#those exist and will arrive someday lol

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

The Betrayer | Chapter Ten: The Swing of Things

You fucked up. Badly.

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

Tags: Fluff, Violence, Injury, Death Mention

Notes: Woof. It has been over a year since I last updated this fic, and I am SO sorry. In that time, a lot has happened in my life, including graduating from college with a bachelor's degree and a slew of health (both mental and physical) issues that are still ongoing. I can't promise that my updating will be consistent or quick in any capacity, but I hope this quells you guys' fears that I have "given up" on this fic lol. My sincere hope is that I will someday finish it, even if it takes many many years. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this addition! I suppose you can consider it somewhat of a "filler" chapter, but I genuinely believe even the more fun chapters still have a degree of important plot (even if it doesn't appear that way at first, as I love adding "blink and you miss it" moments that are either call backs, foreshadowing, or easter eggs lol). Please let me know what you think and if you have any theories! I love reading those! Have a good one, y'all!

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Day 33; Haddonfield

You leaned against the shed wall as you desperately tried to regain your breath, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You were in the middle of a trial in Haddonfield with Laurie, Mikaela, and Jeff, three out of the five generators needed to power the exit gates finished, when a looming figure had appeared behind you as your group scoured for the next one.

He would have gotten you too, if Laurie hadn’t turned just in time to see him lunging for you, his kitchen knife barely missing your shoulder as she pointed behind you and screamed, making you duck.

The four of you scattered after that, losing each other as the Entity’s chosen killer for the evening seemed to pop in and out of existence due to his silent steps, the moonlight and the glow from the completed gens making his deathly pale mask somehow more haunting. It was eerie that someone so large could sneak up on you like that.

You were reminded of what your father once warned you about mountain lions:

“You won’t know they’re hunting you until they're ready to pounce.”

The thought made you shiver.

The other survivors called him “The Shape”. A name so… vague… shouldn’t have instilled so much terror in you. And yet. 

But Laurie told you his real name just a couple weeks prior as the two of you were hanging your laundry to dry. 

You had been chatting idly about your pasts, and you had foolishly asked her if there was a killer in the realm that was brought with her.

“Yes,” she replied quietly. You waited for her to continue, but it was silent for several moments. You looked over at her after clipping your bed sheets to the clothesline and could see her staring at the ground, brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me,” you assured her. 

She jumped when you gently placed your hand on her shoulder and she finally turned to you. “Michael. Michael Myers.”

You looked at her questioningly, not recalling that name being mentioned before. 

She continued, “He’s the one they call ‘The Shape’. He…” There was another pause as she swallowed, hard. “He killed my friends and very nearly killed me. Ruined my life in a single night, can you believe that? Halloween, of all days. I’ll never be able to enjoy that holiday again without looking over my shoulder. If I ever get back home to experience it, that is.”

All of the killers in the realm gave you a chill when you were told about them, but something about this silent stalker scared you more than most. More than Wesker. Hell, even more than Ghost Face. 

You had been fortunate in the month since first arriving in the realm that you hadn’t faced the Shape. You supposed luck always runs out eventually. Ironic, considering your nickname.

Though facing off against any killer could hardly be counted as fortune. In the five trials you had endured since your very first, you had only survived two. And barely, at that.

You couldn’t stop yourself from recalling those nights, the memories of your deaths in particular causing bile to rise up in your throat.

The Hillbilly and his chainsaw ripped you clean in half.

The Pig’s contraption locked onto your head had split your skull apart.

The Doctor and his electric baton shocked you until you bit off your own tongue and choked on it.

But you had still survived twice. You had to remind yourself of that.

You had been beaten and hooked by the Wraith, the agony of the strange weapon (made of human bones, it seemed, though it was hard to tell in the dark) being whipped across your face and the way the hook tore through the meat of your shoulder made you feel an ache just at the thought, but you had gotten out alive.

Your run-in with the Nurse had been much more successful. She still got a hit in on you, but you managed to get out of that trial with just a nasty gash across your chest. It very nearly got infected when you returned to camp, but Rebecca’s careful hand (and Chris’s watchful gaze) dealt with that promptly.

You were getting better with every trial, and that gave you hope.

You had always been a quick study, after all. 

You took a deep, calming breath and slid your spine across the chipping paint of the shed, peeking your head around to see if the coast was clear. You weren’t sure where everyone else went, but considering no screams had been heard echoing across the large (yet still somehow claustrophobic) “arena”, you took that as a good sign.

There was no indication of the massive killer, so you made your way slowly and quietly to the street, praying desperately that he wouldn’t find you again. 

You skimmed your vision over the area as you ducked behind the car in front of you, the flashing lights of the police cruiser nearby hurting your eyes.

It was strange, you felt, how this seemingly normal looking neighborhood could turn into such a breeding ground for terror. It was almost nostalgic how typically suburban it appeared, and that only made it worse.

You grew up in a place just like it, after all.  

There’s one, you thought to yourself as you spotted a generator nestled beside a roadblock at the end of the street. It was out in the open, but it would be easier to spot the killer with one of the exit gates at your back. He’d be less likely to creep up behind you, at least.

You made a beeline for it, surveying your surroundings to avoid being caught unawares, before skidding to a halt beside it. 

You nearly leapt out of your skin when Jeff popped his head up from the other end, probably checking to make sure you weren’t the killer coming to collect.

“Hey,” came his whispered greeting as you knelt beside him, his large hands carefully but expertly going through the motions of repair. 

“Hey there,” you replied breathlessly. You offered him a smile, but the expression was tight. You got straight to work.

“Have you seen the others?” he questioned after a few moments. 

You shook your head. “Not since we got separated.”

He let out a quiet exhale of barely concealed distress but remained quiet as the gen got closer and closer to completion. 

You liked Jeff. He was a gentle giant, and a reserved one at that. You were first acquainted when the two of you were partnered in the chore rotation, boiling the water brought in from a group of other survivors and lugging it to the barn for the very long-winded filtration process.

He had seemed like a tough guy between his large stature and full beard, but once you started chatting, he was quick to open up about his love of rock music and artistic abilities. You bonded almost immediately over Iron Maiden and Metallica and jokingly asked him to “paint me like one of your French girls”, cackling at the blush that bloomed in his cheeks.

He had shown you his sketchbook shortly after, and you were in awe of his talent, never having been much of an artist yourself. You thought of Kitty and how you and your family used to say she would grow up to be the next Da Vinci with all of her little doodles scattered around the house. You supposed now you’d never know. It made your heart ache.

The gen came to life under your touch, the noise of it fully starting up jarring you from your thoughts.

Jeff motioned for you to follow him, the two of you expeditious in leaving the area to avoid being discovered by the Shape.

You made your way down the street, opting to slink behind the row of houses instead of remaining out in the open. 

You came across Mikaela bent over what the others called a totem; a horrific mix of sticks, twine, and human skulls. A rumble echoed across the trial grounds as your surroundings lit up a soft blue.

So there was magic in the Entity’s realm.

You had laughed out loud when Mikaela had first explained it to you, thinking it was some kind of prank. The severe look she gave you made your eyes widen in shock. You shouldn’t have been surprised, considering everything else you had learned of this place, but the concept of magic seemed almost silly.

But then your fourth trial was with the young redhead, and you would have bled out if she had not utilized one of her “boons”, which miraculously helped to close the wound left by the hook. Not so silly anymore.

You had asked her after that particular event why she didn’t use her supernatural abilities to heal injuries in the camp, and she explained she couldn’t access her powers outside of trials despite all her efforts.

“Right, of course,” you had replied, bitterness seeping from your tone. “Typical Entity bullshit.” 

“Laurie’s inside that house working on a gen,” the self-proclaimed witch informed you, pointing at the building in question as she stood up. You noticed the cut across her arm then, watching as the skin stitched itself back together within moments.

“I’ll go help her,” you said, pulling your attention from the mind-bending sight. “Why don’t you two find another one to work on in the meantime, in case he catches us before we finish.”

They nodded at your words and crept off to do just that, leaving you alone once more. 

You made your way quietly into the house and up the stairs, finding Laurie with a wrench in her hands, hard at work. She turned to you and smiled tersely in greeting as you dropped into position beside her.

There wasn’t much left to do before the machine would be repaired, and you were confident it could be finished in no time. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

Before you knew what was happening, a large hand grabbed you by the neck, the scream brewing in your throat wilting as you were yanked off the generator and thrown into the wall behind it.

The wind was knocked out of you and you were dazed by your skull thudding against the wood paneling of the room. You heard yelling—probably Laurie—as that same hand came back around your throat and lifted you off the ground.

You dangled helplessly, unable to breathe, and you were suddenly reminded of Wesker’s tendrils from weeks prior. 

A surge of panic flooded through you as you stared at the white mask, the flickering light of the unfinished gen glinting off his knife. 

You grabbed desperately at his wrist, knowing the Shape’s strength was far too great to loosen his grip, even with your jagged nails ripping into his skin. 

He brandished the knife, the blade directed right at your midsection, and you braced for the sharp pain of it slicing through your flesh.

To your shock—and relief—the killer had released his hold on you and you slid to the ground, desperately trying to suck air into your lungs.

You were able to focus just enough to see Laurie hanging from his back, trying to strangle him with her arms wound tightly around his neck. Unfortunately, he grabbed her by the hair, ripping her off of him and throwing her onto the floor.

Looking for any way to fight off the killer before he could murder Laurie, you found a screwdriver on the ground, tossed out of her toolbox when it was kicked over in the tussle. You lunged for it, gripping it tightly and ramming with your full weight into the Shape’s form. He was built like a brick wall, but you managed to stab the screwdriver into the junction between his shoulder and neck, quickly yanking it out to watch him rear back, deep voice groaning in pain as a fountain of blood squirted from the wound.

A sick sort of satisfaction rushed through you to see him suffer, even a little bit. You didn’t like that you felt that way, but you brushed it off. He had done much, much worse. It was deserved. 

You had just enough time to grab Laurie’s hand and pull her to her feet before he was after you, running out of the front door and into the street to get away from the psychopath hot on your heels.

“This way!” Laurie told you, pointing at the house straight ahead. “We can split up when we get there and vault the windows on either side!”

You nodded, releasing her hand as you dashed into the living room of the aforementioned building. She rushed to the back, leaping over the window to the right, and you immediately went through the left.

Fortunately for Laurie but unfortunately for you, Michael was laser-focused on reaching you first, probably to make you pay for your little stunt. 

He was uncomfortably close as you continued to sprint away from him, desperate to lose him as you weaved in and out of buildings, diving over ledges and flinging pallets to slow him down.

It only seemed to make him angrier.

To your relief, you heard the telltale alarm of the exit gates being powered up, hoping that you and your teammates could manage to escape. You made the mistake of glancing back, the massive man’s knife poised to strike the moment he could get near enough.

You stumbled, your fear locking up your legs for only a moment, but it was enough of a delay for him to reach you.

A fence was right in front of you, and you knew you only had a second to act as his knife soared through the air, aimed right at your spine. You dove to the side of the fence, his blade embedding into the rotting wood, and you scrambled up and away as he used his brute strength to rip it right out.

It didn’t grant you much distance, but it was enough.

You barrelled back onto the street just in time to see the exit gate opening, and you made a break for it, the other three survivors spotting you and desperately motioning for you to join them.

As you neared, however, you saw the horror bloom on their faces, their eyes trained on what was behind you.

You knew exactly what that meant.

“GO!” you screamed, and they heeded your words, spinning and sprinting out of the gate and into the empty field beyond it. 

I’m so close, you thought. Come on! COME ON!

Your legs burned and your lungs felt like they were full of fire, unable to get enough air to properly breathe, but you knew you couldn’t stop now.

You could feel him behind you—hear the grunt that slipped from under his mask as he made to grab you, his large fingers brushing against the back of your shirt.

And then, as his dirty, blunt nails dug into the fabric…

You burst out of the gate and into freedom.

You heard the roar of pure rage and looked behind you, the Shape pressing his hand to an invisible wall that kept him from pursuing you further, his knuckles going white as he gripped his knife with inhuman strength.

You didn’t stop running.

You ran until you reached the edge of the field, engulfed in a thick black fog.

You ran until you felt like your lungs would finally burst.

You ran until a soft light pierced through the cold, wet darkness surrounding you. 

And only when the mist faded, giving way to the safety of the camp, did you finally stop.

You collapsed to the ground in front of the fire, gasping for air through crazed, triumphant laughs that you couldn’t prevent escaping your mouth.

“Lucky!” Chris shouted as he made it to your side, dropping next to you and grabbing your face to look you in the eyes.

He said nothing, but you knew what he was thinking.

“I survived,” you managed to get out through heaves and giggles. “I survived the fucking Shape.”

You heard a collection of cheers from all around you, Chris grinning as several survivors approached—including your teammates—and clapped you on the back or ruffled your hair.

When you finally caught your breath, Chris helped you to your feet.

You smiled as you faced the others.

“Hell yeah!” Carlos whooped. “Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

“Good job,” Leon congratulated.

“Yeah, girl, like holy shit!” Claire exclaimed from beside him.

Whether from the praise or the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, you felt a dizzying sort of joy.

You really made it out alive. And this time, with only a handful of bruises to show for it.

“Come on, Lucky, sit down for a while. Get some rest,” Chris told you, urging you over to a nearby log.

There was a buzz in the camp, everyone excitedly chatting about the rare full-party survival of your group. It reminded you of your days in S.T.A.R.S., how you and your team would celebrate another mission well done.

You could almost see Joseph in the way Carlos ribbed Steve. Richard in the way Leon rubbed the back of his neck as he talked with Ada. Edward in Felix checking on Mikaela.

It made you feel both warm and melancholic.

Chris grounded you, as he always did, by wrapping his muscular arm around you, pulling you into him. He kissed your temple, speaking lowly so that only you could hear him, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

You felt a blush spread over your cheeks, glad your recent exercise already colored your face, whispering almost shyly in return, “Thank you.”

You sat together for a while after that, the survivors settling down. Yoichi and Haddie left to start dinner and Chris only got up when they had finished, telling you to stay where you sat so he could get you your food.

You used to argue when he did this, feeling embarrassed by the special treatment. He told you early on that he wanted you to feel special because, to him, you were. The notion was sweet and no one else seemed to really care, so you agreed to let him. He had done it every day now, unless he was the one serving the meals.

How very typical of him, always putting you first.

You watched him get into the line, smiling softly at your doting… whatever he was to you.

The two of you hadn’t put a name to it yet. You weren’t opposed to calling him your “boyfriend”, but it felt ridiculous with how little it conveyed just what he meant to you.

Besides, what you had was still fairly new and despite being physically intimate, you wanted to take this slow. You had all the time in the world, after all.

You could almost laugh thinking about the morning after the two of you first slept together. It started out nice and romantic waking up next to him, his strong arms holding you close as he kissed you slowly. But you had asked to keep your little tryst to yourselves for a while—to feel out what it was you had—and he agreed.

However, that was near instantly trampled the moment you left your room, Carlos clapping Chris on the back, Jill and Rebecca sharing knowing looks, Ada complaining to you about the noise, and Claire clocking the bruise on your neck as a hickey when she saw it. 

Chris was sheepish and you were embarrassed, but he had thrown an arm around you, telling you that you might as well own it.

It was strange to have something like this out in the open after years of keeping your relationships under wraps. 

You and Kevin thought it better to hide what you had for the sake of the job, only letting loose in front of friends and family. The man had never been the most outwardly affectionate anyway, preferring to show you his love behind closed doors. 

And you and Wesker? Well, that was a whole other can of worms.

It was nice to be shown affection so blatantly in front of other people and that Chris didn’t care if they saw him kissing or holding you. 

You were stiff at first, unused to it, but the ease with which he touched you and pulled you close eventually had you melting.

Of course, the more intimate moments were hidden from view, usually in your bedroom or his, though the occasional tug inside a closet or bathroom wasn’t uncommon. 

Frankly, you were both insatiable, unable to keep your hands off of each other when you weren’t burdened by chores and the daily trials.

You two were happy—as much as you could be in this place—and you wanted to keep it that way.

Your thoughts were scattered when Laurie appeared before you, gently tapping your shoulder to gain your attention.

“Hey,” you greeted jovially.

“Hey,” she replied, voice sweet, “I just wanted to say thank you for saving me in the trial. I thought for sure I was done for. I’m sorry he went after you when we split up.”

“Don’t sweat it. You saved me first anyway, remember? I think we can call us even. Besides, it’s not your fault he picked me to terrorize.”

She smiled at you. “Still, I’m glad you were there and that you got out safe. You must be our lucky charm or something.” 

You laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll take a win when I see one.”

Chris returned, holding out a plate to you, and Laurie simply squeezed your shoulder fondly before wandering to the back of the line. You saw Steve sidle up next to her, trying to look cool as he chatted her up.

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention to the man beside you, taking the meal with gratitude and a brief kiss on the lips. You wondered if you’d ever get used to that.

“What was that about?” he asked conversationally, digging a fork into his food.

“Oh, just talking about the trial. I saved her from the killer after she saved me.”

“How so?”

You explained to him what occurred, reminded of the way Michael’s blood spewed out of him like a fountain—the way you felt a sadistic glee that it was you that spilled it.

You kept that bit to yourself, but Chris saw the way your brows furrowed, because of course he did. He was a lot more observant now than he once was, especially concerning you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You took a breath in, unsure of how to answer, when Ace called out to the group, unknowingly rescuing you from a talk you weren’t ready to have. You both turned to face him, his arms full of various bottles of alcoholic drinks. 

“Who wants to party?!”

Many survivors excitedly cheered in response, gathering around the table Ace placed the bottles and a stack of cups upon. 

Carlos and Jill came up beside you, the former looking down between you and Chris. “How about it, you guys want a drink?”

You stood up, holding your empty plate in your hands as you replied, “You’re joking, right? After the trial I just had, I need one.”

Your small group chuckled, Chris standing as well and taking your used dish. “Pour me something, Lucky. I’ll go put these away.” 

He leaned in and kissed your cheek before walking off, and you caught the way Jill’s eyes shined and Carlos smirked at the action. 

“What?” you asked, narrowing your gaze.

“Oh, nothing at all,” Jill replied, smiling wide.

“Just that you two are so darn cute,” Carlos added, pinching your cheek and cooing. “Young love, am I right?”

You smacked his hand away. “Whoa there, no one said anything about love.”

Carlos clicked his tongue, pulling away his hand as the three of you made it over to the table to fix your drinks. “Denial is a river in Egypt, you know.”

You scoffed at the stupid jest. “And you’re too young to be making dad jokes.”

“Hey, I might not be a dad,” he started before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, “but the ladies still call me Papi. Isn’t that right, Jill?” 

She elbowed him hard in the side, making him yip in response. “I think you should shut your mouth now.”

You laughed as he grumbled, taking two glasses and filling one with whiskey—as Chris would prefer—and the other with rum, which was more up your alley.

Chris returned and you handed him his drink with a smile, turning around just in time to see Claire reach for an empty cup. The man glared at his sister, voice stern as he said, “Absolutely not.”

“Seriously?” she questioned with a huff. “You know I drank in college, right?”

You could see Chris bristle at that. You knew Claire being flippant about her education was something of a sore spot for him.

Their parents died when he was fourteen—not much older than you had been when you lost your mother—and the two of them were forced to live with their uncle whom neither of them liked very much and was rarely around to take care of them.

Chris had to grow up quick, and he did everything in his power to give Claire a good life, even at the expense of his own. Nearly every penny he earned from the moment he started working went towards her; new clothes before every semester, birthday and Christmas gifts, school supplies—everything she needed, plenty of things she wanted.

But he had always been lax with her, nearly to the point of spoiling her rotten. This change in demeanor was strange to you and you wondered where it stemmed from.  

“Well, you should have been focusing on your studies, not partying,” he admonished. 

Claire wasn’t having it, clearly fed up with her older brother’s behavior. “I can do both.” 

“C’mon, Chris,” you coaxed. “She’s a grown-up now and it’s not like there’s a legal drinking age in this place. What’re you gonna do? Call the cops? Arrest her yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, but you could sense him relaxing as the logic of your words dawned on him. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. But don’t be stupid about it.”

With an appreciative smile towards you, she grabbed her cup. “We’ve got a lot in common, big bro, but not that.”

He scoffed in offense, turning to you as his sister trotted off with her spoils. “You hear that? Teenagers.”

You chuckled, raising your glass to him. “Can’t live with 'em.”

He grinned, clinking his cup to yours. “Amen to that.”

Rebecca sidled up to you, her own drink in hand. “I like to think I’m not that bad,” she teased.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a nerd and like, ridiculously responsible for your age,” you told her light-heartedly, bumping her shoulder with yours.

She gave you a faux pout before breaking into laughter, bumping you back. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t call me a nerd.”

Not everyone decided to join in on the alcohol consumption, but the survivors separated as usual, chatting amongst themselves. The teens hung out around the campfire, goofing off, and Ace even started a poker game that a few of the others joined in on.

Carlos, witnessing that, turned to your group of older adults from your world, which had settled down at a table near the medical facility. “How ‘bout we play a drinking game?”

“What, like beer pong?” Leon asked dubiously.

“Maybe Truth or Dare,” Ada teased with a smirk, making a blush rise to the young man’s face.

“No and no, though I like where your head’s at,” Carlos said. “I was thinking more along the lines of Never Have I Ever.”

“And how does one play this game?” Sheva asked with an amused chuckle.

“Someone says something they’ve never done, and everyone who’s done that thing has to take a swig. If no one has done it, the person who said it takes a drink instead,” Carlos explained. “So, who’s interested?”

“I’m down,” you offered, placing your elbows on the table in front of you. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Carlos glanced around at the others expectantly and they all agreed, some more hesitant than others.

The game started innocently enough, the whole group—except for Leon, it would seem—getting tipsy quickly. 

Then, as it always did, it took a more raunchy turn.

“Never have I ever…” Sheva started, considering her next statement, “had sex in public.”

You and Chris shared a secretive look and you both bit back laughter as you took a hefty sip from your cups. Ada and Carlos did, too, which didn’t surprise you, but everyone was shocked when Jill raised her glass to her lips.

“What?” she asked defensively. “The military was a weird time for me.”

Ada leaned forward because it was her turn, thinking of her own line as the group finished reeling from Jill’s admittance. “I’ll do you one better, Sheva. Never have I ever hooked up with someone on the job. And no, Leon, a kiss doesn’t count.”

You raised your brows as Leon opened and closed his mouth immediately, looking like an embarrassed fish. You were vaguely aware they had some kind of history together, but it apparently went deeper than you initially thought. You felt your heart ache for Claire, seeing why Chris was so concerned about her feelings for Leon.

Yikes on a bike. 

Without thinking, you tossed back your cup in response to Ada, the only person in the group to do so.

When you looked around with a drunken smile on your face, the expression dropped like your stomach as you realized your mistake.

It was clear that Carlos, Ada, and Leon assumed it was Chris you were referring to, and if Sheva knew otherwise, she clearly didn’t understand the problem with your revelation.

Jill, however, stared at you with furrowed brows, and you could see her trying to piece together who it might be.

You gulped as you glanced at Chris beside you, who had tensed up, his features that were previously open and relaxed turning stony as he met your gaze.

That sobered you immediately. 

You fucked up. Badly. 

Neither of them knew of your relationship with Kevin in the past, feeling it was unnecessary and a threat to your job security if you admitted you had a long-term relationship with your former partner.

However, it wasn’t Kevin that you had sex with at work, and you were almost tempted to lie and say it was.

Because you definitely couldn’t tell them it was Wesker.

“Well, that was fun,” you claimed as you stood, hoping you could get away from this situation before it blew up in your face. “But I think it’s time I head to bed.”

“Yeah, me too. Don’t want a hangover,” Chris said, voice gruff. 

You swallowed thickly as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it probably wasn’t good. You weren’t ready for this conversation. However, he clearly was.

Tersely, you said goodnight to the group, their expressions perplexed by the awkward tension that now fell over you. Chris gave them a noncommittal wave, following after you as you trudged into the medical facility and into your room, anxiety swelling inside of you with every step.

Once inside, Chris closed the door, not facing you when he asked lowly, “Are you going to tell me who it was?”

You took in a sharp breath, already picking at your cuticles as you replied, “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago.”

Not exactly a lie. It had been nearly a year since you and Wesker had done something as risky as hook up in his office. It was the first and only time, as he made very clear.

Usually, it was in the safety of hotel rooms.

Chris turned abruptly, expression appalled. “You’re serious?”

“You sound like Claire earlier,” you said, trying to alleviate the tension.

“No, don’t do that,” he warned. “Don’t try to play this off.” He stepped forward and you eyed him warily. “I thought we were closer than this. I thought you could trust me.”

“Of course I trust you!” you exclaimed.

“Then why hide something like that from me? Worried I’d judge you?” His jaw was tight and you wanted nothing more than to hold his face in your hands, to go back to before you decided to play that stupid game.

You could at least admit to being with Kevin, lie and say it was him you had sex with on the job, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Chris, I don’t want to tell you because it didn’t mean anything. It’s something I wish I could forget. Can you please let this go?” you were in near tears as you tried to explain yourself, not willing to relent and give him the information he was looking for.

This was still far too raw, and you had been more than happy to pretend your previous relationships were nonexistent while exploring this new one with the man standing in front of you, fists clenched at his sides.

He looked at you for a long moment, taking in your pleading expression and the way you tore the skin off your fingers in distress, and finally backed down. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just… I want you to be honest with me.”

“And I am,” you assured him, closing the distance between you. “That part of my life? It’s not important anymore. In fact, I wish it never happened in the first place. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

He sighed, features softening as he allowed you to pull him into an embrace, his large hands sweeping across your face. “Alright, then. I’ll let it go.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, nuzzling into one of his palms. “And I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You’re lucky I can’t stay mad at you for very long,” he teased in a hushed voice, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple.

“You nicknamed me well,” you replied, grinning up at him as he pulled back.

He rolled his eyes, but that didn’t stop him from tugging you into his arms.

“C’mere,” he said, lips meeting your own fervently.

As you returned the kiss, the back of your knees hitting the bed while he led you further into the room, you knew your night wasn’t over yet.

***

September 14th, 1996; Raccoon City

“‘Bout time you showed up,” your brother admonished with a goofy grin, opening the front door of your family’s home to let you inside.

“Good to see you too, Tic,” you replied sardonically, ruffling his hair the moment you stepped over the threshold. “How’s school? You keeping out of trouble?”

He pushed your hand away, fixing the strands you had pulled out of shape before answering with a playfully annoyed tone, “It’s only been like two weeks, Sis. How much can change?”

You chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

Although you got along with both of your siblings—even with the large gaps in age—your personalities were as different as they could be. Tic, despite his sense of humor, was far more studious and careful than you ever were, taking his grades seriously. He was a popular kid too, becoming the rising star of Raccoon City High’s junior varsity soccer team. You often worried about his ability to juggle it all, but he hadn’t burned out yet.    

Tic rolled his eyes good-naturedly at your response before changing the subject, “Anyway, I heard we’re expecting company tonight?” 

“Sure are. My friend from work, Chris, and his sister, Claire.” 

“No Kevin then?” Tic already knew the answer, and you could hear the disappointment in his voice. Although you and Kevin still talked occasionally, he hadn’t visited your family in weeks, and you knew they missed his near-constant presence almost as much as you did.

“No, he was busy this weekend,” you said, unsure if it was even a lie. “But hey, Claire’s only a couple years older than you. You two might get along.” 

Your brother’s demeanor shifted, a mischievous smile forming. “Is she hot?”

You scoffed, gently smacking his shoulder. “She’s in college, dude. Don’t even think about it. At least until you’re eighteen.” 

He fake pouted, rubbing his arm as if you’d maimed him. “Geez, fine. No need to bust my balls over it.”

Before you could comment on his crass reply, a blur of pink tulle came flying toward you at warp speed, the tiny body of your baby sister being launched into your arms.

“SISSY!” she bellowed as you gave her a big hug. “I thought you were never coming home!”

You laughed at such a ridiculous notion. “Now why would you think that, Kitty?”

“‘Cos it’s been forever since last time,” she half-whined, as typically theatrical as any seven year old girl, you imagined.

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“You’d be surprised how much can change,” Tic interjected sarcastically.

“Oh, you’re about to get the worst noogie of your life,” you threatened, setting Kitty back onto the floor before making a grab for the collar of your brother’s shirt. 

“It’s not my fault you're getting too old to remember what you said five seconds ago,” he replied as he deftly dodged your outstretched hand.

“You’re only making it worse for yourself,” you warned, Kitty giggling as you chased Tic down the hall. Man, that kid was fast. It was unfair he was already taller than you at fifteen. 

You were about to catch up when an evidently displeased voice called your name from the kitchen entryway, “Now that you’ve finally arrived, can you help me finish the dinner I’m making for your guests?”

Ah, your infinitely uptight stepmother was here to break up the fun, as usual. Though you couldn’t fault her this particular time. The Redfield siblings were indeed your responsibility tonight.

Your relationship with your stepmother was a… complex one, to say the least. She came at a time that was far too soon after your mother’s death, and it always felt as though she was trying desperately to replace her. 

You wanted to hate her when you were younger—make her out to be some villain in your hero’s journey—because it was easier than blaming your father for moving on so quickly and becoming even more of a hardass than he already was. But now as an adult, you understood the truth.

She was simply a young woman who didn’t know how to handle a grieving child.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, quick to meet her in the kitchen and wash your hands, getting ready for whatever prep work she would throw your way.

She hummed in acknowledgement, sending your siblings off to the backyard and out of her hair before the two of you quietly made dinner.

You eyed her warily as she stood over the stovetop, the chicken breasts sizzling in the pan as she flipped them with a spatula. You continued your task of mashing the already boiled potatoes, thoughts drifting to the years of fights you had with your stepmother, and the resentment that you’d slowly been trying to chip away at now that you were an adult.

She was the secretary at your father’s job when they first met, hired about a year into your mother’s cancer diagnosis. It was only six months after your mother’s passing when your father introduced you, telling you—in no uncertain terms—that this stranger was to be your new maternal figure.

You always wondered if they just married quick so your father could push the responsibility of caring for you onto someone else or if he had moved on before your mother was even dead. After years of speculation and knowing that if you asked, you wouldn’t get an honest answer out of either of them, you still couldn’t decide what scenario felt worse.

Your disdain for the woman was not helped by the fact she was neurotic, and it always felt like she saw you as some charity case that needed “fixing”. She couldn’t stand that you were a tomboy, always forcing you into frilly pastel dresses when all you wanted to wear was your favorite jeans and your mother’s old band shirts.

You remembered when she threw them out to force your hand when you were about thirteen, and you cried so hard you puked. It was the only time your father ever intervened with her schemes and made her dig the shirts out of the garbage. You wanted to believe it was because he didn’t want the last remnants of his late wife to be taken away—as he got rid of pretty much everything that belonged to her when your stepmother first moved in—but you knew it was probably because your tantrum grated on his nerves.

You were about to toss in the butter to the mashed potatoes when the woman in question stopped you. “Only one stick of butter. You of all people should be more mindful of your health.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes, returning the second stick to the fridge, mentally grumbling about how you always used two and that you knew it tasted better that way. Instead of arguing like your younger self would have, you simply returned to the task at hand, stirring the quickly melting butter into the fluffy mixture.

No, you no longer hated her. Even with her nagging and patronizing remarks, she did mean well. The two of you just never clicked, and at the end of the day that was all there was to it. Besides, she was a wonderful and doting mother to your siblings, which was the most you could hope for.

“So,” she began, startling you from your reverie, “what is this Chris boy like?”

You considered it as you sprinkled some salt and pepper into your bowl. “He’s a good guy. Funny, friendly, and he can be pretty charming, I guess.”

She raised a brow at that, a knowing smirk gracing her perfectly painted lips. “Will he be coming to dinner more often, then?”

“I mean, probably,” you replied. “He’s become a really good friend, after all.”

“Just a friend, huh?” she teased, and although her insinuation made you scoff, you couldn’t help but appreciate the rare moment of camaraderie between you.

“Yes, just a friend.”

“A shame,” she tutted. “I was so disappointed when Kevin stopped coming around, and I hoped maybe you’d move on. I always thought you’d marry that boy, you know. How is he these days?”

Your face fell at her words, and you covered it by looking back down at your bowl of food, mixing it far more than necessary just to keep yourself preoccupied.

Marriage. It had once seemed so inevitable before it fell apart.

You sighed as you replied, “He’s doing well. He has a new work partner now that I’m in S.T.A.R.S.”

“Well, you tell him he’s always welcome here.”

You nodded sullenly. “Will do.”

The rest of the dinner preparations went by in silence, which you were grateful for.

A while later, you had just finished setting the table when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” you called to your family members scattered across the house, jogging to the front entrance to greet your friend and his beloved sister.

Your mood shifted instantly as Chris’s large form stood before you, a grin gracing both of your lips at the same time.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” you said to him, leaning against the door frame. “Now where’s this sister I’ve heard so much about?”

He laughed as he greeted you in turn, stepping slightly to the side to reveal a gorgeous young woman with reddish brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“Hi! I’m Claire. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, giving you a firm handshake, the strength of her grip surprising you. Her smile was warm and cheerful, so much like her brother’s it was almost uncanny. “You’re even prettier than Chris described!”

You quirked a brow at that, your eyes meeting your friend’s, who simply rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. You replied, “Thank you! I’d say the same, but I’ve seen your picture.”

It was her turn to look confused. “You have?”

“Yeah, Chris keeps a photo of you two on his desk at work. Hard to miss it.”

She laughed, gently punching her brother’s arm. “Aw, you big softy.”

He rolled his eyes but chuckled along, and it suddenly felt like you’ve known the two of them your whole life.

After chatting idly in the doorway, you finally led them inside, the duo peering at the family photos that decorated the walls. Their attention was moved when your stepmother gracefully appeared, manicured hands already perfectly clean despite cooking with them only moments prior. 

She greeted them with a wide grin, gingerly shaking their hands and corralling your group into the living room.

“Make yourself at home, you two!” she chirped before turning to you. “Now come help me finish dinner, honey.”

You begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to leave your company by themselves but knowing they’d be just fine for a few minutes, following your stepmother back into the kitchen. 

As the two of you finished up the meal, emptying food from their pots and pans into her nice serving dishes, she leaned over to you with a twinkle in her eye. “That boy sure is handsome. You better nab him before someone else does.” 

You pulled a face at that. “As I said, just friends.”

She tsked in response before sweeping out of the room, clearly unsatisfied by your reply, and you trailed behind her. You knew she just hoped you’d “settle down”—probably because she wanted grandkids sooner than your siblings could give them to her—but it wasn’t as if you could tell her your only interest was in your boss.

Though, it wasn’t her approval you worried about.

Despite your father’s general apathy towards your existence, you knew he would be very against such a scandalous relationship. Not just due to the fact Wesker was your superior, but because of the age gap between you. 

Hypocritical, you thought.

It was about the same as the one between himself and the woman walking ahead of you.

You put on a smile as you reentered the living room after placing the food on the dining table, leaving your stepmother to arrange it as she liked. You were surprised to see your father already there, shaking Chris’s hand and giving him a look that you knew well. He was sizing him up.

“Well, dinner is about ready,” you announced, trying to prevent what was sure to be an awkward situation.

Chris looked over at you and smiled, your father’s gaze narrowing. He said nothing as the group followed you into the dining room, your younger siblings already in their seats as your mother completed her artistic array of dishes and cutlery.

Seeing you enter, she wiped her still-clean hands on her apron, introducing your siblings to your companions. Your brother’s eyes widened when he met the gaze of Claire’s and was quick to avert them, the girl not seeming to notice as Kitty launched into asking her a million questions. You managed to stifle your chuckle at the sight before your stepmother caught your attention. 

“Would you be a dear and get us some drinks from the garage?” she requested sweetly. 

You nodded, about to do as you were asked when your father placed a hand on your shoulder. “No need, me and Chase here have it covered.”

You froze, knowing he was probably going to interrogate him ruthlessly, as he had done to Kevin years prior. You schooled your expression. “It’s Chris, dad. And shouldn’t our guest be allowed to sit at the table?”

“It’s no worry,” Chris said, clearly ignorant to the warning expression you gave him. You sighed as your father turned and left, Chris winking at you as he passed you by.

Welp, guess he’s on his own now.

You sat down at the table at your usual spot across from your brother, a chair left between you and Claire, meant for Chris.

Despite your concern for your father’s antics, you were quickly pulled into a conversation with your friend’s sister, an amiable girl through and through. Your worries were forgotten as she spoke, telling a joke that made you chuckle. Even her sense of humor felt familiar to you, so reflective of her older brother.

Your stepmother then asked her about her studies, and after she described her college experience so far, she explained that she was on the girl’s soccer team, something she enjoyed. 

“Well ain’t that something,” you marveled, “Tic also loves soccer.”

When he didn’t reply, you kicked him gently under the table, giving him a look that said, ‘Now’s your chance to make a friend’. He sputtered out an agreement, the conversation falling silent as he couldn’t seem to offer anything else. Well that was new. He’d never been so awkward or quiet in his life.

Before you could change the subject, your father and Chris finally came back into the room, a bottle of cold soda and a couple of already opened beers in tow. Your group took turns pouring some for yourselves, and once Chris settled into his seat, you looked over at him.

Catching his eye, he offered a small smile, but there was a furrow to his brows you only ever saw on particularly hard missions at work. Your expression was questioning, worried your father had really said something off-color, but he seemed quick to shed whatever concern he had, joining the conversation and making a quip at his sister’s expense.

You yourself eventually relaxed, the evening going quite well despite the few hiccups.

After nearly an hour, your stepmother asked you to clear the table, and Chris immediately jumped up to help despite both of your protests. He wouldn’t relinquish the stack of plates in his hand, however, so you beckoned him to follow you into the kitchen as your sister excitedly ran to a nearby cabinet to pull out her favorite board game, easily roping Claire into playing it.

You and Chris remained in companionable silence for a few moments as the two of you began putting away any leftovers and getting to work on doing the dishes in the sink.

“Thanks for helping out. You know you didn’t have to, right?” you said as you lightly ribbed him with your elbow.

“It’s the least I could do after feeding me so well,” he replied with a shrug.

You smiled, looking down at your handiwork as things fell quiet once more.

After a few more beats, you asked quietly, “My dad didn’t give you too hard of a time, did he?”

“Not at all,” he answered, to your surprise, before continuing sardonically, “He only threatened to kill me if I ever hurt you. Nothing too crazy.”

You laughed at his sarcastic remark. “You got off easy, then.”

He pulled a face before chuckling. “I’d hate to see what him going hard on me looks like.”

“Aw, you’ve got nothing to worry about if you behave. If you don’t, though? Well, they’ll never find your body.” You said that last part deadpan, and Chris flicked soapy water in your direction.

“Well, you better get used to the idea of me haunting your ass then.”

You pretended to shiver in fear. “Only my ass?”

His responding laugh was loud, and you worried your grin would be etched into your face if you couldn’t stop it from forming.

The two of you finished up quickly, drying your hands before joining in on the game in the nearby room. Your sister was having the time of her life and your brother finally started to act more like himself as the evening continued, the two families before you meshing better than you could have imagined.

Caught up in your reverie, you didn’t realize it was your turn to roll the dice, Chris bumping his shoulder into yours, placing the two cubes of plastic on the table in front of you. “You can stall all you want, but I’m still gonna win.”

You rolled your eyes as you began your play, the group laughing at his remark. The dice clattered across the table, and you bit your lip as you all stared at the result.

“Oooh, snake eyes. Unfortunate,” Tic stated before snatching them from the table. “Better luck next time, Sis.”

You huffed in faux displeasure, and the game went on.

One hour turned into two turned into three, and no one seemed to notice or care, you least of all. This was the most fun you think you’ve had in months.

You smiled warmly at the people around you, the two halves of your life fitting together like puzzle pieces, all prior concerns forgotten. 

Right at that moment, sitting in your family’s dining room next to one of your closest friends, you knew one thing to be true.

This is home.

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

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

[thesociallyawkwardprincess]

Allow me to go off into a tangent, as a birthday treat. I'm writing this as I wait for your recommended burger to arrive.

I still struggle with the grieving process, because I don't think I'm doing it "properly." And somehow, this only racks up guilt from me.

But I know everyone grieves in different ways. And that's okay. I guess what really bothers me is whether the quantity and quality of my grief is commensurate enough to reflect the depth (or shallowness?) of our friendship. Is there a direct correlation between those two things? I think the common notion is yes, but I would rather believe otherwise. Because I can also grieve for a total stranger, and you were definitely not a stranger to me. Also because I don't think grief is measurable. This grief, especially. I cannot put a pin on it. It is bothersome.

Ever since you have left this plane of existence, your memory sometimes would pop up at random intervals. I would be driving, then I remember you. I would be eating, and I would remember you. I would be at work, and I would remember you. I would at home, and I would remember you. Don't worry, this happens occasionally. I'm just bothered because I feel like I have spent more time with this memory version of you than your physical version in the last 5 years. Maybe this is the measurable version of my grief idk. Or guilt. Idk.

Another thing - sometimes this grief transforms into anger. Don't worry, I'm not angry at you. Well, slightly. It's not your fault. I don't think I'm angry with myself. Sometimes, I am, slightly. But I don't think I have any fault either. It's just the circumstances. You'd understand. Your memory version understands, at least. I just wish that from your end, you could've waited a day, and from my end, I could've done...something, anything. But lol thanks for the letter. These negative feelings do stave them off, even though you also said in the letter you have no idea why you were writing anyway.

-

Speaking of, as per your letter, yeah it sucks how undignified and uncomfortable death (or the process of dying?) can de. I understand why and how you wanted to skip all that, because like you (as you pointed out), I have also witnessed this. I don't have any rebuttal to this concept at all. You can also say the same for living, if you think about it.

I just personally think there's so much more this universe has had to offer, but you were not interested in that anymore, maybe because you were already satisfied with what you had and you could not give any more fucks to explore anything else outside with what you currently know. That was the conclusion you came up for yourself. I don't think it's your fault for thinking this way.

It's just that I still believe that just as the universe expands into an infinite nothing, it also expands to an infinite number of ways to present itself into something more meaningful and satisfying than what your current self can suggest. Does that make sense? And like you said in the letter, "there are many things in this world (or the world from our POV) that I can/will bend to the force of my perception." And the statement above is what I will the universe to be. There's always something better and something to look forward to that's enough to keep me company until death arrives. I have plenty of time to be dead anyway someday. I will continue to nurture the things I love and will proceed to look for more. It just upsets me that I think I am on the other side of your conclusion (that I have to actively fight against, maybe).

However, this does not really solve the problem of (the process of?) death being ridiculously ugly and paralyzing and uncomfortable and undignified. I also believe that death should feel like a graduation of sorts. Because of this, I have also decided to approach this problem in a manner different from yours. And given that I am currently in a privileged position of being a doctor, I think I have an idea how I can navigate through this problem. It's still in the works, but I think I will turn this into a life's mission of sorts. Don't worry, this is not your fault also.

Anyway, I just needed to air all of this out. I don't know who to tell all these thoughts to, and I'm not interested yet in sharing these to people I personally know hahaha but here it is in blog form so I don't forget. Thanks for visiting(?) me in a dream one time, where we both laughed at your tombstone, maybe because we both know it doesn't exist. Also, thanks for calling me your most low-maintenance friend. Also, I'm sorry if I still find you annoying, even at a different plane of existence hahaha. See you whenever!

#to a friend

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

I’m guessing all Vmins were right Sweet night is about the past. I guess it’s why Tae give it for the movie instead of for his mixtape. I’m guessing JM gave him the ok to do so and why he’s been silent about it cause it’s over between them. TK are making it too obvious. jk treating JM like they aren’t friends suddenly. jk in purple/green all the time. v not shutting up about jk suddenly. JM is not handling it well. I guess it’s why v said he likes JM the most (guess as friend) cause he feels bad

Admin 1: “Sure, go and release a song easily identified as being about us and your hope of me giving you a second chance with a hopeful ending seeing as we aren’t together anymore, sounds like a nice idea to me. Go, Taehyungie, do it. Then also let me hold your hand on national TV and show it to the cameras happily, smile sweetly at you while we stand next to the president, talk about our song and memories and how much they mean to me, perform this song that's essentially a love letter to our bond in a live-streamed concert for almost 800k people, and when you tell me you like me the most, I’ll say I like you a lot as well. Because we’re over and not even friends anymore.” Sounds like some sound logic to me, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible to humans.

Honestly, either I’ve just been around too long and all these asks are starting to sound the same and impossibly uncreative, or they are just getting more farfetched and bizarre. If you want a proper answer, I told you, bring something to the table that hasn’t been talked to dust yet, or leave it be.

To quote Tae, the man who knows best what he feels: 95z is love.

Until he (and Jimin) changes his mind, this is the answer I have for any and all Xkooker ask, as well as any other ship involving Tae or Jimin.

Also yes, I did see the hate against Jimin that exploded yesterday, we even have an ask about it in our inbox, and honestly these types of questions, anon? Yeah, you're not helping, in fact, you are part of the problem, just saying.

Admin 2: Man, man, man!

We didn't really want to answer these types of questions anymore, but this ask takes the trophy when it comes to delulu/nonsensical questions, so I decided to answer it after all. Because it’s hot and I need a distraction.

Also, this question basically confirms most of our suspicions we’ve had so far. Let me explain.

Folks, who is behind these kinds of stories which are being presented and preached as truth on various sns?

I don't believe this is any single persons invention (in this case, that anon came up with this idea “without help”), if anything it’s the result of delulu, and often times toxic, scenarios and stories created by a group of people intended to further a narrative and actively disrupt the “peace” within ARMY (or at least that’s what it feels like since all these things do is ignite hate and toxicity). Where is the origin of it all? Ship centric YouTube channels.

It is very evident that these "imaginative creators/shippers" behind those videos have no consideration of the consequences and harm their content does because, in my opinion, the more controversial and clickbait-y, the better. You know why? More views means more money, which is the goal of it all. We’ve spoken about this before, I believe, how these videos on “ship evidence” and “ship drama” for Xkookers are the most beloved topics of these videos and thus make up one of the easiest means of generating income, in some cases even something upward of $80k a year depending on the channels CPM, sub and view count.

The average person has to work hard all year round to make this amount of money, if they even have a job that brings in that much. So, it is not surprising that these content creators go very far in their fantasies to support their claims and keep their viewers/costumers engaged and coming back.

I wouldn't be surprised if the creators (or rather the whole lot of them) of both Xkook camps are basically the same people, because their ideas, conclusions and explanations all sound the same and follow the same nonsensical patters. Which is why we’ve already told you many times that the best thing you can do is stay away from this type of content altogether.

So! Let's analyze this ask a little more:

"…Vmins were right Sweet Night is about the past. I guess it’s why Tae give it for the movie instead of for his mixtape."

Ok, let's say Tae wrote "Sweet Night" for Jimin, but in the meantime he has changed his feelings (that's how I understand the question) so he gave the song to the Itaewon Class OST instead of putting it on his mixtape. I wanted to note that Taehyung's mixtape isn't finished yet and we will probably wait many more months for it.

It seems to me that Taehyung really wanted to show his feelings to the world, so he saw an opportunity with the OST, and therefore a quicker release for SN, and took it. The fact is that SN is about the past, but there is also hope for the future, hope for the fulfillment of wishes, which likely did come true judging by how Tae said he wrote SN during tour abroad (so sometimes summer/early autumn 2019 perhaps) and we saw vmin holding hands at the airport on Tae’s birthday in 2019 when they thought no one would see, just three months before SN was released (and likely long schedules for said release since these types of things don’t just happen overnight) and many, many other such things.

“I suspect that JM gave him his consent and why he kept silent about it because it was over between them, TK makes it too obvious. "

And I suspect that Jimin was very touched by Sweet Night and ultimately wrote Friends in which him and Tae sing: “Many promises and memories / and more to come / Someday, when these cheers die down, stay hey / You are my soulmate”

The fact is that BTS didn't say much about SN, but it was the same with many of their other SC releases as well, so it wasn’t unusual, especially since SN came out while they were promoting MOTS7. Also, in my opinion, the content of this song is too personal to be able to describe/discuss the song in detail beyond the bit that was mentioned during Tae’s vlive with Namjoon. During a Japanese interview, the members basically confirmed/pointed out how romantic Tae is and when SN came up, Namjoon “coincidentally” turned around toward Jimin who has a similar facial expression of pressed lips as he did during Let’s BTS.

"JK treats JM as if they suddenly weren't friends"

And here I have caught you, dear anon. I think you're not even looking at the original BH content, but that instead you are basing your conclusions and opinions on manipulative YT ship videos instead because if you would’ve watched the original content like RUN, the recent SOWOOZOO concerts, and interviews, you wouldn’t arrive anywhere near such thoughts and conclusions.

Jimin and JK are still close, also Jimin calls JK his little brother (dongsaeng) and JK describes Jimin (or associates these words with him) as charm and cute. Does there seem to be any kind of conflict between Jimin and Jungkook? Certainly not, no.

„JK always in purple / green. v not shutting up about jk suddenly."

You mean their microphone colors? I wanted to point out how Tae wore a yellow shirt during the concert, which is the same color as the chick emoji ARMY associates with Jimin as well as his mic color. LOL.

As far as I know, when Tae has something to say, he will say it, and if he is praising JKs songs, and especially You Eyes Tell which we know is a song Tae liked a lot, that is a good thing. It simply means Tae appreciates the song JK created, appreciates and values his talents and hard work. If the entire band praises Namjoon and his lyrics/contributions on their songs, does that automatically also mean all six are “not shutting up about him” and therefore must be in love and in a relationship with him, or it’s an indicator of it? If anything, it’s merely an indicator that Tae is an honest person and JK did a good job on those songs. Easy as that.

That's my favorite part of the question: "JM doesn't handle it that well. I think that's why I said he likes JM best (as a friend, I guess) because he feels bad."

Personally, I consider myself a person with a great imagination, but I wouldn't really come up with a scenario like that.

How cruel of a person do you think Tae is? Imagine they aren’t together anymore or close anymore, or whatever else you tried to insinuate anon, and then Tae would go on national TV and do this whole thing of asking for the card in his letter to Jimin to be blurred and then said “Jimin-ah I like you the most”? To do something as hurtful as that you either have to be a sadist or an asshole and I’d like to believe even you, anon, don’t think in such a way about Tae, of all people.

Perhaps that’s something dumb teenagers or kids would do, but not adult men in their mid-twenties who see each other every single day, are part of the same team and have to work with each other. This is real life, not a soap opera. If these types of dramas really would be happening within BTS, they would’ve stopped existing as a band a long time ago because no one would be able to live with such actions and people for a prolonged amount of time. BTS are grown men, best friends, even found family, and not actors on a badly written TV show for our entertainment where they act out increasingly stupid relationship drama in which JK somehow ended up being the toy going from hand to hand like he’s not even an actual person anymore.

In summary, this question was written by a child, teenager, or an emotionally immature person naïve enough to buy into outlandish ship narratives.

Anon, hear what the members had to say during FESTA 2021. Make your own conclusions and stop watching and believing the nonsense on YouTube. As Tae said: Get out of your imagination. It’s not good in there.

#answered ask #vmin

[100hearteyes]

Clexaweek 2021: Day 3 - Reunited (a summary)

Several months after Praimfaya, Clarke is roaming the now deserted Earth without a destination. All her friends on the spaceship actually died (ship exploded after take-off); there’s no Madi either. So she’s roaming the desert when a portal opens and out comes.... her doppelganger.

After a less than warm introduction, because it’s Clarke (and there’s two of them now), Clarke 2 tells Clarke that they don’t just look alike — she’s her but from another world and her name is Ruby. And she makes her an offer (mind you, Clarke is desperate and 100% she is going to die sooner or later): trade places with her. Ruby will stay in the desert, where she actually has the tools to survive, and Clarke can take her place in her own world.

Clarke’s like 🤔 a chance to actually live a life 🤔 know what could’ve been in a different world 🤔 well what the hell, I’ll take it. So Ruby hands Clarke an object that allows her to travel ONCE to another world and they part ways — Ruby stays in our Earth, whereas our Clarke goes to that other world.

Clarke lands in a 16th century style palace bedroom. She barely has time to collect her bearings when the door opens and---

---in full 16th century noble garb, looking heartbroken, when she suddenly sees Clarke and... she nearly faints.

Sixteenth century Lexa goes totally neurotic because her Clarke just died so who is this imposter??? And she knocks Clarke down and is about to kill her (as if she could bring herself to do it) when the door slams open and---

Yes. Another one 👀 two Lexas. Clarke’s lil bi heart can’t take this.

This one is dressed completely different, a lot more sci-fi, almost like a modern deity. And she just comes in and MIB’s the first Lexa and Clarke is like WTF IS GOING ON HERE??? But also-- LEXA????

This Lexa, we’ll just call her Lexa for the sake of both our collective sanity and the story because Lexa is you-know-what, helps Clarke up and asks her to come with her, to which Clarke is like lol no, explain first. But Lexa’s all like annoyed eye roll and look we don’t have time, I promise I’ll explain everything if you come with me. She also assures Clarke that 16th century Lexa will be fine, she just won’t remember what happened.

Anyway, Clarke goes with her and they enter a sort of palace/tower in the middle of space or like in a rift between worlds. There’s a big room there with an oval/round table, which is basically a database for every single Clarke and Lexa in existence. The building is called The Observatory.

Lexa explains that there is a multitude of universes and timelines where the two of them exist. A lot of their iterations have different names, but sometimes they’re called Clarke and Lexa. Those are like their “purest” versions.

So, yes. They’re soulmates. Obviously.

And there is always a Clarke-Clarke or a Lexa-Lexa watching over all of them, making sure everything runs smoothly. Which is what Lexa does. When an Observer dies (time passes normally for them) another takes her place.

Basically, in this AU, every Clexa fic that’s ever been or ever will be written is canon.

Anyway, Lexa tells her tat the Lexa-Lexa or Clarke-Clarke that becomes the Observer is one who has passed away too soon. And Clarke is like 👀👀👀 so are you MY- but Lexa shuts that idea down very quickly.

So what happened to this rogue Clarke? A Clarke aka Ruby has been killing other Clarkes for a while but Lexa has no idea why and she also doesn’t know WHICH version of Clarke she is. There’s millions, billions of their iterations.

She killed 16th century Clarke (whose name wasn’t Clarke), too.

And why can’t Lexa just go after her in Clarke’s world? Because while you can detect anomalies (like a live Clarke in a dead Clarke’s world) you can only locate Clarkes or Lexas if you know WHO they are. Also, the Observer can’t stay in any world for longer than two weeks.

Clarke asks Lexa why she didn’t just go back to her world after being sort of brought back to life. Lexa explains she’s only allowed a short total amount of time in her original world and she already used some of it a long time ago when she went back to help her soulmate when no one else would. Clarke, remembering how her Lexa showed up in the City of Light to help her, says it must have killed Lexa’s Clarke to lose her a second time. Lexa says it was just as painful for her.

And she can’t stay on HER original world for longer than a day — otherwise she dies/disintegrates (and another Observer will take her place.

Clarkes and Lexas are supposed to live out their lives without outside interference. In some worlds they know about soulmates, in others they don’t, bu they need to live in their own worlds and timelines. The Observer observes — everything else is considered tampering with how things are supposed to be. So the time limit rule is meant to keep her from influencing other Clarkes and Lexas and from going back to her own world.

So Lexa can’t just jump into Clarke’s world going after Ruby because it might take too long to find her.

Still, they have a name now, thanks to Clarke — Ruby. So they look it up... Only to find out there’s like a thousand Rubys. Obviously they can’t find a ruby needle in a haystack so they try to understand why Ruby would go on a soulmate killing spree. Clarke and Lexa start visiting every world and BONDING and shit.

There’s also some soul searching on Clarke’s behalf because she’s struggling between being sad about Lexa but also mad because once again she was left behind. And Observer Lexa helps her sort through all those feelings, and our Clarke starts maybe developing some feely feels for this Lexa but also feels GUILTY.

And this one time there’s something Lexa says that makes the lightbulb go off in Clarke’s head.

What if Ruby never had a soulmate?

What if there was never someone meant for her in the first place?

Lexa counters with the fact that several iterations of them never even get together, that being someone’s soulmate isn’t binding — there’s still a choice. But, Clarke says — how heartbreaking would it be to never have a choice at all?

You can never make the wrong choice or the right choice. You can never change your mind. And it’s heartbreaking to have that choice ripped away from you.

That’s Ruby. She never had a choice. And, as they find out eventually, she comes from a world where soulmates are a pretty big deal. Upon finding out by accident that there are billions of Clarkes in millions of other worlds who have a Lexa, while she — sue to some crazy glitch of the universes — had that choice taken away from her, her excruciating pain turned into something ugly. And she decided to start killing Clarkes, so Lexas all around other worlds would feel HER pain.

And that’s how Clarke and Lexa realize what was missing: the numbers didn’t add up. The sum of Rubys with living and dead soulmates didn’t match the total number of Rubys — because there was one whose soulmate was neither dead or alive. She never existed in the first place.

So they manage to filter out all the other Rubys and find the right one. Lexa’s intention is to stun and arrest her, but Clarke is a little more practical and just takes a gun.

Before they go, though, Clarke and Lexa have a heart to heart.

At this point, their feelings for each other are too strong to ignore. So before they go, Lexa asks larke to stay with her in the Observatory even after they catch Ruby. Clarke wants to, but she also feels guilty because she’s falling in love with THIS Lexa and it feels like a betrayal of HER Lexa. And she feels like she owes it to HER Lexa to make an effort to survive and build something in their world. So she tells Observer Lexa she can’t, because she can’t run away again like she did when Ruby came to her. She HAS to build humanity back up in her world. She HAS to survive.

And that’s when Lexa — nervous, tentative Lexa — asks:

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. Don’t we deserve better than that?”

So, yes. It’s Lexa 😌

(If you think about it - I didn’t mention it but - she knew which Clarke Clarke is right away. She didn’t ask, the Obervatory didn’t tell her. She just knew who Clarke was. Because Clarke has that scar on her forehead from when Emerson attacked her. And the moment she saw it — she KNEW.)

Lexa didn’t say it before because she knew Clarke would want to stay with her but she didn’t know if there would be any consequences. And if there were and it turned out to be impossible for Clarke to stay, then the heartbreak would have been all the greater, because they’d be losing each other a fourth time.

Anyway, Clexa reconnect and everything is beautiful but they still have a murderous soulmate to catch.

They teleport themselves to a spot close to Ruby. Some fighting ensues, Clarke loses her gun, which ends up in Lexa’s hands, and Ruby ends up pointing her own at Clarke’s pretty head. And Lexa has a double reason not to dire that gun: one, she’s still a grounder and grounders don’t touch Mountain Men weapons; two, she’d be shooting a Clarke for all intents and purposes.

Ruby taunts Lexa about not being able to shoot her, pokes the bear a few times about how she’ll have so much fun killing Clarke — You wouldn’t mind, would you? After all, it’s just another one in a billion —, yada yada.

And then Lexa actually shoots.

And Ruby dies and Clarke runs to Lexa’s arms and Lexa is like, I thought I was over the violence, and Clarke pulls her to meet her eyes: We are now.

Clarke and Lexa go back to the Observatory and Clarke asks if it’s actually safe being there, if she or Lexa won’t be harmed for it. And Lexa tells her she’d been thinking about how everything happens for a reason and maybe, just maybe — maybe this WAS always meant to be their second chance.

(Or third. Or fourth.)

So they stay there and live out their days together traveling between worlds and making a home for themselves in the Observatory. Their maybe someday has arrived at last; they owe nothing more to their people.

#Clexaweek21 #Clexaweek21 Day 3 #Day 3 reunited #reunited #clexaweek #clexaweek2021 #mine #my fics #sorta #all great things

[fangqueen]

#3 What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Fun Meta Asks for Writers

Adding the link to the ask game at the start this time, 'cause this is gonna be a long one, y'all. 😂

Where do I even begin? First of all, @angie-leena​, thank you so SO much for sending me this ask! It was the kick in the ass I needed to get me to actually write this scene, and for that I’m extremely grateful. I still don’t know if I’m entirely happy with the finished product, but it exists now, and that’s something.

So some of you may remember (if anyone actually follows my ramblings, haha!) that I’ve been simultaneously complaining about and obsessing over this gigantic WIP I’ve had since fucking March 2019. Nearly two and a half years have passed since I put the first word to paper, and oh how I’ve loved to cry out in frustration about how I have about 12k written on the stupid thing and yet not a single scene finished.

AT LEAST

NOT UNTIL TODAY

YES, I’VE DONE IT. I’ve finished a scene on this amazing, wonderful, and incredibly stupid WIP, and I could just cry.

FYI for anyone who doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about (which I’m sure is everyone, ‘cause I don’t expect anybody to remember this insane thing I’ve been shouting about all this time, LOL): this is the Slytherin My Gryffindor WIP. Yes, that is a working title. 😅 I will find a better one.....some day.......Ron/Draco is the main pair, but there will also be plenty of others sprinkled in the background.

Anyway, about this ask and that context I haven’t been arsed to write yet...

Context required in order to understand this scene 😂:

Fred Lives AU

The Muggle world and the Wixen world has kind of mixed in recent years, and it’s very common for magical people to be using Muggle technology

The Weasley twins have opened a second shop in Diagon Alley...selling sex toys (yes, really)

Their first original product line issssssss..........dildoes shaped like the Weasley brothers’ own dicks (and a fleshlight kind of thing for Ginny)

Yes this is crack!fic (but, like, also not???)

Ron has been made general manager of the shop and is there all the time, as they’re incredibly busy

Draco wants 👏 that 👏 D 👏, but is worried about Ron finding out, so keeps coming into the shop randomly hoping he won’t be there (and of course he always is)

Eventually there’s a day where Ron’s in the backroom, Charlie’s visiting and helping out at the register, and when Ron emerges, Charlie informs him that Draco Malfoy has just run in and bought Ron’s dildo

Cue Ron being incredibly turned on by this notion

So that pretty much brings us up-to-speed for this scene - it’s been a few days now, and Ron’s been trying to figure out a way to contact Draco to talk to him about the whole thing, since they never became friends or anything after the war and don’t regularly talk unless they’re just seeing each other around

The fic is meant to touch on, like...fame in the aftermath of the war (i.e. why anyone would be interested in sex toys modelled after the Weasley siblings in the first place)

Ron has evolved from his teenage self and grown to hate the fame - it prevents him from being able to date, because the press can never let him keep anything private

After this scene, the fic will focus on Ron and Draco developing a sexual - and eventually romantic - relationship (originally under the guise of “testing out” other products from the shop together)

They will try their best to keep their relationship a secret, but, like...everyone knows 😘😘😘

Also Draco is a model in this one (not important for this scene, but just thought you might want to know 😂)

In addition, some warnings/content to make note of before reading:

NC-17 (smut incoming!)

Technology circa 2005

Phone sex

Semi-public sex

Sex toys

Both Ron and Draco are a little drunk (but very consenting!)

Crack taken way too seriously

Of course, this hasn't been betaed or Britpicked, so I apologize for how very rough it is right now, lol. It will likely be a little (or a lot!) different if I ever actually finish this whole fucking fic and post it later on. I am treating this scene like a “sneak peek” of the fic, because I definitely do still want to try to finish it someday...

HOLY SHIT, I had a LOT more to say about it than I thought. 😅 So anyway. Scene under the cut.

Friday night at the Dragon's Head was packed. It took a bit of initiative, but Ron, Seamus, and Dean finally managed to snag them all a table in the back corner, hoarding the extra seats till Harry and Neville finally arrived, trailed closely by Ginny and Parkinson ― who were curiously short one blond wizard.

Ron tried not to think about it. He bought the first round with Harry, listening to him chat about the recent Puddlemere match against the Magpies. They ordered nibbles for the table. Ron munched on chips, his heart skipping every time the door opened across the room and another few patrons trickled in.

He was on his third pint of the evening when he started getting antsy. He sipped his Simison, using the light smoke curling around the rim of the glass to discreetly glance around the pub, hoping to spot a familiar head of blond hair in the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

"Is he coming, then?"

Ron's head snapped to attention. Ginny checked the door as well before turning back to Parkinson.

"Who?" Neville asked, snagging a vinegar-soaked chip from the bowl in the center of the table.

"Malfoy," Ginny said, craning her neck to see her girlfriend's screen.

Parkinson tapped away on her mobile, shaking her head. "No. Says he's already curled up with a bottle of wine and a good book, and doesn't fancy getting all done up."

Fucking hell. Ron drained the dregs at the bottom of his glass. It wasn't often Malfoy joined them on a mostly-Gryffindor outing ― not unless Parkinson could convince him. Somehow, Ron felt he should've known it wouldn't be in the cards tonight. Conversation pivoted again, and Ron ran his fingers up the sides of his empty pint, thinking.

At some point, Seamus and Harry set off to get another round, and Ginny hurried away with them after a quick peck to Parkinson's cheek. Neville and Dean had gotten into a chat about proper Mimbulus mimbletonia care, and Ron saw his chance. He could feel his heart start to thud in his chest as he cleared his throat, raising his voice to catch her attention.

"Parkinson?"

She turned back from watching Ginny leave, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes?"

"Think you could give me Malfoy's number?"

The smirk she gave him in response made his hands shake a little as they drummed against the tabletop.

"Whatever for?"

Ron stared her down, knowing full well any excuse he told her would never be enough. Parkinson's expression was predatory ― as if she already knew the answer anyway. He waited for her to comment, bracing himself.

To his surprise, she instead dug her mobile back out of her handbag.

She turned the screen towards him, and he typed the number directly into the dialer on his phone. He waited a few minutes until everyone ― Parkinson included ― had moved on to other things and forgotten about him, and then slipped from the table.

Ron shouldered his way through the crowd to the loo, pushing inside and locking the door behind him. It was a small room, hardly bigger than a broom closet. There was a toilet and a sink, a grimy mirror hanging above it, and a dim ceiling lamp that barely lit the space.

Ron backed up to one side of the room and slumped against the wall. He gripped the phone in clammy hands. Those pints had picked a perfect moment to hit him all at once. Ron blinked away the creeping dizziness, staring down at the numbers glowing dauntingly on the tiny screen. He'd been unable to get it out of his mind for days ― the image of Malfoy riding his dildo ― and now that he had a way to contact him, he was frozen. The leaky faucet dripped, the sound maddening as it mingled with the rush of blood in his ears. This was stupid. This was so bloody stupid.

He hit call.

Ron held his breath, cupping the phone to his ear. The line rang and rang, until he started to realize he didn't have a plan B. What if Malfoy didn't answer? What if he had to leave a voicemail? What would he even say? He should've just texted him, damn it.

Then, suddenly, the ringing stopped. There was rustling and a mumbled, "Bloody useless thing." Then, louder, "Yes?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, this is ― Weasley?"

Malfoy sounded surprised. Ron breathed out gradually, his heartbeat slowing with it. Malfoy's voice was clear and present on the other end. No looking back. He tried to think of something to say, and only came up with one thing.

"Haven't seen you round the shop yet this week."

"Don't tell me that's really why you called." Malfoy sighed, trying to sound put-upon, but Ron could hear the hint of nerves underneath. "If you must know, that would be because I found what I'd been looking for."

"I know."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. For a moment, Ron thought Malfoy might hang up. But then he cursed quietly. "Damn that brother of yours. Incorrigible."

So it really was true. Charlie hadn't just been taking the piss. Ron felt a warmth flare up in his belly, spreading down to the tops of his thighs.

"Try growing up with him. And the twins? Now that's a real nightmare."

"I was trying for discreet, but you were always there."

Ron leaned further back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling above. He thought of all those times Malfoy had dropped in at the shop, only to hurry out again if Ron ever came too close. Malfoy had jumped at the chance when Ron had been called away to the back that day.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well. You know. So what, then? Looking to mock me for it?"

"You always assume the worst with me. Why is that?" Although Ron couldn't exactly blame him. He hadn't given Malfoy much else to go on in years past. Neither of them had. "No. No, I was calling because…" Why had he been calling? It had seemed such a natural thing when he'd asked Parkinson for Malfoy's number not five minutes ago. "I was curious. If there was, er." He waved his free hand, searching for the words. Nothing sounded right. "Any particular reason for it."

Malfoy laughed ― a short bark of a sound. "I mean, obviously yes. It's a sex toy, Weasley."

Ron snorted, taken aback. "That's not ―"

"Actually, I thought it'd make a nice statement in the middle of my dining table. It would be an excellent conversation piece for dinner parties."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, I didn't ―"

A chuckle rumbled through from the other end of the line. There was that snark again. Merlin, it made Ron hot, his skin blooming from his collar up to his ears. He chewed his lip, pulling back the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

"I only meant ― was there a reason? That you'd picked mine?"

The line suddenly went quiet. Ron had to check his phone just to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

When Malfoy finally replied, his voice was soft, uncertain. "What would possess you to call and ask me that?"

Ron breathed in slowly, his hand tapping an incoherent rhythm on his thigh. "Well, I'm a bit pissed, to be honest," he admitted, still feeling the slight burn the Simison had left in his throat.

Malfoy didn't say anything more at first. The lamp above buzzed as the faucet continued to drip. Ron could hear the noise from the pub pressing up against the other side of the door.

Then, Malfoy said, "Maybe there was."

Ron felt his heart jump into his throat. "Was what?"

"A reason why I bought it," Malfoy said slowly, deliberately. "Figure it out, Weasel."

Oh, bloody hell. Ron took a shaky breath. Every nerve felt like it was on fire.

"And...how was it?" Ron heard himself ask as if from very far away.

Even over the din of the music beyond the bathroom door, he could hear Malfoy swallow. "It was good."

"Oh, ta." Ron chuckled despite himself.

"No, I mean...Bugger." It was nice hearing Malfoy so flustered. A rare occurrence, and one that the little fluttering pixie in Ron's stomach very much wanted to repeat. "It was brilliant, alright? Happy?"

Brilliant. The word tingled down Ron's spine. For some reason, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Bloody hell, was this really happening? He thought of fleeting insults thrown in the school corridors all those years ago ― then he thought of a night just a few months ago, the look in Malfoy's eyes as Ron told him about the shop.

"You wrote a song about me once, if I remember correctly," Ron said, feeling deliriously happy.

"I suppose I did." Malfoy sighed.

Ron's eyes flicked to the door, to the noise of the crowd beyond. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"Oh, please, Weasley," Malfoy said bitterly. "Pick a reason."

"I know, but ―" Ron tried to argue, but Malfoy cut him off.

"You don't owe me anything. It would be incredibly unfair for me to expect you to be interested in return."

Ron supposed that was fair enough. He'd had similar feelings towards Malfoy until very recently.

"I would be, though. I mean ― I am."

Saying the words out loud gave them a weight Ron hadn't felt before. He let them roll off his tongue, flattened the tip of it along his lips as he thought about flashes of icy blond hair, high cheekbones, and long fingers swirling around the rim of a glass. He thought of the moment he'd finally realized Malfoy had been looking back.

"Oh." Malfoy paused, seeming surprised by that revelation. "Good to know."

Malfoy fidgeted. Ron listened intently, hearing the breath he released and the scrape of his fingers against his mobile.

"You wouldn't ― ah." Malfoy caught himself, and Ron waited for him to continue, his ears ringing. "Would you want to…?" Malfoy trailed off, finishing his thought with a scoff.

"Would I want to what ― oh."

Oh.

Ron swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Malfoy was asking him what he thought he was asking him, but even after everything, it was almost too good to be true. The long stretch of awkward silence on the other end told him he was right, though, and that made him jittery, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

"I could be reading too much into this," Malfoy muttered.

"No, no, definitely not. I mean." Ron licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling far too dry. "I just don't want you to think I expect this."

Malfoy made a sound, and Ron could practically feel him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

"Oh, so you don't ring up every person who buys a model of your cock and ask them how they enjoyed it?"

"What? No, of course not!" Ron stopped, realizing, and laughed at himself. "You're joking. That was a joke."

"Terribly clever, this one."

A sudden jiggling of the door handle made Ron jump, almost dropping his mobile in the process.

"Occupied!"

He fumbled with the phone, his heart thudding wildly. When he put it back to his ear, Malfoy was laughing. The sound made Ron feel weak in the knees.

"Where are you?" Malfoy asked, still snickering.

"In the loo at the Dragon's Head."

"Oh, of course." Malfoy sucked his teeth contemplatively. "Hang on. Is there anyone in there with you?"

Another frustrated turn of the door handle.

"It's a single."

"Good." Malfoy lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Do you want me to use it?"

Ron pressed his hand flat against the door, waiting until he heard the bloke give a huff and storm off. "Use what?"

"Your dildo, Weasley."

The silken drawl of Malfoy's voice spread like gooseflesh across Ron's skin. "Right now?" he asked incredulously, although he was already half hard at the thought.

"I could give you an exclusive product review. Unless you don't want to."

"No, I do!" Ron replied quickly, and Malfoy laughed again, making him blush.

"Eager, are we?"

"Yes." Ron passed a hand over his face, trying to laugh as well, but it came out shaky. Merlin, it had been all he could think about for the past few days. Still, he'd never imagined Malfoy would offer it outright. "Just didn't take you for the phone sex type."

Malfoy hummed. "You caught me in a randy mood. Now how do I ― ah, right."

Ron assumed he'd been put on speakerphone, as there was now an echo. He dug out his wand for a moment and cast a quick Silencio on the bathroom. It was a wonder how he had the brain power to spare, when all the blood in his body was suddenly rushing to his cock. He could hear Malfoy fumbling for something on the other end.

"Where are you?" Ron asked in return, trying to distract himself from the heady thrum of anticipation.

"In bed. Naked," Malfoy added with a hint of a smirk in his voice. Ron groaned, shutting his eyes against the image of Malfoy stretched out on soft sheets, hard and waiting for him. Merlin, had he been naked the whole time they were talking? Ron pressed the heel of his palm to the crotch of his jeans.

Malfoy went silent for a moment, until there was a faint intake of breath. His bed creaked distantly in the background.

Ron licked his lips, cupping his hand around the solid, hot line of his cock under his trousers. "Are you prepping yourself?"

"Of course." Malfoy breathed out steadily, the bed creaking again. "You're bigger than I thought you'd be. Although I'd always wondered."

Fucking hell. Ron arched against his hand. Was he really going to get his cock out in a pub toilet? The last shred of his resolve melted away when he heard Malfoy moan, low and guttural, a sound that shot straight through Ron, all the way to his toes. He imagined Malfoy laying back, his knees bent up, and slick fingers down between his legs, pressing in and out of his puckered hole. Ron was switching the phone to his left hand before he could give it a second thought. He flicked open the button on his jeans and pushed his pants down to hook under his balls, taking himself in hand.

Ron rolled his hand down over his length. Malfoy's breath hitched, and he cursed, the bed shifting with him. Ron caught his lip between his teeth, wondering how many fingers he had in him. He imagined himself leaning over Malfoy on the bed, licking a hot stripe along his neck as his hand worked him open, his thighs falling open as he settled between them.

"Fuck, I needed this," Malfoy breathed. Ron moaned, pulling his foreskin back and rubbing over the weeping head of his cock.

Malfoy muttered a Cleansing charm, and then a drawer was pulled roughly open nearby. Ron heard Malfoy pick up the phone, moving and setting it down again as he bounced on the bed, adjusting himself.

"Are you ―?" Ron wanted to ask, but he couldn't finish the thought, left hand gripping the phone hard as he tried to steady himself.

"Yes, gods."

Ron paused, listening as Malfoy shifted and panted on the other end. He didn't have to ask when it was fully in. He knew the moment Malfoy's breath faltered, the gasp he gave sending shivers down Ron's spine.

Malfoy huffed, the sound so loud to Ron's ears as the whole world funneled down to a point, to this moment as he listened to Malfoy move the toy inside of himself. He moaned, and Ron thought he could hear the squelch of lube on the other end of the line as it entered him.

"Talk to me, Weasley."

Malfoy sounded wrecked. It was enough to make Ron's toes curl just to hear it. It was almost too much to handle ― the idea of Draco Malfoy being thoroughly fucked out by a dildo modelled after Ron's own cock. Ron's head thunked back against the wall. His hand trembled a little as he began stroking himself again.

"Get on your knees for me," he said softly.

Malfoy swore. Ron heard him flip over, his panting breaths suddenly closer to the receiver. In his mind, he could see Malfoy bent over the bed, arse in the air and cheek pressed against the mattress, lips rosy and parted. He imagined himself knelt behind Malfoy, hands gripping his slender hips.

"There's, uh." Ron swallowed. "There's a self-shagging feature. If you want. The spell's ―"

"Oh, we're well acquainted."

"Fuck," Ron moaned. No way he was going to last like this. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the tight circle of his fist. Malfoy sounded like he was trying to collect himself, even as his voice broke on the last word. Ron couldn't begin to explain why that aroused him so much, but he didn't care, already speeding up his hand as it flew over his cock.

Malfoy cast the spell, and Ron felt his cry as the toy began to move on its own. The bed gave a jolt under Malfoy's weight. He gasped again, and Ron heard his fingers scrambling across the sheets.

Ron could almost see it. He imagined Malfoy's bowed back, his knees slipping and spreading apart, his toes curling. The bed creaked with each movement. A dildo of Ron's own making, Malfoy arching back onto it as it fucked him down onto the mattress. Merlin, he should've known Malfoy would take it so well, his eyes rolling back as he listened to the sounds Malfoy made as it thrust into him.

Ron closed his eyes and felt like he was sitting in the room, watching the whole show, watching a copy of his cock pound into Malfoy again and again. The pub outside the bathroom door fell away from him, and all he could focus on was Malfoy's voice and his hand on his own cock.

"Tell me how it feels," Ron choked out, wanting to hear it, see it, touch it, to watch Malfoy unravel under Ron's hands and cock, to capture each cry with his tongue.

Malfoy groaned. "So ― good ―"

"Tell me," Ron rasped again, thrusting his hips forward into his hand. "Tell me ― ah ― how good it is."

"It's so ―" Malfoy cried out, his hands skittering over the sheets. "So good ― so big ― I ―"

"Fucking hell, Malfoy."

At that point, Ron didn't know if he wanted to be watching the toy fuck Malfoy or if he wanted to take over for it. Was he really getting jealous of a dildo? He wished he was there. He wanted to tell Malfoy as much, but he couldn't manage it, instead moaning loudly as he felt his balls begin to draw up against him.

"Fuck, Weasley, you're gonna make me come," Malfoy whined, his posh accent slipping. 

Holy shit, and that was what did it. Ron made a gut-punched sound, his wrist flicking over the head of his cock. He was coming almost before he'd even realized. He barely had the presence of mind to do anything about it before the first spurt had dribbled onto the floor. He pushed off the wall and lent forward, pumping the remainder into the sink. He heard Malfoy swear, and Ron slumped back against the wall again, listening as he came apart with a shuddering cry.

The line went quiet once more. Ron rested his head on the tiles behind him, closing his eyes, holding his softening cock. For a long time, all he could hear was Malfoy breathing on the other end, his own heartbeat equally loud in his ears.

"I liked that. A lot."

Eloquent as always. Ron half expected for Malfoy to say just that, but instead he heard a very soft chuckle ― and then, quietly, "So did I."

Now that his heart rate was gradually slowing, the noise of the club outside wormed its way back in, reminding Ron of where he was, and what he'd just done. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, glancing at the door when he heard a chatty couple pass by. How long had he been in there? Were the others looking for him?

Another person suddenly banged on the door, and Ron started, pushing off from the wall and quickly withdrawing his wand, disabling his Silencio and spelling himself clean.

"Right." He wanted to say more. Merlin, he did. But instead all he said just then was, "Well, I should probably, er, get back to it. You know?"

"Of course." There was rustling on the line, and then Ron was off speakerphone, Malfoy's voice close and intimate again in a way that made him shiver. "Have a good night, Weasley."

"You too, Malfoy."

Ron exited the bathroom, ignoring the irritated look the other patron gave him as he slipped past.

The entire way back to their table, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Harry gave him an odd look when he slid into his seat, pulling the fresh pint they'd bought him an indeterminable amount of time ago towards him. Ron couldn't even begin to catch up with what they were all talking about, his mind drifting to thoughts of Malfoy, his mobile a leaden weight in his pocket as the night wound on.

#writer asks #dron #ron x draco #ron weasley #draco malfoy #harry potter #hp #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #fangqueen writes fanfiction #fangqueen speaks

[yslkook]

#customer centric (4)

#corporate masterlist summary: you arrive in tokyo and spend a few days catching up and reminiscing. jin comes as well, with a few old friends that you haven’t seen in years. Or, you wander around the city visiting familiar places and go to a club with people you haven’t called friends in years. word count: 8656 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, lots of alcohol a/n: this is part 1/2 of being in tokyo!! this is the top i envisioned for oc lol

You missed Tokyo, and Tokyo missed you. The city itself brings bittersweet memories to you, memories of your childhood with your dead father and grandmother passing through your mind as if you’re watching a movie.

Your dad had brought you to Tokyo every summer when you were young, until you were about seventeen or eighteen. Tokyo had become more of a second home than a vacation place for you.  You haven’t been here since college, about two years before your dad passed away. But despite that, it feels like home.

You can read, write, and speak Japanese fluently, which is part of the reason why you’ve been such an integral part of the team so far. The company’s sister branch is in Tokyo, and it’s not your first time visiting the branch, or interacting with your team members based in Tokyo.

You’ve wondered often, quite bitterly, if your fluency in Japanese is the only reason you’re even still on the team. Your boss and his boss at least trust you enough to be the responsible party for your team- there’s only one other member of your team here, Sana. But she’s relatively new, so the responsibility has fallen onto you.

That’s alright. You operate well under pressure.

You’re joined by your small knit team, Sana, Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon had managed to finagle with the budget enough that you could arrive a day early, on Friday, and spend the weekend in Tokyo before the workshops began on Monday.

And Seokjin would be flying in on Saturday morning with some of his friends. You’re grateful that at least Jin was coming. Whenever Jin makes these spontaneous types of trips, they’re bound to be eventful. 

Monday and Tuesday will be filled with workshops, proposals and pitch meetings. You made Jin promise that he’d spend time with you during the weekend, so that you could show him some of the treasures you remembered from the city. Despite your many years of friendship, you had never been to Tokyo with Jin and you want to show him some of the places Appa used to take you to.

You’re excited. Even if Jungkook, with his big, sparkling eyes and his natural curiosity is coming along. Seeing him, even though it’s been well over three months that he joined the company, sends you down a dangerous path that isn’t fair to him or to you.

You have to constantly remind yourself that it’s not his fault and you shouldn’t be mean to him. It’s not his fault that your boss and his boss are out for your blood and refuse to give you recognition. But you can’t help but feel like he’s part of the problem that has faced you for the last three years. Part of the same awful old school, conservative mindset that so many of your peers were part of as well.

The leadership at your company needed a drastic overhaul, but you would be the last person to voice those thoughts out loud. Unless it was to Jin. 

You know Jungkook doesn’t deserve your unspoken rage. You can admit that, but you’re not saint enough to channel it somewhere else. You’ve mellowed out considerably from the initial few months, but you could stand to be a little warmer to him.

After all, the way his bunny smile takes up half of his face when he offers it up to someone so worthy… that means nothing to you.

You arrive in Tokyo with your team at around eleven AM, and you check into your hotel rooms about an hour later. Jungkook and Sana had planned the logistics of the trip, from the hotel to the taxi service to lunch, dinner, and the company sponsored happy hour on Monday and Tuesday. 

Because you were in Tokyo for work, you fully planned on using your company card to the fullest for the next few days. This company could kiss your ass, and you would be more than willing to spend as much as you needed to as a subtle ‘fuck you’. It was your version of flipping off your boss, for when he would have to approve your expense report sheet. 

Namjoon had given you Friday to yourselves, to get acquainted with the hotel room and the area itself. Sana and Jungkook had done a good job with choosing the hotel- it has a wonderful view of the city from the rooftop, and being inside the sophisticated hotel with it’s hues of black and white and pops of color and elegance. This regal building screams opulence and you’re bathing in the luxurious feel of it all.

The diamonds of the chandeliers hanging high above you glint in the dim light of the lobby, bouncing off of the sleek, black piano and adding to the romantic air. Was this a love hotel? You scoff to yourself, keeping your head down as you exit the hotel and head in the direction of your favorite park, the Happo-en Garden. 

When you had told your therapist that you’d be coming to Tokyo for the first time since your father’s death, she had immediately picked up on your hesitation-

“It feels weird to be there without him. Almost like the place doesn’t exist if he doesn’t,” You scoff, wringing your hands together.

“It certainly exists without him. And you do, too,” She says kindly, “Maybe you’ll feel close to him when you go there.”

And she was right, as she usually is. You sit alone at a freshly painted red bench with a box of street snacks, including some of Appa’s favorites. The sunshine glimmers against the still lake in front of you, hues of green fading to orange and red reflecting in the murky water. 

This park was a favorite of Appa’s-

“We’re still in Tokyo, but it feels like we’re so far away. Right, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes shining. Appa’s hand tightens around yours and you nod excitedly.

“Yeah! Like we’re close to the princess’s castle!” You gasp.

“That’s right, but the only princess I see here is you,” Appa smiles and you beam at him, all smiles and sunshine.

The memory is from when you were maybe seven or eight years old. Everytime you came to Tokyo with Appa, you always came to this park. Specifically to this area, where Appa claimed that the sun shined on the leaves and the water in a specific way that made everything feel like magic.

You had always scoffed at him, especially as you grew older and the lines around his eyes grew deeper. But you still entertained him. You never saw that magic that Appa claimed to see, but now, you wonder how you could ever not see it.

A breeze ruffles through the trees, whistling as it threads through your hair and running over the water. The clouds part for a moment, allows a burst of sunbeams to spread over the water and you gasp at the sudden golden filter over the surroundings in front of you.

Another breeze, one from your left side, presses against your shoulder and your cheek. Almost like it’s whispering to you. You whip your head to the side, only to find nothing next to you. You feel like you’re floating, with the gentle caress of the wind to keep you company.

You eat your snacks in silence, embracing the way that it feels like the wind is Appa’s caress against your skin.

By the time you return to the hotel, the sun is beginning to go down and a bittersweet sort of happiness settles in your heart. You feel closer to your dad than you have in a long time- this city was bound to feel like home with its welcoming arms curling around you warmly. You had spent the better part of the day visiting old sights and places that you had frequented to with Appa. 

It was peaceful, like a walk down memory lane. You could almost see your younger self bursting at the seams with joy at all of the new places. You could almost see her so eager to learn and demanding that Appa teach you Japanese immediately.

You wonder where that girl went. She’s lost, buried beneath layers and layers and maybe someday you’ll find her again.

Stopping by one of your favorite restaurants, you order all of your favorites times three. For your colleagues to have something to feast on when you returned from your day trip. You hadn’t been on your phone for most of the day, choosing to mute the group chat with your colleagues so you could truly be alone. 

Once you approach the familiar blue neon sign of the restaurant, you send them a text:

you: evening all. dont worry about dinner, Im bringing lots of food back sana: look who woke up from her coma namjoon: did you put it on your card? you: of course i did. you dont have to remind me joon ;)  you: want to have dinner together? jungkook: ya where should we eat Namjoon: come to my room, it’s room 1804 you: ok, be there in about thirty min

With your heart feeling full, brimming with fondness for your teammates, you pay for the heavy bags of food and make your way back to the hotel. You can’t help but smile as you walk with a little pep in your step.

“You should have asked one of us to help you,” Jungkook says reproachfully, taking half the bags from you.

Your arms ache, not that you’ll admit your stubbornness. You only smile sheepishly, “It was only a fifteen minute walk.”

“And this is a lot of food,” Jungkook muses, peeking inside as his doe eyes sparkle in anticipation.

“It’s our first team dinner in Tokyo. We deserve it,” You shrug.

“I also bought a few bottles of wine,” Sana chirps, dangling two bottles of red in her hands, “We deserve it.”

You laugh and she winks at you. Namjoon is already setting up the many boxes of food on the mahogany wooden desk in the corner of the room. The curtains are pulled back, affording you of a breathtaking view of the city lights and the now hanging moon high in the sky.

“The boss has the best view, huh?” You tease, nudging his shoulder.

“Jungkook picked it,” Namjoon shrugs, “I just wanted to share the view with you all.”

“How sweet of you,” You say sincerely, “Dinner with a view. That’s pretty romantic. And Jungkook has good taste.”

Jungkook’s ears flush at your praise and he covers his ears for a second. Not that you notice. You sit on the floor, across from Jungkook and offer to scoop food onto everyone’s plates for them. You ignore their protests and do it anyway, quietly asking how much of each they want. Sana fills up plastic cups with wine and labels everyone’s cup with a black marker so you can all keep track of them.

“How classy of us,” Namjoon snorts but says thank you to Sana.

“Did you bring wine glasses in your luggage?” Sana shoots at Namjoon, “I didn’t think so.”

You stifle your laugh behind your hand and shake your head. “Feels like college, if only those cups were red,” You joke.

“My roommate still uses red cups sometimes, for casual purposes,” Jungkook says softly, “It drives me up the wall. Like, can you drink out of a normal cup or what? I get flashbacks to beer pong almost every morning.”

You laugh a little harder at that, and the sound is sweet in Jungkook’s ears. He wants to see if he can get you to laugh like that a little more.

“I mean, we’re grown now. I can’t believe Taehyung sometimes, having his morning orange juice in a red solo cup. It’s heinous.”

Your eyes are overflowing with mirth, the sound of your genuine happiness echoing in Jungkook’s ears and he can’t help but smile in return.

“Morning orange juice,” You mutter, “That’s adorable. Taehyung? That’s the name of your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, “We did undergrad together and he’s an aspiring art gallery curator. He’s actually coming here tomorrow-”

“Wait, hang on,” You say after chewing through a mouthful of noodles, “Is this Taehyung, as in Kim Taehyung who you snuck into that bar with and he ended up getting absolutely hammered and stealing three bottles of alcohol? Before getting kicked out and Jin and I took you both home? That Taehyung?”

The fondness with which you speak of Taehyung unnerves Jungkook. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, “That Taehyung.”

“Sounds like a real class act,” Sana says dryly.

“Wow, I haven’t seen him in years,” You exhale, “I think Jin’s bringing some friends from college tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah, he mentioned a Jimin and a Hoseok,” Namjoon adds.

“Damn, Sana, maybe we should’ve brought our friends, too,” You murmur, teasing but honestly, you don’t really have anyone you would’ve asked to bring, “Can’t wait to see what this boys weekend brings.”

You fully anticipate that Seokjin will rope you into whatever shenanigans they have planned, and you don’t even feel bad about crashing. You make a mental note to let Sana know of whatever plans they invited you to, so that she wouldn’t feel left out.

They don’t ask where you were all day, and for that you’re grateful. The lines of professionalism are beginning to blur for you, and you don’t want to burden them with your feelings and problems. You don’t want them to think differently of you for trying to catch a glimpse of Appa in your memories. 

Jin would say you were being silly, but you can’t help it. Maybe someday, but not today.

But Jungkook does wonder. Where were you all day? When the group chat was going off, you were silent. It was none of his business, but he’s curious. And he’s curious about you. You hadn’t changed out of your day clothes or taken your makeup off. He can see the nearly gone darkened stain of your gloss on your lips and the curl of your lashes. Jungkook keeps his eyes above your neck, knowing that if his eyes begin to wander he would be even more of a goner than he already was.

It’s September in Tokyo, meaning that it was warm during the day and somewhat chilly in the evenings. Your dark green long sleeved shirt is tucked into your shorts, complete with a black belt, leaving your tanned thighs on display. Jungkook thinks he catches a glimpse of a tattoo peeking from your shorts, but he thinks he imagines it. 

Until your shorts ride up just a little and he sees an array of colors and the fleeting sight of a flower on your upper thigh. Jungkook swallows nervously and stuffs his face full of udon noodles without hesitation. If his mouth is stuffed with food, then nobody will look twice at him and he can keep his thoughts to himself and ogle at you in peace. 

The logic makes sense in his head.

Your voice carries over to Namjoon, telling him that you’ll be picking Seokjin, Jimin and Hoseok up in the morning with the rental car.

“Hey, if Taehyung is arriving at the same time, do you want me to pick him up?” You ask, turning your gaze to Jungkook.

“Huh?” Jungkook asks. You roll your eyes.

“Taehyung. If he arrives at the same time as Jin, Jimin and Hoseok, do you want me to pick him up?”

“Er,” Jungkook says eloquently, “He’s actually been here for the last week. Thanks, though.”

You want to say that Jin would cause a scene and whine at you if you didn’t pick him up from the airport, the prince that he is. But you keep it to yourself- after all, he’s somewhat of a boss to Jungkook and Sana. 

You nod in understanding and shove more noodles and meat into your mouth. You stretch your legs out in front of you and Jungkook doesn’t look away, instead allowing his eyes to rake over you shamelessly. Nevermind that Namjoon and Sana are right next to him, probably wondering why he’s staring you down so intensely.

The four of you spend the rest of the evening discussing your plans for the weekend, avoiding the topic of work altogether. It’s nice, you can almost believe that you’re all just four friends making a weekend getaway without the confines of work looming over your heads.

Namjoon offers to split the remaining food amongst the four of you and puts equal amounts of everything into each container for all of you to take back to your rooms.

And then Sana pours more wine for each of you and you feel yourself beginning to get more and more relaxed with each sip you take. You want to open your stitched together lips, tell them how it’s been so long since you’ve had alcohol with anyone who wasn’t Jin. You want to tell them that you like red wine more than white wine, but nothing beats soju-

“What’s your favorite kind of wine,” Jungkook asks. He comes to sit next to you on the floor, stretching his legs out. His shoulder brushes against yours and you feel something like electricity at the soft touch.

“Um… I like reds over white wine. But I haven’t had that many reds to say which kind is my favorite,” You muse.

“Guess we’ll have to try some more red wine, huh?” Jungkook says, his eyes sparkling and bunny smile on display. 

Your heart warms and sputters at the same time.

“Yeah,” You nod breathlessly, “What about you? What do you like?”

“I’m not picky. I don’t really like cabernet,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “Too bitter for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You giggle, unable to believe that such a noise is coming out of your mouth. Despite Sana and Namjoon having their own conversation on the other side of the room, it feels like it’s just you and Jungkook for a minute in your own bubble.

“I like a good chardonnay, too. Nice ‘n crisp.”

“Me too, I love that crisp taste of a good white wine,” You reply, unable to keep your eyes off of him for longer than a second. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are a pretty pink and you wonder if his cheeks are as warm as yours are.

“Thought you didn’t like white wine?” Jungkook murmurs, head tilting inquisitively. 

“I prefer red, but if there’s white wine in front of me, I mean,” You shrug, “It’s not like ‘m gonna say no.”

“Oh? We’ll have to test that out, too,” Jungkook smiles, “I like soju the best. Nothin’ beats soju.”

“Yeah, peach and green grape,” You say knowingly, “The only flavors with rights.”

“Exactly. You get me,” Jungkook nods with wide eyes. He asks you about Tokyo, if you come here often. You answer him somewhat vaguely, but tell him that you grew up reading, writing and speaking Japanese. He looks impressed by that and the fondness in the lines of his lips startles you.

You chalk it up to the romance of this city making you soft and pliant to his doe eyes and the warmth of his smile. He’s so easy to get lost in- you find yourself leaning closer to him to hear what he has to say about his own travel dreams. He wants to go to New York City and Bangkok and Athens- the way his eyes light up constricts around your heart.

Every part of him radiates warmth and you want to be draped by it. He says something that makes you smile and laugh, and you swat at his shoulder reflexively. Jungkook only looks at you in that way. The way that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s good at that.

He has hearts and stars in his eyes for you and it makes you choke.

Maybe you had imagined it all because you remember where you are. You’re in your boss’s hotel room and he’s standing right there. Jungkook sees the spark in your eyes disappear immediately and you pull away just as quickly, as if the moment had never happened.

He won’t deny the sting, but you’re so easy to get lost in. The fog in his mind clears, and while it’s only been a few minutes that you’ve been alone. It feels like much longer. But Namjoon and Sana are still deep in conversation, his dimples on display and her smile bright.

You pull away but your dark eyes are still wide and focused on him, stars swirling in your irises and Jungkook thinks he might fall into this wonderfully brown abyss held in your pretty face. Finally, you move away from him on the floor, almost immediately missing his warmth. You look back at him as you move to get some water, the same curious look on your face.

Your face is burning, and you’re surprised you’re able to keep this cool for this long. The urge to bolt from Namjoon’s hotel room and back to your own is one that you have to fight. But instead, you stay planted where you are. Jungkook confuses you, you hardly even know him and you had let him get so close to you. It’s not something you usually do, but what unnerves you is how nice it felt. The closeness of him, his eyes on you and only you. Are you bothered by it? 

No, you realize. No. You quite liked it. You’re supposed to hate him- he represents everything you hate. A young kid, a boy, raising quickly through the ranks of your corporate world, while you grasp at straws. 

Does he? Does he represent everything you hate? What a load of bullshit.

You swallow again. You need to leave.

“Hey, Joon,” You say softly, touching his elbow, “I’m going to head out. It’s getting late and I’ve gotta head out early tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He’d made you so uncomfortable that you were abruptly cutting your night short. Because of him. He needs to make this right.

“I’ll walk with you,” The words tumble out of Jungkook’s mouth before he can stop them. His heart is pounding in his ears- he needs to apologize before you hate him even more.

“Okay,” You reply with a smile, “Here are your leftovers.”

“I’ll walk with you both,” Sana says, taking her bag.

With that, you say your goodbyes and leave Namjoon’s room to the elevators. Your head feels like static, a wave of thoughts congealing into something impenetrable. The doors ding shut, all three of you standing on opposite ends of the elevator. You can’t look at Jungkook, you can’t see his doe eyes. Not right now.

Sana calls your name, “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem, Sana,” You murmur, “See you tomorrow.”

And then it’s just you and Jungkook in the elevator. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says immediately, “I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna talk to me outside of work, I get it-”

“What?” You ask, finally looking at him. You take a step forward, close enough to him that you’re in his orbit. “You didn’t… You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Jungkook. I would have told you if you did. You just… confuse me.”

The last bit comes out as a vulnerable whisper and all Jungkook can do is nod. 

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” You say clearly, casting him a look over your shoulder as you exit the elevator. Your eyes are guarded once more, as if the night hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t fallen for you even further. You wash him away from your bloodstream quickly and Jungkook feels his heart aching once more.

By the time you pick up Jin, Jimin, and Hoseok from the airport and arrive at the hotel, it’s nearly noon. The car ride back was fun, dare you say it. It amazed you how Jin still remained close in contact with people you went to college with. It felt natural, talking to Jimin and Hoseok. As if years hadn’t gone by.

They were hot, and that was your first assessment when you had met them at the airport. Jimin and Hoseok had both embraced you in tight hugs, without any regard for whether you wanted one or not. You found that you didn’t really mind.

You didn’t know how you were going to survive this weekend surrounded by these many attractive people. 

“We should celebrate. For this reunion,” Hoseok says.

“Jungkook is here, too,” You reply, “A great big university reunion right here in Tokyo, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting you guys work together now,” Jimin says.

“Wait, you guys are friends still?” You ask.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Jimin says, genuine confusion in the handsome planes of his face.

You suppose everyone else is better at making and maintaining friendships than you are. It stings a little, having so many people from university in the same place. In the city that already holds so many memories for you. But you’ll embrace it, because that’s what you’ve been working on. Embracing change.

And of course, what was a boys weekend without a night out at the club? Jin had all but demanded that you come, in true dramatic fashion- I can’t go out without you, you know. I can’t believe you’re considering leaving me like this. I’ll die there without you.

It didn’t take much from you to roll your eyes but agree and tell him that you were inviting Sana.

“Go pregame and get ready with your boys,” You had urged him, “It’s so rare you all are together like this. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Are you sure?” Jin asked with uncertainty and you had only smiled warmly at him. 

“Yes, Seokjin. I’m sure. I’ll be crashing the party soon, don’t worry,” You reassured him and he left your hotel room. He promised to text you when to come and you just nodded, shooing him away.

That had been nearly two hours ago, and you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup with Sana getting ready in the bathroom. Music is playing through your phone and once you’re done with your lip gloss, you make drinks and prepare shots for you and Sana.

“You’ve gotta tell me how you’re friends with so many hot men,” Sana says, taking a seat on the bed.

You scoff, “I’m really only friends with Jin. The rest of them come with Jin, we’re hardly friends.”

“Oh?” Sana asks with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow, “You all went to school together, right?”

“Yeah… Something like that,” You say lightly, “Jin kept in touch with all of them. I didn’t.”

You leave it at that and Sana knows not to press further.

“They’re all nice guys. I always had fun with them,” You say fondly, “You will, too.”

“Cheers to that,” Sana grins, “We look hot. Let’s take a picture.”

“Should we send it to our boss,” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, that would send him off the deep end. He’d be here in five seconds, dragging us out by our ears,” Sana rolls her eyes as well with a laugh.

You try your best to make Sana feel as comfortable as she can with you. At least so that she’s comfortable when you go meet up with the guys later. You know it can be intimidating being around people who are so close, but they’ve always been welcoming.

It begs the question- why did you let them all go?

You don’t have time to unpack all of that. By the time Jin texts you, telling you to come to his suite on the eighteenth floor, you and Sana are three drinks and two shots in.

You’ve drank more in the last two days than you have in the last year alone. At least that’s what it feels like. 

You make sure to take your hotel card, phone and wallet and ensure that Sana does as well. Giggles erupt from the both of you when you enter the elevator, and excitement thrums in your veins. The liquid courage bouncing around in your veins makes you feel relaxed and you tug Sana’s hand out of the elevator once the steel doors open.

You text Jin from outside his door, you can already hear the loud peals of laughter and the beat of music through the walls. You wonder if they’ve gotten any noise complaints yet, but probably not- his room is the only one on this side of the hotel. He probably did this on purpose.

When he doesn’t answer your text, you decide to knock obnoxiously and Sana giggles at your impatience. On your fifth knock, the door swings open and you see Jin’s tipsy face complete with reddened cheeks and his broad smile. 

He hugs you like he hasn’t seen you in years, he even lifts you off of the ground a little bit. Your heart flutters with affection for him as you whine for him to put you down.

“Jin!” You shriek, “At least go inside, dummy- stop embarrassing me-”

He finally puts you down and holds you by the shoulders to take you in. His eyes are sharp and he says nothing as he assesses your outfit, apparently deeming you as acceptable as he waves you inside. He says hello to Sana, who returns his mellowed out hug graciously.

Jin hands you both full cups, and you trust Jin enough to know it’s a yummy but strong drink. You grip your cup tighter and allow Sana to go in front of you. The last thing you want is for her to feel left out, so you want the guys to be introduced to her first.

Besides, they all already knew you.

Jin does the introductions quickly, the guys all warming up to Sana and bringing her in for hugs as well. Her cheeks are flushed, and you knew she’d feel flustered. They’re intense in their friendliness and it would make anyone feel flustered and warm.

And then their eyes land on you and you wish you could melt into the floor. Six pairs of eyes stare back at you- apparently Yoongi had also decided to come as well. 

College reunion indeed.

You stay close to Jin, offering them a weak wave of your fingers and a smile. 

“Hello boys,” You say dramatically,  “Long time no see.”

“Jin’s been hiding you all to himself, hasn’t he?” Jimin says, not bothering to hide the way he’s looking at you. And you don’t mind, not really- you know you look good.

“I just saw you this morning. When I picked your sorry ass up from the airport,” You reply and Jimin pouts at you as everyone around you laughs at his expense. 

“Still so mean,” Jimin murmurs and you roll your eyes.

And with that, alcohol continues to flow as the chatter continues on.

You cast another glance to Sana, making sure she’s not by herself. You relax when you see her talking to Yoongi and Hoseok, smiling to yourself at how quickly she takes to them.

“Hey pretty,” Jimin says, seeing you near the alcohol and joining you.

“Hey you,” You parrot back and he smiles at you in that sweet, disarming way, “Want a drink?”

“You always made the best drinks,” Jimin says, handing his cup over to you. You ignore the way your chest tightens at his use of past tense.

“Maybe you just never knew how to make drinks,” You murmur, “Probably still don’t, huh?”

Jimin laughs lightly at that as a silence falls between you both. “You look good,” Jimin exhales, “You doin’ alright?”

You never know what to say to that. “Yeah. You look good, Jimin. You doin’ alright?” 

“Yeah. I’m still in Seoul at the dance school. Don’t be such a stranger,” Jimin murmurs and before you can protest, he pokes your forehead affectionately. 

“You’ll ruin my makeup,” You complain but give him a small smile, “Jimin. ‘M glad to see you. All of you.”

Jimin looks like he wants to say something more. But he bites his tongue. This isn’t the place to pick a petty fight, so he lets it go. Jungkook approaches you both, resting his arm on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin groans dramatically and Jungkook only offers him a smile and a giggle.

“Cup’s empty,” Jungkook says, wiggling his cup to both of you, “Stop hoggin’ the alcohol.”

“Blame Jimin. Everything’s his fault,” You tease and Jimin rolls his eyes at you both.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jungkook grins and Jimin slips out from under Jungkook with another roll of his eyes. “Hey, you met Taehyung yet? My roommate? You ‘member him?”

His eyes are slick with alcohol, and yet they still sparkle at you like you hold all of the answers to the universe in them. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. It unnerves you, like many things about him do.

“No, where is he?”

Jungkook shouts for Taehyung to join him and you wince. All of a sudden his sandy haired roommate pops up from the direction of the living area and joins you at the drinks table. He looks a far cry from the boy you had driven home that night many years ago.

You knew being in the presence of so many attractive people was going to kill all of your brain cells by the end of the night.

Taehyung calls your name and nerves seize you inexplicably. 

“You remember me?” The words escape your lips before your brain has a chance to stop them.

“Course I do? The pretty girl who saved Kook and I at that one bar that I’m still banned from?” Taehyung grins, his eyes sweet and sincere.

“Jin was with me too, don’t forget him,” You say dryly, “Nice to see you again after all this time. And you’re Jungkook’s roommate?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chimes in, earning him a laugh from you.

Taehyung is magnetic when he speaks to you, honey dripping from his tongue as he tells you about his journey as an aspiring art museum curator. Passion lights up his dark irises, his smile matching the intensity of it and you’re certain he has this effect on everyone he speaks to. They’re both so close to you, in your bubble and the scent of their cologne wafts into your nose. 

You drink more. You don’t know how to cope with all of this. So you drink.

Jungkook tells you that they’ve been roommates all through graduate school and they had recently moved into a new, bigger place. Now that they were both making a little more money. You find yourself benignly jealous of the life they live- two close friends living together and living for these kinds of nights with their other close friends. The bond they built and strengthened over the years is obvious in the way Taehyung holds Jungkook close, the way Hoseok lights up the entire room and makes everyone smile just because he’s smiling, the way Yoongi and Jimin bicker like an old married couple… Namjoon has already slotted himself within the group. Jin probably introduced him to them a while back, you realize.

Jungkook excuses himself to use the bathroom, leaving his cup next to Taehyung on the table. Taehyung’s gaze makes you nervous- the shift in his eyes is apparent as he lazily rakes his eyes over you.

“Kook told me he was workin’ with you again,” Taehyung murmurs, “What he didn’t tell me was how pretty you are.”

“What a line,” You say flatly and roll your eyes. To your surprise, he laughs, his smile making you smile as well.

“Just bein’ honest,” Taehyung shrugs, “‘Snot everyday you see our hot grad school girl after five years.”

“You’re full of it,” You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, “‘Our?’”

“Jungkook was-” Taehyung starts but he’s interrupted by the man himself. Jungkook was what?

“You talkin’ about me?” Jungkook says, elbowing Taehyung. Taehyung only shakes his head and hands him his cup, before excusing himself. He throws you another charming smile and if you weren’t so on edge, your knees might have buckled.

“He’s…” 

“A pain in the ass?” Jungkook supplies, “Yeah.”

“No, I was gonna say he’s interesting,” You laugh. A short silence settles between you both, giving you a moment to really take him in. You itch your chin nervously before pushing your lips to the rim of your cup and watching him.

You’ve always known that Jungkook was somehow handsome, sexy and cute all at the same time- wide, doe eyes, pinchable cheeks, pretty smile, and then his body… His thighs strain against the tight material of his pants and you’re certain it’s deliberate. His button up shirt is loose but still molds to his muscles in that way where it leaves you wanting more. His shirt is buttoned at the elbow, giving you a peek to the smattering of tattoos on his forearm. His dark hair is parted in the middle, all soft and shiny, and a little long. It settles over his forehead, almost in his eyes, effortlessly. Two hoops in each ear glint in your direction and you swallow nervously.

Jungkook catches you looking at his tattoos- how ironic, considering he’s doing the same of you. The satin black top you’re wearing has a plunging neckline, giving him a view of the tattoos stemming from your upper arm to your clavicle.

It also offers him a teasing hint of your bare chest where if you turn to the side just a little, he catches a glimpse of even more. It makes him swallow, just as nervous as you. The top itself is loose, only cinched a little at the waist but your pants are tight, your strappy heels adding even more dimension to your legs.

You nervously twist the layering of gold necklaces around your neck. Jungkook has always thought you were beautiful, but he’s never seen you like this. Not even when he knew you years ago.

“Your cup’s empty again,” You laugh nervously, offering to make him another drink. You don’t know what to do with your hands, wanting to keep busy.

“Oh,” Jungkook breathes, “Yeah.”

He tries to keep his eyes on your hands, really he does. But you bend forward just a little and his eyes immediately flit to your plentiful chest. 

Jungkook thinks he might die, and what a way to go.

You pull away from the table, handing him his drink and he thanks you quietly. Jungkook ignores the way your eyes shine curiously at him, and he buries himself in the confusion fuzzing up his mind.

Jin, to your relief, pulls you away from Jungkook before you can do something incredibly stupid. Like let him burst through your carefully structured walls even further than he already has.

Typically, clubs are not your favorite place to be. The intense crowd, the neon lights, the smoke… It’s all over the top. Usually, you can’t even hear yourself think over the music. Though, you don’t mind the sense of anonymity in such a crowded place. Besides, you’ve heard great things about IBEX, so you’re curious about it.

It’s a huge place, easy for everyone to split up, but still small enough that you can easily find your group. You urge Sana to go have fun with the guys as you order a round of drinks for everyone. As one of the oldest of your friends, you felt that sense of responsibility for them. Even if you hadn’t called them friends in years.

You signal them over once the drinks are ready, catching Namjoon’s eye and beckoning him over. They slowly begin to surround you, shouting thank you’s over the music. Jimin slings his arm around your shoulders as if it’s nothing. As if he’s known you for all this time.

It makes you feel warm. He gazes at you with crescent eyes and a full smile. It makes your heart thump heavily in your chest.

“Cheers,” Jimin says, tearing his eyes away from you and towards the group. His toast elicits a sequence of ‘cheers’ from everyone. You scan across all of them before your eyes inevitably land on Jungkook. He’s looking at you with a smile, the kind of smile that makes you wonder if it’s a smile only for your eyes.

Your smile matches his in intensity, neither of you pulling your gazes away. Until Jin pulls you away from Jimin, exclaiming that he needs to dance with you. His best friend.

The moment passes, and you make sure Sana is okay. She’s conversing with Yoongi now, and he’s laughing at something she’s saying. It makes you feel warm. Again.

You allow the music to pump through your veins as laughter bubbles from your lips freely at Jin’s antics. You entertain him, copying his coordinated movements with his same enthusiasm. You can tell he’s drunk, from the fiery flush in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He abruptly pulls you close to him for a tight hug and holds your face in his hands.

“Jin,” You giggle, “What you doin’?”

“I love you,” Jin giggles, “Y’r my best friend, ‘n I love you.” He always got like this when you were drunk, so affectionate. You wonder how he knows exactly what you need to hear, when you need to hear it.

“Can’t wait for you t’meet Yuna when we get home,” Jin slurs.

“I’m excited, too-”

“She’s nervous y’know,” Jin continues as if you hadn’t said anything, “Knows y’r my best friend.”

“Jin,” You exhale, “Even if she doesn’t like me, you clearly like her. I shouldn’t matter-”

“No,” Jin says sharply, “Why d’you think you don’t matter? You matter to me.”

“Jin-”

“Stop it,” He silences you and you comply with a sigh. 

“She doesn’t have to be nervous around me,” You finally say.

“You can be a little scary when you want to be,” He teases.

“That’s exactly how I want to be known,” You scoff and Jin laughs, swaying with you offbeat to the music. You stand with Jin like that for a few minutes, sipping on your drink and giggling at his antics.

“Seokjin,” You murmur, voice a little shaky, “I never say it but… I-I love you. So much. You’re my best friend and my rock. I don’t know who I’d be without you-”

“You’d be you,” Jin says without missing a beat, “You’d be scary, intense, kind, genuine, petty, funny and beautiful with or without me, sweetheart.”

Jin sees wetness in your eyes and pulls you in for another hug. “None of that,” Jin murmurs, “Hey, let’s take a picture ‘n send it to Grandma. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

You stand in Jin’s arms, in the crowd of people surrounding you and not paying attention to you. Despite the throng of people around you, it feels like it’s just you and Jin, and your friends in the club.

“Let’s get back to our friends,” You say, “They probably think we’re making out-”

“You would be so lucky,” Jin scoffs, “Only Yuna gets this handsome face.” You pinch his cheeks affectionately and coo at him.

“Hey, by the way,” Jin says, “Not to be totally unprofessional here. But I’m pretty sure Jeon Jungkook has the hots for you. Kid won’t stop lookin’ at you. Not that I can blame him, I mean look at your tits.”

With that statement, Jin walks away from you, leaving you confused and curious- two words becoming increasingly common with your thoughts of Jeon Jungkook.

“Hey pretty,” comes a sweet voice to your right side. You already know it’s Jimin before you meet his sincere eyes.

“Hey you,” You reply, “Wanna dance? We used to always be in sync.”

If Jimin is surprised he doesn’t show it. He only takes your drink and finishes it, placing it on a high table near you. He walks behind you, a hand on the small of your back as you weave through the crowd easily. Bodies push back into you but you only dance along with them to move past. Jimin pulls you closer to him once he finds a spot, pulling you into his side. He turns you so that you’re facing him, the lights of the club illuminating the sheen of his lips and the shine in his eyes. You push a stray strand of his silver hair back behind his ear.

“I meant it you know,” Jimin murmurs, for your ears only, “You look good.” You lean into him at his praise, a hand on his chest. Your nails press into the soft material of his dress shirt and he tightens his grip around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles. 

“You do, too,” You reply easily, “You always did.”

Jimin scoffs but you look at him earnestly. “I mean it,” You say with a smirk, mimicking his words. He says nothing, only holds you and rolls his hips into yours to the beat of the music. He watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. You snake a hand to the base of his neck and lightly scratch as he presses his nose to your neck. You’re lucky he’s holding you tight- you’re certain you’re knees would buckle if it weren’t for him.

It’s been years since anyone danced with you like this. You let out a soft sound into his skin and Jimin groans, pressing his hips into yours even more slowly if possible.

“Why’d you leave,” Jimin breathes into your skin, “Missed you. Missed my friend.”

“I was a mess,” You mutter, “I’m still a mess.”

“You’re here now?” He asks, looking at you with big eyes. Jimin cups your face tenderly, and you’re not sure how many of these kind touches you can take for one night.

“Yeah,” You say faintly, “I just… couldn’t. I still can’t.”

You won’t apologize for mending your own cracks the way you needed to. And Jimin knows that. “Don’t be a stranger,” Jimin says and pulls you in for a hug.

“Jimin,” You mumble, “I missed you, too.”

Barely stifling a yawn, you look around for your group. They’re all within eyesight of you- Sana and Yoongi were still engrossed in conversation with each other, Namjoon with Jin, Hoseok and Jimin and Taehyung with Jungkook. Taehyung casts a look over to you and immediately whispers to Jungkook. It shouldn’t surprise you that they both saunter over to you, standing on either side of you. Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans against you as if you’re old friends. At this angle, you can see the expanse of his tanned, golden skin since the top few buttons of his shirt are popped.

“See somethin’ you like?” Taehyung asks coyly with a wink.

“No, just wondering why you’re wearing tinted aviators inside,” You mutter, pointing at him, “You look like an asshole.”

Taehyung laughs, throwing his head back good-naturedly, “You clearly don’t know fashion. You must think you’re hilarious.”

Before you can retort, a yawn overtakes you. “Are we boring you?” Jungkook teases.

“No, ‘m just tired,” You blink to force yourself to stop yawning, “Hey, you guys wanna get ice cream?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says instantly.

Taehyung nearly snorts but agrees. By the time you and Jungkook say your goodbyes, and you ask for the tenth time if Sana wants to come with you (she declines, opting to stay with Yoongi), Taehyung is nowhere to be found. Jungkook rolls his eyes, his phone vibrating with a text from him-

taehyung: you’re welcome 

“Tae’s not coming,” Jungkook says slowly, wondering if you might change your mind if it’s just you two getting ice cream.

You shrug, “His loss. I know a great place.”

Taking Jungkook to one of your favorite ice cream places that you used to come with Appa to feels intimate. But it feels right and you’re not bothered by it. Once you buy your respective cones (you pay for both before Jungkook can even fumble for his card), you head back outside for a short walk towards the hotel.

The ice cream place itself was close to the hotel, though you had to Uber here from the club. It’s a nice night for a walk, a little chilly but not uncomfortably so. You and Jungkook fall into an easy conversation, talking about the silliness of your shared friends.

He looks nice under the moonlight, you decide. A light breeze lifts his hair up briefly before it flawlessly settles over his forehead.

“I can’t keep up with you,” Jungkook whispers, his words carrying into the night air.

“What do you mean?” Your heart picks up immediately at the anguish in his tone. The air between both of you shifts immediately. What was easy becomes hardened, the space between suffocating you. You can physically see him pulling away from you. Months, or maybe years, of frustration seems to be coming to a head right here. Right near your favorite ice cream shop.

“One sec you hate me. The next, you’re asking me to get ice cream with you,” Jungkook says, something familiar and icy curling in his brown irises. It always looks so off-putting, the callousness in his eyes. It seems to be directed at you so often these days.

“I don’t hate you-”

“You avoided me for 2 and a half months. You’re only talking to me now because you have to!”

“That’s not true-”

“Oh, really? You telling me that you the last two and a half months was all in my head?”

You stay quiet, because he’s not wrong.

“That’s what I thought,” Jungkook says to himself, tearing his eyes from you. The cold look in his eyes has returned and it makes your heart ache. He can’t look at you like that, you can hardly bear it.

“I’m fucked up, I get it. Don’t think I don’t get it-”

“You left. Without a goodbye and now fuckin’ five years later- my dream girl’s my colleague and she hates me.”

A sudden, chilling epiphany douses you- he has no idea why you left. You know him well enough to know that he’ll feel awful once you tell him. Apparently none of his friends had told him. Maybe they thought it was your story to tell. It’s not much of a story, not really. It’s the story of a heartbroken girl with commitment issues.

Your face drops. Maybe he’s hurting you the same way you hurt him. But it changes nothing.

“You can’t even look at me now!”

“You listen to me, Jungkook,” You hiss, “I’m not your dream girl. I’m nobody’s dream girl, so let’s get that straight. I’m awful a-and terrible and mean- and… 

“My dad died,” You finally whisper, “Appa died and I couldn’t handle grad school so I dropped out. Dropped off the face of the earth. Got the first job I could, for Grandma and me. 

“I fuckin’ dropped out, my daddy died and I can’t look at you sometimes because it fuckin’ reminds me of when I was happy and I can’t chase that feeling because I don’t know what it feels like anymore!”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, pretty pink lips parted in speechlessness. Fuck. You’ve ruined any chance at friendship with him, you know that. So you bury the dagger even further in whatever this is and you turn on your heel and run. Because that’s all you’re good at. Running. Your eyes are blurry with freely falling tears and the sound of your own heaving sobs are loud in your ears. 

You leave your heart out on the streets of Tokyo, near your favorite ice cream shop but you don’t even hear the sound of Jungkook chasing after you.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts x reader #bts fic

[remys-lucky-franc]

I’m Bringing Sexy Back (To Regency England) - Immortal Heart Society

So this happened because I referred to new series IHS’s baddie Lord Montague as ‘Lord Timberlake’ due to the coiffuring similarities and it made @aquagirl1978 LOL and she made me this:

See how alike they look though?! I’m not crazy.

Literally no one in the world wants this fic, and it’s just stupid, but I had a giggle writing it, so 😆 Also, I genuinely know nothing about JT, if any of you are superfans and I’m way off, it’s just a bit of fun, no ill intent or offence meant 💕

Also it’s just in time for all the good old memes... (At the end if anyone needs a ref point)

Word Count ~3500 (yeah, I’ve gone off)

[MORE] [[MORE]]

In the grandiose but soulless marble bathroom of the Boston penthouse, Justin squeezed his eyes tight-shut, splashing his face with frigid water. He inhaled sharply as the moisture hit his skin, opening his eyes and staring intently at the reflection mirrored back at him. It had been quite a night so far. He’d been courted by ‘The Society’ for a couple of months now and on receiving their latest invite, he had finally acquiesced. Over the course of the evening he’d exchanged pleasantries and mingled with a fusion of intriguing individuals - all very different, very separate people, but all who clearly had gotten the memo: convince him to join. Justin suspected before he arrived, from the exclusive address on the invite alone, the sort of members The Society would have on its roster and he wasn’t surprised - even if most of them were no more than masked silhouettes. Initially when he had exited the elevator and caught sight of all those shaded faces, Justin’s heart stuttered: had he inadvertently accepted an invite to some sort of sexy party? How would he explain this one? ‘Hey Honey - funny story...’ But it didn’t take long to deduce that the disguises were all part of the prestige and served as identity protection rather than a conduit to anyone having any real sort of fun.

The mixer itself had been entertaining enough, but the hushed secrets shared in the drawing room were what had piqued his interested and saw him hiding in the restroom searching his own soul for answers. He’d been trading anecdotes with a handful of members before he was interrupter by a well dressed blonde and ushered through a side door, where he was greeted with a firm handshake by one of the top men within the society (apparently), Richard - Something. Initially Justin had smiled but internally rolled his eyes as he considered how these shady types only ever give out their first names - and how that felt particularly unfair when everyone here knew fine well what his surname was... Richard was perfectly charming and charismatic - in the same faux-caring, calculating way politicians are as they try to snare floating voters. His smile was bright and his words were warm, but his eyes were a stark contrast. The Society’s hoi-polloi were obviously deemed to have played their part in warming him up and now Richard was here to give him the hard-sell: and sell he did.

And at first, it sounded relatively normal. At first. Until Richard started with tall tales of how society members held all of the power in the world through power stones. Initially Justin got to his feet and scoffed - weren’t crystals just for spa days and hippies? This had to be a set up. He scanned the room looking for any clue of a hidden camera, Ashton Kutcher’s sneakers showing from behind a curtain perhaps - but nothing. It all sounded truly ridiculous, but as Richard stood, laying a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder, directing him towards a plush chair, pouring him two fingers of whisky, something held him; fascinated him. Stopped him from barging straight out of the room. Justin observed in silence as Richard thumbed through various documents, showing him photographs, pulling up search data online... Explaining. Convincing. Persuading. Justin didn’t trust the suave smarmy suit as far as he could throw him, but the more Richard divulged of the spiderweb of societal involvement in major global events and current affairs, the more sense it made... And in spite of himself, Justin started to succumb to this strange reality. Every word out of Clever Dick’s mouth was revelational, peeling away one layer after another, after another, until Justin’s mind was blown; his brain hurt the same way it did the first time he watched Inception. He couldn’t bend his mind around why Richard was telling him all this, or why a collective more powerful than The Walt Disney Company would want a musician to join their ranks? Richard shrugged coolly as he continued to play for Justin’s buy in, simply smiling and saying that, as a big pop star, it would be quid pro quo - a very mutually beneficial arrangement. The society had access to the best labels, the best A&R departments, they could get Justin as much airplay, fame and publicity as he wanted.

Justin couldn’t deny it sounded appealing - but what did they want in return? So far it was all ‘quid’ and no ‘quo’. He had to ask. Even the easy, practiced grin on Richard’s face couldn’t offset the glint of ice in his dark eyes and menace in his voice that chilled Justin’s blood.

“Justin, come! Everyone knows that music is what shapes the youth of today! The influence wielded by artists, the loyalty inspired by them, their marketability, it’s simply insurmountable! Think about it, dear boy? If The Society control the music, they control the populace.”

Justin cleared his throat as he sized himself up, readjusting his skinny black tie and squaring his shoulders. Richard must be insane. The Society’s logic was fatally flawed: they couldn’t seriously think that it was possible control the entire world’s population through having a singer in their ranks? It was infeasible. Impossible. But what they were offering him in exchange? Now, that was a very attractive proposition indeed. If he agreed to join, and got all of that out of it, it would be worth it? The Society would surely realise at some point that they couldn’t rule the world through the power of song? Yes, the power of a one-line harmony had already been proven by McDonald’s to sell a shit-tonne of burgers - and while it was a pretty convincing argument, selling fast-food to hungry people was one thing - but full-scale global domination?? That was something else entirely. But if he could ride along on their coat-tails and reap all the benefits until they realised just how crazy that idea had been in the first place...

—- two years later —-

Cash carded his hand through his dark hair, exasperated as he listened to Alana’s latest report, “You all understand that Timberlake is completely out of control, yes?”

Emilio grunted flatly as his head fell into his crossed arms on the table like a five year old ready to play heads-down-thumbs-up, “Yeeeeees.”

Cash bristled further as he looked to Rafe and Kiran for their input, both simply nodding back at him as though to say, ‘yes, we know.’

Alana looked down at her phone, worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth, “It’s worse than you think though, Cash.”

He was instantly on his feet staring at her, Rafe and Kiran leaned forward and Emilio raised one weary brow from his slumped pose, concern evident on all their faces.

Kiran was first to speak, “Alana how can it be worse? Richard’s vanished off the face of the earth. Justin’s last billboard count had him go multi-platinum - again, and his lyrics are becoming...”

Rafe offered flatly, “Odd.” He stood, cracked his neck from side to side and headed towards the small stove, absentmindedly filling a saucepan with water and a packet of instant noodles.

Cash shook his head at Rafe then turned back to glower at the rest of the Inner Circle, “Thank you all for the recap. It’s bleak, we know. Alana?”

Green eyes fixed the room as Alana cleared her throat and mouthed, “One hundred and ninety-four.”

Dumbfounded silence filled the room; jaws hung slack. Until Kiran broke the spell, a spluttering cough turning into an uncomfortable laugh, “One hundred and ninety-four what? Because I know you definitely can’t mean stones. We know the exactly location of over fifty percent of them? They’re safe?”

Rafe, back at the table with his ramen by now, paled as Alana shook her head at a loss for words, red curls bouncing around her shoulders, “How is that possible?”

Alana threw her hands in the air, confessing “I honestly don’t know. But he has ones that we knew the location of, and more besides.”

Cash paced the room, clearly agitated as he cursed and barked,

“That’s every stone in existence, except ours and one other.”

Alana puffed out her cheeks before huffing out the breath sharply, “Correct. He has the lot, excepts ours - and the Garnet.”

Emilio’s hand slid under his shirt, a double-check to be sure his Alexandrite remained firmly on the chain hidden beneath the dark fabric, fiddling with it like a child with a comfort blanket as he spoke, “I- I just don’t understand. How? How did he get so many without us knowing?”

Rafe shrugged as he shovelled a spoonful of noodles into his mouth and chewed thoroughly before answering, “Richard’s protege. His pet project. Nothing surprises me when he’s involved. Everything he touches gets tarnished.”

Alana sighed sadly, “Justin seemed like such a sweet guy when he first joined. I really liked him. I thought he could have been part of our Inner Circle someday.”

Rafe shot her a rueful smile before looking down into the noodles, “Same. He changed. Fast.” Coiling his fork in a thick helping, he swung them into his mouth without ceremony.

Cash pinched the bridge of his nose, stopping pacing for long enough to stare and snap at Rafe,

“What is it with you and those blasted ramen noodles??”

Rafe shook his head silently as though to say, ‘I don’t know’: he wasn’t entirely sure why, but every time someone mentioned Timberlake, he couldn’t stop himself from carb-loading. All he wanted a big bowl of ramen in his belly and he couldn’t think about anything else until he was full of noodley-goodness. He’d eaten more instant ramen in the past couple of years than he did during college, and that was saying something.

Kiran cut through the atmosphere between the two men, venturing, “So how are we going to shut him down?”

—-

Richard had been missing for months, and although all trails had gone cold and no one was one hundred percent clear on what had happened to him, there was very strong suspicion within the group of five that Justin had something to do with it. How else had he managed to acquire almost every power stone in existence? He must have dispensed of Richard and taken them for himself - there really didn’t seem, to be any other explanation. The Inner Circle had been aware that Richard was hoarding stones, but his haul had escalated significantly and quickly with Justin by his side - at the Circle’s last count maybe six to eight months ago, Richard only had sixty-five stones in his custody. The dirty duo had been busy.

Emilio shuddered solemnly as he thought about what must have happened to the rightful owners of those stones. He was at the tower with the Inner Circle, minus Cash. Cash would arrive soon, bringing Justin to the table with him. Creating a rouse of support, and then double-crossing him to recover the power stones had been deemed the only feasible plan. Emilio watched the rest of the group: Rafe stirring at a saucepan at the small kitchen set up, Kiran flipping aimlessly though a fashion magazine and Alana tapping at her cellphone. They were all feeling nervous about this, the stakes had never been so high. He scrubbed his brow as he ran through the various scenarios of what could possibly happen with Cash and Justin arrived.

He didn’t have long to wait as the door opened and laughter reverberated around the room. Cash was manoeuvring Timberlake expertly, and Justin seemed to be lapping up everything he said. A round of smiles and handshakes later everyone sat around the table, eyes expectantly on Cash.

“Justin, firstly, thank you for joining the group here today. As you know, with Richard... Let’s say, elsewhere. I’ve been standing in as the ‘interim leader’. And I’ll be frank, Justin, I always thought it would be for me, but it’s not. And it takes a lot for me to admit that. I can do the decision-making, the negotiations, but what I cannot abide is dealing with attitudes and egos all day long.”

Rafe chortled, “He thinks he should be the only one allowed an attitude and an ego!”

Justin grinned and visibly relaxed within the larger group.

Clearing his throat irately, Cash gestured towards Rafe, “Exactly what I’m talking about. Justin, my calling doesn’t lie in leading The Society. I am more interested in having a less ’public facing position’ shall we say, where I can really put my true talents to use. And that’s why I invited you to sit with us today, Justin.’

Timberlake nodded enthusiastically, “ I see.”

Cash stood, wearing a trail in the carpet as he walked back and forth,

“What are your goals, Justin? We understand you must be distraught about Richard’s disappearance, you two seemed close. Do you have aspirations for The Society’s Leadership? We’ve been observing you for some time, and feel that we could all benefit each other within this little group, everyone here wants to progress and wants ‘more’. And we feel like you may have some ideas that could help us all to achieve just that.”

Justin leaned back in his chair observing the group sat around the table. Of course he knew what his goals were. He’d never really considered leadership of The Society until recently - his mind had been consumed with his plan for ultimate pop domination over the past two years. And he’d progressed so far that it was within his grasp - and that was when he and Richard had begun to clash. Badly. Richard’s vision was so- So limited. He couldn’t see Justin’s potential past being a Society tool used to control the public. Justin knew his worth, he was more than a tool for Richard to implement as he saw fit. He felt the anger bubble inside him as he recalled the final fight with Richard. They could have controlled the entire world together: why couldn’t Richard have seen that? Why couldn’t he have got on board with Justin’s plans? As he sized up the twelve eyes watching him, he thought about the dozens of power stones locked securely in the safe in his apartment: these people could see his strength. His power. His star ascending. He leaned forward, his decision made,

“I have acquired many power stones and my plan is, to use our time-travelling abilities to go back in time and wipe other pop stars from existence, so that I am the single biggest pop star in the world today. Then with my influence, The Society will control everything. We, friends, will control the world.”

Alana and Kiran eyeballed each other as the men nodded at Justin.

Kiran interjected,

“There’s no doubt that The Society would benefit from that sort of influence, but what about all of the damage that would be done to culture and humanity without artists?”

Justin looked confused as he stared at her, “But they’d still have me?”

Kiran chewed the statement over before asking, “And who are you going after? Are we talking about Elvis? The Beatles? Frank Sinatra?”

Justin waved a hand as though he’d practiced this very conversation in the mirror a hundred times, “No, no. Only today’s artists. I can’t disrupt anyone who directly or indirectly influenced my career. Butterfly Effect and all.”

The Inner Circle nodded sagely as Justin continued, “And when my plan is complete, who, I ask you, will be the biggest pop star in the world??”

Alana glanced up grimacing, “I don’t know Justin, I mean Lady Gaga is pretty huge? Iconic, even.”

Emilio shook his head, “Right now, Ariana Grande’s the biggest artist in the world, I read it somewhere.”

Justin fixed them both with an affronted stare, “But think about it, if none of them ever existed... Then who would be the biggest pop star in the world?”

Alana and Emilio exchanged a world-weary glance as Justin cackled, “Guess what? It’s gonna be me.”

Rafe scrunched his nose, confused, speaking through a mouthful of ramen, “May? What? Are the Emmy’s not always in September?”

Cash shotshim a withering glance before grinning at Justin, “You’ve thought a lot about his haven’t you?”

Justin, visibly flattered, shrugged off Cash’s praise, “Just a little.”

Cash leaned towards Justin conspiratorially, “So tell us, what more do you need to make your dreams a reality, and how could we, as a group, facilitate that?”

—-

Over the next few weeks the Inner Circle had planned for two consecutive missions. One intricate scheme with Justin, that involved him travelling back over two hundred years to Regency England to secure the Garnet power stone from a Lady Foxworthy. And their own private secondary mission that involved luring Justin back to Regency England where there was no power stone to be found.

When the day to venture back in time arrived, Justin paraded around the tower preening in the mirror at his era-appropriate garb. Kiran had stitched it to perfection, a beautifully embroidered waistcoat over his cravat, fitted cream pants and a midnight blue, velvet long-tailed coat that really made his eyes pop. Rafe let out a low whistle, winking at Justin’s reflection in the mirror, “Looking sharp! Nice work Kiran.” This look was a definitely a step up from double denim!

Kiran moved around Justin turning him, dusting down his shoulders, “Oh hold up, you have a thread. Let me just get that for you. Can’t have you looking less than perfect!” She reached for her scissors and touched the back of his jacket whilst swiftly clipping a tuft of hair from the back of his head.

The corners of Cash’s mouth quirked upwards at her almost imperceptibly as he spoke, “Very elegant, good Sir. You look quite the part.”

Justin gave Cash a delighted twirl to show off his new threads before performing a low, sweeping bow - completely unaware of his missing locks - speaking in a haughty-sounding English accent, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Tarkhan, I am Lord Timberlake.”

Alana had to swig at a cup of water to stop herself from bursting into peals of laughter, it was like the only English person he’d ever heard speak before was Queen Elizabeth herself! Cash raised an eyebrow in her direction before addressing Justin, “You’re definitely comfortable travelling back alone, because it would only take Alana here a few minutes to change into something suitable and accompany you?”

Justin waved a hand dismissing the suggestion, quite honestly he didn’t want anyone cramping his style. It wasn’t Justin’s first time in Regency England - when he and Richard had travelled there previously he’d had a ball. He had exactly eight hours to get there, get the Garnet, have some fun in a previous era and get back - and then. Then a whole new era would begin. His era... Leader of the most powerful Society in the world and the biggest pop star in history. Justin grinned as he stepped forward, placing his hands around the ornate pocket watch and beginning the arcane chant to begin his voyage through time. The rest of the Inner Circle joined the chant, turning back the clocks within the tower as Justin’s world started to blur at the edges, drifting backwards through two hundred years of history.

After Justin was gone, a series of stealthy grins were exchanged around the group. Emilio breathed a sigh of relief, “We did it.”

Kiran tossed the little velvet bag with Justin’s hair inside to Cash - their insurance policy, should he need to be dealt with ‘more permanently’ at a later date. Today’s plan didn’t involve the singer being turned into a surprised-looking statue, just giving him an extended stay in Regency England instead... The garnet wasn’t there - in fact, there were no stones left there. It was common knowledge within the Inner Circle where the garnet was: firmly on the finger of Richard’s blissfully unaware and estranged daughter - passed down by his long-missing wife. A point that Timberlake was sadly remiss of: they all had banked on Richard never disclosing a topic so sore as his failure as a father out of pure pride and vanity - and they’d been correct...

Now there was nothing more to do than wind all the clocks back to the correct time, then sit and wait until Justin would try to get back.

—-

Seven and three-quarter hours later, the group within the tower saw a blurry portal loom in the corner of the room. Suddenly alert, they listened intently as Justin’s voice crackled through,

“Rafe, Cash, guys! Are you there? Help me! I can’t... I can’t get back! Alana?? The ritual, it’s not working, I’m not fading back through??”

Cash drawled as he examined his fingernails, looking thoroughly bored,

“Ah, so our little ritual worked then. Good to know.”

The passage through time became narrower and narrow as a sickening realisation suckerpunched Justin, panic rising like bile in his throat, “You... You did this on purpose!! You screwed me over!! You bastards!!!!”

As the portal flickered and shrunk to no more than a pinhole, echoes of the roars of their names reverberated around the room, until the gap sealed itself trapping Lord Timberlake in Regency England for ever more. Silence settled over the tower for a few moments, until Rafe glanced up at the rest of the group thorough his sweeping fringe, a smirk slowly stretching from ear to ear as he shrugs,

“Cry me a river...”

#immortal heart society #lovestruck

[bananacreamphi]

Notes on Blonko Rook and revonnah in Ben 10 delta (part one, mostly backstory):

Revonnah’s a rural planet just like canon, except even lower on the technology level than earth, think late 19th century or early 20th century. They also don’t know aliens exist, and are officially isolated by order of either the incurseans or the plumbers (idk which has more power in the reboot universe, which is what this au is mostly based on). This will be important to know later.

Enter Rook, at this point called young one. He’s been kinda different from everyone else all his life, and is usually alienated from/teased by the other children in his town. He’s good with technology and likes to tinker with the farm equipment to make it more efficient and stuff, and his father supports that. However he has bigger ambitions, and wants to move to the city someday and do more machine stuff.

Also aside, he’s aware of stuff like automobiles, engines, electric lighting, et cetera; it’s just that he lives in a rural area so he hasn’t actually seen much of it in person. He mostly knows through paper books and he’s an extremely good reader. Him and Shar would often read together about mechanical things and moving to the city, and sometimes he would talk about his biggest dream: to fly in the sky.

Unfortunately, he gets his wish in the worst way possible. One night he accidentally stumbles upon Khyber (bitch) doing whatever he does, possibly taking some amber ogia idk. Instead of killing him, Khyber (bitch) thinks “hey instead of killing this kid maybe I should kidnap him and sell him on the black market because revonnahganders are rare lol” so he does just that. Shar hears Young One screaming and hissing and tries to follow him but she can’t catch up with him and Khyber’s ship launches out to space.

Khyber flies to Earth while poor young one is scared out of his mind, crying and hissing and scratching and trying to escape. Eventually they land in undertown, and Khyber tries to sell him, but hooray! Ben and Kevin are here to save the day and kick those bad guys’ butts! Khyber (mega bitch) escapes, but Max tells them to focus on getting the people out of their cages. They meet young one who is of course terrified and hisses and claws at them, and are like “what the heck why are you mad at us we’re the good guys” (meanwhile Ben is four arms and Kevin is humongoraptor)

Rook manages to escape them and runs through undertown trying to do…something, he’s panicking, and leads Ben and Kevin on a wild goose chase where they cause millions of dollars in property damage as usual. Some other bad guy shows up and tries to harass Ben and Kevin, while Rook is there, and their watches both time out. The bad guy is about to win but Rook distracts them and uses his rudimentary Revonnah Kai to beat them up just in time for help to arrive. Afterwards his tail falls off and he starts crying.

Ben and Kevin try to approach him and Rook initially hisses at them before Ben puts his hands up and tries to talk to him. The omnitrix translator function isn’t working so Rook looks confused and Ben just points to himself and says “Ben”, points to Kevin and says “Kevin” and then points to rook who waits for a second and says “Blonko”.

Anyway I’ll do part 2 in a little bit I just need to eat some pizza first

#Ben 10 #ben 10 au #Ben 10 delta #rook Blonko #kevin levin #ben tennyson #khyber

[yeswevegotavideo]

Opening Line Tag Meme

Edit: In true tumblr fashion the formatting got all fucked up so the first 10 aren't numbered anymore, fyi.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Hoo boy, ok! Gotta' figure out when I started writing what, 'cause I've got some unposted WIPs in here.

Thanks to @gottagobuycheese for the tag! I tag @arcanemoody, @teadrinkingwolfgirl, @holycatsandrabbits, @slow-burn-sally, and anybody else who wants to do it! :)

List after the cut, 'cause it's long lol Now then, from most to least recent, let's see...

In the Beginning, only the Creator existed, and She Knew Not From Whence She Came. Fic: you will exhale cinnamon clouds Fandom: Good Omens Comments: That is italicized on purpose - the fic implies that if you see italicized narration in serif font, it is possibly the Voice of God...maybe. This was my first time participating in a Big Bang, and it was very fun and EXTREMELY STRESSFUL and I doubt I'll ever participate in another one.

The Angel of the Eastern Gate was…fascinating. Fic: Time Can Do So Much (WIP) Fandom: Good Omens Comments: I'm gonna finish this someday I swear, but it's a lower priority than Close to Home. (Because let's face it, Close to Home is more popular lol)

"Little demonic miracle of my own," Crowley said casually, handing off the bag and sauntering past the stunned angel, "Lift home?" Fic: Close to Home, So Far Away (WIP) Fandom: Good Omens Comments: That line barely counts, since the dialogue is lifted directly from the show, and I almost included the next one. But the action description is obviously mine. This is the WIP that currently dominates the anxious part of my brain (along with the writer's block part, the creative part, the restless part, and the guilty part). But I'm. Going. To. Finish. It.

It was a perfectly lovely brunch. Fic: Velocity Fandom: Good Omens

Comments: First fic I ever posted in a large fandom. Well, large compared to any other fandom I've ever posted in, anyway. It was insane getting that number of comments/views/kudos on any fic all at once. (It's even more insane how quickly one gets used to such a thing and starts comparing it to subsequent works lol)

“Regis, it’s time.” Fic: Hope in Darkness (working title, unpublished WIP) Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Comments: So, I have this FFXV fic. I'm probably never going to post it. Idk. Maybe someday when the fandom is mostly dead lmao. The fic follows the lives of the quad from infancy to the start of the World of Ruin/Darkness. It's followed by another, even WIP-er fic with working title Decade of Darkness. I'm currently stalled immediately after getting their quad together, at Gladio's 21st birthday party. (Yes, that means Prompto is 17. Yes, that is exactly why I'm hesitant to post it.)

They entered the stairwell and the moment the door closed, Vyvyan shoved Rick against the wall with the force of his kiss. Fic: Love & Mobsters - The Lost Scenes (perpetual WIP, entirely PWP) Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: One of those "this is where the porn goes" WIPs that will probably never actually be closed and may or may not ever be added to. *shrug* What can I say? It's just where the porn goes.

There's something wrong with the garden. Fic: Paper Boats Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: I love this fic. I don't honestly care if others do, though I'm glad many seem to. That is all. Btw that line is in italics because it's thought. That's definitely a convention of mine. That, and writing flashbacks in present tense.

The new kid arrived around two in the afternoon, driven in especially by one of the many social workers known well to the residents. Fic: Infinity (WIP) Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: Another WIP I swear I'll finish eventually. This one kind-of lost steam because I realized I don't actually know how to write teenage British boys in the 70s, nor prison stories in general. Idk, I'll figure it out eventually, probably.

Vyvyan closed the door behind him and slinked into the night. Fic: Skin Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: In direct contradiction to what I just said two fics ago, this story features flashbacks that are in past tense. And then in present tense in the next chapter. I believe this is what they call "inconsistency".

It was December 24th, and all throughout London, preparations for Christmas were kicking into high gear. Fic: Winter Holiday Fandom: The Young Ones Comments: This was a fun one to write. I basically tried to write a Christmas episode, and commenters largely confirm I succeeded. My favorite comment was, "It was just like watching a very special extra episode, with bonus shagging."

Note: the rest of these are from The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters, my TYO series, so I'm not going to keep listing fic & fandom and commenting. The quotes will just directly link to the corresponding fic. They're still in reverse order, from newest to oldest, meaning they'll be linked to the series backwards.

"Would you still love me if I were ugly?"

Rick woke to the feeling of Vyvyan stroking his cheek. He smiled softly as he yawned and opened his eyes.

The punch to the stomach had hurt.

Vyvyan is awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I thought I was in love with him, diary, I really did.

I'm horribly disappointed.

A life of crime did odd things to Vyvyan.

Vyvyan talks in his sleep.

So I'm standing outside this shop, waiting for the bloody door to open and freezing my bollocks off in the meantime.

The razor buzzed by Vyvyan's ear.

More than anything I think I've learned that there's no discernible pattern to my opening lines! lmao.

[benichi]

I played Chou no Doku (so you don’t have to) - True Route

This is the BIG SPOILER route which reveals all the secrets. I decided to post this before anything else though because Majima’s route splits from this one and is easier to understand after knowing everything. Also I actually quite like this route so this post is more on the serious side, but with that out of the way we can have a good time with all the other ones later lol.

The route splits off after Yuriko’s mothers death. If you’d like to read what has happened before check out these posts: (Prologue 1) (Prologue 2) (Mizuhito’s Route 1) (Mizuhito’s Route 2)

Yuriko finally gets the hint that the Chinese Bellflowers are connected to everything that’s been happening. She decides to visit Lady Kyoko, since she’s an old friend of her mother and might know more about the situation than she lets on.

She asks if Kyoko knows anything about Chinese Bellflowers and if they have any connection to her deceased mother. The Lady states that she may know the answer, but in order to be completely sure of her suspicion she asks that Yuriko find her Mother’s diary. Kyoko concludes that the diary must still be around since it held great importance, but is likely hidden somewhere in the Manor.

At home Yuriko immediately starts searching the storehouse...

... and ends up finding some pr0n.

As she’s about to give up and just settle for the pr0n she’s found Yuriko spots a small hamper which, hidden among Kimonos, also holds her Mothers diary.

The diary is from 25 years back. Shigeko writes that she’s in pain, but not unhappy since due to her condition her Brother visits her a lot. Though she also wonders what he thinks of her inevitable marriage. A little later she writes that she misses her Brother and that he will be married soon as well.

There’s more talk of Shigeko being courted by Yuriko’s father and her hate towards the woman her Brother will marry. Eventually she says that she will have to leave her home to visit a “Villa”.

Sweet Home Alabama

Yuriko notes that some of the pages have been ripped out, specifically those about Shigeko’s time at said Villa...

Speaking of Brothers! Mizuhito shows up and asks why his sister decided to pay Lady Kyoko a visit. Yuriko tries to dodge the question, which leads Mizuhito to reveal that the Lady is bisexual and especially interested beautiful people - Yuriko to be precise. He warns that Kyoko isn’t as nice and innocent as she appears. Yuriko ends up getting mad since she clearly needs Kyokos help, so she storms out of the room saying that she’ll definitely be visiting her again the next day.

Mizuhito’s turn to get dragged.

On said next day Lady Kyoko starts to read through the diary, stating that she finds it hard to believe Shigeko would rip out pages herself. The women conclude that whoever is responsible for the missing pages did so in anger, and that they never wanted for anyone to find out about what happened at the Villa. Kyoko exclaims that she’s figured out the connection between the Chinese Bellflowers and what’s been happening - but also suggests that Yuriko find out the truth herself by visiting the Villa.

Once Yuriko arrives at the Villa she asks if there is someone that has been working at the place 25 years ago. It appears that the last person, called Kikuya, who fits that description left the Villa recently but lives nearby. Once at her house Kikuya immediately recognizes that Yuriko is Shigeko’s daughter since she looks just like her.

Kikuya was actually tasked with looking after Shigeko’s brother Kazukiyo and states that the sibling were very... “close”. Yuriko proceeds to ask about what happened 25 years ago which shocks Kikuya. The old women says that Yuriko’s father asked her the exact same question. He came 15 years ago with fire in his eyes, scared of what he might do to her Kikuya told the truth - something she was never supposed to tell anyone. The women can’t bring herself to say it again, which leads to Yuriko stating her thoughts - that her Mother gave birth in that Villa.

Kikuya confirms her suspicion and exclaims that Yuriko’s dad looked like a demon after hearing the truth. Terrified she told him the whereabouts of the child - which had been raised by a Maid like he was her own. The name of that Maid was Kikyo (Chinese Bellflower). Kikuya also confirms that the child called Kiyoshi was indeed born from an incestuous relation between Shigeko and her Brother. She goes on to explain about hearing a rumor that the entire family of said Maid disappeard...

After returning Yuriko decides to finally confront the killer of her parents. She heads to the Servant’s room (alone, of course) to speak with...

Immediately starting off strong. But I mean we know by now that Yuriko has a thing for calling guys she’s into “Brother”. Majima initially tries to laugh it off but stops once he realizes she won’t let things go.

I’m not sure if he means Mizuhito or Kazukiyo but either way he be dragging.

Yuriko tries to exclaim that all the time they’ve spent together couldn’t have been a lie - but Majima states that it was exactly that. He says that Yuriko must have come for a reason, which leads to her saying that she wants him to atone for his crimes by surrendering himself to the police. Majima remarks that he himself has not killed anyone but only pulled the strings. He goes on, wanting to know exactly how Yuriko figured out he was the child born in that Villa 25 years ago.

Please don’t go there.

Majima states that he smells like rotten fruit and that the scent becomes even thicker when he sweats (what am I writing....).

SWEET IS NOT THE SAME AS ROTTEN

Yuriko remarks that it must come from their Mother’s lineage and that they probably couldn’t smell each other since they have the same odor. Finally the conversation shifts away from the scent talk and to what motivated Majima to commit these crimes. He refuses to reveal exacly what Yuriko’s father did however, stating that his revenge is done.

Charming.

Majima says that he would have killed Yuriko if she had stayed ignorant and innocent. But he can’t bring himself to kill her who’s come alone to his room to face him head on. He states that Yuriko might get in trouble if she doesn’t get rid of him, which she rebukes by saying that killing him won’t bring her happiness. This leads to Majima saying that happiness doesn’t exist for him since he’s dirty. He says that he won’t be a threat to Yuriko anymore and that he’s going to leave the Manor. The two of them embrace and... I’ll spare you Round 2 of their scent talk.

Asgsjskdkl. Anyways after getting a whiff of Majima Yuriko once again has to point out that he really is her older brother.

SWEET HOME ALABAMA

Afterwards Majima says his farewell and Yuriko cries as she silently whispers that she likes him, knowing they will never meet again.

A few years later. We learn that Yuriko is working as a editor at a publishing company now but also solving cases that Kyoko introduces to her as a Detective (which is pretty cool tbh).

... and that Shiba is still trying to woo her. Ugh.

In fact she’s a very popular and well respected Detective. Content with her current life Yuriko states that she does not intent to marry anyone soon - or even for the rest of her life. On her way home she spots some Chinese Bellflowers on the side of the road. Flooded by memories she can’t help but wonder about what happened to “him”. The color of those flowers - Yuriko finds to be both beautiful and sad, just like the tears he shed that day.

-

& that’s the “true” route I guess? Honestly this is my favorite ending and I’m glad I got to experience it before the app was shut down. Detective Yuriko was a pleasant surprise. It’s a shame this game had such a bad localization because, even if the truth becomes pretty obvious eventually, the story is still quite intriguing. We can only hope that maybe someday Chou no Doku will get it’s redemption arc like Taisho x Alice did!

#chou no doku #chou doku #ripple effect stories #majima #yuriko

[sage-nebula]

Neo: The World Ends With You - Thoughts So Far

I’m on Day 6 of Week 1 and I want to compile my thoughts so far — not in a formal post, but at least all in one place, especially since I feel that jotting down what I think / feel as I go through will help me write my review when I’m done. Spoilers under the cut, obviously — and while it should go without saying, do NOT comment on this post with spoilers from later in the game, so help me. Even if I pose a question that gets answered later on — hell, especially if I do — don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I will find out in my own time.

With that said . . .

So obviously, I’m really enjoying it so far. You can tell that the writers / devs haven’t lost their touch despite it being thirteen years since the first game was made. You can also tell that a lot of love went into this; this isn’t something they churned out just to make money (if they thought this was a moneymaker we wouldn’t have had to wait 13 freaking years for the sequel), but rather something they really, really wanted to make. Not a total passion project, because those aren’t allowed in the world of capitalism, but there is still a lot of love there. 

That said, more specific thoughts:

THE MUSIC. It doesn’t really come as a surprise given that TWEWY’s soundtrack was phenomenal, but god, they brought it right back for this game. The remixes (“Someday”, “Three Minutes Clapping”, “Transformation”, “The One Star” etc) are all excellent, but the new tracks are phenomenal too. Tbh I’m not sure how any of the Players get any fighting done when the music makes you want to just bust a move right there in the scramble. It’s so good.

Most of the characters are great too. Of the Wicked Twisters, I think Fret is my favorite; he is pure of heart, dumb of ass, and I love that for him. I do like Rindo too, of course, and his habit of overthinking everything (since Fret has zero brain cells, Rindo has to make up for it), but him being standoffish / socially anxious and snarky makes him feel a bit like a toned down Neku, so he doesn’t catch my interest quite as much. And while I do like Nagi, the way she speaks in like . . . medieval-esque language is a bit off-putting. In particular it’s weird that Rindo didn’t tell her to knock it off with the “Lord Rindo” stuff since using such an honorific would be considered awkward / embarrassing in Japanese. I guess he’s just too socially anxious / awkward to tell her to stop, but it’s still a bit distracting.  Other than that, I’m really not a fan of Kubo (one of the Reapers) or . . . Susukichi, I think his name is? The leader of the Ruinbringers. I find them both to be pretty annoying, haha. But I love Shoka, as well as Kanon, and Motoi is a good bean, too. As for the Deep River Society . . . those nerds have issues lmao. Especially their leader. Although I can’t fault him for breaking down sobbing when he realizes that he now stands a very good chance of getting erased, which reminds me . . .

HOW ARE WE ON DAY SIX AND THE WICKED TWISTERS STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT BEING ERASED IS?? We have kind of an inverse situation where where Neku knew right away that he would get erased if he failed the missions / didn’t win the Game, but didn’t find out until later that he was dead. Here, the Wicked Twisters learn that they’re dead fairly quickly (and Fret has some realistic denial going on about it at first, though he gets over it pretty quickly), but they’re still completely in the dark about the fact that their souls will get wiped from existence if they lose despite erasure being mentioned at least a handful of times. Like I guess it was never spelled out for them, but especially as someone who played the first game about a million times, it’s a bit maddening to see them be like, “Why is he crying like his life is on the line? lol whatevs no big deal la di da!” Since the Wicked Twisters aren’t aware of the stakes, a new player wouldn’t be either, and so it rather tones down the urgency that was felt in the original game where everyone was very much aware that they were fighting for their right to exist.

Since I brought up Motoi, I want to say that I just played past the part where he reveals that he was An0ther, who is apparently Rindo’s favorite blogger / poet. I feel like this is meant to be similar to how Hanekoma was CAT, Neku’s favorite artist, but it doesn’t carry the same impact because a.) as far as we know An0ther didn’t have anything to do with how Rindo died; b.) we haven’t seen Rindo bring An0ther or his poetry up that much, much less have anything An0ther said be his entire life’s mantra; c.) we haven’t gotten to know Motoi that well either. Like we met him once before this revelation. That said I’m not sure it was supposed to have the same impact as the Hanekoma = CAT reveal, but if it was then it did fall short. (Also I saw it coming the second Motoi quoted An0ther lmao.)

Speaking of Hanekoma, WHERE IS MY MANS??? I know he has to show up at some point because if I’m not mistaken we saw him in the trailers. And if I am mistaken then he still has to show up at some point because he played a central role in the “A New Day” epilogue chapter of Final Remix, what with Coco being unable to control him and him knowing what was going on, plus he was testing Neku for something in “Another Day” and that has to be whatever is going on in this game. I’m sure he’ll come in for some big reveal later, but like, we have a new street artist in this game (MKN) with no mention of CAT as of yet, and I’m just like . . . where is he. Where is my mans. What is he doing. Bring him to me.

That said, we already got to see my #2 mans (Kariya♥) so I am happy about that at least. 

Back to my mans for a hot second: I actually erased my demo save data and started fresh to remind myself of everything when I got the game, and idk if it was in the demo or not, but regardless—at the end of the demo portion there’s this shot of the sky and then this nameless voice is like, “It’s finally starting. I hope you wake up soon. I don’t want you to miss all the action.” My current guess is that the speaker was Hanekoma, speaking to Joshua. Joshua being “asleep” would explain why the Game is as screwed up as it is right now, what with it having been going on for a year and people able to choose to play again and again and again while the rest of the Players—who tbh should also be counted as winners if they survive the week!—are trapped in limbo.

Because that’s the thing: I know that it was partially a lie to cover for the fact that Joshua’s game with Megumi was set to last three weeks, but at the end of the third week Megumi told Neku that a new rule was being put in place that wouldn’t allow repeats of the Game anymore. But even setting that aside, in the original Shibuya UG rules, anyone who survived the Game could get a wish at the end, whether that was to be brought back to life or made into a Reaper. This is why at the end of Week 1, the three winners were Neku, Shiki, and Beat. However, here the Ruinbringers are able to keep everyone trapped and they have been trapped for at least a year, given what Motoi said. It’s completely different rules and I’m sure that this has something to do with the fact that the majority of the Reapers we’ve seen so far are from Shinjuku (at least going by the spoilery trailer, and iirc it was confirmed in “A New Day” that Coco was from Shinjuku actually, but it’s been a while so I could be wrong about that).

Speaking of, has anyone noticed that the possibly-Shinjuku Reapers don’t have wings? No?

ALSO speaking of Coco, at least tangentially: Coco was the one who revived Minamimoto at the end of “A New Day”. However, he’s definitely not how I would have expected. Like despite Coco using the Taboo Noise sigil to bring him back, he’s clearly not in his Taboo form. He’s using psychs as a Player would, rather than a Reaper. And while it’s clear he’s up to some form of nonsense, it’s unclear exactly what form of nonsense he’s up to. I know that he’s here for fanservice and that him looking like Nagi’s bias from Elegant Strategy is a tongue-in-cheek nod to that, but I have too much faith in this series to think that’s all this is. I’m wondering if being revived for a second time fixed whatever screws were loose in his head before? Or if he was revived as a human Player by like, Joshua or something? (Although why Joshua would do that I have no idea. Maybe Hanekoma instead?) Hmmm . . .

Small aside, but we all know that Nagi has put herself into hundreds of thousands of yen in debt for Tomonami merch lolol RIP Nagi. (I’m also interpreting that she’s not actually older than Rindo or Fret, but she just skipped a bunch of grades. Like I feel like this might have been lost in translation a bit, and that she’s a senpai to them because she’s in uni but she’s not actually older than them. I could be wrong but that’s how I’m interpreting it right now. She just doesn’t look or act older than them.)

Oh another minor annoyance, but whether it’s due to the partial 3D environment or something else, I’m SO ANNOYED that some of the streets aren’t connecting as they should now. Like, how going in the direction of Molco spits you out at Spain Hill or 104 or whatever? I don’t remember exactly what area it was, but it wasn’t Molco!! I’m sure if I hadn’t played the original a million times like a loser this wouldn’t be such a big deal to me, but I have and it is lmao. Also, they’ve had the Shibuya Underpass / Cat Street blocked off this whole time and I’m like :( let me go to Cat Street :( let me see my mans

I’m relieved that Ken Doi is still making delicious food and I look forward to his ramen curry fusion. I was really upset about RamenDon being gone at first but as long as Ken Doi is still around I am happy.

My dinner just arrived so this is all I have to say for now, but I will update more as I play more. I love this game and I’m so happy to be back in Shibuya, even if the characters pronounce it wrong sometimes (saying “ShiBOOya” like pls . . . you are supposed to be Japanese . . . get it right . . .)

#neo: the world ends with you #no but seriously I will block anyone who sends spoilers lol it will be ON SIGHT

[television-overload]

August 2020 Tiva Fic Writing Challenge

I’ve been trying to get back into writing, so here’s my fic for the @giveusourtivaprompts August challenge. Exactly 999 words because that felt like a fun goal to set lol

-.-.-

Ziva was alive.

That information still hadn’t sunk in for Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo as they flew over the Atlantic Ocean in a military-provided aircraft.

All four of them. Gibbs, McGee, Tony… and Ziva.

Tony closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. This looming feeling of anxiety and incompleteness that had pervaded his senses all these months was finally gone. Their team was whole again, and suddenly everything felt right with the world. He hadn’t realized how strange it would feel without her.

You know what they say. You don’t know what you’ve got…

He looked down. Ziva’s battered and bruised head rested on his lap, hair sprawling over his knees in messy, unkempt curls. She slumbered peacefully, thanks to the painkillers and other treatments she’d been given by emergency personnel when they arrived at the hangar. They’d ordered her to rest to allow her body to heal, and when Ziva dazedly stumbled over to the bench where Tony was sitting, preparing for takeoff, he had taken it upon himself to make sure that happened.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence until she grew too exhausted to sit up on her own, at which point she unconsciously leaned into Tony.

If she were in a better state, she probably wouldn’t have even spared a glance in his direction, much less come near him. Things between them were still an absolute mess, and Tony doubted she would ever forgive him. A part of him still felt responsible for what had happened to her. He had pushed her away. From him, from the team, from America. She had been tortured for  months and nearly died, because of him.

About an hour into the flight, Tony froze as Ziva shifted in her sleep. After a bit of readjusting, she was laying down as comfortably as possible across the bench, using his legs as a pillow. She wouldn’t remember this, he told himself. This was a momentary reprieve in their constant bickering and lately, loathing. Things would go back to the way they were before when she regained consciousness.

As he stared down at her, though, any feelings of frustration and anger disappeared from the picture. In this quiet moment, uninterrupted by inane arguments and his own self-sabotage, Tony’s mind wandered to the things he refused to admit to himself. Feelings so powerful and so real that they honestly scared him. He hadn’t had time to unpack why he was so intent on avenging Ziva before, but he did now. The truth serum hadn’t left any room to question his motives.

A stray piece of hair fell across Ziva’s face as she breathed steadily in and out. Tony sighed, gently brushing it out of the way with his hand. His thumb lingered a moment longer, brushing softly against her temple. How he longed to hold her, to feel her curls tangled around his fingers as he held her close in his arms. His heart clenched in his chest.

Selfishly, he allowed himself this one moment of weakness. His fingers again found their way into her hair, tousling it lightly and playing with the ends of the strands. Ziva, once stiffened by the many injuries plaguing her body, visibly relaxed at his touch, and he felt a lump forming in his throat.

“Ziva…” he whispered, feeling the tears forming in his eyes against his will. “You could have died.”

His brows knit together in worry and he felt his heart sink into his stomach at the words he hadn’t dared speak aloud. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was speaking to her at all right now other than the fact that he needed her to understand how terrified he had been when she was missing. He had to get these words off his chest, even if she’d never really hear them.

Tony looked up to see McGee and Gibbs locked in a conversation of their own across the cargo hold of the plane. McGee was showing Gibbs something on his laptop, and Gibbs nodded along.

Tony couldn’t have cared less what it was they were looking at, just as long as they weren’t paying attention to him. For obvious reasons, Gibbs could never know about what Tony truly felt for his partner, and McGee just wouldn’t understand. Tony hated wearing his heart on his sleeve. There was a whole other side of himself that only existed with Ziva, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for his other coworkers to see it. This was one of those raw, private moments and it felt wrong for it not to be just him and Ziva.

Satisfied that he was as alone as possible in the cargo hold of a military jet, Tony returned his attention to the beautiful woman sleeping in his lap. How could he put in words how she made him feel? How lost he had been when they thought she was dead? How he had realized, suddenly, that he did not want to live a single day of his life without her?

It seemed simple now. He knew why, some part of him always had. His heart beat faster in his chest.

“I need you,” he spoke softly, shaking her slightly. “I need you here with me, okay?” A tear escaped his eye and trailed down his cheek, which he furiously wiped away. He didn’t know why he was getting angry. In truth he was just scared. He had never needed anybody as much as he needed her in his life. The thought of her leaving him again made him feel sick.

“Don’t you understand?” he asked, “I love you!”

Her unconscious form, as expected, did not react to his admission. Tony dropped his head to his chest and let the tears fall.

Someday, he would tell her the right way. He’d loved her for so long and he knew he always would.

Life is short. He had almost missed his chance once. He would not let it happen again.

#tiva #tiva fic #tiva fic challenge #august 2020 tiva fic challenge #ncis #tony dinozzo #ziva david #my fanfiction #tony x ziva #truth or consequences #truth or consequences tag #i remembered my original idea moments after i finished this #maybe i'll write another #tiva fanfic #tiva fanfiction

[rjnorth-writes]

“I’m gonna marry you one day.”

@seasidewriter1 - So this prompt was asked with 10 - “I’m going to marry you one day” and ended up involving 1, 2, 35, 46, 47, 63, and 64. I may have taken a page out of your book and gone a little overboard (it ended up being over 2k), but I doubt you’ll care. lol. I hope you enjoy! 

Adali supposed it wasn’t exactly how she ever thought it would happen, but then again, when did life ever really go her way? Not that this was necessarily a bad thing in this case, but it was surely unexpected and that was hard to do with the Master Jedi. Though, again she supposed, Poe Dameron did always seem to find a way to surprise her and keep things interesting. There was never a dull moment with Poe around. 

It had been years since Poe had extracted Adali off of Coruscant on General Organa’s orders and after a slightly rocky relationship in the beginning, as Poe definitely did not trust Adali as a newcomer, and Adali didn’t trust anyone for that matter. But the two slowly grew on one another like a fungus. And, to both their surprise, it seemed that Adali and Poe had become the best of friends in that time.

They were growing into something much more than just best friends too, though Adali was hesitant and petrified to admit so. She did recall, however, that her mother had said this: “The strongest marriages are formed when you marry your best friend.” Now, there certainly wasn’t any talk of marriage at this point. The two hadn’t even admitted their affections for one another. They had started flirtations and that was where the two humans stood.

It had been a hard day not in terms of danger, but in strenuous work loads. Adali had spent the early morning hours before the sun had arisen over the horizon getting ahead on her work orders before the rest of the day was spent training Rey in the humid jungle of Yavin 4. Poe Dameron had spent his day training up the new Red Squadron of x-wing pilots. The two hadn’t run into one another until Poe found Adali resting under a tree with her carving materials in hand while enjoying the orange hue of the sunset.

Poe had leaned against a nearby tree watching the young woman until the sun was nearly completely hidden over the horizon. The warm dimming light made Adali’s blue eyes almost look purple, and her hair (which was down for once instead of pulled back in some elaborate braid Poe didn’t know how to manage), looked shiny and almost strawberry blonde instead of dirty blonde.

 He would’ve been blind not to notice how absolutely stunning she looked in that moment. Not that she wasn’t always beautiful, he found, but in that moment he found it harder to breathe and his chest a fraction tighter than normal when he found himself lost gazing at the young woman. The thought of someday losing the chance to bask in her warm air, which she most likey would’ve said was her Force signature, was nearly debilitating for him to think about.

Someday the war with the First Order would be over, and he would follow General Organa or return to the New Republic and continue to fly. Or maybe he would take a page out of his father’s book and retire there to Yavin 4. It hadn’t been what he wanted as a child, but he’d seen so much death and destruction for one lifetime. As long as he could still fly, Poe didn’t really care where he went.

But Adali would most likely try to reopen the Jedi Temple to train future Jedi. Or, as Poe refused to think, would be dead by the hands of her cousin. There were even chances for either outcome, and the more favorable one still left Poe wondering if he’d ever get to see the young woman again. It was something he didn’t like to think about, and he tried not to accept that it was there. But if there was something he could do about it, he definitely would.

Adali was one of the kindest people he’d ever known despite all of the horrors that had been done to her, and everything she’d been forced to do with the war invading into every aspect of their lives. She always went out of her way to make others feel better and to help solve their problems before ever trying to fix her own even if it put her in a bad place mentally, or physically. She’d arrived from Coruscant in a very bad way, but it was cleaner now, especially to Poe as he looked at her whenever she wasn’t looking, that she was still troubled, but she was much happier than she’d arrived. That sweet girl that smiled with her eyes, and loved with ever fiber of her being was not afraid to stick up for those unable to do so for themselves, and she definitely wasn’t afraid to put people (namely Poe) in their place when they stepped out of line.

“Are you going to just stand there all night, or are you going to join me?” Adali asked without looking up from her carving. It looked like she was carving some sort of blossom, but he was no expert on plant life.

“Sometimes it still freaks me out how you do that,” Poe admitted as he made his way over to join her under the tree to enjoy the rest of the evening in the hot jungle.

“It didn’t freak you out when I was able to find you on Jakku,” Adali pointed out, glancing up through her lashes with a coy smirk on her lips before going back to her work. The Force Bond that had somehow managed to connect them together despite Poe’s lack of Force Sensitivity had perplexed them for quite some time after they’d discovered it, but it was far easier to handle now. “Nor do you seem to complain when you drew me into your dreams and tried to have s-”

Poe cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck as he interrupted the woman. “Yeah, still don’t know why you went along with those,” Poe muttered, though not regretting where his dreams often took him. After all, his dreams just gave him what he wished he had in the real world.

“I was just as confused as you were,” Adali said. “But it’s perfectly natural to dream about such things, I’m told. Dreams are perfectly normal.”

“Except for Jedi.”

“Except for Jedi,” Adali agreed.

“What else is unusual for a Jedi to do?” Poe asked.

“Depends on when you’re asking,” Adali clarified. “Are you talking about the Old Republic when the Jedi Council existed, or do you mean now with only me and Rey actively living and practicing as Jedi?”

“Let’s go with the first one?”

Adali just chuckled at his hesitance to pick. “Well, Jedi weren’t allowed to form attachments, but it was expected of us to have compassion for all living things. Relations weren’t forbidden, but many refrained from them as relations often would lead to emotions and attachment. It just made things too complicated.”

“What about now?” Poe asked. “I mean, your dad married your mother, and Leia had Han. Where do you stand?”

“Emotions and attachment are perfectly natural and normal for anybody,” Adali said. “The issue that the old ways did not understand was that fear and loss, anger, depression, and all other negative emotions are also natural. Everyone, not just Jedi, had to work through them and learn to deal with them in healthy ways. Just because you can have one doesn’t mean you’ll always have the other, but sometimes it does and that’s normal. We have to accept that pain and loss is as much a part of life as love and hope and pleasure.”

“So if you were to, I don’t know, fall in love, then you’d be willing to get married and have the whole family experience?” Poe asked.

Love. Love. Love was an emotion that was not a stranger to Adali. She supposed she may have felt too much and too deeply, but she wouldn't have it any other way. She would not change herself because love was the best feeling of all. Love was happiness, serenity, peace, and joy. All she felt she needed ever was love.

But at the same time, love still caused her grief. She loved her family, and though they were falling apart, she still loved them which many didn’t understand. Kylo Ren wasn’t just Kylo Ren, he was Ben Solo, the sweet boy that used to laugh and play with her in the flowering fields and place Force Ball with. And it wasn't just familial love either.

Romantic love was tricky. Often she found herself stammering, flustered, and utterly confused on what was going on or how she felt with the man sitting beside her. These questions were not exempt from this either. When inquiring of it personally towards her, Adali’s heart skipped a beat, and the fluttering in the pit of her stomach seemed to nauseate her. The man always threw her curveballs and she wasn’t sure how to deal with those emotions.

Usually the casual flirtations they’d fallen into were something she could easily handle now. In the beginning, however, that was a very different story. But now, she looked forward to their playful banters and sweet words. Just the thought of the man and his warm brown eyes and his goofy smile warmed her, and brought a smile to her lips. But when things got more serious, like with the question he was asking her now, Adali didn’t know what to think. Was he being serious? Was he asking for himself? Was this all just friendly and innocent, or was Poe actually interested in her. Poe was a flirt and had a reputation, but she knew he’d never intentionally hurt her. But where they really stood with one another, Adali didn’t know.

“I would,” Adali finally admitted after a long while of silence. “A husband, kids, maybe some animals around for them to play with and teach responsibility. At least two,” Adali went on to clarify. “I want my kids to have a sibling like I had with Ben. Nobody should feel alone growing up.”

“Yeah, I would’ve liked a sibling to grow up with,” Poe admitted. “Two is a good number, to start and if we decide more than all the better.”

“We?” Adali squeaked and gaped, her carving tool slipping to jab into the metal finger on her left hand. Thankfully the prosthetic was more durable and was simple scratched ever so slightly. Nothing that couldn’t just be buffed out.

“Yes, we,” Poe said, smirking at how adorable Adali looked when she was utterly flushed in the cheeks. “I’m going to marry you one day.”

“Oh, you sound very sure of this!” Adali huffed. His casual tone was hard to figure out. Either he really did believe this and was casual because he knew he’d make it happen, or because he was joking and that option did not please her one bit.

“I am. You know we’re meant to be,” he declared.

“Poe, we’re not even dating! How could you possibly know th-”

“What, you’ve never thought about us?” Poe retorted, reaching over to stop her from working more. If she was going to keep using that sharp tool with how distracted she was, she was going to end up nicking her flesh and dealing with blood right now wasn’t what he wanted. Plus, by doing this he could hold her hand, something that never happened quite enough for his taste.

“What us?” Adali asked. “Poe, you’re my friend, and sure, we may flirt some but-

“Then why is your hand sweating so much?” Poe interrupted.

This is nothing to aid in rectifying her flustered self. Pulling her hands away, Adali rubbed them against her pants in an attempt to dry them. “It’s hot and humid and we’re in a jungle, I was working so of course my hands would be sweaty! Give me one good reason. Why should we date?”

“Because we’re attracted to each other,” Poe said.

Now that was hard to deny, at least on Adali’s part. While the orange and white jumpsuits the pilots wore were highly attractive, that didn’t mean Poe was. She’d seen him on many occasions in nothing more than his underthings thanks to those forsaken dreams they shared, and the man, despite not working out, was incredibly toned and tan. It had to be all those hours of picking up and working with BB-8, she assumed. But it should’ve been illegal just how delicious that man looked.

“That’s not how you build a lasting, healthy relationship, Poe,” Adali sighed.

“How about this? You’re my best friend,” Poe said. “And just seeing you makes my heart flutter, and thinking about you makes me smile. The thought of losing you scares me more than I’ll ever admit to anybody else. And I’m not just talking about losing you in this war…”

Now those words hadn’t been expected. Those words ruined her insides, and caused her breath to catch in her throat painfully. With much caution, Adali looked up into his warm eyes as the sky really started to turn dark. The sun was gone and the beautiful colors of the temporary painting in the sky was now just a memory, but somehow that just made his words ring more true. It wasn’t just some temporary, flowery thing to say to someone to flirt with. This wasn’t just some casual, playful thing.

His words were close to the definition she had in her own heart for love. Subconsciously Adali’s flesh hand moved to her prosthetic and fiddled with the wedding ring that had belonged to her mother. She’d have to replace it with something else, something that was hanging around Poe’s neck if this were true. But while she could simply move that ring to another finger, the fact that there would still be something so meaningful there in it’s place, like how her mother and father never took their rings off until their deaths, meant so much to Adali. More than she could’ve ever put into words.

“Tell me again,” Adali whispered.

“I’m going to marry you someday,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving her’s, his face serious without a trace of a smile which just pushed his point further. “I am going to marry you.”

#Star Wars #Poe Dameron #Skywalker #Adali #Ami #Poe/OC #PoexOC #Poe/Adali #Fluffy Prompt

[soundofseventeen]

Betrothal (Boo Seungkwan)

Lol I went fantasy again. Whoops. 💛💚

Requested by @laughinglikenialler​

18: “It’s late.  Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

35: “You make me feel safe.”

You stared up at the sky, sighing at all the stars. How unfair it was that they were all up there, free to be where they were and to just exist as they did. How cruel it was they they were free, and you were trapped in this castle getting days closer to a marriage you didn’t want. You felt a tear start to drop, feeling ridiculous. 

You always knew this would be your duty. You had been told since you were child that when you were at the appropriate age, you would meet and marry your betrothed. As you aged, it was something you actually looked forward to. You spent so much of your teen years, picturing what he would be like, what he would look like, everything about him. Some days you were more interested in the idea of who he was rather than the idea of being married to him. The morning you finally met, you suppressed all the butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting for his arrival at your castle. 

The butterflies fled extremely quickly. All those years of picturing what this would be like, you didn’t prepare yourself to be disappointed. Sure, Prince Moonbin was lovely, he was charming, he seemed to have a solid head on his shoulders. You knew that in his kingdom, there must have been a line of maidens dreaming of him falling for them. Yet, you felt nothing. You didn’t click. To you, he just seemed to be yet another of princes you had met in your life, good for small talk at parties, but not much more. Except this one you were engaged to. 

You spent weeks debating your options, trying to figure out what you could do. You could marry him, you knew that eventually someday you might love him. Arranged marriages had been the way of your kingdom for centuries, and most of the marriages in your family had been good, at least civil. You would be at least content with him. 

Another part of you had this far fetched dream of running away in the night, building a little cottage in the woods somewhere, starting a new life. Maybe you could adopt a kitty for company. Or have little feeders set all around your cottage to attract wildlife. You could spend your day reading or baking, occasionally wandering into the local village for necessities and to chat with the friendly people. Just to live an ordinary life. Oh, how lovely that would be. 

You knew that wasn’t possible though. Within hours of you disappearing, your father would have the guards looking for you. You would be found within hours of them being sent out. Not to mention you didn’t know the first thing about building a cottage. 

“It’s late.” You whipped your head around, seeing Seungkwan standing in the doorway, looking at the stars himself. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” 

“I could ask the same of you.” You said, turning your head back and looking up at the sky again. 

“You’re the one who left the celebration early.” He commented, coming to sit next to you. It was always odd to you, seeing him in casual clothing. You had gotten as used to seeing him in casual clothing as you did in his princely outfits. “We all figured you had gone to bed.” 

“Well I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Because you’re thinking about the engagement again?” He said, kicking his legs out straight in front of him. 

“More or less.”

“You could talk to your father about this.” He offered, glancing at you. “If he knew how you really felt about this, he might-”

“You and I both know he won’t do anything.” You huffed, looking back at him. “This has been set since I was born. There’s too much at stake.” 

“You don’t know for sure. He is your father after all, he wants you to be happy.” Seungkwan said, you sighing again. 

“But he’s also the king and he has to do what is best for the kingdom. And aligning our kingdoms seems to be a good move.” You brought your knees to your chest, resting your chin on your knee. 

“I wish I could be of better help.” He said, you chuckling a bit. 

“Yeah, you’re in the same situation, sir.” You glanced at him, rolling his eyes at the mention of his own fiance. “How is the fair princess?” 

“How should I know? She never talks to me. She’s too formal about everything, she never even relaxes around me. I can’t learn anything about her.” Seungkwan said, you smiling a bit. At least you weren’t the only one. 

“I guess we’re both in trouble.” You said, Seungkwan just rolling his eyes again. 

“Moonbin isn’t bad. He’ll take care of you and will at least hold a conversation with you. He’s as anxious about this as you are. Once you both calm down and get used to things, everything will be fine.” 

“I know, I know.” You said, feeling guilty again. “God, why couldn’t we have just been betrothed? It would be so much simpler.” You commented, Seungkwan immediately letting out a laugh. 

“Yeah, can you imagine us married?” He laughed, causing a smile to come to your face. 

“It would be interesting. And a mess.” You laughed yourself, Seungkwan shaking his head. “But it would be easier. I know you already, you make me feel safe. It would be simpler.” Seungkwan sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and letting you lean into him. 

“I know, it would be easier. But someday he will make you feel like that.” He said, rubbing your arm a bit. “We are royals, this is our duty.” 

“It’s a stupid duty.” You muttered, Seungkwan chuckling again. 

“A little bit, yes. But it’s still there.” 

“Ah, I know.” You pouted, still leaning into Seungkwan. “We should probably head back in before my mother realizes I’m not in my room.” 

“Who do you think gave me the cue to look for you?” Seungkwan grinned, you sitting upright. “Come on, let’s go.” He stood up, holding out a hand and waited for you to take it before he pulled you up. 

“Hey, Seungkwan?” You asked as you started walking, Seungkwan turning to you. 

“Hm?” He asked, you taking a deep breath. 

“Have you… Have you ever thought about… just leaving?” 

“What do you mean?” He stopped, looking at you with a concerned look. 

“Just… disappearing. Starting a new life in some remote village in another kingdom. Pretending none of this ever existed.” You admitted, Seungkwan raising an eyebrow at you. He looked away for a couple seconds, taking a deep breath himself. 

“Sometimes.” He admitted. “Sometimes.” 

“Have you ever…” You started to ask, Seungkwan sensing where you were going with this. 

“Once.” He smiled at you. “I barely made it to the gate before I panicked and turned around. Thankfully no one noticed and I was able to pretend it didn’t happen.” 

“Oh.” You said, Seungkwan turning to you now. 

“Have you?” He asked, you slowly shaking your head. 

“Thinking about it now.” You said, Seungkwan sighing. 

“Look just… Stay tonight, okay?” He said, you looking at him with slightly glassy eyes. “I promise in the morning things won’t be so daunting. Just give the guy a couple more days.” 

“You think?” 

“I know.” He smiled at you. “And don’t worry, I’ll be here. You’re not going to be alone in this.” 

“Thank you, Seungkwan.” 

“Anytime, Your Highness.” He smirked, you rolling your eyes at him. “Good night, Y/N.” He said, lightly kissing your cheek before turning and walking down the hall. You watched him walk away, sighing to yourself for the millionth time that night. 

“Good night, Seungkwan.” You whispered before turning down the other direction to head to your own room.

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen drabbles #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagine #seventeen fic #boo seungkwan #seungkwan au #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan angst #seungkwan drabbles #seungkwan oneshot #seungkwan imagine #seungkwan fic #kpop au #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop drabbles #kpop oneshot #kpop imagine #kpop fic

[obsidianfr3sk]

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 5)

Summary:  Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/65295007

This week I had multiple proyects and tests. Also I had this... kinda atack and I got completely obssesed with a movie saga and posted several insta stories about it so it was kinda hard find a space to write lol BUT I POST EVERY THRUSDAY SO HERE I AM. Sorry this is shorter than usual hehe

Hope you like it:) Let’s see what this kids are up to.

Thanks for the reblogs and the likes!

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @healing-winston-pratt @bluraspberryoff-secretary @aceandnebula @cerenoya @cindersnightmare @plain-jane-mclain (don’t worry, take your time to read it!)

A peculiar monster

Who would you live and die for on that list?

But the problem is, there's another list that exists,

and no one really wants to think about this.

Forget sanity, forget salary, forget vanity, my morality.

If you get in between someone I love and me,

you're gonna feel the heat of my cavalry.

Simon

Simon ran for a good two minutes before finding a place to stop. He turned the corner in the second alley he found and collapsed behind the largest trash can he found, dropping his backpack next to him. Simon wiped the cold sweat on the sleeve of his jacket. It had been a long time since he ran that much.

However, compared to the relief he felt, the fatigue was hardly noticeable.

They were safe.

He turned to his right, ready to tell Hugh that they were never going to go back to that damn store when he realized he was alone.

Completely alone.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

In the street, there were a couple of homeless guys, an old man talking to himself, a dirty-looking child…

Hugh was nowhere to be found.

Simon hid again. His heart was beginning to beat unnaturally, and he couldn't feel his arms or legs. He tried to breathe but instead started to hyperventilate.

Tears were beginning to pool in his eyes.

He pulled his hair. Simon didn't want to cry. Only weak men cried and he was not weak.

Right?

He covered his mouth to hide his sobs.

Simon was weak. And selfish. And an idiot. And a fucking coward.

Why didn't he look back? Why didn't he take a moment to make sure Hugh was following him?

Weak and selfish. And an idiot. And a coward.

The Roaches were going to finish off Hugh. They would kidnap him, force him to join their gang, and he wouldn't be able to return to his normal life. Simon would never see him again and it would haunt him the rest of his days knowing that he could have done something and he didn't.

It was his fault. If only they had stayed to fight...

They probably would have been killed. There was no doubt about that. However, if they died, at least Simon could have taken his friend by the hand and thank him for believing in him. That the only thing he liked about being a prodigy was that it gave him the chance to meet him and that he was going to consider him his best friend even after all came to an end.

Because nothing and no one could ever end with what they had. Not the Roaches, not Ace Anarchy… not even death itself.

The two of them dying together sounded better than one of them dying alone.

He looked at his hands. They were invisible.

Hugh must have been so scared… Simon was fucking scared to death.

The boy he had seen on the sidewalk a few moments ago entered the alley. He was wearing cotton pants and shoes that did not fit him well. A gray cap covered his entire head.

Children shouldn't be alone in this part of town, he knew that from experience. If they were unsupervised, an idiot like Freud would probably come along and hunt them down for a long time with the sole purpose of killing them, and—

Then Simon remembered that in one of the pockets of his school bag, he carried a jackknife.

That jackknife.

The boy began to search the garbage.

It might be too broken to stab someone, but it was worth a try. Being invisible, he could take them by surprise. Simon would stand right in front of them and stick the jackknife in their eyes, one by one. None of them would understand what the hell was going on and when they finally figured it out... it would be too late to fight back.

The boy put his hands in his pockets and sighed wearily.

What if Simon arrived too late?

He banished that thought from his head immediately. For the sake of those Roaches, he wished he didn’t arrive late.

Simon was more than aware of his limitations. However, he was willing to ignore all that just to kill whoever dared to hurt him.

He still couldn't feel his hands when he reached for his backpack. Immediately, he realized the boy had been in front of him all that time. His little green eyes were fixed on Simon's. He wiped his tears, but then remembered there was no point.

He couldn't see him.

The kid took a few steps towards him. His eyes didn't move.

Wait.

Simon reached out his hand to touch him.

Or can you?

Then— the boy took the backpack and fled.

It all happened so fast that for a second, Simon wondered if it was worth following him. It was his school backpack. He was going to drop out anyway. If Hugh did it, so would he.

Hugh.

It was that thought that made him stand up and chase the thief.

The jackknife was in his backpack. He needed that jackknife.

He needed his friend alive.

Evander

He wasn't quite sure why he started running when he grabbed the backpack. Maybe it was because he felt guilty about stealing it but the truth was that he didn't. If someone had left it there, it was because they didn't want it.

Evander did want it. So he grabbed it. It was a fair deal.

He wanted it because inside of it there could be anything. It was a treasure chest, like the ones from the stories Kasumi told him. There could be food, or medicine, or toys. A year ago, he had been so lucky that he found a backpack with a bag of marbles hidden under a pile of adult clothing. Unfortunately, he had never been lucky enough to find the treasure of a retired mobster, who was sorry for his old habits and decided to abandon all his money on the street, in the hope of rehabilitating himself.

Someday he would. That day could be today. One never knew.

No, he had fled, because he had the feeling that someone was watching him. He didn't know how, he didn't know from where, but someone was watching him. If Kasumi had been there, she would have told him that it was his parents watching him from the stars. But Evander knew his parents weren’t looking at him.

When his parents looked at him from the stars, it was always with love, even when they reprimanded him for doing something wrong. Every time Evander was about to talk back to Kasumi, every time he was going to take something that clearly belonged to someone else even though he didn't need it, or every time he was going to be rude to a stranger just because he was having a bad day, his parents frowned at him and prevented Evander from doing so.

Because they loved him. Even from the stars, they loved him.

That look was nothing like his parents'. That one was full of terror, anger, and resentment.

But who’s gaze was that?

He kept running.

Was it someone from the stars?

No, that didn't make sense. Only good people were in the stars.

He stopped in the next alley, a few blocks away. Evander looked back.

No one was following him.

He swallowed. The backpack was heavier than he expected. He sat it on the ground and rubbed his hands together before carefully opening it.

Please make it the treasure of a retired mobster who is remorseful for his actions.

They were books. What a nerd.

He wished books were food.

Despite his disappointment, he hugged the backpack like it was a teddy bear. If he had learned anything in all that time, it was that there was nothing they couldn't take advantage of. Maybe those books became decorations. Or they could be a new source of stories. Or maybe they could actually eat then...

Then, a hand took off his cap. He screamed in horror.

All of his red hair was exposed.

Evander felt chills immediately.

They were going to recognize him. They were going to know it was him.

He turned around, still holding the backpack. Suddenly, an older boy materialized in front of him and tried to snatch it from him.

They struggled for a while. Evander didn't know if he was too strong or the boy was too weak.

His hands were beginning to ache...

“GIVE ME MY BACKPACK!”

The backpack broke. The older boy fell backwards and Evander hit his nose on the floor. Lots of notebooks, books, and loose sheets of paper were blown up like an explosion.

Evander's eyes were watery and his body was aching. To his right, he found a closed jackknife. The older boy was still trying to recover from the blow when Evander took it and he opened it.

He had never held a jackknife before.

Evander pointed at the older boy just as he sat down. “Leave me alone!” he screamed. “Go away!”

But his words only made him more enraged. The boy grunted and stretched out his hand.

He was going to take him. Evander was convinced that he was going to take him.

“I am Thomas Freud!”

He froze. “Thomas Freud?”

“Yes!” Evander screeched. “Yes, I am Thomas Freud! Don't come near me!”

I’m not Evander Jr. I swear, I am not Evander Jr. I am not the one you’re looking for. Please just leave me alone.

He ignored him and reached out again. Evander slashed his palm slightly and the monster swore underneath. “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“I know you are not Thomas Freud!” he shouted.

His throat went dry at that moment. “No, I am! I swear! That’s my name!”

“It is not true!” he answered, pointing at him with his finger. “I know that because I met Thomas Freud and I hope he is rotting in the last circle of hell!”

He couldn't take it anymore.

Evander broke.

He knew it. That boy, that monster knew. He knew who he really was, he knew what he had done, he knew they were looking for him. The monster was going to take him to the other monsters. They would kill him as they had killed his parents, Mama Bertha… they would go after Kasumi too. They were going to kill her too and everything would have been his fault.

Everything was always his fault.

The monster snatched the jackknife from him with a slap.

He knew immediately what was next.

“Please …” he mumbled. “Don’t hurt me please…”

The monster lost its enraged expression immediately. He blinked hard and looked at him like it was the first time he had. His face twitched, but Evander's gaze was so clouded by tears that he couldn't make out what he was feeling.

He looked at the jackknife. He looked at the street. And then he looked at him.

“Please…”

Please let me live one more day, Mr. Monster.

The monster took off his jacket and put it under Evander's nose. “Raise your head,” he asked. “It's just ... your nose is bleeding.”

Evander looked down at his pants. It had tiny drops of blood on it.

He raised his head.

The monster's jacket smelled like mud and like the peppermint tea Mama Bertha used to drink at night.

That was weird. That was not how he remembered monsters smelled.  Monsters smelled of garbage, rocks, and fire. They didn’t smell, like… good. Nor did they speak with such a soft voice, or had traces of tears on their cheeks.

It was a... peculiar monster.

After a minute, the monster put his jacket back on. He still had the cap that he had ripped from his head in his hand. Evander took it without warning and quickly put it back on, making sure not a single red hair was visible. He dusted his hands with dirt from the floor and rubbed them over his face to cover his freckles.

The monster stared at him for a few more seconds. He didn't say anything else and left.

Evander smiled. With his cap and his freckles covered, he didn't recognize him anymore.

What an idiot monster.

But a monster after all.

Kasumi was in the lair. Whenever one went out, the other stayed to watch that no one went in while they were gone.

She was extremely calm, sitting on the mat, daydreaming.

She was fine.

Evander ran to hug her. Kasumi was startled by it but returned the hug. Immediately, she felt something was wrong.

Kasumi took him by the cheeks. “Vandy, are you all right?” she asked him. “Did someone hurt you?”

Evander shook his head. “Then what’s—”

"I saw a monster today,” he replied. Kasumi shuddered. She moistened her hands and tried to wipe the dirt off his face. “No, don’t. When I covered my freckles, he left. Dirt saved me.”

Kasumi removed her hands from his cheeks. “A monster, huh? Like the ones we’re afraid of?”

He shook his head again. “He wasn't wearing any red. But he was a monster. You have to believe me, he was a monster.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I believe you, Vandy.”

Kasumi leaned on the wall so that Evander could sit between her legs and lay his head on her chest. The afternoon sun came through the glassless window and warmed his face with its light. She stroked his hair. Kasumi knew how much it calmed them both to do that. “What was this monster like? Did... they had wings?”

“Wings? No, no, no wings. It was... tall," he recalled. “He wanted the backpack, but when he could take it, he didn't. His hair was curly and… he had cried.”

Kasumi stroked her chin. “Hmm, I see. I think I've heard of those kinds of monsters.”

“Are there many kinds of monsters?” Evander asked in amazement.

“Yes,” Kasumi replied. “But you don't have to worry about them.”

“How are you so sure?”

She bit her lip and looked around as if she was afraid someone might overhear. Finally, when she made sure no one else paid attention to them, Kasumi whispered, “Because monsters are afraid of candy.”

Evander allowed himself to laugh a little. “Of candy? What a bunch of idiots, who is afraid of candies?”

“Monsters only.”

He was about to laugh again when he remembered a small detail. “But we don't have candy,” he stressed. “Or do you have a secret reserve you haven't told me about?”

“Well, I don't have candy, that’s right.” Kasumi took him by the hands. They were still stained with dried blood. “But you do, Vandy. Here. Inside you.”

Then he remembered.  “Candy for the soul.”

Kasumi nodded and rested her chin on his shoulder.  “Next time a monster tries to hurt you, you attack it with candy.”

He looked at his hands for a moment more. “Is that why you never use your powers against monsters? Because you know they’re immune to them?”

He felt his friend's body shudder again. “Yes, that’s why.”

“And is that why I could defeat the monster from that night? The night of the attack?”

“Yes. That’s why.”

A spark of pride touched his heart. No one else and no one less than him had managed to end a monster attacking him with his worst nightmare. And he hadn't even known until now.

But the spark of pride was quickly extinguished when he realized that there were still many monsters out there. And that he was never going to be big and powerful enough to kill them all.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #simon westwood #evander wade #kasumi hasegawa #hugh everhart #OG renegades #rise of the renegades #ao3 #fic #look #i know i wrote the backpack broke #and you know sometimes i say things in english that i know they're not the correct way of saying it #for example #i know is supposed to be simp for but i just say simp this person because idk i think its funny lol #but im genuinely curious #saying the backabck broke is correct??? #i couldnt find any other way to said it #hope is clear tho

[first-and-last-neocount]

Death, the Shadow, Spreads Its Wings Around Me - Chapter 1

Yooooo, I finally finished the first chapter of my first fic! And it’s a multi-chapter Resident Evil/Supernatural crossover, so it’s not like I’m diving straight into the deep end at all! *sweats*

All thanks to the wonderful @fonulyn, who nudged me into actually finishing and posting this damn thing by luring me into squealing about my ideas over Tumblr and then drowning me in supportive comments until I gave in. You’re an absolute darling, Fon, and I hope you enjoy my contribution to our cozy little Nivannedy rowboat. 

Most of it’s under a cut, since it got awfully long for a first chapter, lol. Or you can read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437897/chapters/64411741

Chapter 1:

The ocean looked as black as ink.

Wreckage from the underwater base was strewn through the rolling waves, pieces as small as sheets of paper up to entire sections of insulated wall nearly ten feet across; all the truly heavy material had plunged to the bottom of the bay, but the rest now bobbed and swirled on the surface. Stormclouds had rolled in, the winds whipping the bay to a frenzy and darkening the water until it was impenetrably dark. A sea of shadows, from which nothing good could emerge.

Leon should have been resting in a medical tent, but instead he was on a boat cutting its slow but steady way across the churning waves, helping the rescue teams as they searched against all the odds for survivors. The winds had grown too unpredictable for a helicopter, so they were doing it the old fashioned way – a half-dozen coastal patrol boats, spread out into as even a grid as they could manage on the open water, combing through the debris field. Leon didn't hold out much hope for survivors, but he needed to be here anyway.

Even if he only managed to find the body, it was the least he could do.

When Leon had made it to the emergency command centre that the BSAA had set up just outside of Lanshiang's city limits, it had been in too much chaos for him to get a meaningful report from anyone. The explosion of Neo-Umbrella's underwater base had thrown everything into a frenzy, as rescue and salvage teams scrambled to deal with the fallout and contain any potential escaping bioweapons. When Leon had found the hasty medical centre and walked into the first tent, he'd been relieved to see Chris Redfield sitting on one of the folding cots, one arm in a sling and cut and bruised to hell but otherwise seemingly unharmed. Ignoring the chaos of medical personnel rushing around them, Leon made his way over to the BSAA Captain, and even managed to dredge up a wry smile from somewhere under his exhaustion.

“Well, we did it again, I guess. You'd think someone else would take a turn at saving the world one of these days...”

Chris had looked up at him, and Leon stopped in his tracks. There was something far worse than the usual exhaustion in Chris's dark brown eyes. His face was mostly expressionless, too tired to convey what was clearly churning inside him, but his eyes – his eyes were almost black with despair, filled with the kind of pain that Leon knew all too well. He offered only a single sentence.

“Piers didn't make it out.”

The ground didn't crack open beneath Leon's feet. The sky didn't fall. There were no explosions or dramatics or apocalyptic signs; instead, the world just... stopped. The noise of the chaos around them cut off as if the audio track had simply been muted, leaving ringing silence in Leon's ears. In that moment, a grenade could have gone off three feet away and he wouldn't have heard it. His vision seemed to dim around the edges, narrowing in until he couldn't see anything beyond Chris Redfield's hunched, defeated shoulders and despairing eyes. He couldn't feel the weight of his tac vest or the aching of his own muscles, couldn't smell the lingering smoke in the air – everything was gone, leaving him unmoored and adrift, his brain no longer processing the wealth of information that his body was trying to convey.

Low and echoing, as if from down a long tunnel, Leon heard himself rasp out, “What... happened?”

“He saved my life.” Chris's expression twisted as he said it, some of the raw agony in his voice finally breaking through onto his face. “We... that thing down there... if it got out, so many people would have died. We had to stop it.” His head bowed forward, his gaze falling to the ground – yet his haunted stare was clearly seeing something else, flashes of the horror he had just lived through.

“Piers got caught under debris. Crushed his arm. We were going to lose, we didn't have a chance... then he. Injected himself, with something.” A shudder ran through the Captain's frame. “He started to mutate. Whole arm swelled, muscles, spines, the whole nine yards. Fought the creature off with some kind of electrical blast. Got me into an escape pod, even though I was barely conscious.” Another shudder, stronger than the last. “Then he... when the base blew...” He looked back up at Leon, and the mask of exhaustion was gone, fiercely held-back tears shimmering in his eyes and his handsome features warped with helpless rage. “He stayed behind.”

This time it was Leon who couldn't hold the gaze. He turned away, his gaze drifting over the walls of the tent before fixing, still not really seeing, on the view from the open flaps of the tent – on the grim orange light reflecting against the gathering clouds, the rising plumes of black smoke reaching up like grasping hands. Lanshiang was burning, whole tracts of the city turned to rubble by the wanton destruction of the J'avo mutants, and it felt like the perfect mirror to the devastation unfolding inside Leon's heart.

Piers Nivans. Leon had only crossed paths with the young sniper a few times, and always in the context of a mission, where the BSAA and DSO's interests had overlapped; they had probably only spoken directly to each other on a handful of occasions, yet that had been enough for the younger man to make a powerful impression on Leon.

Admittedly, it had been his looks that had caught Leon's eye the first time. Leon had never tried to make much of a secret of his preference for tough, muscular men who looked like they could probably bench press him if they tried; Piers hadn't only had that going for him, but also stunning hazel-green eyes, a jawline to die for, and a fierce self-confidence that he wore like the proverbial shining armor of a noble knight. After only a few brief exchanges, though, Leon had realized there was so much more beneath the surface; Piers might have acted like just another military muscle-head sometimes, but he was also kind, quick-witted, and compassionate. While other agents often shied away from Leon, intimidated by his reputation, Piers had looked at Leon with something embarrassingly close to awe in his eyes sometimes... but he'd still had the nerve to ask if Leon was okay after an intense fight, offer him a hand into an escape chopper, even once argue with him when he thought the plan to breach a building full of infected was too risky. Chris had once commented to Leon that Piers usually stayed in the background and left the detail-wrangling to others, but that when Leon was present, he seemed compelled to step into the conversation; Leon had been unexpectedly warmed by that little revelation. He'd even wondered, sometimes, if the spark of attraction he felt for the sniper might be mutual. Their line of work didn't allow much time for their private lives, and Leon had mostly given up on the idea of romance after how spectacularly his relationships with Ada and Jack had crashed and burned, but something about Piers had made him want to reconsider. Maybe someday, he'd thought. A beer after work, just the two of them, without the rest of Chris's boisterous team around – get to know each other better, see if their compatibility only existed on the battlefield or if that chemistry extended to personal interactions as well. Always, though, those ideas had come with those inherent caveats; possibly, maybe, someday.

Now, someday would never come.

The numbness was starting to wear off a little, the duller throbs and sharper aches of his body making themselves known again, but Leon couldn't fathom the thought of resting. More pressing than all the physical pains was the sudden, burning knowledge that he'd forgotten the other crucial truth of their work. That all of them spent their lives standing on the very threshold of annihilation; that all too often, someday never arrived. Planning for tomorrow was a fool's dream, because none of them ever knew if they'd even have a tomorrow – if Leon wanted something with Piers, he should have grabbed for it with both hands, when he had the chance. And the slow, collapsing hole of despair in his chest told him that whether or not he'd admitted it before, he really, really had wanted it. He'd let his own fear hold him back, though, and now the chance was gone.

“They're putting together a recovery team, to see if they can find any survivors – or remains.” The sound of his own voice was startlingly normal, but Leon didn't turn to face Chris; he didn't want to find out if his face was holding up the facade as well. “I'm going with them. I'll bring his body back if I can.”

“What?” He heard Chris shift behind him, the sudden concern in his voice. “Leon, you're exhausted, you -”

“Get some rest. I'll let you know when I get back.” Forcing himself into motion, Leon strode out of the tent, ignoring Chris calling after him. The edges of the gaping void in his chest were growing, the chasm spreading wider and wider as the reality of the situation sank in, threading tingling lines of pain through his whole body. It felt as though, if he stopped moving now, he might just fold in on himself like a dying star and crumble into nothingness.

That could come later. First, he had to do what he could for Piers – even if it was far, far too late for it to matter. Even if all he could manage was to bring his body home.

The icy spray coming off the waves as the boat cut through them barely even registered on Leon's skin; he felt just as cold inside, that black hole of pain swallowing his organs and filling his veins like tar. He wasn't alone in his focused silence – no one in the boat was talking, all of them standing rigidly at the rails and staring intently out at the waters around them, searching for signs of life... or, failing that, of human remains. So far, they had only recovered two bodies, both of Neo-Umbrella scientists who must have been working inside the facility when it was destroyed. Those bodies had been placed at the very back of the boat, tucked against the rear rail under a tarp, and were being studiously ignored; Leon wouldn't have even bothered to fish them from the water, if it were up to him. They had known what they were choosing when they signed on with Neo-Umbrella. The people who kept this interminable war going, who made it necessary for good men like Piers Nivans to give up their lives to keep their world safe... they didn't deserve burying, if you asked Leon.

Suddenly, his gaze caught something other than the smooth surfaces of the laboratory wreckage. He called it out before he even fully knew what he'd seen. “I see something! Twenty degrees left!”

The boat slowed and turned, heading toward the object he'd seen. As a wave crested and sank, Leon got a better glimpse, and his heart leapt into his throat. It was a body, alright; floating face up, half-draped across a piece of wreckage, and wearing not the white of a lab coat but camouflage military gear. They were still some distance away, and the body's face was turned away  - but Leon could just make out the drape of a piece of grey-green fabric around the body's neck, sodden wet and plastered down against the tac vest but still distinguishable as a scarf, and he knew. He knew with a certainty that turned his blood to ice.

Piers.

As the boat pulled closer, murmurs swept through the boat crew; they might not have known Piers by name, but they all recognized that the man whose body they were approaching had been a BSAA Lieutenant by the insignia on his left shoulder. Leon didn't make a sound, his gaze trained on Piers, his pain-numbed brain finally starting to recognize that there was something strange about the corpse. They had almost reached their target when Leon's sluggish mind finally connected the pieces, and he inhaled sharply.

Chris had said that Piers injected himself with one of Neo-Umbrella's viral cocktails, that he'd mutated heavily enough to have spines and some kind of electrical discharge. Hell, prior to that, his arm had apparently been crushed by falling debris. And yet...

The right side of Piers's shirt was torn away, exposing not only his arm but the side of his chest as well. Even his tactical gear there had taken a beating, the vest ripped and sagging as though the swelling of the mutation had burst it. Yet – there was no mutation. All Leon could see was smooth, tanned skin. Piers's arm looked whole and undamaged, as human as it had ever been where it lay limply at his side, not even cut or bloodied as Chris had been; other than the deathly pallor under his tan, and the horrible stillness of his chest, he looked entirely uninjured.

As the boat pulled alongside the wreckage, the two men closest reached out with hooked poles and snagged the back of Piers's tac vest. With a few muted grunts, they dragged the BSAA agent's limp form closer, until they could reach down enough to grab him and haul him up onto the boat. As they lowered him gently onto the slick wood of the deck, Leon couldn't help but kneel down and reach out to touch him, mind spinning and chest aching fit to burst. He was distantly aware of a few of his companions watching him with pitying eyes, but no one tried to stop him; it was obvious that Piers was gone, but it must have been equally obvious that Leon was breaking down, and that he wouldn't fully accept it until he'd felt the sniper's cold skin and absent pulse for himself.

His shaking fingers landed first on Piers's shoulder, touching that undamaged flesh and wondering with a sick shudder what fresh hell Neo-Umbrella had cooked up, that the horrific mutation Chris had described had simply vanished as though it had never been – but the moment he made contact the muscles under his hand tensed, Piers's brilliant hazel eyes flew open, and his chest heaved as he gasped for breath and started to cough.

“Piers!” Heart suddenly pounding double-time, Leon grabbed for the sniper's wrist; even as he sought for a pulse, his other hand was smoothing the sniper's soaked hair back from his face, assessing the look of wild panic in Piers's eyes. “Get me blankets and a first aid kit, now! Piers, can you hear me? You're safe, I promise, you're going to be fine -”

“Agent Kennedy?” Piers's voice was a weak rasp, barely audible over the sudden flurry of movement around them, but his eyes had refocused and were fixed steadily on Leon. The recognition and awareness there made Leon's heart flutter, and he managed a shaky smile, smoothing Piers's hair back again needlessly. He could feel the BSAA agent's pulse with his other hand, stunningly strong and steady, and it made him smile wider despite the absolute deluge of adrenaline running wild through his veins.

“Yeah, it's me. Just stay with me, Piers, you're gonna be okay.”

Leon knew that the odds of that were not actually in their favour – hell, it was bordering on an impossibility that Piers was even alive at all, and a downright miracle that he wasn't mutated beyond recognition – but he said with all the conviction he could muster, and it was almost enough to convince himself. Piers smiled weakly back at him, then the medic was there, wrapping warm blankets around Piers and asking rapid-fire questions about where he was hurt and how much he could feel as the man began to cut away his waterlogged tactical gear. Leon moved back a little to give the medic room to work, but when he would have let go of Piers's wrist, the sniper grabbed his hand and held on; heart swelling with too many emotions to even begin to process them now, Leon mirrored that fierce grasp and stayed close, unwilling to move an inch further away than he had to as long as Piers clearly wanted him there.

As the medic did a thorough inventory of Piers's injuries, checking vital signs and testing responses while looking for any major wounds, a strange look of consternation came across the man's face. Before Leon could ask, the medic said slowly, “Lieutenant, are you in any pain right now?”

Piers blinked, then frowned. “Um, not really?” he said, looking rather surprised by that fact himself. “I figure I'm in shock, though, because I don't even feel cold and I'm pretty sure you guys just fished me out of the ocean.”

“We did, yes.” The medic was frowning too. “Yet your core body temperature is already returning to something near normal. Your heart rate is steady, your blood pressure is only slightly elevated, you have no major visible wounds, and you don't seem to be suffering any loss of sensation.”

Piers froze, and his grip on Leon's hand tightened. “Wait.” he breathed out, eyes wide, and looked down at his own arm in bewilderment. “My arm... I was...”

“Chris said you got hurt pretty badly down there.” Leon murmured, cutting Piers off – he didn't know how the medic would react if Piers admitting to having been infected, but he knew it wouldn't be in any way good and he wasn't anxious to find out specifics. There were absolutely no signs of mutation or mental alteration in evidence, and unless and until Piers started showing worrying symptoms, Leon wasn't going to let them lock him up in quarantine when he'd somehow managed to survive what should certainly have killed him. “You look fine though. Maybe... Chris just got it wrong, yeah? Heat of the moment and all that.”

Piers looked up, met Leon's gaze – and whatever he saw there, it made his eyes go wide, and Leon could have sworn he saw the sniper's cheeks flush, ever so slightly. “Right.” Piers said, voice still slightly hoarse. “Yeah. I... it was pretty chaotic there, for a while. I got thrown against the wall, and I just assumed my arm was broken and I was powering through on adrenaline. Can't stop to assess injuries mid-fight, you know? But maybe I – maybe it was just a little bruised after all.”

“It appears so.” The medic still looked perplexed, but he shrugged. “You're damn lucky, then, Lieutenant – we thought we were out here on a recovery mission only, and I'm damn glad we were wrong.” He stood up then, and cast a pointed glance at Leon. “He needs to stay wrapped up in those blankets until we get back to shore, and one of us needs to get back to helping with the search. You wanna stay and keep an eye on him, make sure he stays awake and responsive?”

Leon usually put a lot of work into maintaining his aloof persona, but right now he'd just been handed a miracle of a second chance and his facade of cool indifference was the last thing on his mind. He nodded gratefully, and the medic nodded back before striding off to rejoin the rest of the crew at the rails.

“Agent Kennedy...”

The soft words brought his gaze back to Piers, and Leon smiled down at him, squeezing his hand gently. “Call me Leon, please.” He said quietly, and got to watch a little smile tug at the corners of Piers's mouth. “Are you really okay?”

“I think so.” Piers held his gaze steadily, hazel eyes open and honest. “The Captain told you what I did, didn't he? You know that I was...”

“He did, and I do.” Leon replied, still keeping his voice low – the recovery crew didn't need to hear this exchange. “Don't particularly feel the need to spread it around, though. You look completely fine, and I don't know how that's possible but I'm not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm just incredibly glad you're alive.”

Piers was definitely blushing now, but he was also looking at Leon with dawning confusion. “Wait a second, weren't you in the city when everything went sideways? What are you doing out here with the recovery crew? And where's the Captain?”

“Chris is at the medical tent back at command. He's a bit battered, but he's going to be fine.” Leon said soothingly. “As for why I'm here, I was looking for you.”

Piers just stared at him as if he didn't understand what he was hearing. Leon bit the inside of his cheek  a bit, trying to force back the nerves; it had been a long time since he'd opened up to anyone, to any degree, who wasn't Claire or Chris. Even with them, he usually just put a bit less effort into making himself appear 'fine' and let them draw their own conclusions about how he felt. He'd just been given a very sharp and painful confirmation, though, that what he felt for Piers was more than a passing fancy – and even he wasn't stubborn or emotionally constipated enough to ignore that kind of a warning, so he took a deep breath and made himself continue.

“Look, I know we haven't really spent all that much time together, but – I like you, Piers. A lot. And when Chris told me you were dead, I realized what an idiot I was for not saying anything. I let my own fears and hang-ups get in the way, and if you weren't somehow here and alive and safe, I'd have regretted that for the rest of my life.” Piers's eyes had gotten rounder and rounder as Leon spoke, and he was looking at the DSO agent like he had hung the damn moon, and they were still holding hands, so Leon smiled weakly and said, “I guess, what I'm saying is – once the trauma team back at command clears you for real... do you wanna go grab a drink together?”

For a second, Piers looked like he'd frozen in place – then he started nodding vigorously, and a broad smile broke across his face like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Yes.” he said fervently. “Hell yes, I – honestly, it's kind of a running joke with the guys on the team at this point, but I really, really like you too, Agent Kennedy.” If anything, his grin only got wider then. “Leon.”

Leon grinned back at him, a light, giddy feeling bubbling up in his chest; it had been far too long at this point, so long that Leon had almost forgotten, and it took him a moment to identify that feeling as joy. For once not tempered by loss, or anger, or bitterness. The city was still burning and the war against bioterrorism might feel like an unwinnable uphill fight, but Piers was alive and safe and they were going to get a drink after debriefing and maybe this once, just this once, Leon could actually get to keep something good in his life.  

Their boat finished its section of the grid and turned back toward shore a few minutes later, one survivor and two dead bodies retrieved from the wreckage. It took about a half hour to get from the debris field back to port, and then another ten minutes to make the trek back to the emergency command centre.

Piers didn't let go of Leon's hand until the medical team came to whisk him away for a proper examination, and neither one of them had stopped smiling.

#resident evil #leon s. kennedy #piers nivans #chris redfield #nivannedy #i'm only going to tag characters as they appear #because holy shit my tags on AO3 got long fast #supernatural #eventually anyways #the bits of it that are spn right now aren't really obvious #the neocount writes #holy shit look at that #i used my writing tag again already! #thanks fon :P #and thanks to everyone else #in this nivannedy rowboat with us #it might not be a spacious ship #but we're all having fun paddling like hell XD