direction had landed you here to begin with, and you wouldn’t let it make this problem any bigger again. Thankfully he doesn’t protest; just waits by the door as you straighten out your pajamas. Out in the hallway, the lights are bright and imposing and you recognize a headache from the late night is starting to creep up behind your eyes. No one really seems to be around to see the two of you, and you are nothing short of grateful for that when Jungkook makes a quick stop and you barrel into his back, face burning with embarrassment. He laughs as you sputter apologizes and wave for him to keep leading the way, but he insists on stopping and turning to face you. His face is puffy with sleep, eyes still scrunching against the lights, but they’re still clear and gentle and it’s hard to miss the teasing twitch of his full lips in such close proximity.

A wave of admiration crashes through you, followed quickly by a sickening feeling of guilt. Yeonjun was probably waiting for you to come talk things out, and here you were drooling over a different boy. “I’m okay, lets keep going.” Urging him on with a gentle push to his muscled back is the most you can do since you still don’t notice anything distinctive to lead you back to the correct dorm. Just a few more steps down the hallway and you can hear voices, overlapping shouts, and one voice you would recognize anywhere coming from the way you were about to turn. Before you even had time to open your mouth to voice your concern to Jungkook, Yeonjun is stomping down the hallway, a panicked looking Taehyun in tow.

His face is draw, sharp features heightened by either confusion or anger- it’s hard to tell- as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. The two boys are fairly evenly matched in height but Yeonjun still squares up, lifting his shoulders higher and craning his neck. You know he knows you’re there; you shared a moment of eye contact in the seconds before he leveled a glare at Jungkook.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yeonjun spits, anger shaking the fists at his sides. Jungkook is shocked, you can tell even from behind him, the way he recoils just slightly and scoffs as if he can’t believe his ears.

“Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I was just helping Y/N get back to your dorm.” You’re amazed at how well he controls his anger, especially after seeing the anger he held back against Yeonjun the night before. You take this as a queue to step out from behind Jungkook’s frame, allowing Yeonjun a better look at you.

“Oh, before or after she spent the night in your studio? Just couldn’t resist giving her a place to stay. Someone to sleep with?” Anger flares in your stomach, lighting a fire underneath your skin.

“What the fuck, Yeonjun? Do you really think that I would-”

“Sleep with him? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? Look at the state of you two, don’t tell me you didn’t fuck.” There was simply no believing what was coming out of his mouth, and his words only made you wish that you had acted on the feelings you felt brewing last night.

“What if I did? You certainly don’t want me! I’m sorry I went looking for companionship somewhere else!” It’s much too quiet in the hallway after that, the only evidence that the world hadn’t stopped turning is Jungkook’s hand that comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“So you did.” Yeonjun rubs his chin, taking a step backwards in what you assume is disbelief. Tears creep into the corners of your eyes, stubbornly burning and forcing you to blink until your vision is blurry. Jungkook says something you don’t quite catch through the static buzzing in your ears. You feel exhausted, weak at the knees with disbelief at just how awful this interaction was going; so lost that it takes Jungkook shaking your shoulder to bring you back to reality.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this here. Yeonjun, let’s go, please.” You beg, walking toward him before he even responds. The idea of being caught in this odd trifecta made you sweat. Jungkook protests but you wave him off quickly, assuring that there was nothing else he could do. As upset as Yeonjun was, you knew that he would calm down substantially once the older boy was gone.

The walk to the dorm is thankfully short, and Taehyun tries his best at making small talk while Yeonjun trails behind like a petulant child. As soon as you cross into the dorm you feel awkward and hot all over like everyone is watching you even though Taehyun is already disappearing into his room and locking the door while Yeonjun breezes right past you.

“I’m not playing the silent game.” You follow Yeonjun into the kitchen where he has his head buried in the fridge, making a point to rattle every bottle and package inside of it.

“Alright, fine. Then you get to tell me the truth.” His voice is softer now, much less elevated and harsh than it was just minutes before. “Did you spend the night with him?” It rattles your bones to hear the edge of hurt in his voice.

“I was wandering around the building in the middle of the night, and he was too- so I told him what was going on and he offered for me to stay in his studio, on the couch. And I said yes-” Yeonjun’s face crumples. “We watched a movie and I fell asleep.”

“Why didn’t you just come back? I texted you, Y/N. We literally just argued about communication and the first thing you do is run to a different guy? If I’m not good enough for you, just admit it.”

“I could say the same exact thing to you. Why am I here? Should I just book a flight home tonight and call it quits? Do you even want to try this?” Yeonjun cracks open a bottle of water and drinks half in one go, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “And I did nothing with Jungkook. Because I respect you, and whatever the fuck this-” You gesture between the two of you, feet apart, “is. Or was.”

“Don’t say that.” Yeonjun’s voice cracks, reminiscent of the way he used to sound on the phone when he called you at the end of the day. “I- I don’t want to hear you say that. Please.” A tremor of hurt shakes your bones, creates an unpleasant lump in your throat that you try and fail to swallow. Yeonjun appears to you now as similar as he did in your teenage years; uncertain and small and his wide, glassy eyes latching on to you like a lifeline. And you can’t help but remember how you used to be too; devoted to him and naïve about where life was going to take you.

“I don’t want to say it either, Yeonjun. I hate saying it. But we aren’t the same people we were all those years ago. We’re in two different lives, and as much as I want to be able to fit into yours...it’s never going to happen.” Your body weight feels suddenly too much, like you’re being filled with lead and sunk to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. Yeonjun finally closes your perpetual gap in a slow gait that seemed like it would last forever. His eyes are red, puffy, rimmed with unshed tears. Dark circles ring his eyes and you know they’re because he probably didn’t sleep last night either. His lips are chapped and dry, pouting in an incurable sadness. Your fingers itch to cup his jaw and litter him with kisses until he finally grins.

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” If any other noise had happened at the same time he spoke, you wouldn’t have heard the question. A stake strikes through your heart at the words, scarring your soul for years to come.

“No, Junnie. I love you so much.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you gasp out a sob, “I just don’t think we’re going to work this time around. We’re both too busy, and on different tracks, and I think we just have to be more r-realistic.” You have to close your eyes, unable to watch the way tears begin to cascade down his own face. “I’m sorry.” You stand alone, still and cold and clamping your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

Yeonjun’s body molds around your form, tight and warm and shuddering slightly from his own tears. He smells like laundry detergent and musk and you shake with regret as his arms wind around your back and hold you as close to his frame as you think is humanly possible. Your tears soak his crewneck as the fabric scratches your skin. His heart beat is erratic, but you know yours isn’t fairing any better, and you can’t help but curse the universe for bringing you all this way with him just to shoot you back down.

“I’m sorry too. For not being enough.” His words rumble into your hair and you can’t even find the energy to refute them and instead just shake your head. Your head spins in wild circle as Yeonjun finally stops shaking underneath you in favor of cupping your face in tender hands, forcing you to open your eyes. His look felt more intimate than anything else you had shared before; a pure and expressive opening into his most vulnerable form and the knowledge that you were the reason he was feeling it.

“I think I should try to catch an earlier flight home.” You aren’t quite sure exactly why you say it, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised at the notion. After all, there would be nothing to stick around for. He still had to work and you had no relationship left to hang on to. You hadn’t even gotten around to unpacking your suitcase. Yeonjun nods sadly, wiping at a few more tears before clearing his throat. His voice is thick, the evidence of his emotion loud and clear and your heart breaks at the thought of truly walking away from him.

“I’ll miss you, Y/N.” There’s no telling if he would ever contact you after this, or if you would contact him. Maybe the two of you will live with odd shadows of one another in the back of your heads for the rest of your lives- a teenage romance rekindled years later only to explode and crackle and eventually fade into the dark.

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

in line.

Aaron Hotchner x Male Reader

request from anon: Thank you for sharing your writing on here! A blurb idea, because I hardly see any male readers, is that maybe Hotch has figured out he’s attracted to men too and has a boyfriend? Someone Hotch can go home to and be taken care of by them, someone Jack trusts? Because hotch spends all his time caring for the team, his s/o really spoils him with affection and TLC. I’m really soft for that idea, and the team being real pleased he’s found someone who appreciates him again. Hope you’re doing well! a/n: i wanted to give this a little more attention than a blurb, so it turned into a Whole Thing™ words: 2790 warnings: swearing, some drinking, derek being charming, and emily prentiss: patron saint of The Gays™

i don't have a specific male!reader taglist yet, so i added all yall on my gn!reader list, so nobody would miss this! lemme know if you wanna stay on the male!reader list or not - you’ll never hurt my feelings :)

masterlist | requests closed!

Aaron came home to all the lights off save one, illuminating a little scene before him - dinner (still hot) on the coffee table, a glass of wine, and you, holding the remote ready to start a movie.

He smiled, set his briefcase down, and slipped his shoes off.

“Jack’s at Jess’s,” you said, before he could ask. “I thought it would be a nice surprise to spend the evening, just you and me.”

He crossed to the couch and sat down, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “It’s a great surprise, thank you.” You grabbed his tie and tried to pull him down on the couch, but he pried your fingers off and laughed. “Let me change and I’ll come sit with you, alright?”

You picked up your glass of wine and tipped it his direction. “I’ll be here.”

It was true. When he returned and dropped down next to you, you were waiting for him. When he was firmly settled with dinner, you started the movie.

After a while, you asked, “Did the case go okay?”

He nodded. “We got ‘im. I had to stay and make sure the DA had a strong enough case, otherwise I would have been home yesterday.”

You leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around you. “I don’t mind. Jack and I went out for a bike ride yesterday and didn’t miss you at all, not even a little.”

Aaron laughed. “Good.”

+++

“Damn it.”

Aaron forgot his lunch. He could see it in his mind’s eye, sitting there next to his travel mug of coffee on the kitchen island. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he had just resigned himself to a takeout lunch when his phone rang.

“Hotchner.”

“Babe, you left your lunch here,” the light amusement in your tone dissolved his sour mood, and he smiled despite himself.

“I noticed.”

He could hear you shuffling around in the background as you spoke. “I’ll swing by and leave it downstairs after I drop Jack at school. No more than an hour, okay?”

Aaron smiled and sat in his chair, leaning back. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You laughed. “Absolutely nothing. I’m just a sucker for charity cases.” There was a shuffle, and you heard Jack laugh. You were probably at the table, poking the kid in the ribs until he almost got sick with laughter. Before Aaron could respond again, you said, “Alright, love you, bye!” and hung up.

Aaron rolled his eyes and got to work.

True to your word, no more than an hour later found you at the front of the Quantico Federal Building, Aaron’s lunch and coffee in your hand. You’d never seen the inside, but you knew you were on the visitors list.

Fuck it.

You checked in, got your visitor’s badge, and made your way to the sixth floor with only a little bit of spatial confusion. You knew which bullpen was theirs immediately - you had yet to meet the team, but you’d seen pictures and heard enough stories to keep track of names and faces.

You quickly stepped through the glass doors, doing everything in your power to avoid directing too much attention to yourself. But alas, Aaron worked with profilers, and they all noticed you despite your best efforts.

JJ’s head shot up. “Is that -”

“Hotch’s travel mug? Yeah.” Derek squinted at you as you took the stairs two at a time up to your boyfriend’s door.

You knocked, and a crisp “Come in” sounded from inside.

Aaron couldn’t hide his surprise when you poked your head through the door, stepping in and closing it behind you. He stood, circling the desk and leaning against it.

Boundaries were important to him at work, you knew, so you refrained from untoward affection, stepping back to a respectable distance after you set his things next to the file on his desk.

“How’d you get past security?” He asked, and you knew it was a joke.

“I guess they’re letting just about anyone in, these days.”

Aaron nodded, in facetious consternation. “Looks like it.” He broke after a moment, offering you a small smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

You shrugged. “Wasn’t too hard.”

He glanced out the blinds. The entire team averted their eyes, bumping into each other in their haste to look busy.

You followed his gaze. “It’s okay, Aaron. Don’t feel pressured to introduce me to any of them - I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” There was a little swoop in your stomach.

Did I overstep?

He sighed. “I know. You didn’t. It feels a little...ridiculous to be hiding anything from them after all this time.” He reached out, and you took his hand, still a couple of steps away. His eyes stayed on your linked hands as they swung a little between you. “I don’t mean to hide you from them.”

You squeezed his hand with a warm, small smile. “I know.” And you did. It was big for him - explicitly and obviously coming out to his team was bound to be terrifying, and to add a new person on top of that?

I don’t envy him.

Meanwhile, down in the bullpen, everyone was taking turns reporting back on what was going on behind the blinds.

“They’re holding hands, and not in a handshake way,” Emily said, covering her face with a folder as she looked up.

JJ chanced a look. “He’s been a lot less uptight recently.”

“He’s also not coming in as early. His arrival time is, on average, about thirty-seven minutes later than five months ago.”

Emily looked at Spencer like he’d grown another head. “You keep track of when we come in?”

Spencer didn’t look up from his book. “Of course.”

“I’m glad he has someone,” JJ noted lightly. “It’s good for him.”

Back up in the office, you took a step toward Aaron. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, my love.”

He huffed a laugh and ran his thumbs over your knuckles. “Come to Dave’s the next time we all get together.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows felt like they were going to meet your hairline they shot up so fast.

“Yeah. They’d love to meet you.”

Your brow furrowed, confused. “How do you know?”

He shrugged. “They’re very predictable.”

+++

Needless to say, Aaron was right. They politely, pointedly, and casually posed questions about Hotch’s lunchtime visitor until he wasn’t able to avoid them anymore. Thus, he invited you to Dave’s the next time the team had a night off.

You were excited, but admittedly a little nervous. You were all headed to the car, Jack (very carefully) carrying the brownies you’d made that afternoon.

He was chatting away, telling you stories you’d already heard, about JJ and Emily and Derek and Spencer and Dave and Henry and etc. etc. etc.

You loved that kid.

When Aaron pulled up to the house, Jack jumped out of the car and walked through the front door like he owned the place. It made you laugh.

Aaron looked over, a fond smile on his face. “What?”

“Jack. He just -” you made a vague gesture with your hand - he just goes and goes, and Aaron laughed.

After a moment, you two sobered. He reached for your hand, and you laced your fingers with his.

“They’re going to love you. You know that.”

You snorted. “I certainly don’t.”

Aaron kissed the back of your hand and covered it, so two of his hands were holding one of yours. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?”

He patted your hand twice by way of an answer, releasing you and opening his door. You followed suit, waiting for him on the sidewalk.

When you actually looked, you realized how truly massive Dave’s house was. Aaron had told you he was well-off, with his book royalties and other savings, but the beautiful and tasteful mansion before you spoke to a bank account that had eight figures, rather than six.

Aaron stepped forward and offered you his hand. You took it. He led you up the flagstone path and through the front door, opening it without preamble.

The foyer was beautiful, opening to a staircase, the living room, and some kind of den or parlor off to the side. Aaron led you to the kitchen, where a statuesque woman with dark brown hair was mixing a drink. Emily.

She turned when she heard you enter, and a wide smile broke out across her face. “Hi!”

You dropped Aaron’s hand and offered it to her. She shook it readily, and you found yourself mirroring her smile. “Hi. Emily, right?”

She nodded, and spared a glance at Hotch. “Hotch, you know it’s polite to introduce guests.”

He huffed in good humor and gestured pedantically as he spoke. “Emily, this is my boyfriend, Y/N. Y/N, Agent Emily Prentiss.”

You were very impressed by his lack of hesitation over the word boyfriend, as it had been a topic of discussion in the past.

“It’s so juvenile. I feel like I’m in high school.” Aaron chuckled, staring up at the ceiling with his hands laced behind his head.

You rolled over onto his chest. “I can’t be your partner - you’ve already been a lawyer and I would hate to confuse people. You’re the one with a juris doctorate, not me.” You rested your chin on his pec, giving just a little more weight than was necessary.

He dropped one of his arms, and you scooted up to fit nearly under it. “Is it at all weird to have a boyfriend in one’s forties?”

You shrugged. “I think it’s whimsical.”

“Oh yeah, that’s me.” He laughed. “Whimsical in the extreme.”

Emily’s voice was warm and genuine when she told you, “It’s a pleasure to meet the person who keeps him,” she jabbed her index finger at Hotch, “in line.”

You laughed, the anxiety melting little by little. “Bold of you to assume anyone can keep him in line.”

She snorted. “Don’t I know it.”

Hotch crossed his arms over his chest. “Guys, I’m right here.”

“And?” You and Emily answered simultaneously.

He shook his head with a smile. “C’mon. If you want to continue making fun of me, there’s plenty of ammunition out back.”

You offered your arm to Emily, and she took it daintily. “Such a gentleman.” She looked over her shoulder as she started walking you to the back patio. “How’d you snag this one?”

“Apparently, he has a thing for charity cases,” Aaron deadpanned.

A few pairs of eyes flickered to you when you stepped out, and Emily’s hand squeezed you reassuringly. You already loved her.

Hotch came up to your side and grabbed your hand as Emily stepped away, stopped by two men who had to be Derek and Spencer (who needed a mediator for some inane, hair-splitting dispute they were having).

A couple who you assumed were JJ and Will smiled at you as you approached.

“JJ, Will, this is Y/N.” Hotch said, a little more confidence in his voice than before.

“I’m the boyfriend,” you supplied, and JJ laughed.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” She leaned close to you, and you dipped your head to listen. “We’ve been asking about you since you stopped by a couple of weeks ago.”

You raised your chin in a knowing fashion as you leaned back, once again including Hotch and Will in the conversation. “Ah, I see. So there’s lore?”

“Definitely.” She pursed her lips in mock solemnity.

You matched her facetious tone. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

JJ broke then, smiling at you once more. “I never make that mistake.” Just then, a little blond boy ran up to her, attaching himself to her leg. She automatically put a hand on his head and gestured to you. “Henry, can you say hello to Mr. Y/N? He’s a really special friend of Hotch’s - like Miss Savannah is to Derek.”

“Hi.”

You crouched to Henry’s level, offering your fist. A look of satisfaction crossed his face as you bumped fists, your hands exploding out of it (with sound effects). “It’s so nice to meet you, man. Were you playing soccer over there?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Jack’s really good but he lets me get goals.”

“Wow.” You raised your eyebrows. “That’s really nice of him, and I bet you learn a lot, too.”

Jack called Henry from across the yard, and he offered you one last adorable grin before sprinting off. You rose, checking in with Hotch as you did so. JJ and Will were distracted watching Henry for the moment, so they missed the awe that crossed Aaron’s face for just a moment.

Your eyebrows pulled. What?

He shook his head. Nothing. But there was something there. Something fond and altogether content.

You heard Emily come up behind you before you saw her, so you turned as she approached with Derek, Dave, and Spencer.

You offered your hand first to Derek, and shot a smile to Spencer. Hotch had warned you before you left the house that Spencer didn’t shake hands.

“Nice to meet you, man. Derek Morgan.” Morgan’s grip was firm and warm. “Emily was just telling me I owe you a thanks for reminding Hotch he has a sense of humor.” Derek’s smile ate up his whole face as he beamed at you. It very nearly stole your breath - he was stunning, and smart. The way he phrased his introduction made it unnecessary to re-introduce yourself, and you were sure that soothed whatever remained of Hotch’s anxiety.

Hotch’s deadpan was decidedly dry. “Funny.”

That’s a good sign.

Spencer was quiet, but there was a little smile playing at his lips. He looked just over your shoulder, and seemed to communicate with someone behind you for a moment. It was only the barest changes in expression, but you’d been around Aaron long enough to know a silent conversation when you saw one, no matter how subtle. The outcome of the conversation looked good, as Spencer stifled another smile and looked over at Hotch.

You then offered your hand to Dave, who took it in both of his. “It is so good to finally meet you.” He shot a sly smile at Hotch. “I was beginning to wonder if you were a figment of my imagination a couple weeks ago.”

“I promise I am very real,” you said with a laugh. “It’s so great to meet all of you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All bad I hope,” JJ chirped from over your shoulder as she approached.

You nodded. “The worst.”

Aaron kissed your temple as the rest laughed, and you could feel the small smile resting on his lips. He sure was smiling a lot tonight, and you couldn’t help but feel a little proud that you had a lot to do with it.

A woman you could only assume was Penelope bounced up and swooped under Derek’s arm. “What did I miss?”

Hotch laughed (he laughed!) and introduced you. “Y/N, this is our tech analyst Penelope Garcia. Garcia, this is Y/N.”

Instead of a handshake, she just got out from under Derek’s arm and gave you a hug. You relaxed right into her.

She let you go after a second, but kept her hands on your upper arms. “I am so glad you’re here. I’ve been hoping someone would come along and snag our fearless leader before too long.” She winked, and it warmed you.

The rest of the evening flowed smoothly, eventually moving to the living room, and then to goodnights. Everyone wished you a warm goodbye, and Dave kissed you on both cheeks before letting you go. Jack was apparently spending the night at the Jareau-LaMontagne household, so you and Aaron were alone on the drive back.

You relaxed into the seat as he sped along the highway, his hand locked in yours across the center console. “That was really fun.” You looked over at him, finding less tension in him than you’d ever seen before. “Your team is incredible.”

“I know it. They’re the best at what they do.”

You kissed the back of Aaron’s hand. “I’ve heard it helps to have a great boss, or so Penelope tells me.”

He huffed a little laugh through his nose. “She is the authority on such things, as I understand it.”

The car was quiet for a few minutes.

“I - “ Hotch cleared his throat, but his gaze never wavered from the road. “I can’t tell you how much tonight meant to me.”

You squeezed his hand. “It was nothing.” You were lying, and he knew it, but at the end of the day, you’d do anything for him.

He smiled, broad and genuine, and you decided then that Aaron’s joy was your favorite sight in the whole world.

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @lilsiswinchester @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @mrshotchnerrossimulder21 @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @swiftiesparkles @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali answers stuff #anon reply #tali talks cm #male reader

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taimuman · 3 years

Text

Notes as I read the timeline, which for future reference is this post, both major, minor, and nitpicky.

The biggest issue:

None of the gameboy games (except the Stardroids) are listed and we do have the majority of them as canon to our timeline. We need to rework their plots and character usage but we do intend to keep them. I will try to help with placement later.

Major:

Isabelle is no longer canon, as that was Chii’s OC and we will not take that from her, though of course the concept of “Kalinka’s mom, Mikhail’s wife” remains. The new OC I have made to fit this role is Mila Andreievna Volkov, maiden name subject to change, a medical doctor who had her own role to play in the development of robotics. More specifically, she and Mikhail played a role in the development of recreating human feelings such as a heart “sinking” or elation from happiness or rage from anger at injustice and so on and so forth. Them meeting in college remains, though actually Mila and Mikhail are older than Dr. Light and Dr. Wily (and yet Dr. Cossack looks younger than them).

I’ll expand on her more later, right now I am focusing on the timeline.

Helena and I were going with MM: Powered Up being canon for our timeline, rather than going with Archie’s timeline where Ian decided to introduce Time and Oil in a separate arc. If you have other ideas or suggestions however, we would love to hear them.

I am especially fascinated by the idea you have where Swing/Copy Roll’s debut is made in what is effectively the “Time Keeps on Slipping” arc, which needs review anyway.

It mostly needs review because while its removal is understandable, it’s also the introduction to Agent Stern and Agent Krantz, and explains Dr. Wily’s escape. It could be repurposed to be a similar event but a different one.

Forte (Bass), Piano, and Treble's creation is done after MM6, as far as I understand Helena's intentions. I know it's canon they were made just before the tournament, but Helena has had other ideas in that regard. I will leave that to her, but given the importance of these characters I file this under "major."

We honestly are still not sure what we're doing with the aliens in general, particularly the Stardroids. I genuinely wonder why they're a part of this series every time I think about them.

Piano does need to be rewritten into every single plot Forte is in, it won't really be easy but it's what she deserves.

Quint is still on hold because that stuff is tragic, but so far Challenger From The Future is a potential plot point we have that may attempt to resolve his problems. We just haven't touched it yet.

Constellation Droids and Rockman Strategy in general is still on hold, but Fan is available to be played if anyone wants her. However the Constellation Droids are independent of Ra Moon.

I hate almost everything about MM9 and this is no one's fault but I refuse to touch it at present, I'm just noting that now. I need an entire separate conversation for MM9 alone.

I have no comment on the Ruby Spears episodes other than I am glad you took the time to include them. I'll do more looking later to see if it fits in the timeline but I'm pretty sure it does, and Helena would know that better than me.

Minor/Nitpicky:

Pharaoh Man’s creation is probably closer to Rock and Roll’s creation.

Fascinated by the idea of the ninth line all being created in the same year, I like the idea of just getting it all out of the way.

Dr. LaLinde and the LMNs live in the Philippines, not America. I think.

Ring Woman is created before the robotics convention, she simply did not attend it.

Actually the DCNs minus Skull were made a while before MM4.

Skull, however, Suffers.

Not really a nitpick or a problem but Waltz yelling at Blues about working for Dr. Wily? Sounds like old friend drama I can't wait to hear more.

Beat is technically created just before MM5 and is explicitly created for Rock.

Whether or not Mikhail creates another pet robot bird though is up for debate.

"A robot calling himself the robot Queen" King genderbend confirmed and he's a he/him lesbian. (/joke)

Actually I'm genuinely starting to wonder if you have ideas for "Queen" because I've been lowkey holding on to King.

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bellygunnr · 4 years

Text

you’d finally like to learn ch.7

you're 30 minutes late to work. you're not sure if that matters once you get inside your shared office because both of your esteemed colleagues are on the floor, rummaging through old files and folders. the filing cabinets that held these piles are practically disassembled-- the drawers are arranged haphazardly around Vance and Kleiner. you skirt the edges of the mess, setting your tray of apology coffee on your desk.

they don't notice you.

and you don't really... care. not right now, anyway. the sheer amount of mess on the floor makes something in your brain cringe-- where the hell did they start? where do they end? what could drive them to such urgency as to destroy the carefully ordered backlog of studies and research? had there been a memo you missed about this?

well, if you had missed it, you sure as hell weren't going to look for it. you knew what you wanted from life, and it wasn't this. besides, it wasn't like they had explicitly--

you stop yourself. there's order to everything, provided you have the wherewithal to create it yourself. you could insert yourself between them, make your presence known, but that's...

what am i willing to put up with today? you ask yourself. i don't think it's this. i have a better idea.

you take a long drag of iced coffee, letting the slightly bitter notes cauterize your decision. then, as silently as you arrived, you walk right back out of the office.

if they really need you, they'll call. you'll check back in a couple hours at the very least.

the Black Mesa ventilation system was, predictably, a labyrinth. its tunnels were narrow but sometimes opened up into larger canals or turned right into slowly whirling fan blades that pulled or pushed air. you peeked out of every grate you came across- even though you've been in here an hour, you haven't left Sector C. familiar AnMat labs and offices peer back at you.

your shoulder catches on a metal corner as you cut it too close. one shaft narrows dramatically, forcing you to tuck in your elbows and bow your head. you wonder how barney crawled his way through here-- even though you were taller, he was broader by a mile. would his shoulders even fit in the vent you entered through?

you bow your head at the thought. barney had really nice shoulders-- you had the pleasure of seeing them bare exactly once so far, whilst he was helping you with weight training. his muscle was evident, but he wasn't hard angles and flat planes. no, barney had dangerous slopes and curves, soft in appearance but firm in actuality.

well, you imagined they were firm. his hands certainly were as he corrected your form or patted you on the back. at certain angles, you could see the stretch marks patterning his upper arms. a strange pattern of old scars decorated his stomach too-- that piqued your curiosity, but it hadn't been the time to ask, nor the time to pry.

you shake your head. the vent shafts had opened back up, enough so to permit you sitting upright. that probably wasn't a good sign. you peek through the slats of a grate, one conveniently placed underneath you.

unfamiliar corridor with nonsense wall markings.

definitely not Anomalous Materials.

i should turn around, you think, now that i have the space. but i don't remember how i got here.

barney's not even here and he's still distracting me, you think despairingly. aren't i supposed to be nearly 30? what the hell am i doing?

maybe this is how all first crushes or infatuations worked. now that you were settled down, accepted (mostly), and comfortable somewhere, it was time for you to latch onto the first friendly man you met and wonder if his lips were as soft as they looked. sure, you had had flings and such in grad, but they were just that-- flings. you only ever performed touch n' go's with people in the past.

you were scared of commitment. relationships were a minefield of expectations, implications, and social rules you understood less than the standard set. besides, you had committed before and gotten hurt.

more than once, it had been a trick or a joke or misfired signals. data suggested it would happen again, but as you had considered before, barney calhoun was a brand new variable. maybe he would be the one to break the pattern.

the next grate you peek through has a face staring back at you.

it's awfully familiar.

on some stroke of luck, it's barney to find you, which you're unsure how to feel about beyond embarrassed. after all, he had been the one to occupy your thoughts for the past 30 minutes. stained mental images of his shoulders and stomach flash helpfully in your mind, causing you to blush. it takes far too long for you to catch what he's saying.

he's gotten good at sign, at least.

"I was exploring," you say, cutting him off. "You gave me the idea."

"Did I?" Barney asks, laughing a little. "What, when we met?"

you nod, scratching your beard. you forgot to trim and shave this morning.

"Do you know how to get back?"

"Probably," you say. "Where are we?"

just as you finish signing, a deep vibrating hum overtakes the corridor. it grows in volume and intensity to the point of settling in your bones, but it's over just as quickly as it began. surprised, you look at barney for answers.

he looks... uneasy.

"They call that the test chamber. No idea what's in there, but I wager it's got somethin' to do with aliens, y'know? But you ain't supposed to be here without clearance, Doc," Barney explains, his voice suddenly patient but edged. "Hey, you wanna see the HEV suits? There's a couple still in there." He jerks his thumb behind him, that phantom edge gone and replaced with a goofy, eager lilt.

oh.

you try not to react too overtly. so this is where you'd be spending your days in the next few months? you nod, slightly excited, somewhat apprehensive.

"Great! Walk with purpose, Doc. It's on this way."

and so you fall into step behind him, striding "with purpose." barney leads you directly to a slightly closed-off room that drops off a level. within its confines stands a large contraption that further contained three pods. two were lit green and full, the third empty, shining red.

the HEV suits-- Hazardous Environment suits-- seemed to float within their pods. bright orange armour, black, indeterminable material underneath, with heavy gloves, boots, and helmets to match. you fiddle with your glasses uncertainly. despite being selected, you hadn't seen one in person yet.

they were rather unassuming to some degree, nothing belying their capabilities beyond protection. they also looked far lighter than the booklet you received suggested.

briefly, you wonder if the test chamber is where you would also undergo the looming "hazard training" in a few months.

"Got a good look, Gordon? Here, you can take this vent back to AnMat. Don't worry, I won't let anyone know you were here," Barney says, grinning good-naturedly. he pries off the grate, ushering you inside.

"Before I go," you say, clasping his shoulder and bringing him around. "I want to tell you something. Can we get drinks at my place tonight?"

barney blinks in surprise, then wiggles as he grins and nods. "'Course, Gordon! Shoot, I'm off at seven tonight. That good?"

you nod. that was perfect. without saying anything else, you fold yourself up and disappear into the HVAC system once more. hopefully, no one will have noticed your absence.

the grate leading back into the office falls with a messy clatter onto the smooth tile. you flinch at the sound, it grating on your ears, but force yourself to drop down after it. the impact goes straight through the soles of your shoes and into your ankles.

it hurts, but you're rewarded with two startled shouts, then laughter.

"Gordon! Goodness, I was wondering where you were," Dr. Vance says, chuckling. he's standing behind you, so you slowly turn around, glasses still held to your face. "How long were you up there?"

"Lost track of time," you say, shrugging.

"What on earth were you doing in the vents? Do you know how dangerous that is?!"

you wince. Kleiner. carefully, you put your back to your desk so you can better face your coworkers. on some level, you note that the mess of files and folders is gone. cleaned up, vacuumed back into their cabinet home.

"Look at you. You've got dust and all sorts of muck on your coat. You didn't get hurt, did you? Did you get lost?"

Kleiner has his hands on his hips even as he frets over you with a restrained fatherly aura. you entertain throwing barney under the bus very briefly, but decide against it.

you were 27. not 12.

"I only got a little lost," you admit, smiling faintly. "I ran into Barn. I think a few more runs and I'll have the layout memorized."

"Let the man breathe, Izzy. Say, did you find the route into Kleiner's lab?" Dr. Vance steps in, smiling with that always-easy expression. at your nod, he laughs heartily. "Very good! Maybe now we won't have to wait for ol' Calhoun to rescue him from lockouts. Was that your goal?"

you shrug, rubbing the back of your neck, suddenly anxious at the attention.

"Calhoun, bless his soul, is going to lead to my early death," Kleiner laments, shaking his head.

that doesn't sound very fair on barney. you scratch at your beard, the bristles rough under your fingertips. how much did you need to explain your actions?

not really very much.

"How was work?" you ask instead. they both launch into recounts of their day, which mostly involve trying to find an old study that corroborated a present-time experiment. you don't mention that the entire database is digitized.

sometimes, even paper gets lonely.

before you leave for the night, an hour shy of your meeting with barney, Eli Vance pulls you off to the side. you worry slightly, gnawing at your lip.

"Could you let Barney know that I might need him for some babysitting soon? My wife and I are going to the cinema this weekend, and he's usually my first option," the doctor explains, looking giddy at the mere thought.

you release a relieved breath.

"Sure," you say slowly. "I'll tell him tonight."

"Great! Thanks so much, Gordon."

Barney raps his knuckles across Gordon's door, sharp and brief, then rolls back on his heels, shifting his weight with uncharacteristic uncertainty. Gordon had looked awfully serious when asking if they could get drinks. Either something terrible had occurred, this was a love confession, or something else entirely.

He wouldn't really mind if it was a confession. Gordon was cute, and he was gay.

Then again, he had no way of knowing how Gordon swung, if he swung at all. He'd hate to strain their burgeoning relationship with an errant crush, but there was always the hope it would fizzle out in time. Not that they ever did.

He was a hopeless romantic in that regard. Things always looked sweeter when you could never have them.

The door opens, squeaking slightly on its hinges. Gordon smiles down at him with shining eyes, looking far more casual and relaxed than he had earlier today.

"Sorry I'm late, Gordon," Barney says, stepping in after him. "Tram takes a bit to traverse this place, y'know?"

Gordon nods in agreement. "Don't sweat it. I got takeout and drinks for us, is that alright?"

"Always is, boss," Barney says reflexively, grinning. Already he can smell the scent of the food-- boxed up and ready on the kitchen table. He hangs back while Gordon goes about divvying up the food.

Before he hands Barney his plate, however, a booklet makes it there first. It's not very thick, stamped with the Black Mesa logo, and entirely black and white.

The table chair squeaks against the tile as he finagles it underneath him.

"Hazardous Environment Suit Introductory Manual?" Barney reads aloud, blinking. "Shit, are you gonna be doin' Hazard stuff, Gordon?"

That was big. Had to be, right? Gordon was already impressive with his PhD and decisive career at 27, but this was like icing on the cake. All he knew about HEV guys were rumors and hearsay, but this suddenly made them feel very real.

"I might be," Gordon says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I have to pass some tests first. It's supposed to be secret, but..."

Well, then.

Barney picks through his food as he mulls this over.

"Then it's our secret," he says, pointing his chopsticks at Gordon. "And we're gonna keep trainin' that hot bod so you won't fail."

At that, Gordon's pale face goes entirely too red and he chokes on his latest morsel of food. Barney claps him on the back while trying to repress laughter, mussing up his hair once the danger is clear.

"Don't die on me yet, Gord," Barney teases, his own face dusted pink. God, he really just said that out loud.

#half life #freehoun #barney calhoun #gordon freeman #posting this because i cant get out ch18

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ileolai · 5 years

Text

rant about growing up queer and so-called ‘’queer baiting’’ and why the Discourse re: Good Omens is getting under my goddamn skin below the cut.

Ok. So listen.

I grew up during, and my entire existence as a queer person is inextricably shaped by, the atmosphere of the early 1990s. and the peak of the HIV plague, homophobia, and the media and conversation sorrounding it. I was very aware of it, all the time, because of particular circumstances in my life.

And when i was a kid, we still had those grim reaper AIDS awareness PSAs on the television. That was my very first introduction to the imagery people associated with queerness, right?

The grim reaper.

The message being: your queerness is a death sentence. For you. For the people you implicate by existing around them with your affliction.

and in the 1990s, the media in the forefront of the public consciousness re: queer people, were things like Philadelphia and Boys Don't Cry. That is, gaunt men dying slow horrible deaths. or young queer people violently erased for the crime of existing as themselves. Those were the depictions of queer people that won Oscars and praise. That was the entire conversation about us.

And they weren't actually for us, it was never for us. it was all torture porn for straight people.

The stuff that was for us, that depicted the joy and value of queer identity and queer love in and of itself, got rated R18+ and shoved into the ''niche interest'' section of the video store, you see. Like, cute glittery romcoms about lesbians and gays existed, and would otherwise be entirely mainstream, but they got the same rating as Boys Don't Cry, which revolves around and culminates in the violent destruction of a trans man. Only the latter was Legitimate Drama worthy of an Oscar speech and national mainstream conversation, because it made straight people sniffle in the theater.

So. I was very aware, from a young age, of being both queer, and that my queer existence was seen as a threat. and people either wanted me to not exist, or would exploit the erasure of my existence while patting themselves on the back for their ‘’earnest and sympathetic'' portrayal of it. Ultimately, my primary value as a queer person was not existing at all, either way.

No one wanted to see how we lived, or god forbid, found joy in being alive despite all of this, right?

there were some blips of relief like Priscilla and Queer as Folk and But I'm a Cheerleader and Hedwig, that i dug out of the ''niche'' section when i was old enough to be sneaky. and i watched them alone, in secret, and never dared mentioning the joy of experiencing them to anyone else out of fear. because the reprisal was real and the kind of conversation you can have on social media these days did not exist.

And now. NOW. 20 long lean years after coming out. my god. Good Omens comes along, has a platform on a mainstream and accessible streaming service, and they're talking about it on the goddamn breakfast telly! and there is this constant stream of adoration for it on social media! The half a dozen homophobes pissed off about it are a JOKE!

And it's all about two queer people-- not just token gays in the background as ‘’representation’’ mind you, but THEM specifically and THEIR STORY-- celebrating the value of themselves and being alive and loving each other and how that, in itself, saves the world.

it saves the world.

Listen. I want people to understand how completely fucking incomprehensible this is to someone who grew up with those grim reaper PSAs, and the whole existential nightmare plague and oppressive atmosphere of the early 1990s. and who had to find their identity, during adolescence, filed in ''the weird shit'' section. where it was given the same MPAA rating as rape and murder, but none of the ~artistic or ~cultural legitimacy.

Like.

I just want the ''queer baiting blergh'' and ''bad representation blergh'' contingent of things to. like. just try and understand for a sec. why some of us are foaming-at-the-mouth ecstatic for something like Good Omens and everything that it is. Because it’s not ‘’internalized homophobia’’ or ‘’apologism’’. it’s this.

There is nothing being denied or withheld to toy with queer people here. it’s explicitly a romance, with all the beats of a romance. and the romance is the entire story. from start to finish. It is very deliberately crafted as two queer people who survive literally everything you can throw at two queer people, from the beginning of time, and they choose each other, and it is

SPECIFICALLY their level of intimacy

that saves

THE WORLD!!!

so for me, what i am seeing, is this: a love letter. to people who grew up being told they were harbingers of death. that we only had value in not actually existing. that our struggle to be alive and find joy in existing and each other was some weird nonsense for the ''niche interest'' section in the video store.

you understand?

so like. I don't need to be sneered at until I understand why it is actually Bad and I am a Bad Bad Homophobia Apologist for liking it, because they don’t touch hands or something. as if that is somehow the be all and end all of queer existence. as if queer intimacy begins and ends there.

I can see exactly what I'm looking at.

And it is the life affirming, joyous, two-middle-fingers-waving response to the people who tried to tell me, for three full decades of my life, I was the plague, I was the grim fucking reaper, and any virtue i found in existing-- the strength I had in continuing to exist, to love my own-- was irrelevant to anything said about me.

#good omens #long post #cw: homophobia

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bucky-smiles · 5 years

Text

C’est La Vie: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of sex, alcohol, and college parties.

This is my chapter for the ficwars!! My lovely partner is @delicatelyherdreamsand the prompt for this chapter is “You’ve dated all my friends it’s been over 5 years and I may have feelings for you now. This is getting personal.”

It only took 5 years for you to come to the conclusion that everything you felt and the fact that nothing was ever going to be the same was, in fact, for the worse.

Bucky and you had remained close, obviously. You needed the emotional support what with your parents divorce and then the tragedy that was high school. Miraculously enough, both of you managed to get into the same college as well.. Attached at the hip really did describe the two of you as there’d not been a moment of separation for so long. It was nice, to have such a rock available to you at all times. Nearly 15 years of friendship was all the proof necessary that Bucky had the best shoulder to cry on.

However even then, being so close to him only hurt you more.

Why?

Because anytime he’d talk, it’d be about how pretty some girl in your grade was.. Or how pretty one of your friends was.. Or how he kissed Wanda Maximoff behind the basketball courts… Or managed to touch his on again off again girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, in places you never were even sure if Bucky knew existed. The list could go on forever, really, that’s how many escapades Bucky Barnes had.. And it was probably the one constant thing, aside from your emotional distress, in the years of friendship where your feelings fell deeper than just platonic.

No one outside of you or Steve knows how he became so desirable and outgoing in such a short time. It seemed that one summer, Bucky Barnes was just your best friend and then the next summer, he came back ripped and in a leather jacket. Most people chalked it up to a summer glow up, except that was far from it.

It was in the school year that your parents filed for divorce. In that time, Bucky was your #1 support system and everything seemed like it’d be okay. He helped you with homework and kept you focused while you studied. Your mom got the house and there was joint custody on you. You stayed the week at your mom’s and then over some weekends, you stayed with your dad.

It was in that summer, within the first couple of weeks, that Winnifred Barnes suffered from a heart attack right in the middle of the hospital she worked at. The best of the cardiac surgeons were working on her through the night and even then, it seemed that she couldn’t be saved.

Bucky had called you almost as soon as they got the call and you’d been there holding him as he did nothing but pray for his mother’s sake. When his prayers weren’t answered, you held him and Rebecca tightly, letting them cry into your shoulders. You mourned quietly for your second mother. In that moment, it was about being there for Bucky and Rebecca more.

After that, while Bucky was still the Bucky you knew and loved, so many parts of him weren’t him anymore. He started worrying a lot about the public opinion.. And then to add to that, he started going to the gym and seemed to be a natural in the art of flirting. You and Steve sat on the sidelines as he went through nearly every single one of your friends. No one was safe and honestly, sometimes you felt it just better to not to talk to anyone that wasn’t Steve or Bucky.. Because if you did, Bucky would ask you questions on them and then they’d ask questions about you.. An endless, torturous cycle that you’d recently started growing more and more impatient with.

You were snapped out of your thoughts and recount of your life till now at the sound of the door to your shared apartment slamming. You jolted just a bit, eyes drifting from where you’d focused them to the door. The sight of Bucky wasn’t surprising.. After all, you, him, and Steve were all roommates. It was fitting, really, that life has kept you all together for so long and that it continues to do so. The three of you had gotten into your respective programs of choice at the university that happened to be the top choice for all three of you. From there, it was all pretty simple.

“Y/N/N” Bucky speaks first as he sets some groceries onto the counter.

“Yes, James?” A little jab to hint at the fact that he was annoying. He knew that he was, he was purposely so just to annoy you.. And the fact that you called him by his real name was just proof of that.

“I’m throwing a party tonight.. Can you help me clean the place?” And there was something that was actually annoying: the fact that he never communicated about any plans. What? Did he expect some sort of telepathic connection making you aware of everything?

“What the hell? Where do you expect me to study?” To add to the circumstances, you even had a test tomorrow. It was the introduction to physics course by Doctor Banner than everyone seemed to fail. You weren’t going to be everyone and on the roommate calendar on the fridge, you’d explicitly stated the existence of said test. It was a process between the three of you.. All important events were put on the calendar and everyone would respect everything on the calendar.

“What do you me-Oh yeah, Banner’s test..” He cursed under his breath quietly as he looked to the calendar just to confirm that you weren’t lying. “I already got the word out on this though, Y/N/N.. Natasha is gonna be there and I’m gonna-”

“Get her back, yeah I know. You’ve said and done that God knows how many times,” That was more filled with jealousy than anything else. But Bucky was oblivious as he continued to fish things out of his grocery bags. “So you’re not cancelling? Bucky what the fuck about the rules?” Why you were reacting this way, who knows. Probably a mix of stress from the test in addition to the fact that your feelings for Bucky Barnes were a pain in your ass.

“Can you make an exception this time, please?” He abandons the groceries as he makes his way to you, pulling up a chair by where you were sitting and closing your physics book for just a moment. “I promise it won’t happen again, Y/N/N.” He links his arm with yours before nudging you playfully, “I know you’re the captain and all, but you gotta let your sidekick have some fun too.” A callback to the adventures of Captain America and the Winter Soldier, obviously.

Fuck, you hated how nostalgia ruined your resolve.

A loud groan escapes your lips and you throw your head back in the chair which basically gave away Bucky’s victory, “Fine.. But I’m going to the library. If there’s still a party when I’m back I swear, James Buchanan Barnes, I’m going to-”

“Have my head on a stick? Kill me? Eat my ass?” More jokes, more banter, more of yours and Bucky’s relationship.

Your nose wrinkles at the last one, “Gross.. The first one is more my style..”

“You’ve been watching too much Game of Thrones, Y/N.. Okay so people are going to start showing up in an hour-ish so you’ll probably want to disappear by then.. Good? Good. You’re the best, Y/N, I love you..” He kisses your cheek and your eyes widen. Sure, this wasn’t abnormal of him, but he had such an effect on you.

“Yeah yeah you better..” You’ve rarely ever been able to say ‘I love you too’ back to him.. It’s frightening, really, because yours means so much.. He says it so often sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he loves you the way you love him.

Once more, you shake yourself out of your thoughts before packing up your textbook and notebooks into your bag, getting up. Best leave now and not have to worry yourself with getting caught up in the moment when people start arriving.. You really need to study.

----

Studying was.. Strangely productive for you this time around. You got a dinner from your favorite place on the way to the library and ate while you studied. Time went by like a blur. You started at 6 and then the next time you looked at the clock, it was 11 pm. All notes were revised and understood and you really felt like a champ. It was getting late, obviously, and you knew that the party probably wouldn’t be over yet.. But your room was also off limits as always so you could go and hide there and possibly get some sleep too.

Music was quietly playing in your earbuds as you took a scooter back to your apartment. One look up from the outside to your floor was all you needed to know that the party was still 100% going. The bright lights were visible and since the moon was covered by clouds, it seemed all the more vibrant. It was probably going to rain soon so you quickly got inside.

The bass could be heard through the walls of your floor. Thank God everyone around was a college student.. The business was to do it was to invite the entire top, bottom, and normal floor so that there’d be no noise complaints. Judging by the sound, it was a big hit.

You pushed through the sweaty bodies to your room.. This time, partying didn’t seem to be the top thing on your mind. A good night’s sleep was what you needed, especially with all the studying you’d done.

When you unlocked the door to your room, you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight.

Bucky was sitting on your bed, Natasha at his side. There were lipstick stains covering Bucky’s cheek and neck. They seemed to be talking about something when you entered, stopping at the sound of the door opening.

Your bed had been made when you left and now, coming back, it was a disorganized mess with pillows everywhere and your blanket half on the floor. It smelled like booze and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

A look of shock must’ve passed your face or something. Here was another rule that Bucky broke. No, 2 rules. One, your room was off limits in parties. And two, no shenanigans in your room.. Ever.. And there was Bucky, withs stupid sex hair and lipstick stains, sat in your room. Bucky stood up almost right away.

“Y/N it isn’t what it looks like, I swear I-”

You didn’t let him finish as you backed out of the room, turning on your heels and pushing through all the bodies once more to get out of the apartment and somewhere else.

You’d been right earlier, when you thought that it’d be raining soon. Because the minute you stepped out onto the sidewalk you were drenched. Whatever, that was the last thing on your mind anyways. The first move was to get as far away from this place. You began moving but were immediately stopped by the feeling of a hand holding onto your wrist.

You turned, ready to tug your wrist away and punch whoever had grabbed onto you, but stopped at the sight of the one and only man who’d been hurting your heart for so long.

Bucky Barnes.

#ficwars™2019 #c'est la vie #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #college au #modern au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel au #bucky barnes au #college!bucky #modern!bucky

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped Part 26

Ao3

Hiccup has had one other psychological evaluation. It was when he got out of the hospital, and it went about the same as this one.

In other words, not well.

It turns out that being a white male with a rough relationship with an impossible to please, now absent father figure who also happens to have a long history of childhood bullying raises some red flags. At least last time he was fifteen and still theoretically moldable, instead of a twenty-five-year-old serial murder suspect who just happened to spend the last few years giving nightly tours about the very murders he allegedly copied.

So maybe it went worse this time.

The one bright point was probably the crack in the psychologist’s clinical veneer when Hiccup assured her that no, in fact, he did not have any history of killing animals and he actually loved his childhood cat very much until it died at the ripe old age of eighteen. Of natural causes.

When assuring a mental health professional that he does not now and never has enjoyed torturing animals is a high point, it’s safe to say that this has been a long week. A long month, really. A long year.

Hell, a long life.

Jail has a way of stretching minutes into hours and squeezing hours into dull, ceaseless blinks of an eye. He understands now why people used to mark the dungeon walls when they got fed or caught a glimpse of the sun, because the days blurring together is enough to make Hiccup feel as crazy as the psychiatrist assumed he was.

Not that his version of crazy would ever mean killing cats. His version of crazy appears to mean long, elaborate daydreams of a private shower with a locking door, and also practically unfettered glee when he sees his lawyer because that means he gets to go to a room with a comfortable chair for a while and talk to someone not assuming his guilt.

A straight-faced guard in an NWF uniform walks Hiccup down to the long bank of stalls along a plexiglass barrier. The guard gestures to the last stall and Hiccup sits down in the office chair that might as well be a throne of perfectly fluffed pillows after sitting on his thin mattress all day. His back relaxes enough to hurt, and he exhales a long, slow breath and focuses on Eretson filling out a form before taking the seat on the other side of the plexiglass and picking up the dingy white plastic phone.

“How are you?” Eretson asks out of politeness, not expecting a real answer.

Hiccup almost gives him one anyway, but he doesn’t think it would make him feel any better to say that he’s in jail, it’s miserable, he’s been terrified for so long that he’s mostly just exhausted, and he doesn’t think the psychiatrist liked him very much because she didn’t laugh at any of his jokes.

He settles instead for, “I’m here.”

“How is everything going?” Eretson asks, writing on a legal pad in neat, oversized block letters. Grisly?

They can’t be sure if anything is being recorded on the ancient phone system, but silence is suspicious too.

“Oh, you know, I’m just being in jail. It’s pretty lonely not talking to anyone but your lawyer,” Hiccup laughs, not explicitly trying to sound tired but not holding it back either.

“Any family that you want to visit? I know your mom has been in contact.”

Hiccup swallows hard, “it’s a long flight, she doesn’t need to spend the money just to see me make a fashion statement in orange.” It doesn’t stop him from thinking about her though, how confused she’d be. How angry she’d be if she knew the truth.

His mom is the only woman who ever made his dad back down from an argument and for a second, he lets himself imagine that she could save him. Yell at Grisly, start a picket line, demand reform.

But Grisly isn’t someone to yell at. He’d have no issue adding to his body count.

It makes Hiccup want to scream, and rave, and get a poster-board at a busy intersection to help him spread the truth, and if it were his own life he was risking, he’d do it. But it’s not.

“How is everyone?” He asks, and if Eretson knows who he’s really asking about, he doesn’t show it. His poker face is exhausting, adding to the dreary blur of days in jail. If Hiccup had been making marks on the dungeon wall for every time he won a reaction out of someone, he’d have a single mark made immediately after being placed in his cell, awarded for getting under Grisly’s skin during processing.

“Everything is fine,” Eretson could be lying and Hiccup probably wouldn’t know it, but the thought of something happening to Snotlout or Astrid and not even knowing is too much to even speculate on. It’s the kind of thought that keeps him up at night, counting dimples in the popcorn ceiling to fill the dead space in his mind. “I do want to talk about your options moving towards a trial.”

“Oh God, did the profiler tell you that I’m crazy?” Hiccup laughs under his breath, “because I think she confused my attempts at humor for debilitating psychological issues.” He continues babbling when Eretson doesn’t laugh, “not that I know anything about that. I’m just speaking from what I’ve seen on TV.”

“The profile is just one piece of the case,” Eretson assures, “and you don’t quite fit the profile of a serial murderer.”

“What does ‘not quite’ mean? Is it just the white male, daddy issues thing or did some of my answers partially fit the serial murderer profile?”

“For future reference, saying that Viggo Grimborn is a ‘hobby’ is a bit suspicious.”

“I’ll file that away for the next time I get criminally profiled,” Hiccup nods, “with my luck I’ll probably need it. Should I have said that I actually picked up yoga like my doctor told me to?”

“I finally got access to Grisly’s evidence file,” Eretson changes the subject and Hiccup bites the inside of his cheek to keep from asking if he’s ever laughed, even once, “and it’s going to take a while to look through it all and compare it to my own, but so far it’s more airtight than I would have expected.”

Hiccup has never been very good at not saying what he feels, or even delaying saying what he feels, but glancing at the NWF guard out of the corner of his eye helps him shove his rant back down.

“Oh.”

“Of course, forensics is still working, but that could take months—”

“Months?” Hiccup knows the theory of the word, in that the year is broken into twelve more or less even pieces consisting of approximately thirty days each. There’s something about the moon in there too. But in practice? The concept of spending months in this limbo is foreign and impossible, defying some belief held so strongly that it feels like a physical law. “How long have I been in here?”

“Five days.”

“And you’re saying months until a trial.”

“Under current timelines, yes.” Eretson goes to make another note but then decides against it, speaking carefully instead. “And given the unique circumstances of your situation, I don’t believe that waiting months is the best path forward.”

Hiccup hears the truth between the words: Leaving Grisly to his own devices for months gives him more time to bulletproof his lies and clean up his evidence. His throat tightens when he thinks of Astrid and how much danger she’s in.

“Have you told anyone what I told you about…the case?” He tries, “you know, about their um, continued involvement in the case as it progresses?” His eyes scream about Grisly’s threats and Eretson must get the message because he shakes his head.

“No, I haven’t, I think it’s best to minimize Miss Hofferson’s involvement at this point, given all how many times her name comes up in the file.”

Hiccup doesn’t know Miss Hofferson. Miss Hofferson threatened a harassment claim at one point, sure, but she ceased to exist when Astrid came into the picture. Astrid with her glares and her bony fists and misty eyes when she looks at old books. Astrid impatient for the truth, impatient for the point of a roundabout story, always moving and trying and inviting him to try too.

“Don’t you think…I mean, wouldn’t it be better for her to know the situation?” His throat is dry, and swallowing doesn’t seem to help.

“I thought of something that could potentially move the process along faster,” Eretson ignores Hiccup’s question, not unkindly just devoted to keeping the meeting on track, and Hiccup presses the phone closer to his face, forcing himself to focus. “We haven’t considered a plea deal.”

“A plea deal? Like taking a driving course to knock a few points off of a driving ticket?”

“In this case, a confession and promise to divulge information about anyone else involved in the case in exchange for a reduced sentence.” Eretson writes on the pad, Grisly coerced you into the last murder, then turned on you.

Hiccup’s heart pounds in his ears. One murder, not four. It would be a better ratio if they were talking about any other crime. One car stolen, not four. One house broken into, not four. But as someone who has committed zero murders, confessing to one feels monumental and terrifying and stupid.

While he can’t honestly say he’s spent much time trying to be successful, he has made a conscious effort to not absolutely ruin his life, and confessing to a murder he didn’t commit in order to tell a bunch of lies connecting him to the man who did sounds like a very quick way to undo all of that.

“Reduced sentence, not no sentence.”

“It gives us leverage too,” Eretson insists, “we can argue the conditions of you coming forward with information and include minimum sentence before appeal for probation or insist on a certain facility that’s better than here.”

“So trading months waiting for trial for some as of yet unspecified amount of time in a different cell?” Hiccup snorts, “is there a catalog? Do I get to choose my bedsheets and pick out a plant for the window?”

“The prosecution would no longer have months to prepare for a trial. As it is, they have plenty of time to build their case.” The ‘and do other things like horribly murder your remaining loved ones’ is an unspoken addition.

“Do you think it would work?” Hiccup lets himself think about it, glazing over the moment he’d have to sit in front of his father’s oldest frenemy and say that he took someone’s life.

How deep can Grisly’s cover really go? He thinks of the man’s empty office, his horde of creepy guards seamlessly integrating with multiple levels of law enforcement. How long would someone have to dig to find something wrong? Would a name brought up in a plea deal be enough?

“I have witnesses,” Eretson says, scrawling Jorgenson in purposeful letters on the pad.

“The benefit then, is that we have a chance to direct the investigation.”

“Towards the truth, of course.”

“Right, the truth.” As much as Hiccup has played fast and loose with the rules, he’s always had a steady commitment to the truth, but telling it didn’t save him. Hell, telling the truth now would get people killed, and the silence is starting to be so deafening he’s wondering if the affects will be permanent.

“Think about it,” Eretson starts to stand up and Hiccup fumbles for something else to talk about, anything to get some more time out of character as ‘obedient inmate’, but he’s too slow and Eretson hangs up the phone.

He almost knocks on the plexiglass to get his attention before remembering that’s strictly against the rules, and his hand freezes mid-air when he looks over Eretson’s shoulder and sees who’s turning away from the front desk after filling out a form.

It’s Astrid.

She’s wearing a glare that could melt the barrier between them if she aimed it his direction instead of at Eretson and a jacket she must have borrowed from Hiccup’s coat closet. Her arms fly out from her sides as she argues then she shoves her hands in her pockets and narrows her eyes, an expression he instantly recognizes as seething doubt. She was clearly asking for something she thought she wasn’t going to get, and now that she’s won it, she’s unsure if it’s real.

Then, she looks at him and her eyes widen as her shoulders slump, relief that he can hardly fathom having anything to do with him flooding across her features.

He smiles the first real smile he’s had since she was tangled in his hoarded sheets and everything seemed like it would be ok and waves and she waves back, one half limp hand raised to shoulder height.

Eretson crosses his arms, shoulders rigid then relaxing as he points at the chair he just vacated, saying something else that makes Astrid shoot him a sharp look before hurrying to the other side of the glass. She practically falls into the chair, picking up the phone with shaking fingers and holding it to her ear.

He loves her.

“Hi,” Hiccup starts, anticlimactic, and Astrid’s mouth splits into a wide, tired smile.

He loves her and she isn’t safe here. Not with the NWF guard at the door, not with Grisly just a buzz away.

“Hi,” she bites her lower lip and leans forward on her elbows on the ledge in front of the window, and if it weren’t for the plexiglass, he could kiss her. “Eretson isn’t happy that I’m here, he told me not to follow him because visiting hours were over, but I checked online and, well—”

“And you’re here.” And he loves her, and he doesn’t want to tell her in an itchy jumpsuit over a dirty jail phone, but it’s so true and so much that he’s not sure he’ll have a choice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ve been told ten minutes and no discussions of ‘substance’,” she air-quotes around the word and his palms itch with how much he wants to touch her.

Eretson is standing by the door and Hiccup idly wonders if he has his gun or if he had to turn that in to step into his lawyer shoes. Either way, his presence feels protective, and Hiccup already told Astrid once that she shouldn’t be here, he can’t be expected to do that again. Not when she’s right across from him, not when it’s been so long since he’s seen a friendly face.

“That works for me, I don’t have anything of substance to talk about.” He shrugs and she smiles, soft and fond in a way he definitely doesn’t deserve. She’s obviously exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes making his chest ache even as the sight of her in his jacket lets him feel like he’s protecting her in some tiny way while he can’t do anything else. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, you?”

“I’m here.” It hurts more the second time.

“Yeah,” she looks back at Eretson for a second before scooting her chair closer to the glass, “that was a stupid question. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” he wipes a hand over his stubble and his cheeks heat up.

“No, not—the beard is fine,” her smile is faint and secret and too far away, “it’s more just…” She waves her hand at him and he rolls his eyes.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“All of you except your beard,” she clarifies before checking on Eretson again. She’s not built for levity in this kind of situation and he can see a serious depth sneaking back into her eyes. “Everything’s a mess.”

“Hey now, that sounds like ‘substance’,” he redirects, “how’s Snotlout?”

“When his shoulder is better to the point that I won’t literally kill him, I’m going to hit him sixty-seven separate times,” she sets her chin, resolute, “I have a tally.”

“Are you sure he’s ok? That sounds a little low.”

She laughs, a tinge of mischief clouding the worry in her expression, “he’s ok. He made a point yesterday to tell me his favorite story about you.”

“Oh God,” Hiccup’s stomach falls as his eyes widen, “what favorite story is that?”

“You know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear but it doesn’t stay, falling back against her flushing cheek, “some girl called you ‘Viggo’ and—”

“Yep, that one.” If Grisly came in right now and offered to kill him to make this easier, he might just let him. “Which version was it?”

“There are different versions?”

“No,” he drags his palm down his face, “not—I wish there were, every other Snotlout story is blown out of proportion so much it’s easy to call bullshit, but that one…he tells that story with unflinching accuracy and dedication to the truth.” He shakes is head, wishing he had a bucket of ice to put out the fire on his face, “sometimes there are sound effects, I’m shocked you’re here.”

“No sound effects,” she shakes her head, “maybe he’ll do those in court though, he seems to think he can prove your innocence.”

“I think I’d rather plead guilty than listen to Snotlout tell that story in court.” He laughs, but it brings Eretson’s plea deal back into his conscious mind. Just as a concept to get used to, as something neutral that takes up space in his brain until he decides what to do about it.

“Don’t even joke about that,” she whispers, crossing her legs and tapping an anxious foot in the air. “I’ve been looking at this from every angle and I haven’t found anything yet.”

“That’s definitely substance—”

“Eretson isn’t listening,” she mutters, “and if I don’t do something useful, I’m going to scream, I—”

“Hey, it’s ok,” he lies, and he can’t help thinking of Grisly’s promise, “you’re safe, that’s what matters—”

“That’s a copout,” she glares, tired and alive and his chest throbs, “there has to be something that we can do.”

“I can’t do anything,” he hates how bitter he sounds, honest for the first time in days, and something about Astrid’s solid expression is almost shocked, like she expected better or at least different of him. “I can barely keep the days straight, I—Hell, I told a psychologist that Viggo Grimborn is a hobby and now they think—well, I guess they already thought given that I’m here—”

“Hiccup,” she sighs, palm on the plexiglass, fingertips that he can’t touch smudged with ink and library dust.

“Eretson said that a trial could take months,” he leans his head on his hand, “and I know that, rationally. I know that big, newsworthy trials for serial killers take months to put together, but I guess—I don’t want to do this here.”

“Do what?”

“Anything.” Even he thinks he sounds pathetic now and Astrid’s frown turns disappointed, which is worse than just sad. “I just feel useless.”

“I can see that.” If it were pity in her voice, it would shut him down, but it’s not. It’s something different, something stronger. Something annoyed, and he realizes for the first time, she’s dragging him along a path of her choice, and him digging in his heel isn’t going to stop her.

He looks at her hand and his jumpsuit and his blurry reflection that he can see superimposed over her face on the plexiglass if he stares hard enough. He loves her. He thinks about that ill-fated breakfast run and what he’d be doing now if things had gone differently.

“I guess…I spent the last few years in complete stasis, just giving tours and knowing what every day would look like before it began. And then, well, you.” Then he fell in love with her. No, she changed everything before he did that, but that doesn’t make it sound any less corny. He wouldn’t have thought she was in the mood for corny, but her eyes soften slightly even as she holds her frown in place. He forces himself to keep talking so that he doesn’t backtrack over anything he hasn’t decided to say yet, “and I think for the first time in a while, I thought these next few months were going to be different.”

“How?” Of course she asks the question most likely to make him look like an idiot.

“Aside from well, you maybe being around I hope, umm,” he clears his throat and presses the phone closer to his ear to continue, “and well, I guess I have to finally figure out what I’m going to do with my life? Because it isn’t sensationalizing murders that are still destroying everything I love about this city even a hundred years on, and,” he swallows hard and laughs, a sharp, surprised sound, “and I think I was looking forward to it, almost. But now that’s not happening because my next few months are all booked up. Literally.”

“Well, you have plenty of time to think about it,” she tries and fails to cushion the statement and it makes him smile even as his heart sinks, heavy and exhausted and desperate.

What are the chances she’s still going to look at him like that after months?

“That’s true.”

“I’ll figure out how to book a conjugal trailer and we can work on your resume,” she offers, evidently satisfied with his suggested path forward. “

“You shouldn’t,” he tries to swallow against the knot in his throat when he thinks about her on jail property, alone with him, and Grisly’s promised intent rings in his ears. Months. What are the chances she can evade Grisly for months if she can’t go five days without ending up here? “It’s not safe.”

“I obviously need to, just a few days of this and you sound like Eretson.”

“Eretson’s right, Astrid.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. He could tell her. The NWF guard behind him couldn’t make a move with cameras and Eretson standing right there in the lobby. If he told her, then she’d know to run far away and—and he doesn’t now how deep Grisly’s cover goes.

“I can take care of myself.” Plus, looking at her fierce blue eyes, he knows that she wouldn’t run.

Months. Months of chances. Months of not seeing her every day, or at all, if she’s doing what’s best for herself. Months of limited information and fear that the next snippet that makes it through the bars on his cell will be bad.

He’s right, it is time to figure out what he’s going to do with his life, and while he has decidedly fewer choices than he thought he would, the answer is still obvious.

“Eretson’s right about a lot of things,” he sighs, hoping she’ll go easy on him and knowing that’s impossible, “he thinks I should take a plea deal.”

“I told you not to joke about that—”

“I’m not joking.” He shakes his head, taking in her furious expression. It’s slower blooming than normal, jaw flexing and setting forward before the blue fire is truly lit in her eyes. She’s tired, after five days, and she doesn’t now half of the truth. He loves her, and the only draw to finally getting his shit together is that he’d be doing it with her. He doesn’t get to do that now, but he can do something for her.

He could tell himself that he’s doing it for Snotlout or for whoever would be unlucky enough to cross Grisly’s path next, but since he’s already planning to lie himself into a prison sentence for a murder he didn’t commit, he should probably stick to the truth, at least internally.

“That decision is going to last more than months, Hiccup—”

“Yeah, and it’s about more than time.” He almost tells her then, but he’s not sure what good it would do when she’s staring at him with something like hatred. Too shocked, too sad, too helpless. She looks like she wants to smack some sense into him and he’d let her if it meant he could touch her before he takes this step he knows he can’t retreat from.

He wonders, briefly, if the real Viggo Grimborn ever thought about turning himself in. When the fervor died down and no one mentioned him in the paper anymore. Maybe he took a Victorian plea deal and got arrested for something else, something smaller, something forgiveable, but barely. And only to some.

If only Astrid didn’t forgive him for harassment, then he might have that ‘get out of trouble free’ card to spend now.

Except he wouldn’t need it then, because he would have done his community service and gone right back to giving tours, staying across the street to respect a fifty-yard boundary. No matter what, Astrid was destined to disrupt the monotony of his life, he just hoped one of the roads didn’t lead to a courtroom.

“Hiccup,” she says his name in a tone he doesn’t recognize, half-pleading and half-insulting, both uncomfortable for her. She opens her mouth again wordlessly, obviously unsure what to say to bring her pep talk back on track.

“You were right, there is something I can do.”

“No—”

“Visiting hours are over,” the NWF guard appears behind Hiccup, heavy hand on his shoulder as he looks at Astrid, recognition flickering in his otherwise brainwashed eyes. “Time’s up.”

“I’m not done here,” Astrid stands up, phone still pressed to her ear, glare dialed to the maximum even as Eretson steps into the room behind her and says something to get her attention.

“Let Eretson give you a ride,” Hiccup says, memorizing how her eyes on him feel, even through plexiglass, even furious and confused, “please.”

His cell is smaller than before. The bed is less comfortable, the walls colder, the single light in the ceiling flickering at just the right frequency to prevent him from thinking. His jumpsuit is itchy and his back is either too tense to hurt, or the sensation is entirely drowned out by the dull throbbing in his chest. Most of the time, when people sacrifice themselves for the greater good, it’s faster than this. It’s jumping in front of a bullet, not waiting alone for hours to invoke due process like a spell.

He can’t say he’s surprised when the door to the hallway opens, and he’s definitely not surprised to see Grisly, monochromatic and rigid, danger stuffed carefully out of sight for the time being. Hiccup’s relief is palpable and gruesome, he hates knowing what the man looks like after a kill, but he’s glad to know that this sober expression isn’t it.

“I heard Astrid visited today,” Grisly’s smile blooms slowly as he steps out of range of the hallway cameras and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

“Yeah? Did a little birdie tell you?”

“I trust you didn’t tell her anything sensitive,” he gloats, a cat pinning a mouse’s tail down and watching it struggle.

But Hiccup isn’t struggling, not anymore. He’s not trying to escape, he’s steering into the skid. He’s a mouse full of rat poison, ready to dive into the belly of the beast.

“Oh, so you can’t get the recordings from those visiting phones? Eretson was wondering about that, thanks for the tip.” He jokes, voice even, and Grisly straightens his uniform. Hiccup wonders if he designed the NWF uniforms himself, and the thought strikes him as kind of pathetic. Less of a wolf in sheep’s clothing and more of an institutional fanboy, a blatant self-insert too self-conscious to be believable.

At least when Hiccup puts on an act, he gets real antiques. He commits.

“I just thought I’d remind you of her…precarious situation.” It’s bluster, painted on thick and smudged before it could dry into armor.

“Trust me, I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“Good,” Grisly’s smile is cracked around the edges, veneer wearing thin after a long day at an office job he hates, “you seem to be taking something seriously for once. You know, maybe all of this has been good for you.”

“The legal system is supposed to rehabilitate people after all,” Hiccup shrugs, on the weird end of a paternal lecture from someone he respects so little that he feels the need to make it clear. “Maybe I’ll finally be an upstanding citizen when this is all over.”

“Upstanding,” Grisly’s lip curls, eyes manic and alive for just a second before he wipes has hands on his pants and selects one key off of his keyring, “if it keeps your spirits up…”

“Oh yeah, I’m downright chipper,” Hiccup nods, “catching up on my sleep. So, if you don’t mind,” he points at the evening sky outside and fakes a yawn.

Grisly grits his teeth, feral for a second, canine too sharp, “of course. Can I get you anything else while I’m being so accommodating?”

“I think I’m good for now,” Hiccup waves him towards the door, “I’ll let you know though.”

Grisly leaves then, shoulders rigid, and Hiccup hates how the silence makes him wish he’d dragged out the conversation longer. He tells himself that this will be over soon and tries to think about his new tour, a thrilling, courtroom-based tale of murder and eventual, inevitable betrayal.

#ripped #httyd fic #hiccstrid #modern au #hiccstrid fic #serial killer tour guide au #we'er here now and it's weird

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