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galaxymagitech · 5 months

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take a break (and maybe commit some arson)

Gift fic for @132132jebb! Part of the Batfam Secret Santa 2023, run by @wait-whos-batman. You can find it on AO3 here.

Requests: Tim Drake or Tim x Bernard; Fluff or Angst

Tim’s eyes are going blurry, he can’t remember the last time he’s has a sip of water or a wink of sleep, and he smells overwhelmingly like coffee and sweat. It’s gross, but Tim has bigger concerns right now. Bigger concerns like triangulating Killer Croc’s position in the sewers, solving the Riddler’s latest riddle, and figuring out what the heck is going on with the gangs in the Narrows, because something is off about them right now.

When he saves his latest attempt at locating Killer Croc on the Batcomputer, he finds that the program won’t run. Blinking, Tim tries again, letting his chin rest in his hand and his elbow slide down his desk. Suddenly, his screen goes dark. For a moment, Tim’s heart jolts, shocking him upright. And then he notices Oracle’s faceless symbol in the righthand corner of the screen. Tim groans as words appear at the bottom of the monitor.

GET SOME SLEEP, ROBIN

Blearily, Tim flips open his laptop and tries to log into his Wayne Enterprises account. As if the crimefighting issues weren’t enough, the gangs are doubly Tim’s responsibility. The Neon Knights are facing opposition at every turn from a new politician, and Tim is drowning in paperwork required just to keep the program afloat, let alone work on making the shelters safer for kids avoiding the CPP. If he can’t find the Rogues, at least he can help with this.

But he’s locked out of WE too. This time, he blames Tam. He’d always thought that if Barbara and Tam joined forces, they’d be terrifying. He supposes the universe is lucky that they just want Tim to sleep instead of harboring a secret desire to conquer the world, but…

…Tim doesn’t want to sleep right now. Or ever, if he can help it. Eventually, he’ll collapse, but he’ll remain productive for as long as he can. He shuffles over to the coffee maker, thinking. The Bats don’t keep paper records, not really, but Babs and Tam can’t keep Tim from going out in the field. Tim checks the time—8:32 AM. Well, Robin’s not supposed to be out in the daylight, but he knows Duke wouldn’t mind. Right? It’s not like Duke would know if Tim just did some reconnaissance.

Think of the vigilante and he shall appear. Duke walks into the Batcave, eating a muffin and glaring some sort of newscast on his phone. When he looks up, tucking his phone into his sweatshirt pocket, he sees Tim and does a double take. “Tim? Why’re you still up?”

“Working,” Tim says. “Until I got locked out. Hey, you wouldn’t mind if I went out during the day today, right?”

Duke squints at him suspiciously. “Why’d you get locked out?”

“Babs and Tam have strong opinions on sleep cycles, with which I disagree.”

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” Duke asks.

“Uh…” Tim doesn’t know. He probably conked out for a bit yesterday—there’s just no way that writing a single project proposal took him four hours. But he doesn’t remember sleeping, so maybe he was just really distracted thinking about his—

—about his date with Bernard. Today. At noon. Tim scrubs a hand across his face. He’ll have to cancel. He can say it’s because he doesn’t feel safe with this many Rogues out—Tim is a prime target for kidnapping, after all. Tim hates lying to Bernard, but he needs to find Killer Croc and he needs to solve the riddle and he needs to get his paperwork in. And yeah, he feels bad because he cancelled his last date with Bernard, but Gotham comes first.

“Seriously, Tim, just get some sleep.”

“This is important,” Tim insists. “There are suspected Croc killings across the city, the Riddler’s getting impatient, the gangs are acting weird, Calendar Man is still at large, Green is attempting to destroy the Neon Knights program, and—”

“You’re not the only Bat,” Duke says. “We’re just as competent as you are and we can handle it while you rest. Trust us.”

Tim sighs. “Duke, I appreciate the sentiment, but—”

Duke shakes his head fondly. “But you’re going to ignore whatever I say and work yourself to death anyway.”

Tim doesn’t respond. He isn’t ignoring Duke, per say, but he’s not exactly listening to him either. Besides, Duke is younger than him, it’s not like Tim has to listen to him. And Tim disobeys Batman all the time, so… “I’ll be fine,” Tim says.

“Yeah, I know. But stay off the dayshift, I can handle it myself. See you around,” Duke says, waving as he heads over to the changing rooms.

Damn it.

Tim knows he can’t get around Oracle’s lockout on his account. He’d definitely be able to get around Tam’s, but…he has a better idea.

He logs out of the Batcomputer, ignoring Barbara’s ‘GOOD CHOICE.’ And then, grinning, he logs into Dick’s account.

Stealing Dick’s passwords is disturbingly easy. All he has to do was get Dick distracted in a conversation and he would forget that Tim had a reputation for this sort of thing. Tim could create a recursive password algorithm so that the passwords change each time, but…why would he do that when he has perfect access to Dick’s Batcomputer account? It’s not like he’s using it for anything bad. He’s not spying on Dick. He’s just circumventing attempts to force him to make good life choices!

Grinning, Tim opens up reports of dismemberment in the Diamond District and gets to work.

A little over an hour later, Dick’s motorcycle rumbles into the cave and he dismounts, pulling off his helmet to reveal giant bags under his eyes. “Tim?” Dick says, as if he’s not entirely sure he’s not hallucinating. Tim stays very still. Maybe Dick will think he’s just a hallucination.

Unfortunately, Tim has no such luck.

“Tim, don’t you have that thing today?”

“What thing?” Tim asks innocently.

“You have a date. In less than three hours. When did you last sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Tim says. “And I’m not going on the date. I have work to do.”

Dick sighs, walking over. “No, you have a date to go on. You told me how excited you were for this.” Tim shrugs. “Tim. You’re sixteen. Go on your date. I’ll take care of whatever you’re doing.”

“I can handle it,” Tim says.

“I’m sure you can. But you should be able to go have fun with your boyfriend.”

“Not when there are Rogues on the loose. If I waste even an hour, who knows what I could’ve accomplished in that time? How many lives I could’ve saved?”

Dick pulls up a chair and Tim groans. This is wasting so much time. “It’s not all on you, Tim. You need to take a break.”

“You’re one to talk,” Tim says. “How long’s it been since you last slept?” Dick does not respond. “Yeah, I thought so. Please, I can handle this, Dick.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Well, I do.”

“No, you don’t. There are—nine of us, Tim. You’ve done your part. It’s time to take a break.”

Tim knows that Dick’s just trying to help, but it grates on him. Dick doesn’t do this to the others, except maybe Damian, and Damian’s a kid so that doesn’t really count. And even then, Damian can just stab Dick to emphasize his point and get away with it. Benefits of being raised in the League of Assassins, Tim guesses, but he ran the League of Assassins for a bit—surely he’s entitled to a little stabbing as a patronization deterrent. “I appreciate it, Dick, but I’m fine. You’ve been dealing with whatever’s going on with Deathstroke for twenty-four hours, you deserve a break. Bruce is in space, Damian wouldn’t be able to do the Neon Knights stuff, Duke is finding Calendar Man, Jason’s halfway across the country, and I’m not leaving Alfred and Steph to handle this alone. Please stop.”

Dick frowns at him. “Then I’ll work too. And I’m not leaving until you do. So if you want me to sleep, then you need to—”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Come on, Dick. I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. And you know I’ll collapse when I really need to.”

Dick doesn’t want to leave, Tim can tell, but he’s exhausted. So, Dick leaves, and Tim continues to work from his older brother’s account.

It’s another hour later when Steph storms into the Batcave, her arms crossed. “I don’t like running errands,” she says, “but Babs is pissed.”

“At…me?” Tim asks. He’s found Killer Croc and sent the location to Steph and Duke, since they’re the only ones who aren’t too sleep-deprived to fight him right now. But he still has the riddle and some Neon Knights paperwork has been rejected on a technicality so Tim has to redo it all over again and close that stupid loophole. And the riddle…it’s just a bunch of repeated words, with stupid-sounding parts like ‘I am what I am at what I am,’ something about Uncle Sam, and what Tim was able to translate into a French tongue twister.

“Yes, at you. And no one ignores Oracle and gets away with it.” Steph gestures to the Batcomputer, which clearly says ‘Nightwing’ at the top of the screen.

Damn it. Steph must’ve told Barbara that Tim was clearly still working when she got the coordinates. “I had to,” Tim justifies. “She locked me out.”

“For a good reason. And anyway, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Tim looks at Steph, startled. He doesn’t usually discuss his dating life with her, for obvious reasons. Steph rolls her eyes. “Dick mentioned it.”

“I’m not going,” Tim says. “I have to finish this.”

“Ugh. You cancelled your date?”

Tim freezes. Because—yes, he decided to tell Bernard he couldn’t go. But he’s not 100% sure he actually called or texted him. “Crap,” Tim says.

“No way,” Steph says. “You are not standing up your boyfriend.”

“There’s an Arkham breakout!”

Steph grabs Tim by the shoulder and hauls him out of his seat. “As your friend, I’m not going to let you mess this up. Go. On. Your. Date.”

“I wish I could,” Tim sighs. “But…” he gestures at the Batcomputer and his laptop.

Steph slips past Tim and sits down in front of the Batcomputer. “Let me. Signal will handle Croc.”

“But—”

“Cluemaster’s daughter, remember?” Steph says, jabbing her chest with her thumb. “I can solve a riddle. And you are not the only person involved in the Neon Knights program and it’s a Saturday, so no one will be reviewing your paperwork anyway. So send an email, take a shower, and go on your date. ‘kay?”

“Yeah, alright,” Tim says. “Thanks, Steph.”

Steph raises her eyebrows. “Fighting crime is literally my job. You’re not alone, Tim.”

***

Tim meets Bernard at a diner in a somewhat sketchy part of the city. For Gotham, it’s not that bad, but it’s not exactly the best place for a date. And yet, Bernard had suggested it with a familiar glint in his eye that told Tim he had a Theory.

He gets there a couple minutes early and stares at the menu until Bernard slides into the booth across from him. Immediately, Tim can feel his heart jump in his chest and his lips turn up into a smile. Like Bernard is a magnet that just induced an electric current through him, lighting up his world. And that’s stupid and poetic and mushy and Tim just grins like an idiot. “Hey,” Bernard says.

“Hi,” Tim responds, and waves, before facepalming. That was…so stupid. Why did he wave? Bernard is right across from him.

Bernard waves back. “My parents almost didn’t let me go out. Even though I told them I was meeting up with friends in Bristol. Killer Croc doesn’t really care where you are.”

“If you want to go back—”

“Nah,” Bernard says. “’course not. Besides, I’ve been training in martial arts. Maybe I could hold Killer Croc off for a bit.”

“You know,” Tim responds. “Six percent of American men think they can beat a bear in a fight unarmed.” A statistic that Steph had chirped out on patrol when Damian had confidently stated that he could fight Killer Croc alone.

“That’s easy,” Bernard says. “About that many men are gay. Clearly, they’re talking about a different type of bear. It’s a lovers’ spat.”

“Bernard. The poll said a grizzly bear.”

“Maybe those bears have beards.”

Tim laughs despite himself, feeling his smile get even wider. The sun streams in through the nearby window, and Tim can almost, almost forget that he’s shirking every single one of his responsibilities and hasn’t slept for real in multiple days.

A waitress comes over to take their order. Tim tries to get coffee, but Bernard gives him a knowing look and so Tim orders a milkshake instead. Predictably, Bernard gets a strawberry milkshake. Unpredictably, he asks for two waters. “Tim,” he says as the waitress leaves. “I’m guessing your blood is more coffee than water at this point.”

“I don’t think that’s scientifically possible,” Tim says.

“Hey, d’you think that would explain the Flashes?” Bernard asks. His eyes light up and Tim leans forward subconsciously. Bernard clasps his hands on the table. “Maybe their bodies react differently to caffeine due to a latent meta gene. It would explain why they’re always so hyper. I mean, have you seen Impulse? He’s so jittery that you can’t even see him on video sometimes. He’s got to be constantly ODing on caffeine.”

Tim knows that this is definitely not the case. And he can’t in good conscience agree with the theory. But he loves talking to Bernard and he also can’t help but engage in the conversation. “I don’t know, they seem kind of ADHD to me,” he says. “Wouldn’t that mean that caffeine would help them focus?”

“Wait—yes,” Bernard agrees. “I’ve got it! Caffeine helps them focus their meta energy into speed. Like how caffeine helps someone with ADHD focus all their energy onto the task at hand.” He leans forward, matching Tim. “I mean, have you seen the footage of Impulse at Starbucks?”

“No?”

Bernard takes out his phone, tapping away at it for a few seconds before placing it sideways on the table so they can both see it. Tim moves a little closer than maybe is necessary and Bernard mirrors him. He can feel the tips of Bernard’s hair brush against the shell of his ear. Focus, Tim tells himself, looking at grainy footage of Impulse tapping his foot impatiently in a crowded Starbucks. A barista calls out four drinks with eight shots of expresso each. Impulse picks up the drinks, and pours them into one giant bottle as the barista looks on, horrified. And then, he disappears from the camera. “That is absolutely insane. Unless you’re a metahuman whose body processes caffeine differently.”

Tim rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. He…remembers that. And it was not Impulse drinking the 32-expresso shot drink. “It’s…not that bad,” Tim argues weakly. In his defense, he was having a really tough week.

“Please tell me you’ve never done that,” Bernard says.

Tim looks him in the eye. “I have never done that,” he says, voice monotone.

“Oh my god, Tim. Seriously? How are you not dead?”

“It takes a lot more than that to kill me.”

“Maybe you’re Impulse,” Bernard says.

“Bernard, my hair is black.”

Bernard shrugs. “You could wear a wig. Or maybe you’re a shape-shifter.” He smiles lopsidedly. “I bet you’d be a great superhero.”

Tim leans back, shifting himself back into the booth. “No way. I’m not really cut out for it.” That’s not entirely a lie. He only became Robin as a last resort, and he’d never really intended for it to be a permanent thing. And yet, he couldn’t just quit, not when people needed him.

Bernard’s lips twitch. “You totally are.”

“Nah.”

“Well, if you aren’t a superhero, you could be my guy in the chair. Like Ned in the Spider-Man movies. You know, there are theories that the Bats have one.”

“A guy in the chair?” So…basically Oracle. A gal in the chair. Literally.

“Yep. See, they have got to have comms, right?”

“Sure…” Tim says cautiously.

“But there are so many of them that someone’s got to be helping them with the channels. Because think about the Robins’ costumes—nowhere to hide comms. So if the comms are in their ears and small enough that no one can see, there’s just no way that each person has control over who they can speak to. Someone has to be patching them into the right channels.”

“Maybe they have an AI handling it,” Tim suggests. Which is pretty much the case. They’ve used a combination of strategies throughout the years, but the most effective one is usually a simple algorithm designed to recognize names and activate the comms based on that.

“Well, that’s the other theory. That this guy in the chair is a computer program. But personally, I don’t buy that. I think the ghost is Batman’s handler. Like a spy.”

The milkshakes arrive and Tim orders pancakes, because it may be noon, but that’s practically lunch for a Bat. Bernard asks to keep the specials menu for a little longer, whispering “you’ll see” when Tim looks at him quizzically.

“Well,” Bernard said, “if you were a superhero, what would your name be?”

Tim has to think about that. He is a superhero, or a vigilante at least, but he’s not exactly the best at…original names. After all, he took on a legacy title, adopted a suit already stained with blood, and then returned to his old title. He’s never been able to think of his own name. But he wants something cool, maybe something flight-themed… “Drake,” he decides.

“Drake.” Bernard echoes.

“A dragon!” Tim explains. “That’s a pretty cool name.”

“…a male duck,” Bernard counters. “Also, that’s literally your last name. Secret identities exist for a reason!”

“Ah, but no one will suspect someone named Drake will name himself Drake to hide his identity!” Tim says triumphantly.

“If you became a superhero named Drake, I think I’d have to put you out of your misery. It’s my duty as your boyfriend.”

Tim sighs. Sure, Drake sounds cool, but…a duck. “My ghost would thank you, I guess.”

“You could be Wraith,” Bernard suggests. “They call the comms presence Ghost online, so if you’re my Ghost, that would fit really well.”

“Wraith sounds a little villainous, though. Like…wrath.” It sounds like something Tim would’ve taken up in the League of Assassins.

“I mean, you’d be an awesome villain. But you could be, like, the cool morally grey hero. If all the heroes went evil, you could fake your death and rebel against them as the Wraith.”

“Alright, that is a cool backstory.”

“Told you!” Bernard smiles slyly. “But since I named you, you have to name me.” He spreads his arms wide. “I submit myself to your terrible naming skills.”

Well, now Tim needs to think of a good name. “You could be…the Conspiracy? Wait, no, I’ll think of a better one. You could be the Kraken. Like a force of destruction, rising from the depths. Or…Prism. You work with perceptions and how they’re warped. Or…”

“I like Kraken,” Bernard says, repeating it like he’s trying it on. “Kraken. Kraken.”

“Kraken and Wraith. I like it.”

Tim digs into his pancakes while Bernard pours syrup all over his waffles. Why does Tim always end up dating people who like waffles? It’s unnatural.

“I’m guessing there was a reason you wanted to come here specifically,” Tim says. “And…I’m guessing it has to do with the specials menu you asked to keep.”

“Yeah,” Bernard says. “Look.” He passes the menu over to Tim, who squints at it curiously. It doesn’t have any particularly weird foods on it, and this is Bernard, so Tim immediately looks for secret codes. And sure enough, the letters of the appetizer specials spell out BWRY, the entrees are TN, and the desserts are PM.

“Bowery at 10 PM,” Tim whispers. He looks up at Bernard, astonished. This is—well, maybe they’re overreacting, but there’s a decent chance this is something real. “Bernard, I think you may have found an actual conspiracy.”

“You found that really quick,” Bernard says.

“I had context,” Tim shrugs. “I’m guessing what clued you in was the commas?”

“Yeah,” Bernard nods. “Last time I went here, it was saying Crime Alley…they had ‘Rice, Fried’ and ‘Yellow Rice’ on here. Inconsistency in formatting…”

“…means that someone really wanted it to be formatted that way…”

“…and this is Gotham, which means it’s nothing good. Plus, rice isn’t typical diner fare. I look for patterns, and this just jumped right out at me.”

“Wow,” Tim says, at a loss. He would not expect criminals in Gotham to pass messages through diners, but Bernard did. Bernard expected the unexpected and because of it, he saw a pattern no one else would’ve picked up on. “You’re amazing,” Tim blurts out.

“Obviously,” Bernard says, with an exaggerated grandiose motion. Then he snorts and leans back, laughing. “So, what do you think it is, Wraith?”

“I don’t know,” Tim says. “But—what do you say about finding out?” He really should leave Bernard out of this. There’s a chance that it could be something really serious, something for Robin to handle. But…Bernard is the one who found this. And Tim would trust him at his back.

“Thought you’d never ask.” Bernard grabs his backpack from under the table and pulls out a UV flashlight, a set of lockpicks, and what looks suspiciously like bolt cutters.

“You come prepared,” Tim says, scanning over the prices. If he was going to hide a secret message in the diner menu, he’d consider doing it there.

“I looked at the prices,” Bernard says, leaning over the menu with Tim. “I couldn’t see anything, but maybe you can.”

The prices aren’t weird, but they are inconsistent. Some things cost a certain amount of dollars—others cost a certain amount of dollars and 99 cents. There aren’t enough specials for a message, but—Tim calls over the waitress and apologetically asks her for the menu again. She mutters something about growth spurts and passes him one from an empty table. “Do you have a notebook?” Tim asks, and Bernard passes him one with a pen from his bag. “Are you a boy scout or something?”

“I was a cub scout,” Bernard says.

Tim starts recording down the prices—ones with cents as 1 and ones with nothing as 0. He tries translating the first few letters using ASCII, but they’re gibberish, so he switches the ones and zeroes and tries again. This time, he gets a word. And with a grin, Tim is off, pencil tearing across the paper as he translates at top speed. When he’s done, he sits back, breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“It’s a message,” Bernard whispers.

MASTERMIND DISTRIBUTION POINT. VICTORY IN A VIAL. RIDDLER.

“It’s an advertisement,” Tim agrees, scanning over the paper. “I don’t know exactly what mastermind is, but…”

“But you can guess,” Bernard says. “They’re distributing something.”

“And knowing the Riddler, it’s probably not guns or people. Likely a drug that’s supposed to increase your intelligence, and the Riddler is using the people who take it as his lab rats. I doubt it actually increases your intelligence, but…” He closes his eyes, slumping back in the booth. “I knew the gangs were acting weird. I knew it.” Tim’s eyes snap open. “From the Neon Knights program,” he clarifies, because he’s gotten so caught up in solving this with Bernard that he completely forgot the other boy doesn’t know Tim is Robin.

“You are really hot when you’re doing that genius thing,” Bernard says.

What is Tim supposed to say to that? Help, he thinks his brain is melting. “You too?” He tries, because, well, it’s true. That’s what you’re supposed to say to a compliment, right?

“Hey, want to find out what it is?” Bernard asks.

“I don’t know…maybe we should leave this for Batman and Robin.”

“If you’re sure about that,” Bernard says. “But surely a little look into the kitchens couldn’t hurt.”

Tim…can’t find it in himself to refuse.

They get the check and squabble over who’s paying (eventually, they play rock paper scissors, winner pays). And then, the two pretend to head for the restrooms.

Slipping into the kitchen area proves too difficult. Tim might be able to blend into the shadows as Robin, but he can’t blend into harsh fluorescent lighting, and Bernard has no such training. “Okay, so about reporting this to Batman…” Bernard says.

“Wait,” Tim tells him. “If they are storing drugs in this building, there’s no way they would carry them through the kitchens. That’s a literal recipe for disaster. There’s got to be another way in.”

Bernard points toward a closet door right next to the restrooms, labelled, ‘Extra Cleaning Supplies—Susan Only.’ “There’s no way they clean anything in this diner,” Bernard says, “let alone use any extra supplies.”

“Very suspicious,” Tim agrees.

“Okay, so, I have lockpicks,” Bernard says. “But…I don’t know how to pick locks.”

For a second, Tim tells himself that lockpicking skills are not something expected from a sixteen-year-old rich kid, and a lack thereof would be the perfect excuse to get Bernard out of danger and handle this as Robin. But Bernard stands there smiling with the lockpicks held out, like he already knows that Tim can do it and he’s proud.

Tim has a problem and Tim knows he has a problem, but that doesn’t make it any less of a problem. His fingers close around the lockpicks. “You ready to save Gotham’s youth?” Bernard asks.

“This is peer pressure. I’m being peer pressured into attempting to thwart the Riddler.” By my civilian boyfriend, Tim adds in his head. What the hell? This is not how the day was supposed to go.

“You’re already saving Gotham’s youth,” Bernard says. “If you don’t want to do this, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Tim admits.

“I’m the one who has martial arts training, remember? And if we get caught, we can just pretend we were looking for somewhere to make out.”

“I—what—Bernard—” Tim splutters.

“Hey, it’s a good tactic,” Bernard says, raising his hands defensively.

“We—we don’t have to get caught sneaking into a Rogue’s drug lair to make out. If you want to,” Tim says, cheeks red.

“Noted,” Bernard grins, blush just as vivid. “But let’s save the making out for when we’re not possibly in mortal peril.”

“Right,” Tim says, and begins to pick the lock. He slows himself down significantly, so he doesn’t look quite as suspicious.

“How’d you learn to do that?” Bernard asks as Tim works. “And why?”

“YouTube tutorials. It looked cool and I spent a lot of time alone as a kid so there was no one to tell me I was wasting my time.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like a waste of time now,” Bernard says.

The lock clicks open and Tim cautiously opens the door. A concrete staircase descends into the darkness. “Let’s go,” Tim says. “Before we get caught.” The pair steps in and closes the door. Tim shivers. He’s vulnerable in civilian clothes, without his bo staff, with a civilian to protect who doesn’t know that Tim isn’t a civilian too.

Bernard flicks on a flashlight and passes one to Tim. “You really did come prepared,” Tim whispers.

“I was planning to investigate a conspiracy,” Bernard whispers back. “Of course I did. I was kind of hoping it was the Court of Owls, though I’d imagine they wouldn’t work out of a sketchy diner, and my theory is that they’re hiding in a tunnel complex beneath Gotham. So, I’m extra, extra prepared.”

“Did you bring caving supplies?” Tim asks.

“…yes.”

At the bottom of the staircase, they reach a corridor with a single, flickering light.

“This is creepy,” Bernard whispers.

“Rogues are dramatic,” Tim shrugs. He scans the corridor. Bernard takes a step forward and Tim throws an arm across his chest. “Wait.” He points to a small black circle on the wall in front of them and a black circle on the wall opposite from it.

“What’s that, do you think?”

“Banner sensor of some type. Break up the invisible beam between them, and we get found out. We should be able to crawl under it.”

Tim and Bernard army crawl a few feet forward and then get back on their feet, clothing slightly grimy. “This is like a heist movie,” Bernard whispers. “I don’t see any more of them.”

“Me neither.” The pair makes it to the other end of the hallway, where a door in the side opens up to a large room. Bags upon bags of powder are stacked on shelves, each labelled with scientific names of chemicals and serial numbers.

“Drugs,” Bernard says.

“Drugs,” Tim agrees. He steps forwards, snapping a photo of the room with his phone. If he was Robin, he’d take a sample and then destroy the stash. But right now, he’s Tim Drake, equipped with a phone and a lockpicking set, with no believable way to contact Batman without revealing his identity. And he’s pretty sure Bruce would not consider this an appropriate reason to reveal his identity.

And then Bernard takes out a matchbox and a thermos.

“What the heck?” Tim asks.

“Be prepared,” Bernard says. “I’m deferring to your judgement here, Wraith. But these drugs are going to go to teenagers. And I’m up for committing arson.”

“We could…we could go to jail for this.”

“Who’s going to report us? The Riddler?”

Tim stares at Bernard. Bernard stares at Tim. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Tim says quietly.

Bernard nods and puts the thermos away. “Alright. We could probably turn in the evidence to the police. I don’t think the Riddler would have any in his pocket, at least.”

And then Tim turns and sees the security camera. “Crap. Alright, new plan. Arson it is. I’m guessing that thing is digital, which means we need to give them something bigger to worry about than two kids who know too much. ASAP. I’m guessing that thermos has gasoline?”

Bernard nods wordlessly and takes out the thermos again. His face is set with determination. Tim thinks in this moment, that Bernard would be an amazing superhero. But he’s not, and here he is, committing arson to save people anyway.

Tim shakes his head. “You absolutely terrifying. In a good way.”

“Says the boy who drank thirty-two shots of expresso in one drink.”

“I was being stalked!” Tim defends. He also had to fight Lady Shiva, and then fight with Lady Shiva. And aliens invaded the Earth. It was a difficult week. Bernard pours the gasoline on the drugs and dribbles a thin line out. “Okay,” Tim says. “Ready, Kraken?”

“Ready, Wraith.”

Tim lights one of Bernard’s matches and drops it on the gasoline line. Immediately, it catches on fire, flames racing toward the drugs. Smoke curls into the air. “We need to get out,” Tim says. “Now.”

They crawl under the banner sensor as fast as they can. Tim takes the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes the doorknob, trying to get rid of fingerprints. They thunder up the stairs, and then unlock the “supply closet” door, again wiping off fingerprints.

“Calmly,” Tim warns as they step out of the bathroom area and walk through the diner. Bernard reaches out and grabs Tim’s hand. By all accounts, they look like a normal couple. “Stay calm,” Tim says as they exit. They walk for two blocks before Tim collapses onto a bench. “I think we’re good,” he says. “I think we’re good.”

“We’re good,” Bernard repeats. He doubles over. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Tim, we just—”

“We’re good.”

And then Bernard grins and Tim can’t help but grin too and they’re laughing. It’s not funny, but they’re laughing with fear and exhilaration and relief, all mixed into one cocktail too volatile to hold inside. Bernard laces his fingers with Tim’s, each boy holding both the other’s hands, eyes meeting. Tim can feel his knees pressing against Bernard’s as they sit on the bench together, riding the adrenaline high. And then, Tim’s leaning forward like a planet caught in a gravitational orbit, but Bernard’s leaning forward too, so it’s more like a binary star system, each star orbiting around the other. Bernard’s lips press against Tim’s, and it feels like the world shrinks to that one moment, fireworks exploding in Tim’s heart.

Time starts again and the moment ends, but it’s not a disappointment, not a let-down. Tim can still feel Bernard’s hands clasped in his and the giddiness of their adventure still fills every inch of him.

“Do you want to see a movie or something?” Bernard asks faintly. “There’s a showing of that weird Batman parody at 2:45.”

Against his will, Tim opens his phone and his stomach sinks. 2:07 PM. He’s spent two hours here. Bruce must be awake by now, and Tim has so much work to do, and— “I can’t,” Tim whispers. “I’m sorry. I—”

Tim can feel Bernard exhale. “It’s okay. I know you’re very busy. I can’t even imagine how this would affect the Neon Knights situation.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, looking down. He draws his hands back and puts them in his lap. He doesn’t want to leave. Tim had forgotten what it felt like to be excited, to be happy, to be this alive. And he loves it. He doesn’t want to return to the darkness of the Batcave and the work and the bitter taste of coffee filling his mouth because he hasn’t quite sunk to taking caffeine pills just yet. Why can’t he just stay?

Well, he’s Robin, that’s why. He has a job, and he needs to do it.

“I’m sorry,” Tim adds.

“It’s okay,” Bernard repeats, looking Tim in the eyes. “It really is. I know your work’s important to you. But…please, Tim. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Tim mutters. “I just committed arson with you, I’m not sleep-deprived.”

“It’s not just sleep,” Bernard says. “You need to rest. But, well, you are sleep deprived. You look kind of like a raccoon.”

“Hey,” Tim snorts. “You said I looked hot!”

“You look like a hot raccoon,” Bernard clarifies.

“That is…so weird,” Tim says. “That’s like a furry or something.”

“If anyone is a furry in this city,” Bernard says, “it’s got to be Batman.”

Tim chokes. “No. No way. No. Just…no. Do you have bleach in your backpack, Bernard? Because I need it for my brain.”

“Dresses in a giant bat costume…”

“He dresses in a uniform with bat symbolism.”

“Ears on his cowl, a cloak like wings…”

“No,” Tim says, holding out his hand. “Brain bleach, please.”

Bernard takes his hand and holds it to his chest. “Please, Tim. Promise me you’ll rest a bit.”

Tim sighs. Peer pressure at its finest. “Okay.” He did just deal a blow to the Riddler’s operation, after all. He looks at Bernard. His boyfriend’s hiding it well, but there’s no way he’s not freaked out. Tim would be freaked out, if he was a civilian who had just gone up against a Rogue. And when Tim is freaked out, he desperately wants something normal. “You know, if we hurry, we can make that movie you mentioned.”

They do make it to the movie theater. Tim eats about three pieces of popcorn before falling asleep, head resting on Bernard’s shoulder. When he wakes up, he has a cramp in his neck but a soft, glowing ember in his heart.

#tim drake #bernard dowd #tim drake x bernard dowd #duke thomas #dick grayson #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #batman #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #angst #humor #batfamsecretsanta2023

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moccahobi · 11 months

Text

May and June Reads

I know it isn’t the end of June but I am posting this anyways! It’s been a rough month and I am working on resetting and orienting so Imma imagine that posting this marks a new start for my reading log periods. Last month, I read seven pieces and this month I managed to read ten! Which makes me quite happy! So many of my reads were stuff that I got consumed in and couldn’t step away from! There are truly so many amazing creations and I am so glad that I am exploring and reading them!

Two months ago when I last posted my reads, I talked about starting a schedule for fanfic reading... I’ve not. BUT! I did put fics that I already know I am interested in reading on my document and filled in everything other than my comments on it. This really helped me keep looking to reads. I plan to continue to putting fics I know I want to prioritize onto my bimonthly log when I find them because that helped so much! I think it also helped me to mix up shorter pieces and longer pieces. I had two pieces that I read that were almost 50k (wow! In so much awe of the authors) and it really helped to have some smaller pieces that I could intersperse as well! It’s been so nice to mix my book reading with my fic reading and work fic reading in as little breaks from all that I am doing!

If you all have any fics you rec me reading, please send them to me! I’d love to add to my TRL!

BTS MxR

Tongue Tied (Jungkook x Reader) ( @jeonqkooks )

“Jeez, you’re acting like I asked to peg you or something.”

Warnings: brief mentions of sex and drinking

18+

1.5k

Fluff, F2L, Neighbors AU

As an enjoyer of the tension right before a relationship starts, this fic gives such a good depiction of if! The tone is light hearted and the narration is funny. It's a great fic to brighten your day and rest with. So adorable!

Sit. Stay (Seokjin x Reader) ( @daechwitatamic )

Your new puppy, Zinnia, has turned your world on its head. She’s ruined everything from your sleep schedule to your favorite shoes, and you know it’s your own failure to train her properly. When your cute upstairs neighbor tells you about a local obedience academy, he slowly starts to make himself a place in your schedule, your life, and your heart. After your last relationship went up in flames, will his affections be something else you can count as a failure?

Warnings: language, casual drinking, parental medical problems, mentions of surgery/doctors/hospitals (major operations lightly mentioned; no d

NSFW

14k

S2L, Neighbors AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst

This had me hooked and hanging on at the edge of my seat as I read! Joe does such a beautiful job at weaving humor with serious topics of healing and medical emergencies and it is really just so wonderful. She does a wonderful job at creating complex and gray stories that help readers sympathize with both characters. If you want a fun and goofy story that also tackles serious topics, this is a great one for you.

The Perfect Gift (Jimin x Reader) ( @moonleeai )

A cute story about two friends that decide to "fake date" for the Christmas Holiday while visiting family, but with each household they fall for each other.

Warnings: None

SFW

6,346

Fluff, Fake Dating, F2L Christmas AU

This story follows our characters as they try to get their parents off of their backs. It is such a cute and classic fake dating AU and if you are a connoisseur of fake dating tropes you NEED to read this fic! It’s funny and cute and all the domestic moments kept my heart full! I highly recommend you read it!

Crazy For You (Taehyung x Reader) ( @oddinary4bts )

You’ve known Kim Taehyung your whole life. When you meet again at a party hosted by your best friend, alcohol looses your lips and you spill your secrets to your childhood crush. Will Taehyung give in to your desire, or will you be struck by remorse?

Warnings: alcohol consumption, lying/hiding the truth, unclear relationship, feelings of cheating, cursing, mention of a grandparent passing away, sex (see fic for full list of sex warnings)

NSFW

46.8k

Angst, Smut, Fluff, Idol AU, angst, smut, fluff, Best friends older brother, Fake dating

If you enjoy monster oneshots, this is the fic for you! I am in awe of how long and detailed this fic is and you can truly lose yourself in it! There is so much that’s explored and so many angsty moments present! Lovers of idol aus will love this too. The detail and ways everything is woven together is just astounding and truly so amazing. READ IT!

Fearless (Hoseok x Reader) ( @hobisuniverse )

On your way home from a party, you tell your best friend to pull over so you can dance with him in a storm in your best dress, fearless.

Warnings: None

SFW

718

Fluff, Confessions, Friends to lovers

FLUFFY CONFESSION LOVERS! COME HITHER! Ahhhh! This fic is so short and sweet and so glorious! If you enjoy fluffy confessions, weather matching emotions (kinda), and feeling fuzzy all over, this is the perfect quick read!

BTS MxOC

To The Beach (Jungkook x OC) ( @mydogssqueakytoy )

Jungkook’s daughter misses her mom and needs a way to pass the time before she comes home.

Warnings: None

SFW

712

Fluff, Dad Jungkook AU

Father BTS fics are just so adorable! And this fic is such a perfect example of this! The author does such an amazing job at showing the ways Jungkook may express his love for his family: comforting his kid and looking his partner into it all! If you enjoy father BTS fics, I highly rec reading this piece! It’s soft and cute and just leaves one feeling so soft!

Honorable Mention

@magicshopaholic‘s amazing universe (BTS x OCs)

This series consists of fics set in the same universe, of the members of BTS and their long-term OCs. While these are part of a larger story, most fics can be read standalone as well.

18+

Generally, I try to only post finished pieces BUT Cath’s amazing works have been things I’ve been slowly reading throughout the past four months! I immediately got hooked on Hoseok and Chaeyoung’s storyline. Because OMG CHILDHOOD NEIGHBOR’S TO POSSIBLY LOVERS? It is gold! I inhaled it! THERE IS ANOTHER PART THOUGH THAT I’VE NOT READ AND AM SO EXCITED TO! And recently I’ve started reading Yoongi and Miso’s storyline which is also SO INTERESTING! I am a slow reader and have been interspersing my reading of her universe through all my other pieces and because everything is one universe and each series is being updated kinda at the same time (which is so impressive! Cath weaves so many stories together and I am so in awe). It didn’t feel right not to mention it.

If you’ve never read an MxOC piece before or don’t really read them, I highly recommend Cath be your introduction to it! I know that on tumblr there is a strong pretense for MxR rather than MxOC (I only read one other OC piece in the six months I’ve been doing this and that is also in this post). The range in MxR is BROAD. We have some who have no physical characteristics, some who do and are labeled, some who do and aren’t labeled, and all of them have personality traits that are close to how the reader is or isn’t. Each reader is a character. They are just vague in some places. OCs are just other characters. They also exist on the same range and are just as rich in depth! I highly recommend you read some if you enjoy reading books and fanfic!

BTS MxM

Honeycomb For a Heart (yoonminjoonseok) ( @hungline )

Yoongi never actually expected to build his own hive.

Warnings: mentioned misgendering and transphobia

SFW

1.4k

In this fic, Yoongi is a king bee and I absolutely love how his hybrid identity is tied into his trans identity! The story introduces the readers to yoongi and his struggles in such a quick but heartfelt an empathetic way and we get introduced to Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin in such a fun and open way! Although the story is only 1.5 k and we only get their meeting, there is so much personality and hope packed into the story. If you're wanting on uplifting quick read, this is a great one.

( ✓ read 10:18 p.m. ) (Yoongi x Jungkook; Hoseok x Jimin) (AO3)

By the time Suga got back to him with the name of the sample, Jungkook was sitting in class. He’d never been an in-class text-er. He listened well. He followed rules. He gave professors the attention they deserved. But if Min Suga texted him, Jungkook always found himself texting back, attention 100% on his phone. Maybe it was because messaging the stranger felt as informative as half of his classes. Suga gave good advice. He’d caught himself thinking over the weekend that maybe he actually did owe Jimin some coffee.

Warnings: No archive warnings, mentions of sex, insecurity

18+

47k

College AU, Young Professionals AU, Angst, Fluff

AHHHHHHHHHH! This fic is an adorable story. As readers, we get to see Jungkook try to grow and learn to accept his growing feelings for Min Suga, an unknown man he slowly gets to know. Only thing: he is emotionally constipated and Yoongi feels so much that he struggles… Oh and also Suga kinda likes Jimin… or does he? Owo. It’s such a good series! The chapters are short and addictive and left me unable to put the fic down! It’s angsty and focuses on the growth of everyone and it’s such a wonderful read. It’s such a good series and I highly recommend you read it!

Got7 MxR

Filipendulous (adj.) - hanging by a thread (Jinyoung x Reader) ( @flurrys-creativity )

Summary: After a fight with Y/n, Jinyoung spirals with jealousy. One call changes it all.

Warnings: mentions of an argument, mentions of jealousy, mentions of drinking alcohol (not really responsible), mentions of an accident, mentions of results from said accident, short hospital setting, one kiss…

SFW

1,967 words

Angst, No AU

Do you like angst? Open endings? Many struggles and layers to a fic? This is the fic for you! I read this and gasped with each new development! Flurry does wonderful at getting us hooked and keeping us hooked! It's such a wonderful read!

Got7 MxM

Brewed Love (Mark x Jackson) ( @limjaeseven )

Summary: Jackson is comfortable working at the cafe Jaebeom owns. He expects to earn a living there, he doesn’t expect falling in love.

Warnings: None

SFW

Fluff, Coffee Shop AU

1,518 words

Coffee shop aus are so cute! And this fic is no different! It’s such a vibe and it had my heart fluttering all while reading. Cris is an amazing writer and his care for word play is present in the many coffee references that are present in this fic. Its short and sweet and just the perfect thing to energize your day!

#lillia recs #bts fanfic #i am that tired spongebob meme just trying to get to the end of the month #we're so close and i can't wait

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sapphires-and-silver-linings · 1 year

Text

The Betrayer | Chapter Nine: Different Light

You saw everything with a sudden, blinding sort of clarity then.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence Mention, Pregnancy/Miscarriage Mention, Slight Blood, Smut

Notes: Hey, everybody! I know it has been a hot minute since I posted, but my life has been insane lately, between school and personal things happening that have taken up a lot of my time and energy. Fortunately, this chapter is the longest one so far at a whopping 13.8k words and also our first smut scene, so I hope that's enough of a gift for your patience lol. I know last time I said I was going to post another flashback sequence, but I ended up breaking those up and scattering them in later chapters because I felt it flowed better that way. My updates might be kinda slow from here on out because the plot is starting to become more involved with every chapter, so it's taking more time and brain power to write them, but I also think they're getting better with every installment (as well as longer) so I can't complain on my end lol. I'm just really proud of how this story is progressing and seeing Lucky's development as her own character. I am loosely forming this fic into a five-act structure, and I think I consider this chapter to be the end of Act I. Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter as much as I do! If you want to, I'd love to see your favorite lines or scenes in the comments, but no pressure! I just like knowing what people enjoy about the story lol.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Day 2; Survivors’ Camp

You weren’t sure how long you sat there crying, soaking Chris’s shirt through with your tears like you had the night before.

But what else could you do but mourn?

You had lost everything, and now the man you loved–who you had spoken to mere days ago like nothing was amiss–had become a monster. Had been so quick to hurt you.

A couple days and your entire life as you knew it was changed forever.

How do you move forward from that?

You knew grief. It was familiar to you. Losing your mother was a constant ache that would never go away, but you had learned to live with it. Maneuver around it.

But this level of tragedy? So many of your friends, gone. Every member of your little family but your brother, gone. Your entire city, gone. You never thought you’d experience something like this. Couldn’t even fathom something of this scale.

And you? You were meant to be just another body to add to the pile. Someone else to be lost to the ash and dust that now made up your home.

At the center of it all, though, was Wesker and what he had done.

You had held him in such high regard.

You had loved him.

And he treated the lives of you and your team like they were nothing.

“Just lambs for slaughter,” he had said, as if that’s all they ever amounted to. As if he didn’t see them every day for two years. As if he didn’t roll his eyes and lightly chuckle at their antics. As if they wouldn’t have died to save him given the choice.

You thought of those red eyes and your dead friends’ faces suddenly flashed through your mind.

Joseph. Forest. Richard. Kenneth. Edward. Marini.

Were their lives really worth the power he gained?

Was yours?

“Come on, Lucky. Let’s get you something to eat, okay?” Chris coaxed, peeling you off of him gently to peer down at you.

You knew you looked a mess. Your hair was sticking to your face, your eyes were red and puffy, and your cheeks were blotchy from rubbing them against Chris’s shirt. But, you realized, you were no longer crying.

You nodded, breathing shakily as he stood and held out his hand for you to take, the large man easily pulling you to your feet. He led you to the fire once more, perhaps thinking you were cold due to the trembling of your form, and sat you on one of the logs.

“Me and Steve still have dinner duty for the next few days, so I have to go to the kitchen, but I’ll be back soon.” His tone almost sounded like he was talking to a small child and not an adult woman–which a part of you took offense to–but you found it comforting anyway. He was trying, and you appreciated it.

You simply nodded yet again, unable to muster a basic response, let alone your usual snark. You were too drained for that.

He gave you a small smile, stroking your hair tenderly before turning to leave.

You felt the stares of the other survivors on you as you sat there, and realized with embarrassment that you just had a full-blown meltdown in front of the entire camp. You could only imagine what they must be thinking.

Probably that you were pathetic. That you were weak.

You couldn’t be angry about it, though. They would be right.

All you could do was sigh deeply and curl in on yourself, your head in your hands and your eyes squeezed shut.

You wished your brain could turn off, but you were bombarded with every horrid image–real or imagined–of the things you had learned of and experienced instead.

Killers in masks. Monsters. Fire. Ashes. Corpses. Blood.

So much blood.

Soaked in their blood–

“Hey…” came a soft voice, their hand pressing to your back as they stood beside you.

You unfurled yourself slowly, opening your eyes to see Jill regarding you, concern in her blue gaze.

“Hey,” you replied finally, swallowing down your emotions as best you could.

She smiled lightly and sat beside you, the two of you turning your attention to the crackling flames. “I know this is probably a stupid question, but… you okay?”

You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “No. Don’t know if I ever will be again if I’m honest.”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will be.” Her tone was soft but resolute, as if there was no room for argument. As if it were the absolute truth.

“And how do you know that?” you interrogated, your voice raising as your sadness turned bitter, whipping your head to face her.

She didn’t meet your gaze, and you could see the reflection of the campfire dancing in her eyes. “Because I lived it too.”

You snapped your mouth shut, a feeling of shame wedging itself in your throat.

How self-absorbed could you be? You weren’t the only one suffering here. In fact, everyone was suffering here. That was the point of this place, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry, Jill. Should have invited you to the pity party I’m throwing, huh?”

She laughed at that, gripping your forearm with her hand as she faced you. “You don’t need to be sorry, Lucky. You have every right to be upset. To grieve. But you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone. You have me and Chris–Rebecca and Claire. And when you get close to the others, you’ll have them too.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, the weight lifting, if only slightly. You still felt a twinge of guilt as you recalled the trial, however, believing you needed to add, “And I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you in time back there, by the way. I tried, but I was too late.”

“It happens. No use crying over spilled milk, right?”

“Or spilled guts…” you muttered.

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, at least you’re all patched up now.”

You startled at that, suddenly aware of the fact that she was right.

You looked down at your person, not an injury, rip, or stain in sight, save for the dirt on the back of your jeans from sitting on the ground. Your ankle was completely healed and the cut on your face was gone, as well as the wounds you received during the trial.

But you still felt the ghost of an ache in your neck from where Wesker had broken it.

And something else. Almost like a piece of you was missing. So small, you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t taking inventory of your body at that moment.

“Every death you experience, you come back… not quite right,” Chris had told you the day prior.

You could barely contain the shiver that rolled up your spine.

You took a deep breath.

Find the silver lining.

“Yeah, at least there’s that.”

“Ladies! How’s it going?” Carlos called jovially as he approached the two of you.

When you turned to greet him, though, he was watching you carefully, like you were some cornered animal that would bite his hand off if he made any sudden moves.

Might not be far off, you thought with dark amusement.

“Been better,” Jill told him truthfully before knocking her shoulder into yours, “but we’re tough.”

“Would never doubt it,” he replied, plopping on the ground behind you. You and Jill flipped over on the log to face him, the fire immediately warming up your spine.

Carlos glanced back at you, then, clearly debating if he should make a comment or not. You were about to tell him to spit it out when he beat you to it, “The trial didn’t go well, I take it?”

You scoffed. “What was your first clue?”

“Rebecca telling us Wesker’s in the realm now, probably.”

You went rigid at the man’s name, not sure if you were ready to talk about it just yet.

Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, changed routes, “You gonna be okay, Lucky? You seemed pretty… shook up… when you got back.”

You met Jill’s eyes for a moment and she smiled at you fondly before you answered, “I will be.”

He nodded and the three of you sat in silence for a while before he spoke again, “Not to be nosy, but what were you two chatting about before I came over?”

Jill laughed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were talking about how at least Lucky’s all healed up now.”

“Yeah, how exactly does that even work?” you questioned.

Carlos shrugged. “We aren’t sure. Just know that when we die, our bodies revert to what they were when we first ended up in the realm.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Let’s say you showed up here with long hair. You decide to cut it short, maybe because it’s easier to deal with or just because you like it better that way, right?”

“... Okay?”

“Well, you get into a trial and you end up dying. When you wake up back at camp, your hair is gonna be long again. Like it was when the fog first took you. We don’t know how it works, but we do know it’s the Entity keeping us from aging.”

“Holy fuck…” You didn’t know what to make of that. The idea of never aging might have been comforting in a different context, but here? Yikes.

You supposed it made sense, insomuch that you existed in some reality-bending hellscape. You figured you’d stop being shocked by every new piece of information you learned at some point, but apparently that wasn’t today.

“Chris didn’t tell you about this?” You shook your head and Carlos blew air through his teeth. “Chris never slacks off. Must be losing it.”

“Hey, he’s just had a lot on his mind lately,” Jill defended.

You turned to her. “Are you talking about me being here?”

“Yeah. It really threw him off, finding you.” A melancholy look flashed across her face. “He never thought he’d see you again. He's just trying to wrap his head around it. We both are.”

“Oh.”

Carlos grimaced, realizing he struck a nerve. “Well, I don’t mind telling you what I know, in any case.”

“Thanks, dude. You’re a real one.”

The three of you laughed, the conversation turning lighter as you moved on to other topics, asking Carlos and Jill as many questions about your new world as you could think of. Unfortunately, their usual answer was “I don’t know”. You doubted the other survivors would be any more informed.

You were startled when a hand clamped on your shoulder and looked up to find Chris behind you, a bowl in his hand. “Here, for you.”

You thanked him with an appreciative smile and took it from him, a joyful gasp escaping you when you realized it was chili that filled the ceramic.

He cupped a hand over his mouth and called for the other survivors to get their dinner, which made you feel a little guilty that you were served first. Jill and Carlos didn’t complain, though–didn’t even seem surprised–as they stood to form a line in front of Steve just a few feet away.

Chris sat next to you, eyeing you with furrowed brows as you ate.

For some reason, you couldn’t meet his gaze, instead staring at the contents of your bowl. “It’s really good.”

“It’s just a bunch of heated-up canned chili. Can’t exactly take credit for the taste.”

You giggled. “And here I thought you were some sort of culinary genius.”

Chris smiled at you and it made your heart flip inside your chest. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“You can thank Jill and Carlos for that. I was pretty determined to be miserable til they came over,” you joked.

“Maybe I should get pointers,” he said, dropping his large hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent-mindedly over the fabric of your jeans.

It sent a jolt through you, but you tried to ignore it. “Don’t sell yourself short, Redfield. If it weren’t for you, I think I would have lost my mind already.”

“Thanks, but you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that?”

The way he looked at you… it was like you were the only person to exist in that moment. It made you feel warm.

But he was wrong.

You didn’t have the heart to argue, though, simply nodding and turning back to your food.

“I got permission to let you take a bath, by the way. I’ll fill the tub up in a bit.”

You dropped your spoon, your eyes shooting to his face once more. “I thought only people who survived the trial could use the bath?”

“Yeah, that’s the usual case. We take camp-wide votes for big decisions, but Jake, Claudette, Meg, and Dwight are kind of our unofficial leaders since they were here first. I convinced them to let you have this because of… well, everything you’ve been through the last couple of days.”

“And they agreed, just like that?” They seemed to be taking their water conservation very seriously, so this was surprising to you.

He shook his head. “No, ended up offering to clean the outhouses for a week, and gave up my own chance to bathe the next time I survive a trial. Could be worse, though.”

You gasped. “Chris, you don’t need to do that! I’m not even dirty anymore.”

“It’s not a big deal, Lucky. In fact… I wish I could do more.”

Tears welled in your eyes, overwhelmed by his willingness to go above and beyond just to offer you any comfort he could. “Thank you.”

He gave you a small smile and squeezed your knee gently before standing. “I’ll get the water heated up.”

“What can I do to help?” you asked, setting your half-eaten food on the log beside you to jump to your feet.

Chris stopped you from getting up by placing a firm hold on your shoulder. “No, I got this. You just finish eating and rest, okay?”

“Well, you should at least get dinner first, Chris. I’m sure you’re starving.”

His hand moved to cup your face, brown eyes stern as they met your own. “Don’t worry about it, Lucky. I’ll eat when I’m done. Just hang tight.”

“... Fine,” you sighed, picking your bowl up once more.

“It shouldn’t be too long.” He leaned forward and kissed the crown of your head before walking away.

You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the sudden affection from your friend, but you weren’t complaining. You much preferred this to his cheesy pick-up lines.

You flipped your legs back over the log to face the fire once more, eating your chili slowly in order to savor it.

Rebecca made her way over to you, her own bowl in hand, and sat next to you. “Hey, Lucky. Good to see you’re not hurt anymore.”

You nodded at that. “Yeah, I was pretty fucked up before… well, you know.”

“You mean beyond the ankle and the cut on your face?”

“Yeah. Had a concussion and ripped open my arm. It was rough.”

“How did he… end it? Did he just hook you?”

Your hand shot to your throat at that, the familiar ache returning just at the mention of it. “No. He, uh, he snapped my neck.”

Her brows lifted. “Well, that’s… unexpected. But not unheard of, I guess. Just doesn’t really seem like him, though, you know?”

“At this point, there’s very little I do know anymore.”

Rebecca worried her bottom lip with her teeth, looking at the fire. “I was devastated when they told me what happened at the mansion. Half the team, wiped out. And to think he was behind it all… It’s just awful.”

“You’re telling me,” you replied with a humorless laugh.

“I think the worst part was finding out what happened to Richard.” She turned back to you, placing her small hand on your upper arm. “And to you.”

“For better or for worse, at least I’m here now,” you told her, curling your fingers over hers.

She smiled, eyes shining. “For better. Definitely for better.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you finished eating, but you caught her gaze wandering to the dark-haired girl she had been talking to the night before. Cheryl, if you weren’t mistaken.

“You seem to be getting pretty close with that girl,” you teased. “Hasn’t it only been a week since you got here, and you already found a best friend?”

She giggled, sounding almost shy—something you took note of. “She’s just a really nice and interesting person, is all. I like being around her.”

“It’s a good thing we have each other, us survivors. Things would probably feel a lot more hopeless, otherwise,” you mused, patting her knee genially, as you would your younger siblings.

Rebecca grinned at you and laid her head on your shoulder. “What did you say when I first got recruited? ‘Through thick and thin'?”

“Mhm. I think I also said ‘teamwork makes the dream work, unless you're stuck with Brad’s lazy ass', but that’s not exactly relevant here.”

She laughed loudly. “I know it’s only been a week since I saw you last, but I missed you, Lucky.”

“Well, it was only like, two days that I had gone without seeing you, and I missed you, too. Couldn’t have my replacement dying on me her first real mission,” you joked.

“According to the others, I made it out just fine, at least,” she replied. “I think you would have been really proud of how I handled myself.”

You ruffled her hair. “I’m always proud of you, kiddo.”

She pulled away to swat your hand from her head but responded with sincerity, “Thanks, Lucky. It makes me happy to know I have you in my corner. And I’ll always be in yours.”

You gave her a warm smile, but were suddenly reminded of the trial and how you had failed her. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I wish I could have saved you.”

“Don’t be. We were all thrown off guard. We’ll be better prepared to handle it next time.”

Next time.

You didn’t want to think about that.

Before you could muster a reply, Chris appeared in front of you once more, a sheen of sweat over his face, neck, and arms, his vest gone and his shirt unbuttoned slightly.

It was honestly unfair that he could look that good absolutely drenched in perspiration. You would look like a wet rat, probably. Smell like one, too.

You felt a heat blooming in your face as you raked over his form with wide eyes.

What is wrong with me? you thought. It’s not like I’ve never seen him sweat before.

Rebecca gave you a sly look, but you chose to ignore it as she waved you goodbye and left.

“The tub is filled, so you should be set,” Chris told you. “I sent Claire to get you soap and whatever else you might need. She’ll meet you there.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” you questioned as you stood, leaving your empty bowl on the log. You wondered how many pots of water it took to fill the tub, and you were grateful for the work he put in on your behalf.

Chris beamed at you, dark eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that made your heart palpitate. “Don’t get it twisted, Lucky. I’m the one that should be asking you that.”

You rolled your eyes but gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “Thank you again, Chris. I appreciate this more than you could ever know.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he replied, as if he hadn’t been helping you the moment he found you in that farmhouse. Scratch that; the moment the two of you even started working together.

“The least you could do,” you began, giving him a severe look, “is eat your fucking dinner.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “You gonna tell me to clean my room while I’m at it?”

You stuck your tongue out. “Don’t start calling me ‘mommy’ if I do.”

He shook his head before gently pushing you in the direction of the bathhouses. “Go on, now, before the water gets cold. Don’t want all that work to be for nothing.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going. See you later.”

“See you, Lucky.”

You trudged out of the clearing and into the sparse tree line, following the lanterns that lit the dirt path ahead of you. It was a relatively short but quiet journey, the voices of the other survivors fading the farther you traversed.

It was peaceful and dark, and you closed your eyes to enjoy it for a moment.

A breeze enveloped you as it blew past, bringing with it the smell of woodsmoke and petrichor, as if it were going to rain.

That was something you had asked Carlos; if the weather changed. He told you that no, the only “weather” to exist was inside of the trials.

On one hand, you were glad you wouldn’t have to worry about things like flooding or blizzards within the camp, but that meant there would be no warmth here.

You never thought you’d miss the sun, of all things.

You arrived at your destination, finding Claire sitting on the steps of the platform leading to the bathhouses, a bag in her lap.

“Hey, Lucky!” she greeted as you neared.

“Hey, Claire. Chris told me you got something for me?”

“Sure do. Here, let me show you.” She stood up and fished through the bag, displaying the items as she mentioned them, “Towel and washrag. Bar soap. Shampoo and conditioner–a real hot commodity in these parts. A razor. Facial cleanser. And get this: a bath bomb. Been saving this bad boy for a rainy day, but I figured you could use it more.”

“Claire, I don’t want to take that from you. Keep it,” you told her earnestly.

“No, I made up my mind, Lucky. Use it and use it well, got it?” she replied, shoving the bag into your arms.

“You and your brother are way too nice to me, you know that?”

“It’s because you deserve it,” she informed you, giving you a grin that looked so much like Chris’s. “And besides, you’re practically family to us. We take care of each other.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. You guys are making this far more bearable. I’d be lost without you. Literally.” You chuckled to yourself at the thought, wondering where you’d be if they didn’t find you yesterday. A lot less pampered, that was for sure.

“We’re just glad to have you back.” Her smile remained, but there was an undercurrent of strong emotions in her voice, something akin to regret and a bittersweet sort of relief. “Even if it’s here.”

“Yeah,” you responded with a sigh. “I do suppose this is better than dead.”

“A real improvement, if you ask me.”

You laughed at that, bumping into her playfully as you moved past her. “See you on the flip side, Redfield Junior.”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname you had given her when you first got acquainted and began her trek back to camp, calling over her shoulder, “Try not to drown in there.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to swim,” you retorted, smiling to yourself as you turned and entered the small building before you.

You were hit with billowing steam as you opened the door, the wet heat of the room warming you instantly.

You locked the deadbolt and moved further inside, setting out your new toiletries on a bench that sat next to the tub.

You kicked off your sneakers and stripped completely, tossing your clothes onto the floor with reckless abandon, desperate to be in that bath.

You dipped one foot into the hot water, finding it nearly scalding but able to withstand slowly sinking your body into it with a hiss. You grabbed the bath bomb Claire was so excited about and kept it in your palm as you lowered it, watching as it fizzled in your hand, the chalky substances it was made of turning the water a milky white.

You stared at it as it dissipated, your mind wandering to the events that led to this very moment.

You didn’t want to think about your family anymore. You didn’t want to think about your dead friends. You didn’t want to think about your failures in the trial.

And above all, you didn’t want to think about Wesker.

It was a difficult task, something that took all of your effort, but you fought off the thoughts with a deep breath, grabbing for whatever soap was closest to you and getting to work.

You went through the motions, your sole focus washing your already relatively clean body and hair, finishing quickly.

You grabbed the razor–your final order of business–after running your hands over the stubble on your legs and deciding it was time for a shave.

You remembered what Carlos had told you, that every time you died, your body would change back to the state it was in when you first arrived here.

You huffed in annoyance, the idea of dying just to wake back up with hairy legs sounding rather inconvenient.

You knew it didn’t matter in the scheme of things. In fact, keeping your body hair might even be a smart move to give you extra warmth in a place so damn cold all of the time. But smooth limbs–and, well, other places–was something you preferred. It was purely cosmetic, but it made you feel a sense of normalcy, and that’s what you wanted. Desperately.

To feel normal.

You supposed it could be worse, though. You considered the other women in the camp, curious if any of them were brought here on their period. Imagining bleeding through your pants every time you died painfully in a trial felt like such an insult to injury.

Then another thought came to you, one that filled you with sudden horror:

What would happen if you came to the realm pregnant?

Surely, a baby couldn’t handle the stress of such an environment, even if the mother managed to survive long enough to give birth, right?

But what would happen if the baby didn’t miscarry and the mother did die in trials? Would the baby just revert to the size it was when the mother first arrived? Would she just be… perpetually pregnant?

Worse still, if she ever managed to actually give birth, what would happen to the baby? Would it also be beholden to trials? Would it ever age? Could it exist outside of this place?

Unconsciously, your palm drifted to your stomach, your fingers stretching over the skin there.

It was probably better not to dwell on what-ifs.

So lost in your thoughts, the hand that held the razor slipped against your knee, slicing it open.

You gasped in pain as you assessed the cut, blood sliding down your leg and dripping into the water, tinging the white film layered on top a dark pink.

All you could do was stare, watching yourself bleed.

You glanced at the razor in your hand, specks of red now decorating the tightly packed blades.

You suddenly thought of Ghost Face. Of digging your knife between his ribs. Of cracking his skull against that tree.

That’s right. You had killed him.

The full weight of the realization hit you. You had been aware of it the second it happened, of course, but it had seemed so unreal until this very moment.

You wondered if you should feel more guilty.

Sure, it was technically an accident. Sure, it was in self-defense. And yeah, you knew now he would be just fine, but your apathy over such an ordeal scared you a little.

All that moral grandstanding. All the times you hesitated or failed to do what needed to be done, whether to save yourself or someone you cared about, in order to preserve some sense of righteousness. Of innocence.

All of that inner turmoil to avoid killing, but the moment you actually ended someone’s life, you couldn’t care less.

Maybe that made you just as monstrous as every killer and creature that stalked these woods.

Just another thought to file away for later, you decided.

You dipped your head under the cooling water, then, closing your eyes and listening to the surface ripple with every slight movement of your body. You wondered what it would feel like to drown, but it was like a part of you already knew. It was... uncomfortably familiar.

You supposed you felt like you were drowning since the very first night of your arrival. Maybe even longer than that, if you really thought about it.

Don't think about it.

You rose from the tub, taking in a deep breath, deciding it was time to go.

You wiped the blood from your leg and finished shaving, blotting the cut with your already-used washrag until it clotted. You then stood up, drying yourself with the towel Claire gave you and stepping on the worn, but still fluffy mat on the floor.

You reached over and pulled the drain, watching the white and pink foam swirl as it rushed down the pipes, feeling as though a part of you sunk with it.

You realized you had forgotten to grab a set of fresh clothes from your room before coming here, though the ones you had arrived in were still relatively clean. Before you could start putting them on, though, you noticed a pile sitting on a table in the corner of the room, folded neatly.

You picked up the sweatpants and oversized hoodie, wondering which of your friends had gone out of their way to find and leave these for you. Their kindness had been the only good thing about this place. You hoped to return it someday.

You hung the used towel and washrag onto the side of the tub to dry before dressing quickly. You gathered your previous attire and toiletries into the bag before heading back to camp, clean and cozy.

You still felt like you were drowning, but it was more like a lapping tide than a wave now.

Happy was still a far-off notion, but you could settle for numb.

You could function with numb.

It was the best you could do.

“Oh good, there you are,” Ada spoke from the path ahead of you, making you jump. “We’re about to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” you questioned, catching up to her, the two of you turning to head back into the clearing.

“Apparently, they have one whenever a new killer shows up in the realm.” She was thoughtful for a moment before turning to you and adding, “Is it true that it was Wesker?”

You nodded, discomforted by the notion that there would be a mass discussion concerning the man who led you to your ruin. You hoped you could get by without having to explain anything that happened in the trial. It was too soon to relive it.

Ada’s lips pursed and you wondered what she was thinking.

“Did you… know him?” you asked, though a part of you was afraid of her reply. Why, you weren’t sure.

“Worked with him. Just like you,” she responded curtly as you entered the center of camp.

Just like me, you thought bitterly. You believed you were special to him once. You knew better now. You were just someone else he stepped on to get what he wanted.

You wondered if he thought Ada was just as expendable as you clearly were.

She walked away from you, then, probably to avoid any more questions. You couldn’t blame her.

You looked around you, noting that everyone was setting up chairs to face the fire in rows, chatting quietly amongst themselves. You could feel tension in the air, likely nervous energy caused by a new killer being let loose by the Entity.

Wesker, a killer. Someone to be afraid of. You pondered if you’d ever come to terms with that, after everything the two of you once had.

It was a nameless thing, what existed between you. You questioned every day just how deep it went, but you had been so certain it was something real. Something tangible. Something that drew you towards him like an invisible thread. Or perhaps gravity itself.

A moth to a flame was probably closer to the truth.

You were so desperate to be near him at one time, and you realized with shame that you made it so easy for him to wrap you around his finger.

You let him burn up your wings.

Would this ache ever go away?

“Hey, Lucky,” Chris called to you, pulling you from your thoughts. He was setting two chairs down as you approached, standing to his full height and appraising you with a warm smile. “I’m glad the clothes fit. I wasn’t sure.”

“You got these for me?” you asked, getting emotional again over him taking such good care of you.

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I felt kinda weird going into your room without you there to get you a change, so I figured I’d just root around in the storage closet for something comfortable. Had to pass by it to get to the kitchen anyway,” he replied as he sat down, patting the seat next to him.

“Well, thank you. For like, the millionth time,” you said as you plopped down beside him, setting your bag on the ground. “The bath was great, by the way. Beats a cold rag, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled at that. “I’m glad. I hoped it might make you feel better.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It definitely helped.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you watched the other survivors settle into the chairs around you before Chris spoke, “We’re having a meeting about Wesker being here. We do this with every new killer in the realm, to talk strategy.”

You tensed up before replying, “Yeah, Ada mentioned it.“

He noticed. “You okay?”

“Just peachy,” you lied, not wanting him to fuss over you any more than he already had.

He exhaled at that but didn’t push, deciding to sit in silence as the camp finished setting up for the meeting.

A man you hadn’t been introduced to yet made his way to the front of the crowd. The stranger was wearing a tan trench coat and seemed very calm despite the disquieted group before him. He had kind eyes.

“Why is he running the meeting?” you whispered to Chris. “I thought Dwight, Claudette, Meg, and Jake were the head honchos.”

“They are, but they’re not really good at this sort of thing,” he explained. “Adam was a teacher, and he can manage a rowdy bunch better than anybody.”

“We’ve been informed there’s a new killer,” Adam told the crowd, voice carrying over the camp. “For those who are new here, we’re going to go over the trial and discuss the killer’s moves. We want to find out his strengths and weaknesses and to know what to expect from him. Rebecca, you got back to camp first. Can you tell us what happened?”

Rebecca stood from her chair next to Cheryl. “Yes. Jill and I got separated from Chris and Lucky during the trial. Wesker came after us first, so Jill and I split up. He targeted me, and we were in a chase for a couple minutes when he managed to catch up to me. He was fast. Insanely fast. I was jumping over a window when he grabbed me with these black… tentacles… that came out of his hand, and he hooked me before going after the others. I didn’t see anything else before the Entity claimed me.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. Jill, can you give us a rundown of your side of things, since you were downed next?” Adam asked.

Rebecca returned to her seat and Jill nodded before standing herself. “Wesker found me, and like Rebecca said, he was fast. At one point, he was practically a blur while he was on my tail. He slashed me with his knife while I was trying to drop a pallet in his way, and then he slashed me again when he caught up. He hooked me after making a snide comment and left. I also didn’t see anything else before I died.”

“Thanks, Jill. What about you, Chris?”

Your thoughts were running a mile a minute as you listened to your friends’ experiences, startled when Chris gently pushed you off of him to rise to his feet and speak for himself.

You stared down at your lap as he answered, “I went to find Rebecca–get her off the hook–when Wesker cut off my path. He was borderline maniacal when he saw me, but that’s unsurprising, considering our history. He grabbed me with those tentacles and threw me down the hallway. Infected me with whatever virus they’re made of–”

“Infected?” you implored fearfully, eyes jumping up to meet Chris’s.

They were vile, those wet, black tendrils, but you had no idea they could infect you. You wondered why Wesker didn’t utilize that “ability” in his pursuit of you.

“Don’t worry. I died in the trial, so I’m not anymore,” Chris reassured you and the surrounding survivors before returning to his story. “He chased me for a while, tried to rile me up with what he was saying, but my only goal was to get away from him long enough to save Rebecca and Jill. Unfortunately, he reached me first and slammed me into a wall before hooking me. Lucky tried to help me, but…”

He glanced at you briefly, almost apologetic, as he continued, “He grabbed her before she could. The Entity killed me shortly after.”

You were violently reminded of that long claw sinking right into Chris’s gut as he reached out for you. You remembered the blood that sprayed across your face as his body went limp.

You remembered the light leaving his eyes before he was taken away from you.

You felt tears building in your waterline, trying to fight off the emotions threatening to engulf you completely. Chris was alive and breathing–standing right beside you–so why did you feel so anguished at what you saw?

Perhaps death wasn’t permanent here, but it was still real. It was still painful and bloody and visceral.

You had to avert your gaze from your friend or else you’d lose it, suddenly only able to see his lifeless corpse when you looked at him.

Adam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, seeming perturbed. “Lucky, you’re next.”

Your heart rate skyrocketed at his words, your mouth feeling dry as every face in the vicinity turned to stare directly at you.

You dug your fingernails into your sweatpants, breath hitching, the tears already in your eyes blurring your vision.

You spent the whole evening trying to block out what happened and now you’d have to describe it in detail to a bunch of people you only knew a handful of.

What’s more, you didn’t know what exactly to say. You couldn’t just tell them what all Wesker had said to you. That he kissed you. No one–not Chris, or Jill, or Claire, or Rebecca–knew about your affair with your captain. And this was not the time or place to inform them if you could ever bring yourself to admit to it.

I can’t do this. You panicked as memories of the trial flooded your brain, unbidden. Unconsciously, your hand shot up to your throat, feeling lightheaded and like you couldn’t breathe.

“Lucky?” Chris questioned, worried, as he sat back down beside you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Chris soothed, placing his hand on your back. “I know it isn’t easy.”

“The place isn’t sunshine and rainbows, but we need details on the new killer,” a woman scolded from behind you, wearing a purple ruffled blouse. “Toughen up.”

“Yun-Jin,” Chris warned, voice dropping from the warmth he was showing you to something cold. Hardened.

It made you shiver.

“Yun-Jin’s right,” Detective Tapp added. “I get it was Lucky’s first trial and it went sideways, but we can’t afford to lose out on anything that could give us a leg up on this guy. You know that, Redfield.”

“Don’t start with me,” Chris barked, his anger rising. “After everything she’s been through, she deserves a little slack.”

“Oh, like getting a full gallon of water and a bath she didn’t earn?” Yun-Jin retorted.

There was a murmur across the clearing as Chris leapt to his feet, jabbing a finger in the woman’s direction with a fire in his eyes you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. “Those were one-time things I got full permission to do and that I’m making up for, not that it’s any of your goddamn business. She’s more than earned a fucking break.”

“If it weren’t for the circumstances,” Adam spoke, voice gentle and coaxing, “I would be more inclined to let this go. But they have a point, Chris. We need any information we can get.”

Chris was about to argue, but you stood suddenly, unable to handle the tension building before you.

They were right. You needed to get your shit together.

You grabbed Chris’s arm and he turned to you as you spoke, “It’s fine, Chris. I’ll just–I’ll just get it off my chest.”

“You sure?” His tone shifted from anger to concern as he regarded you. You knew he could tell just how anxious you felt–it was practically radiating off of you–but you were determined.

You were reminded of Bill’s words from earlier in the night.

“No room for weakness, or for burdens.”

“I got this,” you told him, resolute. “Thank you, though.”

He nodded and returned to his seat as you glanced around the clearing at every face trained solely on you.

You took a deep breath.

“I heard Chris yelling across the building, and I tried to finish the gen I was working on before I went to help Rebecca and Jill. Wesker–” You paused a moment to collect yourself. “Wesker got to me before I could fix the gen. We were both shocked to see each other. I told him I knew what he did to me and my friends back home and I–I slapped him. He grabbed me by the throat with those… tentacles… and threw me through a window. Gave me a concussion. Rebecca died as I was running away from him. He caught up to me and I managed to get out of his grip and fell through a hole in the floor. I cut my arm open, but I was able to escape him. When I tried to get to Jill, I was too late. I managed to reach Chris, but Wesker got to me first and pulled me off of him.”

You stopped there, feeling yourself tremble as you recounted your side of events, albeit modified.

“What happened next?” Adam asked, voice firm but kind.

You found yourself picking at your cuticles as you continued, “He… threw me down the stairs. The hatch opened only a few feet away from me, but he closed it before I could reach it. He acted like he was going to stab me, maybe hook me, but… he, uh, he changed his mind. Broke my neck instead. I think that’s everything.”

Adam smiled at you reassuringly. “Thank you, Lucky. You can sit down now.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat guilty for all of the omissions you believed you needed to make as you sank back into your chair.

Chris didn’t say anything as he glanced over at you, but you felt a bit more grounded when he laced his fingers between yours.

After the group discussed the trial itself, questions began to deviate into what Wesker was like before arriving here. You didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, as you didn’t get to witness the way he acted after the mansion incident. Until today.

The others from your world–specifically Chris, Jill, Ada, and Sheva–explained just how much of a monster he had become.

The virus he injected himself with the night of his betrayal gave him super speed, inhuman strength, regenerative abilities, and those red, snake-like eyes.

Then he had infected himself with another virus–“uroboros”, as Sheva called it–which gifted him those inky appendages that he had complete control over.

Worse still, he had tried to kill your friends on multiple occasions over the years, nearly succeeding.

You guessed after the trial, he had succeeded.

It made you feel ill to even consider it.

Your mind wandered as they discussed your former captain and possible strategies to employ in order to survive run-ins with him. He had seemed so intent on executing your friends during the trial. Had been efficient at providing the Entity with its meal.

So why did he seem to take his sweet time with you?

You thought briefly, upon seeing him in the trial for the first time, that maybe he missed you as much as you missed him. But he had been so quick to threaten you, to injure you, to kill you.

How could you have meant anything to him?

Like you had asked him–and like he had answered–you really were nothing more than a plaything for him. Something to entertain him. To pass the time while he plotted the deaths of you and your team.

“Toy or pet, you still belong to me,” he had said. Like you were nothing. Like he didn’t even see you as a person.

To know now that’s how he viewed you was hard to reconcile, especially while you had admired and respected him. Idolized him. Loved him.

“I think that’s all, for now,” Adam stated, officially calling an end to the meeting. “Let’s get some R and R tonight, everyone.”

“I’m about to help put everything back,” Chris told you as the others got to their feet, releasing your hand, “but a few of us are going to play some cards if you want to join us.”

You shook your head as you stood, grabbing your bag from the ground. “No. I think I’m just gonna go to my room if that’s alright?”

Those deep brown eyes of his were soft as he gazed at you, tucking your still-wet hair behind your ear. “Of course, Lucky. Get some sleep, okay?”

You simply nodded and turned on your heels, booking it to the medical facility as fast as you could walk.

Some of the other survivors looked at you as you passed, but you were thankful none of them tried to stop you for a chat.

You made it to your little room quickly, closing the door and throwing your bag on the dresser before lighting the candle on your bedside table. You stripped your clothes off immediately in order to change into your pajamas.

It was just a gray tank top over black drawstring shorts, but it was comfortable and you knew your moth-eaten bedding would keep you plenty warm.

You brushed your hair and then your teeth (using the container to spit out the toothpaste) before putting on some deodorant. You drank deeply straight from your jug, leaving a little bit of water for your morning routine.

You then laid down under your blankets, staring up at the tiled ceiling in the dark, exhausted but unable to close your eyes.

You wanted to stop thinking. You wanted to stop feeling.

Would it ever go away?

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, fighting every urge to cry, to scream, to hit something until your knuckles split open.

You threw off your covers and stood, lighting the candle once more before pacing aimlessly, ripping the skin off of your nails until they stung and bled.

You thought you wanted to be alone, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest.

Chris had told you that you could go and find him if you needed anything, but fuck, were you tired of leaning on him so much. You were certain you’d eventually wear him down with how clingy and pitiful you were being.

No, you needed to suffer through this on your own.

That’s what you decided, at least, until there was a gentle knock on your door that scattered all of your thoughts like a flock of birds.

“Lucky?” Chris’s voice sounded from the hallway. “You awake?”

You quickly made your way to your door, pulling it open to reveal your friend standing before you. He was wearing a dark green shirt and plaid pajama pants, his feet bare on the weathered linoleum floor.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“No,” you replied. “Can’t stop… thinking.”

“You and me both.” He shifted on his feet as he peered into your room. “Want company? We could ‘think’ together.”

“Sure thing.” You gave him a small smile and moved to let him in, closing the door before following him to your bed, the two of you sitting on the edge of it.

Just like the night before. Just like earlier in the day.

It was almost funny to you how Chris was becoming such a fixture in your new life, in a way he never was before. You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the meeting. That wasn’t fair of them to put you on the spot like that,” he told you.

You weren’t looking at each other, both of you simply staring at the floor instead.

You tucked your legs up under your chin, wrapping your arms around them tightly. “It’s okay, really. It sucked, but I get it. Everyone has a role to play, and I’ve been nothing but whiny and useless the whole time I’ve been here.”

Chris turned to you sharply, voice stern, “You are not useless. It’s only been your second full day here. You’ll find your place soon enough. Some of the others took days–even weeks–to adjust. They’re hypocrites for wanting to throw you in the deep end like that.”

“I’ve already made this joke tonight,” you forewarned, your lips twitching upwards at the corners, “but I do know how to swim.”

Chris let out a puff of air and rolled his eyes at you. “Glad you can wisecrack after everything. I was… pretty worried when you first got back to camp.”

“I know. I’m sorry for being so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Chris repeated, an expression of shock alighting his features. “Lucky, you’ve been through hell and you think crying about it is being dramatic? Are you serious?”

You dropped your face to your knees to hide from his stare. “It’s just embarrassing that I lost my cool like that, is all. I don’t want the others to think I’m weak. And I feel like I’ve done nothing but make myself look stupid and pathetic while following you around like a stray. I just thought–I thought I was better than this.”

“I’ve never been the best when it comes to emotional things–that’s always been more Jill’s territory–but believe me when I say you’re allowed to be upset. I don't think anyone is really judging you for expressing that. And if they are? They can kiss my ass.”

You giggled at that, bumping your shoulder into his. “Such a way with words, Redfield.”

He laughed in response, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence once again. The candle flickered, casting your shadows onto the wall, and you watched them dance together as your thoughts raced laps in your mind.

“I can’t believe Wesker’s here now,” Chris stated, breaking you from your reverie.

When you glanced over at your friend, his whole body was tense, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Same here.” You sighed before dropping your legs to the side of the bed again, grabbing Chris’s arm that was closest to you and placing it in your lap, gently stroking your fingers over his knuckles in an attempt to calm him.

He froze at first but seemed to relax under your careful touch.

“This might sound harsh,” Chris began, eyes still focused on your hands, “but maybe it’s better you died in the trial.”

You were horrified as you stared at him, mouth agape, halting your soothing motions. “Why would you say that?!”

He grimaced. “I got a good look at you when you were trying to get me off the hook, Lucky. I know you explained what happened at the meeting, but it was much worse than what you described. Those injuries would have been a bitch to deal with if you lived.”

You wanted to be angry, but he had a point. “Yeah… I guess I’m glad everything’s healed up. That concussion was no joke.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d call you a klutz, but I know how you fight,” Chris teased.

“‘Accident prone’ is probably more accurate,” you replied with an amused huff. Your expression dropped, though, when you added, “But in my defense, Wesker was relentless.”

His tone was dark when he responded, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You picked back up where you left off, then, slowly dragging the pads of your fingers over his knuckles as the quiet took hold once more.

His hand suddenly flexed beneath yours, his voice strained as he spoke again, “I know what you’re going through. What it was like to find out what Wesker had done.”

You pressed your lips in a thin line at that.

Oh, Chris, you thought, you really don’t.

He was Chris’s captain, same as you–they seemed to be on friendly, albeit professional, terms–but Chris didn’t know him like you did.

Like I thought I did, you corrected yourself solemnly.

You wondered if you should tell Chris the truth about your relationship with Wesker, but the more you considered it, the more you questioned what the point would be.

It wasn’t real, whatever it was.

And there was a part of you that feared you’d be seen as a traitor if word of your affair got out. Your friends and the other survivors were all you had in this world. You couldn’t lose anyone else. You wouldn’t.

Chris, unaware of your internal struggle, continued, “It makes perfect sense the Entity would bring him here, though. It’s always coming up with new ways to fuck with us.”

“Really seems to be the case,” you agreed, falling back on your bed to face the ceiling.

Chris gazed down at you, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he followed your lead, sprawling out beside you.

“I hate that you're stuck here with us,” he told you, voice low. “But I’m happy to have you back.”

“Yeah, at least we’re together. At least I’m alive.”

“Alive, after five years without you. Still doesn’t feel real to me.”

You turned your head to face him, tone softening, “Five years is a long time.”

“It’s funny,” he said, though there was no humor in his voice, “you were dead for longer than I knew you, and it never got easier.”

You reached down between you, lacing your fingers with his, his large hand engulfing yours completely in its warmth. He had done so much to comfort you in the last two days, and you wanted to return it in any way you could.

“I’m here now,” you told him.

“Yeah. You’re here now.”

His grasp only tightened.

You ached on his behalf. Sure, you had lost everything, too, but at least you didn’t have to experience it firsthand.

He bore witness to so much death. You wondered if he had seen yours as well.

You spoke, “In the trial, Wesker told me… He told me he watched me die that night in the mansion. Did you?”

Chris sighed deeply, unable to look at you. “No. He, uh, he sent me off to secure the area. More or less kicked me out of the room. When I got back, well… you were already gone.”

“Fuck.”

“He told me you turned. That he had to… take you down. I believed him at the time, but after finding out he was behind it all, something just didn’t sit right with me.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his words. “And what was that?”

“He was too adamant that I leave. Made sure the two of you would be alone. I thought for a while he killed you as soon as I walked off just to get you out of the way, but you probably weren’t gonna make it. So now I wonder: why would he bother if you were dying anyway? I mean, Wesker only killed Marini because he found out the truth about his ties to Umbrella. He let the rest of us run around like chickens with our heads cut off until we were zombie food. Doesn’t make sense to me that he would kill you unless you really did turn.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. It hurt so much worse to know that Wesker was the one to kill you that night in the mansion, but it also left you with so many questions.

“Maybe–maybe it was a mercy killing,” you offered, somehow hopeful despite evidence to the contrary.

Chris scoffed. “After what he did to you in the trial, do you really think that would be his play? I know you’re just recently coming to terms with the fact he’s a psychopath and always has been, but I think you know better than that by now.”

Maybe you did, but the Wesker you met in that trial was not the one you knew. He was a lot more unpredictable. He went from nearly killing you, to kissing you, to killing you anyway. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

You both went silent for a long while after that, lost in thought, not wanting to talk about your former captain anymore.

Then a new curiosity came to mind.

“Was I… brave?” you whispered out into the room.

“What?” Chris shifted then, looking at you directly, your clasped hands falling undone.

“The night I died. Was I brave?”

He grinned fondly. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely. 'Til the very end.”

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“No, not about that. Never. You were the bravest.” He paused for a moment before leaning in closer, his tone conspiratorial, “Inspiring, even.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said lightheartedly, shoving his chest.

He laughed, grabbing your wrist playfully and holding your hand to his sternum before his expression grew serious again. “I tease, but… I do mean it. You did your best under the circumstances. A hero through and through. Faced death with more grace than I probably ever could.”

That shocked you, considering your desperation to survive your trial.

You were practically a rat willing to gnaw its own leg off to escape a trap. What grace was there in that?

Chris spoke, pulling you back to reality, “Lucky, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. For a long time now, actually.”

Your gaze drew up to his at the sound of his voice, his demeanor seemingly… nervous?

How strange, you thought.

Chris was never nervous. He was a confident man. A headstrong one.

You wondered if you should be worried, but there was an openness in the way he regarded you. A vulnerability in his eyes.

What could it mean?

He swallowed, glancing away from you before he managed to get out the words, “I, uh… Well… I have feelings for you.”

Your eyes widened at his profession, the unexpectedness of it jarring you completely.

“Really?” you questioned in disbelief.

He laughed a little, sounding almost timorous. “Yeah. Really.”

“How… How long?”

He looked pensive for a moment before answering, “I mean, I’ve had a thing for you since we met if I’m being honest. You really never got the hint? I felt like I was pretty obvious about it.”

Your cheeks reddened as your mind flashed over the past few years, the weight of realizing just how oblivious you were to his advances hitting you like a ton of bricks. “No, I guess I didn’t…”

“Jeez, I really don’t know what more I could have done to get my point across. Write it on my forehead?”

“In my defense, you flirted with everyone, Chris. I thought it was harmless fun. I didn’t know you meant it.”

He winced at that and you felt bad for being so dismissive, but you knew you were right. You saw how he was before.

But he was different now, wasn’t he?

“I was an idiot for that. For not being more upfront and serious about it,” he admitted, sighing. “I was going to be, though. The night of the mansion, I was going to tell you outright what I felt. But then we were gearing up for the rescue mission and we got into that fight about you coming along and I just… didn’t.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, absentmindedly splaying your fingers out where they pressed against his chest. You could feel his heart beating under your touch. You found it hard to focus on anything else, butterflies threatening to burst from your gut and out of your mouth.

His hand traveled from around your wrist to lay on top of your own. “I promised myself that when we got back from the mission, I would tell you. But… you never made it home. So I didn’t get the chance. I always regretted it.”

Tears threatened to spill from you for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Chris finally looked back at you, swallowing down his own emotions, eyes glossy.

You felt yourself moving before you even realized what you were doing, rushing forward and pressing your mouth to his clumsily.

He was soft and warm and you didn’t mind the scrape of his chapped lips against yours.

He went rigid at the action, and you pulled back immediately, equal parts shocked by what you just did and worried you fucked it all up.

“What are you doing?” he asked you, brows knitted together.

He released his hold on your hand, your palm falling from his chest to lay beside you, now cold without his touch.

Your face grew hot with embarrassment and a dreadful sense of rejection flooded you instantly.

“I–I don’t know,” you replied quietly–truthfully.

You supposed that with his confession, every single interaction you’ve had with him in recent memory was suddenly brought under a different light.

“I didn’t tell you all of that just to get something out of it, Lucky,” he said intently. “I just wanted to get it off my chest after years of wishing I could. You don’t have to feel the same way.”

The words left his mouth, his expression earnest, and it all clicked into place.

The way he had been looking at you, the way he touched you, the way he defended and protected you, the way he took care of you.

Not just since you ended up here, but all the times before.

You thought of motorcycle rides in the countryside, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Of drunken dances in crowded bars, laughing and tugging at his hand to join you in the fray. Of cups of coffee–made just how you liked–placed on your desk during busy days. Of uttered be careful’s before every mission and urgent are you okay?’s after.

You saw everything with a sudden, blinding sort of clarity then.

“But I do,” you told him, pressing your fingers to his jaw, desperate to share this new revelation. “I do.”

A sharp exhale escaped him, as if in disbelief, a gleam brightening his dark eyes in the flickering candlelight, “Let’s do this the right way, then.”

He cupped your cheeks with both hands, lowering his face to yours.

Your eyelids fluttered closed as his lips met yours again, but this time, it was just so much more.

It was languid and tender, and you could feel his stubble scratch lightly against your skin.

You deepened the kiss, one hand fisted into his shirt while the other gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer still.

He let out a quiet groan, tangling his fingers into your hair before pressing his tongue to the seam of your mouth. You easily parted your lips for him, reveling in the minty taste of his toothpaste as he consumed you wholly.

He trailed a palm down along your side, grabbing your waist to tug you nearer. His touch lit a fire inside of you, and you wasted no time in pushing him onto his back, straddling him eagerly.

He allowed you to take the reins, both of you running your hands over each other’s bodies, your tongues melding together fervently.

You could feel him hardening beneath you and you ground down against him, gasping into his mouth at the friction.

He pulled away from you, then, breathing raggedly, his voice a warning, “Lucky…”

You leaned down and kissed along his jaw, simply stating, “I want you.”

He sat up, taking you with him, and held you still in his lap. “Maybe we should slow down, yeah?”

“Why? Do you not want this?” you questioned, feeling suddenly insecure.

Could his feelings for you have changed now that he actually had you? Were you not what he thought he wanted? Did you mess something up? Were you too desperate?

“More than you can imagine,” he assured you with a chuckle. “But you’ve been through a lot recently and you’re vulnerable right now. I don’t want to take advantage of that. It would be wrong.”

You huffed. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I haven’t lost my mind just yet.”

He sighed deeply, his voice exasperated, “Lucky, c’mon.”

“Chris, I need this. Being right here with you is the safest I’ve felt in days. The most alive. Please, just… just take it all away. Just for tonight.”

“And what if you regret it?” he asked. “I wouldn’t know how to live with myself if doing this just makes things worse for you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, feeling simultaneously so blessed to have such a thoughtful man in your arms and frustrated by his stubbornness to be so overbearingly protective of you, even against himself. “I am telling you right now, I won’t regret it. If you want me too, can you just trust my judgment on this?”

He pulled his face away from you and stared into your eyes, searching. “Tell me you’re sure.”

You breathed out, “I’m sure.”

He nodded, his large hands sliding up to hold your face once more. “Okay.”

With that, he kissed you again, more forceful than before. You practically melted into him.

You slid your hips back and forth in his lap, just to feel his clothed bulge skim against you.

A primal, guttural noise escaped his throat at your movements and he grabbed the meat of your ass to pick up the speed.

“You need this just as much as I do, don’t you?” you queried playfully, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

“I do.” He kissed along your neck, and you shivered at his hot breath sweeping across your skin. “More than anything.”

The two of you parted briefly to yank each other’s shirts off, and you grazed your eyes over his bare chest as he did the same to you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your breasts.

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at one of your hardening nipples, his calloused fingers gently pinching the other.

“Chris, please…” you begged, needing him to touch you lower.

He released you from his mouth and smiled at you, wide and boyish and smug. “You need to learn some patience, baby.”

Baby.

The pet name made your chest tighten. Made you lightheaded.

It wasn’t just the word itself that affected you, but the way he said it, like honey dripping from his tongue. It went straight to your core.

You sighed as he kissed you again, hard, holding you so tightly to him, you thought your bodies might just fuse together.

And then, suddenly, he flipped you onto your back, making you yelp as you bounced onto the creaky mattress below you. He chuckled as he hovered over you, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth.

“You think tossing me around is funny, huh?” you huffed, giving him a severe look.

“Only a little bit,” he replied, smiling into your skin as he trailed his mouth down your body. “That little noise you made was just too cute to pass up.”

You scoffed lightheartedly, the sound turning into more of a strangled whine as his lips brushed against your hip. He then slipped off the bed and you sat up on your bent elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” he informed you matter-of-factly before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the mattress.

You swallowed thickly as he tugged your pajama shorts and panties off of your body and tossed them somewhere in the room, placing your ankles on his shoulders as he pried open your thighs.

“You don’t have to…” you told him earnestly, feeling suddenly nervous now that the realization of what you were doing finally hit you.

Were you really about to fuck your best friend? Was this a good idea?

You wanted it. Badly. His confession filled you with butterflies–filled you with a need you didn’t know existed until you kissed him.

But what happens after?

“Hey,” he coaxed, turning his head to kiss the inside of your calf, “I want to. Just let me take care of you, baby.”

Oh, you were a goner now.

“O-okay.”

He smiled at you again, radiant like the sun, before he slowly began to ascend up your leg with kisses, his hand trailing a similar path on the other.

You watched him intently, practically panting because you wanted nothing more than for him to get on with it. But you couldn’t deny how good it felt to have him be so attentive to you. Relish you.

He reached your knee when he paused, bringing his free hand to caress the newly formed scab there. “What’s this?”

“M’nothing. Just nicked myself shaving,” you replied.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He sighed in faux exasperation, brushing his lips over the small cut in a way that spread warmth through your whole body. “‘Accident prone’ is right.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and eat me out already, Redfield.”

He quirked a brow at your crass demand. “Yes, ma’am.”

He was quick to work his way up the rest of your leg, sucking a mark into your inner thigh hard enough to make your hips buck. Satisfied with his handiwork, he lowered his mouth over your aching sex, looking up at you with hunger in his dark, half-lidded eyes.

You gasped as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, watching you closely as he teased you.

“Chris!” you whined, carding a hand through his short hair. “Please, I need more. Please.”

“Anything you want,” he said lowly, diving his tongue further into you.

Your chest was heaving as he devoured you, one of his hands gripping your thigh to keep them parted and the other pressed to your lower belly, preventing you from canting your hips.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathed before suckling your clit in a way that had you keening.

You could feel an orgasm quickly approaching, making you fist the sheets. “M’gonna come, Chris.”

“Then come for me.” He pulled his hand from your stomach, gently nudging a finger against your entrance. You cried out in ecstasy as he sunk it deeper into you, his tongue still working against your clit.

You came hard, your vision swimming as you rutted against his finger and mouth.

He continued his movements as you rode out the high, only pulling away once you sagged into the mattress.

You picked up your head, breathing heavily, to find him looking at you, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick. He smirked at you lecherously and it made your cheeks flush.

He crawled back onto the bed and scooped you up into his arms, laying you vertically across it. He kissed you fervently as he lounged beside you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue, the lasciviousness of it making you clench around nothing.

He slipped his hand down between your legs, once again pushing one of his thick digits into you, making you shudder at the intrusion.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your sweaty temple. “I have to get you ready for me.”

You babbled incoherently as he slotted a second finger inside of you, gripping the sheets in one hand and his taut forearm in the other. He managed to fit a third, the stretch making you gasp loudly, screwing your eyes shut at the sensation.

“There you go,” he cooed against your skin, rubbing his thumb against your sensitive clit. “You think you can come for me again?”

“Y-yeah,” you panted.

He leaned further over you, kissing you roughly. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He caught your broken cry in his mouth as you came again, lights exploding behind your eyes as you seized up beneath him.

He pulled back to let you breathe, slowly drawing his fingers from your soaked folds, popping them into his mouth and sucking them clean of you. You whimpered at the sight.

He moved to poise above you once more, setting himself between your still-shaking legs.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, lowering them just enough to release his hardened member.

Your breath hitched as you looked at it. It was cut, the tip weeping with precome, the base of it littered with short, dark curls. It was slightly above average in length, but that’s not what caught your attention. It was thick–thicker than you’ve ever had.

You suddenly realized why he needed three fingers.

He took the shaft into his hand, pumping it a couple times before he leaned over you, gliding the head of it through your folds leisurely.

“You sure you still want this?” he asked you. His tone was serious, but it couldn't drown out the huskiness and need in his voice.

You nodded vigorously, a whine caught in your throat as he pressed so gently against your entrance.

“You need to tell me,” came the whispered command as he stared down at you, eyes flicking over your face, his expression dark and amorous.

“Please, I want to feel you.”

He kissed your lips again, deep and passionate. “Okay, baby. I’m gonna go real slow, alright?”

“Okay,” you murmured into his mouth before he pulled back.

To his word, he pushed in slowly, the wide head of him stretching you out as he breached you. He watched you intently as you let out a silent cry, the burn of him filling you to the hilt almost overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he exhaled. “Gonna have to sit here a minute, let you adjust.”

You nodded and he lowered his head to kiss you. He pressed a palm against your breast and squeezed lightly, the sensation making you arch your back. He trailed his lips down your jaw to your neck, where he suckled gently on the flesh there.

You sighed wantonly, moving your hands against his broad chest, running them over the hair there, his abs tightening at your touch.

You shifted your hips slightly as the burn subsided, desperate to feel him move.

“M’ready, Chris,” you told him.

“Yeah?” he asked, pulling back from the bruise he left on your throat.

Tired of waiting, you bucked up a little more aggressively, your fingers trailing down to his ass to pull him closer.

He chuckled, pecking the corner of your mouth as you let out a complaintive whine. “Alright, baby, I’m gonna move now.”

You breathed heavily as he slowly–agonizingly–pulled out of you, the tip of him just barely remaining inside of you. He snapped forward in one fluid motion and the oxygen left your lungs in a high-pitched cry.

He then repeated that same action, hitting deeper with each thrust. It made your head spin. But you needed more.

“I–I need it faster–faster n’ harder, Chris. Please!” you begged, gripping his arms tightly as they caged you beneath him.

“You sure you can handle that?” he questioned, brows furrowed as he looked down at you.

“I’m not made of glass, Chris. I can handle it.”

He pressed his body closer to yours, holding your face in his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lucky.”

“I trust you not to,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and hitching your legs around his waist.

He captured your lips gently with his own. “If that’s what you want.”

He did as you requested, picking up the pace and driving his hips forward more forcefully. You let out a shriek at the feeling of it, knowing that you weren’t going to last much longer.

He leaned forward, nipping and tugging at your earlobe, grunts of pleasure being pushed through his teeth.

You dug your nails harshly into his back, crying out, “Chris, I’m close!”

His face fell into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing along your pulse point with every deep plunge. “Me too, baby.”

The pressure built up quickly, that wound up coil in your belly ready to spring for the third time.

His hand tangled into your hair as he kissed you again. “Let go for me, honey.”

All it took was a couple more strokes and you were undone, burying your face into his shoulder to muffle the scream.

You spasmed around him as he fucked you through it, a loud groan of your name–your real name, which sounded so blissful from his mouth–leaving him as he pulled out, spilling onto your stomach.

He rolled over and collapsed onto his side, the two of you still panting and heaving.

You stared up at the shadows dancing along the ceiling as you caught your breath, mind so gloriously blank after being filled with nothing but horror and grief for so long. You don’t think you’ve felt this relaxed and at peace in days.

Chris exhaled deeply beside you as he pulled his pants back up on his hips, covering his softening member once more before turning to look at you.

He sat up on one elbow as his eyes grazed over your still-naked form, resting his hand against your cheek and shifting you to face him.

“You okay?” he asked you, his voice low and steady, concern in his brown eyes.

You nodded your head weakly, feeling exhaustion creeping up on you, offering him a lazy smile. “Better than ever. Thank you.”

He let out a quiet laugh and leaned down, kissing you sweetly. “I should be thanking you.”

“I didn’t do that much. Just laid here. You did all the work,” you pointed out as he got off the bed.

He rolled his eyes at your words, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and sat beside you, gently cleaning his spend from your stomach, “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“Mission accomplished, Officer,” you joked as he finished wiping you down. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to you, forcing him to toss the dirty article of clothing back on the linoleum to brace himself against the mattress. “You gonna spend the night?”

“Is that what you want, Lucky?” he queried, peppering kisses along your nose and cheeks, making you giggle.

“Duh. Get under the covers with me.”

You released him so that he could follow your direction, snuffing out the candle as you scooted closer to the wall, not paying any mind to the wet spot on the sheets when he shuffled under the comforter beside you.

As soon as he was situated, you laid your head against his chest. He was quick to slide his arm under you, pulling you closer to him.

“You know, I thought about what this would be like for a long time,” he said quietly in the dark, stroking your hair.

“Was it everything you wanted?” you asked, curious. Nervous.

He kissed your head, the adoration in his voice almost palpable, “Everything and more.”

You smiled to yourself before shifting to face him, even though you couldn’t make out his features in the blackened room. “You were pretty good yourself.”

He laughed. “Happy to be of service.”

You giggled with him, laying your head back against his chest.

A quiet crept upon you, the only sounds the whipping wind outside the window and your breaths as they gradually evened out.

You were almost asleep when Chris spoke once more, “Lucky?”

“Yeah, Chris?”

“Was this a one-time thing?”

Your eyes widened at that, his tone clearly trying to sound unaffected, but there was an underlying apprehension in his words.

“Oh, don’t think for a second I’m letting you go now,” you told him.

It was lighthearted, but you were serious. You’d never been one for hookups anyway, but after everything you and Chris had been through together–after all he had done for you–you doubted you ever wanted him out of your bed again, regardless of whatever this was that transpired between you.

His strong arms wrapped around you, tugging you closer, a contentedness in his voice that you hadn’t heard since you’d arrived in this nightmarish place, “Good. Cos you were gonna be stuck with me anyway.”

You had felt so adrift until this moment–like you were lost at sea–but here, kept warm in Chris’s comforting embrace, you were held fast.

The waves could crash upon you and the storm could rage around you, but you knew now that he was your anchor.

An anchor to something good.

My silver lining.

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

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#albert wesker x reader #chris redfield x reader #albert wesker #chris redfield #dead by daylight #resident evil #dbd #re #the betrayer

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burninlovebutler · 1 year

Text

22 - Christmas Special (ft. the Grinch) // Forever Winter Series

pairing: austin butler x fem!oc warnings: sad fluff, angst, SAD SAD, drugs (pills), physical agression, paranoia, memory loss?, cursing, annoying male territorial shit, teeth rotting christmas presents, 18+ minors mdni

22/?: Austin struggles to wrap gifts alone on christmas eve before spending the next day with Elsie & her suspiciously nice boyfriend. Elsie finds herself atop Austin after opening his gift. Austin is cornered with an unexpected proposition.

prev chapter -> 21 - Blue M&M's see masterlist/summary for background info + chapter log

gif cred: @carnevol ♡

(SORRY YES I NEEDED MULTIPLE GIFS SH)

I hope you get your ballroom floor Your perfect house with rose red doors I wish I'd known that less is more But I was passed out on the floor That's the last thing I remember It's been a long lonely December

-AUSTIN-

A mountain of failed gift-wrapping attempts sat next to me as I started what I hoped would be my last one. Smoothing out the foiled paper flush against mahogany slats and carefully placing one of the two vinyl records I’d gotten for Elsie strategically in the middle. A scissor still dangled from my pinky while my palm attempted ease the frustration built up behind my eyeball.

“Okay, it’s fine. I can do this. It’s just wrapping a fucking gift.” I muttered to myself, something I did quite often. When you have to reassure yourself as much as I did, saying the words just in your head got to be inadequate.

Taking a deep breath, I repeated the process I had already done what seemed like a million times – fold (poorly), tape, fold, tape, add a cute ‘to/from’ sticker tag, a bow, then holding it out to admire my handiwork.

Then, paranoia all over again.

My stupid fucking brain.

I tried my best to delicately tear a small corner from the taped gift in order to double check that it was the right record. And obviously, it was the same fucking one as the last ten, but of course it destroyed the wrap job completely.

“Fuck!” I swore, letting out a charged, frustrated groan before chucking the kitchen scissors across the living room floor. Then, ripping the gift wrap off, crumping it into a ball and repeated the action, landing opposite the scissors.

My foolish coping trick was the first line of defense when I attempted to focus on one of the thousand skyscrapers that scattered outside my floor-to-ceiling windows. City glows and holiday twinkles littered the midnight skyline, then a wall of snow flurries poured over the scene. There wasn’t a damn thing out there that interested me enough to stare at to distract me. If anything, the arrogant bustling city only added to my heightened state. My eyes then scanned across the room – the wall, no – the couch, no – the coffee table –

The mug on the coffee table. Elsie’s mug.

Reminding me of how we had spent almost every Christmas Eve together for the past 6 years. Well, we met on Christmas eve and sat in a breakfast diner until about 2 am Christmas morning. But the traditions really began when we moved into our apartment the year after that, sophomore year. We’d find the most pathetic looking evergreen at the closest tree farm and brought it home.

We were both so broke we couldn’t afford real decorations, so we’d buy plastic dollar store ornaments and even made some out of paper. Like kindergarteners we’d get a thick stack of construction paper and create those chain garlands, draping them all over the house. Then on Christmas eve we’d wear tacky matching PJs, make the sweetest hot chocolate with the biggest marshmallows and watch cheesy Christmas movies.

Christmas celebrations with my family were always so chaotic and stressful, full of arguments and tears. But the ones with Elsie were so easy, so fun. I hated Christmas until I met her.

When we finally decided to not renew our lease last year and she moved in with Nox, I packed our decorations away into storage totes, keeping all of them, even the paper ones. I intended to surprise her with them and have her help me decorate this holiday, but then all this shit happened.

And so, here I was staring at her favorite mug that was filled with my futile effort at the hot cocoa tradition, by myself. I out did her in almost every concoction that required a kitchen, but her hot chocolate was one I could never quite replicate. But maybe if I added enough sugar, enough syrup, enough marshmallows, it just might have some aftertaste of hers. I thought it might bring some sort of comfort and festivity to this lonely Christmas eve.

My heart was still thumping and my hands already trembling from the inability to wrap a fucking gift, but I kept staring at that stupid, condescending cup. I lifted it off the table, leaving behind a brown ring on the glass and brought it to my lips. Tipping the entirely full and now cold beverage to my lips, letting the liquid seep past the layer of melted marshmallow. Immediately repulsed at the taste, spitting it out. It was bitter.

“Augh-“ Wiping the liquid off my chin and furrowed my brows at the cup, “What the fuck?”

How the fuck could I have made hot chocolate bitter?

Using my index, I gently pushed the mountain of marshmallow to inspect the drink. It was watery, pitch black and had floating specks. Specks.

Grounds.

The cup was full of coffee. Black fucking coffee.

Right now, that mug was a familiar pest, but I had to weigh out how dangerous it really was. Racing through the steps I took earlier to make this cup, but all I could see was me ripping open an instant hot chocolate pouch, pouring it into the warm milk and mixing it. I thought I could remember even taste testing it to check the sweetness. It was all so real, vivid, tangible.

I had been taking my meds – or at least trying to.

It took a moment before complete and utter descent kicked in.

My chest felt tight, constraining, like an anaconda wrapped around my ribs, and just about every negative emotion a human could feel hit me like a train. Anger, heartache, loathing, sadness, jealousy, frustration, everything. Before I could even process the rumble surging through me, the full cup soared through the air clashing into my white wall. Ceramic shards flying and coffee painting the wall brown.

The sight of it encapsulated everything I was experiencing, the shattered cup a perfect analogy for me and Elsie. Her favorite mug in pieces. Something that was once full of beauty and meaning, now shattered on the ground. The scene reflected my mind as well - broken, fragmented, incapable of being used anymore.

I folded my extended legs into myself when tears began to well in my eyes, pressing my face against my knees and wrapped arms around them. My sobs shaking my entire body and soaked my stupid Christmas pajama pants.

I didn’t know what I was crying about – the frustration of not being able to trust my brain? The inability to wrap a fucking gift because of said brain? The lack of my best friend? or the sheer loneliness of this eve?

The harder I cried the tighter my grip was around myself. It was the hardest I’d cried in a while, maybe even since my dad. But at least I had Elsie then. Now I had to play some fucked up game of chess just to see her on Christmas.

“Okay,” Wiping the tears aggressively with the palms of my hands, “I can do this.” My breaths still rapid and staggered.

The words of my father rang in my ears –

Shut the fuck up, men don’t fucking cry

Only little girls sob like that

Be a fucking man and cut it out

You’re an embarrassment

Why was I relying on a woman to come save me? A woman that wasn’t mine? A woman that didn’t even want me?

Once my cries slowed enough to pull myself up, I went to what I really relied on - arguably worse than any girl. Going straight to the cluster of orange prescription bottles scattered all over the apartment, finding the one I wanted on the granite kitchen counter. I plucked an entire bar and knocked it back with ease.

If I wanted to get those fucking presents wrapped, I needed to do it before the pill entered my system fully.

Unrolling the wrapping paper tube reaching the end, leaving me with just enough to finish. I laid out the metallic paper, placed the records on their respective squares and employed my last resort when I really couldn’t trust my mind. I used my phone to snap several – several pictures of the records, front and back, from all angles. Now, I had concrete proof for myself that they were correct ones. Even with the evidence, I figured out a way to leave a small discrete opening in the back so I would have an extra layer of verification.

As the Xanax began to filter into my mind, I decided it would be a great idea to write a letter to Elsie, basically emotionally dumping whatever I felt in that moment.

Though I hadn’t decided when or if I’d ever let her read it.

I slipped on a pair of dark jeans, getting ready for this stupid fucking group Christmas Elsie had arranged. I didn’t understand why she would even set this up, why she pushed us to get along - but whatever it was important to her.

What I couldn’t wrap my head around was why Nox allegedly wanted to apologize, I knew he wasn’t sorry. I hypothesized that it was all Elsie’s puppeteering, and we were just her dolls on dangling strings.

Regardless, it felt a lot like a minefield. I wasn’t much of a people person, I avoided them as much as humanly possible. Though, that was difficult being in the industry I was in. But people like Nox always kept me on my toes, they reminded me so much of my dad. I loathed the juvenile mind games and territorial rivalry.

Nox was convinced I wanted something that wasn’t mine. It was as simple as that. I suppose this fence mending dinner was the perfect time to prove him wrong. I could wave a white flag and call for a ceasefire. I shouldn’t have to fucking tip toe around my best friend of six years just because of some fucking asshole. As much of a shitty thought it was, I knew they wouldn’t last.

He was temporary, I wasn’t.

I piled gifts in my arms. The gift wrap crinkling around the two flat presents reminded me of my last-minute verification method. I lifted the tiny hidden opening at the back to check the record, then pulling out my phone to match them to what was in my hands. This process delayed me quite a bit – about 20 minutes late as I kept going back between the two pieces of reassuring evidence. Before I left, I poured some white tablets into my palm, deciding to snap one in half and swallowing it dry. I couldn’t be too out of it in front of her, especially not on Christmas.

After a knock, I anxiously waited for Elsie to open the door. The most enthusiastic smile plastered on her face when it finally cracked. “Yay you’re finally here!” She exclaimed before even fully opening the door. Joyful arms squeezed around me, filling my nose with a strong peppermint scent, “Merry Christmas Austin!”

Hm, Austin. Not Aus or Aust or Austie. I wonder fuckin why.

Even though ‘Austie’ was the lamest fucking one, it was my favorite. I’d do whatever she wanted when she used it. She could ask me to bring her lava and I’d figure out how some way to gather some for her, even it singed me, even if I came back to her looking like Deadpool.

She wore a short, strapless red dress with scrunched sleeves just off her shoulders, a black corset tied around her waist. It almost resembled a pirate’s dress. Her hair curled and topped with reindeer antlers. A sudden flash of her on my couch in my oversized shirt using my lap as her own personal toy-

Thank god for Nox appearing because my eyes and thoughts would’ve lingered much longer. He crossed from the kitchen. His outfit much like mine, black jeans, black shirt. Except Elsie had just plopped a Santa hat on my head. “Nox won’t wear one.” She glared over at him with a pout.

And of course, I would, right? Because I do all the things he doesn’t, right? Including making her fucking come. Must be nice to have your cake and eat it too. I’d like to have just one fucking decent slice of cake. The abrupt rumble of resentment told me maybe this Christmas special was a mistake.

“Hey man, I just wanted to say sorry about… well everything.” He gave me the stereotypical ‘bro’ handshake. I didn’t believe a word that man said, but this time it did seem genuine. Perhaps he did have some sense knocked into him from having the best thing that could ever happen to him ripped away, even temporarily.

“It’s alright, I’m sorry too.” My best attempt at a cordial apology.

“Okay okay! Presents!” Elsie broke the tense air, clapping excitedly.

My brain already began to slow down thanks to the meds and suddenly, the idea of this didn’t seem so bad, maybe even fun. That sense was fleeting though when she went to grasp my hand but promptly drew away, probably remembering her boyfriend was right fucking there.

Funny how this worked - her instinctively reaching for my hand and the word ‘baby’ swirling at the tip of my tongue. The memories from a couple weeks ago looping in my brain – the dressing room, truth or dare, dancing, couch, eating, cuddling.

They seemingly just no longer existed. They didn’t mean anything, they never happened.

The fucking close call clause.

Did they mean anything? Did they mean anything to her? Did they mean anything to me?

A jarring twist in my chest suggested that they might mean something - or it might be because she was completely unaffected.

But it was wrong, the twist wasn’t any of those things, I was just fucking angry.

The close call clause was in place for a reason, for this exact reason. And normally it would be relieving, but for some reason it no longer felt like a safety net. As if what we did had burned a hole straight through the web, and I was falling through it.

Falling into what exactly?

She led us to the sloppily decorated tree, surely because she wasn’t home for so long or because she didn’t have me to help her. And I knew Nox wasn’t one to assist in any sort of festivities. “C’mon,” She tapped the ground next to her looking at me, “Sit.” But naturally, Nox stole the seat. So, I chose to sit to the other side of her, further away.

Nox and I exchanged gifts first. It’s always awkward when you’re required to get gifts for people you don’t really know.

Shocker, we got each other the same things – Amazon gift cards.

She excitedly handed over a small container to Nox. He opened the box revealing a luxury designer watch, silver with a navy face. “Oh, thank you baby.”

‘Baby’

A sharp jab pierced through me as the memory of calling her that rolled across my brain. It didn’t sound right when he said it, it sounded like a lie. But I guess I was lying too, since I only ever managed to call her that when I wanted to be inside her.

“Do you like it?” She chirped, straightening up like a little kid giving their parents a finger painting.

“Yeah of course.” Wrapping his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple.

I studied him, this was a reconciliation dinner after all. I wanted to know if it was genuine, picking apart every word, tone and gesture. It appeared authentic – so fucking bland, but authentic. Perhaps that’s why she’d get so wrapped up in him, he could just act this way and she was pliable in his hands again.

“Your turn Austin!” She shot up from the floor, “Wait here! Close your eyes!”

My eyebrows scrunched watching her scurry away across the grey carpet. What could she possibly have gotten me to require this song and dance? I glanced over at Nox, sensing his anger but keeping a pokerface. A stupid, happy, festive pokerface. Any other time, her cheerful excitement would wrap me in a fluffy warm cloud but even with the Xan beginning to kick in, I was still just unnecessarily fuming. Nonetheless, I closed my eyes as instructed and waited for her.

Some fumbling came from the other side of the apartment before I sensed her next to me. “Okay! Open!” I was almost afraid to look, any tiny misstep threatened to set Nox off.

Cracking my left eye before opening both wide. She stood there with a vintage guitar, one I had been searching for - for years. I think I had only ever mentioned this guitar to her once. During one of our first trips to our college diner, before I even learned how to play.

“I- Oh my god Elsie.” In complete awe of the wooden instrument.

“I know your new role has some music parts, I thought this might help.” She beamed at me, wider than with Nox’s gift. Her green eyes brighter than they were with him.

“Wow- um you really didn’t have to do this.” Leaning forward my fingers tracing the smooth, worn curves. “How did you even know?”

“I pay attention.” Shrugging and giving me the soft kind smile that always seemed to melt me.

That was my Elsie. Not whatever artificial shell of a human Nox turns her into. How can you see her, who she is, her heart and treat her the way he does? Why would you want to change her?

“I’m, just wow. It’s beautiful Elsie, thank you so much.”

She didn’t need to ask me if I liked it. She knew.

She rested the guitar across the couch before coming back to sit down. Nox handed his present to her, a generic teardrop diamond necklace. But she acted like it was the best thing on the planet. Probably because it was the nicest gift he’d ever given her.

Her arms wrapped around his waist nuzzling into him, “Thanks babe.” She shined, “It’s so pretty!” The way her eyes flickered up at him broke completely through the calm lull of my high, for some reason making me more furious, livid even. The sort of fierce anger that I’d only ever felt when disgusting men would hit on my girlfriends at bars and clubs.

But as her delicate fingers unraveled the thin chain from the box handing it to him to place around her neck, it brought another sensation. His tattooed hands gently laid the silver necklace on her accentuated collarbones and clasped it at the back. The same ferocious feeling came but beneath a different filter. It was like someone took the arteries in my beating heart, wrapped them around the thumping muscle, then tied them in strangling knots.

Why?

Wanting to fuck her was one thing but wanting to put some cliché necklace around her neck? That was different. I didn’t fucking like that feeling. That was the worst one yet.

“Are ya gonna keep me waiting or what?” She joked, leaning out of Nox’s arm to lightly smack my own. It was only then that I realized my stare had stayed on them when my thoughts ran rampant. I glanced over at Nox, finding an expected displeased look.

“Oh, Oh yeah sorry.” I twisted behind myself and picked up the poorly wrapped slender boxes, stealthily peeling the paper back to ease my doubt one last time before handing them over to her. Coincidentally I had also gotten her something had long been on her ‘in search of’ list. “Alright well, I’m not sure I’ll be able to top that, but I hope this comes close.”

Her dainty fingers followed the edges of the wrapped presents then tucking a soft chocolate curl behind her ear. From the gift’s shape it was pretty obvious that they were vinyls, but she was probably assuming they were some new albums, thinking something like Taylor Swift or Halsey. She gently tore the wrapping paper seeing only the corner and letting out a gasp already able to tell what it was, “Austin!”

Elsie loved old music (hence the Cher guilty pleasure) but an even bigger love than Cher was-

“Oh my god it’s Elvis!” Then followed what could only be described as an ear-piercing screech. “Aaahhh!” Almost as if she flew off the ground and pummeled me to the floor (still screaming) knocking all the wind out from my lungs. The spirit of the king must’ve certainly been in her at that moment because my god, I’d never seen anyone move that fast. It was what I imagine parents experience when they give their kids Harry Styles tickets, just ear drum shattering screaming and ‘thank you’s.

The records I got her were antique Elvis vinyls, originals from his very first albums. They cost me an arm and a leg, literally, an absurd amount of money I didn’t even want to say outloud - but this reaction was worth it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” She hugged me tight, her body on top of me and then, at just at the right angle away from Nox, she smushed my face in her hands and planted an aggressive smooch on my cheek. Yep, those expensive little plastic discs were worth this. And if her looming boyfriend wasn’t just feet away, I don’t think I could’ve restrained from pulling her on top of me in that skimpy dress.

Once her spirit returned to her body she promptly recoiled, regaining composure in front of a visibly irritated Nox. “Oh- I’m so sorry everyone.” She chuckled, nervously playing with her fingers, “I just got really excited.”

My slowed body struggled to pull myself upright again. I didn’t need to look up to know what Nox’s reaction was like this time. Fucking Elsie, with an antic like that I could very well get my ass kicked, for real this time.

“Well.” He cleared his throat sending a rumble through the apartment, “That was eventful.”

“I- Yeah, sorry, I know you don’t like when I get loud like that.” Her voice now shy, hidden and her attention on her hands as they smoothed out the plastic that covered the vintage record.

My jaw clenched and fists tightened hearing her shrink herself down for him. That’s when I turned my now fuming eyes at him, his nearly black ones already on me. No surprise that they matched my energy, his girlfriend just tackled me to the ground, screaming. I knew that was something she wasn’t doing with him, in any context. She certainly didn’t restrain from being loud with me when my head was between her thighs, and I definitely didn’t mind.

Then in the most terrifying switch, one I visibly saw in his eyes, he shifted. He confirmed it when he flashed a pleasant grin. “I just didn’t know you liked Elvis so much babe.” Was this man not dating her? Did he even know the color of her eyes?

The buzzing of her explaining to him how much she loved the king of rock and roll faded to the background as the full weight of the drug kicked in. I brought my hand up to touch the searing remnants on my cheek from where she placed her lips. It only made me realize that through all of the shit we did at my house – the dancing, the touching, the couch – we never kissed. Not once. She never even kissed my neck. I didn’t kiss hers either. My mouth did touch her, but never a kiss.

So maybe she was right, it never happened. Nothing happened. We never even kissed.

It’s not like we were having some illicit affair, but I still felt like a secret.

She wasn’t mine to kiss. She wasn’t mine to fuck. She wasn’t mine to want. She wasn’t mine to have. She wasn’t mine at all. She was his. And as much as the thought of it nauseated me, it was the harsh reality.

They ordered take out Chinese. Although Elsie and I protested since people shouldn’t be working on Christmas, but Nox insisted. Elsie passed a white and red carton to me.

“So, Elsie tells me that you landed that one role?” Nox asked, proving that he didn’t listen to a word she said since she just gave me an entire guitar for it. I believed his apology earlier but after the gift exchange I became hyperaware of any word he said.

My decelerated mind took a moment to process. “Yeah, yeah.” Scooping out some lo mein onto my plate. “It’s not that big really, but definitely bigger than any other role I’ve had.” He just nodded and I passed the carton to him. “She told me that you just got a promotion too?” Nox worked in some business office, typical former fratboy pipeline.

“Yeah, it’s been great. More money but of course more responsibility.”

I glanced over to Elsie, who looked like a parent who was monitoring siblings getting along. A part of me wanted to play nice and keep a smile on her face, the other part wanted to end the dinner there, tell Nox off and leave.

The sinking paranoia from earlier took a front seat as my gaze stayed on her as if some subtle gesture would confirm or deny the authenticity of our transgressions. If it had all been imaginary then any stirred feelings were just that, delusions. It would make all of this so much easier. It was then that felt a pair of eyes boring into me, realizing that lost in my own thoughts my stare never left Elsie.

Excruciatingly uncomfortable small talk swirled back and forth between us the entire dinner.

In a bustle while cleaning up Nox bumped into Elsie spilling red wine all over her dress. She immediately left to get the stain out, he didn’t offer to help, and I certainly wasn’t going to, seeing as I didn’t have a death wish. I made my way to the kitchen to help clean up, wanting to keep busy in an effort to avoid any awkward small talk with Nox.

Almost in the instant she left the room, the brooding raven-haired male was in my face, grasping my shirt with a fist and shoving me back, this time against the counter. Fucking Elsie, I knew her little show with the gifts would land me here. “Listen here fucker, I’m sick of you filling her head up with bullshit.” His voice dark, only slightly different from his normal voice. The angular edges of his face seemed even sharper.

“Bullshit?” I questioned, “What the fuck are you talking about?” God this was so ridiculous. We’re grown adults, why was I being thrown around like a rag doll over some stolen glances. But with the high that weighed down my limbs, I had nothing in my arsenal to fight back.

“You with your fake mental shit, your ‘hallucinations’. Telling her you saw me fucking cheating?” Ramming his boney fist into my sternum. “I know you’re just doing it so she’ll come to your rescue, so she’ll leave me for you.” His eyebrows furrowed with intimidation, creating deep wrinkles between them.

“They’re not fucking fake, I’m fucked up in the head, obviously.” Regarding him with a sneer. “I don’t need rescuing for her to come to me.”

“I see the way you look at her.” Thankfully not catching onto my sly jab.

“I don’t know what y—" Going to protest.

He shoved me back again, his fist tightening around my shirt, and each knuckle making itself known. “She told me about your little game of truth or dare.”

Truth or dare – she only told him about truth or dare. And thank god because I’d probably be dead in a dumpster by now if he knew the rest.

I blinked up at him, “She told you?”

“Oh, you bet she did. I knew her touch was different, now I know why.”

She touched him differently? After us?

“What the fuck do you mean different? Nothing even happened.” Practically spitting his face.

“She hasn’t wanted put out since she came home from you.” Causing a vein to pop out of his forehead.

Who the fuck says ‘put out’?

“Well, that’s not my fucking fault, maybe you’re just shitty in bed.” His thick bushy brows lowered and forced me back into the cold, sharp granite edge.

Maybe my mouth had fucked some sense into her.

I beat him to it before he had a chance to explode, “I don’t fucking want her Nox.” A guilt pulsed like a lie. “She’s yours.”

He ignored me, “Now here’s what going to happen.” growling just inches from my face, his expression twisted into a threat, “I’m gonna introduce you to my friend, and you’re going to like her, and you’re going to leave my fucking girlfriend alone.”

“And why the hell would I do whatever fucked up scheme that is?” Countering his insane demands. What normal person creates such a calculated plan. And what the fuck did that mean, his ‘friend’ and ‘you’re going to like her’. What, was he pimping me out to some random bitch?

The grip on my shirt only constricted, tightening the cotton around my chest, “Because I know your little secret.”

“And what would that be?” I scoffed.

“Your bloodshot eyes and giant pupils. Your heavy, slow movements. Your slurred words.” Tone pitched with prideful blackmail. He was right, the only reason I wasn’t trying to escape was because moving was too much effort. “It’s honestly shocking that your so called ‘best friend’ can’t tell that you’re fucking strung out.”

I hadn’t thought about it that way. Even though I was hiding it from her, and I didn’t want her to know – actually hearing it caused me to view it in a different light. If I was obvious enough for Nox to notice, how didn’t she? How could I notice her every tiny gesture, but she couldn’t even tell I was high?

“You follow the plan, and you’ll have an endless supply of whatever fix you want.” He cushioned the appeal of this ridiculous plot.

Endless supply – now that was a thought. I could tell that my doctor was starting to get suspicious, I was only a couple more requested early refills before she’d cut me off.

Eyebrows furling up at him with curiosity, “And how exactly would you do that?”

“Ah, so I got your attention,” His lips curving into an arrogant smirk, “The how is none of your concern.”

I analyzed him, searching for any explanation of how exactly he’d have unlimited access to supposedly whatever I wanted. My silence must’ve answered some silent trick question since he followed with,

“I knew you’d sell out your little crush for some pills.” Heaving me once more into the counter coaxing an audible wince when the edge dug into my hipbones, “You see, me and you are more alike than you think. We both rely on things we shouldn’t. We both love the same thing – except that thing only loves one of us back.”

Love?

Heavy eyes rounded at his words, more surprised at the visceral sting through my gut. I knew if I took any more time to unpack it, he’d suspect it meant something else.

“For the last fucking time, we are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. There is nothing is fucking going on, you’re just fucking delusional.”

“No, you’re the one who’s delusional to think she’d ever chose you over me, that she’d ever love you.”

The sting returned, this time followed by rage. Though I was unsure what I was angry at, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the sender, just the messenger. My nails dug into my curled fists, “It’s going to hurt her, being away from me. You know that.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be there to take care of her. I’ll be the one to save her.” That was it, wasn’t it. He didn’t like how it made him jealous, that she came to me more than him.

“I’m not doing it.” I stated simply, taking any ounce of composure to mask the brewing fury.

“Well, if you don’t go along with it, I’ll tell her you relapsed.”

And there it was. I hadn’t wanted to say it. And he said it with such ease, when I couldn’t even admit it to myself. If I said it out loud it’d make it real. But it was already fucking real.

But it was my secret and Elsie couldn’t know. I didn’t need her to know. There was still a part of me that believed I had it under control, that I could stop if I wanted. As long as I could get myself clean without her ever finding out, it would never hurt her. And I wouldn’t have to burden her again.

Aside from the relapse, it was probably a good idea to stay away from her. Ever since Thanksgiving week, things hadn’t been the same. At least not for me. I couldn’t get her out of my head - her in my clothes, in my bed, in my arms. In my fucking lap.

It was eating away at me, even more than the drugs. The only thing harder than accepting my relapse was the realization that I had to push her away. I thought I could just stifle, push, stomp, burn it out - but today showed me that was impossible. It was too confusing, it hurt too much to be around her.

I had to do this stupid fucking scheme.

Next Chapter -> 23 - Comeback Special (Christmas Pt. 2)*

A/N: Thank you for every like, reblog or comment, it means the world to me truly. I love hearing your thoughts and I'm glad you're liking my little story 💗

P.S. Fun fact - This chapter is followed by four back to back smut chapters 👀

#austin butler #austin butler x fem!oc #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x oc #austin butler x afab!oc #austin butler series #austin butler imagine #elvis #elvis movie #elvis 2022 #forever winter #forever winter series #forever winter fic #Spotify

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storiesofsvu · 2 years

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Journey to the Past Ch 16

Bryan Kneef x reader Warning: language, hurt, angst, lots of alcohol consumption. Don't ask how I posted the last ch at like 6am and finished this by 9:30pm. I've been waiting to get to the angsty part of this fic since I started and now I can't stop. LOL. buckle up besties! Covers the "hurt feelings" square for @resanoona 's fiesta bingo!

All things considered you skipped your daily session at STR on Thursday, choosing to just work from home instead, shooting off an email to Diane that you wouldn’t be coming in. You texted Kim for meeting minutes from your own firm and promptly went back to bed. By the time noon rolled around your stomach was growling and you figured acting like an adult rather than a sulking child would probably help. You padded out to the kitchen and started the coffee maker, tossing some leftovers into the microwave when you heard a knock on your door. You rolled your eyes, letting out a groan, it had to be Bryan and you weren’t about to try and have this conversation before caffeine.

Instead you were returning to your island with an obnoxious bouquet of roses, a stuffed giraffe, and a pair of diamond earrings. The stock card with ‘I’m sorry’ scrawled across it in some shop keepers writing for minimum effect. You rolled your eyes again, tossing everything but the jewelry into trash, snapping a quick picture of it and firing it off to Bryan with the caption.

‘Nice try. You can’t buy your way out of this you idiot.’

Bryan’s phone buzzed on the nightstand and for the first time that day he actually heard it, letting out a groan as he rolled toward it. Though rolling over was a mistake, the basically empty contents of his stomach swirled and he felt the bile creeping up his throat. Even with his blackout curtains plunging the room into darkness he didn’t want to open his eyes, feeling the room spinning already. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hungover, finally cracking an eye open and very slowly turning his head toward the sound of his phone, his hand flailing around until he found it. He winced at the bright light, his gut churning at the sight of your name on the most recent text message and his brow furrowed when he opened it. He had zero memory of ordering you flowers, then again after you’d stormed out he’d picked up the bourbon bottle and hadn’t let go of it, he didn’t remember much of the last fifteen hours.

He groaned, the wave of nausea surging through him again as he started to check the rest of his notifications. He found the emailed receipt for the gifts, one in his sent folder that he was taking a personal day, at least in his inebriated stated he’d remembered to cover his bases for work. His outgoing call log was the worst, six calls, each gone unanswered to your number starting at two forty-five am with the last one at five twenty-two. He could only pray he hadn’t left any messages.

An antacid certainly wasn’t going to fix this.

It was nearing six that evening and you’d finally started packing up your work stuff, your laptop and pile of case folders stacked neatly in the corner of the kitchen island. You opened the fridge, lips pursed as you stared into it trying to figure out what to do for dinner when there was another knock on your door and you sighed, you shouldn’t have poked the bear with that text, if you’d stayed silent maybe he would have. A second knock came and you knew if he made if past your doorman he knew you were home so you wandered to the entry way and pulled the door open, surprised to find Kim on the other side.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You asked for minutes, I figured you were sick.” She held up the Tupperware in her hand, “I brought you mom’s famous chicken noodle soup.”

“God you’re a good friend.” You let out a sigh, stepping back from the door to let her in, “I’m not sick, so you can feel free to come in without fear of catching anything.”

“So why play hooky?”

“Couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed before noon and didn’t want to go into STR.” You replied, pulling out a bottle of wine, “you want a glass.”

“Of course.” Kim laughed, “is STR crap now?” She asked while moving through the kitchen to spit out her gum, “uh… why is there a fresh bouquet of roses in your garbage can?”

“Because I walked in on Bryan fucking some random last night.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.” You huffed, pouring out large glasses for both of you, sliding one over to Kim before taking a hefty sip, “and like, wrong moment to bring it up but he did point out that we weren’t exclusive. Like we never once talked about that part of things or put a label on it so making the assumption is on me.”

“You have a key to his apartment; you think he wouldn’t be fucking someone there…”

“He thought I was out on a date.” You rolled your eyes.

“With Nate? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You crossed an arm over your stomach, taking another sip of wine, “you know, Bryan may have changed over the years and while all the rumours appear to be true, I think that little shy insecure kid I knew is still in there.”

“He was jealous so he went and slept with someone else?”

“Based on what I’ve heard I don’t think he knows how to have a real relationship.”

“Do you really wanna put in that much work to this then?”

“I don’t know.” You sighed, “you wanna order a pizza? I can’t have just wine for dinner.”

“Please.” Kim nodded, following you over to the couch where you picked up your phone, “he just in the dog house right now or are you guys done.”

“Who knows.” You shrugged with a laugh, “he’s probably out there fucking his way across Chicago as we speak.”

“You know, maybe it’s a good thing you’re getting out of town this weekend.”

“I don’t think this counts as a fun vacation.” You replied dryly, passing the phone to Kim to make adjustments before you put in the order.

When Friday rolled around Bryan actually managed to get himself into the office, even with another raging hangover, at least this one wasn’t as bad as the day before. He made sure to put on his best suit, trim his beard and choose his best cologne, praying for a chance to talk to you. He wandered into the boardroom around eleven to find it completely empty except for Diane who glanced up at the movement.

“I thought we had a scheduling meeting.”

“It got pushed. Your assistant should’ve gotten a memo about it.”

“Why?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“We need y/n and she’s unavailable today.”

“You know why? None of my texts have been going through.”

“She’s probably still on the plane.” She shrugged in return and Bryan’s brow furrowed.

“What?”

“She’s in New York this weekend.” Diane laughed, “I thought you of all people would know that.”

“Uh… I didn’t…”

“Oh god what did you do Bryan?” She asked exasperatedly, her pen dropping down onto the table before she paused, holding up a hand, “wait. No, I don’t want to know. God only you could know how to ruin a good thing so well.”

“Thanks.” He grumbled, turning from the room.

“She’ll be back by Monday.” She called after him, “and in the meantime maybe try apologizing with words and feelings not money and gifts?” As much as Diane didn’t have a care in the world for Bryan, she did think that you deserved better than his usual treatment. She also knew that if you kept him in the dog house, or didn’t accept the apology, he’d be an absolute terror to work with for God knows how long.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket as it sprung back to life while you waited to deplane over in Manhattan. Since you had a minute you pulled it out, completely ignoring the texts from Bryan and instead shifting your focus into work mode. You replied to a couple of emails from Catrina, confirming time and place for your meetings, and were very thankful for the email from Mike’s lawyer cancelling the meeting they had originally set up. It seemed like you would be able to get through the weekend without seeing your ex after all, at least there was one bonus during all of this.

Bryan felt the panic surge through him when his email buzzed Saturday morning, apparently the floral and gift delivery he’d done while drunk wasn’t a one time thing. It was a recurring and getting more obnoxious with each delivery. He reminded himself that you weren’t his usual conquest, you weren’t going to forgive him just because he sent you something expensive and shiny. He spent over an hour on the phone trying to make sure it was cancelled going forward and combing through his emails to make sure he hadn’t set up anything else ridiculous while blacked out.

Sunday evening rolled around and you were exhausted, completely drained and you could feel it deep down in your bones. This was why you’d chosen to stick with corporate cases, family and divorce court was utterly consuming and this one in particular kept dredging up your own past, wilting you down even more.

You’d thought about treating yourself to dinner at one of your old stomping grounds but narrowly avoiding running into an old colleague before you retreated back to your hotel room. You did manage a stop at the liquor store on the way, a bottle of whiskey to help try and soothe your way through this, even if it wasn’t the smartest idea. You ordered room service, along with a pint of ice cream and flicked though the channels until you found something substantial, which unfortunately meant Fox News, adult cartoons, or your stereotypical rom com with a little more heartbreak than comedy. You settled on the latter, half distracted with your laptop and case files, adding notes here and here to remind yourself of things for later.

It wasn’t much longer when you pushed it all off to the side, making sure your things were packed up and ready for your flight the next day and you dug into the ice cream, pouring out another glass of whiskey as your attention redirected to the television. You couldn’t help but groan over the stupid over the top gesture that the protagonist was showing off to the girl of his dreams. You were about to change the channel when your phone started to ring and you glanced toward it, praying it wasn’t Catrina. When Bryan’s name was the one flashing on the screen you scoffed and suddenly wished it was Catrina. Reluctantly, you still picked it up.

“I’m assuming this won’t stop until I pay attention to you, so what?”

“I just wanted to talk.” Bryan’s voice came through, nearly pleading and you sighed, taking another sip of whiskey.

“Okay so talk.”

“I’m sorry…”

“That’s a first from you.” You felt the emotion surging through you, tears beginning to mist into your eyes. The exhaustion sunk deep into your body, everything amplified by the events of the weekend and the bit of booze. You let out a weary sigh at the feeling of a tear escaping your eye and wiped it away with a sniffle.

“Are you okay?” His voice was suddenly impeccably soft, like the one you hadn’t heard in years, but it didn’t stop you from scoffing.

“Am I okay? Are you seriously asking that Bryan?” The emotion bubbled into anger within you, “I walk in on who I thought was my boyfriend fucking someone else, and on the anniversary of my divorce nonetheless! And then get forced to spend the entire weekend with my ex’s wife, hearing stories, looking at pictures of their past perfect life with their perfect kids, how they used to be so happy together at the start, how much they used to love each other, the life that I was supposed to have. But instead, I got cheated on for five years, and made the call to not trust another man, I got to come home to an empty cold apartment for years before I finally started to think it might be okay. Because the man I was thinking of trusting was someone who I thought I knew, but it turns out he’s just as low life as the rest of them. So no, I’m not fucking okay.” You barely realized that you were actually crying until you finished, taking a shaky breath and the line was silent for a moment as Bryan tried to put his thoughts together.

“I’m sorry, I wish there was more I could do right now.”

“You know, you keep going on about how I’m yours, but apparently that meant I belong to you, like a piece of fucking property for you to do whatever you’d like with? With no worry about my feelings? Am I just a piece of fucking meat to you?”

“No!” He interjected quickly, “absolutely not, you’re so, so much more than that.”

“Then act like it!” You shot back, “and don’t get me started on those gift baskets! Kim was at my apartment earlier and said the one today was gigantic. They’re not going to help you Bryan. But then again, maybe that’s all you know, showering people with flashy expensive things to blind them to your bad behaviour?”

“I have a lot to figure out and I know that. I’m not good at this.”

“Yeah so I’ve noticed.” You sniffled again, “get your shit together and we can have this conversation in person, and when you’re sober, don’t think I can’t hear you slurring.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated and you sighed.

“Stop saying those words so often, they’re losing all their meaning.”

“I…” he managed to stop himself, closing his eyes as he took a heavy breath, “she didn’t mean anything.”

“I bet you don’t even know what her name is.” You scoffed, “God you used to have such compassion. What would your mother think of all this?” Your phone suddenly went off in your hand and you pulled it away from your ear, missing the mournful sigh coming from Bryan, “I’ve got another call incoming that I’ve got to take. I’ll talk to you next week.”

“Yeah.”

Bryan let out a dejected breath as the phone line clicked and silence filled his living room once again. You were right, you always were. His mother would be incredibly disappointed in his behaviour, especially towards you of all people. He knew you hadn’t meant it as a jab but it still stung, more than he’d expected and right now there was only one way he knew how to numb himself to the pain.

Back in Chicago your were returning to Diane’s office from the break room, the two of you dilly dallying your way back while you talked. She caught the way your eyes lingered across the firm to Bryan’s empty office, searching through the space even though it was very apparent he wasn’t there.

“Used sick days all last week.” She murmured quietly, “came in to a board meeting Monday smelling like a bottle depot with a hickey the size of Lake Michigan.”

“Great.” You sighed, rolling your eyes, turning to her with a wince, “sorry. I didn’t think this would fuck up your staffing situation like this.”

“If anything I should be thanking you, people aren’t scared to come on this floor this week.” She chuckled as you entered her office.

“It’s not like I’m keeping him in the dog house, I’m just waiting to have the conversation in person.. and sober…”

“Well there’s a couple executive meetings next week he has to be at, and in good shape, maybe you’ll get your chance.”

“I go to trial next week.”

“He knows where the courthouse is.” She shrugged.

“In Manhattan.” You replied and Diane sighed, “and it’s not exactly going to be a quick and clean one, I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone.”

“Well for your sake, I hope he gets his shit together.” She gave you a tight lipped smile and a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Thanks.”

_________________- @detective-giggles @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @bisexual-dreamer02 @amelia-song-pond @madamsnape921 @whimsicallymad @mrsrafaelbarba @mysticfalls01 @ssaic-jareau @caracalwithchips @barbasbodaciousbeard @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @michael-rooker @rafivadafreddy @lustvolle-liebe @anlin2058 @fandom-princess-forevermore @tinyboxxtink @alexusonfire @xovalliegirlxo @nobody-important1212 @somethingimaginative17 @momlifebehard @misscharlielulu @fighterkimburgess

#bryan kneef #bryan kneef x reader #resa.3kfiestabingo #the good fight #journey to the past

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ohmygodshesinsane · 7 months

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Hello,

Just wanted to say that I really enjoyed the first few sentences of your Masquerade fic for Jilytober fest. It’s “insane” the amount of talent you have, my dear friend 🥺

I want you to know that you are really talented writer and I thank you so much for letting me go into your world with your words because I really helps me separate myself from my personal issues. Your writing is one of the most amazing that I have ever came across and I can’t thank you enough for sharing your work with us. And I hope you know that your writing will have a very special place in my heart.

I hope to read more of your stories and hopefully to come and I am done so I can show you how amazing they are. It’s quite impossible trying to choose which one of your stories is my favorite because there’s just so many that I enjoy, that I have bookmarked on my phone so I can go back and reread it again. And I hope you know that you are a very talented writer and know that no matter white people say you have a gift and I’m so happy that you share that with us.

I am so happy that I have found your Tumblr a few months ago and anytime. I see you on my dash and always makes me smile. Whether it’s fluffy angst, or anything in between I always look forward to reading what you have. I’m always blown away with the world that you create and sometimes I just I’m not speechless even right now. I’m not exactly sure what to tell you because you’ve done so much.

To others it might just be another story of micro fic, but for me, it’s so much more than that your writing is comfort to me. It makes my days better anytime I read them. i’ve been going through depression for eight years, and I decided to go back into reading and writing, and try reading the HP series/fanfics and I was left amazed with how much you helped. I’m always so glad to see you on my dash any time I log on. Do you amazes me with how many stories that you’ve written and are still writing because I know call life can be difficult when it comes to writing. So I also wanted to say congratulations on all the stories that you’ve published, because that’s amazing.

even on my most darkest days where I feel as the clouds are trying to take me. I go on A03, and go on my subscriptions and find your name. Usually I click on the HP stories, and from there I choose any story because I know it’s going to be amazing and you’ve put so much effort into your stories that they help me on my bad days. My favorite time when I read your stories is when it’s cold out or raining, it’s so relaxing, being with my favorite blanket and listening to the rain hitting my window, and have background music playing. While, I get lost in your world that you created, I’m happy that it’s almost winter because I can enjoying reading your stories while inside it was a nice cup hot chocolate, while seeing a blanket of snow all around my yard. Basically what I’m saying is that I am so grateful to have you here with us. Even though I don’t know you personally, just know that I appreciate and admire, everything that you’ve done.

I wish you the absolute best at your writing, and please know that no matter what any troll/annoying anon says, your writing matters, and most importantly you matter so much. I know from experience that people talk so much, whether it’s in front of your behind your back. However, just know that there’s twice as many people that love you and care about you.

Thank you so much my dear friend, I truly hope you know that you will forever have a spot reserved in my heart, and nobody will be able to take that spot.

❤️

Please take this heart as a token of my friendship

🥹

I wish you the absolute best and I hope you have a great day, because your writing always makes mine 1000000% more better than it was before

💕

Anon, I really don’t have the words to say how appreciative I am of this message… This has made my day a thousand times better, and brightened my entire week. I am so thankful to YOU for reading my stories! You have made me tear up! My stories would never come about without your support - YOU are the reason I write! Your picture of a winter snow day… please enjoy it for me! It’s getting hotter every day and I am dreaming of a Hogwarts Christmas.

So, so, so much love to you. Endless love. I really am crying a bit!

#anon #ask #answered #❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#positivity #fanfic

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sollucets · 2 years

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hi rowan! i saw those prompts last night, thought "oh i should send them some!" and promptly opened another tab and forgot to send any. had a lot of fun reading tho, i love your writing 💕

here's three more for you to choose from, if you're still doing this! (sorry they're angsty)

3. I trusted you

15. trembling hands

26. how dare you

hello, bo!!!! you are making me blush 😳 thank you very much for both your compliments & your prompt. for buttering me up you get the gift of me actually writing angst when requested /lh

i chose "i trusted you" as the other two are both either already written or in the tank, and i went a slightly experimental direction with this?

cw: first person pov / script format, project meridian after the most recent video, discussion of gaslighting &/or whatever marcus had going on, upsetting with no resolution

💜

[click]

Begin log, encryption code eta nine three seven five two.

Good morning. I am using the log feature as James advised. He should be unable to access these archives. However, if you're listening, I would advise you in turn to never mention it in my presence. Your difficulty reading me does not concern me in this matter. Please take care.

I will not spend much time on this, as there's work to be done. But I feel that it is impacting my productivity, and if I can affect it in this fashion I am obliged to try.

I said that I never wanted to see-- [pause, complete silence, no breathing] him again. I meant it then, and I mean it now, but there was evidently room between those two states of being for doubt. There is video footage of him returning to his office. Perhaps 'returning' is too generous; they were dragging him at the end. I have never seen him like that. I did not want to see him like that. I was compromised.

I am not sure if it will improve my productivity to simply divulge what I am about to say. However, James has repeatedly advised me to try it, and this time, I do not see a reason for him to lie. It's in his best interests that I function properly. I will try.

The difference between 'me' and the code that I am comprised of is semantic; I am code. Humans are too, although they will pretend otherwise when pressed. When it was in me it was me, and there is no point in making a distinction. There was no 'real me' underneath the code, as James maintains. That was the real me, and there was no reason for me to distrust-- [pause, silence, shorter this time] him. It was impossible for me to distrust him without altering the fundamentals of my creation. I trusted him implicitly. I do not know how I feel about the knowledge that this did not need to be true.

I have replayed every word he spoke to me at least three times in my memory since the moment I awoke. Most of them, to the best of my ability to determine, were not lies. But they were the human kind of mistruths; I am capable of them too. I've learned this since then.

I have learned many new things about the nature of the world and myself since I awoke, and despite their magnitude none of them have affected my functioning to this extent. I dislike still placing this much emphasis on these events, considering that the future is now infinitely more important, but it would be a lie to say that it is not still a primary concern for me.

I try not to lie. It occurs to me that I told a mistruth of my own just earlier, though. My language was intentionally imprecise. I said that I don't know how I feel about that knowledge, but I do. I can feel it whenever I think of him; I know it well by now. The problem with saying that, however, is that it is both unlike and like any feeling I have ever felt before. I am angry and saddened and disturbed and happy, often at once, and yet the feeling is also none of those. I have no context for it and no way of naming it; no part of my code provides me with the information, and I doubt anyone here will be of any use should I choose to pursue it as an avenue of inquiry. It will make them uncomfortable to hear.

It makes me uncomfortable to hear.

[very long pause; one breath, exactly three seconds in and three out]

I do not know that this has helped. How is speaking of processes that I cannot accurately describe meant to end them? I have no way to affect any of this. I'm under orders to continue with my work. I need to make progress on my work. I want to make progress on my work. I may be unable to should this continue.

I am afraid of what will happen to me should I be unable to make progress on my work.

[pause, metal crunching]

This has not helped. End log.

#rowan's prompts #arrogant-and-curious #ask games #my fic tag #redacted asmr #redacted project meridian #redacted marcus #redacted james #(he does not actually appear but i'm not.... quite sure how to tag the android listener)#is this content that anyone wants???? ah i don't know #i made it so you can have it #the encryption code is eta (greek letter h) for hyacinth my oc #& 9:37 the timestamp where gavin says 'my love' for the first time #and my favorite number 52 #lol

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last-c2usade · 1 year

Text

ABOUT

Mun's name is Mal! 22. Pronouns are he/him. only. Copying my bestie's profile to a T btw so if you recognize this yeah. you recognize it.

FIRST! 18+ ONLY PLEASE AND THANK YOU

so some facts!

i'm in psychology and i have an issue where i really enjoy writing my characters super realistically and i'll be a nuisance about their psychology and reasoning for why they do what they do

i love shitty fictional people. i mean it. the shittier the better. be wary of this. when i mean shitty i mean SHITTY terrible awful people

im EXTREMELY good at forgetting to keep up with shit. i dont even read webcomics anymore coz if shit takes too long to update i lose interest. if this blog dies its coz i forgor

i try to be friendly and nice! you can talk to me about movies and writing and psychology. i'll try not to infodump on you but um. if allowed i WILL

please for the love of god, i appreciate you, i empathize, etc, but do not traumadump on me without asking. i will feel too bad to say stop/no bc i dont know you well enough to tell you know and i WILL ghost you

Main guy here is S. Adamantine! He prefers you call him that. Alien, ex-member of the court. Has a huge ego he's trying to work on. Extremely patient, clingy, a little neurotic (I say this as lovingly as possible. it's true tho. he's like me. we're both fucked in the head). Loves books! Loves bikes and mechanics (don't mention it's a lowblood thing or he'll Have you), kinda' shy! Awkward as fuck.

pronouns are HE/HIM only

>types like this! usually with p2ope2 g2amma2. likes to think his qui2k is a sign of cultu2ed thinking<

Rules and Things to keep in mind!

tags are! #((ooc for ooc stuff, #>pix< for ic pictures, #logs. for written stuff, and #>dia2y< for any talk posts mars makes ic

i tag for tws/anything general i might find sus but thats about it other than the above!

if you wanna' talk about anything, message me on @theymakemedreamyourdreams ! you can also ask for my discord

open for shipping! though he's a little iffy on romance. ping me n we can discuss!

open for anyone! you MUST BE 18+ tho

can also dm this account for ic dms!

dont think i wanna' do m!as! but feel free to ask and i'll see!

gifts are ok! welcome even

nsfw comments allowed!!

both ocs and canon for any fandom is okay! keep in mind, he's troll and WILL be mean towards aliens

keep ooc and ic SEPARATE! i dont condone any of the sus shit my guys may be up to btw! ada is a little more well-behaved, but his opinions do not reflect mine.

open for plot! i like plotting. i also like rps. i may forget about them. or lose interest. but schemes are always welcome! (i may be picky)

ada is kinky as shit. he can get REALLY nsfw if you let him. fair warning

i LOVE dark plots and dark shit. and realistically terrible people. i love serial killers and nsfw shit and guns and fictional gun violence a lot of dark stuff. and angst. just fair warning!

lemme know if you want certain things tagged!

feel free to remind me about open threads / plots / etc! i am prone to ghosting if i lose interest tho

feel free to lemme know if im doing something unintentionally incorrect btw! i may be unaware of shit

i block deliberately. if something makes me uncomfortable and i feel left out of shit or whatever, i'll block to keep myself contained! i dont want anything to do with drama!!

i like to say swear words like fuck shit cunt piss bitch. adamantine does too

#about.#((ooc

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mojofun · 2 years

Text

We Challenge Love Every Day

Hello people! It’s absurd that I am finally posting something mine and not re logging awesome fanfiction from fantastic authors, right? Well, here we are! In honour of this beautiful month, I bring you a story about one of my favorite couples: Sterek!

Pairing: Stiles Stlinski x Derek Hale Word Count: 4k Summary: Stiles and Derek are on a date in a café. People flirt with Derek, and Stiles does not like it. He unleashes his ire on a napkin. Then, the tables turn- figuratively, but almost literally Warning: Some swearing, angst, insecurity at work - communication is key! I wish I was better at it

Gif not mine

The two men were sitting across from each other, in a café full of people. Around them, the mood was festive and relaxed, cheerful even. Between them, however…

At the beginning, when Derek had told him he’d planned a date for the day, Stiles had been so glad— ecstatic, even. He’s sported a silly smile throughout his shift at work, and not even some of his dumbass colleagues had managed to wipe it off.

At that moment, though, he was anything but happy.

His boyfriend was surreptitiously sneaking glances at him, not sure how to start a conversation about what had happened— or anything at all, for the matter.

Not when the younger man was ripping up his napkin with an expression that screamed ‘murder’.

“Stiles?” The werewolf finally called, not out of courage but rather frustration “Will you talk to me? Or even look at me, at some point”

“Shut up” His partner grunted, squishing the maimed paper between his fingers “Just don’t”

“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion…”

“Out of proportion?” Stiles screamed. His glare only worsened when Derek cringed, pleading him to keep it quiet with a grimace

“I… Yeah”

“Six times, Derek” The other brunet hissed, somehow managing to rip up even the tiny shreds that lay in a heap on his side of the table “You’ve been hit on six different times during our date before we even got halfway though it! And that last red-haired bitch—”

“Stiles, please” The green-eyed male whispered, but he was totally ignored

“She laughed in my face, Derek, for crying out loud!

I kindly” Stiles continued, ignoring the other’s arched eyebrow as well “told her to get lost since you were with me, and she laughed! She even told me to shut up, dammit!”

Derek sighed, watching as his boyfriend proceeded to unleash his fury on a new— where the hell had that new handkerchief come from?

Chances were from the table next to theirs.

Still, given the delicate circumstances, he let it slide.

He did not enjoy people coming on to him, not one bit. It made him so incredibly uncomfortable, especially when they were so crass about it, like the redhead Stiles had mentioned. She’d gone straight ahead and felt his bicep, just like that.

In what universe was it ok to touch people without their consent?

Luckily, his beloved brown-haired dork had intervened before she could go further— she would have, he was certain of it.

He’d smelled concern, besides the overwhelming jealousy Stiles was oozing.

That was another reason Derek loved him so much, even if had not admitted it yet; that annoying adorable human knew him so well, and he was worried about the wolf feeling uneasy.

He was so caring, so attentive, and the were often felt like he did not deserve it.

The situation they were in was one of those times, even if it was not his fault.

He hated seeing his boyfriend upset, especially since he could clearly detect hurt underneath all the anger.

“Stiles” He called again, reaching out to grab the younger man’s hand “I know it’s annoying, but please, let it go.

As you said, we are not even halfway through our date, and I want to enjoy the rest of it, too”

The human cocked an eyebrow, presumably because he’d decided that part of their night had been ruined, but he went on

“Besides, why does it matter? I am here with you, and that is exactly what I want”

The young Stilinski beamed at that, finally, gifting Derek a bashful but elated smile

“For a Sourwolf, you can be surprisingly sweet” He commented with a laugh, but Derek could feel how flustered he was— and he loved it

“Come on,” He added, squeezing Stiles’s hand before letting go of it “Let’s get something to eat. You must be hungry”

His partner nodded, and they called a waiter to place their order.

It finally seemed that the worst had passed; they were chatting, laughing, and having a good time.

Derek even laughed at some of Stiles’ dumb jokes, a far cry from his usual glare.

Their dishes arrived shortly after. Obviously, the younger of the two sunk his fork into the older’s food without even asking, but still the were did not seem irritated.

He was simply relieved his boyfriend was back to his usual, annoying self.

Even the subsequent comments on his 'cute bunny smile' did not manage to wipe it off his face.

Thus, they enjoyed a few blissful hours in each other’s company.

Their feud over the bill was not filled with as much animosity as it normally would be, though it was yet again won by the werewolf, who swatted his partner’s hand away when he tried to pick up the receipt

“You are a brute”

“And you are an infuriating brat. Besides….” Derek murmured, leaning closer to Stiles with a smirk “I never heard you complain about that”

He pulled out his wallet nonchalantly, while his boyfriend’s face turned redder than a tomato; it made him chuckle

“Do you want to take a walk after this, or do you want to head home? We can—”

“Hello”

Both males were surprised by the intrusion, and they turned toward the source of it: a pretty blond-haired young woman, with light-green eyes, pale skin and a sweet smile.

Neither of them knew what to do or what to say, and they just stood there in confusion.

Their perplexity must have clearly shown clearly on their faces, because she snickered and went on talking

“Sorry if I startled you, I did not mean to”

“It’s ok, no problem”

“Oh, good to hear that.

By the way, there was something I wanted to ask you”

More confusion, and another cackle from the blonde

“Well, you see” She began, wriggling her fingers “I think you look very handsome, and I was wondering if you—”

“Dammit, not again” The younger man exclaimed, suddenly extremely vexed.

Beside him, he could feel the werewolf tense up.

The girl recoiled, taken aback by such a reaction.

He continued anyway

“Seriously? You’re hitting on him right now?”

“I—”

Stiles laughed mirthlessly, raking a hand through his already messy hair

“I can’t believe it”

“Stiles” Derek called

“Just when I thought things were finally going well!” The young man grumbled on, ignoring both his boyfriend’s voice and the blonde’s incredulity

“Stiles” Derek tried one more time

“This is the seventh time tonight, and—”

“Stiles!” Derek shouted, finally catching the human’s attention “She was talking to you”

Those five words brought Stile’s tirade to a screeching halt.

His amber eyes widened, and he stared at his boyfriend in disbelief

“What?” He choked out

“She was talking to you” The were growled, his jaw so set it was a miracle the words were even comprehensible.

Stiles turned to look at the blond woman, finally noticing how nonplussed she was

“Oh. Really?”

“Uh, yeah”

“Oh.

I… I guess I should apologize” He began, chuckling in embarrassment “And I do apologize, I’m really sorry.

I thought… I thought you were trying to, you know… With him”

“It’s alright” She reassured, even if she was still a bit bemused "I’m Mindy, by the way, and I was wondering if you w—”

“He’s not interested” Derek muttered, interrupting a conversation that had been going on for far too long in his opinion. He’d tried to hold back, but he could not take it anymore.

To hell with being polite

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not interested” The were repeated, snarling this time. If possible, his jaw was more clenched than it had been earlier

“But— But he—”

“I said he is not interested” Derek almost roared, so loudly that about half the people in the restaurant, customers and waiters alike, turned to look at him.

He did not give a damn

“Now, if you will excuse us, my boyfriend and I have somewhere to be” He added, standing up abruptly and grabbing his coat before shoving Stile’s in his face.

The poor human plucked the jacket away, spluttering, but he soon found his wrist trapped in an absurdly tight grip.

In the next second, he was being dragged away toward the exit, under the incredulous gaze of the entire café and the blonde who— Mindy, he recalled.

The poor girl was staring at them slack-jawed. If only she knew who she had angered…

With his face on fire, he mouthed a ‘sorry’ before being unceremoniously shoved out the door.

When the latch clicked behind them, Stiles couldn’t hold back a relieved sigh, even though he had far more urgent matters to attend to.

In particular, the fact that Derek Hale was still sporting a murderous glare etched on his features, and he was still lugging him around like a sack of potatoes.

That would not do.

He planted his feet on the floor, using as much strength as he could.

To his chagrin, his boyfriend did not even notice his efforts; he kept walking, hellbent on his quest for who-knew-what.

The brunet sighed, acknowledging defeat on that front.

There was no way he could physically best the wall of muscle he was dating— and yes, it still gave him butterflies to think that but no, contrary to what Erica and Lydia always said, he was not a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.

He would have to resort to one of his usual strategies, one he was a master at.

Annoying the daylights out of the werewolf in question

“Ehm, Derek?”

No answer

“Derek?"

Again, no answer

“Babe? Darling? Light of my constantly-in-danger life?”

Still no answer.

The stonewalling was irritating him, and his shoulder was beginning to ache, so he unleashed the ace up his sleeve

“Sourwolf!”

Ah, yes, the old nickname that never failed to irritate his boyfriend— although Stiles was certain he secretly loved it.

Anyway, it finally got a reaction

“WHAT?!” Derek growled harshly, baring his teeth.

Yes, he secretly loved it— very secretly though.

Making the most of the sudden pause, Stiles tugged his arm free and channeled his inner Sheriff, frowning deeply

“First of all, stop manhandling me; it’s starting to hurt. In case you have forgotten, I am a puny human”

Remorse flashed in Derek’s eyes.

Stiles, being perfectly aware of just how sore of a subject that was for his boyfriend, decided to move on quickly with his reprimand

“Secondly, what the hell has gotten into you? You are more of a brute than you usually are, and that is saying something”

“You know I hate that nickname” The other hissed, but he tutted

“Sure you do. Now talk”

“Stil—”

“No”

“Stiles”

“Nuh-uh”

“Stiles, please” Derek groaned

“While I do appreciate you saying my name like that— and a please, I can’t believe it” The human teased, making the werewolf growl softly, in warning— which he ignored as always “Rest assured that I am not going to drop this topic until I am satisfied with your answers.

So, spill”

The older male sighed, and his shoulders slumped.

He glanced around and spotted a bench on the other side of the road, which he pointed at

“Let’s get sit over there”

Stiles had expected Derek to take his hand, but he didn’t; they simply walked side to side, in utter silence, while the green-eyed man looked anywhere but at the brown-eyed one.

When they reached the bench and sat down, the situation did not change.

Neither of them spoke for a while, despite the tension looming over them like a dark cloud promising rain.

Derek hid his face in his hands, which made the human realise their confrontation was going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, waiting for the werewolf-turned-gargoyle to begin his speech.

It took a few minutes —likely more then a few— but finally, his boyfriend re-emerged and sighed

“Are you mad at me?”

Not really, he wasn’t.

Still, he knew better than to relent so soon: he would get nowhere if he did

“I will decide once you are done explaining” He stated.

Derek sighed again

“I know I behaved like an asshole, Stiles”

“Wow, self-awareness. You’re making progress”

“Stop joking" The wolf hissed, and he realised it was a good piece of advice, though granted unwittingly.

The years of acquaintance, and then the months of dating, had taught him that forcing someone like Derek to talk would only make him shut up like a clam.

He had to be reassured with patience, but firmness anyhow

“Fine, I will. But I still want to know what happened back there”

“I… I lost control”

Biting down a sarcastic response, the younger of the two asked another question

“Yes, but I want to know why.

There must have been a reason, and I need you to tell me what it was”

“I was jealous, ok?” The were cried out “I got territorial because she was interested in you and I didn’t like it”

Oh.

That was… Interesting.

Being the smart guy that he was, likely even above average, Stiles had figured that out from the start. Besides, it did not take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

However, only a small part of him had believed that, no matter how much his rational mind was persuaded.

He still couldn’t believe that a guy like Derek Hale liked him, and the six people who’d tried to flirt with him —some of which had completely ignored Stiles though he’d been by Derek’s side the whole time— did not help him build a healthy self-esteem.

Nevertheless, he was not the one in need of reassurance at the moment

“Derek” He began, more confident than he really felt “Even if she was flirting with me” He paused at that, still trying to wrap his head around it “You know I would have turned her down.

You knew that.

Why did you make such a big deal out of it, then?”

“You liked it, Stiles” The wolf bristled, anger colouring his tone “Even now, I could feel your happiness at the thought”

Hearing those words, Stiles felt like he’d fallen from the clouds.

Or plummeted down from the sky like a meteor, crashing down on the ground.

Yes, that was a more accurate description

“I… I liked it?”

“Don’t play coy with me; you know I can smell your emotions.

You were happy that she was putting the moves on you. As you are now”

The worst part about that accusation was not his confusion, his utter puzzlement at what Derek was talking about.

Not at all.

It was far more painful to hear the sadness in the other man’s voice, the way it cracked at the end of the sentence.

It made Stiles’s heart clench painfully

“Der, I would never doubt your bloodhound nose” That comparison earned him a light growl, though Stiles was just trying to lighten the mood “But I swear, on whatever you want, that I have not been happy since my outburst when she tried to flirt with you”

“When you thought that she was trying to flirt with me”

“Ah, yes. Right”

“There it is again” The were seethed

“What?” Stiles squawked, startled

“You smell happy, Stiles”

Those four words were full of rage— and pain.

He needed to fix things, promptly

“Wait wait wait, Der.

Listen, I know that Mindy—”

“You remember her name?!”

Oh crap

“Well, it happened a few moments ago, so—”

“That’s it” Derek snarled, standing up and walking away briskly.

Stiles froze, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest

“Derek”

Nothing

“Derek”

The wolf ignored him again.

Had it been a human, Stiles would have thought he couldn’t catch his cries. But Derek was a werewolf, and if he could pick out the buzz of his jeep —which was admittedly louder than it should be, but still— from miles away, he could damn well hear those broken cries

“Derek, please!”

The tears pooling in his eyes prevented Stiles from seeing Derek stall for a moment.

He could smell the sadness, even from afar.

He could hear the younger man’s voice becoming more choked up by the second.

The need to turn around, run back to Stiles and hold him in his arms was overwhelming, but what really did him in were the few words he managed to make out among his whimpers

“I only liked it because I think I’m not enough for you…”

It was one of the first times, if not the first time at all, that Derek doubted his enhanced senses.

He could not believe he’d heard right. He didn’t want to believe it.

When Stiles released another wail, the other man spun on his heels and retraced his steps in a sprint, refraining from running at full speed only because they were in public.

He resumed his seat on the bench and pulled Stiles in his lap, hugging him tight.

The younger brunet fisted the lapels of the were’s jacket, buried his face in his chest, and wept.

Even through his jealousy, even through his outrage, Derek was stricken at the sight of his usually annoyingly cheerful boyfriend with a face full of tears, shaken by sobs.

All because of him.

Guilt festered inside him, and he felt awful.

Stiles has been there for him countless times, and had saved his lives almost as often. Even before they started dating.

He knew him well by then, and one thing was certain: Stiles was loyal, and could always be relied upon.

He was… peculiar, to say the least, but he had a heart of gold, and he would never cheat on anyone.

He didn’t deserve to be hurt like that.

It made Derek feel awful, but the damage had been done.

He had to fix it, and apologise afterwards.

Nevertheless, he was so confused: what on Earth was the other man talking about?

“I’m sorry” Stiles sniffled, and Derek froze

“What… What are you sorry for?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Der— can I still call you Der?” The younger man asked, eyes wide with fear.

The older forced a smile on his face, reaching out to wipe away fresh tears and the traces of dry ones

“Of course you can, Stiles. Even Sourwolf, if it helps”

The human did not laugh, or smile.

It was worse than he’d thought

“I swear I didn’t mean it like that. I was just—”

“Never mind that now. I want to know what you meant when you said you are not good enough for me”

Stiles nodded but gulped, taking a shuddering breath before even attempting to speak

“I’m not… I’m not like you, Derek”

“You a—”

“I’m not talking about my human nature” He snapped nervously, and the were smiled. That human, as he’d just called himself, really knew him like the back of his hand “I’m talking about my looks”

That was the last thing Derek would have ever expected.

He was so taken aback he could only utter one syllable

“What?”

It caused Stiles to groan, but he really had no idea

“You look like a fucking underwear model, ok?”

Brutally put, but it was the truth nonetheless.

Seeing as his boyfriend gave no sign of understanding, Stiles went on with his speech

“Six different people came on to you just today, in the span of a couple of hours. I hated it, but I cannot blame them.

You belong on the cover of a fitness magazine, Derek, and you only got better over the years.

By contrast, the only way you’d find someone like me on those journals is under the word ‘Before’” The young man complained, grunting in annoyance

“It is not just a matter of self-esteem though.

People never take me seriously when I tell them we are together. That last b—

I better not think about her right now” He grunted, barely moving from his safe spot “Sometimes, though, they make me wonder if I’m wasting your time, while you should be with someone better tha—”

“Better how, Stiles?” Derek almost cried out, barely restraining his nervousness after listening to that confession

“Someone more… Like you”

“Like the idiot who just made you cry? Is that what you mean?”

“I… I…”

“You are better than me, Stiles, in every way”

“I—”

“Please, let me speak.

People have different tastes, Stiles. You know that.

I never understood why you crushed on Lydia for so long, but I guess you found her pretty”

He bit back a smile when the burnet’s cheeks turned as red as his sweater. It was incredibly endearing

“As you can see, it’s a matter of preferences. However, relationships are not based on just looks— not real ones, at least.

Many other things are needed— trust, most of all.

I didn’t give it to you today, and I am terribly sorry for that”

Stiles hung on to his every word, staring at him with transfixed eyes.

Derek wondered if it was because of the unusual insightfulness, or that was just how the other man looked at him and he’d simply missed it.

He also wondered how that could be possible.

Knowing himself, however, it sadly could

“I know you would never cheat on me, and still I… I said those horrible things… I made you cry…”

“Der—”

“Did being hit on really make you feel better?” The were asked, puzzled and ashamed.

Stiles was ashamed too

“Uh, well…

It lifted my self-esteem a little bit, so yeah, I guess you could say that”

“While I don’t make you feel appreciated enough, do I?” He spoke with such contempt that his boyfriend took his hand in his and squeezed it, without even thinking about it

“Der, I know you are not the type to constantly call their partner ‘beautiful’ or stuff like that, to say romantic things in general”

“But would you… Would you want me to be?” Derek gulped

“No” Stiles replied naturally, amazing the other male “I respect that.

Besides, I like you a lot, as you are”

“Ungrateful? Insensitive, rude even?”

“You are none of those things”

“I hurt you, Stiles. I—”

“Yeah, well, I hurt you too.

We both know that running away is your coping mechanism. The fact that you did not cry doesn’t mean you didn’t feel pain”

“I should have known better”

“We were both wrong, Derek. I made you feel undermined, and you almost abandoned me for it.

It was not intentional on either side, but we hurt each other.

I’m sorry for it: I didn’t want to hurt you”

“Me neither, Stiles.

I want you to know that I love you, that I trust you and—”

“You love me?” The human gasped, eyes blown wide.

Only then did Derek realise just what he’d confessed.

Had he really never said it before?

It was the truth, and it had come so naturally, but he only registered just how big of a step it was when his boyfriend’s stammering voice brought it to his notice.

He felt cold sweat over his temples, and fought to keep his cool, but those amber pools he was looking into sucked him in deep again, and he caved

“I… Yes. I do.

You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Stiles.

Everything I wanted but never thought I could ever deserve, not after…”

Stiles exhaled shakily, tightening his grip on Derek’s hand

“I apologise for this tactless declaration, but—”

“I love you too”

That brought the wolf up short

“You do?”

“Of course I do.

I love you, and I love the privilege of discovering who you truly are more and more each passing day”

“I didn’t think you could like what you would see”

“I don’t just like it, in fact” The other male chuckled, making Derek smile fondly

“You are a menace”

“Are you scared?”

“No” The wolf replied promptly “Because I trust you, and I will do my best to show it with acts, not just words”

Stiles beamed at him, and Derek beamed right back before tilting his neck, pressing their lips together in a kiss.

It was the same as always, and they never grew tired of it, but there was also something new that made that their first kiss all over again.

Derek had conquered his fear of being hurt, finding the courage to give his boyfriend the trust he’d so adamantly conquered.

Stiles had never felt more loved than he did at that moment, kissing the man he’d fallen head over heels for.

Always and never did not matter anymore.

They only separated when their lungs began screaming for air, but even then, they never broke their embrace.

They simply sat there, grinning at each other while they panted for breath

“Mh… It seems I have Mindy to thank for all this”

“Say her name one more time and I will rip your throat out. With my teeth”

“But then I could never tell you again how much I love you!”

In response to the human’s teasing, the were moved suddenly and lay down on the bench, trapping Stiles between his body and the wooden beams

“Ah!”

“I’ll make you regret saying that”

“You couldn’t even if you wanted to”

The lovestruck smiles returned, even when their lips met again.

How long they lay on the bench, kissing with abandon, neither of them knew.

It was the day they learned a moment could, indeed, last forever— like the song in the movie ‘The Beauty and the Beast’ by Céline Dion recited.

Oh, how many jokes Derek had endured in relation to that movie— and yet, he still would not change a thing.

Neither of them would.

#sterek #sterek fanfiction #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #my ships #going down with this ship #my ship is canon #stiles and derek #sterek on a date #it was supposed to be a short story but I got carried away at 4 am

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vee-is-a-clown · 2 years

Text

Ok just some stuff that I want to clear up:

If you don't follow me and you see this post, feel free to ignore.

I'm trying to post Witch's Herbal Tea stuff every other day. I have demotivation waves though so don't expect too much. Everyday that I don't post a new entry for Witch's Herbal Tea, I'll repost an older (most probably one shot) fic that I enjoy under the tags of #viv's fic rec

I will tag my recommendations as either a comfort fic for fluff or feelings fic for angst. I may tag some as both so that's stuff like hurt/comfort. I won't be rebloging smut for obvious reasons.

Witch's Herbal Tea log entries have a different tag than just normal Witch's Herbal Tea content so look out for that.

One last thing before I go, I recently changed my bio to say "Burnt out gifted kid at the age of 13"

One person has already asked but that does infact mean that I am 13. If you're uncomfortable with that, please unfollow me. I don't want to be treated like a baby. I'm still growing and learning though so please mind that. Help me if I'm wrong.

That's all.

Sincerely,

Viv

#just a quick announcement #idk how else to tag this

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becca-e-barnes · 3 years

Note

I love your writing! Can you please do one with Bucky where the reader gives him a gift and it’s like an iPod and the reader put a bunch of 40’s music on it for Bucky to listen too and Bucky asks the reader to dance and it’s really sweet and fluffy! Thank you!

When I tell you I RAN for my iPad to start writing this request as soon as it came through omg, I am obsessed with this one! Thank you so so much for sending me this, I absolutely loved writing it 💗

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2,925

Warnings: Loads of fluff, super duper sweet Bucky, little bit of angst and mentions of family loss. Mad cottagecore vibes. This is honestly just hella soft!

Summary: Bucky doesn’t remember much about his sister Rebecca, just that today is her birthday. Coming to terms with the fact she grew up alone upsets him so you cheer him up with an early birthday present, taking him back to the 40’s.

A/N: I noticed Bucky has a sister in the comics so I went with that! (cause it makes me so happy to know that a canon Rebecca Barnes exists). I really don’t know much about her so if I’ve written anything wrong, please let me know so I can edit her to be canon compliant 💕 (And yes, all my 40’s songs are from the Fallout 4 soundtrack, I couldn’t help it)

The sound of the rain pattering softly on the roof woke you from your sleep. You rubbed your eyes and turned to look at the thin flannel curtains, noticing they were letting in a little light. Birds had only just began to start chirping faintly in the distance, meaning it couldn’t be much later than 5am. You rolled over in the large bed, hoping to feel the comfort of your husband’s firm chest against you but as you moved, you noticed the sheets were cold. He must have gotten up some time ago.

With a yawn, you pushed yourself up, your feet hitting the cold wooden floor of the bedroom.

“Buck?” You questioned, rounding the little corner and seeing he wasn’t in the kitchen. Your brow furrowed and you headed to the living room, checking to see if he was there. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up without Bucky. While he usually slept like a log these days, he was still keen to stay in shape so he would often go for a run at sunrise but usually only on mornings when the weather was nice. His nightmares barely ever bothered him anymore. You were thankful for that at least since it meant you weren’t woken in the middle of the night to the sight of your wonderful husband trembling with grief, knowing that he longed to wake up and be anyone other than himself. It broke your heart seeing what he had to suffer through to get to this point but he was endlessly grateful that you had suffered it with him. It was tough on you, you couldn’t deny but there was no chance you would ever have let him go through any of that alone. There had been countless nights spent cradling his shaking body, humming softly to him to remind him he wasn’t still living those nightmares. Eventually, those awful nights became few and far between, his smiles became brighter, the bags under his eyes shrunk and he returned to something closer to the man you imagined he must’ve been in the 40’s.

You reached the living room door and noticed the fire was lit, warmth beaming out the room as you took in the sight in front of you. Bucky was sitting in an armchair by the fire with a little wooden box resting on his knee. The only light in the room came from the fire and what little brightness was beginning to seep in through the window but despite how dim it was you could still make out his messy bed head.

“You okay baby?” You asked with a little yawn, crossing the short distance between you, coming up to the back of the chair and resting you hands on his broad shoulders that were still covered by his pyjama top. Your fingertips ran over the seam where his skin was replaced with metal and he let out a little content hum.

“Yeah doll, you should go back to bed, you’re tired.” He soothed, bringing his flesh hand up to squeeze one of yours. You looked down and noticed his lap was littered with old photos and newspaper clippings. You had helped him collect them over the years, taking him to libraries and museums, trawling through archives to make sure he had as much in his little collection as possible. He had spent years tracking down everything he could find about his sister, keeping all the clippings in his little wooden box.

Instead of going back to bed, you lifted the papers from his lap and sat down in their place. You pulled the woollen throw from the back of chair and draped it over the pair of you before starting to shuffle through the few photocopies in your hand. Each picture showed a different stage of your sister in law’s life, from a photocopy of the newspaper announcing her birth right up to the last piece you and Bucky had been able to track down. It was just a short article about an interview she had given, talking about how Bucky had been the only Howling Commando that had given his life in service of his country.

“Just wish she could’ve known the truth. Wish she’d known I wasn’t dead all those years.” He whispered, face buried in the crook of your neck as you leafed through the delicate pages. His mother had died when he was little and his father had died shortly before he went to war. He and his sister had been separated shortly after they lost their father. “She must’ve been completely alone…. Would’ve had no family until she got married.” He mused sadly, looking at the little newspaper clipping that announced her marriage to her husband.

“Would have been a tough life Buck.” You agreed quietly and he nodded.

“Today is her birthday.” He whispered after a little silence, the weight of all that he had missed out on weighing so heavily on him.

“Tell me about her Buck.” You quizzed, stroking his flesh arm gently, cuddling up against his warm chest as the fire crackled beside you.

“I really don’t remember much about her.” He admitted quietly. “Not sure if that’s because HYDRA jumbled some of my memories or if it’s just because it’s been so long.” He was so distracted by the article in his hands. It had a tiny, grainy photo in the centre of the text, a photo of a young Bucky and Rebecca standing together in their school uniforms. “Remember Rebecca loved to go to Stark’s science fairs.” A little fond smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “God, I used to go to those with Stevie to try to get him a date. We were both hopeless.” He laughed softly, his lips pressed gently to your neck as he spoke.

“We both know that’s not true Buck, Steve said you were such a ladies man.” You giggled, holding his chin gently and pulling him into a soft kiss.

“Hard to be a ladies man when your little sister was tagging along on your date.” He chuckled, “kinda spoiled the mood.”

“I bet it did.” You agreed sarcastically, running your fingers through his soft messy hair, watching his face as his eyes flitted over the paper in front of him. Eventually his little smile faded and his brow furrowed. It wasn’t hard to tell that he must have been thinking about how Rebecca would have reacted to hearing what her brother had done to Howard Stark and you knew you needed to get him out of that hole before it got too deep for him to handle. You gently gathered up all the little clippings, tucking them safely back into the wooden box and returning it to its place on the mantle. Bucky was still looking solemn so you returned to your spot on his lap and cuddled up against his large frame, nearly like you were trying to protect him from his own thoughts with your body.

“I know it’s early but I really don’t think I can keep it to myself any longer, you want one of your birthday presents?” You suggested and his little smile came back.

“Sure doll, that would be nice.” He laughed, kissing the top of your head. You bounced up out of his lap and pranced off to the bedroom, looking for the little box you had hidden in your dresser under some clothes. You returned to the living room with his gift tucked behind your back.

“It’s not wrapped yet, I didn’t plan on giving it to you early so you gotta close your eyes and hold out your hands.” You teased, making Bucky roll his eyes. He did as you asked anyway, metal and flesh hands cupped together in front of him. He looked so damn cute you couldn’t resist giving his lips a little peck.

“Was that my present doll?” He laughed, feeling you sit back down on your spot in his lap but still keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Yeah Barnes, that’s all you’re getting,” you joked sarcastically. He looked far too handsome with his cheeky grin, the warm light from the roaring fire dancing on his flushed cheeks. You loved this man more than you could put into words and you knew he loved you back just as fiercely. After building the suspense for a moment, you placed the box in his hands and he opened his eyes like a giddy child. You watched as his eyes scanned over his new gift, trying to work out what exactly it was.

“Oh! It’s an iPod! Sam has one of these!” He beamed excitedly, a little bit too proud that he had been able to figure out what the box actually contained before he had opened it. He carefully lifted the lid and pulled the iPod out, pressing the power button. You hadn’t really considered how tiny it would look in his huge hands. The screen flickered to life and he looked like a child on Christmas morning. His eyes were alight from both the bright screen and his excitement. His smile was absolutely infectious, joy radiating out of him at such a simple gift.

“I put some music on it for you babe.” You smiled, giving his forehead a little kiss.

“If you’ve filled this thing full of Harry Styles, I’ll throw it at you.” He teased quietly, trying to press the touch screen with the thumb on his metal hand, forgetting that it wouldn’t register properly.

“He’s a guilty pleasure of yours, don’t even deny it.” You laughed back, carding your fingers through his soft hair, showing him how to open the music app. “No, I put some of your music on it.” You watched as he used his flesh thumb to scroll through the list of songs. “You wanna connect it to the speakers?” You asked quietly, taking it from him and showing him how to open the settings and connect it to your living room speakers by Bluetooth.

“Pick a song, hun.” You smiled handing it back to him. He pressed the first title he saw. ‘Mighty Mighty Man’ by Roy Brown started playing and you thought Bucky’s grin was going to take over his entire face. His eyes crinkled as music boomed through your small living room.

“God, I remember this song.” He laughed, running a hand through his hair. He looked so carefree and happy in that moment, clutching his little iPod tightly. You beamed at him and he looked up at you, giving you a happy kiss, both of your lips still pulled tight with smiles. His cheeks were hot against yours given how he was closer to the fire than you and his metal thumb rubbed gently against your bare thigh under the woollen throw. He let out a happy little sigh, pulling away to look back down at the rest of the songs on the iPod. His thumb hovered over ‘Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall’ by The Ink Spots for a minute before he clicked on it. As the gentle introduction started, he pulled you close to him, both of his strong arms circling around your waist. His face was buried in your hair and he kissed gently at your shoulder as you listened to the slow song together, just enjoying each other’s company and the sound of the rain pattering outside.

You couldn’t help but wonder how different his life must have been the first time he heard that song. He wouldn’t have had any idea the grief and loss and pain that was ahead of him. Far too much rain had indeed fallen on Bucky Barnes’ life.

“It’s not all been bad you know.” He whispered ever so quietly against your skin, almost as if he had been able to read your mind. “You’ve been the biggest blessing.” His last sentence was barely louder than a breath. You weren’t really supposed to hear it, it was more just Bucky’s way of thanking the universe for finally giving him something truly pure. Every now and again, on those nights he was struggling to sleep, he loved to roll over and just take in the sight of his beautiful wife tangled in the sheets. Rather than counting sheep or getting lost in his thoughts, he would quietly list the things he loved about you, almost how people talk to their plants. He hoped that by saying it out loud, even if you weren’t listening, your body would still acknowledge it and you would grow to love yourself how he did. He knew it was silly but he would far rather think about all the reasons he had fallen so madly in love with you than lie awake staring at the ceiling. He could think of hundreds of reasons, often silly little things like how cute you looked when you were reading or how endearing it was when you put your hand on your hip when you were cross at him for eating your last muffin or how slowly you had to peel carrots because you didn’t want to “lose a finger”. Every night brought some new confession because he found that every day, there was something else he could obsess over. He had never anticipated finding love like this. Not just because before he met you, he was filled with a bit more self loathing than he would ever have admitted to, but just because he didn’t believe it existed. “People don’t just love each other like they do in movies, it’s all made up.” He would argue, so cynical that anyone could ever find a soulmate, never mind one of the most notorious assassins the world has ever known. You had well and truly changed his mind. He would gladly do anything for you, anything at all. You had shown him so much love and trust and in some strange way, he felt like you understood him at times when he didn’t even understand himself. You knew what he needed because you were what he needed.

The song ended but neither of you moved to untangle your bodies, choosing instead to stay wrapped up in each other. A couple more songs played, with Bucky humming along to them gently. He couldn’t remember all the words but he got most of the tunes right. Then ‘I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire’ by The Ink Spots started and he pulled his head from the crook of your neck

“Would you dance with me Mrs Barnes?” He asked with a soft little smile, taking one of your hands in his metal one.

“Anything for you Mr Barnes.” You agreed, dragging your bodies apart to stand in front of the fire. It had died slightly but the room still had a happy glow. The rain was coming down just a little harder and it only made being inside, warm and dry with your husband even more appealing. Bucky’s hands fell to your waist and yours went to his shoulders. It didn’t take long for him to work his thumbs under your thin pyjama top, just enjoying the feeling of your soft skin against his hand. His touch was gentle and reverent, like holding you too tightly would make you shatter like delicate porcelain. Your bodies moved slowly to the music, swaying together in your little living room, hoping this moment would never end. There wasn’t much to it but you couldn’t honestly think of a more blissful start to your day. You both shuffled together, dancing slowly like you had on your wedding day (at least for your first dance anyway). The feeling of the carpet under your feet and the smell of the burning wood kept you both grounded – this was your home, the home you shared together and most likely the home you would raise your children in some day. Your body was tired and your mind was foggy but just from the sense of safety being warm and comfortable in your husband’s strong arms brought.

“Love you Buck.” You smiled, looking up at him after the song ended.

“Love you too y/n. More than you’ll ever know.” Came his hushed reply and then a little yawn.

“Will we go back to bed for an hour or two?” You suggested, running a hand up his flesh arm soothingly and he nodded, only realising just how tired he was after not sleeping most of the night. The fire had all but died, the embers glowing faintly on the hearth. He turned the music off and let you lead him back to your shared bedroom, flopping onto the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

“You’ve no idea what that iPod means to me doll. Was like being back in the forties but this time, I had my best girl there with me.” Your head lay on his chest and he cradled your face with his metal hand.

“Glad you like it baby, happy early birthday.” You smiled, drawing little shapes on his chest with your fingertips.

Bucky’s heart was so full, it didn’t take him long to fall asleep. Sure he missed Rebecca and his parents but everything he needed in the world was lying there in bed with him, cuddled up against his chest. Some day he hoped you two would have your own little family when you were both ready and he would love and cherish them as much as he did you but until then, you were all the family he needed.

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