#are probably the two most critical tags/warnings for this one.

[megaerakles]

To Whom It May Concern

Tim couldn’t stay. 

No matter what Bruce had said when he caught Tim in the act of laying the paper trail to establish his Fake Uncle, no matter how long Dick had sobbed into the phone at him during an inordinately expensive long distance (read: off planet) phone call, no matter how much Alfred had been fussing over him and insisting it was no trouble at all to care for him since Tim’s scheme had been revealed and promptly foiled, it just didn’t change the fact that Tim couldn’t stay. Truthfully, the Wayne family’s apparent sudden burst of affection for him actually made this whole thing worse because somewhere along the way, without even trying, Tim had failed to keep things wholly professional between them and somehow tricked them into thinking he belonged in their family! 

He couldn’t let it stand. For the sake of Jason’s memory, for the sake of preserving the sanctity of the true Wayne family, he had to stop this… this absurdity of pretending that Tim belonged with them from continuing! Tim had to run. Tim had to vanish. It was the only way to make things right again. Sure, the thought of never seeing any of them again, the thought of being done with Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Barbara and everyone in his life he currently held dear once and for all made it feel as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest only to be shoved back down his throat to stop the flow of air into his body—but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not nearly as much as they did. This would be for their own good. 

Tim was leaving, and it turned out to be easier than he thought it would be in the end. Not emotionally easier, but logistically easier. Bruce had been extra attentive lately, so he thought he’d have to fake an injury and get ‘benched’ so that they would lower their guard long enough for him to slip away. But by some divine stroke of luck, a new player had waltzed onto Gotham’s criminal scene not too long after Tim’s Fake Uncle plan fell through and started making threats against Batman and Robin. They had apparently freaked B out enough to prompt him to send Tim off to Titan’s Tower to ‘focus on his team for awhile’. Tim had accepted the command with the requisite amount of complaint, planted some fake texts to make it look like he’d actually communicated to his Team that he would be there, shoved everything from his guest room in the Manor that he couldn’t bear to part with into a duffel bag underneath a spare uniform, gave Bruce what only he knew was a more emotionally charged nod goodbye than usual, and then poof. Tim Drake was zapped out of the Batcave for the last time ever. 

He let himself have one night in the Tower. Partly to catch a few hours of sleep in a familiar and secure environment, but mostly so he could clean up his room for its next occupant, sweep his belongings and his person for any extra trackers, and repack his bag more efficiently. He also took the time to grab a spare backpack and fill it up with emergency rations. While he was taking plenty of cash, he didn’t want to risk having to go into stores with security cameras for a while, at least until he’d cleared a suitable distance from San Francisco proper as well as implemented the first of his many planned disguises. He didn’t think a bottle of cheap hair dye and some colored contacts would be enough to fool Oracle indefinitely, but if he was appropriately cautious it might keep her from getting a confirmation of his location long enough for the Bats to either get bored looking for him or to actually realize they were better off without him around. 

When the early rays of dawn started to bathe the sides of Titan’s Tower in ember colored light, he was off. He left behind seven trackers pulled from his clothes and bag and one more from behind his ear; he’d kept the one he noticed in his favorite pair of sneakers because it was a type that wouldn’t start transmitting data until the Bats actively started tracking it and he was hoping to find someone who wore his size at the bus station he could pay to wear them so he could throw them off for even longer. If all else failed, he would just toss them in an out of the way trash can. He had also left a letter of resignation for Batman that he’d whipped up based off of an online template, signed and sealed and awaiting discovery atop the pillow in his nearly empty dorm room (he had tried for something more personal, a longer note of explanation for Bruce about why he couldn’t stay despite being asked, but—the words just wouldn’t come, and he’d been running out of time). His bag was heavy, courtesy of all of the extra supplies he’d grabbed in anticipation of having to evade not only Batman’s team but the rest of the Justice League. His heart was heavy, courtesy of emotional baggage that he wished was as easy to unpack as his actual bags would be when he finally found somewhere to settle. 

He boarded the first bus he saw after he’d gone a few blocks and took a seat towards the back, where he leaned against the window and stared back at the iconic giant T that he used to belong in, however briefly, until it disappeared from sight. And just like that, Tim Drake’s life as Robin was over. 

—

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately. 

Thank you so much for the opportunity to work with you all for the past three years. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the team and appreciated the opportunity to learn about vigilantism and hone my detective skills. I’m excited to take these skills with me as I pursue the next step of my career.

During the past two weeks, I have done everything possible to wrap up any ongoing cases and leave no unfinished business. The Robin suit as well as my spare have been cleaned and placed in the armory of Titan’s Tower along with any gear I have been issued. 

I wish Batman and team the best, but am afraid I will be out of contact for the foreseeable future. 

Sincerely, 

T. J. Drake

—

Red Hood stalked into Titan’s Tower with all the grace of a wildcat closing in on its prey, his vicious smirk hidden by his helmet, his unauthorized entrance hidden by virtue of the heroes’ own stupidity in failing to remove his codes from the database. Seriously—he’d thought gaining entry into their so-called fortress would be the hardest part of this little trip, and had only tried his access codes for the sake of checking the most stupidly obvious Plan A off his list! For them to work, to realize that there was nothing truly separating the precious sidekicks from the wrath of a vengeance minded crime lord, well… it sure made the message he was about to send feel all the more poignant. 

He had come equipped to subdue an entire horde of Teeny Titans without hurting them (much), but to his surprise, the tower was empty of kid sidekicks despite Robin having been sent to work with his team yesterday afternoon, a fact Jason had gleaned last night from listening to the mind numbing chatter of Nightwing being bored on a stakeout and wanting to chat with anyone over the comms Jason had hacked into. Which he’d done in order to better plan his aggressive takeover of Crime Alley, not because he missed hearing his family’s voices. Nope. 

(Since coming back to Gotham, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to stick to the plan when some part of his mind still stubbornly clung to those foolish, childhood dreams of belonging and family and a father who gave a shit and things like that, and kept popping up with annoying questions like ‘what if he revealed his identity to Dick or Alfred or someone just to see if maybe Talia had been right and they’d want him back after all. Clearly, the existence of a new Robin meant that they’d never really given a damn about him, so he was going to go through with this thing, just watch him.)

Truly this had to be fate, because the path to Robin was practically unfolding before him with no barriers. All that was left to do was find where in this gigantic clubhouse the itty little birdie was nesting. Jason tried the common room first. Then the kitchen. Then the rec room. And then the training floor. And the med bay. And then the armory, where he found Robin’s suit, but no actual Robin. He supposed the next place to check would be Robin’s bedroom, because even though it was well past eleven, Drake was a teenager and could conceivably be sleeping in, especially since there was no Alfred around to rouse him at a reasonable hour. Luckily, the doors on the floor with sleeping quarters were all clearly marked with either the name or symbol of the person it belonged to, so it was easy enough to find the one with that all too familiar stylized ‘R’. Jason paused to take a steadying breath before gritting his teeth and deciding to really make an entrance by kicking down the door. 

…To an empty bedroom. Like, not just devoid of Tim Drake, but also devoid of books, trinkets, photos, decoration, clothes, dishes, mess, et cetera, et cetera. It looked as clean and sterile as a hotel room, and if Jason hadn’t literally just seen Robin’s insignia on the door he would think he’d entered an unassigned room by mistake. He frowned and yanked off his helmet, as if looking with his own two eyes would suddenly change the scene, but no. Nothing. He strode into the room and yanked open the closet—empty. He walked over to the desk and yanked open the top drawer—empty. He yanked open the bottom drawer, and mostly empty except for—wait, was that a pile of deactivated Bat trackers? Fucking bizarre. When he stood up, he glanced around again, and this time something on the bed caught his eye. It had been easy to miss against the white pillowcase, but there was an envelope tucked up against the pillow. With a scowl, he stalked over and grabbed it. 

When Jason flipped it over, he noted that it was addressed to Batman, but decided that since he was a crime lord now he didn’t have to care about something as trivial as opening someone else’s mail. He didn't want to take off his gloves and risk leaving prints on anything, so he pulled out a dagger and used it to slice open the envelope. As he flipped it over to dump its contents on the desk, he had the fleeting thought that he probably should have put back on his mask in case this had been some villain’s ploy to poison Batman, but luckily all that fell out was a single sheet of printer paper folded into thirds. 

This he was careful not to damage as he unfolded it. It wasn’t a long note, just a few small paragraphs, so it was quick enough to read: To whom it may concern. This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately… 

Jason dropped the letter and took a step back, staring at the innocuous piece of paper with wide eyes and racing thoughts. Robin had—Drake wasn’t—Timothy—the kid, he was quitting? Leaving? Gone? 

It could be a trap. It probably was a trap. Except Robin shouldn’t have had any way of knowing Red Hood would be able to track him all the way to Titan’s Tower so why would he have set a trap for him in the first place? A trap for someone else, then? If it was, it was really, really stupid of him because the kid had signed his resignation letter from Robin with his actual name, and surely he wouldn’t have made it this far if he were that careless with his identity. So, it was either a very bad trap, or not a trap at all. And if it was not a trap at all, then… 

Then Robin had… resigned. Which, ok, Jason’s stated goal coming into this thing was to get Tim Drake to stop being Robin. So he should be happy about this, right? Except he’d not gotten to toss the kid around and work out his aggression at all so there was no satisfaction in it. Also, the timing was fucking obnoxious. Go figure that the very day he decides to do something about his replacement, the kid decides to peace out of the Gotham vigilante scene and… and go… 

… Somewhere. Jason had no idea where Tim Drake would go if he were no longer Robin. Given how he’d waited until he was alone and then left the note to be found on the other side of the country, Jason had a sneaking suspicion that returning to Gotham was currently off the table. The letter had said he would be ‘out of contact’ for the foreseeable future; Jason could read between the lines enough to figure out that meant he was running away. 

—Which, fuck. Another Robin was running away from Batman because of… well, Jason didn’t know what this kid’s issue with B was, but there were plenty of potential flaws in the man to choose from so Jason was going to play it safe and assume it was something Bruce did. Clearly, the man could never learn. And now, this poor dumb Robin was going to pay the price! Jason was more than familiar with the number of horrors that awaited kids who ended up on their own. He could starve; he could freeze to death; he could catch some disease like the flu, or get cut on a rusty nail and get tetanus, and then die from it because he couldn’t access medical treatment. He could get mugged, or harassed by cops, or snatched up by traffickers, or—

And fine; Jason himself had meant to hurt him. But that had been for ideological purposes, to prove a point about putting children in danger and not taking good enough care of them and stuff. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt him that badly, just bad enough to freak out Bruce a bit. But Jason was also the Red Hood, and the Red Hood’s mission was to do what was necessary to stop awful shit from happening to vulnerable kids. And this stupid, stupid letter was apparently enough to abruptly transfer Timothy Drake into that category in his head. 

Everything Jason had heard about the kid said he was smart, and the timing of his disappearance pointed to some thoughtful planning on his part. Jason could imagine that the little shit had some sort of plan in place to evade Batman’s attempts to locate him, and he probably could manage to run without getting caught by Bruce and the Gotham team for a while. Heck, the kid probably had strategies to get away from most if not all of the Justice League members, since B was sure to call in favors once he got frantic enough about the little bird. But one thing the kid likely did not plan for was being pursued by him. Ex-Robin, currently a crime lord, League of Assassins connections, and a bone to pick with Timothy specifically? (He ran away from home and left a fucking resignation letter about it? Does he not realize what that would do to Dick, to Alfred, to Bruce—)

After stuffing the letter into his pocket, Jason put back on his helmet and stalked out of Titans Tower as silently as he’d arrived, this time with a new yet equally furious purpose sharpening his steps. Sucked to be Timothy Drake, he thought, because the Red Hood got his message and he was officially concerned. 

#my writing #my fanfic #tim drake #jason todd #to whom it may concern #would be what this fic is called if I ever continue it haha #but this is as far as I got and then kinda lost steam #but it stands as a one shot pretty nicely so I thought I'd share it here see what people thought. ya know. #could it be a multi chapter fic one day? sure. what do I know. will it be soon? probably not. #um ok what else #unreliable narrator #tim drake has self worth issues #are probably the two most critical tags/warnings for this one. #anyway actually being on desktop is giving me way too much power look at me go all these tags and no typos damn!

[cieloclercs]

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 | joão félix

genre: social media requested: yes pairings: joão félix x fem!reader warnings: twitter environment, online hate

can be read as a part 2 to surprise, or as a standalone!

liked by joaofelix79 and 20,546 others

tagged: joaofelix79

y/n_y/l/n surprise 🤍

view all comments…

joaofelix79 amo-vos para sempre, meus anjos / i love you forever, my angels 🤍🤍

y/n_y/l/n e nós amamo-vos / and we love you

username LMAO WHAT

username bro…you’ve got go be joking

antogriezmann congratulations you two!

y/n_y/l/n muchas gracias anto!

*joaofelix79 liked this comment

username aren’t they a bit young to be having a baby…

username and how is that any of your business?

username 🤢🤢🤢

enzojfernandez felicidades y/n! y joão también supongo / congratulations y/n! and joão too i guess 😒

y/n_y/l/n gracias enzo 😂

joaofelix79 @/enzojfernandez ¿no seguirás enfadado? / you’re not still mad are you?

enzojfernandez vuelve al chelsea y no estare. / come back to chelsea and i won’t be.

username BAHAHAH ENZO

username he says that like poch didn’t reject joão 😭

username having a baby at the height of joão’s career when he doesn’t even know what club he’s going to next…yeah probably not the best timing 😳

username congratulations y/n! you just signed your life away to be a footballer’s housewife for the rest of your life 👏🥳

username LMAO imagine…she’s only 23 as well 😭

username i honestly feel bad for her. she’s gonna end up taking care of it all by herself, because let’s be honest…it’s not like joão will be that involved 🤣

username true! especially at the height of his career, he’ll probably be too busy!

username poor y/n…

username housewife at 23? where’s the ambition in that 😭

liked by y/n_y/l/n, reecejames and 4,463,836 others

tagged: y/n_y/l/n

joaofelix79 i don’t normally engage with people who make hateful comments about me, but when it involves my girlfriend and our baby, i feel like i have to say something. y/n and i are beyond happy to be future parents. we’ve given our situation a lot of thought, and we’re looking forwards to our future together with our little one

please, whether you are a fan of mine or not, don’t make comments about my girlfriend or our situation. y/n is the most wonderful person i know, and she doesn’t deserve this kind of criticism - especially not over something which is as much my decision as hers. please respect our privacy, and keep your opinions to yourselves. we are happy. that’s all that matters

ao meu amor / to my love - thank you for giving me this gift. i will forever be grateful to you, and i can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together ❤️

ao meu anjinho / to my little angel - the day i found out about you was the best day of my life 🤍 mamãe e papai love you so much x

comments on this post have been limited.

requests are open! send something in if you’d like!

#request #joao felix #joao felix imagine #joao felix x reader #joao felix x fem!reader #joao felix fic #joao felix fluff #joao felix smut #joao felix x oc #joao felix x fem!oc #joao felix blurb #joao felix drabble #joao felix fanfic #joao felix angst #joao felix au #joao felix social media au #joao felix instagram au #joao felix twitter au #football imagine #football imagines #football fic #football fluff #football angst #football smut #football drabble #football blurb #football au #football social media au #football instagram au #football twitter au

[jo-harrington]

Heaven - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie had written off ever finding his person. Yeah he could fool around and have some fun, but at the end of the day no one would look at him the way he wanted them to. Until you came along and, in the most unexpected way, changed his life forever.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: Fluff, Love at First Sight, Soulmates(?), Criticism of Religion/Catholicism, Implied Sexual Encounters, Implied Supernatural Encounters, Angst, Abandonment, Biblical and Other Literary References

Note: Set before Hell, we have our introduction to Reader/OC for my Van Helsing AU/Kas!Eddie series, As Above, So Below. Once again, this can be read as a stand-alone, but if you're planning on reading the eventual series, you might want to read the prequels.

That being said, this fic and the subsequent fics/chapters in the series will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find the As Above, So Below masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"Your place in heaven will seem to be made for you and you alone, because you were made for it. Made for it stitch by stitch as a glove is made for a hand."

—The Business of Heaven, Daily Readings from C.S. Lewis (1984)

March 1984

When Eddie met you, he had all but given up on finding love.

He had heard it all before.

He was young. He still had the rest of his life ahead of him. Maybe love wasn't in Hawkins. He just needed to have patience.

But it stung to watch the others receive affection, care, and understanding when he waited. Wanting, deserving, but never receiving.

Until you walked into the Hideout, wet and weary after a long drive to an unfamiliar place in unforgiving conditions.

You weren't some spectacular beauty, or otherworldly siren, or heavenly angel that he would expect in a fantasy novel or a DnD game. You were, quite frankly, a mess. But as you turned and nodded your head along to the music, Eddie swore his heartbeat was louder than Mickey's relentless assault on the drums.

He approached you at the end of the set as you sat at the bar nursing a cherry coke and circling want ads in the classified section of the Hawkins Post.

He asked you if you liked cheese fries before he even said hello.

And the laugh you made was loud and honking, but it was nevertheless perfect.

You were a disaster made, he hoped, just for him.

June 1984

“The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall rise,” Eddie muttered as he traced the words etched into your forearm. “That from the Bible?”

"Yeah."

“That’s pretty badass.”

While all of his classmates were dressed in their best clothes—their caps and gowns—being celebrated by the fanfare that befitted the class of 1984, you and Eddie were spread out in the back of his van in your underwear, studying each others tattoos after a day of swimming and skipping rocks at Lover's Lake.

It was a lazy kind of day.

You had sensed his anxiety in the days prior, when you asked about the end of the school year, about his plans after graduation. He initially wasn't going to tell you that he wouldn’t be graduating. He tried to skirt around it. But somehow you knew.

You always knew. Because you knew him.

You suggested a day out, just the two of you. Something special. As opposed to the many "dates" he had taken you on where his friends ended up tagging along. You promised you didn't mind, but he would have liked to kiss you freely without some doofus making lewd noises in the background.

But your idea had been perfect.

Graduation was played up to be some kind of achievement, something special. But how could it be when you were surrounded by a hundred other kids who all knew the same shit you did. Probably didn’t even know it, actually; they were just good at remembering it for a little while.

How could that feel special?

But this? Learning about you? It was more important than math or science or some other useless bullshit.

Knowing you—loving you—was the most special thing he could ever achieve. And he was proud to say that he was getting straight A’s.

“Listen," you started as Eddie pressed a kiss to your skin. "I know all of the love-thy-neighbor-Jesus shit is pretty lame. But…I don’t know, some things are cool.”

“Care to elaborate?” he asked.

“Some of the Saints…reliquaries, catacombs, the Book of Revelation,” you shrugged. “You can kind of choose what you want to believe in, I guess.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point of organized religion?” He huffed and rolled onto his back, pulling your arm across his torso so you could rest your head on his shoulder and your body could drape across his comfortably.

"Isn’t what the point?" You fished the sharp pendant of your necklace from between your bodies and laid it on his bare chest beside his.

His was simple, a guitar pick he'd caught at the first concert he ever attended.

Yours, intricate, a silver cross with flowers and vines intermingled around the arms. Hyacinths, you told him once. As though he knew what they were. But he made a mental note to try and find them for your birthday, since you seemed to like them enough to have a necklace with them.

“Well, it's organized. That you all believe the same…I dunno. Stories? Lessons?” He rambled on as his hand gestured absentmindedly.

“It's all just…rules made by old men,” you scoffed. “Some stuffy guy in the Vatican says…I don’t know…don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back and earn a one way ticket to hell? And I’m supposed to believe it?”

“That’s just a superstition.” He paused for a moment and snorted. “Kind of ironic that I, a supposed devil worshiper, am telling you this, Miss Catholic School.”

You rolled your eyes at him but still smiled.

“Pretty sure if someone knows more about Satan between the two of us,” you giggled. “It’s me.”

“Shhh, you’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

July 1984

The 4th of July fell on the most perfect day.

It might have rained a little earlier that morning, but Eddie had certainly slept through it, and it made way for perfect skies and just the slightest slickness to the grass as he and the boys ran around the open fields surrounding Weathertop.

The van was full of fireworks, and Jack's mom had set them up with sandwiches and a few coolers of iced tea and lemonade. Mickey brought the beers. Eddie had the good sense to invite some of the younger guys too, which meant Gareth's mom had sent him along with a few extra pies she had made.

Apple, Strawberry Rhubarb, and Cherry—Eddie's favorite.

His mouth watered for the tantalizing summer feast, but he craved you more.

You were a little late to the party, having worked the opening shift at Bradley's, but before long your clunky, hand-me-down Marquis pulled up alongside his van.

"The freezers went down at work," you called to the boys. "So I have, like, a hundred boxes of bomb pops. Can I get some help before they melt? I have no A/C, so it’s hot as Hell."

It had just reached the height of the day, and the boys whooped and tripped over each other to get to the sweet, icy treats.

"In the backseat," you reminded them. "Not the trunk."

“Why don’t you let me take a look at your car?” Eddie asked, snaking his arms around your waist.

“To fix the a/c? If you want.” You shrugged but beamed at him. “It was my grandpa’s car. It’s on its last legs anyway.”

"At least let me look at the trunk." Eddie offered and you rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away from you playfully. "What? Then you wouldn't have to shove, like, a hundred boxes of bomb pops in the backseat."

"I swear, the trunk is just rusted shut at this point," you supplied with a laugh. "There's no use."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he pouted. He knew you knew when he was fishing for a kiss, but you gave in to his pouting anyway and immediately chased after his lips to plant one on him.

That night after the feast is consumed and everyone is enjoying the fireworks, Eddie couldn’t ignore the feeling that things were about to take a turn for the worst.

His closest friends would be gone soon, off to college and leaving him behind. His band practically broken apart, dreams shattered, if not for Gareth and Jeff.

Everything was changing.

And the only constant he could count on now was you.

He couldn’t help but worry how long it would be before you'd leave him too.

October 1984

The cicadas chirped and buzzed wildly. A mourning dove that had nested on top of the trailer in the spring and was still there and cooed restlessly, calling for a mate that had left it behind. The cheap window units Wayne had gotten from the hardware store ages ago chugged and clunked away to keep the trailer just on the side of cool enough to wear clothes.

They were sounds of summer, not fall, and most certainly not Halloween. But it was an unseasonably, disgustingly hot week, and it did nothing to help Eddie get into a chilling, haunted mindset as he planned a special one-off campaign for Hellfire on the 31st.

His repeat senior year hadn’t started off too well. The teachers were unforgiving, the students unkind. But he had promised Wayne he would try.

Things like the band and Hellfire certainly made it bearable.

You made it bearable.

You’d been working a lot of nights lately, but still made time for him and promised him special incentives and treats if he did well in school.

If he showed up on time for a week, you could have a sleepover at your apartment. Pass a test with a grade above a C, you’d tell him a secret.

He hadn’t gotten quite so good of a grade on a test yet but he had written a killer essay in English and he had negotiated your participation in Hellfire for Halloween, since the roster was slightly lacking this year. It hadn’t even taken much negotiation, really; you were just as excited to learn everything about him as he was about you.

So you’d spent a lazy Sunday afternoon with him as he explained the mechanics of the game and helped you create a character.

“…I forgot to mention if you do pick a rogue, you have proficiency in de—what’re you looking at now?”

He’d paused his lesson to grab some drinks, and when he returned, you were frozen in place, staring intently at a page in his players guide, brow furrowed. One of your hands clutched the book tightly, and the other touched the words on the page almost reverently.

He set your sodas on the nightstand and then glanced over at the book.

“Ah, we hadn’t gotten there yet,” he laughed and flopped down on the bed. “Tsk, tsk, reading ahead. But don’t worry, paladins are really cool. They pledge an oath to a deity—devote their whole lives—and then get this…divine ability so long as they uphold it. They can heal or even smite—”

You slammed the book shut at that and Eddie jumped in shock. You refused to look at him for a moment, rubbing your hands over the cover of the book in contemplation, before you looked up at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I think I’ll be a rogue,” you nodded. “That sounded really cool.”

“A-are you sure?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat and sank down into his pillows. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, nuzzled him slightly, and shoved the book back into his hands. “So what else do I need to play?”

November 1984

Eddie woke abruptly to frantic banging on the front door of the trailer.

It had been raining when he went to bed, which usually helped him sleep. At first he thought the storm had just gotten stronger. 

Until he heard your voice.

You had abandoned the front door in favor of the side door near his bedroom. You tripped over the bowl he left for the stray cats and swore viciously. He chuckled tiredly until the banging started again and his heart seized in his chest.

You weren’t knocking. Your hands were practically slapping at the door.

“Please, God, please, please.” He could hear you muttering desperately.

He kicked the soft comforter off and pushed himself out of bed to get to you. As soon as the door was open you crashed into his chest, your arms wound around his waist, and you sobbed. Great, broken sobs that made his heart break.

He was about to put his arms around you, to soothe you and ask you what was wrong, when he smelled it.

Smoke. Fire. Acrid and cloying, engulfing you.

He looked down and was shocked. You were filthy; covered in dirt and soot and muck. The edges of your clothes and the ends of your hair were singed. You were visibly shaking.

"W-what happened?" Eddie asked frantically, prying your arms from around him, trying to see if you were hurt. He froze at the sight of blood caked on your hands and wrists. His stomach churned when he noticed the streaky stains it left below your nostrils. "Are you ok? Are you hurt? What happened?"

You simply shook your head and collapsed back against him.

He couldn't help the fear that overtook him, but he stayed strong as he pulled you into the trailer. As he got you into the shower and washed...whatever happened off of you. There were no cuts or burns or bruises. He tried to ask again, once you had calmed down enough that the tears fell silently and the only sounds you made were an occasional hiccup.

The next morning you were fine. You told him there was an accident at Bradley's. But there was no report on the news or in the paper. The building was fully intact. All of the staff were present and happily employed. You had no problem going back to work; in fact, you did so with a smile on your face.

Eddie never asked.

Because he knew you had secrets.

You never told him.

Because he never got a better grade than a C.

A month after that night, though, Hawkins National Laboratory was shut down and abandoned.

January 1985

"...can't I have anything for myself. It's unfair." Your muffled voice pierced through his dreams and pulled him into awareness.

He had been a light sleeper after that night in November, especially when you stayed over. You muttered in your sleep sometimes; it would wake him. You'd shift just far enough away; that would wake him too.

You had never had a full-on conversation before, though.

"Sins of the father, and sins of his father before that. Blah blah."

He blinked the bleariness from his eyes and watched as you paced at the foot of his bed. You wore nothing but your necklace. The cross swung wildly as your arms gestured and when you turned on your heel to continue your endless back and forth. Your voice was hushed.

It was half of an argument with an unseen adversary.

“I need a break…I know I haven’t been at this for long, but I’m sick and tired of it already.”

He vaguely wondered if you were hallucinating. A bad high. You’d always been reluctant to smoke with him but he had insisted tonight. After tangled limbs and quiet declarations in the sanctuary of his bedroom. Words of worship whispered to one another. The buzz beneath his skin had felt foreign and he figured the weed could mellow it out.

Maybe it had the opposite effect on you.

But then Eddie felt it.

As awareness settled over him, he felt an unseen, suffocating presence. It felt like the days where the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, only this time...the weight of the entire universe, every atom and every molecule, every moment--past, present, and future--existed all at once in his small bedroom and crushed him flat on his bed.

You continued on your one-sided rant and he didn’t know how you managed to move so freely when he felt so trapped, pinned in place by the weight of it. He tried to get your attention but he couldn't move, couldn't breath.

In the corner of his eye he swore he could see it. Blazing fire and wings and eyes.

He gasped and looked but saw nothing there. Still, the suffocating weight closed in on him further, pressing and squeezing, crushing him. And fear gripped him tightly. He wrenched his eyes shut and for the first time, probably in his life, he prayed.

He begged for it to go away.

Because if it didn't. He was going to die.

The bed shifted with your weight as you crawled to him and as soon as your hands reached him, he could breathe again.

“Eddie, oh my god please, are you ok?” You asked frantically, cupping his face in your hands. “Please say something.”

He gasped for air and sat up, clutching your hands to his face. You were his lifeline, his savior.

He closed his eyes and a million thoughts raced through his mind.What the fuck was that? Are you ok? Maybe he had a bad high, not you? Was it a nightmare? What the fuck was that?

February 1985

Your goodbye was expected. But that didn't mean it didn't cut him straight to his core.

You had been waiting for him one Friday night after Hellfire; he had driven the guys home only to find you waiting outside the trailer. Your car was packed with your belongings, similar to the way it had been the night you had stumbled into Hawkins.

He felt like vomiting as soon as he saw you.

You fed him some story about a sick, dying grandmother. How your mother had left a message on your answering machine begging you to come back home.

"She needs me," you told him.

"I need you," he replied desperately.

You couldn't do much more than shake your head and break down in tears.

"I'll come back," you promised. "It won't be long. Just wait for me."

In hindsight, he wished he had screamed and cried and begged you to stay. He wished that he had offered to go with you. Chicago wasn't that far. Wayne would have been mad, but then...Eddie would still have you.

Eddie was a good liar, though. He could fool anyone if he tried hard enough. He could even lie to himself.

He smiled and nodded and pretended to understand.

"Sure," he agreed. "I'll wait."

Your eyes started watering and you pulled him into the tightest hug. He wrapped his arms around you numbly, and as he did, he vaguely remembered some bullshit myth--

How humans were created...conjoined together. 4 arms, 4 legs, a head with two faces...but the Gods feared their power, split them in two. Condemned them to spend their lives apart.

--And he wished that he had some sort of secret, divine power to meld himself back together with you. Because surely, you belonged there with him. And if he concentrated on squeezing you just right, you would simply fuse together and you would never be apart again.

Life didn't work that way though.

You reluctantly pulled away from him and pressed a wet kiss to his lips.

Before you got in the car to drive away forever, you took off your necklace and pressed the cross into his hand. It practically burned.

"Don't lose that," you told him. "I'll be back for it."

He closed his fist around it and nodded, unable to trust himself with words.

He watched as you drove away, stayed standing outside until he couldn't see your tail lights anymore.

He let himself in the trailer, glad that Wayne was still at work--

You'd be back. You promised. You loved him. He loved you. You told him almost everything. You brought him hope. And care. And you made him feel complete. You'd be back.

--as he threw your necklace into the furthest corner of the room.

As he screamed in agony.

“Life moves very fast. It can go from Heaven to Hell in a matter of seconds.”

—Eleven Minutes, Paulo Coelho (2003)

#Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #As Above So Below

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

Games and Complaints

Summary: A football game leads to another thing and Jake is on the brink of losing you.

Word count: 2.7K

Pairing:Jake seresin x pilot!reader callsign: Athena/Thena/Thia (Coyote calls her Thia)

Warning/tags: angst, Jake being jake, i dont know anything about fighter pilot training so take the info with a pinch of salt, lmk if i missed anything!

A/n: ITS TIMEEEEE!!!! HAPPY CHRISTMASSS!! I hope everyone had a great Christmas or Hanukkah (to whomever that celebrate). anyone looking forward to the new year? omg this chapter is...!!!! you guys will find out anyway. Enjoyyyy <333

English is not my first language so there may be grammar mistakes. You have been warned.

Previous part | Masterlist | Next part

Week two of training was the most difficult for all of them. Maverick explaining the depth of the mission and its details seemed to only add to your doubt that someone may not be coming back from the mission. But also fueling into the idea that it’s downright impossible.

“...Your airspeed will be 660 knots, minimum. Time to target; two and a half minutes…”

“...Your airspeed will be 660 knots, minimum. Time to target; two and a half minutes…”

 Mission details were unfolded one by one. You glanced towards Coyote as you sat next to him, eyes wandering towards Hangman who was just cross. He looked weirdly relaxed for a mission which was probably impossible. The cold AC from above you was doing nothing to calm your shaking.

Maverick continued about how time was to be your greatest adversary and the amount of forced G’s your will be facing throughout the simulated mission before dismissing everyone into their teams for the exercise. 

“Time to target is one minute thirty, we are two seconds behind.” 

“We gotta move, Coyote, Athena.” 

You heard Bob and Phoenix warn over the radio, examining the pathway ahead of you. The sheer force of gravity pushed the air out of your lungs as you let the familiar thrill of it take over you. A good one in fact-whenever you were at a high altitude. But now at a much lower hard deck, you felt like this was the last thing you’d ever wanted to do. 

“Increase speed to 480 knots.” You ordered Coyote from behind him in the dual jet. 

“Copy, increasing speed.” Javy replied back just as he increased his speed to Bob. You looked down on the pathway ahead through the small screen, taking notice of a slight edge that was sticking out of the hill. A possible disruption that could be a problem when Javy takes a turn. But before you could issue a warning Javy pushed on the throttle to increase his speed; instantly pulling it back down as he almost made contact with the side of the hill. 

“Oh shit.”  Phoenix grunted over the radio, leaving You to look over their plane as it manoeuvred over yours, hitting the max ceiling. 

…

Everyone had taken their turns, with only Rooster managing to successfully complete the exercise without breaking any of the conditions. They sat back in the hanger, analysing where everyone had gone wrong. You were starting to zone out next to Coyote but tried to keep a straight mind and focus on Mav’s critics. Before you could fully fall asleep on Javy, he tapped your thigh softly. Gesturing to the simulation that was now playing again on the screen. 

“Why are they dead?” Mav questioned. Looking pointedly towards you and Coyote but before you could open her mouth to answer him, Phoenix piped up. 

“We broke the 300-foot ceiling. The SAMs took us out.” She explained causing Maverick to shake his head and looking back at you and Coyote straight in the eye. 

“No, why are they dead?” Dragging each word out. 

“I slowed down and I didn’t give her a warning. It's my fault.” Coyote answered. 

“Athena? Why are they dead? Was there a reason you didn't communicate with your team?” He pressed again. He knew about the systems as well as any other fighter pilot, he was once best friends with a WSO.

He had heard about your tales during your academy days through Warlock and Cyclone. The best of the best. So, for someone like you to not be at the top of your game was slightly concerning to Maverick. 

“I saw the obstruction but I didn't give a warning in time. This led to Coyote increasing and decreasing his speed in an instant. Phoenix almost crashed into us before she had to break the ceiling in order to not crash. I’m sorry, sir.” You explained yourself, adding the apology at the end to console him as if you were talking to their family.

“An apology their family will accept at the funeral.” He stated before moving onto Phoenix and Bob.

Your head was hung low as you tried thinking back to when you were completing the exercise. To anyone it would have looked as though she saw it coming but weren't fast enough to give a warning in time. But to you, it was a late reaction time. As someone who was known to have a quick reaction to almost anything, this was unusual. A turn on the terrain that you were briefed on prior to it was only the simplest of tasks that even an undergraduate would have done. What is going on with your mind?

…

Football was a weird game. Having grown up playing anything other than the most beloved sport in the country, you- to this day couldn't understand why it was called football when all you did was pass the football with your hands.

Regardless, you didn't have much of a choice as it was already decided long ago by Maverick that today was Dogfight Football day.

“Offence and defense at the same time.” as Mav put it before selecting teams. Somehow you had ended up on the team opposite to Hangman’s. Lining up in your respective positions, you locked eyes with him. Putting two fingers up to where his eyes were and then pointing them back towards yourself as you heard Hindi’s whistle go off.

Every move you made, you felt him somewhere behind, but everytime you looked behind you found nothing. 

You didn't know how long it had been since you’d started playing under the scorching heat that was beating down your backs. All you could feel was Hangman’s burning gaze in the back of your skull everytime you moved to defend. 

“Yo, Thena! Heads up!” Payback shouted from ahead of you. Pointing to Rooster who was about to throw the ball in your direction.

You successfully managed to grab the ball from him, and just as she was about to throw it to Coyote, you felt it. A growing numbness in your skull. Head throbbing as it had done countless times in the last week. You shook your head, making a run for it regardless and throwing the ball towards Coyote without a second thought. He catched it with ease as you felt some of the people move from behind you to intercept it.

A hand suddenly appeared on your shoulder, jumping back in surprise, you turned towards the person who had just scared the living shit out of you.

“Woah. sorry, didn't mean to scare ya’ there, Athena.” Mav apologised before managing to grab a distance between the two of you.

“This is probably not the best time to talk about this but do y’ have a moment?” He asked politely before gesturing you off the makeshift field that you’d been playing on.

“Is everything okay, sir? If this is about the exercise the other day, I truly didn't have enough time to react to it-”

“It's not that.” He stopped you from rambling on before it got out of control. “I read your records, you graduated as a WSO and Fighter pilot?” 

“Yes, sir.” You moved your hands behind your back, answering him curtly as you started walking back towards the beach chairs. 

“May I ask how? It's not to be rude or anything, just curious. You don't see something like that everyday on someone’s file.”

Highlighting an interest in your training was something many people had done in the past. It was true, the path of training for both statuses wasn't nearly as easy as you had thought. It wasn’t even possible when you had presented the idea to her training officer back when you were a Top Gun trainee.

“I taught myself, actually. My training instructor said it was impossible and not typical for US pilots to be trained in both. But I already had previous training in both fields from being an weapons system operator overseas as an apprentice. I passed basic and complex training programmes for them. So they let me graduate with both diplomas.” You explained, going over each detail of your training. Which led Mav to question you further as you reached the end of the wet sands where Colonel Simpson stood, hands on his hips. 

“What is this?” He questioned, looking over to the team that had Bob on their shoulders cheering for him as he made the last touchdown. 

It made you smile.

“It’s dogfight football, offence and defence at the same time.” Mav repeated what he had explained to the rest earlier. 

As Cyclone enquires further about the Mav’s game plan of making the guys a team, you moved further up the beach where Penny sat, most likely doing her taxes. 

“Hey kiddo.” Penny says as you approach the bench she was sat on. Giving you a small wave. “There is beer inside if you want any, on the house.” 

“Thank you Penny, but I’m technically working.” Slumping down across from her on the warm wood, you gave her a smile before looking out towards your friends and teammates. A solemn look on your face. 

You let your eyes scan for him. Not wanting to make the staring obvious, but failing, because at that exact moment you unintentionally makes eye contact with his green orbs. Even from a few hindered yards of distance, you could make out that damn smirk that graces his lips again, sending you a wink. 

“So, what’s up with you and Hangman?” Penny piped up, a suggestive smile on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows. 

“What? Nothing. Nothing is going on between me and Jake.” You clarified, blood rushing it’s way up your neck and ears as you felt them burn hot. 

“Didn’t look like that the other night.” That piqued your interest, looking back towards the older woman with a confused look.

“What do you mean?” 

“The man couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole night, sweetie. Unfortunately, you were far too gone to notice it that day. Looked like a kicked puppy when you left with Coyote.” She explains,

“I think you should talk to him about it.”

Your mind wanders back to that night. A blurry haze of whiskey and pool. It was true that you had feel his stare from the moment you’d stepped foot at the hard deck but it didn’t take you long before you had completely blanked out.

“Oh” was the only thing you managed to choke out before you took notice of everyone that was currently making their way back towards the Hard Deck. Sending a wave towards them, you saw Payback and Coyote making a run towards you. Immediately knowing what they were up to, you made a run for it. 

“You can’t run from us, Thena!” You heard them shout from behind you.

Running as fast as your lungs could take you. Causing them to lose your tail in the process but just as you were about to make a turn around the back entrance of the Hard Deck, you collided with hard flesh, almost losing your balance. Sweaty arms wrapped themselves around your waist as your eyes locked with marble irises. Jake. Your hands found a place at the centre of his chest as you stabled on your feet again.

“Woah there, sweetheart. Where are you off to?” Goddamn that accent was gonna be the death of you. You shook her head, as if physically trying to push the thoughts away from your mind. Refusing to speak to him, afraid that if you did- everything Penny had just told you about that night would spill like a waterfall. 

Hesitantly, you cleared your throat, attempting to get away from him but his hands stayed put at the dip of your hips, locking you in place. You resisted his touch, struggling to remove his hands from you as he trapped you between him and the unusually cold wall behind her. 

“Hangman, let go.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He laughed at your failed attempts, there was no malice in it, but you couldn’t quite place what else it could be either.

He shook his head when you give up, crossing you arms in front of your chest. Looking up at him through thick lashes. The glowing sun that bounced off his back and the grains of sand that stuck to his chest did nothing to stop you from staring at him only made him look more heavenly. Stop it, you scolded yourself.

“What do you want?” 

“You.” 

You blinked, once, then twice, eyes widening in shock as your mouth fell open. Thinking you may have misheard him. Or even failed to hear a word or two before he said it. 

“What?” 

“I want you.”

It fell off his lips so softly that you almost melted in place. He placed a hand just under your jaw, forcing you to look him right in the eyes as he cupped the right side of your face. He looked at you with such tender and soft eyes, it made you dizzy. Heat radiating itself off his body suddenly did nothing to stop that.

You shook your head. This couldn't be happening. Not now…not when you were so close to proving yourself to him. That you didn't need him, not for the mission, not in any way.

“Jake...” His name floated out her mouth like a prayer, pleading. You tried again, to remove his touch that was burning into your skin, like it was to leave its traces forever.

You finally broke eye contact, looking down towards your feet that were buried in the sand, digging your toes further into them. Trying to ground or bury yourself in the warm grains.

“Jake, no, I can’t.” Pleading to him.

You didn't want to explain your reasoning, it was stupid, yes. But you don't wants to give him the satisfaction of doing a bigger mission without having to tell you why he left. If he had done so just before he had left, you may have forgiven him, but it’s done.

“Thena…if this is about me leaving you in Atlanta, i am so-” 

“No, Jake. You don’t get to just leave and then apologise about it later. What if we weren't invited back to fighter town for this mission? Then what? What would you have done? Came back and apologised? Would you have done that?” You questioned, anger and frustration lacing your words.

His hands dropped, head hung low as he moved a step away before you continued; “No, you wouldn't because you are Jake Seresin. You don't get to stand here and confess that you want me when you could have been a decent person and apologised when we saw each other again at the hard deck two weeks ago.” 

You huffed, vision blurring with the tears that were rolling down your cheeks in anger. You wiped them off immediately, finished with the reason as to why you were so angry at him. 

“They kicked me off the team a day after you left, Hangman.”

His callsign held no malice as it left your mouth. This caused his head to turn back up, looking at you with a frown as you continued,

“Torch had called me into his office after you left and told me to pack my bags and leave. Saying I wasn’t needed on the team because you weren't there.” 

He stood there with his feet planted into the sand. In disbelief. He hadn't known they had kicked you off the team, sure he had told Torch (the commanding officer for the mission) his reason for leaving but he hadn't expected them to throw you off the team.

But before he could open his mouth to apologise or comfort you, you moved, away towards your car that was parked just across from where you stood in the parking lot. Backing away while he still stood in front of the wall, pondering over his actions.

Snapping out of his daze, he ran after you, calling your name, telling you to stop which only made you go faster. As you got near to your car, you slowed, fresh tears still falling from your eyes. You tried to calm down.

Opening your car and locking the door. You heard frantic knocks on the window before Jake’s voice came through, muffled. 

“Thena, Open the door! I just want to talk about this! Please!”

You ignored his pleading, closing your eyes and breathing deep before you fished out the keys from your shorts pocket and started the car. The knocking only got louder and his shouting more frantic as you pulled out of the parking space. Leaving him standing in the middle of the parking lot tarmac as you drove off.

You wished you could turn back time. Back to that goddamn mission and not argued with him everytime he opened his mouth. Maybe he would have stayed, maybe then you would have told him how you had liked him for so long. Maybe this mission wouldn't be so hard on you if you had told him this years ago. Spilling all of your love out for him the second he’d showed up at your doorstep that night when Javy wasn't in town to comfort you over a break up. Maybe he would have been the one…

Taglist;

@blue-aconite

@madikiel007

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #glen powell #top gun x reader #Bob Floyd #natasha trace #phoenix #coyote #javy machado #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #antidotes and poisons

[hoes4hoseok]

how you get the girl part iii: jake’s not-so-secret admirer

previous ☆ next ☆ series masterlist

your neighbor, heeseung, gets on your nerves. he’s full of himself, makes more noise than all of your neighbors combined in the middle of the night, spreads anti-superhero propaganda in your political science class, and, unfortunately, is the most attractive man you have ever laid eyes on.

pairing :: lee heeseung x fem!reader featuring :: jake sim, jeon somi, kim sunoo, yang jungwon, & more! genres/au’s :: superhero au, neighbors to lovers, sorta-enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, angst, nightwing!heeseung chapter warnings :: mentions of and references to sex, minor violence, suggestive, intoxication chapter word count :: 4.8k (including the texted parts!) tag list (open) :: @thejjrl @grace1852 @tsunchani @hanniiesuckle17 @mjr4fnaf1997 @goldenhypen @3nh4luvr @hobistigma @ditzie-s @nomy0520 @koroktsuya @beansworldsstuff @ronnierites @simplhee author’s note :: posting this early because i can't help it YAY i had missed writing this <3. please let me know if you liked this or have constructive criticisms (or if you have predictions 👀) because they really help me. i hope you enjoyyyy beta reader :: @fandomgirl489 thank you for your help! playlist :: here's to you

3. Gestures of Appreciation No one likes to have their effort and affection gone unnoticed — show her you care and appreciate her being in your life.

“Wow, this childhood friend is super rich, isn’t he?” Y/n peered inside the sizable truck in awe as Heeseung opened the door, its lights turning on the moment he did. The truck itself wasn’t too flashy, but Y/n could immediately tell that its contents cost more than her tuition.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied sheepishly, offering his hand for Y/n to brace herself as she stepped in. She took it, giving him a small smile of gratitude.

“Alright, first thing’s first — let’s see if we can get a visual on Somi,” Heeseung began, closing the door behind him, “I, uh…I think Jungwon can access security cameras from his set-up,”

Perhaps Y/n could have detected how odd that was if she wasn’t blinded by gratitude for Heeseung’s friend, but she didn’t.

“Okay,” she nodded as Heeseung sat down, gesturing for her to do the same before unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt. In front of them were five to six monitors, all mounted to the side of the truck.

“Lee Heeseung,” he stated, bending over slightly into the microphone. Y/n’s eyes widened in astonishment as the screens turned on simultaneously.

Heeseung typed persistently, ignoring her gaze, but it felt like she was burning holes in his neck. He didn’t want to know whether or not gears were turning in her head — that was tomorrow’s problem.

Y/n had several questions, but she knew that would slow everything down, and ensuring Somi was okay was the priority.

“Okay…” Heeseung mumbled, “here…is the live fee—”

“KNOCK, KNOCK,” 

Y/n’s hand flew to Heeseung’s arm, instinctually moving further from the door and closer to him.

In the future, Heeseung would insist that she felt safer with him, to which Y/n would roll her eyes. And maybe secretly agree.

“It’s alright,” Heeseung stood up, Y/n’s hand grazing down his arm as he did so, “it’s probably just Jungwon,”

Y/n nodded, looking back at the door in anticipation while it swung open.

“Heeseung!” Jungwon grinned, engulfing the man in a hug, “Ah, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Heeseung replied before hushing his voice to a lower volume, “remember what we talked about,”

Jungwon nodded as he let go of Heeseung, redirecting his attention to a now-standing Y/n.

Jungwon was shorter than Heeseung, definitely younger, but carried himself in a similarly confident way. He didn’t seem to cross over into cocky like Heeseung did, though.

“Y/n, Jungwon. Jungwon, Y/n,” Heeseung gestured between his “friends”. He wouldn’t label either of them with that term.

“Hi,” Jungwon walked over to Y/n excitedly, extending his arm, “I’m Yang Jungwon, an old friend of Heeseung’s from Gotham,”

“Y/n,” she replied, shaking his hand, “Heeseung’s neighbor,”

“Ah, that neighbor,” Jungwon nodded, his smile turning to something of a smirk.

Heeseung cleared his throat, “So, Jungwon, where’s Jake?”

“He’s coming,” Jungwon was almost wincing, “but there’s been…an unexpected complication,”

“Jake’s here?” Y/n tilted her head in confusion, “Why?”

“I just can’t believe that I never noticed how kind and handsome you are, Jake,”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. Sure enough, Jake and Somi stood a few feet from the truck, her arm wrapped around his. 

Jake stared down Heeseung as he stepped into the truck with his new admirer, eyes wide as if to say, “What the hell is happening?”

“So…how did this happen?” Heeseung asked, closing the door before pointing at the two of them with an amused expression.

Somi grinned, “Well, Jake was so brave and rescued me from those horrible people. And then I realized how much I’ve overlooked him while pursuing a lover. But here he is. My perfect man,” Somi touched his face with her left hand, brushing her finger over his cheek.

Y/n’s mouth fell agape in disbelief, “Somi, what the—”

“Somi, let’s have Jungwon give you something to change into,” he cut Y/n off, gently pushing her towards the boy.

“Oh — okay,” Somi frowned but followed Jungwon to the back of the truck.

“Wow, you’re quite the ladies' man,” Heeseung joked as soon as Somi was out of earshot, earning a punch to the arm from Jake.

“Not funny,” Jake heaved a sigh, crossing his arms, “something’s wrong with her. I don’t know why she’s acting like this. I didn’t even save her, I just told her to follow Jungwon and me when she was already out of the building,”

“Yeah, she didn’t even act like this with old boyfriends,” Y/n added, glancing at her friend with a look of concern.

“Well, I’ve seen this happen with—” Heeseung stopped himself, “I mean, I’ve seen this happen in movies. It’s usually an aphrodisiac of some sort,”

“Oh my god,” Y/n rubbed her forehead, “Phenylethylamine. It’s phenylethylamine,”

“What’s that?” Heeseung asked, crossing his arms.

“You know, the love molecule? Just look it up,” 

Jake pulled out his phone as she continued, “It’s what Somi and I think was stolen from my biochemistry professor’s lab,”

“Web MD says…” Jake began, “phenylethylamine is a chemical with stimulant effects — it’s found naturally but can also be made in a lab. Phenethylamine stimulates the body to make certain chemicals that play a role in brain chemistry,”

“Okay, but on its own, there’s no way one of those goons could just spray some diluted phenylethylamine on her and make her act all heart-eyes over Jake,” Heeseung countered, “They must have done something to it to make it an actual love potion,”

“True,” Y/n nodded, “plus, we know they don’t have the exact sample from the lab because Nightwing stopped the robber. Who knows whether the original sample was even an attempt to make a love potion?”

Jake and Heeseung took a wary glance at each other. The conversation had turned to Nightwing. Of course.

“What did I miss?” Somi sang, making a beeline toward Jake, now wearing a large graphic tee and sweatpants.

“Not much,” Jake started, feeling especially grateful for her now, “we were just talking about going back home for the night, it’s late,”

“It’s only 10 PM, Jake,” Somi reasoned. “If we’re not gonna storm back in there to demand to know what the hell Mr. Kim is up to, then let’s go have fun! We could do karaoke or something!” 

“Somi,” Y/n took her friend’s hand, “Jake will still be around tomorrow. He’s not going to disappear. Right, Jake?”

“No, I won’t disappear,” Jake smiled, “in fact, I’m spending the night at Heeseung’s with Jungwon,”

“Oh, perfect! I can see you first thing in the morning then,” Somi replied, “I’m staying with Y/n tonight,”

Y/n shook her head with a grin, “the minute we figure out how to snap you out of this, I’m teasing the living daylight out of you,”

“Says the one who gave Lee Heeseung a lap dance,”

Jake gasped, an unmistakable grin on his face as he looked at Heeseung, “She did?!”

“Did what?” Jungwon asked, approaching the rest with a neatly folded pile of Somi’s angel get-up in hand.

“Please, in his dreams!” Y/n scoffed.

Well, it would be after today.

“I just…sat on his lap so no one got suspicious,” Y/n explained, hoping Heeseung wouldn’t notice her cheeks growing hot, “it wasn’t a real lap dance at all,”

“Exactly,” Heeseung nodded insistently, “it wasn’t,”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows as he looked over at Jake, but decided to let them have the win.

“Oh and Y/n,” Jake began, “Do you want a change of clothes too?”

“I think I’m okay for now, thank you” she replied, stuffing her hands in the pockets of Heeseung’s suit jacket, “We’re going home now anyways, right?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung smiled, pushing the sleeves of his button-down shirt up to his elbows, “Let’s get home,”

“Poison Ivy’s victims were infected with a kiss,” Jake began, staring up at the ceiling. “Unless I planted one on Somi without being aware of it, they can’t be related,”

The boys had fought briefly over who got the bed, but Jungwon ultimately won, being ‘the guest’. Jake may have acted annoyed, but he had missed Jungwon just as much as Heeseung did.

“That may be true, but figuring out what’s in the antidote could help us, right?” Jungwon asked. 

“Yeah, maybe Jungwon could look into that tomorrow while I work on the antidote using the lab sample,” Heeseung proposed. “I have a bad feeling that Somi will only fall further in love with you until we find a solution for this,”

“What should I do?” Jake asked, “Stay away from Somi, I presume,”

“Well…maybe,” Heeseung clenched his jaw slightly, “but I think you should still see her once or twice so she doesn’t get mad. If she does get worse, I don’t want to endanger Y/n,”

“Heeseung, Y/n will be fine,” Jake reassured his friend, “she can handle it,”

“I don’t wanna find out that she can’t,” Heeseung swallowed, taking a deep breath, “and Somi is in danger now, too. They know what she looks like. They know what all of you look like,”

Jungwon peered down at Heeseung from the edge of the bed, a small smile of sympathy on his face. “They’ll be fine, Heeseung. I’ll make sure of it,”

Heeseung nodded, muttering a small thank you before the room grew quiet. The curtains on Heeseung’s window were far from opaque, so Jake found himself watching the array of lights dance across the room intently as his friends drifted off to sleep. 

“Jake,” Jungwon whispered after a few minutes, “does Heeseung know about…”

“No. He doesn’t,” Jake sighed, voice soft, “I don’t think I’ll tell him, either,”

“What? Why?” Jungwon sat up to look down at his friend. 

“Even if I’m lucky and Heeseung and Y/n get over themselves and start dating, it just feels so odd to say, ‘Hey, I’m in love with your ex-girlfriend! Who probably doesn’t even think of me in that way, so I’m jeopardizing both of our friendships for fun!’”

Jungwon lay back down, letting the quiet sounds of Bludhaven traffic fill the room momentarily. “I’m sorry, Jake,”

“Don’t be. I get some damn great friends instead,”

Y/n woke up to the smell of something burning. “Somi?” she asked, still groggy.

When she got no response, Y/n pushed the comforter off her feet and stood up, making her way to the kitchen. “Somi, whatever you’re cooking is definitely bur…ning,”

Okay, now she was awake. Somi stood in the kitchen with a bowl in hand, peering over a pan filled with butter that had likely already turned black.

“Oh, good morning, Y/n,” Somi smiled, “I’m just making some pancakes to bring to Jake and his friends,”

“Okay…” Y/n came closer, tying her hair haphazardly, “Do you need some help maybe?”

“Nope, I’m alright,” Somi insisted, continuing to pour way too much batter into the pan as she dismissed her friend.

“Somi, don’t you have work to do?” Y/n inquired, tilting her head in disbelief.

“Eh, I’m thinking about quitting,” Somi shrugged, “if I’m going to be devoted to Jake, I need to give him more of my time. And my job takes up way too much of that time,”

“What?! You’re going to quit your job over a guy? Before a single date, too?!”

“You know what, you’re not being very supportive right now!” Somi yelled, waving her arms around, “I am head-over-heels in love with Jake Sim and if you cared about me you’d see that!”

Y/n sighed in defeat. “I do see that. Just please take a day off of work before you decide to quit altogether,”

“Fine,” Somi nodded, her voice lowered, “and I really do need help with these pancakes,”

Y/n smiled mischievously, scooting in next to her friend to remove the possibly ruined frying pan, “so Jake, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s sweet, isn’t he? For saving me?” 

Y/n knitted her brows. She had been so caught up in all that happened last night that she never stopped to wonder — why did Jake save Somi? Why was Jungwon there? Sure, they were probably there to help Heeseung find out who attempted to steal from his professor, but why would a guy like Heeseung care enough to do that? And now that she thought about it, as much as she thought she was commanding the situation, it was Heeseung who had the cards in his hand all night.

So…either Lee Heeseung is hiding something, or he’s secretly…a good guy?

Y/n had meant to thank Heeseung for whatever the hell happened yesterday, but he had already left for class by the time she and Somi delivered the pancakes next door.

Throughout the day, she found herself checking her phone more often than usual, especially since she and Somi were both working from her apartment. She didn’t know what she was waiting for — after all, Heeseung never texted her. Why would that change today of all days? 

She’d just have to trust him and his friends to knock on her door with a cure for her best friend in the next few days. Y/n knew she could be useful in that pursuit, but they insisted she stay with Somi for the day and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. Trust him. Why was she trusting him with something so important? Someone so important?

She didn’t take the time to rehash her questionable thought process, choosing instead to immerse herself in her classwork and article for the Scoop once she managed to convince Somi that Jake would come over after his classes.

He and Jungwon both came to see them around dinner time, which came as a surprise to Y/n. They even managed to get Somi’s favorite type of pizza and played board games with her until she fell asleep. Damn. Was that making Y/n the slightest bit…bitter?

Y/n stared down at her laptop screen intently — it was now nearly 10 PM. Though she managed to finish her work for her midnight deadlines, she had made an embarrassingly small amount of progress on the article she offered to take on for Somi. Out of the Five Ways to Win a Girl’s Heart Y/n had to come up with and write about, she had only completed two. Sincerity and Reliability.

Y/n scoffed at herself. ‘Hm. That’s funny. The two things you can’t decide whether Heeseung has,’ 

She didn’t even bother lying to herself this time. Y/n was interested in Heeseung. Sure, she’d always had the tiniest urge to make out with him, but the more she started to question everything she knew about him, the more she enjoyed his company. 

Y/n shut her laptop with a soft groan before glancing at her watch. Somi was fast asleep. Heeseung should still be awake — at this time a week or two prior, he was probably making his and his girlfriend’s sex lives the whole floor’s business.

This was a bad idea, right? 

Ah, who cares? No one was awake to tell her it was. 

Okay, so there was no response to Y/n’s knocking. Maybe Heeseung was asleep. Maybe he was working late. Maybe he was just listening to music. Maybe he was…with someone else?

No matter what the case was, Y/n wasn’t going to let this rattle her, even if she did leave feeling a bit dejected. 

With hand warmers in her pockets and her trusty pepper spray and taser on her lanyard, she looked back at her door in consideration before turning around and heading up the stairs. She wasn’t in the mood for walking tonight. 

Luckily for her, there weren’t any of the usual smokers on the roof — it was too late for them and too early for the drinkers.

Somehow, she felt colder in her parka now than she had in her stripper corset and shorts from the night before. It was probably a result of not having the time to notice the temperature while running from fugitives, but now all she could think of was how bitter it was. This night, she decided, did not feel like a synth-pop album. She missed home and Sunoo and her warm bed. The quiet one. The one that wasn’t attached to the thought of Lee Heeseung and all the subsequent thoughts. And it was nights like these that made her so eager to graduate early and get the hell out of Bludhaven.

The ground was still damp from the previous day’s downpour, but Y/n sat against what she assumed to be a broken air conditioning fixture (summers were hell in this apartment for a reason) anyway. There was too much light pollution to see any stars, but she liked getting to look at the sky regardless. She sat there for several minutes, taking note of the planes passing overhead and which lights turned off through the course of the night.

“Uh, Miss?”

Y/n jerked her head toward the source of the gravelly voice, grabbing her pepper spray instinctually. Her eyes widened. “It’s…it’s you,”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Nightwing put his hands up defensively. “No need for pepper spray then, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Y/n dropped the bottle from her hand, letting it dangle from her lanyard once again. Her heartbeat could’ve powered a freight train. “W-what brings you here?”

“I was wondering what you were doing all alone out here this late,” Nightwing explained, “It’s not safe for — for anyone,”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m just fine, thank you very much,” she sat back down, returning her hands to her pockets. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone, especially not the man who was (sort of) the reason Somi may never have free will again. Okay, Y/n, that’s a bit of a stretch.

“Do you…have something on your mind?” Nightwing offered, looking down at her while she avoided eye contact, “I’m a pretty good listener,”

“No…” Y/n lied, gnawing on her lower lip. “You can stay if you want, though,” she added, half-expecting him to turn around and leave.

“Sure,” Nightwing smiled and sat down next to her. “I can stay,”

On their last encounter, Y/n hadn’t gotten closer than 20 feet to Nightwing. Now, he was right beside her. Wait. Now, he was right beside her.

“I don’t want to talk, but I’d like to listen to you,” Y/n quickly pulled her phone out from her pocket, “Would be willing to interview for the Scoop? I’d have to record it, but only for formality's sake. I only use quotes, so no one would be able to hear your voice,”

Nightwing smiled at the ground for a moment before nodding. “I’ll agree to three questions, but no recording. Only transcriptions,”

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Y/n beamed, “let me just pull up Somi’s — er, my colleague’s questions,”

“You never told me your name,” Nightwing reminded her as she searched her pockets for a piece of paper.

“Y/n L/n,” she replied, scrambling to retrieve a creased paper from her pocket sitting against her knee and a pen in hand. 

“Good to know,” Nightwing nodded. “You have a lovely name, by the way,”

“Thank you,” Y/n contained a smile, “First question: What do you have to say about the accusations that you’ve caused an increase in crime in Bludhaven?”

“Are you asking if I believe them?” Nightwing began, “Because if so, the answer is no. The crimes that usually go under the radar are being accounted for now rather than just muggings and violence. That’s why crime rates have gone up,”

Y/n nodded, not taking the time to look up until she had finished writing his response word-for-word. Somi would kill her if she got an interview with Nightwing and somehow fucked it up.

Heeseung Nightwing, on the contrary, was smiling to himself as he noticed how Y/n knitted her eyebrows in focus as she wrote.

“And…” Y/n finally looked up, “why did you choose the name ‘Nightwing’?”

“I was inspired by a hero Superman told me about. From his home planet,” he explained, eyes darting away to avoid suspicion, “Nightwing was the great rebuilder; the catalyst of change. So that’s where I took the name from,”

“Oh,” Y/n tilted her head in surprise, “that’s interesting. I’d love to hear more abou—”

“HELP!”

Y/n’s eyes widened at the distant cry for help.

“Duty calls, Ms. L/n,” Nightwing stood up, backing away from her as he spoke, “I promise to answer that last question that I owe you if you go back to your apartment now,”

“Uh, sure, yeah,”

“Perfect,” Nightwing gave her a wink before disappearing off the edge of the building with a jump.

Oh. Wow. These were foreign feelings.

“Hi,” Y/n blinked in surprise — how many times was she going to be surprised today? Heeseung at her doorstep.

“Hey,” Heeseung gulped, trying to suppress his nervous energy as he lifted the plastic bag he had in his hand. His hair was disheveled and seemed slightly damp, which, as Y/n noted, was not a bad look for him. “I, um…I got some Thai takeout to eat after work if you maybe…wanted to join me,”

Y/n knew better than to take anything other than the words “I want you” as a sign, but the thought of the overconfident and flirtatious Lee Heeseung being nervous because of her made her giddy.

“Yeah, sure,” Y/n nodded before looking down at herself, suddenly self-conscious of her Bat-symbol pajamas, “Let me just change real quick and I’ll be over in a minute,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Heeseung stifled a laugh, “I think they’re cute,”

“Thanks,” Y/n smiled, hesitantly pulling the key out of her pocket and locking the door, “My friend Sunoo got them made for my 16th birthday because the guy doesn’t sell them himself,”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung asked, pushing open the door to his apartment.

“Yeah!” Y/n continued, following him inside, “It seems like an untapped market, but I know selling stuff with the Bat-insignia would make it less meaningful. That didn’t matter to me when I was 15, though,” 

“Well, legally sourced or not, I like them,” Heeseung declared as he started to empty the plastic bag on the table.

Y/n raised her eyebrows — Heeseung took what seemed like ten boxes of food out of the bag.

Heeseung only noticed her expression once the bag was empty. “What? I didn’t know what you liked,” He shrugged. “I’ll just donate the rest tomorrow before class,”

Y/n pretended not to be as (oddly?) touched as she was by that, nodding in agreement before picking up a box of flat noodles and a plastic fork. “Do you donate food often?”

Heeseung seemed to hesitate at that question; as if he was going to admit that he just said that to impress her. But to Y/n’s surprise, he said, “Yeah. I do,”

“Oh. That’s kind of you,” she continued, “Where should we sit?”

“Well…we could sit right here,” Heeseung gestured toward the table, “Or we can sit on the couch and put on a movie. Whatever you’re comfortable with,”

“Okay, pause,” Y/n put down her fork to place her hand on Heeseung’s shoulder, “I know that willingly spending time together isn’t something we’re used to, but you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me now that you’ve seen my legs. I know you liked what you saw,”

Wow. Y/n didn’t know what came over her to be confident enough to say that, but it worked — because the Heeseung she knew was back. “Oh, I liked what I saw?” Heeseung scoffed, his cockiness returning with a vengeance, “You nearly choked on your saliva when I unbuttoned my shirt like a Victorian woman,”

Y/n glanced at Heeseung’s chest momentarily, only making his smirk widen. “So, the couch then?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung grabbed a box and a fork, “the couch is great,”

The neighbors, despite their arrogant smack talk about being unaffected by each other, sat on opposite edges of the couch in silence as they started eating. The two of them were far too busy overthinking the implications of the conversation that just finished to find it awkward.

“So…you like Batman but not Nightwing? What about Superman?”

Heeseung shook his head, eyes fixed on his food. “I’m not a huge fan of any of them, to be honest,”

“Oh,” Y/n said softly, an air of disappointment filling the room. Right. The other reason they weren’t friends. She could ask why, but she already knew why. He had listed all the reasons just a couple of days ago in class. Y/n noticed him clench his jaw in the slightest — he was biting his tongue.

After a moment of silence, Y/n continued. “Nightwing got me coffee too, once,”

Heeseung broke a smile. “Are you trying to make me dislike him more?”

“Nope,” Y/n shrugged, “Just gauging your reaction,”

“Oh my god,” Heeseung’s mouth dropped open in faux disbelief, “You don’t care if I like Nightwing, you want me to be jealous of him,”

“No, no, I do,” Y/n replied. He was half-right, so she wasn’t really lying. “Besides, you’re the one who assumed I was trying to make you hate him,”

At this point, the two of them had put their food on the coffee table and gotten considerably closer to each other. It was very intentional.

“You’re blushing,” Heeseung added, still grinning. “You totally have a crush on me,”

“What are you, 14?” Y/n scoffed, touching her right cheek instinctively, “I don’t get crushes. I either date someone or I don’t. And clearly, this is an ‘absolutely not’ situation,”

“Huge crush,” Heeseung repeated, leaning in closer to Y/n as his gaze trailed down to her lips. 

Y/n, despite acknowledging that it was a huge exaggeration, knew that already. She knew she liked Heeseung. But she found it odd that he only started being nice to her the night of the stripper fiasco…all she knew was that he was attracted to her. And maybe nothing else.

She winced. “No,” Heeseung’s eyes darted back to hers in surprise, his flirty energy dying on impact. “I won’t be your week-long rebound,”

“Y/n you’re not a—”

“I know what a rebound is, Heeseung,” she continued. “Don’t feel guilty. I just uh, can’t be that for you,”

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows, “I…I like you, though, I mean that,”

Y/n scoffed. “That doesn’t carry a lot of weight considering when you started acting like…” she moved her hand up and down to gesture, “…like this. The night after you got dumped, you saw your kind of hot neighbor in a strip show — I get it!”

“So you don’t believe that I like you?”

“I think you’re into me, but no. I do not think you like me,” Y/n crossed her arms protectively, “I think you’d date me for a month or two, realize you’re still in love with your ex-girlfriend, and then dump me because you ‘don’t wanna string me along’ as if that wasn’t what you were doing the whole time,”

Y/n watched as Heeseung swallowed, struggling to come up with something to say in return. He opened his mouth for a moment, but closed it again. Giving Heeseung a pity-laced smile, Y/n stood up, touching his shoulder as she did. “Thank you for the food. That was sweet of you,”

She walked out. He didn’t follow her.

She wished he did.

3. Gestures of Appreciation No one likes to have their effort and affection gone unnoticed — show her you care and appreciate her being in your life.

Hold on…what?

previous ☆ next ☆ series masterlist

#how you get the girl 🌃 #hoes4hoseok #lee heeseung imagines #lee heeseung #kpop imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #heeseung x reader #heeseung #enhypen #enhypen reactions #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x y/n #lee heeseung x you #heeseung x yn #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung fluff #lee heeseung angst #heeseung angst #enhypen angst #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfiction

[lara635kookie]

I didn't even watch "WISH" yet because in my country it will only be available at january, but people are saying it's a bad cliche so I probably won't watch at the cinema.

The thing is, even though I am a hopeless romantic, not everything has to have romance. There are princess who are perfectly fine without a prince, like Mirabel, Elsa, Merida, Moana and Raya(I do kinda like the idea of Raya with a girl, just not Namaari). But we were so robbed of seeing Asha and the star boy(he is literally a staR so I don't doubt Disney would call him StaN or something like that, so his name is Stan from now on, I am gonna call him like that, is easier than star boy). Asha and Stan had the potential to be the next Tianaveen and Rapunzel&Eugene (I don't know their ship name). The concept arts are the cutest thing I have ever seen. Also "At All Costs" (bop) would have been a love song between the two!!! Them singing it man. The pain I will feel when I don't see them passionately sing it, very "I see the light" coded, in the actual movie. Somehow, now is not feminist for a strong female character to have a male partner by her side. Like...This doesn't make sense! You can be a strong female character and have a man at the same time! Have y'all forgotten Mulan and Shang? Anna and Kristoff? Ariel and Eric? Jasmine and Aladdin? (There are more examples and I could go on all day, but you got what I meant already) I hate Disney for throwing good ideas at the trash and playing safe just for money(like Hobie Brown/Spider-Punk said "it's a metaphor for capitalism"). And as the guy looked blonde with blue/green eyes in the arts I have seen, and Asha is a black latina, they lost the opportunity of having a biracial couple ACTUALLY DONE RIGHT (Pocahontas and John Smith don't count, he is a collonizer with the most common name in the world, she deserves so much better). Like, if the thing is show how inclusive you are by having a black latina female protagonist for little girls to see and feel represented in a good way, you could have increased that feeling by making someone fall in love for her. Little girls would feel like they are beautiful and desired/desireable in a positive way and that they worthy of being loved and love and be with whoever they want to be with, even someone who has a different skin color.

I am also mad because we could have seen Disney's first evil villain COUPLE with King Magnifico and his wife, the queen(still don't know her name, sorry). Can't you guys imagine the HITS, THE FIRST PLACE OF BILLBOARD HOT 100 WORTHY songs, they would proportionate us? Even if only one song, it would be enough for me. But someone thought having a female villain would be anti-feminist and they discarded an original and authentic idea, which is what Disney built its empire on the first place. Come on Disney minorities don't want to be portrayed as those unrealistic superior beings, they want to be portrayed as real human beings with emotions, struggles, qualities and flaws. Having an iconic female villain like you guys always had(like Maleficent, Cruella De Vil, Ursula, Mother Gothel, Lady Tremaine, etc) and set her up with an iconic male villain(like Gaston, Doctor Facilier, Shan Yu, Jafar, Hans, etc) it would have been top notch, god tier. King Magnifico and the queen could have been like the Gomez and Morticia of evil. You could address so many topics by it. Like the kingdom being ruled by evil would have been a great social critic of some politicians out there, for example. And we could have had an iconic final boss battle between Asha and Stan VS Magnifico and the queen.

Anyway, what I mean by this is that if someone has fanarts or just ANY CONTENT, of Asha and Stan, tag me, reblog this or comment, I don't care, just warn me, because they are my new obsession. I will also write a fanfic about this movie with these ideas, but only after I have watched the movie so until them, please feed my hyperfixation in Stasha (Star boy/Stan×Asha), I'm begging y'all

#disney wish #wish 2023 #princess asha #wish asha #king magnifico #asha x star #asha x star boy #asha x stan #asha x star guy

[ch4nb4ng]

The Pompous Lawyer II

Pairing: Changbin x afab!reader

Word count: 13.7k (WOOPS FR THIS TIME)

Genre: enemies to lovers

Warnings: 18+ explicit minors do not interact. Choking, kissing, arguing, mentiosn of naked body, handjob (m receiving), penetration, orgasm, dirty talk.

Tag list: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree

@kpopsstuffs

Note: HEY guys, its been a while. This took me a long time to write i am very much sorry :(((( I hope you enjoy and i hope everyone is doing well. I also appreciate all the support that I have received in my absence as well <3 Inspo is (here) (also psa thats literally visual porn you have been warned!!)

Summary: The case had not progressed, seeing as the two of you chose to spend the time together doing something else. But going back to the bickering enemies you were before may be harder than it seems.

The smirk on Felix’s face was apparent when he saw you walk into the break room, ready for another day of work. At this point in time, it was best for you to ignore his presence, you wanting to at least enjoy one sip of coffee before being berated.. It was also your luck that he was enjoying a light hearted chat (or so you thought) with your rookie, Hyunjin, out of all people, before they both went silent, waiting for you to take up the empty seat at their chair. Your best friend’s mouth was already open before your elbows could even relax on the table.

“Did you do it or not?”

A hand came to your chest as you rapidly placed your cup on the empty table, leaning forward as the liquid barely had time to swallow before choking, hard, the coffee going every pathway except your throat.. 

“That’s the first thing you ask at your grown up age?”

He shrugged, unbothered by your criticism as he continued looking, waiting for an answer to his ludicrous question. You had two options; lie and tell Felix that it was just a brief consultation, leaving him with no further questions and him continuously being suspicious, or tell him the truth and live a life of never ending embarrassment. 

“Just answer Y/n.”

Hyunjin had never received a death glare so terrifying in his life. 

“Is that how you talk to your T.O?”

“Stop deflecting,” Felix whined, hitting you on the knee, “did you do it or not?”

“No,” you laughed, the exaggeration of your chuckle making it obvious that you were lying, “it was just a brief consultation and beginning of preparation for the trial seeing as it’s next week.”

“Sure it was,” the rookie smirked, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before you stormed out of the room; being ganged up on wasn’t something that you wanted to deal with right now. Sitting at your desk and recording a stack of torturous paperwork was somehow much better than your best friend and rookie prying into your personal life,, together. 

It did not take long for them to follow, forgetting the convenience being that your desks were right next to each other. You decided to ignore them, letting your fingertips type away on the raised keys in front of you. It was only a matter of time before you knew that there would most certainly be a time where you had to face the consequences of your actions. Did you regret it? The logical part of you was saying a little. This had to be some sort of conflict of interest, any kind of vocabulary that could be applied to this situation was being applied. Mixing business and pleasure was probably not the greatest idea. Wanting to take back what happened yesterday evening would be the right thing to do; but being smart was tiring. Letting your brain shut off for a brief moment to enjoy the pleasures of life that was physical gratification from your enemy really wasn’t so bad, right? It was nice for now, mainly because it was all you had roaming around in your mind. 

That was, of course, until you saw the wide doors of the precinct open, and saw the pompous lawyer, with his ridiculously priced suit, compromising shirt that showcased way too much, and that stupid briefcase that had the gold plating on the exterior seams. God, it was so fucking annoying. The way you knew that your eyes would immediately dart to his handsome features. His sharp eyebrows, slicked back hair, his lips. Fuck. His lips were something you already noticed prior to your rendezvous, but now it was a whole different story, with a whole new meaning behind it. His walk was elegant, like all of a sudden he changed the way he strutted, still like he owned the place, but for some reason it wasn’t as annoying. You were kidding yourself if you were unaware of why your perception had changed so suddenly. Your eyes quickly darted back to the computer screen. It was better to ignore him at the station. All the officers had spoken before, and you would rather truly die than for it to come out here, from him, or you in the heat of the moment, out of all places. It was also just less of a mindfuck. Not having Changbin in your sight was not going to leave your mind trailing to what might be. 

“Y/n quick Changbin is here!”

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath, “if he asks tell him I’m not here.”

Your fall to the floor was sudden, hitting the top of your head in the process. The thud could be heard from a mile away, the painful groan following as well. It wasn’t a coincidence that you were under the huddle of your desk, and the name of the pompous lawyer had been mentioned. When you were back on your knees, visible to your coworkers, cussing them out seemed like the perfect option.

“Are you guys fucking serious-”

“Y/n?”

The anxiety in your stomach rose when you heard Changbin’s voice. The pompous lawyer was standing right there, and boy, did he catch you red handed. You were facing him, eyes at length with his own as you looked up at him. That smirk. That used to be the evil fucking smirk that now makes the hairs on your arms raise straight up in stature. The spiral was immense, immediate as soon as your eyes were on him. From the time you left his office last night, to when you drove home, ate your dinner, slept, woke up, and came to work. It was easy to be in denial. Easy to never come to the realization of ‘holy fuck I slept with someone I hate.”

But when the situation, AKA, Changbin, was staring you in the face, the feeling of denial was practically non-existent. All the memories of him flooded back in an instant. A heavy gulp swallowed in your throat, eyes wide as he continued to ponder down at you, and you hated that your mind immediately went to the gutter, mouth watering at the implication of being on your knees in front of this man. You could even see the pompous lawyer clench his jaw for a brief moment, another immediate shift in his demeanor as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you hiding under the table?”

“What? No I,” you huffed, not protecting your head and hitting it, again, one hand holding the base of your head, the other leaning on your desk to help you rise back to your feet. God this was fucking embarrassing, and your two cowokers snickering behind you was not helping the embarrassment at all.

“I just dropped my pen.”

The pompous lawyer crouched down, bending his knees all the way as his eyes scanned the indoor concrete flooring, not a pen in sight. His devil coated smirk covered his face as soon as his knees came back 180 degrees. Fuck your life. That fucking smirk! Before, it was the bain of your existence. The sole reason behind your anger and overall frustration with arrogant lawyers, district attorneys; basically anyone that you had to work with that wasn’t police or innocent civilians. But now, that smirk carried so many connotations. The flashbacks were immediate as you tried so hard to suppress and deny the ideas flooding your brain like a dam wall when there is a rain storm. Your heart rate accelerated, and the temperature of the precinct suddenly felt a little too hot. All you could do was stand there, looking at him wide eyed, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“I didn’t see any pens there.”

“Hello Changbin,” Felix chimed in, a rather unusual grin when looking at the pompous lawyer, “how’s the trial prep going?”

The smirk on his face dropped immediately. The color drained from his face, the complexion of a ghost-like complexion covering his skin. He was now panicking, bad. There had been no time to get your stories straight. Did Felix know? Did he not? Changbin had way too much pride to tell a stranger, let alone someone he knew was your close friend, to him, about his private life. One that involved colleagues and criminal justice moreso. He also found it strange. Strange that Felix firstly used his name without mumbling it under his breath, and secondly, actually asking a question, inquiring about something that had nothing to do with him. The look of stress was a sigh of relief, knowing that the pompous lawyer completely forgot that he had caught you out.

“Uh good,” he quickly acknowledged, giving Felix his attention for all of 10 seconds, before turning to you again, “I actually came here to talk to you about that.”

“Oh,” you nodded, nothing remotely close to a smile, “can we talk later today? I just have a lot of paperwork that I need to get done by patrol time which is in,” you paused, taking a quick glance at the digital watch on your wrist, “1 hour.”

Changbin let out a nervous laugh.

“You can’t talk now?”

“No,” you huffed, “I just said that. Surely there is another reason you’re at the precinct?”

He shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip. Fuck it really shouldnt turn you on as much as it just did.

“What,” you chuckled, “haven’t got any clients in detention right now?”

“Uh-uh,” he smiled again, “I just came to talk to you quickly and then I have a meeting in the building next door.”

Your heart rate increased rapidly at his words; and that smile. God that fucking smile. It was too nice to look at, his lips making yours turn up in unison, eyes glued to the floor as it was much too intimidating to maintain eye contact with him at this moment. The tension felt thick, and the room suddenly felt like everyone else had disappeared, the two of you only existing in this space. A small giggle erupted from your lips, yet another reminder of what happened that last time only the two of you shared a space. The space solely between the two of you felt like it was getting smaller itself. 

“Ah-ahem.”

The sweet little moment was interrupted by the burning craters that were 2 pairs of eyeballs burning the left side of your face. You turned to them, a smile wiped off your face the moment you saw their grins. You tucked your hair behind your eyes, snapping back into reality mode. An immediate spark of anger rushed through your body, for two different reasons. One was that everything you told yourself in the morning, to deny and suppress. Secondly, the fact that you had been caught out, and humiliated in front of the two people that you interacted with the most during work hours. Now it would be even harder to deny.

“Ok so I’ll talk to you later?”

“What time?”

“I should be done patrol at like 3.”

“Okay well I’m busy after 3 so can I just talk to you now?”

“No,” you snapped, frustration increasing from Changbin not listening to you, “I just said that I can’t.”

“It’s going to take 10 minutes. Surely you can spare that?”

“Why? Because my work is not as important as yours?”

“No,” he scoffed, scratching his face out of his own frustration, “because I need to tell you before the end of the day.”

“Okay well I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

The sound of the precinct was softening, the sounds of other conversations coming to a halt, the only one that could be heard was the two of you with your in character bickering. People were starting to look, but you would not let Changbin get the last word out of you; this was always the case. He said nothing, jaw clenching at your non-compliance.

“Can’t you just tell me now, at this desk?”

“No,” he mumbled, “it’s kind of private.”

“Just say it now I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“What part of it’s private do you not understand?”

“Changbin if it’s about the case you can say it, everyone knows who he is.”

The pompous lawyer panicked, trying to say anything to keep your attention that he was so desperate for.

“So you,” he sighed, hesitating before he spoke again, “ so you want me to tell everyone that he said you’re a bad cop and he knew from the day he became your T.O?”

The look on your face was unexplainable.You were speechless. An immediate pang, which felt like a gunshot, shot straight to your heart. It should have made you more angry. Fuming that he would say something like that. But really, it just made you sad. It was genuinely hurtful, even though he was a criminal, to hear someone that you were so close to and looked up to speak ill of you. The hundreds of times he had said to your face how proud they were. It was all a lie.Suddenly the air felt thick, making it hard for you to catch your breath, gasp, breathe for air, the walls were closing in, and there was nowhere to escape. 

He, Changbin, could read it on your face. He couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, but he knew that something wasn’t right. It was an emotion he had never seen on your face before. You were speechless, he was also speechless. The guilt hit him like a truck, twisting in his gut like the actions of a murderer with a knife. He stepped forward, a hand coming to your shoulder, but it was too late, your back was turned, and the closest free interrogation room felt like the right place to be as you locked the door behind you. A tear threatened to spill from your duct, finger immediately wiping any possible remnant of clear liquid before it could make a mark as you sat in the chair nearby as thought after thought after thought ruminated in your stress riddled mind. 

It wasn’t a surprise to hear a knock on the door. It was a surprise, however, that when your eyes peeked through the small glass window that covered the center of the door, it was the pompous lawyer that had come to your rescue. You quickly ducked down, praying that he didn’t see you. 

You shouldn’t be mad at him, but he really was the last person you wanted to see at that moment. It was too late though, the click of the door easily audible and now it was him, in the same room, looking at you, huddled up on the floor. The list of things to be embarrassed about was becoming easier to identify.

“Hey,” he mumbled, the volume of his voice lowering, practically non-existent at the last letter of the greeting. You quickly stood, humiliated that it was not the first time this day he had found you like this. You said nothing, a quick sniffle escaping your nose as you stood to face him.

“Look, Y/n, I-”

“Did he really say that?”

Changbin let out a heavy sigh as he averted your gaze, “I don’t think he meant it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, genuine confusion expressed over your facial features. You began to pace back and forth, index finger in your mouth as your brain began to rewire itself. Trying to think of every single moment you shared with your T.O. Were there times on the job that he was doing dirty things behind your back? How did he do it? There was no doubt in your mind he was guilty, but the situation never failed to play games with your mind. It was a vicious cycle. Wanting to help him, but remembering he did everything you stood against, questioning why, how, trying to convince yourself he was a good person, and repeat. It was in fact where your mind was right now, and he could see it. It was written all over your face. Although you were ‘special’ as he said, you were not the first person to testify for a client of his that had a reaction like this. 

“Why would he say that though? It makes no sense.”

You continued to pace, making him worried very much so. Although he hated your guts, seeing you in this kind of anxiety, it made him feel for you. He stepped forward, attempting to prevent you from pacing back and forth, but it was no use. You were much too deep in thought.

“Y/n.” 

Nothing

“Y/n.”

His tone increased in volume the more you ignored him.

“Y/n,” he sighed again, “y/n?”

Fuck he did not enjoy being the lack of being acknowledged in the slightest. The blight on his ego was simply too big. 

“That’s it.”

He huffed, pacing over and perfectly timing his attack so that he could nip at your wrists, pushing your body weight backwards and against the door, hands above your head, just like last night. The look in the pompous lawyer's eyes, however, was slightly different. Not close to being as gentle or placid at the last time your proximity was so close. It took your mind out of that toxic loop instantly, the only noise you could make was a gasp. Maybe you blanked. Maybe you just completely dissociated, because you really had no idea how you ended up here, again, pinned against a hard surface, Changbin the one pinning you down. Brows still furrowed, a frustration was rising on your chest. No matter how hard you pushed, he would not budge. He was simply too strong for you. The thought made your heart race. Your chest was heaving up and down, breathing heavily as your body tried to make up for the pacing that was most definitely a workout for some, and you as well apparently.

“What are you doing?”

You tried again, a soft groan of pain escaping your lips as your elbow hit the wooden door. 

“Stop trying to escape, and listen.”

“Why should I listen to you?”’

It was now the pompous lawyer’s turn for his facial expressions to change. He was biting down on his bottom lip, jaw clenched as he just waited, simply waiting for you to, for once, not be as stubborn as usual.

“Because I’m trying to help you.”

“How are you helping me,” your tone was angry, the tremble in your voice was small, but it was definitely there, “ever since you’ve made me a part of the case, you’ve done nothing but hurt me. You’re doing it right now.”

His immediate reaction was to let go. The thought, to him, of genuinely hurting you in any way killed him on the inside. Before, it was a minute detail in his day; well, that was how it started for him. Day by day, it became the thing he looked forward to. Sure, his clients were important, but the moment Changbin saw your look of distaste from the moment your eyes met, there was a satisfaction. A gratification. If he went to the precinct and you weren’t there, he got stuck on it. He would never admit this, but arguing with you tends to be the highlight of his day. 

Hearing you say such words now; the impact was different this time.

“I’m sorry, I,” he hesitated, knowing you were in a vulnerable state, “I didn’t mean to.”

His voice was quiet, but it didn’t matter to you. The anger that was bubbling at the peak of your chest was making you too blind to see his genuine regret he had in the moment.

“You’re not helping me. You just embarrassed me in front of the precinct, again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he hissed, starting to get annoyed by your antics, “I wanted to tell you in private, but you insisted on me telling you in the moment.”

The eye roll from you was immense.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” you asked, unsure why he was reacting the way he did.

“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me, I’m trying to fucking help you.”

“How have you helped me, huh?”

You took a step closer to him, then another, the pompous lawyer refusing to back down from your attempted intimidation. The two of you knew better than to participate in a subtle, yet strenuous tension in the form of a face off. Before it never led to anything, but with the events of yesterday already adding another layer of tension to the complication of your relationship, things were about to take another turn. Maybe it’s what you wanted. Maybe he too also wanted that. But you could list a bunch of other unsatisfactory tasks you would rather do than admit it. The space between the two of you was closing in an immediate time frame, the silent tension of the room deafened slightly by the footsteps that were your boots. Changbin’s heel on his obnoxiously luxurious dress shoes clicked backwards with each step he took. It was now his turn to be backed into a corner, wide shoulder hitting the back wall, opposite to the door. If anything happened now, anyone would be able to see through the window of the door. 

Your care for that was irrelevant as your back faced it, the thought not even coming into your mind.

“Why are you so silent now?”

“Because,” he gritted his teeth, “I did fucking help you.”

An exacerbated laugh fell from your lips, “You talk the talk, but you can never walk the walk Mr. Seo.”

It was his turn to smirk, his left hand dared to snake around your waist, fingertips traveling your midline, stepping at the edge of your neck. His thumb and index finger split ways, the pad of your digit giving your neck a gentle squeeze. Your eyelids fluttered involuntary, hating that your body craved him once the pompous lawyer's touch became existent. He could feel you, you were tense. Even the way your head slouched, shoulders decompressing, and then he squeezed again. God you should have fucking hated this. Swiped his hands away and punched him. How dare a man think he could just do that. 

But Changbin was only doing what you said. Proving that he could do the talk and the walk; all of a sudden the pompous lawyer was speaking a thousand words with two simple maneuvers of his finger tips. An unexplainable moan left your lips, the texture of his fingers feeling almost too perfect to gain your own skin.

“Ringing any bells now?”

You couldn't say nothing, the combination of your circulation being impacted and the secondary fact being that you would never admit when you were wrong. Although morally questionable, he did help you in his own way. Your lips began to tingle, unsure if it was from his grip on your throat, or the unexplainable feeling that could be equated to the dopamine high of the texture that was Changbin’s lips, but one thing was for sure. The longer he had you like that, the stronger the intensity to need him right here, right now became. 

When your eyelids fluttered open again, you couldn’t help but smile, now partly embarrassed of how easy it was for him to persuade you. Remind you of how good he could make you feel. The pompous lawyer, in his own way, was helping you get through this. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna regret this.”

You gave him no time to respond, walking backwards, dragging him by the hand around your neck as his backside landed on the edge of the table once more, your own legs atop of his as you now sit on his lap, lips lunging forward and connecting with him immediately. It was completely forgotten the environment you were in the moment the two of you connected. Everything felt so much clearer, like there was a pathway out of all of this. The pompous lawyer withdrew his hand from your throat, instead, snaking both to hold your ass in place. A deep groan escaped his lips as soon as he got his hands on your flesh. He was subtle with his touch here, a light rhythm of massage forming as the kiss deepend further and further, all of your senses focused on the texture, sound, smell of the pompous lawyer.

“Fuck,” you mumbled inbetween each kiss, “this is so unprofessional of me.”

He chuckled, the vibration easily felt against your lips as they left yours, covering the outer edge of your jaw, teeth gently biting down on your lobe, but that was it. It should be illegal how good his teeth felt fucking biting down on your like that. The pompous lawyer smirked, able to elicit the exact response he wanted.. He knew that you definitely were remembering how he was helping you.

“You never answered me,” he growled, voice laced with deep lust, the wanton need for you was eating him alive.

“You didn't ask a ques-”

“They’re fucking crazy.”

The voice through the speaker of the interrogation room took you out of the lust filled dimension that had engulfed you and brought you back to reality. The pompous lawyer knew he had been caught in a compromising position. He was much too experienced to know what that sound meant. The interrogation rooms at the precinct had a one sided mirror, allowing detectives to watch perpetrators when being interviewed, as well as if they needed to communicate with personnel during. Not for officers to be snooping on personal matters.

“Hyunjin what the fuck? Turn the one-sided reflection off and show me what you're doing right now.”

He did what he was told, the glass showing the sheepish, mischievous duo that was Hyunjin and Felix. Had they been there the whole time? Fuck. This is quite literally the worst thing that has ever happened to you in your life. The world was flashing before your eyes, and you knew damn well that there was no possible way that you could ever live this down. They also looked just as shocked, assuming they thought they were too slick to be caught. Changbin stood up immediately, bringing his hands to either side of his suit jacket in an attempt to straighten himself up. He checked his phone, pretending that he had a missed call from ‘someone important.’

“Oh uh, I have to go, I missed a call from a client.”

“Oh yeah sure,” you nodded, “you should probably take that.”

He nodded, eyes glued to the ground because quite frankly, he'd rather get hit by a bus than even having a chance of making eye contact with the two male officers standing in front of them. He went to walk out, meeting the two officers he wished to avoid outside of the room with you, the two of them watching your every movement. He looked at you once more, giving you a smile without lips or teeth, kind of like when you pass a stranger in the street and want to be nice.

“I have room tonight if you want to uh, discuss more about what we have been talking about.”

“For the case right?”

“Yes,” he yelled, way too loud and a poor strive of trying to come off as cool, calm and collected, the opposite of how someone should be after they have been caught making out with their sworn enemy. He coughed, adjusting his tone, “Yes of course, I’ll text you the time.”

“Yeah great okay bye.”

The pompous lawyer sped walk into the opposite direction. A sigh of relief escaped your chest the moment he was out of everyone’s sight. It was now time for your two best friends to cop the biggest grilling of their life. But later, you were honestly way too annoyed that Changbin riled you up and they interrupted such a hot, arousing moment. It was killing you the way that they didn’t even look apologetic. If anything, they looked like they were about to burst at the seams with laughter. There definitely was an “I told you so” bubbling at the brim of their lips.

“I don’t want to hear a fucking peep out of either of you for the rest of the day.”

The walk from the room to the seat was painful, the snickers and giggles erupting behind you only adding to your frustration. Even the moment you sat back down at your desk, they were burning holes into the side of your face with their eyes. You could only take so much. But at the same time it was impacting you from getting your work done, and that was where you drew the line. 

“How much did you hear?”

The two of them looked at each other, then back at you, a guilty expression written on their faces.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Would I ask if I didn’t?”

“We kind of followed Changbin for about 30 seconds after he went to look for you so he wouldn’t see us.”

A heavy sigh escaped your chest at their unfortunate confession.

“Ok,” you huffed, turning to face them. You really wished you weren't going to ask this, but it was better, you thought, to get it out in the open now, rather than being the elephant in the room.

 “I will let you both ask one question each and after that we never speak of it again. Deal?”

They both nodded, thank fuck.

“Okay, who is going to go first?”

“Me me me please,” Felix whined, kicking his feet up and down like a literal child throwing a tantrum.

“Okay go ahead.”

He smirked before opening that big mouth of his again, “what did he mean when he said,” he paused, adjusting his voice to imitate the pompous lawyer, tucking his chin in and lowering his head, thinking that would help achieve the sound he wanted.

“I did fucking help you.”

Your head was buried in your hands immediately. There was just no way you could answer. It would be opening a can of worms. You knew there would be no way that the two of them would be able to limit themselves.

“With the case. T.O is apparently saying a lot of bad stuff about me.” 

Felix knew as soon as your eyes darted away from him that you were definitely not telling the truth.

“You’re lying.”

You gasped, “No I’m not! How dare you even accuse me of that?”

Hyunjin smirked, “Y/n I’m sorry I know you’re my T.O and im 100% going to be stepping over the line here. But do you really expect us to believe that was the first time you have made out with that man?”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. What were you even supposed to say to that? It was embarrassing because he hit the nail bang on the head. It took you back to last night, in his office, his length, his body that you saw always straining against that insufferable fabric, his hands, his fingers. The images of his hands on your core flashed through your mind for a brief moment, making you feel a little dizzy.

Hyunjin raised his hands towards you as he spoke again, “It looked like he really knew what he was doing with you.”

“Okay fine! You got me okay! It’s not the first time.”

“So when was the first time?”

“Last night,” you mumbled, turning away from them completely so the chance of them seeing what you said was zero to none.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Uh no,” Felix replied sarcastically, “I actually didn’t.”

“It was last night. At his office.”

The two of them said nothing, instead, Hyunjin reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a 10 dollar note and a pack of mini m&ms from the vending machine. 

“I fucking told you!” Felix yelled, causing half the precinct to stare. The three of you shriveled into your desks, whispering now seeming like the appropriate way to continue the conversation.

“Okay,” Hynunjin’s tone in a whisper was harsh, “you have to tell us the sequence of events.” “No I don’t? That’s so personal.”

“Oh yes you do,” your best friend interjects, whirling around in his chair to get closer to the two of you in the desk triangle, closing you in with nowhere to escape.

“Fine. You know I went there with innocent intentions. To talk about the case and that’s it.”

They nodded, but you huffed, knowing that you were about to sound so predictable and ridiculous to them.

“But, fuck man, he just makes me so angry. Like he says stuff to just piss me off on purpose because I say one little thing. Fuck he’s such a fucking dick! Like everybody, whether you like me or not, knows that this is a fucking hard situation for me. I was already so nervous going into it because the questions would be difficult. He just knows how to push my buttons.”

You closed your eyes, recalling the dialogue from last night in its entirety. For some reason you were anxious telling them. It had nothing to do with them judging you. They were simply just not like that. Maybe it was the fact that as you retold, you could feel his warmth, the touch that you mentioned you craved so much one it reappeared, running through your body. A dull ache formed under the top layer of your skin. Someone that you angrily hooked up with once, now twice, shouldn't have had this much of an impact on you. The context was vulnerable, you were sensitive, and he was just being there for you in sincerity, well that’s what you would like to think. Once your eyes opened, you were expecting a look of concern, but you were surprised, Hyunjin and Felix looking at each other with a brow raised before looking at you. They said nothing.

“What?”

“If I’m being honest,” Felix continued to whisper, “it kind of sounds like you were wanting to push his buttons.”

The rookie's eyes widened, clicking his fingers and nodding in agreement, “That’s what I was thinking!”

“Literally how did you derive that?”

“Y/n you know I’m honest. I feel like, and I can't believe I say a nice thing about that guy, but he was just being professional, asking the questions he needed, until you started rushing him, making comments out of the side of your mouth about him loving money.”

Felix paused, taking a deep breath, “I want to ask you, and don’t get angry with me.”

“Anything.”

“Did you go there, hoping that something would happen?”

You should have been offended by his question. What the fuck was he implying. But then you took yourself back to yesterday afternoon, and that feeling was back. That feeling that you couldn’t put your finger on, but you liked it. God did you fucking like it. The mystery of the unknown was enticing. But your best friend didn’t need to know that. 

“No,” you gulped, “I was just nervous to talk about the case, seeing as I blocked the core of it out of my mind.”

“We still don’t know what happened after he said, and I quote ‘I want to make sure you’re okay and you don’t get caught in the crossfire.’”

Felix giggled at Hyunjins dramatic recall. Your hand came to your face in the form of a facepalm, knowing what you were going to say next was so cliche. 

“Fuck my life, I said, ‘so rather than criticizing me, help me. Help me get through this how you would if you were me’ and one thing leads to another and.”

“And what, you guys kissed?”

Your lips escaped into your mouth, nodding, really not wanting to elaborate.

“Bit more than that?”

“Oh my god you guys fucked that’s crazy.”

The punch into Felix’s shoulder was warranted. You winced at the vulgarity of his words. However, it felt like a giant weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

“You didn’t have to say it like that, but yeah, we did and now its lowkey fucking with me head.”

The shrill of the desk phone almost knocked the three out of your seats. After your semi-heart attack has passed, you check the tiny phone screen, an unknown number popping up on the screen. You answered, sternly, “Hello, you're speaking with Officer Y/l/n.”

“Y/n hey, it’s Changbin.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head when you heard his name. You really should not be that excited at the sound of his voice. 

“Oh hey Changbin, what’s up?”

The two boys next to you were quick to swivel past, their ears resting against each of yours, waiting to get every single detail from a simple phone call they could.

“I was so flustered earlier, you know, getting caught I uhm.”

He paused.

“Can you cut to the chase please? We are very busy at the station here.”

Hyunjin nudged you, mouthing ‘that’s rude’ when you turned to look at him. He was right, it came off a little hush. Maybe you were just nervous, having an absent mind as to the reasons why he was actually calling.

“Oh uh sorry,” he coughed in between his words, “I realize I didn’t actually have your number. To contact you about our next appointment, nothing else of course.”

“Oh yeah,” you chuckled nervously, “sure for the case. It’s (y/p/n).”

“Great,” you could hear his smile through the phone, “I have some stuff at my apartment that I can’t bring to the office due to confidentiality. Would you be okay meeting at my apartment instead?”

“Uh, yeah okay sure.”

“Great, I’ll text you my address and the time.”

“Okay bye.”

Without warning, the phone was hung up back on the station. A pang of excitement streaked through your body, but vanished quickly, seeing your two best friends smacking each other silly. The moment you cut them with your eyes, they stopped, pretending to go back to work. They should not be this excited, and this time you were going to ensure that it was business only. You go, contribute to your testimony and leave. It did not matter that the setting would be informal, a couch, kitchen, a bed. The thought was irrelevant. It should have stopped there. But that would be too simple. One thought led to the flood of your brain, waves of cognitions of 30 minutes ago, his finger pads on your neck, lips on your jaw, which only naturally led to the lines of your ass tingling, reminiscing on the cool texture of the brown marble that was the edge of his desk. You could feel the perspiration excreting across your forehead at this moment. You brought your hand to your forehead, feeling an intense warmth at the touch. You were not getting just any fever from the cold weather. This fever only had the ability to be caused by one person. Him. The pompous lawyer, and it was fucking terrifying. It wasn’t even him as a person. Really you could care less about him personally.

The ding of your phone took you out of your thought monsoon, taking it out of your pocket immediately to see you had received a message from a number that had not been saved yet.

[12:42 pm]

*unknown* : Here is my address. I finish work at 7pm tonight. Does 7:30 work for you?

A sudden flow of panic swept through your body. Why did you feel so wrong, so guilty? It felt like a blight on your job, like it was going against everything you stood for. You also tended to have a flair for the dramatic. All you could do was stare at your phone. Unsure if you should even reply. If you didn’t, then you could save yourself from accidentally making this mistake. But then again, the longer you dragged this out, the longer you would have to work with him. Maybe it was just better to get it out of the way. Your thumbs began to hover over the screen, tapping the appropriate letters in order to reply. 

[12:53 pm]

Y/n: I finish patrol at 7 so 7:30 should be fine :)

[12:55 pm]

Changbin: No worries. C u then.

“He texted you, didn’t he?”

“He did,” you replied to Felix, “I’m going to his tonight after work.”

Hyunjin smirked, “To his huh?”

“Shut up,” you whined, “I’m just going to talk about the case, nothing else.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Yeah, sure you were.

**

The day went surprisingly quickly. Patrol was quiet, just a couple of parking tickets. No chases thank goodness. The clock striked seven, and you were quick to clock out, giving you as much time as possible to get home, shower, fix your hair, chuck on some makeup, get a house warming gift and still be punctual.

You decided to go pretty low maintenance. Just a quick brush of your hair, subtle makeup, simple clothes being a pair of black flare leggings and a basic tee. It was already 7:15 by the time you were ready, and checking the maps, it was going to take another 10 minutes to get there. There was no choice for you but to leave now. Looking up at the mirror just before the front door, you had one last glance, noticing everything was in place before grabbing your car keys and speed walking to your car.

The drive was nerve wracking, eyes focused on the road while also trying to listen to the maps was fucking difficult. The time you estimated was correct, arriving 5 minutes early before getting out of the car. You locked the car with the button on your keys, placing them into your bag before taking in what was the pompous lawyers house. A basic white picket fence, however, his house was nothing short of grand. An iron carved black gate in front of the front door, well groomed hedges and flowers, tulips, roses, hydrangea, you name it. It was there. The statue of a large black fox, so sleek, tapered water out of its mouth running at the same time as the sprinklers covering the grass that made up the rest of the front lawn. Once you heard the doorbell similar to a grand opera, you knew this was a mistake. Changbin had to have been lying. The only reason he invited you to his house was once again just a flex. A brag to show how much money he made defending the scum of the earth. 

The front door opened, a much different person that was definitely not Changbin opening the door. You panicked for a brief moment, thinking that the pompous lawyer would do something as selfish as giving you the wrong address.

“Hello and welcome to the Seo manner. How can I help you?”

“Is this the right address? I’m here to see Changbin,” you shook your head, “Mr. Seo. I have an appointment.”

“Ah, you must be y/n. I am Seungmin, Changbin’s personal assistant.” 

Seungmin opened the iron clad door for you, allowing you to walk inside and once again, take in the inside of his house. The first thing you noticed was the staircase. It was in a circular motion, rounding all the way until it reached the second floor, appearing to be only one room there. The first floor had marble floors, similar to the desk of his office, very much open spaces. Interesting artwork however, seeming to be sketches of very much naked women around the house. Ugh. 

The pompous lawyer's personal assistant, who you did not know ever existed by the way, reached a hand out, inviting you to shake it. You accepted. Sheepishly, still taken aback by how annoyingly nice his house was. 

“Changbin is just in his home office. I’ll take you there now.”

You simply nodded, walking behind the new stranger.

“So how long have you been Changbin- Mr.Seo’s assistant for?”

“For a few years.”

“But we have never met before?”

“Yes well,” he chuckled, “I don’t really take part in his business life. More home and personal events.”

“Ah I understand,” you smiled. The walk was short. Two large wooden doors obstruct you from seeing his office.

“You know Mr. Seo talks about you alot?”

There it was again. He was now the second person to say that. It doesn’t matter, it’s not like it meant anything. You weren’t sure what to say, interrupted by the grand opening, seeing a much more relaxed Changbin. His hair was down, a much stronger wave to it. He was not wearing a suit either. The pompous lawyer was wearing a pair of black sweats, a white t-shirt that was of course way too small for his figure, and a navy jacket, accompanied by a collar. The thing that took you off guard the most was the glasses. This was also a new fact that you had learnt about this subject. That he needed glasses. They were cute the way they sat on his face, much too big for the shape of his features. You could feel the heat creep onto your cheeks as soon as his eyes landed on you. His smile was warm for the briefest second you could count, returning right back to stoic expression before getting out of his chair, walking up to greet you.

“Y/n,” he smirked, a quick glance up and down before his hand came out for a shake, “good evening.”

Your brow furrowed, constantly confused by Changbin’s demeanor. It was constantly changing, and you really did not know what to expect. The toxic part of you longed for it when it was simple, which was only a day ago. Nothing but arguing and bickering. Instead, it was this half witted, sarcastic charm, showing off his ‘professionalism’ in front of his assistant. If only he knew what happened at the office. You took his hand, giving him an unsure shake before pulling away, following the gesture of his other hand towards the small couch in the corner of his far from humble office. He took the edge on the opposite side of you, adjusting himself before he gazed at you again.

“How was the rest of your day?”

“Fine,” you nodded politely, “how was yours?”

“Uh great.”

There was some awkwardness, yet simultaneously, there was a tension that lingered. The two of you would be stupid to be ignorant of it. Too many things had happened in the past 48 hours to act like everything was fine. Maybe for him it was. Part of the pompous layers job was to act nonchalant, mysterious if you will. He could never show his emotions in court, especially when he was losing. He knew how to keep things cool, calm and collected.

But everything changed when it came to you. Even before yesterday, no matter what you did, it always got a rise out of him, and he could not help but lash out. There was no self control when it came to you. But similar to yourself, he would rather stay in denial than admit that care about what you think of him. Your opinion of him.

Your chest felt like it was going to burst. The guilt traveled over your body. He was trying to be nice, accommodating. He didn’t half come to find you after you begged him to tell you the hurtful stuff you T.O said. An apology was sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you were not sure how to say it.

“Did you want to get start-”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Oh,” he chucked, “what are you sorry for?”

You scooched closer, wanting to be genuine in your sincerity, “For today at the precinct. That was really unprofessional of me and I will make sure that my two fellow officers apologize the next time they see you.”

The pompous lawyer said nothing, instead, throwing his head back, just laughing at your apology. How fucking dare he? Give someone an inch, and they'll take a mile. It already annoyed you in general when someone laughed at your sincerity, but the fact that it was him; the level of anger was a whole new one. 

“Why are you laughing?”

“Oh,” you attempted to contain yourself, placing a hand on his chest, “why are you apologizing? I started it.”

“Oh.”

Your body suddenly relaxed, realizing that he was laughing with you, rather than at you. His laugh was somewhat infectious, causing you to follow suit.

“If anything I should be apologizing, I started it.”

“Oh well, are you going to?”

His laughing ceased quickly.

“No, I can't apologize for something I’m not sorry for.”

“Oh my god,” you huffed, immediately fanning your face to disrupt the heat that was coming to it. The smile on your face was impossible to wipe off. He noticed it too, but instead of embarrassing you, he got up, grabbing a folder of what you assumed to be classified documents off his desk and onto the table in front of you. 

“Okay so, we need to really get into the nooks and crannies of your daily routines with your T.O.”

The mention of your former supervisor killed the lighthearted mood of the room. Even though you knew that was the purpose of this meeting, it still was a sensitive topic. You nodded, gulping intensely in preparation for what he would ask you. 

“Right,” you sighed, gritting your teeth to stay on guard, “that’s what we are here for.”

“Yessss,” he hissed, extending his words, “well since this was an inside police operation, what would you do when he would communicate with witnesses that were part of the syndicate?”

“Uhh,” you puff your cheeks, eyes looking at the ground as you recall your memory, “I usually would wait outside because they would get me to coordinate and communicate with the backup officers.”

Changbin clenched his jaw as he concentrated on his notepad, legs spread wide as he focused the thin paper on one knee, forearm clenching back and forth to write down every intricate detail of what you said. 

“Okay, and so then what if it was a minor crime?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

“When the crime was not large enough, and there was no backup required. What did he do then?”

“Oh I see,” you gasped, understanding the question, “usually I would just stand behind. If it was a home visit, he usually got me to look around while he asked the questions.”

So you were not present during questioning ever?”

“Not really, unless it was like pulling a car over. I usually did that.”

“Right, okay.”

As he wrote down what you said, your brain, unforgivingly, started to tick. It felt odd that your T.O wanted you as a character witness, yet they kept saying bad things about you to Changbin. 

“Changbin, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

The pompous lawyer is unable to look up, still concentrating on finishing what you said on the notepad.

“Why would they want me as a character witness? Why do they keep saying bad things about me to you?”

His pen froze immediately.

“Uh,” he scrunched his nose, scratching his head in a feigning innocence, “I’m not sure. You do bring up a good point. Did you want a coffee? I also have tea.”

That was strange, but you chose to brush it off, blaming it on your nerves about the case being the reason for your perception. Changbin got up immediately, not even waiting for you to answer. You grabbed the bottle out next to your bag, making sure he could see what you were holding. He chuckled, “we actually have to do some work first.”

“Damn,” you sighed, smacking your knee playfully, “if only we didn’t need to do any work.”

“Yeah,” he replied, biting down on his bottom lip, “if only there were other things we could do.”

The tension in the room had come back, the intensity stronger than before. You knew he could be a douchebag, but not in a way that would turn you on a little bit. The pompous lawyer had never been so forward, putting it out on the table. It made you giggle, feeling like an innocent woman who had been corrupted by the devil that was the main in front of you. 

Your giggle was cut short, however, hearing your ringtone permeating through the room. Unzipping your bag next to you, you grabbed your phone, confused as to when you saw an unknown number. You still answered, as you normally did.

“Officer y/n, who is calling?”

“Y/n.”

Your heart sank immediately,knowing exactly whose voice was on the other side.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Hey y/n, how are you though?”

“How am I?,” you paused, taking your phone off your ear and putting it on speaker, “what the fuck do you think?”

“Y/n,” they sighed, “I know I fucked up, I’m sorry I-”

“Why did you try to throw me under the bus to Changbin?”

As soon as you answered the call, the pompous lawyer turned his back to you. He did not want any part of this. That was until he heard your last question. His actions were immediate, jumping to your side as he anticipated his client’s response. He was desperate to hear what your T.O was saying, but it was impossible, seeing as your phone was glued to your ear.

“What? I never said anything bad about you to him. You were my most respected rookie.”

“How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”

“Look, y/n, I know I have fucked up bad, but I truly never said that. Changbin told me to call you.”

“What?”

The look on your face was contorted, truly confused about what to believe. The pompous lawyer's eyes widened, hands hovering over yours as he attempted to take your phone, thumb reaching for the red button, attempting to hang up. He should have known better than to try and take something off of a police officer. Your hands were nimble, however, it was your foot that came in clutch, sweeping at his ankle before he fell to the floor, pinning him down, hovering over his body, keeping your phone on the floor above his head. 

“He told me to call you, ask you to help me in the case, by my character witness.”

“Oh,” you gritted, practically death glaring at the man underneath you, “did he?”

He tried to become free of your hold, but there was simply no chance. The anger that was beginning to bubble at Changbin’s deception was pooling into your hands, finger pads slowly digging into the bulge that was his forearm muscles.

“Yeah I-”

“Look, I gotta go. If you need something from me, you can contact me through your lawyer. Bye.”

You were quick to hang up the phone, simultaneously deciding to surrender your domineering position on top of him. Your chest was bubbling with vexation, hurt. Why would he do all of this? To embarrass you. To get back at what happened last night? How do you even address that?

The pompous lawyer said nothing, standing up and straightening his shirt before taking a seat in his home office chair. He opened his laptop, completing forgetting that you were there, to see him, for an appointment, to talk about this fucking case that he completely manipulated you into being a part of. You walked over to his desk, standing over him as you stared him down, refusing to give your stance. You waved your hands, knowing damn well that he would be able to see it in his peripheral view. He did nothing, instead, opening his emails and pretending to scan the screen, refreshing multiple times and most likely praying that he could get out of admitting to his fault by replying to a new message. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me right now?”

Nothing.

“Changbin? Are you serious right now?”

Nothing.

“What happened to helping like you said?”

He said nothing for a third time, but in your book, three strikes, you're out. Grabbing the papers that laid on his desk, you picked them up, thawing them on the floor. It took the physical motion of the papers dropping to the inferior surface is how you got something out of him. He turned to face you, still in his chair, jaw dropped to the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your head falls back in a laugh, amazed at the audacity of his question.

“Did I get your fucking attention? Do these papers being messed up disadvantage you in any way? Will this mess up your pretty little house?”

You pouted, as fake in sincerity as they come. 

“Do you think that’s an appropriate way to behave?”

“God,” you sighed, “I knew this was a mistake coming here.”

Rather than arguing, it was easier for you to say nothing, grabbing your bag and heading for the door. Changbin watched you walk, but he didn't want you to leave. Of course he felt bad, but it was Chagbin. The pompous lawyer didn’t have the name for no reason. He scurried to the door, pushing it against your pull to shut it. Changbin stood in front, hands blocking the hinges to prevent your exit in any way. 

“Let me explain.”

Your gaze remained anywhere but on him, refusing to give the pompous lawyer that satisfaction.

“Start talking.”

“They were telling the truth.”

Your heart sank, again. You walked back to the couch, taking a seat in order to listen to the bullshit this man in front of you was about to say. 

“I did tell them to call you, but that was before I even mentioned the case to you. It wasn’t until yesterday when I spoke to your Sargeant that I should not have mentioned that. Which is why I was going to bring it up organically with you.”

“Right,” you replied in a blunt tone, “Did Sergeant tell you to lie and keep details from me as well?”

The pompous lawyer looked away, not wanting to fess up. The lack of answer made you shake your head, a laugh of frustration leaving your lips. Your hands were in the air. 

“You know what? This is my fault,” you yelled, voice growing louder with each word, “I shouldn’t have expected anything more from you.”

“What?” 

His eyes were squinted, completely taken aback by your bold statement. His eyes were blazing holes into your face, desperate to hear how on earth you would back up what you just said. 

“You heard me. God I feel like a fucking idiot myself. Expecting more from you, to actually treat me with care and respect. But of course you lied, and acted like the pompous lawyer I knew you were to be. You brought me here to show me once again, how rich you are and that you think you’re better than everyone else.”  

Changbin laughed, a smirk appearing on his face at your words, his own anger bubbling at the base of his throat. Like you said, his ego, pride was a large construct. The tumultuous amounts of time the two of you had squabble at the precinct, in front of others, being told off by the Sergeant, it was endless. But everytime you insulted him, directly attacked his character, it was like a stab wound right to the middle of the chest. 

“I’m a pompous lawyer? You’re the most fucking uptight officer I have ever seen. Do every single thing by the fucking book.”

He took a step closer as he continued his speech.

“Everything. I took the fucking stick out of your ass last night and what? For you to turn around and say I’m not helping you? I’m a pompous lawyer, yet I took the time to bring you to my office. I followed you to the interrogation room today. And you’re angry?”

“Yes,” you bit back, viciously, “I’m fucking angry, you lied!”

The pompous lawyer chuckled, again, taking another stride closer to you. You hated so many things at that moment. The smug expression on his face, the way his chest was puffing heavily when he finished yelling back. But what you really hated the most, truly, was how turned on you were. Impressed that someone in your life actually had the balls to give back the same energy you gave him. His aura was angry, but it was not being translated that way. If anything, maybe because your senses were being blinded by your arousal, but the scent that permeated from the pompous lawyer was one that you could feel yourself getting pulled in, and you hated it. Really, really hated it. Trying to maintain your composure was getting difficult.

“You’re not angry,” he chuckled, again, “look at you.”

“Are you joking,” you laughed nervously, “you have no idea how angry I am right now.”

“Show me,” Changbin huffed, closing the distance between the two of you to, at this night, at all time close proximity. You could feel the perspiration on your skin linger, causing the palm of your hands to clam up. What was his idea? What were you expecting? 

“What?”

The pompous lawyer’s tone decreased in sound the closer he got to you. His eyes however, did not move, pupils like superglue stuck to your own, every now and then hovering to your lips.

“I love when you're angry at me.”

“Why the fuck would you like that?” 

“Because,” he paused, gently slipping his arms out of his jacket, before he continued, “it makes me want to fuck the anger out of you.”

A gasp escaped from your lips, completely taken aback by the vulgarity of his language, again. Out of all the things he could have possibly said, that was the last thing you expected. But deep down, you knew there was much truth to his words, and therefore, maybe that was the reason why the two of you fought so much. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't thought about it. Maybe it was because of your love life, after being in a relationship for a long time, followed by a long period of being by yourself. You were content, happy with spending time with yourself, family friends. But there were moments where you needed some passion. Sure, police patrol at times was crazy work, but it didn’t feel personal. Sometimes it crept into your mind how nice it would be to have a man rip your clothes off, treat you harshly and not apologize for it.

Your pursed lips turned into a smirk as you took a step closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were stubborn, so was he. Making the first move, with your lips, was not a viable option. Changbin still looked mad, his face never changing as his own arms wrapped around your lower back. 

“Yeah?” you questioned, biting down your bottom lip, “I’m really fucking angry.”

This was not right. You forgot that the pompous lawyer had just lied to your face. But the feeling of his fingertips digging into your backside, palms crawling underneath the fabric that obstructed him from getting a feel of your skin, the real you, fingernails accidentally dragging across the faceless hairs on your back, the texture changing as a shiver shot down your spine, straight through the center of your back. A large gasp gritted through your teeth, the sound resembling one of giving up and into his touch. 

Changbin got closer, lips barely an inch away, his bottom lip accidentally touching your chin as he brought them to yours, dragging it out as long as possible before the gentlest kiss known to man. A small peck was all it took before hebecause after that, things reached a boiling point within a matter of seconds. 

Hands were flying around each other's bodies, tongues racing for dominance as the pompous’ lawyers strength walked you backwards, legs giving way as the back of your knees hit the edge of the sofa, falling backwards, lying across said sofa. Changbin chuckled as the two of you got pulled away from gravity, but he was quick to follow. The pompous lawyer’s reached out his hand to life you off of the couch, swapping positions so that he was now sitting on the sofa, spreading his legs wide as he used his left hand to point at you, middle and index finger suggesting you to sit a top of him, right hand undoing the buckle on his belt. Your jaw dropped at how simple he could multitask, and boy was it enough for you to accept the invitation. Each leg sitting on the opposite side of his, core begging to ache as the dense fabric of your bottoms gently brushed against his groin. The feeling that you have been chasing, the one you felt last night was coming back. 

“Mmm,” he mumbled, wrapping his digits around the back of your neck as he pulled you in again, hips setting a gentle pace as your lips and hips moved back and forth. It took everything in you to not let out the most gut wrenching moan. The two of you were doing the bare minimum, and admitting to Changbin, the pompous lawyer, that you were getting great satisfaction out of such a simple action was just something you refused to do. Instead he did it for you, the bellow of his groan sending a vibration into your lips, past your throat, and into the pit of your stomach. Your hands began to snake around, left hand snaking up and underneath his t-shirt, the other attempting to wip the belt out of its holding. The man below you pulled away for a brief moment, shadowing the dorsal side of your hands as he whipped his own belt out of each hole, pulling and pushing it away as the two of you reconnected. The pompous lawyer kicked the pool that was his pants off his ankles, your right hand continuing its mission,right to his throbbing length. The pompous lawyer accidentally bit down on your bottom lip, pulling away again to let out a deep moan as he felt the callousness of your feelers wrapping around him. A sigh of relief, followed by a lustful smile played on your lips as you kept your hand in the same spot, watching the pompous lawyer drag his hips in desperation. God, Changbin was already on cloud 9. You having his hand on his cock was all he truly could think about since last night. Even the brief moment, the fact that last night, he spent most of his time trying to pleasure you, the few moments you spent pleasuring him were all he could think about. He knew it was selfish, because watching you contort and give into him, even after all of the meanings she he has said about you in the past should have been good enough to imprint in his brain; and by all means, they were. But as soon as your hands were on him again, quite literally, his memories were only replaying that. Although you sitting on his lap was blocking his full ability for you to feel all of him, he did not care. Any touch that was yours was good enough for him.

You scooted back, allowing Changbin to lift his hips and swipe his pants off in one swift motion, dropping the fabric to his ankles. His expose now gave you free rain, pulling away as you tried to catch your breath as both of your hands wrapped around the base of his pulsating cock, the pompous lawyer's hips bucking involuntarily, lips shaking as his throat let out a deep groan at the contact. “Jesus,” he hissed.

“What,” you pouted, attempting to mock him in his vulnerable state, “can’t handle it?”

“You’re so annoying when your smug,” he groaned, fingers trickling across the hem of your shirt, arms leaving him for a brief moment as he lifted your obstructing garment over your chest, eyes almost watering as soon as it was off, two fingers hanging around your back and there it was, bra clipped off instantly. Your automatic reaction was to cover up, how ironic. It wasn’t something that he had not seen before, but this felt a little different. The longer he kept his eyes on your chest, the moreheated your cheeks became. His eyes softened, almost like he was watching you in awe. It made you freeze, part of you feeling rude if you moved. His hand came to your wrists, gently pulling on the flesh to prevent you from hiding, and as soon as he did, the man became a fiend. 

Chanbgin’s lips attacked the soft flesh immediately, fingertips quick to assist as they gripped the mound, tongue flicking across your left nipple. Your head was throwing back, your own hands running through the pompous lawyer’s usually slicked back hair. His teeth came into the mix, the roughness of his mouth truly felt like heaven. It was in some kind of way a metaphor of your relationship. Rough around the edges. The roughness being the constant bickering, the continuous back and forth, but nonetheless, it still felt good. So good. The pompous lawyer was unforgiving with his mouth, tongue leaving your nippes, still stuck out however, leaving a trail down your stomach. The cool sensation of his saliva felt like ice to your heated skin, back arching the closer he got to where you needed him the most. Your eyes opened as soon as his digits reached the waistband of your pants. Luckily the bottoms you chose to wear did not have any buttons or a zipper, because Changbin was able to swing them off of your hips, desperalty kicking your legs to take them off, along with your panties simultaneously. Desperate time calls for desperate measures. If anything, it added to the fun of it all. Made it feel like it was something you weren’t supposed to be doing. The whole point of this was to come here and work on the case. The testimony was only a week away and to be prepared was the most important thing. 

But as soon as you were in close proximity to Changbin, which usually boiled your bones, your brain conspired, a lust filling fluid encompassing the matter. It was going to become a real problem, because your cognitions began to change and associate with the lewd acts you did every time you saw him. 

But that seemed like a minute detail in the current moment as the pompous lawyer gripped himself, a few pumps as a small uncontrollable moan left his lips over and over. You lifted your hips off his lap, wanting to help him as he lined his cock up with your pulsating entrance. My god, were you throbbing. This had been the longest time that anyone had not touched you prior to penetration. Usually you needed it, the men you had been with before never did enough to prepare you in that way. But your pussy was quivering with anticipation, dripping with arousal for him. Changbin used his free hand, index finger briefly swiping through your folds, your hips jolting immediately at the unexpected friction. The movement was quick, bringing his digits to his lips and smearing your arousal across the pink flesh, tips entering the hole that was his mouth. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips fell open, ocre throbbing even harder at how attractive the pompous lawyer looked, underneath you, tasting your slick. Fuck, if you knew this is what would happen everytime the tow of you disagreed, this would have occurred alot sooner. Every second that he wasn't inside of you, it was a second of more torture. 

“Hurry up,” you mumbled, giggling as your hips were fatigued, resting and letting your core land across his cock. Your clit barely brushed his tip, another nervous chuckle escaping your lips at the bare second of pleasure that flooded your veins at every little friction, every little touch. His smirk disappeared, tongue hanging outside of his mouth, eyebrows chiseled in a form that helped him to concentrate. But boy were you making it hard for him. You were such a distraction. There was a tumultuous amount of ways he wanted to pleasure you that were ticking on his brain, much more intensely before. Now, his brain was fried, your body combined with your horny daze was enough to drive him crazy. 

Changbin’s tip was prodding at your entrance, and enough was enough. You lifted your hips again, this time ready as his cock plunged into your entrance, a universal moan of relief from the two of you as he allowed his length to chrome buried in the depth of your pussy. Changbin brought you close, wrapping his around your back immediately, face hidden in your tits. You thought, once you were well adjusted to his girth, that you should move. And so you did, ankles lying on either side of his thighs as your knees chipped away at the sofa, hips slowly beginning to rise, and fall. Rise and fall. Over and over again. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” you spat, hips riding back and forth, the pompous lawyer’s cock hitting all the right spots inside. Changbin’s tongue found its way back to your nipples, the extra sensation leaving you unable to stay quiet. Every thrust was a new level of pleasure. Your digits came to the man below you’s face, leaning down to engulf him in a deep kiss, wanting Changbin to feel the moans in his throat. The pompous lawyer reciprocated, the combinations of noises spilling out of your mouth in unison creating a heavenly vibration across your lips. He chuckled as he broke away, head falling back against the back of the sofa as his hands were simply too desperate to not roam, finger tips gravitating towards the mound that was your ass. He smacked each cheek a few times, following by grabbing in an attempt to smooth over.

“Can’t believe that fat ass is bouncing on my cock again,” he grunted, smiling as he bit down on his bottom lip, “so desperate for me.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you whimpered, increasing the pace of your rhythm, “always cocky you are.”

“Yeah, and you fucking love it,” he chuckled, “this pussy belongs to me you know?”

Changin’s words made you moan, his possessiveness something that you didn’t know why, but really turned you on. His words always had an effect on you, no matter what. Positive or negative, the pompous lawyer’s words always had an impact that would be deemed much more significant than the average person should be by their mortal enemy. Then again, most people wouldn’t have sex with their mortal enemy, more than once. Changbin’s hands, the selfish things, began to roam again, slightly huffed at your lack of acknowledgement to his question. They somehow landed right where you wanted them, where they were earlier in the day, at the precinct. 

“Ohhh,” you moaned, wrapping your hands at the bat of his right wrist as they were at your neck, Changbin’s digits fondly wrapping around the fragile skin, the most subtle of pressure being applied. Your face was in a dazed awe, unable to concentrate on your hips moving in a syncopated style. Instead, he removed his hands off of you for a brief moment, standing on his knees on the sofa as he waited for you to do the same in front of him. Bending over, Changbin was quick to make work, using both of his hands to spread your ass, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your pussy, followed by a stingy few kitten licks, the friction making your knees buckle. You brought your hand to your throat, trying to recreate the exact feeling that you needed from him. But it wasn’t the same. It was after he pushed his oscillating cock back into your hole, did he notice your hand there. The pompous lawyer chuckled, in awe at how desperate you were for his touch. The two of you stood, bodies pressed against each other so Changbin could reach your throat. He did it with ease, mouth resting against your right shoulder as he bit down gently, the rough friction gratifying by every means. 

“So so good,” you mumbled, unable to form a coherent sentence, “don’t stop.”

“Such a fucking dirty girl,” he grunted, pulsating in his pressure against your throat, “imagine if anyone at the precinct saw you like this.”

You could only moan in response. His pace was cold, harsh, unforgiving. It made your whole body jolt in unison. He was right. The side you gave him privy to here in your personal time was something that not one of your work colleagues expected. Yes, you told Hyunjin and Felix information from time to time, but you were known as a stickler for the rules. A good cop that would never dare to do anything against the law. If police officers competed for employee of the month, you would be the employees that would have their face printed consecutively. Sometimes, it was hard for you to even believe that you were capable of showing, no. Letting someone see you in such a vulnerable, lust hazed state of consciousness. 

“You belong to me, don't you?”

“Mhm,” was all you could manage to say.

“Say it, say your pussy belongs to me.”

“My pussy,” you paused, feeling yourself coming to an all time high, “b-belongs to you.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, using his free hand to smack your ass once more, “you’re so hot when you’re obedient.”

He continued to fuck you, the pompous lawyer becoming more desperate with each thrust. The noise of Changbin’s skin slapping so loud it was sure to be echoing through the house, something Seungmin would definitely hear. His hips were beginning to lose their synchronicity, thrusts becoming slower yet harder. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. The pit in your lower abdomen was getting together and tighter, the sensation that was Changbin reaching an all time high at any moment. 

“Mmmmm Changbin,” you whined, unable to control the pitch of your voice, “Changbin fuck.”

“You ok baby?”

“I’m. I’m so close.”

“It's okay princess,” he cooed, the new nickname taking you by surprise, “me too. You need to cum?”

“Yes please.”

“Yeah you wanna cum for me?”

“Yes Changbin,” you cried, “it’s too much.”

“That okay baby,” Changbin whispered, “cum for me baby.”

His words smacked you into an orgasm, the sensation of the high rolling over every single nerve in your body at an intensity never felt by you before. You could feel the way your walls clenched around him uncontrollably, Changbin chuckling at how it felt around his cock. 

“Such a good girl,” he hummed, deeply, decreasing the power of his thrusts, “that pussy feels so good tweaking against me like that.”

The pompous lawyer did not last much longer after, quickly pulling out as he came on your back, hips jerking as he jerked himself to full completion. Your eyelids were dazed over, unable to calculate the time it took for Changbin to leave the room, grab a warm cloth, and clean your backside. He helped you off of your knees, grabbing a blanket that was under his desk before laying underneath you. He thought it would be a decent thing to do, cover you up as if he didn’t just see you completely naked. The two of you sat there for a while, a comfortable silence falling over the room as you stared at the ceiling wall.

“This is crazy, you know?”

You turned to look at the pompous lawyer, met with his perfect side profile. It made you smile for some reason.

“Yeah. I don’t know what happens but-”

“Do you regret it?”

The question made you rise from his side, leaning over to face him. 

“No. No part of me regrets it so far, as much as I should?”

“As much as you should?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, “you know, because we ‘hate’ each other?’”

“Oh,” Changbin smirked, “yeah, right. Listen, I don’t want to put a label on this right now. Our first focus should be the case.”

“I agree,” you smiled, pressing a quick peck to his lips.

“Awesome. I’m really sorry about lying to you as well. I felt like if I didn’t say those things, you wouldn’t have jumped on board with the case.”

“Look I get it, but please just don’t lie to me again. I always prefer honesty, and value it, now more than ever”

“Got it. I have one more thing I wanted to bring up.”

“God you talk a lot,” you whined in a joking manner, “what is it now.”

“At the precinct, we should keep things the way you are.”

“What do you mean? Like continue to argue in front of everyone like we normally do?”

“Yeah,” he paused, unsure if you were on the same page, “just so people don’t become suspicious. I personally am a very private person when it comes to my personal life. I’m sorry if that offends-”

“I am on the same page. Felix and Hyunjin already interrogated me about today. I don’t need that from everybody else.”

“Great. Should we work on the case now?”

“Totally.”

You smiled, getting up from the sofa as you found your clothes in a messy pile on the floor, simultaneously watching the pompous lawyer’s muscles bulge and flex as he also put his clothes back on. It shouldn’t have hurt your feelings, but there was a gentle pang at the bottom of your heart that he wanted to keep things casual. It didn’t matter anyway though, because once the case was over, the two of you would go back to normal. 

Barely seeing each other and bickering when you did, right?

#ch4nb4ng #changbin #changbin smut #changbin fic #changbin scenario #changbin imagine #seo changbin #seo changbin smut #seo changbin fic #seo changbin scenario #seo changbin imagine #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fic #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #reader x changbin

[andreafmn]

In the Heat of the Moment | Part 3

Word Count: 5K

Pairing: Jake Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader, mentioned Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Story Description: Every month female Omatikayans go through their heat whilst men go through their rut. It’s a time for mates to engage in the most animalistic desires. But when one of the two is gone, it can be a rather painstaking endeavor. With Neteyam gone on a hunting trip, (Y/N) has to go through her heat alone for the first time. Or does she?

Warnings: SMUT (+18, minors DNI), infidelity, p in v sex, public sex, semi-public sex, edging

All characters are of age/over 18

A/N: I’m so excited about this one-shot turned series and I'm glad so many of you enjoy it as well! All other parts have been laid out, all I've gotta do is write them jijiji 🤭 but you'll be getting them soon. Once I'm finished with this series, I think I'll be able to get to my others. My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing🥺👉👈. Hope you enjoy, and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

Dedicated to @sweetllamaparadise! If you thought you had a surprise coming back to part 2, here's part 3 😜

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In the Heat of the Moment | Part 3

It wasn’t right. None of it was. And it shouldn’t have felt like it could be. 

But entangled in each other’s arms, their bodies as close as possible, that was how it felt like. 

In dreams, everything felt possible. Under the safe shade of slumber, nothing could ever be wrong. She felt warm and protected, comforted under the idea that everything was as it should have been. 

Alas, dreams end the second one wakes. 

“Did you hear that?” (Y/N) startled awake, her body shooting up at the possibility of someone lurking outside. “Ma Jake!”

His eyes fluttered, exhaustion still weighing on them. Until he too heard what had woken her up. On the outside of the tent, a branch had snapped. This could have easily been gravity’s fault, but it could indicate that someone was approaching and could witness the depravity that had gone down inside (Y/N)’s and Neteyam’s marital nest. 

They scrambled to cover themselves, tying their loincloths around their waists, and the girl scattered to dress in a poncho Kiri had gifted her after her rite of passage ceremony — the same night she had been mated to Neteyam. It was a tighter knit than the one the Sully daughter wore and, paired with the necklace her husband had woven for her, it was sure to hide the purple marks that were scattered across her body. 

Her heart tightened as she dressed in gifts from her husband and sister-in-law. There she was, trying to hide the aftermath of a crazed morning with Jake using presents his own children had given her. A reminder of the people who would truly get hurt if their entanglement was ever discovered. 

Footsteps got closer to (Y/N)’s nest, leaves crunching under their feet. The sound made her heart punishing, loud enough she could hear it in their fluttering ears. The steps were getting closer. Too close. Close enough they would find Jake and the wife of his son together. 

Then, they disappeared. It was merely someone passing by. No one had been eavesdropping or spying on them. Just a clan member walking. 

“That was close,” Jake chuckled before hugging the shaking girl. “Probably shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” 

“Sleep wasn’t the problem, Jake. It was everything else,” she worried. “We need to talk about this. Talk about putting a stop to…”

Jake didn’t want to have that conversation, at least not at that moment. He wanted to savor the moment, savor her for the time he could. “Tonight,” he responded, interrupting her sentence. “We can talk tonight. After dinner.”

“Jake…” 

“After dinner.” He made his way to the entrance, stopping at the flap to gift her a smile before exiting. “I promise. Just go about your day, baby girl. We’ll talk later.” 

He left a second later, leaving (Y/N) reeling and confused. A million thoughts were running through her head, mostly how everything she had done would devastate the people she loved the most. It was bad enough that she had been unfaithful to her husband, but she could ruin two families because she had made a bad decision. 

A bad decision that made her feel so good. A choice that made her thrilled and terrified all at the same time. It filled her with an excitement that took over her completely, body and mind. An overwhelming sensation that clouded all reason. 

She was questioning everything, her head drowning in thoughts as she made her way to Mo’at’s tent for her studies. (Y/N) could barely reciprocate the hellos people threw her way as she walked by, too entranced by the thoughts in her mind. 

“What is troubling your mind, child?” Mo’at broke her out of her trance, the mixture she had to turn into a paste already past its state. “You have been distracted these past few days.”  

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she responded. She could not leave any space for interpretation. If anyone could read words unsaid, it would be her Tsahik. “I guess I haven’t been sleeping well.”  

“I think I know why.” (Y/N)’s heart pounded against her chest. Had it been her outside her tent? Could it be that Neytiri’s mother had witnessed her daughter’s husband sleeping with his daughter-in-law? “Your heart is uneasy. You are missing your husband. I know this is the first time he’s been away for so long.”  

“Yes,” she breathed. “I am missing Neteyam. It’s weird to wake up and not have him there.” Because she was waking up with someone else. “I know seven days is not much, but I’ve always been with him every day for years. I feel like I am going insane without him.”  

“Love does make one crazy,” Mo’at chuckled. “It is okay to miss your husband, my child. It is only natural that you’re uneasy when the one you love is away. But your connection with Neteyam is unbreakable. No matter how far he is, or you are, you and that child are always bound to one another. Through Eywa, your souls will forever be affixed together.” 

“That is true,” she forced a smile. Though her words were meant to be comforting, they only helped to tighten the coil in her heart. It reminded her of the abominable actions she had participated in. “I just have to hold on for four more days.” 

“It is okay to miss Neteyam. Let your heart ache for your husband.” She reached over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s chest. “Your heart is strong and it calls for him to be near. When you love someone so much even seconds can feel like an eternity when they are far.” 

“It makes me feel weak,” (Y/N) confessed. “If I can’t handle him being away for seven days. What will happen if he needs to be away longer? If – Eywa forbid – the sky-people come back and he has to defend our people on long missions? Will I become crazed and reckless?” More than she already had?

“Pray Eywa that day never comes, ‘eveng. But you’ve only been married a year, and you’ve spent your whole life with Neteyam by your side” Mo’at continued. “In time, that twinge in your heart will become easier and easier to bear. When he comes back, talk to him. You’ll find ways to cope with his absence, together. You are a unit now, (Y/N). Bonded, mind, body, and soul, in this life and after.”  

“I needed to hear that, ma Mo’at. Irayo si.” 

“If you ever need someone to talk to, ʼeveng, know I am here for you,” the woman smiled. “My door is always open for you. No matter what.”  

If only she knew. “Thank you,” (Y/N) answered. “I promise to try my hardest to docs on my work. No more liquified mixtures.”  

“It’s quite alright, ʼeveng. Kiri made enough yesterday. We can work on something else today.”  

Hours passed quickly as (Y/N) put her worries aside and chose to focus on her work. She concentrated on the ingredients before her to make healing ointments, the fabrics they used to wrap wounds, and pushed Jake deep in her head. 

And everything was perfectly fine whilst she was safe in the confines of her tsahik’s tent. There she did not have to worry about Jake and his beguiling allure, did not have to worry about his children finding out about them, and definitely did not have to worry about how much she was hurting Neteyam. She could be as oblivious and carefree as she needed to be. 

It was easy to ignore her reality when curtained walls separated her from the real world. But time waited for no one, and the sun had started to set signaling the end of her work day. The moment had come to face Jake Sully and his children. 

As she walked to the Sully family tent, (Y/N) busied herself by chewing the inside of her cheek. There was no need to be nervous, she thought. Eating meals with the family was something she had done for years. Nothing new. 

She could hear their voices from the other side of the tent, sibling squabbles and a reprimanding father. That was their normal, the family she belonged to. 

“(Y/N)!!” Tuk exclaimed as the woman walked through the entrance. Forgetting whatever argument she has been involved in with Lo’ak, the younger girl ran to her sister-in-law and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I’ve missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Tuk,” she smiled. “But I’m here now, and I am starving.” 

She looked around the room. Everyone had taken their place around the table, there was only one space available. 

“Here, (Y/N),” Jake smirked. “I saved you a seat.” 

Her breath hitched in her throat. There was no plausible excuse not to sit next to him that wouldn’t reveal their complicated relationship. Especially not when Sully’s children held expectant smiles on their faces. Her only choice was to take the place next to Jake. 

There wasn’t much space to keep a comfortable distance from the older man. She crossed her legs as she sat next to him, her knee pressed to the skin of his thigh. Warmth spreading through where their bodies touched. Only a grade of their skin, and had already started affecting her. 

It shouldn’t have rippled through her the way it had, least of all in front of the family. Still, she couldn’t help the theater that started to pool between her legs. She couldn’t stop the way it coursed through her and filled her with wanton anticipation. 

“I’m glad you’ve joined us, (Y/N),” Kiri commented as the girl settled next to Jake. “I know how hard these couple of days have been for you. We all miss Neteyam, but I know it’s worse for you.” 

“I don’t miss him,” Lo’ak grinned. “He could stay away for longer if he wanted.” 

“Lo’ak,” his sister reprimanded. “He doesn’t mean that. Lo’ak is just jealous Nete got to go on the hunting trip and he didn’t.” 

“You still have much to learn, son,” Jake interjected. “And we all know your brother is more experienced in hunting. Soon enough you’ll be able to go on these trips with your mother. For now, it’s Neteyam that helps train the young ones.” 

At the mention of her husband’s name, his father placed a hand on (Y/N)’s thigh. Her heart raced and her body tensed. It was a mindless move, too daring to do in front of his family. But he continued to move it higher and higher across the valley of her skin 

To her, it was a brash touch. A careless decision on his part. To him, it was calculated. He was testing her reactions. Jake wanted to see just how far he could take it before she broke. Test how long she could keep herself composed before she was pleading to him to take her. The daringness of doing it in front of his family only worked to add to the thrill of the moment. 

“But I know (Y/N) here missed Neteyam just a bit more than all of us,” Jake said. His hand was centimeters away from her core, reaching for her heat slowly. One more slide and his pinkie could slide under her loincloth, shielded by their table. ‘I’m sure it’s just as much as I miss Neytiri. Everything is difficult when your mate is away. One day you’ll all understand that.” 

“At least you still got us, (Y/N),” Lo’ak chuckled. “We’ll keep you busy until Neteyam comes back.” 

His boyish behavior helped the ache in her body, grounding her in the reality of the moment. She grasped Jake’s hand before it could get any closer, giving it a warning squeeze. This couldn’t happen. Not here.

But Jake was nothing but persistent. He escaped (Y/N)’s grasp and continued his exploration. His hand pushed her loincloth aside and found her wetness. Just like he knew she’d be, she was drenched. 

“Exactly, son,” he smirked. He had gathered her slick and started teasing the bundle of nerves between her legs. (Y/N)’s hand gripped his wrist tightly, trying with all of her might to push him away. But his determination was stronger than her will. “We’re here for whatever you need, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) forced a painful smile to share with the family, her strength reserved to hide the fact that their father was touching her under the table and sending waves of pleasure through her body. His fingers caressed her clit, alternating speeds to tease the girl. It was a game to him, and he wanted to enjoy every second of it.

The family continued eating and chattering, focused on their sibling quarrels and the spread before them. (Y/N) tried her best to focus as well, adding commentary here and there, and munching on the food before her. But her concentration fell into swallowing down moans and groans as Jake continued his attack. He brought her close enough to her peak, only to remove his hands and bring her down. Simply to ambush her again and repeat the process. 

Yet, her body was starting to betray her. She had to hold her over-excited tail, keep her ears from fluttering, and steady her breathing as best as she could. She felt like a bubble filling and filling with air, threatening to burst at any point. And Jake did nothing more but smirk the whole time. 

The music was building inside her. The crescendo of another orgasm reaching its limit. Jake could already tell. He had started to learn her tells, how her body spoke when they were together. He pressed on. The circling of her clit grew faster and faster, gathering her essence to glide over it easily. 

His ministrations siphoned a moan from her as he allowed her to finish… right there… in front of the family. Thankfully, she was quick enough to hide it with a loud cough, throwing her head forward and hiding it with one of her arms. 

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Tuk questioned, passing her a cup of water. 

“Uh, just fine,” (Y/N) smiled. They were all oblivious to what their father had done as he placed a concerned mask on his face. “Food just went down the wrong pipe.”

Jake removed his hand from between her legs, using it to pat her on the back. If there was one thing he was good at, it was functioning perfectly under pressure. 

He made sure the fingers he’d placed on her didn’t make contact with her skin. After pretending he was helping her, he made sure she was watching as he placed those same digits into his mouth. His face contorted in pleasure as he savored her taste on his fingers. 

“I know the food is good, but you gotta be careful, (Y/N),” he chuckled. “Is it me or is this the sweetest utumauti we’ve ever had?” 

“Must be yours dad,” Lo’ak answered. “Mine taste like always.” 

“You might be right, son. Might be mine.” 

The rest of the dinner went smoothly. With everyone keeping their hands to themselves, (Y/N) found the remnant of her time there comforting. Being around the family always made her feel elated. Having lost her mother at a young age and her father a few years back, the Sullys had taken her under their wing, in more ways than one.  

She was saying her goodbyes to the Tuk after agreeing to spend the next day with Kiri and Lo’ak once her duties were completed when she felt Jake’s figure behind her. He towered over her, the warmth from his body reaching her without a single touch. 

“Alright, gang. I’m gonna take (Y/N) back to her tent,” Jake announced to his family, only he and (Y/N) knew the intent behind his words. “Then, I have some things I have to do. Might end up crashing on a snonivi to not wake you guys. Don’t wait up, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” they all chorused. 

The name sent shivers through (Y/N)’s body. The same name she had moaned against his ear as he filled her. It was a sign of respect from the children, but it was a filthy name she got to call him. 

They walked in silence to her nest, careful of their steps. The night had already crept around the village and many peacefully slept. The sounds of a few people talking mixed with the whistling of the wind filled the gaps in the quiet, not many were still awake. The air was warm and comfortable laced with something (Y/N) couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Until Jake pushed her against a tree in a secluded area that is. 

Her skin was buzzing as Jake kissed her roughly, his hand gripping at her waist as he pushed her deeper into the tree. The bark was rough against the skin of her back, leaving red and angry scratches on her back. She held onto his neck, needing any support to stabilize her body against the attack. 

“Jake,” she struggled out. His lips focused only on hers. “Ma Jake, we can’t do this here.” 

“There’s no one around, baby girl,” he groaned in her ear. He took her hand and guided it onto the hardened member that was tenting his loincloth. “I can’t wait. I don’t wanna wait.” 

“Anyone could catch us. Rutxe, ma Jake. We’re almost there.”

“I want you here and now, (Y/N).” His tone was menacing, but not threatening. He was establishing dominance, he was showing her who was the one calling the shots. “And I know you do too. Remember I can smell you, baby girl. I know you didn’t get enough at dinner.” 

A whimper left her mouth as Jake snaked his hand between her legs, witnessing what he had already done to her. She was putty in his hands. A single touch had her knee buckling, her hands gripping tightly onto his arms. He pushed his fingers into her, stretching her out without much preamble. No gentleness, no decorum. 

He thrust quickly into her, curling the tip of his three fingers to attack her bundle nerves from the inside as his thumb worked it from the outside. It was an onslaught of pleasure to her body that had her biting down on her lower lip to camouflage the moans that threatened to spill out. 

Her arousal mixed with the danger of not only being caught with Jake, but being caught out in the open with him. She should not have been that excited to have her father-in-law’s fingers inside her whilst any clan member, even his own children, could catch them in the act. Adrenaline, cortisol, and the strongest fervor ransacked her body. 

Jake felt her walls clenching around him as his pace quickened, his fingers chasing her climax. His yellow eyes were focused on her face. Her tightly shut eyes, the red hue that overtook her blue skin, her lowered ears, and the droplet of blood that had formed from biting her lip. 

He knew she wanted to scream and yell out just how good he could make her feel. And he wished he could hear her. He wanted nothing more than to have her moans fill his ears, her whines and whimpers making them flicker. Instead, he crashed his lips onto her, his tongue licking across her bottom one. Pressed against him, she let out her sounds, muffled into his mouth. 

She came around his fingers, wrapping her arms around his neck as she felt her body grow weak. Out there, where anyone could see, she had orgasmed with her chief’s fingers buried deep inside her. 

“I know you’re not yet spent,” he chuckled against her. “You’ve got more in you, baby girl.” 

He flipped her over, pressing her chest onto the tree. His hands roamed her body, tracing the expanse of it with his fingers. As he pushed her loincloth to the side with one hand, he grabbed himself with the other. He aligned himself with her entrance, chuckling at the look of surprise that spread across (Y/N)’s eyes. 

“Ready?” The question was a formality. He was not asking her, not really. Jake was reminding her who was in control, whose will was being fulfilled. 

In one thrust, his length spread her folds and he was buried to the hilt. His ships pressed against her skin, her tightness enveloping him fully. As he groaned quietly at the feeling of her walls around him, (Y/N) found herself slapping a hand on her mouth to swallow the moan she felt at the stretch. 

Her body was growing used to having him inside. His size tested her to new lengths, filling her insides entirely. He made her feel erratic and injudicious. Whenever he was near her, she threw all caution to the wind. All the worries that clouded her mind when they were apart seemed to dissipate the second his hands were on her. 

His pace was relentless and messy. His hips met her backside harshly, the sounds of their skin swallowed only by the call of the wind dancing through the branches of the trees. He gripped her hips strongly, chasing his own finish as fast as he could. He was desperate and extremely aroused. All he could think of at that moment was his own finish.

Spending the whole day apart had birthed a deep want inside him that could only be satiated by (Y/N). He had spent his time with flashes of their encounters firing inside his head, the pressure in his stomach tightening at every scene. Her smell was eternally permeated in his nostrils, the feel of her skin tingling across his palms, the feeling of her clenching walls hugged him. She was intoxicating and he was insatiable. He only had three more days with her and he would take advantage of every second. 

“I’m so close, baby girl,” he whispered against her ear. “I know you are too. I can feel you.  

(Y/N) whimpered in response. Jake was right. As much as she wanted to pretend that he didn’t know her body, he had learned everything about it in very little time. She could feel the way her own body reacted to him, the way she tightened against him, the way she drenched at the mere thought of having him inside her. It was an experience she never thought she would have with someone that wasn’t Neteyam. 

His hand circled her body, two of his fingers assaulting her aching bud to push her climax over the top. He circled and massaged the bundle of nerves as quickly as he pistoned into her. His chest heaved with his sharp breaths. The hand he kept on her hip dug into her soft skin, denting its way into it. Their tails were entangled with one another, pushing the other closer together. 

It didn’t take long for Jake to bottom out inside her, his seed once more mixing with her essence – a reoccurring and now natural occurrence to them. His body slumped against her, his arms wrapping around her waist to stabilize her body. Their breathings were matched, the sweat on their bodies glistened, their arms and tails enveloping them close. 

“We should… we should go,” (Y/N) breathed. “We can’t get caught here, Jake. Let’s go.” 

“Yes, we should,” he grinned. “Because I’m not done with you just yet.” 

Jake grabbed her hand, leading her quickly to her nest. For them, the night had just started. They walked fast, jumping over branches and dodging tents and hammocks. Until they finally reached the privacy of her nest. 

Before the entrance flap was fully closed, Jake attacked her lips with his. He devoured her mouth and explored her, only breaking the kiss to remove the three pieces of clothing that covered her body. Pieces that had such strong sentimental value, mindlessly scattered on the ground. Discarded like unnecessary obstacles that stood in the way of their main objective instead of the meaningful items they were. 

“Wait, wait, sir,” she panted. “We need to talk. We have to talk.” 

“Not now, little one,” Jake groaned. “Let’s just enjoy this – enjoy us. We don’t have much time left, and I know you’re enjoying this just as much as I am.” 

“But…” 

“No buts, (Y/N).” He was frustrated – sexually and mentally. He was sure of what he wanted at that moment. He knew he wanted her. “I told you this morning. If you don’t want this, if you want me to go, just tell me.” 

“That’s not what I want. I don’t want you to go. But I think…” 

“Stop thinking, (Y/N)!” His voice boomed, exasperation laced with his words. But as she flinched slightly at his tone, his eyes grew softer. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her. Jake placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek comfortingly. “I’m sorry. We just have our hours counted, baby girl. I don’t want to waste them talking about what we both know inevitably will happen.”  

“Three days then,” she conceded. “In three days we have to talk about this.” 

“Yes! Three days.” He pecked her lips, a smile spreading on his face. “I promise in three days we’ll talk all you want, but let’s enjoy our time now without worrying about the future. So, can we just have these moments? Even if we’re delusional enough to think everything is normal between us. Can we just pretend?” 

“Yes, we can,” she returned the smile. “Now, kiss me.” 

She stood on her tiptoes to crash her lips onto his, her hands placed at both sides of his face to pull him to her. He was right, she thought. It did not matter how much they talked about it or how she didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of what they were doing. The deed had already been done and she had loved it. Talking would never turn back time nor would it ever smother the flame that had ignited inside her. 

Jake placed his hands under her thighs, prompting her to jump and wrap her legs around his waist. Their kiss was feverish and needy. No matter how much they pushed against each other it simply didn’t feel close enough. Their tongues fought for dominance, sliding in synchronization against each other. 

“Goddess, I need to be inside you. Now,” he said as he lowered her onto the mat, her back against the sheets. 

“Then, what are you waiting for?”  

With a smirk on his face, Jake wasted no time using his cock to spread her open, their recent releases aiding as he glided into her. His eyes fell closed as he felt her around him again, the overwhelming feeling of her tightness still as fresh as their first time. He felt himself freeze, relishing in the sensation. 

(Y/N) took this as an opportunity to start their pace, grinding down on him at a slow pace – the position was not good enough to go faster. She took advantage of his surprise to switch their positions, his back thudding onto the mattress as her legs straddled his lap. 

“You’re learning,” Jake chuckled. 

A chuckle she returned as she said, “I’ve got a great teacher.” 

She stabilized herself with his chest, riding him at a faster tempo than she started. Now, she was the one chasing her climax, the need inside her growing with every second that passed. She knew it wouldn’t take long. Her clit grazed against his pelvis, her insides spasming as she rode him. This orgasm was for her only, for her own pleasure. The hardness inside her would have to wait for the next one. 

A couple of more bounces and she felt her new climax joining the ones that were already inside her, the wetness dribbling down his cock as it ran out of space inside her. Her third finish of the night ransacked through her body as she collapsed onto Jake’s chest, breathless and in ecstasy. She was tired – exhausted – but she knew she had at least one more inside her. As soon as she got the slightest bit of energy back. 

“You can’t have reached your cap yet, (Y/N),” Jake panted, her wetness still engulfing him. “I didn’t get to finish.” 

“I just… I just need a minute,” she breathed. 

“No worries, all I need is for you to hold on.” 

Jake wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, their chests pressed together as he angled his hips upward and continued the attack. He slammed into her, pushing them both past their bodies’ capabilities, edged on by the moans and whimpers she sang into his ears. The most beautiful sound they had heard. 

He rutted into her, faster and faster as he felt the usual tightening that signifies the closeness of his ends. And as much as he felt that he was in a position of dominance because he was the one setting the pace, it was the clenching of her insides that had all the power. 

As she came, her cunt contracting against his cock, so did he. Their releases combined and seeped out of her, darkening the sheets under them. They were panting and sweaty, delighting in the pleasure of their aftermath. 

At that moment, as their bodies recuperated from the onslaught of physical activities, Jake couldn’t help but admire just how beautiful she was. He cradled her face and met her in a soft kiss, the softest yet. 

When he released her, he noticed streaks going down her cheeks where tears had fallen at some point. He wiped them away with his thumb, kissing each of her eyes before enveloping in a tight hug. She molded into his body, fitting perfectly between his arms. Her head pressed to his chest, her ears capturing the sound of his heartbeat. 

Ba dump. 

Ba dump. 

Ba dump. 

It echoed the sound of her own and she wondered if his heart ached just like hers. As he slung the sheets over them, still buried inside her, she wanted to know if he hurt every time he thought of his mate, just like she did. If their hearts could beat at the same rhythm, maybe they could be in pain at the same time. 

“Stop thinking, little one,” he whispered. His hands smoothed down her hair. “Enjoy the present. We won’t have it for long.” 

Taglist: @uwunuggetchan @ellabellabus07 @jake-sullys-whore @irisskies @crazy4books1

#jake sully #jake sully imagine #jake sully smut #jake sully x y/n #jake sully x reader #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #avatar imagine #avatar #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam imagine #neteyam #lo'ak sully #lo'ak #kiri sully #kiri #tuktirey #tuk sully #tuktirey sully #neytiri #neytiri sully #awow #awow x reader #awow neteyam #avatar 2022 #avatar twow #cheating #omatikaya

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group A Round 3: #A5 vs #A6

#A5: Two girls unravel mysteries surrounding an isolated manor

#A6: Sad lesbians sing while fighting monsters

Details and poll under the cut!

#A5: Shadows House

Summary:

The Shadows, characterized by their pitch-black appearance and tendency to emit soot when agitated, are a family of nobles who reside in a colossal manor deep within the mountains far from other humans. When a Shadow child is nearly of-age, they are assigned a Living Doll who acts not only as their attendant but also as their second half—the faces they could have had if not for their complexion.

Emilico is a cheerful, newly created Doll who serves a rather soft-spoken master named Kate. Despite their difference in personalities, Emilico does what she can to carry out the needs of her master. As she learns more about her role and duty, Emilico begins to meet her fellow Dolls and their respective masters and comes to know more about the purpose of her existence.

"Do not fret over trivial matters," says one of the rules by which all Dolls must abide. But how could the ever-curious Emilico do so in the face of the deep secrets that the Shadows House holds?

Propaganda:

The atmosphere of the manor is probably the most effective aspects of the story, creating a feeling of isolation and worry as Kate and Emilico try to survive in the mansion. The show starts off pretty subtle, but as it progresses it becomes more and more strange and off-putting. This series is an incredibly interesting, layered mystery, and the horror elements are excellently done.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse

#A6: Symphogear (Senki Zesshou Symphogear)

Summary:

The world is beset by creatures known as the Noise. Nothing can touch them, and if they touch a human being, both turn into carbon dust. But, with the symphogear system-magitech battle armor powered by music and singing, humanity has a chance to fight back.

Propaganda:

This is the best example of music fights I’ve ever seen. They sing WHILE fighting. It’s amazing. The fight choreography, how the music plays into it, and let’s not forget the incredible character development. The entire cast is full of characters that would be the highlight of any other show. And last but not least, it is off the walls insane fun. You think it reaches its heights at the end of season 1, but no. It keeps climbing, and you are along for the ride.

Trigger Warnings: Drugs, Emotional Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Guns, Kidnapping, Nudity, Slavery, Suicide

All warnings apply to the main characters, some are for the later seasons (drugs, guns (especially S2)). Slavery and kidnapping are rather said than shown and are fom a flashback.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #group stage #group stage round 3 #tournament polls #group a #shadows house #symphogear #senki zesshou symphogear

[buckyr00s]

Call Sign: FANBOY

pairing: Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia x Reader

summary: There are reasons why Mickey Garcia got the call sign he did. But maybe the most important one...is you.

warnings/tags: short and sweet fluff, possible canonical inaccuracies (?), a lil meta

author’s note: I really thought my first writing post would be about Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, or Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw considering my URL but there is a severe lack of Fanboy content on this website. Also, I’m not sure if some of the stuff I wrote is canonically correct but it is what it is lol A special thank you to @bradshawsbaby​ for all your support and help. Thank you, thank you! Hope you all enjoy :)

READ PART TWO HERE

main masterlist || send requests

There’s no denying that Mickey Garcia is a damn good WSO. Despite being one of the youngest in his Top Gun cohorts, he is one of the best the US Navy’s ever seen. Being one the best, however, does not make him immune to the teasing that comes with Naval camaraderie. That’s very evident in his call sign: FANBOY.

When anyone asks him about the origins of his call sign, he’ll recite an answer he’s handcrafted ever since the name was assigned to him. First, he’ll blame his age. As one of the youngest, Mickey automatically got the ‘little brother’ designation and the treatment that goes along with that. 

He’ll bring up his first time around at Top Gun and the frequent pranks that his buddies would pull on him. He’ll talk about the one time his friends broke into his locker to orchestrate a surprise--fake--spider prank, criticizing their lack of originality. To be fair, his combination was his birthday, so it wasn’t the best security measure on his part. He’ll usually leave that detail out, but when he does let it slip, he’ll immediately make it clear that he’s learned his lesson.

He’ll recount how in opening his locker, his friends were greeted by a gallery of photos of his family, his friends, his love, and...still photos of Top Gun (1986). “Listen, that movie changed lives,” he’ll justify. “And it’s not like I’m the only one who wanted to join the Navy after watching it”. He’s right, but still. FANBOY strike 1.

Then, he’ll talk about how they also stumbled on his CD collection. Yes, he is the type of person who in a time when digital streaming has made CDs virtually obsolete, continually purchases, collects, and frequently uses CDs. “They’re cool to have and something I can pass down,” he shrugs. On top of that, though, the man kept the CDs in his locker. “For convenience,” he’ll stress. “Everyone loves a good playlist.” FANBOY strike 2.

He’ll mention how his friends explain what they did next. He was told that when people discover a collection, naturally, there’s a desire to go through it. And that’s what his buddies did. Led Zeppelin. Jimi Hendrix. Stevie Wonder. Selena. Bob Dylan. The Jackson 5. Nirvana. Bad Bunny. Jay-Z. BTS. Backstreet Boys. Carrie Underwood. N*SYNC. JLO. He especially got teased for the last few. FANBOY strike 3.

But most of all, he got teased for a certain CD. It was a blank CD, the cover flipped to its blank side. Written in Sharpie, the cover read, “To Star, from your biggest fan”. Surrounding the writing were the attempts of heart and star doodles, though they looked more like guitar picks and sparks. He tried his best. But it was clear what it was: a mixtape.

He’ll describe how his friends must have scrambled, forgetting about the prank they planned to execute. He’ll think about how they must have decided that the more appealing option was to dive deeper into their discovery. They probably slammed his locker shut, sprinting to the lounge to pop the CD into the CD player. Mickey imagines his friends huddled around the speaker, leaning closely and intently as they anticipated what they would hear. 

The first few seconds were silent.

Then a rustling. 

A deep breath in. 

And out.

“Hi baby. I miss you so much. I know the distance has been as tough on you as it has been for me. But I want to thank you for always being there. For supporting me. And as we continue to follow our dreams separately, just know that I think of you constantly. That you and our future together are always on my mind. That I’m so proud of you for doing your thing and admire you so much for it. I’m your biggest fan, forever and always. Sky’s the limit with you and me, Star. I love you.”

And with that, Berlin’s Take My Breath Away starts to play. FANBOY strike... it probably isn’t quantifiable at this point.

My God, did that really take his friends’ breaths away. Mickey was told that they didn’t know whether to cringe, laugh, or sympathize. So...they stayed frozen.

A few bars into the song, he walked into the lounge, drawn by the familiar tune. He found them all gathered around the CD player, eyes wide and jaws dropped. Processing.

“What’s going on?” he gently asked, apprehension and suspicion radiating off of him.

Collectively, his friends’ eyes trail from their stare at the CD player to his confused face. Mickey will describe how he saw it happen in slow motion. He’ll paint the exact moment he figured out what his friends discovered and how they’d next respond. He says he had a millisecond to prepare himself.

Then, the room erupted. His friends jumped up, whooping, hollering, whistling, cackling, making smooching noises. They called him whipped. Love struck. But what can he say? He’s a fanboy.

author’s note: Andddd that’s it. That’s my first writing post. Hope you like it! I have ideas for what would happen when Fanboy introduces Star!Reader to his Navy friends. I would love any comments and feedback, as well as any requests you might have! 

Also a special thank you, again, to @bradshawsbaby​ for the idea of Fanboy making a mixtape for his love and his friends finding it. Such a cute, funny, and fitting idea. Thank you, thank you!

READ PART TWO HERE

main masterlist || send requests

#mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy #mickey garcia #fanboy garcia #danny ramirez #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #tgm #tg:m

[currentlyobsessedwithobi-wan]

To the person who asked me to make a list of my favorites Star Wars time travel fanfictions, and anyone who may be interested, first of all sorry that it took me so long. For some reasons my dumbass self didn’t bookmark the fics so I had to go and search them.

Secondly, I don’t want to disappoint but you should know that I’m not really picky when it comes to fanfics. Meaning that there’s a lot of thing that I don’t actually agree with but that I’m ready to accept in fanfics (for example madalorians. I honestly don’t know enough to either love or hate them in canon but I don’t ,mind them in fanfictions, as long as they’re not just here to bash the Jedi). Really, my only hard limit is no Jedi bashing.

That being said, here are some of my favorites that I was able to find again (most of them are incomplete or WIPs). I tried to put a simple description for most of them, but if you want something really accurate I advise you to just check the fanfiction :

The Lesson by cjwritesfanficnow

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26486284/chapters/85863850 :

Work in Progress. This one is pro Jedi but also pro Mandalorian and feature Jango/Obi-wan, so be warned if it’s not your cup of tea.

Basically, Jango realize what an ass he was, and is confronted with the consequences of his actions. Then he get to time travel in order to fix it.

Little Light Age by SpideyGrayson

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44444098/chapters/111788134 :

In progress. This one is also Pro Jedi. It’s mostly fluff for now. Ship : Cody/Obi-wan.

Obi-wan is send in the past, back when he’s 12, and becomes Shaak Ti’s Padawan instead of Qui-Gon’s.

Take it from the top and try again

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3535600 :

it’s a serie of two fics, one completed and one in progress. I honestly don’t remember if it’s completly pro Jedi or Jedi critical. But it’s not straight up Jedi Bashing. No ships for now.

Obi-wan is sent back at the time of Phantom Menace, and wants to save everyone (yes Anakin too, so if you truly truly hate him this one is probably not for you). It involves a lot of politics.

To Fix the Shattered Past by Forever_A_Thief

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42912192 :

Work in progress. For now it’s (and hopefully will stay) Pro-Jedi. But it’s Qui-Gon critical/bashing (because, you know, Legends). Anakin friendly (yes again, sorry to those who may be bothered by that). Dooku redemption (one of those things that I only accept in fanfiction. Though in this one, if I remember correctly Galidraan hasn’t happened yet and Dooku is not even close to falling).

Obi-wan, Anakin and Ashoka are send back in time during Melida-Daan. Obi-wan is physically 13, Anakin 6-9, and Ahsoka 3. For now it’s a lot of fluff (i like fluff, okay ? 😆) and a bit of angst.

Reprise by Elfpen :

https://archiveofourown.org/series/454408 :

A serie composed of four main parts. Three completed, and one in progress. Honestly, I read this one a long time ago so I don’t remember much. But I know that I liked it a lot. I would have to re-read. But I also read this before I became completly Pro Jedi so beware that this one may be slightly Jedi critical.

Since, like I said I don’t remember much I don’t want to risk making a mistake while describing it. I just remember that Obi-wan comes back as an adult (as Ben) and so there’s two Obi-wan : Qui-Gon’s padawan and the Obi-wan who died and time traveled. So if you want to know more, just click on the link.

Unexpected awakening by Rhiw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436701/chapters/35831454 :

Work in progress. Once again, remember reading, somewhat remember liking it, yet for some reasons can’t remember any details. By the tag, seems to be Pro Jedi. No ships tagged.

Please click on the link to know more.

Edit : so, I started re-reading this fic right after I posted this. I’m at chapter 4 for now, and it’s actually seems to be very Pro Jedi. And I really likes the writing style. I don’t really know how to describe it, but to me it’s almost…soothing. Where I’m at in the fic it’s still mostly hurt/comfort, but that’s the kind of thing that I really enjoy.

Revolving sun by SiennahRobek

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31766296 :

Work in progress (though I don’t know if it’s abandoned or not). Pro Jedi. Semi Anakin friendly. No ships.

It’s an alternate universe where Luke is raised by Obi-wan (and is somewhat his padawan) and they both ends up back in time, during the clone war. I really like this one despite it being incomplete.

When The Time is Right by robinasnyder

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242654 :

Incomplete (still in progress? Dunno). Anakin friendly (listen there’s not a lot of time travel fanfics that are Anakin critical. Believe me I actually like it when he has to face consequences). Pro Jedi if my memory serves me right, but you should probably check just in case. Ships are : adult Obi-wan/Cody, kid Obi-wan/Cerasi/Nield.

Obi-wan, Anakin, Padmé and some clones ends up in the past. Obi-wan for some reasons that I can’t remember takes Bruck Chun as his padawan.

Teach the Padawan. Save the galaxy. by alexjanna91 https://archiveofourown.org/series/2520193

A serie of 4 works (each completed). Ships are : obi-wan (Ben) Kenobi /Tahl and temporary young Obi-wan/Satine. Kookie is Obi-wan’s son (I honestly didn’t remember this before doing my researches), So this is the fic that I talked about in my original post about time travel fanfictions. Be aware that while Jedi are still the good guys in this, it’s rather critical toward the Jedi Code. Pro Mandalorian (I think) but they’re not the main guys. I decided to add it here anyway because even if I have my issue with it now that I’m pro Jedi I still feel…nostalgic, since it’s one of the first time travel fanfiction that I have ever read.

Ben Kenobi is send back in time, save his younger self from Melida-Daan. Then he takes young Obi-wan as his padawan and trains him. And tries to save the galaxy.

Well, that all for now. Please let me know if I made any mistakes, and I’ll correct it (if I’m not too lazy).

#star wars #jedi order #pro jedi #well mostly #Fanfictions list #Pretty sure there’s an official tag for that but I don’t remember #obi wan kenobi #time travel #fanfiction #star wars prequels #ben kenobi

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 2

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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

“Enough already,” Wen Ruohan groaned, and ignored with a twinge of irritation how Qing Yu, the man reporting to him, stiffened and looked pale as if he were convinced that he would imminently be dragged off to the Fire Palace.

As if Wen Ruohan would murder one of the top spies in his network simply because he was being boring.

He wasn’t actually insane, thank you, or at least not to that degree.

Appearing to be wildly unpredictable was often a tremendous advantage in dealing with his fellow sects, and even sometimes within his own sect, but genuine instability would be a disaster. Wen Ruohan’s sect was the most powerful by far of all the Great Sects, and he intended to keep it that way – or rather, he intended his power to grow until his Wen sect was as indominable as the sun in the sky and the other so-called “Great Sects” were mere shadows left in his wake.

Which was why he was torturing himself listening to spy reports on the other Great Sects to begin with, Wen Ruohan supposed, and suppressed a sigh. It was the sort of work that he couldn’t entrust to some subordinate, the whole business confidential in the extreme no matter what the content – the mere confirmation that he had spies in the other Great Sects, and that they were successfully obtaining information for him from them, was potentially explosive. But at the same time, the vast majority of the time the information he received was completely lacking in anything usable. Or even mildly interesting!

“I’m not interested in yet another rehashing of the Jiang sect’s internal issues,” he said, because he wasn’t. While it was true that Jiang Fengmian’s marriage troubles were potentially useful as a weak point, ripe for potential exploitation, they were not exactly new. “Tell me something more exciting.”

Qing Yu looked surprised by the question. “More – exciting, Sect Leader?”

Wen Ruohan groped around mentally for a moment for an example, having grown so bored that he couldn’t think of anything at first, and then smirked faintly as something came to him. “Yes. Tell me who’s going to be attending Lan Qiren’s classes this year.”

Now that would at least be interesting.

Wen Ruohan had never paid very much attention to Lan Qiren. Sure, as acting sect leader of the Lan, he headed one of the other main Great Sects and was therefore one of the targets of Wen Ruohan’s illicit information gathering, but the impression Wen Ruohan had gotten from their few interactions at discussion conferences accorded with the information his spies regularly reported concerning his activities at home: Lan Qiren was an unbearably dull human being.

In almost – and that was the critical word, almost – every respect.

Lan Qiren’s interests, insofar as he took time from his sect duties to indulge in them, appeared to be traditional to the point of cliché, consisting of music and study, both philosophy and the analysis of those ridiculous Lan sect rules. He had no notable romantic entanglements to his name, which was the usual way the Lan sect added interest to their lives, though Wen Ruohan supposed in fairness he wouldn’t have had much opportunity for it, having been entrusted with the responsibility of raising his two nephews and by all reports having characteristically taken it overly seriously. In fact, Lan Qiren barely seemed to have any friends, even within his own sect – a cousin or two he spoke to more often than others, perhaps, but little more. Probably he thought it was somehow inappropriate for someone in his position. He had a temper, on rare occasions, but often sought to suppress it: the man was really unbearably fussy about his sect’s rules, pretending and possibly even genuinely seeking to be faithful to them at all times. Even the inconvenient ones like Do not tell lies, which was just insane.

In short: a boring rule-bound prig with as much passion to him as a bowl of tepid milk.

In Wen Ruohan’s opinion, the Lan tended to come in two flavors, hideously boring and terrifyingly obsessed. He’d concluded that Lan Qiren was the former about an incense stick into their first discussion conference together, and as a result, he’d barely paid any attention to reports about him ever since.

That was why he’d almost missed it.

Only almost, which was why Wen Ruohan was the closest thing the cultivation world had to a god.

Not only was he older and more powerful than all the other cultivators, he also didn’t let himself get lulled into a false sense of security. He prided himself on being observant and cautious, albeit sometimes to the point that others called him paranoid. He kept track of everything that might at some point become a threat to his ambitions for the Wen sect. And even then, it had been years before he’d noticed what Lan Qiren was getting up to with that immensely clever little lecture series of his!

That was the “almost” of Lan Qiren, the exception to the rule of how dull he was.

Somehow, Lan Qiren had managed to convince other sects to send him their children to teach.

He’d offered up the Lan sect’s infamously rigid but spectacular education to sects who were nowhere near as well-equipped, and they’d started sending their children to him in droves, particularly once he got a reputation for being able to improve the unruliest of children. It was a little unusual for any sect to make such an offer or for other sects to accept it, given that most sects tended to be possessive and insular, but ultimately it was easy enough to disregard as little more than an extension of the Lan sect’s overweening pride in their scholarly prowess…and by easy to disregard, Wen Ruohan meant easy to overlook.

And overlook it he had: it wasn’t until a small and especially timid sect under Wen Ruohan’s own command had been paranoid enough to see fit to let him know that they were planning to send their own child there, just in case he might have some problem with it – the Pingliang Tang sect leader probably didn’t piss without confirming that it wouldn’t annoy Wen Ruohan – that Wen Ruohan had even realized the potential implications of what Lan Qiren was doing.

A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime, the saying went, and by the time Wen Ruohan realized what was happening, Lan Qiren, inadvertent father to only nephews, had already seeded the entire cultivation world with students that had recognized him as their teacher. Younger sons, cousins, or branch family members – it might all seem like a lot of nothing, but if one mapped out where they were all from, it was immediately obvious that in another ten or twenty years, Lan Qiren would be able to call upon a vast network of connections, each one bound by their code of honor and cultivation orthodoxy to treat him with respect.

Each one of whom could, without effort, become the perfect spy that no one would ever suspect. Or even more than a spy – even an outright supporter, swaying their sect to follow Lan Qiren’s lead!

No one else had figured it out yet, much to Wen Ruohan’s amusement, not even the year before last when Lan Qiren had finagled Nie Mingjue to be one of his students, presumably trading on his friendship with the current Sect Leader Nie. The Nie sect’s very own sect heir, a Great Sect! That must have been a real coup for Lan Qiren. Not only had it made Lan Qiren’s classes fashionable, a mark of pride for parents who sent their children to them to brag about to each other, it meant that more and more sects were now willing to send their own sect heirs to him, giving him the chance to mold their young, impressionable minds into whatever shape he wished.

Sect heirs! Voluntarily bowing to someone in another sect! To the leader of another sect!

The mere idea of it was enough to make a prospective empire-builder like Wen Ruohan seethe with frustration and envy. No one would ever voluntarily entrust their children to him. If he wanted them, he’d have to force their parents to send them, resistant and rebellious, and it’d have to be outright indoctrination rather than teaching. Far less effective than Lan Qiren’s method.

It was all a stroke of genius, really.

A pity that Lan Qiren had almost certainly done it entirely by accident.

Really, it was almost appalling. How could someone so reserved and, well, boring as the acting head of the Lan sect, with his dull monotone voice and his tendency to talk at great length about exceedingly boring minutiae, have stumbled into such a clever scheme? It required an almost impossible mix of contrary and conflicting elements: the Lan sect’s brilliant reputation for morality and Lan Qiren’s own impeccable (if, again, incredibly boring) reputation as a stern moralist so rigid that suspecting him was essentially pointless, yes, but also persuasion skills sufficient to convince other sects to hand over their precious children, teaching skills sufficient to actually improve those children (presumably all the most troublesome ones their clans had produced, to boot) to such a degree that their parents noticed and appreciated it, sufficient dedication and patience to continue in such unfulfilling work for years and years while knowing that the harvest would not come for decades…

After he’d figured out what Lan Qiren was up to, Wen Ruohan had briefly wondered whether he’d misread the man’s personality. Maybe Lan Qiren was in fact hiding himself in plain sight, a snake in the grass, with all that dull long-windedness actually a deliberate persona designed to divert the attention away from what he was doing. Certainly some of those stupid little exceedingly boring bits of minutiae that he raised during the discussion conferences had ultimately turned out after several years to actually be quite beneficial to the Lan sect…

Unfortunately, that theory had only lasted until the next discussion conference. Lan Qiren was no schemer, Wen Ruohan would bet everything he knew about people on it.

So…fortuitous accident it must be.

It really was a pity. Wen Ruohan hadn’t needed to actually think about any of his fellow sect leaders in ages, most of them being exceptionally predictable, and one really did see it all after a certain point. It would have been rather fun to have a little mystery to slowly unravel, tugging lightly at each thread until he found the loose one that would undo the entire knot.

“Well?” he drawled, suddenly realizing that Qing Yu hadn’t actually answered his question, but had started hemming and hawing in an incredibly irritating sort of fashion instead. “Did you not obtain that information? If so, you’re far better off simply admitting to your failure up front, rather than making me wait…”

“Sect Leader, no!” Qing Yu cried out, his eyes going wide and a little white around the edges, spooked like a nervy overbred stallion. “The information was sought, of course, I would never fail the Sect Leader by letting down his expectations. But there simply wasn’t any to be obtained! As far as we can tell, there haven’t been any invitations sent out at all.”

Wen Ruohan frowned. “No invitations? Why not?”

The weather had already started to turn from winter back into spring. Whatever his other faults, Lan Qiren was invariably meticulous. In previous years, he had always settled all the details of who would be attending later that summer well before the first flowers bloomed, leaving him the entire spring to develop and revise his teaching plans.

A deviation from the norm was invariably worth paying attention to.

Qing Yu looked uncomfortable. “Sect Leader,” he said, “it is my belief that – ah – well, I think it is likely that there aren’t going to be any classes this year at all.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows shot up.

“You may recall,” his spy said delicately, clearly reluctant to remind him lest Wen Ruohan take insult at the suggestion that he’d forgotten something, “the information I passed to you two months ago, about the change in power at the Lan sect…?”

“Yes, yes, Qingheng-jun coming back out of his wretched seclusion, I recall.”

Wen Ruohan hadn’t liked that news one bit. He had never been particularly impressed with the man – his memory of Qingheng-jun was a little less complimentary than that of many of his colleagues – but even he had to admit that Qingheng-jun had always been a talented cultivator.

Before he’d gone away into seclusion, Qingheng-jun had had a great deal of promise as a force to be reckoned with. With his good looks and aloof charms, not to mention his rapidly growing power, he had easily taken and maintained the top place on the cultivation world’s lists of most eligible and well-respected young masters. It was well known that the Lan sect treated him as their precious treasure and saw him as the future of their sect, and even outside his sect he’d been widely regarded as an especially promising young talent. For those like Wen Ruohan who thought of growing their own sect’s power, he had always been regarded as a potential threat.

Admittedly, Wen Ruohan hadn’t thought much of Qingheng-jun’s political sense during those brief few years that he had been in charge of the Lan sect, even accounting for the fact that he was a Lan, who were uniformly not especially good at such things. Rather, he had concluded that Qingheng-jun was at that time a little too arrogant given what he had to back it up – unlike Wen Ruohan himself, who was overweeningly arrogant but who had the personal and political power to justify it – and the years since had largely made him think that the Lan sect had probably traded up when they’d substituted Lan Qiren in instead. Lan Qiren might be boring, but he wasn’t reckless or overweening, and that counted for a surprisingly great deal when it came to politics.

Still, ten years of secluded cultivation wasn’t anything to sneer at, least of all from a man who’d already been a promising talent. As soon as he’d heard of the Qingheng-jun’s reemergence into the world, Wen Ruohan had sent his spies in the Lan sect to check that the other man hadn’t become too powerful, at least in comparison to himself. Upon being reassured that he hadn’t, he’d immediately stopped caring.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, frowning. “If Lan Qiren is no longer serving as acting sect leader, doesn’t that give him more time to devote to his little teaching experiment…? Or has he decided to pack up his guqin and take to the road as a wandering cultivator?”

The idea was a little ridiculous, though not actually out of the question. It was extremely common for young masters to set out on such a journey upon reaching adulthood, hoping to improve their cultivation and win fame and glory, and Lan Qiren was after all still in his twenties, or at minimum early thirties, even if he behaved so much like an old fogey that it was easy to forget it. Wen Ruohan had always instinctively classed him as the same age as his peers among the other Great Sects, but in actual fact Lan Qiren was younger than Jiang Fengmian, otherwise the youngest, by at least seven or eight years.

It was plausible, anyway. Still, Wen Ruohan couldn’t see it. Maybe after a year or two, once Qingheng-jun was firmly settled back into his new position as sect leader, but surely Qingheng-jun wouldn’t so readily give up the invaluable resource that was his younger brother’s ten years of experience…?

“No, Sect Leader, nothing like that,” Qing Yu said respectfully. “My sources in the Lan sect report that Second Master Lan has entered seclusion.”

Wen Ruohan blinked.

“No, that’s wrong,” he said, genuinely startled out of his usual apathy for the first time in – years. “Lan Qiren would never enter seclusion.”

That was something he was quite certain of.

Wen Ruohan might have been taken by surprise by the unexpected inventiveness of that teaching idea, but as a general matter, he still had eyes that he knew how to use. Lan Qiren had never once gone into secluded training in the entire ten years since his brother’s retreat from the world, not even temporarily, not even when the opportunity to utilize the most desirable spots for cultivation was offered for his use during the discussion conferences, as it was on occasion. Further, Lan Qiren hadn’t managed to completely eradicate his tendency to grimace whenever someone even mentioned seclusion, though over the years he’d gotten a little better at suppressing it.

In short, it was quite obvious that he regarded seclusion with the same suspicion as a man who had once bitten into a sour lemon thinking it was candy might regard all fruit.

It was quite a reasonable distaste, given what had happened with his elder brother’s own strict seclusion and the impact it had had on his own life. But that just made it all more unlikely that Lan Qiren had suddenly chosen to give up his beloved classes in favor of a lengthy seclusion. If he had, then Wen Ruohan had wholly misjudged him, and that was a far more serious matter than whatever the man was actually doing.

“The Sect Leader is wise and insightful, with unsurpassed judgment,” Qing Yu said, slavishly complimentary as ever. “Although I only have some whispers to rely upon, it is my understanding that the seclusion is not wholly voluntary on Second Master Lan’s part, but rather undertaken as some sort of penance.”

“Penance,” Wen Ruohan said, now even more bemused. “Lan Qiren.”

The Lan sect was inordinately fond of making all sorts of ridiculous rules, and of punishing themselves for breaking those rules, but – Lan Qiren?

Wen Ruohan was usually the first to believe in his fellow man’s capacity for treachery, which was not to be underestimated, but…still. Lan Qiren? He couldn’t see Lan Qiren having committed any sort of serious offense, let alone one that was sufficiently grievous to justify him being confined against his will. The man had once looked appalled and outraged when Jin Guangshan had casually suggested he wear something that would break a Lan sect rule against waist ornaments. How serious an infraction could he have possibly committed?

“What else do you know about it? I’ll accept rumor if you don’t have anything concrete,” he asked, finding to his amusement that he was fishing for gossip like some sort of fishmonger’s wife. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an exciting series of updates. Not even Qingheng-jun’s unexpected reemergence into the cultivation world had moved him this much.

“Rumor has it that it may have something to do with his brother, the now restored Sect Leader Lan,” Qing Yu reported. “There are those in the Cloud Recesses that say that they quarreled – even that they’ve grown to despise each other.”

Wen Ruohan arched his eyebrows and steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth.

Now that was news.

Rumor or no rumor, he’d never heard so much of a hint of it before. Lan Qiren had never said a bad word about his brother within Wen Ruohan’s presence, and the reports his spies had delivered to him indicated that he always dutifully reported to his brother’s door once every five days without fail, to update him about the events happening in the Lan sect. There had never been any hint of trouble there, and the vanishingly rare orders Qingheng-jun had issued from his seclusion, all in writing, had been implemented without the slightest hesitation. Wen Ruohan had never bothered looking into Lan Qiren’s history with his sect, assuming it to be every bit as dull as his present day, but perhaps that had been an oversight, if there was something like this lurking in there.

It seemed that Lan Qiren might have hidden depths after all.

Interesting indeed.

Though…perhaps what was most interesting was instead Wen Ruohan’s own reaction to the news.

Reflecting on the thoughts he’d just had, it was notable that he’d fixated on the part of the rumor focusing on Lan Qiren, rather than his brother. Under normal circumstances, Wen Ruohan really ought to have immediately assumed that the rumor was half-true and half-false, that the hatred was one-sided, that it was only Qingheng-jun who had a problem with Lan Qiren. It’d hardly be surprising if that were the case, really. The man had been in seclusion for ten years; it’d be strange if his mind wasn’t a little twisted after that, and of course any paranoid mind would suspect the person who’d sat in his seat for those ten long years of malicious motives, no matter how superficially innocent and loyal Lan Qiren might seem.

That was by far the more logical conclusion, and yet Wen Ruohan hadn’t gone there.

Instead, he’d immediately accepted what was, after all, only a rumor, and taken it as a complete truth. Was it simply that he was taken by the unlikely notion that Lan Qiren hated his brother in return?

It just seemed so…unlike the man.

Wen Ruohan had never seen a version of Lan Qiren that hated before.

The rare times the man had succumbed to his temper had already been interesting enough, and those instances had involved little more than distaste. How would genuine hatred look on him? Wen Ruohan found himself rather curious.

A thought then occurred to him.

“What about the two boys?” he asked. “Lan Qiren’s nephews. Isn’t he raising them? How could he go into seclusion and leave a duty like that unattended?”

“Yes, Sect Leader, your memory is correct, he was previously involved in the heirs’ upbringing. I believe that Sect Leader Lan has now resumed supervision over their education, as is his right as their father.”

“Father,” Wen Ruohan snorted. “Father indeed. If I recall correctly, Lan Qiren was serving as father and mother both to those children, what with the two of them in seclusion the way they were. Are you saying he’s no longer involved in raising the children? At all?”

“No, Sect Leader.”

Cutting off Lan Qiren’s access to his beloved nephews might be enough to make him hate someone, Wen Ruohan supposed, finding himself unexpectedly appalled by the news. It seemed like a terribly stupid thing to do, and he hadn’t thought that Qingheng-jun was that stupid.

Even if you were jealous of your brother who had (however unwillingly) usurped your authority in your absence, whether as sect leader or as father, even if you longed to have your children back at your side with their attention paid to you rather than to him, to tear apart a close family relationship like that was really a step too far. Even Wen Ruohan wouldn’t do such a thing lightly. He might be power-hungry and cruel, bloodthirsty and sadistic, he could admit all of that, but even he understood the foremost importance of family.

Even if he didn’t, Wen Ruohan wasn’t an idiot: to put a mere brotherly rivalry above sect unity and create internal strife before you had firmly gripped the reins of power once more was stupid to the extreme. Lan Qiren hadn’t been the most popular leader, but he’d still been leader for ten years, and people were creatures of habit – to immediately imprison him in seclusion would be seen as inauspicious, a bad omen. What ambitious man voluntarily brought a cloud like that upon himself when it was infinitely easier to avoid it by doing nothing?

Not to mention the impact on the children themselves! That alone would have been enough to stay Wen Ruohan’s own hand in such circumstances.

Oh, other men might believe that children of nine and six were too young to really remember much, but Wen Ruohan knew better. Take himself as an example: he was the cultivation world’s most ancient monster, having lived for a century or more, and by now the details of many of his older memories had begun to slip through his fingers like grains of sand, faces blurring and details forgotten…but the traumatic events of his own childhood were still shockingly easy to recall.

He’d been, what, six, seven years old when the Lan sect’s last war had started? Eight, perhaps? Certainly no more than that. But Wen Ruohan could still remember those days, when the smell of blood had sunk so deeply into him that he thought it had never really left him since. He could still recall with ease memories of walking through battlefields full of his slaughtered kin, his feet bleeding, his skin burning from the harsh glare of the sun, each and every one of his senses full of the stink of the humid forest, the filth and dirt of the earth. He could still recall how the faces of the Wen sect’s dead were twisted in agony and fear, filled with resentment, but those of the Lan bloodline were quiet and peaceful, as if they had been lulled to sleep with a lullaby…and they had been, an immensely poisonous one, their own sect leader having poured it into their ears long before the battle began to give them the strength of madmen, and the deaths of madmen, too.

Terrifying. Wen Ruohan had never really trusted a Lan since that day.

Wen Ruohan could recall the other lessons he’d learned back then, too. That bitter and bloody war had been the first time his brothers had betrayed him. It had been the first time he had realized that he could rely only upon himself in this world, himself and those who were so deeply dependent upon him that they could see no difference between his interests and theirs. He had grown cold and closed off and self-interested, rejecting all connections other than the ones he himself chose. It hadn’t been until years later, when he himself had inadvertently betrayed his own favorite younger brother, that he’d realized the perils of the path he had set himself on back then, and by then of course it was too late to regret…

Not that Wen Ruohan really regretted having had the last laugh, of course. After all, was he not here, still firmly seated upon the seat of the Wen sect leader a century later, and all those who had once betrayed him now dead and gone, forgotten by all but him?

Surely that must mean that everything had worked out for him, with no room for regret.

Still, the fact remained that the scars of childhood were oftentimes the most lasting, with Wen Ruohan’s own lingering wariness of the seemingly placid Lan sect itself something that could be seen as evidence of that. So if Qingheng-jun intended to use involuntary seclusion as a means to separate Lan Qiren from his sons and return their loyalties to himself, he was making a terrible mistake.

It wasn’t that the goal itself was so bad, really – Wen Ruohan might not be overly attached to his own sons, but he would swiftly murder anyone who tried to take his place with them – but rather the method.

The right way to do it would have been for Qingheng-jun to take advantage of his lengthy absence to re-introduce himself to his sons in a way that would let him sweep them off their feet. It wouldn’t even have been that hard! It wasn’t as if Qingheng-jun were without his good points. He had a reputation as an exceptional swordsman and an outstanding cultivator, of being polished and charming, and of course he was handsome in the way all the Lan main bloodline were, and being handsome was always an advantage.

They were only children. With just a little effort, he could very easily have overwhelmed them.

He could have filled the boys’ eyes with him until they couldn’t see anything else. He could have set himself out as something new and exciting and different, made himself all honey in comparison to their uncle’s strict discipline. Then, once he’d won their trust, it would have been easy enough to drip poison into their ears, easy enough to breed distrust and disdain and dislike of the uncle who had once raised them with love. They were only children. It wouldn’t have been hard at all to lead them by the nose until they’d turned away from Lan Qiren, thinking the entire time that they were acting through their own free will. It would take years for them to uncover the deceit, and by then it would be too late to regret.

Far too late.

In his time, Wen Ruohan had enacted similar plots before on people who weren’t even related to him. To do it to children of his own family would have been as easy as flipping over his hand.

But…this? This way? A forced rupture, a cruelly imposed separation?

It would do nothing but harden everyone’s feelings, solidify their positions. It would brand the boys’ love for Lan Qiren into their heads forever. Even if they never saw him again, they would forever remember the uncle that had faithfully cared for them in their youth, and they would resent their father for having so cruelly taken him away from them. Such a resentment might take years to ferment and grow, and it might never come to anything in the end, but at a minimum there was no way that such a move would aid Qingheng-jun in winning his sons over to his side rather than his brother’s.

It was stupid. Absolutely, colossally stupid.

…too stupid, perhaps?

Wen Ruohan was aware that his peers often jeered at him for being unduly paranoid, but he credited his suspicious instincts at least in part for his success in living as long as he had. Could there be something more to Qingheng-jun’s actions than what appeared on the surface? Or was it really just that seclusion had rotted away his brain?

Qing Yu tried to speak further, possibly to change the subject, but Wen Ruohan waved him silent. There was something in that thought, the feeling of having caught the right scent, of tracking down some hidden hint of truth that he needed to follow to its end lest someone manage to get something by him.

Wen Ruohan did not let people get things by him.

So: let him take as his premise that Qingheng-jun was, while not necessarily smart, at a minimum not completely foolish. His behavior towards his brother was not only malicious, but pointless and counterproductive. He had to have realized that what he was doing would only make his sons dislike him more, especially sons that had been up until now raised with Lan Qiren’s rigid adherence to morality, and yet he had decided to proceed regardless. What, then, could be his real goal? Even sadists like Wen Ruohan typically had a reason behind their cruelty…

Unless the cruelty was the point.

Now that was an interesting thought.

Let Wen Ruohan accept as a premise that Qingheng-jun disliked his brother, having formed a grudge against him, presumably for having enjoyed everything that rightfully belonged to him while he hid away from the world. It would be a foolish sort of grudge, of course, given that he’d voluntarily given it all up, but it was the sort of irrational grudge a petty sort of man might nevertheless foster. Then, taking the next step down that path, could he assume that Qingheng-jun was acting first and foremost on account of that grudge, rather than reason?

Could Qingheng-jun really have grown to hate his younger brother to such a degree that he wanted nothing more than for him to suffer, and knew that he would suffer all the more in his seclusion because he knew that his nephews would also be suffering through missing him?

Interesting indeed.

It certainly fit with what he remembered of Qingheng-jun. He’d been short-sighted, which at the time Wen Ruohan had largely ascribed to his youth, and he had been inclined to play favorites, a contrast to Lan Qiren’s scrupulous even-handedness thereafter. He’d been susceptible to flattery in a way that Wen Ruohan had noted down as a potential future weakness to exploit, the same way he did with Jin Guangshan, and he had been dreadfully petty, remembering grudges but never favors. He’d been young back then, yes, but ten years in seclusion would have calcified and enhanced those traits, not reduced or ameliorated them.

So yes, Qingheng-jun might not be stupid enough to behave in a way that was wholly contrary to his goals, but he might be just stupid enough to prioritize his grudge over other considerations. Even Wen Ruohan would make missteps when he allowed self-indulgence to overwhelm his political sense.

It fit – but not quite.

There was still something there that didn’t quite make sense.

Overall, the logic was sound. If the goal of Qingheng-jun’s actions was to punish Lan Qiren for the perceived slight of having been Sect Leader in Qingheng-jun’s absence – even though it was obvious enough to anyone with eyes that Lan Qiren hadn’t especially wanted to do it and would probably have been delighted to be quit of the role if only the person he was returning the position to was worthy of it – then it was quite reasonable to forcefully tear him away from his nephews as a means of hurting him.

(It was even a little exciting, in its own way. Wen Ruohan could quite reasonably claim to be the cultivation world’s most accomplished torturer, though admittedly one that preferred inflicting physical pain rather than emotional agony, and brutality of this level was piquant even to his long-jaded palate.)

On the other hand, there was surely no lasting joy or victory in such a necessarily temporary set-up.

After all, as long as Lan Qiren remained at the Cloud Recesses, his nephews would have access to him. There was no way around it. Even Qingheng-jun’s wife, who had lived in permanent solitude alongside him, had had some connection with the outside world, however limited. No matter how great the hatred between them – and Wen Ruohan had to remind himself that that hatred was just an assumption on his part – even so, Qingheng-jun couldn’t justify locking Lan Qiren away for good.

No, the Lan sect was the Lan sect in the end, with a reputation for righteousness that was not wholly hollow. They might, in their insularity and joy at the return of a much-beloved and much-missed hero, allow a miscarriage of justice, but it wouldn’t last. Qingheng-jun might be the Lan sect’s darling, a treasure that everyone had thought lost for good, and his reputation would undoubtedly only have benefited from never having to be measured against reality, everyone projecting their own prejudices and ambitions upon his blank slate. But in the end it was still the Lan sect, honorable and rule-bound. Even if Qingheng-jun was universally beloved and Lan Qiren not, which Wen Ruohan doubted, it would still be impossible to imprison him forever.

Lan Qiren would eventually go free. And once free, with the trauma of forced separation between them, his nephews would rush back to him and him to them, wouldn’t they? They would only be closer than ever before. All the suffering they had endured would be wholly eclipsed by the greatness of their joy…

That’s what didn’t work.

Wen Ruohan’s assumption, at the moment, was that Qingheng-jun was a cruel man. Wen Ruohan himself was a cruel man, had been a cruel man for years, and moreover he had been in the position of having felt himself deeply and truly wronged before. Like recognized like. No one knew better than he how a man like that thought – the things he might want, the things he might do.

There was no way that a Qingheng-jun who wanted to be rid of his brother would stop at just seclusion.

And in this situation, that meant…

“What are Qingheng-jun’s plans for Lan Qiren?” Wen Ruohan asked abruptly.

Qing Yu jumped a little. He was easily startled, though presumably paranoia and over-caution was a useful trait in a spy. “His plans, Sect Leader?”

“After the seclusion is complete,” he clarified, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m certain he has some. What do the rumors in the Cloud Recesses say?”

“Ah – Sect Leader – this one failed to anticipate your level of interest – I have not heard of Qingheng-jun having any plans for his younger brother at all –”

Of course. Wen Ruohan nodded sagaciously, realizing that he’d raised the question the wrong way around. Someone as vain as he recalled Qingheng-jun being would never allow others to suspect that he was acting purely out of malice, as that might call his reputation as a perfect gentleman into question.

No, whatever he was going to do to Lan Qiren next would have to be appear to be spontaneous.

The key phrase being, appear to be.

“Tell me then of what the rumors are regarding Lan Qiren’s own plans for the future, once his seclusion has ended,” Wen Ruohan requested. It was unlikely that someone as transparently sincere as Lan Qiren actually had any such plans, which meant that any rumors that existed were probably being spurred on by Qingheng-jun instead. It was the sort of thing Wen Ruohan had seen plenty of in the Lan sect when it had been under the former Sect Leader Lan, their father, and that was the environment Qingheng-jun would have grown up in, much more so than Lan Qiren given the difference in their ages. “There must be something that people are saying, never mind their stupid rule against gossip. If someone is saying something, I wish to hear about it. No matter how outlandish.”

“Sect Leader, this humble one apologizes – I have failed to live up to your expectations – I will go out and seek out an answer at once –”

Wen Ruohan probed a few more times in a few more ways, but without success.

After a while, he gave a faint sigh and lifted his hand again to stop Qing Yu’s endless apologies.

“Enough already,” he said. “I understand already, you have nothing more to say. You’re dismissed…ah, as you go, send in Wang Liu, will you?”

He waited until Qing Yu’s dutiful second-in-command had been summoned and Qing Yu was fully gone before speaking again.

“You are in luck,” he told Wang Liu mildly. “You have an opportunity for advancement.”

The man’s eyes widened – in surprise, yes, but Wen Ruohan could see the light of ambition kindling in his gaze as well.

“It seems that your predecessor is a spy for one of the other sects.” Wen Ruohan smiled at Wang Liu’s obvious shock. “No, don’t deny it. I’m certain you had your suspicions and were keeping them to yourself for the moment, looking for a chance to capitalize on them? No proof, I assume?”

Wang Liu jerked his head in a nod, then bowed deeply.

“The Sect Leader’s wisdom greatly exceeds my own,” he said respectfully. “It has been my belief for some time that Master Qing reported first to Lanling Jin before you. Uncovering a spy in a single conversation…! The Sect Leader is far better at judging men than I could ever dream to be! He never slipped up enough around me for me to confirm anything, and he has always been triply cautious when speaking to you.”

Wen Ruohan snorted. “Stop it with the compliments,” he said dryly. “There’s a difference between respect and blatant flattery, and the latter is an insult to my intelligence. There’s news like this out there and he drones on for half a shichen about Yu Ziyuan’s latest fit of jealousy? He’s either incompetent or a traitor, and I forgive neither.”

It wasn’t worth it to force the answer out of Qing Yu directly, though Wen Ruohan had no doubt he could do so. Why bother? There were far more enjoyable ways to go about it – and indeed, a piece of paper and a flick of his hand sent word to the soldiers that waited outside his door, and they headed off to escort his previous guest down to the Fire Palace. He and Qing Yu could have a much longer, more fruitful, and far more enjoyable conversation down there.

Well, enjoyable for Wen Ruohan, anyway.

Maybe he really would let it get out that he’d done it because the man had bored him. There was value in having the appearance of instability, after all…

“Do you know of any rumors in the Lan sect regarding Lan Qiren’s future plans?” he asked his new top spy for Gusu. “I presume you get the same reports as Qing Yu. There must be something that someone is saying.”

Presumably mindful of the fate of his predecessor, Wang Liu gave the matter some serious thought.

“Nothing concrete or believable, Sect Leader,” he finally said. “Even the most persistent rumor I heard was little more than chattering among the Lan women that now that Lan Qiren was free of the burdens of sect leadership, he might finally go ahead and get married.”

That actually got a real, genuine bark of laughter out of Wen Ruohan.

“Lan Qiren,” he said, unable to contain his glee. “Lan Qiren, married? Can you imagine? The poor woman!”

Wang Liu couldn’t conceal an answering smirk of his own.

“Just imagine it,” Wen Ruohan continued, doing just that, his laughter getting stronger rather than fading. “Listening to him drone on and on about those awful Lan sect rules day and night! It’s probably his idea of convivial dinner table conversation – ah, no, the Lan sect has a rule against speaking while eating, doesn’t it? So it’d be sitting in silence instead, and then the rules would come out –”

Lao Nie, the current Sect Leader Nie, had once told Wen Ruohan that he’d gotten Lan Qiren drunk in some sort of experiment, and that the other man had apparently gone on a full-shichen rant about some arcane nuance of some rule developed four generations earlier. If that was what the man was like when he was drunk, Wen Ruohan couldn’t even imagine the misery of being married to him while he was sober.

He supposed there was the possibility that it might not be quite as bad as he was making it out to be: Lan Qiren was a Lan, in the end. That family had once been infamous for their mad hearts, even the most placid and boring of them a potential minefield – it was really their one bout of unorthodoxy, the way they honored their ancestor’s ceaseless devotion to a single dao companion, for whom they would do anything. Would it be possible for Lan Qiren to change everything about who he was once he’d fallen in love…?

Of course, that assumed he’d marry for love.

Still chuckling, Wen Ruohan dismissed Wang Liu and headed down towards his Fire Palace to entertain himself. He found, to his surprise, that he couldn’t quite get the thought out of his mind. Though perhaps that was understandable: it was a compelling notion! The Lan sect might prefer to marry for love, but they were as deeply mired in the muck of politics as everyone else. While they refrained from arranging betrothals in childhood to allow for the possibility of their disciples falling in love and ruining everything, they were more willing to be practical when it came to older ones, and Lan Qiren must be around thirty by now. It wouldn’t be implausible for him to want to get married…

Or at least agree to it, anyway. After all, Qingheng-jun was new to the scene, coming back to take charge of his sect after ten years of absence; he would need to make some big moves to establish his authority. It would only be beneficial to him if he could arrange some sort of alliance on the basis of Lan Qiren’s marriage, establishing himself as a figure to be reckoned with both internally and in the wider cultivation world, and it would probably tickle his fancy to utilize a brother he despised to do it.

Maybe that really was what Qingheng-jun was planning.

It would even be rather clever, really. A few months of seclusion to remove Lan Qiren from power, then shackling him down with some woman of Qingheng-jun’s selection – and Lan Qiren was a valuable matrimonial prize, as such things went, capable of winning all sorts of benefits for the Lan sect.

Brother of a sect leader, years of service and experience as sect leader himself…the sect that married their daughter to Lan Qiren would probably even think that they’d be getting a direct line to Qingheng-jun – of course, they’d be wrong, if Qingheng-jun really did dislike his brother, but that was the sort of thing an outsider wouldn’t know unless they had access to the types of spies Wen Ruohan had – and also all of those valuable connections Lan Qiren would have spent years building with the other sect leaders. What wouldn’t they trade for such an immense advantage? Qingheng-jun could have his pick of the world!

Of course, such a solution still left the long-term problem.

Wen Ruohan just couldn’t see someone as upright and devoted as Lan Qiren turning away from his nephews simply because he’d married and had his own children. The man’s personality just didn’t seem to be that type, not at all. He was too bull-headedly loyal, too devoted, too true…well, perhaps Qingheng-jun simply didn’t know him well enough. He’d been gone for ten years, after all.

Lan Qiren, a married man with a wife of his own at home, Wen Ruohan thought to himself once more, and shook his head. For some reason, the amusement that he’d initially had at the ridiculousness of the thought had faded away, leaving only a strange sense of dissatisfaction. I just can’t see it.

I can’t see it at all.

#mdzs #wen ruohan #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #my fic #my fics #megafic

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 1 of Recovery Road

chapter rating (this will change!): T

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 6444

chapter summary: dieter joins the production of an old friend and meets his new co-star

chapter warnings/tags: discussions of addiction/rehab, smoking, cursing, angst, no use of y/n, named reader but no physical descriptions other than hairstyle/clothing, adult language

a/n: Highly recommend reading the AO3 version. I've been working on doing some fun things with formatting work skins, so please check that out! My FC for Heidi is Sarah Goldberg and Timothy Olyphant as Mark, but yours doesn't have to!

▲ Series Masterlist | Next

▲ AO3 Link

“Despite the meteoric success of their first and only film together, Recovery Road, neither Dieter Bravo nor Natalie Lorraine were present when the film won the Oscar for Best Picture that year— an oddity for the main leads of such a critical and commercial darling. Cobbled together from stories from other cast members, director’s cut commentary, and straight up rumors, there is no clear cut picture of what happened to prevent the two stars from basking in the rewards of the film’s success. Perhaps in twenty years, if we’re all still around and the internet monolith continues to chug forward, we’ll get some tell-all documentary on Netflix where all things will be revealed. Blood shed. Lives lost. The whole shebang. Until then, you can find this old reviewer sitting up in his attic rewatching one of the most poignant and moving depictions of love and addiction we’ve gotten in the last three decades. Recovery Road is not, nor has it ever been, one to miss.” - John Michael David, Rolling Stone, “Why Recovery Road Still Stays With Us Today”

It’s getting hot inside the car. 

If he was going to sit this long in the fucking car, he should have left it running. Summers in LA are sneaky. Desert air is cold in the dark, but piercing in the day. He had purposefully parked in the shade, but it was still too much. He feels sweat break out across his hairline and he knows that won’t be a good look. He needs to look completely put together, completely at ease, relaxed. Unflinching. Unrufflable. Like he does tai chi every thirty minutes and can harmonize with the universe during rush hour traffic. 

He’s got to keep it together. 

But he can’t take his fucking palms down from his eyes. The heel of his hands dig into his eye sockets and for all the pressure it builds, it feels good. The pressure flushes out every other thought in his head and he needs to go into this clear-headed. If he fucks up again, it’s not just his ass on the line. 

He wants to believe things are going to be different this time. He wants to believe he’s going to be different. He’s worked his ass off to get here – sweated and shook and vomited into his own lap as the withdrawals tightened every muscle in his body – and now he just needs this one chance. Chloe – patient, perfect Chloe – was counting on him. If she said he could do it, he probably could. 

His left hand, third finger, twinges and that’s what brings his hands down from his face. He looks at the ring there. That gold beautiful ring. A promise made real. He swallows. 

Today, it’s a table read. Done it a thousand times. He’s actually early, for fuck’s sake. He glances down, triple checking he’s not wearing slippers or that mangy robe. Jeans. Black shirt. Easy. Chloe warned against the rings, but he’d sooner part with those than his right hand entirely. Sure he fucked up, sure he was a fuck up, but there were parts of Dieter Bravo that just had a right to exist. People wouldn’t recognize him without his rings. 

He did cave about the earring though. 

You’re almost thirty-six, darling. Nobody but rockstars can wear earrings at that age. 

When he went into rehab, he was thirty-three. He had lost two years of his life in that prison and he was not about to do it again. He had left his sobriety token at home, but he wished he had it now, just for something to squeeze, something to soothe his feverish palm. Again, Chloe had quietly nudged him: “do we need to get you a fidget spinner, baby?”

He wanted to joke, “that’s what the adderall is for”, but given that his doctor was forced to prescribe him something else for his ADHD after they found a dozen empty pill bottles under his bed, it probably wasn’t all that funny. 

He breathes, counting down just like the nice lady at the rehab center taught him to. 

Your self-destructive habits formed out of necessity. It’s time to reshape them. 

Today, it’s just a table read. He can do this.

He pops the sunglasses out of their holder on the console and slips them over his eyes. He takes one more glance out of the rearview mirror, half-expecting to be staring down the long lens of a TMZ reporter. He grabs the script from the passenger seat, curls it under his fingers— and still doesn’t move.

He likes this script. He likes the writer, seen their work in the past and it rocks. It’s good. It’s a good part. It’s actually better than good. It’s Oscar bait, they say on the internet, and he has the lead part. An aging musician struggling to rebuild his life after a drug addiction ruined his band’s final tour. The scriptwriter didn’t actually say that he had Dieter in mind when he wrote the part, but Jesus– suffice it to say, he understood the material. 

The aging musician was going to help a young upstart find her way in the music scene. She joins the band. They flirt, they fuck, they fall in love, and everything is ruined by their own egos. End credits. Lights up. Oscar in his hand. 

He didn’t recognize the name of his co-star when his agent sent over the cast list. He honestly didn’t even ask about her. He knew the director, had worked with her in the past, and thought she had a real eye for scenecraft and a knack for finding that beating heart of a moment. He trusted her with casting the right part for his opposite, just as she had casted him. But it wasn’t even about her, his co-star– he was ready to dig in and see what the director could pull out of him. 

And fuck, if it worked for RDJ, then it could work for him. 

This had to work for him. He feels the pressure return behind his eyeballs. 

“Fuck it,” he hisses and nearly kicks the door open. The script curled up in his hand like a baseball bat, Dieter Bravo strolls across the hot parking lot to the studio sound stage and into the rest of his life.

He is used to being stared at. He is used to all eyes on him, but not like this. This feels too much like that last party when the cops showed up and found all of his illegal prescriptions. It makes him itch.

The empty stage is filled mostly with crew and staff, setting up lighting and testing the sound recording. They’re all busy, getting ready for next week to start filming, but they all still have time to send him a worried glance. Because if he fucked up, they’d all be out of a job until shooting wrapped. They had enough courtesy to not actually whisper in front of him, but he knew exactly what they were saying just after he’s out of earshot:

“Oh, fuck, this is a Bravo flick? Shit, I gotta get another gig.”

“That asshole is here? Oh my God, this thing’ll be shut down in two weeks!”

“Fuck that guy and his stupid hair.”

Okay, that last one might have been projecting. He catches his own gaze in a pane of glass while he waits for the director’s assistant to return. His hair, despite his best attempts, would not lie flat, would not stay unrumpled. Another thing Chloe thought a man of his age shouldn’t have. 

He hasn’t seen another cast member and now he’s worried he got the time wrong and he’s missed it and he’s already started all of this off all wrong —

“Dieter! Oh my God, you’re here!”

Heidi, the director, beams at him so bright he actually feels himself go warm. She has her arms out open for him and he rushes to her, picks her up in his arms and twirls her. Her hair is back to her natural silvery blonde, cut short and kept out of her face with a tornado of bobby pins. He’s never seen her without her jean jacket, even at premieres. 

Early on in their careers, he found he had too much respect for her to try and sleep with her and they formed, over the years, the closest thing he could call a healthy relationship. She was like his sister, since his own didn’t seem like she’d ever pick up the phone again. 

It also helped that she was a raging lesbian, happily married, and wouldn’t go near his dick for all the money at Warner Brothers Studios. 

“Dieter, you look so fucking good, dude.” She pats his face and scrunches up her nose, those black headphones knocking around her neck. “Fuck, it’s been too long.”

“I know, Di, I know.” He always liked that their nicknames sounded alike. Dee and Di. A team. “How’s Lucy?”

“Pfft, you know her. Taken the kids up to Canada for the summer. Says the trees are more ‘real’ there,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I miss the little buggers, but shit, it’s nice to have a quiet house.”

He laughs, the knot in his chest easing. “Before school starts up again, you’ll have to come by the new place.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. You just moved back into the neighborhood, didn’t you? I heard about that. You and, uh . . .”

He hides the blush in the tips of his ears with his hand, acting like he’s scratching an itch on the side of his head. “Yeah, Chloe and I are still together. Been married for a little over two years now.”

At that, Heidi’s bright green eyes snap open wide. She nearly launches herself at him to grab his hand, gawking at the only gold ring on his finger. “Shutthefuckup. You got married?! You asshole, why wasn’t I invited?”

He swallows past the hard knot in his throat. “It was a small thing. Could hardly call it a party.” 

Heidi, as she usually does, takes not a lick of his bullshit. “Uh huh. Well, shit, I guess we have to double-date now.” 

“I’d like that.” He grins.

Her shock softens, and she punches his shoulder softly, her smile wide across her face. “You fuckin’ dork. I can’t believe you got married. Who knew Dieter Bravo would settle down?” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth if he tries to answer, so he just shrugs. Her eyes linger on him for a second more, before looping her arm through his and leading him away from the stage. 

“So have you read the script?”

He nods eagerly. “Yep. The whole thing. Front to back. It’s fucking incredible, Heidi.” 

“Yes it is! There’s so much to work with. It’s a little hoity-toity for my taste in some places, but I think there’s a way to balance the shmaltz with genuine emotion, you know? The script, it’s so raw and real, I know you can get to those places.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t already,” he jokes off-handedly. They’re standing in the big open bay, where the crew can wheel in giant cranes for lighting or special effects, when Heidi freezes. A frown is growing over her face as though realizing something for the first time. A wind blows in and he thinks he can smell the desert in it.

“Oh, fuck, Dee,” she murmurs, not even looking at him. “This script, the material . . . you just got out of fucking rehab, and—,”

He shakes his head, a bit frantic. He’ll get on his hands and knees to let her keep him on this project. “Heidi, this is fine. I’m fine.”

He takes her by her shoulders and makes her look him in the eye. 

“I want this part. I want this part so fucking badly. I know I can do it too. I’m going to do this project and it’s going to blow your fucking socks off. You can count on me. I’m responsible now, I promise.”

At that, her green eyes soften. “Responsible and married? Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Dieter Bravo?”

Early on in their careers, she had also been right by his side, doing line after line of coke off hookers and strippers. But then she grew up. If she can have a family and a beautiful wife, then why can’t he? 

“Dee, look,” she says softly and touches the hand around her shoulder. “I’m not worried about any of that. I always knew you were something special, if you could just get out of your own way.” She glances away, shame making her mouth tick. “But I should have checked in more. I knew you were still in rehab, even after those times I called. I should have stayed in touch. I’m sorry.”

Something about her pity was unbearable. “Don’t. Please. It’s in the past. It’s over and I want to move on. This time, it’s going to be different.”

Heidi nods, smiling. “For sure, dude. We’ll do this together.”

He can fucking breathe again. She sees this and takes him by the arm, letting him get his feet under him. The air is warm, and Heidi’s hand is firm against his forearm. 

“I know the email said to meet at the sound stage, but everyone’s working out here, so I just put us in the back of the studio. Much more quiet. C’mon, I think I saw Mark’s car up front.”

She leads him to the next building, chattering on and on about the composer they got. How the music is gonna fuck so hard, they’re even trying to convince the studio to let them record a full fake album for the movie — “if you don’t wanna sing, Dee, that’s totally fine but I am begging you to do at least some of the guitar,” — and the building door opens.

It’s a squat building, probably more offices than anything to do with production, but it’s where Heidi is taking him, and the door opens. A man, much younger than he is, stumbles out, giddily laughing over his shoulder. He looks to be a PA of some kind — wiry, a little strung out, probably with dreams of writing the next Citizen Kane someday — but he’s looking at something over his shoulder. 

Or rather at someone. 

A woman, barely that but with all the cosmic designs of one, steps out after him. Her white cowboy boots hug just below her knee, her smooth legs, rich with the sun, curl up into a men’s white collared shirt. She walks and only a flash of denim shorts peek out from under the shirt. 

She isn’t laughing, but smirking. Knowing something this poor PA has no concept of. Her black aviators push her lush hair out of her face and her fingers glitter with silver jewelry. She’s smiling at the PA like a leopard seal smiles at lemmings. 

She chews something in the back of her teeth and then blows a bright pink bubble. The PA’s smile falls off his face as he watches, wide-eyed, the gum snaps in her mouth. 

Dieter immediately and, without question, dislikes her. Dislikes her so much, he can feel it burn in his chest.

Her wicked eyes slide from the PA, over his shoulder, and lands squarely on Dieter. She blinks. 

“Oh, hey, kiddo, you found the right place.” 

Heidi walks up to her and shakes her hand. That sharp-toothed glint in her eye is gone as she eagerly chats up Heidi, and the PA might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Heidi waves him over and it takes a full two seconds for him to remember how walking works. The sun is hot on his back. 

The woman — the girl — is looking him up and down, calculating and cool. As if she, unlike him, hasn’t quite made up her mind about what she thinks of him. 

Heidi waves a hand in between you two. She says your name and his mind suddenly locks onto it. He suddenly knows who you are before Heidi says it. He read it on the cast list. He hadn’t given it a second thought. 

“This is your new co-star, Natalie Lorraine. The other lead. You two will be working very closely together for the next couple of months.”

She’s stopped chewing gum. Either she swallowed it or tightly packed it to the back of her gums, because there’s no slur, no crumpled edge to her words, when she extends her hand and says:

“Hi, Dieter. Nice to meet you.” 

Your hand is soft in his and your lotion reminds him of lilac. 

Today is just a fucking table read.

He tries to unclench his jaw when he says, “nice to meet you too.” 

He’s on his third bottle of water and he’s eying the trashcan in the corner, wondering how discreetly he could throw away several plastic bottles before it looks weird. He’s got the script out in front of him on a long, white plastic table and a few people have stopped by to say hi. He had gotten up to stand and shake their hand, and several of them had blinked up at him, as if they had forgotten how tall he was, when he wasn’t hunched over, fighting a hangover. Heidi was gathering the last of the cast mates before the table read and had been gone for twenty minutes or so. Maybe — 

In the corner, she laughs, the sound brilliant and loud. In a world full of perfect, practiced laughs, hers is noticeable, but not entirely bad, and a few people turn to look at her. She’s got a hand on Mark Bronson’s arm, clearly delighted at something he said, and he is obviously starstruck. 

Dieter actively fights the scowl on his face. He’d known Mark for a while. Good guy, little vices, always put in the work. Been married to the same waitress he met out in Oregon on a shoot a decade and a half ago, and never once stepped out. Dieter had been thrilled to see him, to catch up on old times, Dieter purposefully making a joke that referenced the one time they were on that old cop show together when they first got to Hollywood. “Nobody would really believe we’re gangsters, now, eh, Dee?” Mark had said with a grin. “Too fuckin’ old.” 

Mark had stayed and talked and that again eased the tension in his chest. If Mark actually hated his guts, then the Oscar really should go to him.

But as more people filed in, he excused himself to catch up with one of the directors of the art department and Dieter had taken the opportunity to grab as many bottles as a reasonable person would from the cooler. He likes ice cold water. The colder, the better the burn. 

But here Mark is, sidled up to that girl, laughing it up like they were old friends. Traitor, he muses glumly, and thumbs the white plastic cap. He’s thought about Googling her — who the fuck is this girl — but didn’t know how to justify it if someone caught him.

The back door to the room opens and Heidi steps in.

“Alright, five minutes. Take your smoke breaks, your pee breaks, your whatever breaks. Hopefully not all at the same time, but I ain’t here to judge.” 

There’s a collective chuckle before everyone moves to take their seats. He keeps his eyes trained on the water bottle as bodies weave around him, chair squeaking as they are pulled out and sat on. The atmosphere is relaxed, easy, everything he wanted. So why is he so fucking tightly wound?

“Thirsty?” 

It takes him a second to unstick his gaze from the bottle. He knows you’re talking to him. 

He glances up at your face from under his lashes. You aren’t exactly smiling at him, but there’s a light in your eyes that feels . . . playful. What a normal, innocent question. But when he doesn’t respond, you lean forward on your elbows, your rings interlocking on your fingers. Your gaze drops his and nudges the two empty plastic bottles around his script.

“And there’s two more under your chair. So are you—,”

“I like to keep hydrated,” he says, cutting you off. “It’s summer in LA and . . . uh, it’s hot.” 

“Uh huh,” you reply, slowly. “Can I have one? You know, since it’s hot.”

His mouth twitches — get off your perky ass and get one yourself — but then he’s liable to see your bare legs again. And he knows a comment like that would get him some stares, which would not be good. 

He swears you know all of this too, by the way your eyes glitter at him, daring him. That’s the worst– he’s figured it out. You look at him from under your thick eyelashes like you want to play a championship round of Truth or Dare, but it would only ever be Dare. You want to see him dance on hot coals, eat a sword, kiss a snake. You want to watch him squirm and it’s so obvious, he clenches his jaw.

He swallows and bends down. He holds out the water bottle by the very end to you, but you somehow manage to brush your fingers up against his anyway. He doesn’t physically recoil but he feels like he needs to go wash his hands.

“Thank you,” you say as you unscrew the cap then drink heavily from the bottle. It’s halfway empty when you put it on the table. Your tongue laps up the water from your lip. 

He grunts as a response. You open your mouth to bother him further, when Heidi calls the start of the read. Dieter pulls his reading glasses out of his pocket, when he sees you’ve done the same. Silver, though, to his black, they’re perched on the edge of your nose, and you’re looking down at the script as if trying to divine lighting rods. You’re focused, the playful, tempting air gone, and there’s an intensity to your eyes that wasn’t there before. You look . . . almost normal. 

He slides his glasses on and looks back to his pages, the tips of his ears burning.

The table read goes well. 

Sort of. 

There’s a handful of scenes Heidi has picked out for the majority of the cast to read together. Mark does well, as the manager who is trying to hold all the egos together but struggling with demons of his own. He’s funny when he needs to be, but serious enough to flip a line read that deepens his character. God, he’s so fucking talented, Dieter thinks as the table laughs at one of his character’s jokes. 

The other members of Dieter’s band in the movie are made up of a few guys, two girls. They have a natural chemistry that makes it seem like they’ve been friends for years. Dieter makes a note to try and get to know them better as people off the set to hopefully find his own rhythm with them. A few smile at him as he’s doing his own line reading and he feels good about it. 

Everything is fine and easy, until there are a few scenes specifically between him and you.

You’re putting too much emotion into it for just a table read and it’s making him uncomfortable. These things are just to get to know everyone, to see how the cast can play off each other, but you’re out here acting like there’s cameras ten feet back. Have you ever even been to a table read before? Shouldn’t you know this?

After you deliver a heartfelt monologue about feeling lonely in the world, he hears a few sniffles. The two girls of the band are red-eyed and Mark is stone-faced. Even Heidi looks affected. 

What the fuck is going on? Is he the only one not swayed by your bullshit? 

All of a sudden, you take his hand from across the table, your eyes pouring into his and he’s caught off guard. 

“Tell me you understand,” you say, your voice wet with emotion. “Tell me you understand why you can’t ever leave me.”

He wets his lips and sits up straighter in his seat. He squeezes your hand, opening up the light in his eyes. Fine, two can play that fucking game.

“I’m no good for you, baby,” he croons. “There’s a million of me out there and only one of you.”

“But you’re the only one I want. The only one I need.” 

Fuck, you’re good. But he’s better. He turns your hand over, exposing your wrist to the cool air and thumbs your pulse gently. He smiles wistfully at you.

“What we want can kill us. I love you, darling, but that’s not enough.”

The room is silent.

He glances down and read the next stage action:

They meet in a passionate kiss.

His eyebrows raise and he glances back at you, halfway expecting you to throw yourself at him from across the table. 

But, no. Instead of looking at him with love in your eyes, you are fucking furious. Your mouth is pulled into a tight line and he can see you mentally picture strangling him.

“Alright—,” Heidi calls out, her voice gruff. “Alright, let’s move on. Page one-fifteen.” 

The room fills with the fluttering of paper and a few people sniff, rubbing their eyes.

You yank back your wrist out of his grip but don’t move to turn the page. And neither does he. 

Oh, you’re mad that I did the exact same thing you were doing, but better? Sorry, hot tits, you have no idea who you’re fucking with. Welcome to the real world.

You look like you want to sink your fangs into him. You’re kind of cute, with your nostrils flared, in that megalomaniac kind of way.

A woman to his right asks what page they’re starting on, and it forces him to break eye contact with you. He tells her and thumbs to the correct page himself, where Mark is having an argument with one of the guys in the band.

He glances up at you. Tension still lines your body but you aren’t looking at him anymore. In fact, you’re making a clear point not to. His chest soars. 

He is definitely counting that as a win.

He opens the back door to the studio lot and breathes in the evening air. Day one, knocked down and dragged out back. He feels so fucking good. 

After the reading, Mark came over and congratulated him again on getting the part. He makes sure Dieter has his number before saluting him and announcing he’s heading home for the night. The band is hanging out in the corner, but the talk dies down as he approaches. One of the guys looks positively horrified as he smiles and waves at them.

“You did a great job today,” he says to their half circle. He’s never seen anyone’s eyes so wide in their heads before. “Have you all worked together before?”

“We’re an actual band and you’re really Dieter Bravo,” one of the girls blurts out. Her friend, presumably, elbows her and she blinks as though slapped. “I mean, we play real music. We’ve been on the radio a few times . . . but you’ve probably never heard of us . . .” She trails off, glancing helplessly at her friends to make her shut up.

Her friend, a young woman with hair so red it had to have been fake, rolls her eyes. “We’re The Sixers. We started out here in LA and we’ve been on the strip a few times. Our agent said that it would be great publicity if we were in a movie.” 

“Oh, shit,” Dieter mutters, as surprised as they are, “The Sixers – yeah, I have heard of you before. I’m fucking old as hell, but I still listen to the radio.” 

“You’ll have to give us some acting pointers,” one of the other guys offers up, his hands in his jean pockets. He seems less obviously starstruck but trying to play it cool. 

“Only if you help me to remember how to play the guitar,” Dieter grins. 

“You know how to play?” The first girl gawks.

He winks at her. “When everyone else around me is too drunk to notice I’m terrible.” 

They laugh, the girl’s face whiter than a sheet, and then the redhead introduces everyone. “That’s Nick, Cooper, and Samuel. Our resident ghost here is Marie, and I’m Roxie.”

He vaguely wonders which of those are stage names, but is absolutely sure that’s not Roxie’s real name. But she seems like the kind of person who’d like it that way. 

“You all are in good hands with Heidi,” he nods to the director, who’s been chatting with Mark and the art director. “She’s a visionary and really knows her shit. You’re lucky you get to have her as your first director.” 

“Have you worked with her before?” Cooper, one of the guys with legitimate beatnik hair, asks. 

Dieter nods. “Several times, actually. She’s fantastic.” 

“Have you worked with her before?” Roxie asks as you walk across the room to pick up your purse. Dieter can feel that burn in his chest again as you bend over. He shakes his head. 

“Is she new to the scene? Is that why she can’t afford any pants?” Roxie mutters and both Cooper and Samuel chuckle. Marie glares at her. 

“I heard she was a child actress in the early 2000s,” Marie continues as if trying to re-right the ship. “Was pretty successful, but then dropped off the face of the earth. Until now, I guess.”

“Maybe she went the Bella Thorne way of child actresses,” Nick murmurs, shamelessly watching your ass as you’ve turned to speak with Heidi for a moment. 

Roxie snorts. “She’s not that slutty. No one is that slutty, not even to sleep with the likes of you, Nicholas.”

“Oh, yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you –” 

Roxie slams a hand over his mouth. “I will junk-punch you so hard if you say what I think you’re going to say.” 

They’re like siblings, Dieter muses. Five, very talented, outrageous siblings. 

“It was great to meet all of you,” he says and Marie’s eyes flutter back to him. “But I gotta split. We should all go out some time. Meet up outside of work.”

“Oh, I think we’d looove that,” Cooper sing-songs, his eyes on Marie. She flushes bright red and pinches his shoulder, while Samuel laughs. “Ow!”  

Despite himself, this could actually be a fun shoot. He waves but none of them really see it, devolving into a squabble that makes him grin. 

You’re gone, he notices, but Heidi is sitting alone at the table, going over her notes. The art director has left too. 

He slides into the seat next to her and she lifts her head, smiling.

“Hey, Dee, you fucking crushed it today. Everyone’s been coming up to me to say how impressed they are with you.” 

He huffs and rolls his eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, and did they follow it with, ‘especially after how much of a fuck up we thought he’d be’?” 

Heidi playfully frowns at him. “C’mon, man, give yourself some credit. You earned the right to be here. I didn’t have to approve your audition.” 

His throat tightens. No, she really didn’t. He shakes his head.

“You’re right. As always.” 

Heidi grins, pleased, and drops her head back to her notes, marking things in a red pen. 

“So what did you think of your co-star?” 

Be nice, Dieter. “She’s . . . fine.” 

Heidi smirks, but doesn’t look up. “Wow, I don’t think you’ve ever used less words to describe someone, much less a woman.” 

He doesn’t like the way she says woman, as if there’s this cosmic reckoning that’s started and he just doesn’t know it yet. Sam and Diane, Bones and Booth – a destined sort of thing. 

He rolls his jaw. 

“She just acts . . . uppity, is all. Like she’s better than everyone else.” 

Heidi snorts. “Okay, tell me how you really feel.”

“I don’t like her.”

At that, Heidi pauses and looks up, genuine concern on her face.

“Really? You don’t like her? She came recommended by the studio and she’s a bit much, but I didn’t think you’d actually dislike her.”

He back-pedals as fast as he can. This day is so close to being perfect. 

“I mean, I don’t not like her . . . I just . . . I don’t know her.” If he is being honest, the best time to tell her exactly what’s been on his mind all day is probably right now. “And, fuck, Di, isn’t she a bit . . . I don’t know . . .” He swears he can hear the old Dieter laughing at him. “. . . young?” 

Heidi grimaces, taking his concern seriously and he loves her even more for that. 

“It was a studio note. Execs say it makes the central conflict feel more . . .”

“Predatory?” His eyebrow lifts, disdain evident in his drawl. She frowns at him.

“Transcendent.”

There is nothing about that girl that is transcendent, he thinks bitterly. 

He sighs and leans closer. Heidi notices his change in body language and leans forward too.

“I just cannot fuck this up, Di. I have to come out on top with this. It’s really important.”

That pity flashes across her face again and his stomach curdles. But she soothes a hand over his, her eyes serious. 

“Dee, I know. I really do. I’m not going to let anything bad happen here. She starts acting up, she’s out. We don’t need her that badly.”

He couldn’t be sure if she actually had the power to kick a co-star off the set, but he wanted to believe she did. More importantly, she wanted him to believe she did. 

“Thanks, Di,” he sighs. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

She chuckles and pulls her hand back. 

“Go home to your wife at a normal hour.” She pauses, making a face as if she tasted something sour. “Your wife – God, I will never get used to that.”

“Hey, I got used to it, after my best friend left me for some brunette out in Bali,” he teases as he stands up. 

Heidi scoffs. “That wedding was sick as fuck and you know it.” 

“You know, I never did bill Lucy for the piercing I got there. Sober Dieter would never have made the decision to look like a Keith Richards knock-off.”

“Oh shut the fuck up and go home. To your wife.” 

He’s laughing as he waves her good night. 

He opens the back door to the studio lot and breathes in the evening air. Day one, knocked down and dragged out back. He feels so fucking good. 

He’s thumbing through his keys when he smells smoke. Acidic smoke. Like those disgusting American Spirits he used to choke down. 

You’re leaning by the trunk of your car, one heel kicked over the other, smoking a white cigarette through your fingers. Which would be fine with him, except your car is parked tightly in the space next to his and you’re blocking the way to the driver’s seat. He’d rather crawl through the trunk than have to bend around you.

You’re biting on your thumbnail, contemplative, and staring directly at him with unabashed contempt. 

“Your reading was stilted,” you announce and then take a long drag. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your reading today,” you say slowly as though talking to a stupid child, “it was stilted.” 

He pops his jaw. 

“That’s because it was a fucking . . .” He remembers to breathe. “That’s because . . . it was a table read. Have you ever been to one?”

“Yes.” You tap the ash off your cigarette on the heel of your boot, drawing his gaze to the flush of your thigh but he’s not going to fall for it. “It can be a great opportunity for actors to find their chemistry. To find their rhythm.”

“I know that.” 

“Then where was yours? Huh?” You lift your eyebrows. Did you ever not want to play Dare?

“What are you talking about? I had a fine time with the band. We’re actually going to hang out outside–,”

“I mean with me.” 

That burning sensation returns to his chest. You look at him as if you could sear a hole right through him. Your cigarette is left smoking, forgotten, between your fingers at your hip. 

“The only time you ever gave me anything was after I touched you and even then, your performance was so saccharine, it made my teeth ache. I’m out here to prove I belong here, on this big budget film, and you’re stonewalling me. What do you have against me? What did I ever do to you? 

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth, guilt smothering the fight you aroused in him. He drops your gaze and puts his hands on his hips. He’s too old to be scolded like this.

“Nothing, alright? You didn’t do anything,” he says quietly. “It’s not you–,”

“Of course it fucking isn’t but thank you for saying so,” you snap. 

You take one more drag before flicking the white butt onto the pavement of the gathering darkness.

“This is going to be a long shoot if you can’t get your head out of your ass.” You step forward and he instinctively takes a step back, but you come close anyway and shove a finger in his chest. “I don’t know what your deal is and I don’t care. We’re going to get through this even if I have to grab you by your hair and pull you to the finish line. Got it?” 

Your eyes are shining, fierce, powerful. Your mouth could crush rocks. 

He nods. 

Maybe it’s the trick of the failing light, but he thinks your pupils are a little too unnaturally wide. 

“Great. See you Monday.” 

You turn away from him, stalking back to your car and hurling your purse into the side seat. The car, a Chevy that’s possibly older than he is, roars to life, with just as much vitality as you possess. He leaps back a second before the wheels squeal as the car lurches backwards and darts off into the dark. 

He stands, watching the car pull away onto the road, until it’s gone. He can still hear the engine screaming in the distance. 

He thumbs his keys again, shaking his head. For the first time in months, he would literally kill someone for a cigarette.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble 2016

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

A Promised Princess

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader (x gojo satoru)

synopsis: after a knowing one another for two years, toji fushiguro (known as toji zenin in this case), must leave for war in the east. a rebel known as ryomen sukuna, plans to terrorize and eliminate the clans that make up the 4 wings (gojo’s, zenin’s, kamos, and the hirata). upon leaving for war, you promise something any powerful man, even the most vengeful of men, would kill for.

a/n: okay hear me out- yes, this is somewhat written in 3rd pov, but I also want to make note that the historical accuracies and etiquette between japanese/anglo-europe will be very mixed. so if this bothers you, you have been warned. I was just dying to write something like this. please let me know in the comments if you would like to be in the tag list if I ever make a part two (which seems probable).

tags: kingdom au, mentions of war, secret romance, indirect mentions of virginity, and established romance

The carriage rolls around the block twice. No hesitation from the driver, as he exclusively follows his master’s orders: do not stop until the candlelight on the third floor is off.

A young woman, no older than 19, rushes through the gardens into the woods. Her cloak follows her movements with grace so as to not cause commotion and her breathing is but a hitch.

“I came as fast as I could,” he tells her.

“And I read your letter.” Answers she, “What was so urgent you needed to discuss with me at this hour?”

Prince Toji Fushiguro, 21, future heir to the Zenin throne stops in his tracks. His hands, which were on top her shoulders fall to her sides, a formality of which the two of them dropped several months into knowing one another.

He tries to think of something that will relieve the weight on his heart. Her lips, soft as flower buds from her garden, or her hair, as angelic that it frames her face; Toji finds refuge in her eyes.

“A war suddenly erupted in the east.” He says, the script that he had received earlier that morning engraved into his memory, “300 casualties have occurred since, and we worry there may be more.”

He had told her days prior of a rebel named Ryomen Sukuna who had gathered support from locals in a short amount of time. He criticized the regions, the regime, and their incompetence towards the common folk. Something Toji didn’t take lightly.

If he keeps up at this pace, he told her, bodies snug around one another under an oak tree, he could disrupt several cities, trading ports, and harm civilians.

“So you’re leaving.”

“Only for a short time,” he promises, hands wrapped securely around her own before he places a kiss to them. Within the two years of knowing one another, who would have thought that the son of a Zenin could hold so much consideration, devotion to their counterpart.

“If everything goes as planned, I’ll be back in 6 month’s time.”

“Still,” she frowns, “6 months is too long.”

“better that than never.” He closes off the distance between them. “Promise me one thing.” he asks.

“Anything.”

“Promise me that you’ll wait for me,” he whispers against the crown of her head, “that when I return, I will become yours, and you mine.”

“I promise.” she replies.

“Promise me that no man will stand between us. That you will vow your loyalty, your honor to me and only me.”

She holds his hand tighter against her chest. “It’s always been you, Toji.”

Satisfied, the heir to the Zenin clan seals their promise in a deep, prolonged kiss. Hungry, needy, and already missing one another, both pairs of hands run through one another before both clans leave their respective routes.

hopeful for the future.

#yes I know virginity is a social construct but come ON #this was mostly a guilty self piece for me because I would DIE to see this anywhere in books or movies idc I’m eating this shit up #judge me all you want #never have I wanted toji until now #bark bark bark #ugh and don’t get me started on this plot 😼 #anything for these men #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jjk toji #toji #zenin #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #bf toji fushiguro #fushiguro #gojo #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru x reader #satoru #gojo satoru #toji x reader x gojo

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Three)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3815

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup/Divorce

Are you the type of person that wants to read several hundred words worth of descriptions of various baked goods? If so, you are in luck! Also, I promise not every story I post to this website will revolve around divorce.

Kirby had told you that you couldn’t stop living because you were cursed. You had told them that you would keep it in mind.

While you do keep that in mind, you certainly don't act on it during any of the encounters you have with Carlyle over the next few weeks.

Maybe if you weren't still so devastated from your breakup and the threat of your curse ruining any attempt, you'd have the courage to ask him out yourself. But as for now, you stay rooted in the comfortable little routine you've built.

Your next attempt is still something that is a perfect pairing for coffee, but slightly more involved. You prepare a tender batch of coffee cake, with a hearty ribbon of cinnamon swirled through the middle of the loaf, and crumbles of cinnamon streusel on top to to match, forgoing any glaze or drizzle that might have otherwise ended up finding its way onto the cake.

Still too sweet. Way too heavy, too dense of a crumb. But cinnamon is clearly a welcome flavor. Maybe something more elegant?

The week after that, you tried a ginger-pear gateau, hoping that the sweetness of the honey would be more permissible than normal sugar, with the heat from the ginger to balance out what sweetness there was. You painstakingly arranged the thin slices, the whole thing baked to perfection and kissed with citrus zest.

He didn’t like that either; but he does seem to like the burn of ginger, commenting on the underlying warmth.

And he may or may not be the type of guy that eats with his eyes first, given how impressed he was with the admittedly beautiful layering of fruit slices.

The next thing you tried was an opera cake. An almond sponge soaked with coffee, which you already know he’s quite fond of. Layers of cream and dark chocolate ganache diligently stacked and cut neatly serve to pleasantly enhance that already present espresso flavor.

You had even piped two Ss, elegantly connected with an ampersand, for Sugar & Spice- the current name of your shop, as of moving locations- in immaculate script across the top. If most of these are going to go into the case, you might as well make them on brand.

He seemed to like this one the most so far, taking a lot longer than ever before to decide its fate.

But he doesn’t like any sort of application of buttercream, it turns out. You should’ve known better already, you suppose- he doesn’t like frosting- he doesn’t even take cream in his coffee, why would he like cream layers in a coffee flavored cake, either? 

It wasn’t a complete loss, however, because he seemed to really enjoy the addition of cardamom that you had used to compliment the flavor of the espresso, at least enough for him to point it out. 

And honestly, the praise he heaped onto you for your careful penmanship and attention to tidy little details takes any hint of sting from the failure away instantaneously.

You’ve already figured out he likes citrus- specifically oranges- and almonds. He prefers a fluffier crumb to a denser one. No heavy glazes or frostings or cream layers.

With the culmination of your last few attempts, you've put together another critical detail: he likes spiced things.

Cinnamon. Ginger. Cardamom. Clove. Nutmeg…

Those flavors seem to be the one big unifying element of what he’s liked of your baking.

Mixed spice.

You’re making some progress, finally.

But what to make him that can test your theory? Cinnamon buns? Too sweet, surely. Gingerbread? Too dense, no go. You could always make a simple spice cake, but it would probably seem sad and bare without frosting, which you’ve already confirmed that he despises in all forms. 

Not to mention that any of these options will make your shop smell like a Yuletide market, or a candle store… And it's the height of summer…

“Wowie, don’t think too hard over there!!” You snap back to attention upon hearing Kirby’s lively voice through your mental fog. You realize you’ve been silently ruminating for quite a while. “You’re frowning so hard your face might break! What’s on your mind?”

“Trying to figure out what to make Carlyle for Tuesday.” You tap the end of the pen you’re holding onto the notepad in front of you. “Can’t think of anything.”

“Hehe, can’t you just bake this man a nice loaf of crusty bread and call it a day already? Everybody loves good bread.”

“Hah, no. It has to be a sweet baked good, I’m afraid. No need to worry though, I’m just a bit stumped at the moment. I’ll figure it out.”

“Oooo, I can help you decide on something!! I’m awful at cooking anything but I’m pretty good at the whole deduction thing, hehe~”

“Oh, no- I couldn’t ask you to help me with something so frivolous. You’re doing actual detective work.”

“A little distraction now and then can be good! Especially when you’re as stuck as I am right now with these leads…” Kirby looks almost forlorn for a moment before any lack of cheer is immediately erased from their expression. “Sometimes thinking about something else entirely can help get you the breakthrough you need!”

“Well, is there anything you’d like me to make?”

“Ooo! Ooooh!! I would ask for baklava but that’s probably way too sweet for your man.”

“Hah, well, maybe I can make you some baklava too, if this goes over well.”

Kirby grins wide, their ears flicking back and forth in excitement.

“Yes!! What’s this guy like again? Gimme something to work with.”

You quickly summarize your previous findings.

“Hmmm… You know what that sounds a lot like? My Oma used to make these little Yuletide cookies that sound a lot like that, with the spices and the orange peel.”

“Huh. Those do sound familiar.”

“I dunno, I forget…”

After a cursory scroll through your respective devices, Kirby manages to find the name.

“These, these! Pfeffernuse!” They exclaim in excitement and shove their device towards you, pointing to the screen with their other hand.

“Ah- I can whip these up for sure...” You reply, scrolling down to skim through the ingredients list.

The cookies come together relatively quickly- you could knead dough in your sleep after growing up in your parents’ bakery. And, as expected, they make your shop smell like a Yuletide candle stall, which it seems every customer you have over the course of the afternoon seems to feel compelled to comment on- It doesn’t get old at all.

“Here they are.” You present the serving dish filled with pfeffernusse to Kirby, then take one of the small, shiny cookies for yourself.

By general standards, they’re quite good. Very flavorful.

But for your specific purposes; the shiny glaze is too sweet; and the cookie itself is too heavy and too dense. There’s no way that Carlyle is going to like these…

“Oh, wow!!” Kirby says your name in a shrill tone, almost a squeal around a mouthful of cookie. “Amazing!! Divine!! These are absolutely perfect, just like she used to make!! If he doesn’t like these, his tastebuds are broken!!!”

“Hahah- I’m glad you like them.” You feel the smile spreading out onto your face.

“You’re the beeeest-”

Honestly, seeing your new friend’s reaction makes it worth it to have made them anyway, even knowing from the start that they weren’t going to bag you a win. Luckily, you manage to reserve some for Carlyle to at least try later, before the ecstatic faun manages to devour the whole batch.

Later that day, the dwindling overcast daylight from the encroaching evening creates a lonely, gloomy atmosphere in your empty shop. The uneasy feeling that always seems to reappear when you’re alone starts to creep back in, and you can’t help but worry that Carlyle’s not coming today. Perhaps the on-and-off rain is keeping him from stopping by. You’ve only seen him show up on foot, and even if he drove there’s not any ample parking on this street.

Or maybe he’s not coming back, period. Maybe he’s gotten bored of whatever this little thing between you is? You couldn’t blame him.

After all, you don’t know each other all that well at all. You’ve only seen each other a total of five times now, basically in passing. You wouldn’t even know he was a lawyer if he hadn’t specifically used the word ‘case’ when referring to his job and mentioned the courthouse before.

And the curse… Well. You know what the letter said by heart now. Withering before blooming, and all of that.

It’s nearly to the point of you giving up and just going about your normal closing procedures when the familiar jingle plays. And while the notification sound and the name on the order is familiar, the order itself is not at all.

Usually, as you’ve learned, you see an order for half a dozen cupcakes- always a variety, except for whomever always orders your lemon meringue flavor without fail.

But this evening, he’s ordered… a disposable cutlery kit.

No cake, no cupcakes, no other items at all. Just that.

You tilt your head at the screen, wondering what it could possibly mean.

After a bit of deliberation, you take a single cutlery kit from the open box and set it on the counter top. 

Moments pass as you stare at the lonely item on the counter, contemplating the situation with only the ubiquitous smooth jazz playing on the overhead speakers to keep you sane.

…Should you brew coffee?

But the minutes tick by, with still no sign of Carlyle.

You decide not to, not wanting to waste it if he's not coming. You fight the urge to either break into uncontrollable laughter or equally uncontrollable tears.

The rain has picked up enough that you can hear it audibly pattering against the panes of your shop windows.

Time marches on.

You sigh. You drum your fingertips on the counter top. You glance at the clock. 

It's two minutes past close.

You’ve finally moved to turn the neon sign declaring your shop as open off for the evening, and just as you’re standing there pressing down the switch you see Carlyle a few paces down the sidewalk, walking towards the shop underneath the protection of a clear umbrella.

He stops in his tracks, looking at the darkened sign and then back down at you on the other side of the glass, seeming at a loss for how to proceed.

After a second of stalemate, you push open the still unlocked door.

“Carlyle?”

He finishes the rest of the walk as quickly as he can without splashing through the accumulating puddles in his leather shoes.

“Hey. Sorry I'm late."

“Hi! I’m- I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what you meant by a cutlery set.”

“I planned on going home early today, so no cupcake order from the ladies this evening. I wanted to let you know I was still coming, but I realized I had no way of knowing what you’d make to order it for myself, so.” He smirks faintly and shrugs beneath the umbrella, the shoulder pads on his suit lifting up slightly with the motion. “That was the solution I chose. You eat with cutlery, so: I'm still coming to eat.”

“It's okay. That’s actually pretty clever." You beam. You don’t care in the slightest that you’re already closed- you’re just happy he showed up. You motion with your hand for him to enter. "Come in, come in. You’re going to get soggy.”

He obliges, closes his umbrella, then shakes it off before he steps completely inside.

"I suppose the weather held you up?"

"Yes, the train was delayed. There was a large rain spirit blocking off the tunnel, it was an entire ordeal.”

“Well, that would certainly explain the sudden rain. It wasn’t on the forecast this morning.” You chuckle nervously.

“I don’t want to intrude, since it took me long enough to get here that you’re closed now.” He motions to the sign. He’s always been courteous enough to punctually depart when you’ve turned the sign off, cutting off your conversation far earlier than you’d like at times. “We don’t have to do this today if it would be a hassle.”

“Oh, no, it’s no bother- it’s pouring out now, you can’t walk back to the station in that- even with an umbrella. At least stay until it passes.” You reach out and gently touch his forearm for effect. Then, you recoil like you’ve touched a hot stovetop, realizing you’re probably being a bit too comfortable with him when you don’t even know how he feels about physical touch from a relative stranger. You move the culprit to stroke the back of your own head for comfort instead. “Er, if you wanted to, of course. We could sit at one of the tables for a while and have a chat…”

"That sounds like exactly what I need right now." He gives you one of his characteristic bright smiles, and you're so close you can see the outline of his wide, slightly protruding canines. He places his contained umbrella in the bottom of the coat rack.

"Why don't you sit down? I'll go make you some coffee."

You do just that, returning with coffee for you both; his in his claimed mug, and yours in one from the regular marbled set. You can’t help but laugh at the stark difference between the color of your respective drinks, perhaps being on the very far end of the spectrum in shade, seeing as he likes his with no additions and you with as much cream and sugar you can reasonably put into yours.

When you return, he’s sitting at one of the tables, looking out the window. He’s removed his suit jacket and draped it across the back of the chair. You nearly drop the mugs as you’re coming down the stairs as you miss the last step on the flight, because you’re too focused on the how aesthetically pleasing you find the sight- emotionally evocative, like you’ve taken a wrong turn in your own shop and walked into some sort of sad, tragically beautiful painting.

After delivering the (thankfully unspilled) coffee, you turn back to the counter to grab the plate of pfeffernusse. You set the cutlery set down, as well.

“I don’t think you’ll need this for the cookies, but… you did already pay for it.” You say with as straight a face as you can manage.

Carlyle laughs a deep, rich laugh- somehow gravelly and smooth at the same time. He takes the cutlery kit and slides it into the breast pocket of his jacket where it’s hanging on the chair behind him with a pointed smirk, before turning his attention to the cookies on the table in front of him.

You take a seat across from him, hoping you don’t look as obviously captivated as you feel.

You’re used to having a countertop between you, so this is a new experience. It certainly feels more intimate, like you’re having a coffee break with a friend rather than a customer you’ve developed a bizarre crush on. You’re close enough now that you can’t help but notice all the subtle details of the stone texture of his face- the small divots and minor cracks, and the faint lines of erosion where water must have chosen its path down his face countless times.

“These look a bit familiar somehow.” Carlyle selects one of the cookies and rotates it between his fingers in observation, watching the overhead light glint off the shiny coating.

“I don’t think you’re going to like them.” You say, watching him inspect the small treat through an inquisitive look on his face. “But I made them for a friend earlier, so I thought I’d have you try them anyway.”

He’s quiet for an uncommonly long amount of time as he eats the cookie- but not in the good, stunned-into-silence way you’ve been dreaming about seeing. He looks tired. He looks wistful. He looks sad.

It goes on so long that you wonder if you should say something, until you finally do.

“...Carlyle?”

“Hahah… Sorry, spaced out a bit there. I’m sort of a mess today.”

“Is everything alright? You seem unhappy.” You may not be very familiar with him yet, but you’re not so dense as to have not noticed he’s acting much more muted than normally. “I hope the pfeffernusse weren’t that bad…” You laugh quietly to try to lighten the mood. 

“Oh, no- Not at all. Nothing you’ve made has been anywhere close to bad in quality.” He smiles, and you try desperately not to reel from the compliment. “It’s just too sweet for me. Too heavy. The flavor is great, though. Smells like Yuletide morning as a kid.”

“Did you also have a grandmother who made these?” You laugh. “It seems like everyone who’s come into my shop today has had one.”

“Ah, no. My Mom made something kind of like them, but they were rolled in powdered sugar instead.” Then a realization clearly lights up his brown eyes. “So actually yes, I suppose I technically did have a Grandma who made them. But I didn’t know her before she was a statue.”

“Oh- Did you hate sweets as a wee little stone man as well?” You can’t help but laugh, covering your mouth picturing an overly formal gargoyle child. “I bet you did.”

Your laughter is infectious, and you can see his beige spaded tail swishing around the chair legs animatedly.

“I did! Mom always left some out of the sugar for me.”

“Damn, that’s smart. I should’ve thought of that.…” You ponder, tapping your lip with your fingertips and avoiding his eyes.

“No reason to, honestly. They were still a little too sweet, even when she didn’t. I’m sure your friend enjoyed them though, so they fulfilled their main purpose.”

“They did… So, if it’s not my baking, what’s got you so down, then?” You ask, then hastily add: “If you don’t mind me prying.”

“Work.” He says simply. “Work has been difficult for me lately.”

“Understandable. I imagine being a lawyer must be quite stressful.”

“Not only that- I’m a divorce attorney.” He sighs, rubbing his fingers restlessly along the mug’s handle. “I see people when they’re going through what’s likely the worst time of their lives, every single day. And because of the nature of the job, I can't even offer much in terms of support. I’m not a therapist. Ultimately, all I can really do is make sure my client isn’t being shafted.”

“Oh, that does sound draining.” You look down into your ridiculously milky coffee to try to hide the wince. You can’t help but wonder if you would’ve needed a divorce attorney if the curse had destroyed your relationship later than it did. You can’t help but feel perversely relieved- at least you didn’t have to go to court over your heartbreak. “What made you choose that field?”

“I didn’t, really. I used to do criminal defense. I was moved to civil cases a few years ago. I do enjoy my job, for the most part. Most of the time, it’s easy enough to separate myself. …It’s when something is hitting a little too close to home- that’s when it’s hard.”

“Close to home?”

“Yes. My parents were married for thirty-five years- owned their house, fully grown kids, perfect example of a good relationship and they decided to just- get divorced a few months ago, out of nowhere. I mean clearly it wasn’t out of nowhere to them, logically, but it was a shock to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. That must be hard to come to terms with, even as an adult. Especially when it’s a surprise.”

“The irony isn’t lost on me, believe me.” He swirls his half-full coffee in the mug, a grim smile on his face as he takes another long sip. “Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed.”

“Cursed?” You say, barely louder than a whisper. You haven’t told him about your own curse- so you know he must not know the weight of using that word with you, but it slices into your chest all the same.

“Yes, not literally of course, but as if working with geasa all this time has rubbed off on me- like the magic itself has backfired on me somehow.” He takes a deep breath of air and shakes his head. “I know I’m just being dramatic. I would know if my magic was off. I was fine when they told me months ago, then- It just didn’t feel real until I went to help them pack up my childhood home this past weekend. I’ve felt down ever since.”

“I know how that feels…” You quickly course-correct. “I mean, how hard that is- packing up a place you loved like that. It’s like having to physically detach from part of yourself.” 

“From such a heartfelt description, I assume you’ve had to as well?”

“Yeah. My fiance broke up with me last autumn. Lived together for years, and I was the one that moved out- That’s how I ended up opening shop here.”

“I’m so sorry.” Carlyle says, genuine concern in his voice. ”That must have been incredibly hard for you.”

“It was… But it’s in the past.” You lie with a sad smile. Maybe sometime soon, you’ll manage to convince yourself…

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not.” It’s bad enough feeling like that loss will swallow you whole at any moment. It’s only even more mortifying to be reopening the wound once again in front of the handsome regular you’re crushing on.

Carlyle nods, clearly intrigued but not pushing you for any more information. There is a short, surprisingly comfortable stretch of you both sitting in relative silence apart from the rain pattering on the shop window and the low background music of the shop. 

Carlyle finally clears his throat.

“At least there’s always coffee,” He sighs in catharsis. 

“True. In your favorite mug, at that.” You chuckle, eyes resting on the familiar lettering. Strangely, seeing it in Carlyle’s hands, it doesn’t fill you with nearly the same heart wrenching sadness as it used to.

“I hope you don’t find it tasteless that I’ve claimed it, given what sounds like the painful context.”

“Ah, no, not at all- If anything, it’s making me feel a lot better about the whole thing.”

“I’m just saying- he can’t change his mind and come back for it now.” Carlyle smiles at you from behind the cup. “I’ve become very attached.”

You somehow manage to speak through your flustered laughter and your heart trying to race out of your chest.

“Haha- I don’t think you have to worry much about that…”

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mxm #mlm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

[srarizard]

Back on my Rayman bullshit.

I literally have nowhere to talk about Rayman but the Tumblr tag seems to be popping so here goes. I am probably the only person on planet Earth who cannot stop thinking about Reflux. I will always be critical of Rayman 3 for its very surface level characters and unfunny "humor", but it still has a lot of environmental storytelling if you look for it. For example, there is plenty of evidence to suggest that the Knaaren are bipedal toads.

Artistic liberties were taken, of course, but it's almost a perfect match. It also explains the dot on his forehead, as most toads have warts all over. The warts only become more prominent during the final boss battle, too.

Not to mention, the tunnel system they live in is directly outside of a ravine full of poisoned water. This implies that there might have been a time when they were semi-aquatic. They also have flat teeth, with no canines. I like to think it's because they are herbivores forced to feast on whatever they can find, because they have no plants within miles to feed on. It would explain why they prefer the brain, as it's squishy and easy to chew, as well as the zombie eggs that are the only notable, reliable food source seen in the desert.

Now, what about the way that they evolved? Most of this is speculation, but I can at least tie it together. Knaaren are invincible canonically. Reflux contradicts this in two ways; he has defeated other Knaaren to claim the title of champion, and he dies at the end of Rayman 3. It can only be concluded that he isn't a "normal" Knaaren, and the best way to explain this is to acknowledge the fact that the champion receives the power of the Leptys. Not only is Reflux the only Knaaren to use magic, his boss battle is, quite frankly, insane. I just replayed it yesterday, and it came extremely close. It's possible he used his power to exhaust the other Knaaren to the point where they can no longer fight in order to claim the title of champion using those powers.

In theory, it can also be said that the power of the Leptys creates a weakness. God powers must take a lot of energy to channel no matter what sort of creature you are. So, in theory, Reflux was burning the candle at both ends, pridefully striking down challengers and assuming that he would never be defeated with how much power he has come to earn. He becomes a monster in his thirst for revenge at the end of the game, which ultimately kills him. What this implies about the Leptys is vague, but it certainly has something to do with the deity.

Now, this is my favorite part. Reflux is actually the only character Rayman has ever done wrong. I'd say he's the only one Rayman ever killed, but uh, depends on your view of canon, so I'll be focusing on what is undeniable. Rayman blasts into the desert without warning, and granted it's to save his friend, but he ruins Reflux's life in doing so. He had no choice but to become the champion and shame his opponent. Reflux made his entire identity on being champion, and eagerly accepts when André promises the ability to claim revenge. Rayman was just supposed to be a fun exercise for him, and now Reflux finds himself outcast due to an outsider who doesn't even want to be champion. It's the fault of his pride, but it is still a way that Rayman has made someone's life worse.

It's also interesting to think of them as cultural opposites. Rayman comes from a lovely dream world, and Reflux comes from a hellish nightmare that he had to claw his way to the top. Rayman was born a hero, and Reflux had to earn it. Ubisoft really shot themselves in the foot by not expanding on that, I think. They could have really made something out of the contrast of dreams and nightmares.

Anyway, thank you for coming to my TED talk. If you read this far, please stan Reflux.

#rayman #rayman 3 #knaaren #blorbos #long post #hyperfocus moment