#ADMIN IS SPEAKING ALL FIVES QUIET DOWN

[theeafterparty444]

Ruined by you

CEO Jack O'connell x intern Reader

Summery: Jack O’Connell is a respected CEO barely holding the pieces of his life together his marriage failing, his control slipping. Enter the intern: sharp, composed, unreadable. She plays the role perfectly professional, polite, forgettable. But beneath that polished surface is something darker, something dangerous. A slow, psychological game unfolds between them one of glances, silences, and barely restrained want. Jack knows better. He’s her boss. Twice her age. Already unraveling. But she's not chasing power. She’s chasing him. And she knows exactly how to make him fall.

This is Part One of a slow-burn, psychological office affair steeped in dominance, obsession, and quiet destruction.

Heads Up: This story contains mature content, including power imbalance, psychological manipulation, and sexual themes. Intended for adult audiences (18+) only.

A/n: Sooo I ended up spending the whole week rewriting one of my fanfics—wasn’t happy with how it originally turned out, so I decided to approach it from a different angle. Hoping this version hits better. Let me know what y’all think!

Tag list: @jimmys-tiara

The conference room smells like new carpet and burnt espresso.

Jack stands at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to the elbow, one hand resting against the sleek, cold wood. His voice is steady. Polished. Practiced. Fifteen years of doing this means he can hit every note even when his head is somewhere else.

“Welcome to the program. I’m Jack O’Connell. Most of you won’t speak to me again. That’s not meant to scare you—it’s just how companies like this run.”

A few nervous laughs. He doesn’t smile.

“Work hard. Watch everything. Speak less than you think you need to.”

He finishes the speech in under five minutes.

No metaphors. No fake warmth. Just structure. Clarity. Expectations.

The interns nod, wide-eyed and eager. Some scribble notes. One of them drops a pen and blushes hard when she picks it up. He doesn’t remember any of their names.

Except one.

You.

You don’t look nervous.

You don’t fidget. Don’t smile too wide. You don’t even write anything down.

You just sit there, quiet. Watching him with a stillness that doesn’t feel passive—it feels precise.

Jack registers it in the back of his mind. Doesn’t look again.

By 3:40 PM, Jack has already forgotten most of the names from the orientation.

He’s back in his office, sleeves rolled, tie loose, nursing a headache that feels more like a bruise than a throb. The admin team dropped off a gift basket from one of their external partners—oatcakes and wine, like that’s going to fix anything.

His inbox is full of things he doesn’t care about. Project updates. Compliance issues. A flagged budget note someone in operations forgot to sign off on.

He skims. Approves. Forgets.

The phone buzzes once.

His assistant’s voice comes through the intercom.

“Legal’s caught a phrasing issue in the Q2 brief. Want me to loop you in?”

Jack exhales.

“No. Tell them to rewrite it and copy me after.”

“Got it.”

Click.

He rubs at the bridge of his nose and leans back in the chair, letting his head tip toward the ceiling. The fluorescent lights hum. He should go home.

He should eat something. Check on his son. Call Lisa back.

Instead, he stares at the ceiling.

The silence in the office reminds him too much of the house.

Same air. Same stillness. Same weight.

Lisa hadn’t been cruel. She’d just… stopped trying. Somewhere between the second miscarriage and the therapy that neither of them followed through on, she’d slipped out of the marriage without slamming any doors.

And Jack?

He never tried to stop her.

He didn’t cheat. He didn’t lie. He didn’t even fight.

He just kept showing up to work in a crisp white shirt, letting his life grow quieter around him until it was all echo.

That’s the thing about power. People think it insulates you. But it doesn’t. It just makes it easier to hide while you rot.

He sits up.

Across the glass, the intern bay has mostly cleared—lunch hour. Most of them leave in flocks, still too new to go anywhere alone.

But you’re still there.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye.

Back straight. Elbows tucked in. The only one not scrolling, not talking. Not eating.

Still.

That same stillness he clocked during orientation.

It’s not shy. It’s not unsure.

It’s controlled.

Jack watches for a beat longer than he should. Then looks away.

Probably one of those too-smart-for-her-own-good types. The kind that mistake silence for superiority. He’s seen it before. Interns who think being unreadable makes them invincible.

He’s not impressed.

Not yet.

He goes back to the screen. Finishes the review. Sends the edits.

But your silhouette still lingers in the edge of the glass—just long enough to bother him.

Weeks later

The meeting runs long.

It always does.

Jack sits at the head of the glass conference table, tie loose, thumb pressed to the bridge of his nose as one of the directors drones through a slide deck on intern performance metrics.

“Three haven’t submitted anything on time since week two,” someone says. “One left mid-shift yesterday and hasn’t responded to emails.”

Jack doesn’t lift his head. Just murmurs, “Let them go. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Murmurs of agreement follow. Someone shifts the conversation.

“On the other end,” says HR, “we’ve got a few clear standouts. The EMEA team flagged Rashid, and Clara Nguyen’s being looped into the investment pipeline rotation.”

His assistant, Maeve, cuts in next. “And then there’s her.”

Jack lifts his eyes.

Maeve’s pulled up a profile slide. Your name. Your photo. A line or two about your background—quietly impressive.

Oxford. Dual concentration. One of those obscure, surgical degrees people only pursue if they’re terrifyingly efficient. Fluent in French and “passable Mandarin.” Previous internship with a boutique hedge firm in Paris.

No notes.

“She’s excellent,” Maeve says, almost too casually. “Honestly, I like her. Sweet. Not afraid to ask the right questions. People listen when she speaks, which is rare at that age.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Sweet?”

Maeve shrugs. “Charming, then. There’s a confidence to her, but she doesn’t throw it around. Not performative. Just… there.”

Someone else adds, “She helped walk the Bain portfolio team through a redline last week. Quietly cleaned up their mess without needing credit.”

Jack leans back in his chair.

He hasn’t spoken to you directly since the welcome week. You’ve passed in hallways. Sat silently in three meetings. Always composed. Always deliberate. Never… charming.

At least, not to him.

“Good retention candidate?” someone asks.

Maeve nods. “Very.”

Jack doesn’t say anything for a beat.

Then he flips the page of the printout in front of him and says, “Noted.”

He takes the long way back to his office.

Not on purpose. Just... not in a rush.

The performance meeting had dragged on for an hour of recycled opinions and vague nods. The kind of conversation people think is important because there’s a slide deck attached to it.

He hates those meetings.

Still, your name had come up. Praise from all sides. Likable. Sharp. “Sweet,” Maeve had said, like that was the highest mark.

He didn’t argue.

He just noted it. Logged it. Quietly unsettled by how different it all sounded.

Because when he sees you, he remembers you.

You’re never sweet.

You’re still. Watchful. Professional to the point of silence.

No fluttering. No apologies. No soft edges.

And yet—

There you are.

He spots you just past the glass divider, mid-conversation with one of the analysts. Not close, not inappropriate. Just... easy. Light on your feet in a way he hasn’t seen before.

You’re smiling. Not for show. Not performative.

Warm.

He stops walking without meaning to.

Watches as you nod along to something the analyst says, laugh softly, and tap your pen against your notebook like you’re teasing him gently.

It’s nothing.

A normal moment between two young people on a long day.

But something doesn’t sit right.

Because it’s not the version of you he knows.

You finish the conversation with a brief touch to the analyst’s elbow—friendly, effortless—and then you’re back at your desk. Back to the stillness.

Back to the version that faces him.

Jack walks on.

Doesn’t look again.

But the contrast bothers him. Lingers.

Everyone else sees you clearly.

So why does he feel like you’re keeping something from him?

You like the analyst well enough.

Easy laugh. Predictable ego. The kind of man who thinks a woman smiling at him means something.

You gave him what he wanted—a moment. A little charm. Just enough to make him feel seen. Feel interesting.

He’s useful.

They all are, in different ways.

You’re careful about that.

You keep a mental ledger of who responds to what. Who likes praise, who likes being challenged, and who just wants you to listen? None of it costs you much. A smile. A nod. A casual “That’s smart” dropped in the right register.

It’s not manipulation. Not exactly.

It’s survival. You didn’t come here to be liked, but you know better than to ignore the power of being liked just enough.

And it’s working.

You’ve been here three weeks and already they’re saying you’re sharp. Competent. Charming. “Sweet,” someone called you earlier. You almost laughed.

You sit back down, slip back into the role.

Still. Focused. Quiet.

The way you are when he’s in the room.

Jack O’Connell.

You don’t give him the likable version.

You give him something colder. Cleaner.

Not because you’re trying to seduce him.

Not yet.

But because you’ve seen what happens to men like him when they come across something they can’t define. When charm doesn’t work. When silence stretches a beat too long. When they’re not sure who’s in control of the room anymore.

He hasn’t looked at you twice since the first day.

But you felt him stop.

Just now.

Behind the glass, just for a moment—his pace slowed. His energy shifted.

He thinks he’s subtle.

He isn’t.

You don’t turn your head.

You don’t need to.

You already know exactly how many steps it takes for him to reach his office.

And you know he’s still wondering what it is about you that doesn’t quite line up.

Let him wonder.

The lift doors slide open.

Jack steps in without thinking—eyes on his phone, one hand tucked into his pocket.

He barely registers the sound until it cuts.

Laughter. Light, full-bodied. Two voices. Female.

And then silence.

He lifts his head.

You're already inside.

Standing with another intern—Nadia, he thinks. The one from HR rotation. Big smile. Bright eyes. The kind of eager that grates if you’re not in the mood.

You’re both mid-conversation when he enters. Or you were.

Now you’re still. Composed.

You shift slightly. A polite smile softens your face, but your eyes don’t flicker. You don’t greet him. You don’t drop your gaze.

Jack nods once, a neutral gesture. “Evening.”

Nadia lights up.

“Oh—hi, Mr. O’Connell! We were just saying we’re lucky this building has proper elevators. The last place I worked, it got stuck every other week.” She laughs again, light and easy. “You’d think a law firm could afford better wiring, right?”

Jack humors her with a quiet smile. It’s more than he usually gives. “I’ll let facilities know we’re setting a high bar.”

Nadia laughs again, clearly delighted.

Jack glances toward you—not directly, just enough to catch a fragment of your profile.

You haven’t said a word.

You give him a nod. Just that. Cool, restrained. A weak little smile that barely touches your mouth—polite enough not to offend, distant enough to mean nothing.

And then the bell dings.

Your floor.

You step out first, calm as ever, the sound of your heels swallowed by carpet.

Nadia follows, tossing a quick, “Have a good night!” over her shoulder.

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

The doors close.

And he’s left staring at the space where you stood.

You were laughing before he arrived.

Now he can’t remember what it sounded like.

The front gate sticks again.

Jack jabs the code harder than necessary. The rusted buzz kicks in after a second, and he pushes through. The driveway’s dark. Porch light off.

Lisa used to leave it on.

Inside, the house smells like nothing. Cold marble and older air. The kitchen is too clean—like it belongs to someone who only lives here on paper.

Mail on the table. Mostly bills. One letter from the solicitor. Lisa’s name printed neat across the corner.

He doesn’t open it.

Instead, he makes a drink. Scotch. No ice. No second thought.

The silence isn’t calming. It’s final. The kind of quiet that seeps into the walls.

Jack stands in the kitchen for a while, jacket draped over the back of a chair, tie still on. He stares at the stove. The blank backsplash. A smear of light across the floor where the fridge door doesn’t seal properly.

Eventually, he pulls out his phone.

Scrolls through old texts.

Stops on one from a week ago.

“Let me know when you’re free this week. Happy to take you to dinner. Doesn’t have to be long.”

No reply.

His son is fifteen now. Moody. Smarter than he lets on. Lisa says he’s getting into photography—same as Jack did at that age—but Jack wouldn’t know. He hasn’t seen the kid in person in nearly two months not since him and Lisa moved.

He tries again.

"You up? Thought I’d check in."

He sends it before he can talk himself out of it. Puts the phone face down.

Then heads out back with a cigarette, lit before he’s even halfway to the patio.

The first drag hits hard. Familiar. Lisa used to hate the smell. He can still hear her voice when he lights one:

“You think being quiet makes you less responsible for things?”

No answer then. No answer now.

He exhales into the night. The city’s too far to hear, but the quiet has a pulse to it. Not alive just… watching.

And then, stupidly, he thinks of you.

Not sexually. Not even clearly.

Just... the way you look at people. The way you don’t try to be likable. The way you smile at everyone but him.

The way you don’t need anything from him—and how, somehow, that feels more dangerous than desire.

He finishes the cigarette.

And tells himself he’s not thinking about you.

Not really.

But you're in his head now. Coiled low.

A flicker of something he can’t name.

He finishes the cigarette and goes back inside.

Checks his phone.

No reply.

Of course not.

He leaves it on the table and turns off the light.

The house doesn’t feel darker.

It just feels… undone.

Jack arrives early.

Earlier than usual. Tie knotted tight. Jaw locked. Not rested, but determined to be present.

Quarterly call. Department check-in. A full slate of performance reviews ahead. He’s already read the numbers. Already knows what he’s going to say. What needs to be cut. What needs to be spun.

He’s going to control the tone of the day—because he sure as hell can’t control anything else.

At exactly 10:00, he walks into the conference room. The team’s already half-seated. A few nods, a few quiet good mornings. He takes the head of the table, flips open his notes.

And then he sees you.

Not at the table. Back corner. One of two interns permitted to observe.

You don’t even have a laptop in front of you. Just a pen and a notepad. The physical kind—no distraction, no glow. No shield between you and the room.

Your posture’s perfect.

No slouching, no foot tapping, no fidgeting.

You’re watching everything.

Jack tears his gaze away. Refocuses.

The room drones on—financials, hiring strategy, asset performance. He fields a few questions. One director tries to explain away a drop in numbers with the same excuses they’ve used for three quarters.

Jack cuts him off mid-sentence.

“We’ve had the same story since May. I don’t want rationalizations. I want action.”

Silence.

Then someone chuckles nervously and says, “Someone skipped breakfast.”

More scattered laughter.

Jack doesn’t smile.

He glances—just briefly—toward the back.

You’re still. Unmoving. No expression on your face. But your pen… it’s still moving. Taking note of everything.

He looks away too fast.

Keeps pushing the meeting forward. Snaps a bit at someone’s phrasing. Demands a revision to a slide. Sharpens the tone until people sit straighter.

But every so often—out of the corner of his eye—he registers you again.

Not doing anything wrong.

Just there.

And somehow, that’s worse.

The door shuts behind him with a soft click.

Jack steps out onto the north balcony, the one that overlooks the city from behind the building—quieter, away from the traffic below.

The air bites.

It’s not cold, not really. But there’s something sharp about it. Like everything inside the office was padded and controlled and this—this is honest.

He reaches into his pocket. Pulls out the half-smashed pack of cigarettes he keeps telling himself he’s thrown away.

Flicks open the box. Tugs one free.

Checks his jacket for a lighter.

Nothing.

Of course.

He exhales hard through his nose, about to turn back inside—when something shifts in his periphery.

He’s not alone.

You’re leaned against the railing, back half-turned to him, already mid-smoke.

Like you’ve been here the whole time.

Like you knew this was the only place he’d go to breathe.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Don’t straighten or flinch or make yourself smaller.

You just tilt your head. Blow out a line of smoke.

Then, without a word, you reach into your coat pocket and pull out a lighter.

You hold it out—clean, deliberate, palm open.

Jack hesitates.

Steps closer.

Takes it from you carefully. Doesn’t let your fingers touch.

He lights the cigarette. Inhales. Hands it back.

“Thanks,” he says, voice lower than he meant it to be.

You nod once. Don’t look at him. Just return to your own cigarette, eyes on the skyline like it’s more interesting than anything he might say.

Silence stretches.

But it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s loaded.

He leans beside you, one arm braced against the rail, cigarette between his fingers.

“You always come up here?” he asks.

You take a drag.

Then, calm: “Only when the air inside starts to stink.”

He huffs a laugh. Not joyful. Just... real.

A pause.

And then, without looking at him, you speak.

Then, softly—too softly: “You ran that meeting well.”

It’s flat. No smile. No softness.

But it lands with the weight of something earned.

Jack blinks. Looks at you.

You don't look back.

And somehow that makes it worse.

Because there’s no follow-up. No praise. No warmth. Just one clean sentence and a silence that wraps around it like a vice.

He tries to reply, but nothing comes out that isn’t too much—too personal, too reaching.

So he just nods,

watching the burn of your cigarette taper down between your fingers.

You finish first.

Stub it out clean. Tuck the lighter back in your pocket.

Then finally, you glance at him again.

Just once.

Cool, unreadable.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. O’Connell.”

You walk away before he can answer.

And Jack—

Jack doesn’t move for a long time.

The taste of your voice still hangs behind his teeth.

And the compliment if you can even call it that burns hotter than the cigarette ever did.

You don’t see him for three days.

Not directly.

You catch glimpses—through glass walls, across the lobby, in the reflection of a silver elevator panel. Always at a distance. Always fast.

He's avoiding you.

You expected that.

Let him.

He needs to believe he’s restoring balance. That one cigarette break and a single offhand compliment didn’t shake him. That he's still in control of this.

Meanwhile, the office keeps moving.

The interns are restless again. Nervous. A few whisper about upcoming rotations. Two of them stay too long after meetings trying to impress the analysts. You don’t.

You stay quiet. Sharp. Useful.

They ask for your input now—not just the junior staff, but the people with names on office doors. One of the senior execs sends you an email directly. Another forwards a report with a note: “Can you polish this before the deck goes to Jack?”

You do.

Quickly. Cleanly.

But not too perfectly.

Just enough to raise eyebrows.

Just enough to make them want more from you.

You pass Jack once in the hallway—Wednesday. Late afternoon. You’re returning from the copy room. He’s headed toward the exec lounge, unreadable behind those dark-framed glasses.

You say nothing.

But you don’t step aside for him, either.

Not immediately.

He does it first.

A fraction of a second. A barely-there shift in body weight. Most people wouldn’t notice it.

You do.

You always do.

Later, you catch Nadia watching you from across the intern bay.

“How aren’t you drooling whenever he walks by?” she mutters under her breath, eyes flicking toward the hallway where Jack had passed minutes ago.

You smile faintly.

Not amused.

Not interested.

Just enough to close the conversation.

Then you return to your screen.

Because you're not here to drool over Jack O'Connell

well not in that order at least.

Friday night 8:30 pm

Jack arrives late enough to avoid the speeches.

It’s all noise by the time he steps off the lift—music, laughter, that forced kind of office joy that doesn’t hold up under fluorescent lights. The second floor’s been cleared out and repurposed: dimmed overheads, rented sound system, a full bar stationed where they usually put quarterly reports and stale pastries.

He hates this shit.

Still, he shows face. Always has. Long enough for the senior execs to see him. Long enough to give the interns that smug little thrill of proximity.

He takes a drink—neat, whatever’s brown and burning—and works the room like he’s supposed to.

Every conversation feels like treading water.

They ask about projections. About restructuring. About whether he’s really stepping back from the London office or if it’s just rumors. He deflects. Smiles. Offers just enough to be read as polite, not engaged.

His second drink goes down faster than the first.

At some point, he catches a reflection of himself in the window glass—shirt sleeves rolled, jaw tight, wedding ring still there like a fucking joke.

He hasn’t heard from his son in a week.

Not since that half-hearted dinner invite went unanswered. He was going to follow up. Never did.

Lisa sent something through the solicitor. A list of furniture she wants when they split the flat. She can have it. Jack hasn’t slept in the place properly in over a month.

Another drink.

And then—through the noise, the music, the low throb of too much movement—he sees you.

Near the far corner.

Nothing dramatic. Just talking, glass in hand, listening while some junior analyst stammers his way through a story.

You’re smiling. Not to him. Just... generally.

It’s strange to watch. Strange because it’s real. He doesn’t see you like this. Hasn’t.

You never soften when he’s around.

There’s always something held back, tucked behind the corners of your mouth and the glint in your eyes. Precision. That’s what you have. Not polish—control.

But here?

Here, you’re letting people think they know you.

Jack looks away too fast.

Then looks back.

Because you’re laughing now. Head tilted. Hand brushing someone’s arm in a way that probably meant nothing—but looked like everything.

And he feels it again.

That flicker of something under his ribs.

Not lust.

Not quite.

Something harder. Stranger. Less forgivable.

You glance up. See him watching.

And the smile changes.

Not bigger. Not smug.

Just... quieter.

Like you know he’ll think about it later.

And he will.

He finishes his drink, jaw set.

The glass shakes when he sets it down.

He only meant to find a quieter spot. Somewhere less crowded, away from the clinking glasses and over-loud laughter and people pretending to like each other. These parties always feel like obligation in a nicer suit.

But the hallway’s not empty.

Of course it’s not.

You're there—standing beside Nadia, drink in hand, back against the wall like you’ve been holding court in low light your whole life. The two of you are laughing at something. A real laugh. It catches him off guard.

You don’t laugh like that in meetings.

You don’t laugh like that at all—at least not when he’s around.

Jack should keep walking. Head down, straight to the exit.

But he doesn’t.

Nadia spots him first. “Mr. O’Connell,” she says, too fast, straightening like she’s in trouble.

You look a second later, eyes slower to land, calmer in the way they hold.

Jack comes to a stop, far enough not to be close, but closer than he needs to be.

“Didn’t realize the hallway was the real VIP section,” he says.

Nadia laughs awkwardly. “Just needed a break.”

You don’t jump to explain. You just raise your glass a little, like a quiet toast.

He notices the details.

You don’t fidget or fill the silence. You just watch, like you’re keeping track of the room even when you’re not trying to.

You’re wearing black.

Nothing dramatic. Just clean lines. High neckline. Nothing vulgar.

But the dress fits like it was made for standing in shadows and being seen accidentally.

Jack’s gaze slips before he catches himself. Lingers too long on the curve of your waist before dragging back up to your face.

He clears his throat. “Thought interns were supposed to be a little more… overwhelmed by now.”

Your lips part. Not in a smile more like a hum that never leaves your throat.

“Give it time,” you murmur. “I think the best part of the breakdown happens in quarter three.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh low, surprised.

Nadia laughs too, tipping her head back. “Christ. You’re too much sometimes.”

Jack watches you tilt your glass. Watches the ice touch your lips.

He should leave. End this. Go home.

But he doesn’t move.

You say something to Nadia soft, close to her ear, something Jack doesn’t catch and then you nod toward the open room.

“Come on. Before he docks our pay for loitering.”

You start walking.

And as you pass, you nod once acknowledging him, but barely. Just enough to be polite. Just enough to remind him you see everything.

The scent of your perfume cuts through the air.

Something warm. Soft. Clean.

It lingers.

Jack doesn’t turn around. Not right away.

But when he finally does, you’re gone.

And he’s still standing there, glass in hand, feeling like the hallway’s gotten smaller somehow.

Like the air’s too thick.

Like something in him just slipped another notch loose.

Monday

Maeve’s out sick.

That was the subject line—direct, no fuss. She apologized, attached a few priority notes, and added:

[Reader’s name] agreed to cover. She’s got the calendar handled.

Of course she does.

Jack reads the line twice before closing the email. For the rest of the morning, he tries to focus on the quarterly review. Tries not to think about her sitting at Maeve’s desk, neatly positioned just outside his door. Calm. Capable. Watching everything without appearing to.

She hasn’t spoken to him beyond logistics. But he feels her presence like heat under the collar.

And when he finally steps outside—for air, for space, for distance—he finds her already there.

Back balcony. Late-day haze turning the glass buildings gold. She’s leaning against the wall, cigarette between two fingers, already lit. Loose blouse, sleeves rolled up. Wrist watch. No expression.

She doesn’t startle when he opens the door. Just glances sideways.

“You’re predictable,” she murmurs, offering the lighter.

Jack takes it. Lights his cigarette without a word. Holds the inhale too long. He hasn’t smoked this much in years.

They stand in silence. Familiar now. Weighted.

“You’re handling things well,” he says eventually.

She exhales slow, eyes fixed on the skyline. “I’ve managed.”

“I mean it.”

She tilts her head. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

His mouth tugs into something like a frown. “I notice.”

A beat passes. The air tightens.

Then, softly—so quiet he almost misses it—she asks, “How long have you been married?”

It catches him off guard.

He hesitates. Just a flicker. But it’s enough.

“Sorry,” she says quickly, like pulling back a blade. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. He exhales again. Smoke and tension.

“It’s complicated,” he says eventually.

She nods once. Like she expected that.

“I don’t make a habit of asking,” she adds, measured. “But people talk.”

She finally turns her head, studies him with that same calm she always wears when she’s two steps ahead.

The sounds of the city keep moving beneath them. Somewhere behind the glass, an elevator dings. Office life goes on. Normal.

But this isn’t normal.

She pushes off the wall, steps past him toward the door.

“You should carry your own lighter,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Unless you plan on racking up interest.”

Jack doesn’t move.

He just watches her walk inside, cigarette burning between his fingers, lungs full of smoke and something worse.

She leaves the door open behind her.

But the space between them is already closed.

He hasn't spoken to her since the balcony.

He’s tried to keep it that way. She’s been professional—immaculate, really. Every meeting. Every message. Eyes on the agenda, hands folded, words chosen like they’re coming from legal.

It should make him feel better.

It doesn’t.

It’s Friday. Late. Another executive sync dragging on too long. Jack’s tired, head buzzing, half-listening to someone fumble through a report.

Across the room—she’s sitting near the back. Not at the table. Never at the table. But always just within range.

She’s focused, posture perfect, pen in hand.

She hasn’t spoken once.

He watches her fingers tap lightly against the pad. One-two. One-two. Like she’s waiting for something. Not impatient—just… aware.

She doesn’t look at him.

Not once.

And it drives him fucking mad.

When the meeting finally breaks, Jack stays behind. Pretends to check emails while the room clears out. Watches her walk past the glass.

Calm. Straight line. Not a glance his way.

Not even a hello.

Like that cigarette didn’t burn hotter than it should have.

Like she didn’t say what she said.

He exhales hard. Tosses his pen down on the desk.

He doesn’t believe in mute buttons. But whatever she’s doing to him—it’s louder in the silence.

And that’s when he knows.

He’s not going to survive another week like this.

The corridor’s quiet.

Most of the floor’s gone home. A cleaner hums somewhere in the distance, and someone’s left a coffee cup in the sink. He walks without thinking—burned out, restless, too many hours spent rearranging spreadsheets that wouldn’t settle.

He turns the corner and stops short.

She’s at the copier. Alone. Back turned. Blouse soft against her skin, skirt too short for his peace of mind—but not for HR. Hair pinned up, neck bare. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t have to.

The tray opens. Warm paper glides out. She adjusts the stack, calm, unhurried.

It shouldn't hit him the way it does.

But it does.

Jack doesn’t move. Just watches her fingers align the pages. Watches her chest rise and fall, slow and even.

Then she speaks—without turning.

“If you’re going to hover, Mr. O’Connell,” she says lightly, “you might as well be useful and pass me the second stack.”

His jaw tightens. He steps forward.

Picks up the second tray. Holds it out.

She takes it—without brushing his hand. Without a glance.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “Didn’t think you’d still be here. Thought you’d be home with your—” She pauses. Looks up. Smiles, all teeth.

“No. That’s right. You don’t go home, do you?”

It lands light, but it slices.

He stares at her. Hard.

She doesn’t flinch. Tilts her head, eyes full of nothing but poised silence.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she adds softly. “You keep staring at me like I’m the one losing control.”

And there it is. The spark.

She steps closer. Barely. Enough.

“You can’t even breathe when I’m in the room,” she murmurs. “But you play it so well. Like I don’t see your hands shaking when I walk past. Like you haven’t been thinking about how I’d sound saying your name.”

Jack moves before he thinks.

One step. Two. Her back hits the cabinet.

His mouth is on hers.

You feel the shift when he kisses you—like something in him’s broken open.

He pushes you back hard. Hands on your waist. Mouth searching.

Messy. Hungry. Like this might fix something inside him.

It won’t.

But you let him have it.

For a moment.

Let him act like this is heat and not surrender. Like he’s the one calling the shot.

When he pulls back to breathe, his tie’s hanging loose, his mouth swollen. The back of his shirt is wrinkled where you pulled him in. His eyes are wild.

“We shouldn’t,” he mutters.

You reach up and smooth his collar. Neat. Composed.

“I know.”

He swallows hard.

“I’m your boss.”

“And I’m still here.”

You don’t blink. Don’t soften.

You slide your thigh between his legs, slow, not obvious. Just enough to make him aware.

“If you want me to stop,” you whisper, “say it.”

He doesn't.

Because he can’t.

“You like pretending you’re above it,” you murmur, brushing your lips along his jaw. “But I’ve seen how you look at me. Every meeting. Every lift ride. Every time I say ‘sir’ with a smile you don’t deserve.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“You don’t know how to let go, do you?”

He tries to speak. Doesn’t.

You press your hand to his chest. Firm. Controlling.

“You were doing so well,” you say. “All those months pretending you weren’t dying for this.”

Your fingers find the button of his slacks. Slow. Confident. You pause there—hold the weight of the moment between you.

“I’ll stop,” you offer. “All you have to do is ask.”

He exhales something that sounds like your name but isn’t words.

You don’t need him to speak.

Because when you kiss him again, slower this time, deeper—he doesn’t resist.

His knees don’t buckle. Not yet.

But they will.

[trishxtrix]

The Bench Across the Street

AO3

Part 1 | Previous | Part 14 | Next

Summary: What if Abby is hurting and forcing Frank to take benzos to “control” his ADHD?

What if few hours after the argument, Frank is brought to the ED on a brink of an overdose and some unexplainable injuries.

TW: Abuse, Overdose, Suicide Attempt

Tags: Dark!Abby | Frank whump | Frank-centric | Miscommunication | Abusive!Abby | abusive relationships | threats of violence | implied/reference child endangerment | is this considered AU? | spousal abuse | men can be victims of abuse too

———————————————————

Mia 

I saw her the moment she stepped through the ER doors.

Abigail Langdon.

The picture of performance: hair smoothed, coat draped just right, shoulders tight but not too tight. She walked like someone who expected to be let in—to be obeyed.

She moved towards the peds room.

And Frank, gods help him, let her in.

I didn’t go after her.

Just told Frank I had calls to make and left.

1 message to three people.

[MIA]: Abby is in peds with Frank and Tanner. No escalation yet. 

Morales replied first.

[CPT. ANA MORALES]: Could it be poisoning?

[CPT. ANA MORALES]: Something slipped into his food? Meds?

[CPT. ANA MORALES]: I’ll pull school logs. See if there’s any gaps or changes in routine.

My jaw tightened.

[MIA]: He collapsed after snack. Teacher mentioned symptoms all week. They’re running basics.

Reva’s reply came next

[REEVA MORROW]: Frank’s case is filed. Investigation is active. System should’ve flagged Tanner’s case. I’ll escalate.

My fingers hovered the screen for a beat too long before I replied.

[MIA]: No alert. Dr. Shah is treating him. I’ll speak to him directly.

Cynthia, last.

[CYTHIA DEA]: I’m on ER shift tonight. I’ll come in early. 

I found Dr. Shah outside radiology, flipping through the latest CT reads. 

He greeted me with a nod, eyes tired but focused. 

“Dr. Castellano.”

“We need to talk. Privately.”

His eyes sharpened. We stepped into an alcove near a storage room.

I kept my voice low, direct.

“There’s an open domestic violence case against Abby Langdon. The kids are tied to it. That child—Tanner—should’ve triggered an alert the second he was triaged.”

He froze, then flatly said “That didn’t happen.”

“No it didn’t.”

He muttered something under his breath – a curse maybe – and slammed his tablet shut.

“I’ll escalate it to admin and security. I’ll oversee his labs personally. I want his vitals checked every hour. No tech unsupervised in that room.”

I nodded.

He didn’t slow down.

“I want tox screen expedited, extended pannels approved. If this is exposure—if this is ingestion—it’s not gonna wait for a committee sign off.”

He turned on his heel and was gone before I got to say thank you.

I walked past the break room when Robby fell into step beside me.

Not rushed.

Not demanding.

Just tired.

“You’ve been here awhile,” he started. “You still on shift tonight?”

I nodded.

He looked like he wanted to say something more—like he didn’t know where to start.

Finally,

“Is he okay?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “he’s still standing. That’s all I’ve got.”

Robby exhaled through his nose.

“I got pulled aside this morning,” he revealed after a beat.” “Detectives. Questions about Frank. The overdose. His shift that day. Everything.”

I stayed still.

He looked over at me.

“You were right that night,” he confessed. “He did deserve five minutes. I didn’t give him two.”

~~~~~~~ 

I’d just finished clocking in for my night shift when I saw Dana heading toward me in the locker room, coffee in hand, badge already clipped off, exhaustion written into every inch of her posture.

Twelve hours on your feet doesn’t leave much for pretense.

We didn’t wave.

She came straight toward me, quiet and deliberate.

“I’m heading out,” she stated, voice lows

I nodded, brows furrowed.

Then she stopped just beside me—shoulder to shoulder—and leaned slightly, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“I don’t like the air in that room.”

I didn’t have to ask which room.

I knew she meant the peds room.

She meant Abby and Frank.

Dana’s voice dropped even lower.

“I've been in a lot of rooms with scared people. Panicked ones. Angry ones.”

A pause.

“That room’s full of fear. But it’s not coming from the kid.”

I didn’t look at her when I answered.

“I know.”

She shifted her back higher on her shoulder. Took a breath like she wanted to say more but thought better of it.

Then as she turned:

“You’re staying close, right?”

I nodded, “Not going far.”

Dana didn’t say goodbye. Just gave me one last look – the kind that says I trust you to keep watch.

Then she walked right out into the night.

‘People, I have been helping him before any of you knew anything.’ I thought, angry as I grabbed my emergency scrubs out of my locker.

~~~~~~~

The shift hasn’t even fully turned over and already the board is humming.

I looked up at it whilst sipping one of the stalest cup of burnt coffee I’ve had in my life. My body was tired, but my mind had already clicked into place.

This place was my sanctuary. 

Here, I could forget about everything.

Compartmentalize.

Breathe in codes.

Exhale judgments.

Jack was already behind the central nurses station, bent over one of the computers, posture perfectly straight. The kind of calm that came from seeing war zones, not just over crowded trauma bays.

“Castellano,” he greeted, glancing up without missing a beat in his chart review.

“Abbot,” I returned.

We didn’t do small talk. Sometimes I think it’s because he can tell I’ve done questionable things in my life. But as time went on, it just turned out we didn’t need the small talk.

Shen was posted under the board, one hand nursing a half-empty cup of Dunkin’ iced coffee, the other scrolling through patients notes on the tablet. Three months into being an attending and he moved like he’d already done three years. 

“Good evening, Mia,” he greeted, glancing my way. “You look like you’ve been through a shift already.”

“Try watching one from the inside.”

“Oof,” he grunted. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

“Good,” Shen said, dryly. “I’m more of a medium talk guy anyway.”

I cracked the smallest smile.

“You’re with me tonight.”

“Perfect,” he replied, “I’ve been meaning to see how long I can stay in your orbit before I get vaporized.”

Ellis rolled up with two coffees and the kind of swagger that only comes from making out of a four-code shift and still having lip gloss on.

“No major traumas yet. That’s either a trap or a cosmic oversight.”

“Don’t tempt the board,” I warned.

“The board can try me,” she said, grinning. “I’ve got two coffees, one epi pen, and a sacrificial new attending on standby.”

Shen lifted his coffee cup.

“I resent being sacrificed without a meeting first.”

“You weren’t invited to the meeting,” Ellis retorted.

“I see how it is.” Shen drawled.

 Walsh was down from surgery, leaned against bay 4’s doorway, checking the consult log like it owed her money while muttering about day shift and their slow lazy asses.

Jack glanced over at her.

“Nice of the Navy to lend us their second string.”

Walsh didn’t even flinch. “At least I didn’t leave my leg overseas.”

“That’s because the navy leaves their hearts instead.”

“Cute,” she said, pushing off the doorframe, “tell me when your trauma count catches up to my laparotomies.”

I let the banter wash over me.

I needed it. 

The board updated with three new cases: febrile seizure, non-accidental ingestion, and one classic appendicitis. Low acuity. For now.

Then I saw Dr. Shah crossing the hall toward me, lab sheet in hand, brows drawn together like a knot pulled too tight.

He didn’t waste time.

“Tanner Langdon’s second labs just came in.” 

I set the cup down.

“Show me.”

He pass me the sheet, creased down the middle. I scanned it quickly – CMP holding steady. LFTs creeping up. ABG within range but trending abnormal. 

“Pyridoxine,” I murmured, “92?”

He nodded, “Elevated. Not redline, but flagged.” 

“Still under the acute toxicity threshold,” I said. “But elevated enough to raise eyebrows.”

“Tox is still pending,” he added, “I included metaxalone, carisoprodol, cyclobenzaprine.”

“Vitals?”

“Slow but stable. Still no neurological change.”

I kept my expression level.

“I want a neuro consult queued before midnight.” 

Shah nodded then hesitated.

“The system didn’t flag the case,” he admitted.

I froze for a beat.

“It didn’t?”

“No DV alert tied to Frank’s personnel file. Security is reviewing the integration lapse. We’re calling it a system failure for now.”

“It could be more than that.”

Shah exhaled sharply.

“Should I escalate?”

I met his eyes.

“Not yet.”

He waited.

“Let the results come in,” I added. “Let the story finish its sentence.”

He didn’t push.

“I’ve seen too many cases where people missed it because the data didn’t scream loud enough.”

My voice was low, “Then we don’t wait for a scream.”

He nodded once—hesitantly—slowly folding the lab sheet in half again.

Behind me Ellis was telling Shen some story that made him blink twice but not react.

Jack was leaning on the counter, already reassigning beds.

Walsh was already gone, most likely following a consult.

I turned back to the valley of death.

[hugoisthecoolestaround]

OK, sorry to say, but me and The-Royal-Engineer are not doing a Varigo thing for our blogs, this a purely brotherly thing between Varian and Hugo

~SINCERELY ADMIN

[forthedancingandthethriving]

The spore-like viruses have no time to react. Two separate strings of code shoot out and wrap around them, yanking them back.

The viruses struggle in the green strings, and two Admins glare down at them. Though the animosity is soon thrown to the wind as the strings begin to make a decary, mushrooms and other fungi growing.

"Oh no no no." Forum whispers, shaking his head. Domain is quiet beside him, but he knows there's thousands of thoughts running through the other's mind. "They were- they were going for SMG4 and SMG3."

"These things will kill them." Domain mutters and Forum shakes.

He doesn't even think. He knows what this code is, and Domain does as well. They know that it can't be eradicated like normal. But they have no time, the two small viruses continue eat away and decay the strings.

Forum doesn't even think. He opens his code and shoves the virus into himself.

"FORUM!" Domain cries.

"Do you have any better idea?!" Forum snaps, clenching his fists over his chest.

The other Admin is quiet before he does the same.

Pain blossoms all over their holograms, making Forum fall to his knees while Domain stumbled but managed to keep his footing. They could feel the viruses already eating away at their physical code. Thankfully, they were too small to get much done, as the virus soon went dormant after a few seconds.

It's quiet between the two as they slowly stand, the weight of what they had just done crashing onto them.

"Oh.. oh no.." Forum whispers, hiding his face behind his hands. "I didn't- I-"

Domain walks over and grips his shoulders. "Don't. Do not start now. We.. we're both to blame, okay? I should've ripped that thing out of you as soon as you placed it in, and you should've thought about it more. It isn't solely your fault."

"We can't tell them." the USB closes his eyes, fingers digging into his hologram. His partner only nods solemnly. "If.. if we tell them.."

"..we should start backing up everything." Domain finally says, and Forum nods minutely.

○●○

Abyssal ran their hand over the file and groaned. "No leads? Again?"

"None, I'm afraid." the lower-ranking Higher-Up informs them. "The HelpMe virus source.. we just can't locate it for some reason."

".. I understand. You're dismissed." Abyssal sighs.

They don't watch as the other exits their office. With another sigh, they pick up the file containing information of the virus and scroll through it.

Designation: HELPME

Type: Virus

Origins: Unknown

DOC: 80~90y ago

Information: The HelpMe virus seems to have been created 80 to 90 years ago. While the exact origin of it is unknown, tests conducted on spores collected seem to suggest that these spores travel through small rips in universes from wherever they are being produced.

These spores come once every five years and typically travel to 5 universes. It is a parasitic like virus, and affliction typically ends in the death of the host. Mushrooms and other fungi will begin to grow on the hosts body as the virus begins to attack their mental code so that the host will be unable to resist.

The host is also unable to speak of their affliction to any of those who are concerned. The virus seems to awaken each time and begins to slowly suffocate the host's vocal cords or equivalent until the host stops attempting to communicate their situation.

All those afflicted will begin to slowly have their physical form decay, followed by their cognitive functions. More spores are produced by the virus whilst inside the host, and these are spread whenever the host speaks. It is known that the HelpMe virus targets Avatars and Guardians, but not once have Admins been targeted. It is believed that Admin defenses are too powerful for the spores to penatrate.

Abyssal closes their eyes. It was the five year mark again, and they had been ready this time. Each of the universes that had those spores show up, they had managed to grab before any chaos was caused.

But it was all for naught because the spores quickly died. Apparently, they couldn't handle being around so much pressuring code.

The Higher-Up shakes their head. There was no use dwelling on it now. All the spores had been accounted for, and there was no threat.. at least until another five years, but it would be fine.

Abyssal swipes away the file and brings up a file log, scrolling through it. Their eyes scan over it before sighing and backing out. With a few clicks, they began a new document and began to type. It was always up to them to right the reports, huh?

[intheshadowofwar]

The Long, Long Trail - 27 May 2023

The Last Man

Australian War Memorial 27 May 2023

They say the journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. If one is former Director of the Australian War Memorial Dr. Brendan Nelson, it might be said to start with a single grant of five hundred million dollars. Today, the sightlines of Anzac Parade are ruptured by cranes and construction sites, part of the massive effort to revitalise the Australian War Memorial, to build a larger Anzac Hall, and to create space for the modern conflicts (and modern equipment) of the Australian Defence Forces.

It’s meant to be therapeutic to modern veterans, and I certainly can’t presume to speak for them. For all I know, it might be true - a few days ago I happened upon a YouTube video in which an Iraq War veteran gushed about a pre-release build of the controversial video game Six Days in Fallujah. There’s plenty of ex-military people who are into modelling tanks and planes. Perhaps, just as veterans of the First and Second World Wars revisited their battlefields in their old age, there’s a comfort in ‘going back.’ And yet, I can’t help but think there are more sinister justifications for the rebuild lurking in the background. Things like money from BAE Systems and quiet nudges from military recruiters. Things that risk subtly pushing the Australian War Memorial from being a place of commemoration to a place of glorification.

This is all immaterial, of course, because at 9.30am on a near-winter’s morning in Canberra, you can’t even see the sightlines for all the fog. Whoever painted those 1950s posters advertising sunny Australia certainly wasn’t thinking of Campbell.

(As a quick aside, I’m going to be using pseudonyms like ‘the Professor’ and ‘the Field Assistant’ here, because I don’t actually know if I have permission to use their names. If this suddenly changes, it’s because I found out if I could or could not name them.)

I came to the War Memorial on this balmy autumn day of about two degrees celsius to begin a journey - but I’m sure you’re all aware of that, because one doesn’t write a travel log unless they intend to travel. This was the first step on the road for the Australian National University’s Anzac Battlefields and Beyond Study Tour, or ANUABBST.

Upon reflection, we’ll just call it the ‘Study Tour.’

In any case, Poppy’s Cafe was the starting point of our adventure - sort of. We had, in fact, had an orientation last night. That’s when most of us found out that there was a minor snag in our plans. Our dear friend Covid may no longer be an international emergency, but it remains a background annoyance, like that lump I had on my nose for most of my teenage years. Our professor had been stricken by the plague, and thus would not be available today. To make matters worse, one of the Field Assistants was still in the United States, and the professor’s assistant from previous years was in Kiama. This left us with only one Field Assistant to manage everything. She’d effectively been thrown in the deep end, with all other authority figures down - it’s the stuff VCs are made of.

What I’m basically saying is, she basically had to do all the teaching, admin and assistant work by herself, and she made it look easy.

I’m sorry, I have digressed. It will happen again. Repeatedly.

In any case, we met at Poppy’s. It was here, at 10am, that we met with Michael McKernon, who I have to name because he was the key figure in the repatriation of Australia’s Unknown Soldier. See, up until 1991, Australia didn’t have an ‘unknown soldier’ - for the uninitiated, the idea of the ‘unknown soldier’ (or in some countries, the ‘unknown warrior’) is for a single, unidentified body to serve as a surrogate grave for all those killed whose bodies were never identified - it can also serve as a symbol of the collective sacrifice of an entire country. For most of the twentieth century, Australia’s unknown soldier was considered to be Britain’s Unknown Warrior, who is interred in Westminster Abbey in London. It wasn’t until Paul Keating’s time that that changed. After some haggling with the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, who were a bit cagey about people waltzing up and digging up their cemeteries and didn’t want to start a precedent, it was decided to exhume remains from Adelaide Cemetery in France, partially because they could be certain it was an Australian there, and partially because it was remote and it was feared the British tabloids might try to get a photograph of the body.

Apparently they’d made plans to check several graves, with a little marquee to cover them as they dug and reburied the soil to find suitably complete remains. Yet in the end they didn’t need to - they found exactly what they wanted in the first grave they checked. Sometimes in life, things really do just come together.

It’s perhaps incredible to hear now, on the other side of the Anzacpalooza of the 2010s, but apparently the then Governor-General Bill Hayden was worried before the internment ceremony was held on 11 November 1991 that people would laugh. He thought the idea of a gun carriage carrying an anonymous body, followed by the Governor-General, the Prime Minister and all manner of dignitaries, would be too absurd to be taken seriously. (Perhaps he’d had a premonition of some of the internet reactions to the King’s coronation.) In the event, that didn’t happen - Hayden told McKernan that he’d seen something in the eyes of the crowd that he’d never seen before in the Australian people. ‘Intense pride and intense grief.’ (I’m paraphrasing, of course.)

Now, you might be tempted to think that’s political spin, but seeing as Hayden said that to McKernan in a one on one conversation, I reckon he was being sincere. I think that’s something we forget these days; people feel deep connections to abstract things, and they personalise them. Someone might look at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and they might think of Great-Uncle John, or Harry, or Hans. It could be my great-grandfather.

(Well, no it couldn’t, because he was British, he was in the Second World War, and he then lived to a very old age, but you get my point.)

At the end of his discussion with us, McKernon talked about the sentimentalisation of the War Memorial’s museum (for those uninitiated, the War Memorial contains both a memorial and a museum.) The specific example he gave us was the speakers installed above George Lambert’s painting of the charge at the Battle of the Nek in August 1915, which plays the sound of gunfire, artillery and wounded men. His belief is that we should not be doing this - that the addition of sound (or music for that matter) emotionally manipulates the viewer. He compared this with a muddy uniform on the other side of the First World War gallery which Charles Bean took off a soldier coming back from the line. I presume he was given privacy while he changed into a new uniform. In any case, it’s there to present what a soldier’s equipment looked while it was on the line, as opposed to an immaculate tunic and breeches pulled out of an army storeroom. It doesn’t need sound or lights to convey the nature of war, and it doesn’t tell you how you ought to feel about it. (Remember Charles Bean’s name, because we will certainly hear from him again.)

I don’t know how I feel about the use of sound in museums. I think it can be used to good effect, if used in the right way. I don’t think it should be used in a memorial. This may be a part of the memorial that acts as a museum, but it is still on memorial grounds, and I think it should apply the opportunity for reflection as much as possible.

After our lovely chat with Micheal McKernon, we proceeded into the War Memorial, a task that the War Memorial seems intent on making as difficult as possible. During the Dark Times, the memorial set up a procedure to limit the amount of people coming in at any one time, which was the right thing to do at the time. It seems they’ve gotten a taste for it, as this procedure remains in place, and if you cluster in a group of more than two and a half people, they’ll look at you like you just set General Monash’s uniform on fire. You can imagine that this is not the most conductive environment for a group tour, but we just about made it work.

Now, I’m attending this tour as alumni, so I don’t have to work for a living. Once the rest of the group had been split into sub-groups to examine specific objects, we split off for a bit and I wandered around doing my own thing. I had a brisk walk through the Second World War gallery, which has some of my personal favourite exhibits in the museum - for example, the table at which General Percival surrendered Singapore to General Yamashita in 1942. On a more sombre note, there’s the wall of photographs of the men who died in the Sandakan Death March, which I think is probably the most effective exhibit in the museum. I then spent a little time among the rows of names on the Roll of Honour, and a brief reflection at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I don’t really know exactly what I reflected on, but I think that’s just the way it is sometimes.

I doubled back through the First World War galleries to view (and test my new camera on) the dioramas. These were the brainchild of the artist Will Dyson and the correspondent-turned-historian Charles Bean, and they’ve been there since the 1920s. If you come to the Australian War Memorial for one thing, it probably should be these - as well as the dioramas of Tobruk, Tarakan and Kapyong elsewhere in the museum.

The camera’s pretty great, by the by.

We met back up at 2pm and discreetly did group presentations. After this I did an improvised presentation of my own in front of the L3/33 tankette in the WWII gallery, and was reminded why I’m not very good at improv. We broke up just after 3pm, and I headed home.

As a group, we don’t meet up again until London next month, but personally I have one or two things planned between then and now - and that starts tomorrow.

Oh, and if you’re wondering, our Unknown Soldier did set a precedent. Canada got one in 2000, and New Zealand followed them.

[redorich]

"Hello, Mr. Blade," Quackity says.

Techno inwardly groans. He knows that tone of voice; it usually precedes some awful joke, or indicates that Quackity's about to take off all his clothes and attempt to sell cocaine to people again. Possibly both. In a desperate attempt to avoid whatever shitstorm is coming his way, Technoblade resolutely reads his book and pretends he does not hear Quackity. He holds out for a whole five minutes, until Quackity starts autotune-singing about how much he and Techno love doing exceedingly nasty things with each other. When Quackity breaks out the guitar, Techno snaps his book shut.

"What do you want?" the piglin grunts.

Quackity shapeshifts into a cute little yellow duckling, presumably to persuade Techno with the power of cuteness. "Break into MCC with me," he says.

That is such a bad idea on so many levels. Challenging, sure, and very interesting...

"What's in it for me?" he says.

"I want to put a whoopie cushion on Scott's chair," the duckling quacks. "That means we've got to break into the admin room, and you can mess with the admin control panel."

Techno raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You want to break into the most secure room in the most secure event in recent history.”

Quackity nods. “Exactly!”

“To put a whoopie cushion on Scott’s chair.”

Technoblade puts his face in his hand and mourns the collective IQ of the Dream SMP, because surely Quackity lowers it just by breathing. The shapeshifter, still in duck form, hops up into Technoblade’s lap, then turns into a human so he can risk death by daring to suggestively straddle the piglin. He immediately gets shoved onto the ground.

“I’m going to regret this...” Technoblade says. “Let’s do it.”

---

Getting into the MCC server is the easy part. They’re both whitelisted, and it would be a hassle to remove everyone on the whitelist only to add them back later each time there’s another championship, so they have indefinite access. The moderators would surely come up with a way to keep everyone out if they knew about the two Dream SMP men’s plan.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” Quackity complains loudly.

Technoblade slaps a hand over Quackity’s mouth and looks around quickly. The shapeshifter responds by licking Techno’s palm, and Techno retaliates by removing his slobbery hand from Quackity’s face and swatting him upside the head for the childish behavior.

“Be quiet, we don’t know who’s here,” Techno says. “And yes, I know where we’re going. The admin room is below the map. There’s a secret passageway around here somewhere...”

The two sneak underneath the bridge to the arena, locating a lever that opens a hallway inside the main gate. The inside of the hallway is mostly quartz and concrete. Obviously, the map-makers put more effort into the bits that were supposed to be seen.

They reach a fork in the hallway: they can either go left or right. Techno points to the left. When they turn the corner, they come face-to-face with another person. Quackity and Technoblade both freeze in place at the sight of Grian leaning on the door to the admin room, fiddling with his phone. When he hears the two intruders, he looks up, squinting at them from behind the thin frame of his glasses.

Why is he here?! Techno thinks. We’re gonna get in so much trouble!

“I didn’t know either of you was an admin,” Grian says casually.

Technoblade sweats. How does he pretend to be an admin?

"Uh, yeah," he says, wrapping his arm around Quackity in a gesture that's supposed to look friendly but is a bit too tight. "My friend's code is, uh, glitching really hard right now."

On cue, Quackity shapeshifts into a moaning pile of limbs, then a duck, and then his normal state again, flickering between human and limb-pile.

"It's time sensitive, so if you could please let us through," Technoblade continues.

Grian raises a singular eyebrow, totally unimpressed. "Is it, now."

Quackity begins to foam at the mouth. Technoblade hopes that that's a shapeshifting trick and not some weird disease Quackity's picked up. Grian steps to the side, allowing the other two men to pass through the door to the admin control panel room.

As soon as they’re on the other side of the door, Technoblade leans heavily against it, pressing a hand to his his chest and exhaling. “He actually bought it,” the piglin says incredulously. Meanwhile, Quackity waltzes over to Scott’s spinny gamer chair without a care in the world, placing a whoopie cushion on the seat. For good measure, he also duct tapes an air horn to the bottom of the chair, so that when Scott sits down it’ll go off.

“We don’t have all day, man,” Quackity chides. “Go do whatever admin thing it is you’ve got planned.”

Right. He’d forgotten about that. Technoblade boots up the admin control panel. The text glows brightly, most of it in Galactic Standard. It would take too long to bother deciphering it all, not to mention it would overtax Techno’s attention span. The piglin skims the characters on the screen just enough to the point where he can locate “automated_messages.txt”. This file, if he is correct, should be the one that the main script references. If he just alters this one bit right here, then heads over to “display_messages.cpp” to alter a few corresponding lines of code... There!

“I’m done,” he says.

Quackity, who’s been climbing the wall as a hot pink lizard, drops to the floor and comes back up as a human again. “Nice, now we should probably get out of here before that Grian guy realizes we’ve done something. What’d you put in the code, by the way?”

Technoblade stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. He can’t suppress his smirk, though. “Oh, nothing much-- every time a game is chosen, instead of saying the name of the game, the system will say ‘subscribe to Technoblade’.”

Quackity groans, heading to the door. He’s about to say something, but when he opens the door, the two see exactly what they don’t want to see.

Grian is still waiting for them when they exit the room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall casual as you please.

He tilts his head. "You two got that issue sorted out?"

Quackity beams, nodding rapidly and speaking even faster. "Oh yes, I'm completely better now! Technoblade fixed me up; it was difficult and scary but it worked perfectly, I feel so much better now! All he had to do was give me a true love's kiss--"

The shapeshifter is cut off by Techno's elbow digging into his ribs.

Grian nods. "That's good, that's good." A pause. "For the record, code isn't glitchy. It's either buggy or it's corrupted, usually corrupted. You're a really bad liar, Technoblade."

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Techno deadpans. When in doubt, deny all knowledge of the evidence!

“Team with me,” Grian demands. “I want to win the next MCC.”

Quackity immediately agrees, “Deal.” At the Look that Techno strikes him with, he simply shrugs. “Hey, I want in on this too.”

---

Grian, Technoblade, and Quackity team with Philza. They win in a landslide and Technoblade gets banned from MCC for a month. It’s worth it.

[doctorofinhumaneletters]

First Steps Chapter 4

The Friday afternoon department briefings were mercifully short. The slow Thursday had let everyone catch up on their work, and Mr. Hahn, the manager, was uncharacteristically happy with his staff, except possibly admin. Their department had a secret weapon in Sarah, though. She always showed a little extra skin for the big meetings, and Mrs. Blake let her speak for them, which smoothed things over. Ashlee was heading home by 5:30.

She changed into her blue slacks and gray silk blouse, with a camisole underneath.She debated flats or heels. With the car she might not be walking too much, but you never knew. The white two inch pumps were called into the game.

At 8:05, she was in her car, which started groggily. She didn't drive it enough, but at least she didn’t owe anything for it. Dad had a stable of beater cars back in Roanoke, and she’d selected the least-garbage one to buy from him. She didn’t really need it during the week, but now the traffic was lighter, and she was in the loading zone in front of the Greek place by ten till nine.

Niko came out and grabbed his bike right before nine, and Ashlee stood on the sidewalk for another twelve minutes glancing around for cops before Felicity emerged. She was as beautiful as ever in baggy jeans, red polo, and black work shoes.  There was a touch of liners around her lips and eyes which threw her dark features into sharp relief. She threw her big satchel in the back and plopped herself down in the passenger seat.

Ashlee took the wheel and pulled into the quiet street. Felicity smiled and filled Ashlee with a thrill. The most beautiful girl in the world was in her car. “I’m so happy you came!” began Felicity. “That Niko left a huge mess; that’s why I was late.” She clicked her tongue. “I guess we’re trading date coverage.”

“Did he give you five bucks?” Ashlee asked, turning left onto H Street. Felicity just laughed.

“I just couldn’t wait for tonight. Where are we going?” Felicity asked.

Ashlee was prepared for this eventuality. “How about we see what’s happening on 18th?” Felicity stamped this with her approval and off they went.

The hours swept by. There was dinner and drinks, but they went nearly untouched as Ashlee opened herself to Felicity. Never, not once, had she known this. There was no dancing, no kissing, nothing but burgeoning love. Too soon, the midnight hour was closing, and the streets were emptying. As waiters started checking their watches, Felicity asked shyly, “Can you drive me home?” Ashlee felt electric all over as they piled into the car and she thumbed the address into her phone. It was going to be a hike into Washington Northeast. The clubs and buildings gave way to houses and corner markets. Ashlee knew that they were almost in Maryland, and the homes did not look very friendly.

“You live all the way out here? And you don’t have a car? How far is it to the Metro?”

“It’s about a twenty-five or thirty minute walk. It gives me time to think.”

Ashlee looked at the garbage strewn-streets and shuddered. “You walk home in the dark every night? Aren’t you scared something is going to happen to you?”

A laugh flowed from Felicity’s lips. “Everybody always asks that. Not at all! I know everyone between here and Benning Road. Sometimes you just have to talk to people. Everyone deserves a smile and a kind word; that’s what mom always said. That’s actually why it takes me so long to walk sometimes.”

Ashlee’s jaw dropped in amazement as Felicity narrated the neighborhoods. Names of families, habitual corners of drug dealers and gangbangers, and the regular street people. Felicity had to be the bravest woman she had ever met. She had heard of the power of friendship, but Felicity was in the Wonder Woman class.

They pulled up to a house on a dark street and parked in front. To her surprise, there was a car in the driveway. She was even more astonished when Felicity led her not to the front door, but to what was obviously a garage. Inside the cramped space, canned cocktails were opened and they sat on the bed.

Felicity put her hand on Ashlee’s thigh. All expectations evaporated. Ashlee knew exactly what to do. She leaned in and touched her lips to Felicity’s. Heat began radiating as Felicity reached up to cradle the back of Ashlee’s neck, and kissed back with ardor. They lay down, feet dangling off the edge, and the magic continued.

In minutes, their hands played across each others’ bodies. Ashlee’s fingertips traced Felicity’s tiny breasts, and Ashlee felt thrilling pressure as Felicity squeezed her through the blouse and camisole. This is what she had missed all those years. For now, there was no Sarah, no mom, no dad; nobody but her and this gorgeous woman who loved her as none ever had.

They stroked each other's backs, thighs and buttocks, grasping and holding, nuzzling faces and necks. Overwhelmed with desire, Ashlee reached down Felicity’s front. She felt astonished and guilty when Felicity firmly grasped her wrist and pushed away.

“Ashlee,” she said, sitting up and instantly becoming serious. Confused, Ashlee pushed herself up on her elbows and eyed her quizzically.

“Ashlee: I think I love you, and I want this to happen, but there’s something you have to know.”

Ashlee sat the rest of the way up. She tried to anticipate what could possibly be coming, but nothing came. Oh God, what’s about to happen? she thought with dread. She felt as if it was her turn to say something, anything, and Felicity was clearly wishing for some reassurance, but her lips were as frozen as her thoughts.

A minute passed as Felicity swallowed, breathed deeply and reddened. “Ashlee … Ashlee.” Pause, swallow, and breathe. “Ashlee, I’m … I’m transgender. I have a penis. I didn’t want you to find out first.”

Ashley goggled. Of all the things … she could never have anticipated this. She felt trickling tears as Sarah, mom, dad, everything she thought she knew about herself and her new world crashed together in a cacophony of shame and fear.

“I know it’s not obvious. It’s the hormones. They do things to me. It makes me happy to be a woman. I love you. Don’t go.”

But Ashlee was already on her feet, backing away. Her reason was shouting not to do this, but her legs and glistening eyes weren’t responding.

“Felicity … I … I can’t … I can’t believe …” she tried, but words still failed her. 

“Ashlee, I know you’re scared. I can see it. Robert Davis is dead; he’s not who I am. Ashlee, I didn’t want to scare you. It’s still me. Felicity. Please stay.”

Too late. Ashlee backed out the door stammering half-formed apologies and excuses. She knew she was throwing away the best chance at love she ever had, but she was powerless to stop herself. Leaving Felicity’s pleas unheeded as they followed her out the door, she jumped in her car and sped off into the night.

[lilysdaydreams]

Boyfriend-girlfriend feelings ~

Pairing: Corpse Husband X Reader

Genre: Fluffy stuff.

Warnings: Um none i think.

Summary: Request where fem!reader has like a husky voice and it’s not like super deep but deep compared to the other female streamers and she joins the lobby w corpse and stuff as a substitute and everyone is supposed about her voice and calls her the girl version of corpse bc she’s faceless too, except her personality isn’t bc she’s super optimistic and stuff. Anyways her and corpse bond and later admit separately on stream that they like the other, then fluff? Thank you!!!!

A/N: This is my first request and I went a bit overboard lol, this is nearly 3000 words so Anon I hope you enjoy lol, but yeah I did my best, I really really really  hope you like it :((

~~~

You yawned and took a sip of your bubble tea before turning back to chat.

“Hmmm, what should we do now, everyone? I think I might end stream now, it’s been like nearly 4 hours.” you mumbled glancing at the time.

It was only 10, so it wasn't that late, but you’d been on stream for 4 hours and you needed to finish your essay.

Your phone lit up with a notification and you glanced at it to see that it was from Sean.

Sean: hey wanna play among us? We need one more person.

“Uhhh or maybe not.” you said to everyone, smiling as you saw the chat light up with excitement.

Quickly typing out a “yessss, send me the link.”, you let your viewers know that you were gonna be playing among us and then quickly opened up the game.

Opening up discord, you joined the group and realised the only person you actually knew here was Sean.

“Shit” you said, biting your lip.

“Guysss,” you whined to your viewers. “The only person I know here is Sean. I’m so nervous now.”

The chat blew up with “you can do it!” and “we believe in you!” and other supportive messages.

You smiled seeing all of this. Your community may be small, but they were probably the best ones out there. They were sweet and kind and there was barely any toxicity in the group. You were only a small streamer, doing it as a hobby since you started college. You only knew Sean because he had messaged you himself, inviting you to a game of Phasmophobia because he'd liked your previous videos where you played it. You had been shocked then, barely being able to comprehend that Jackspecticeye decided to Twitter dm you, like what the actual fuck. That had only been a month ago, and you had played again a week ago with him, but your friendship was still new so even though his presence made you a bit comfortable, the anxiety was definitely overpowering it.

“Okay, okay I can do it” you mumbled under your breath trying to hype yourself up.

Quickly joining the call, your ears were filled with the noise of everyone yelling about the previous game. Sean quickly yelled at them to shut up once he noticed you'd joined.

"Everybody, I have our tenth player, this is Y/N, say hi everyone."

Valkyrae was the first one to yell out "Hi" with everyone else chiming in as well, and you had to breathe in deep to stop yourself from fangirling over Valkyrae.

You awkwardly smiled and said "Hey guys, I'm Y/N, Its nice to meet everyone."

There was silence for a second and you narrowed your eyes, wondering if you were muted or something.

"Wait what oh my god, you're Y/N from Y/C/N?" Valkyrae said her voice going quite high.

"Oh, that's where I know you from," said Sykkuno suddenly, leaving you staring shocked at the screen. Sykkuno and Valkyrae knew who you were? What the actual fuck?

"Uhhh," you said eyes flickering between the chat and the screen. "Yeah, that's me, I didn't even think you would know who I was, um oh my god."

"Oh right, now I remember, you did a cover of dreamy night, right?" chimed in Lily, and by this point, you were almost having a panic attack.

"Oh god, you saw that?" you questioned, whispering because you were worried that you were gonna wake up from this dream soon.

"Yeah!" exclaimed Lily, "Your voice is like total opposite of mine, so it was really cool to hear! Your  voice is really nice!"

"Awww, thank you so much, that's so sweet of you to say," you said, wringing your hands, not really sure what to say. What the actual fuck, how were all you favourite streamers here and ALSO knew about you huh? You wondered if this was a dream.

"Yeah what the hell, your voice is so deep." said Poki.

"Right, when you said 'hi', I literally thought it was Corpse for a second," Dave replied, chuckling a bit.

You made yourself take big breaths, trying to make your heart calm down.

"She's not very much like Corpse though" Sean chimed in. "She's very sweet, and gets scared so easily."

You unmuted yourself and gasped exaggeratedly. "Excuse me Sean, but who was it who screamed so much in Phasmophobia and nearly made my ears bleed?

"That game is FUCKING scary okay?" He screamed back, making everyone laugh in the background.

"Hey guys, what did I miss?" a very deep voice came in suddenly, and you realised this was the 'Corpse' they were talking about. You had seen his popularity on Twitter and seen a few clips of him playing but god damn hearing his voice in your ears like that was fucking amazing. You squeaked, thankful you were on mute.

"Holy shit, his voice is deep," you said to the chat, immediately getting responses such as "We know!," and "SIMPPP" as a joke from others.

Giggling you unmuted yourself when Sean introduced you to Corpse, and nervously said "Hey", dragging it out at the end, "Its nice to meet you!"

"Oh yeah!" said Sean as if remembering something. "Y/N is faceless as well, so she kind of is like the  female version of Corpse."

"What?" "Oh my god." "Brooo, thats so cool"

You didn't have time to say anything back as Sean decided to start the game at right that second.

Everyone went quiet and you sighed in relief as "CREWMATE" flashed across your screen. You did not want to be an imposter right now, you wouldn't be able to stomach it.

Quickly hiding your chat, you moved to admin and started humming something to calm your heart down. This had been a crazy 5 minutes for you, and you really needed to calm down. Taking a sip of your drink, you talked to the viewers as you did the card swipe.

"I cant believe Valkyrae - oh I should just call her Rae, right? considering I'm playing with her right now, oh my god, ANYWAYS, I can't believe Rae and Sykkuno know me. Like Lily even saw my cover. Ahhh! I didn't even know she saw it, and now I'm just playing with them, im literally shaking," you rambled to the chat as you went towards electrical to do the tasks there.

You saw Poki there, and you both ran around each other and then you followed her as she started walking to reactor. Suddenly the lights went out, and you gasped as the report button went red, and you quickly pressed it.

"Okay okay," you said before anyone could speak. "Me and Poki met up in electrical, we went to reactor and I was doing the one two three four five six seven eight nine ten task, and she was doing the Simon says and then lights went out and I went off and then suddenly the report button was red. So the kill happened right now."

"Did you see anyone?" asked Toast?

"Nope, I saw no one."

"Well, it couldn't be Sykkuno, because we were both waking to electrical together," said Corpse,

"Yeah it couldn't be Corpse, we were together at the last moment," confirmed Sykkuno.

"I was in weapons," said Rae.

"Navigation." - Dave.

"I was already at Electrical with uh Lily I think," said Sean.

"Yeah, that was me." confirmed Lily.

"Toast where were you?" asked Rae.

"I was just going into navigation."

"Leslie?" you asked, noticing she hadn't spoken up.

"I was in weapons."

"Well one of you is lying." said Corpse softly making everyone laugh.

"Gee, I wonder what this game is about?" Sean replied, teasing him.

"Maybe it's a self report?" questioned Dave.

"No oh my god, it's not me," you said quickly defending yourself. "Poki and I were literally doing our tasks, I swear."

"I don't think it's Y/N, why would she report the body, there was no one around, and she could  have easily just vented somewhere."

"Are we skipping?" Leslie asked.

A chorus of "Yeah" came in so you quickly skipped. Going into weapons you did the shooting task there and then started towards navigation, letting out a gasp as you got killed suddenly.

"ITS SEAN?" You yelled, completely shocked. "How could he kill me like that, I just started playing with them, and he was the one who invited me as well!" you whined, brining the chat back in again.

Opening up the dead chat, you messaged ":(((((" and Poki did the same back. You talked to the chat for a bit, moving around until you got to electrical where Corpse was.

"Guys, it's Corpse, lets follow him," you said, smiling a little.

Just as he was leaving electrical, Toast came in and killed him. You let out a small gasp as he self-reported and pretended that he'd just stumbled onto the body.

"CORPSEEEE" you typed into the dead chat, laughing when Corpse responded with ":((((" just like you had done.

"Whose the other one?" he asked and you quickly typed in "Sean :((("

Corpse: "*GASP, he killed you after inviting you to the game?*"

You: "Ikr!"

Corpse: “that’s so rude, we should stick together next game so we don’t get killed easily."

You: "Yes let’s do that!”

You guys continued talking until the next round started.

"SEAN!" you yelled immediately. "How could you kill me like that, when you were the one who invited me?" you whined.

"Exactly Sean, that was so rude." Corpse chimed in, supporting you.

"Ah, uh, exc -" spluttered Sean, "Please, oh my god, I can't handle the both of you at the same time, it's too intimidating."

Everyone started laughing and you giggled as Corpse accused Sean of avoiding the question.

The next round started and you laughed when you both got double killed five minutes into the game. Seems like your strategy of staying together wasn’t that good.

You played a few more games with everyone, getting imposter with Poki once. Finally, you decided that you really should finish that essay that you had due.

Finishing your fourth game, you let everyone know, pouting when everyone groaned.

"It was really nice to meet you, Y/N" said Rae, "We should definitely play more!"

Everyone chimed in then and you said bye to everyone as you left the lobby. Just as you were leaving the voice call, you heard Corpse say "Bye Y/N" again, but you couldn't reply because you just left.

"Whoops," you mumbled, feeling a bit bad.

You quickly said bye to all the viewers and ended the stream.

Opening discord on your phone, you sent a friend request to Corpse, being shocked when he accepted in a second. Wasn't he playing still?

Typing out the message, you sent it before thinking about it too much.

"Hey, sorry, I heard you say bye at the end, but I left right then. Just wanted to let you know that I wasn't purposely ignoring you or something."

“Ahhh no worries,” he replied.

Then a second later; “I checked out your covers btw, you’re really good.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” you replied typing quickly. “Your songs are great as well. I have to admit they’re a bit too intense for me lol, as I normally only listen to ballads and stuff, but I loved agoraphobic with al my heart :((( literally listened to that non-stop for a week when it came out lol.”

Okay maybe I went a bit overboard, you thought staring at the message.

“Oh Thankyou, that means so much to me. And yeah, I know that not everyone likes this type of music, don’t worry about it. Actually, I was thinking of doing another Lo-fi type of song like Agoraphobic, but I’m still working on it.”

You settled into your chair, continuing on the conversation.

It was an hour later that you realised that you’d just been texting Corpse and not done the essay like you planned to.

“Sorry corpse, gtg,” you messaged, putting a string of crying emojis after.

Putting down your phone, you finally started working on your essay, ignoring the butterflies you’d had in your stomach for the past hour.

~~~

You guys kept talking. The next day he asked for your number, saying it’d be easier to text there than discord. You guys messaged for ages. Your conversations never ended because even if one of you had to go, you would just pick up the conversation from where you left. It was by far the easiest friendship you’d ever had, and if you were being completely honest, you’d kind of developed a small crush on him.

A few weeks later, you were streaming among us again, this time with another group. You died quickly in the first game, so you pulled up chat and started asking some questions.

“Corpse?” You asked reading one of the questions. “Ah I don’t know guys, I don’t think Corpse is coming to this game, he’s quite busy with his music and everything, and I don’t think he’s available today.”

“Do you like his music?"

"Yeah, his music is great. It’s sometimes intense for me,” you admitted giggling, “but I do love it. I actually really wanted to cover Agoraphobic or MISS YOU! They’re both my favourites and I’ve been wanting to... hmmm.. maybe I’ll do a poll on Twitter and see which one more people want?”

Suddenly a message caught your eye; “I kind of have a crush on corpse.”

You laughed out loud, saying the username and replying “Yah I think everyone who meets corpse ends up having a crush on him, like how could you not, he’s freaking perfect.”

When everyone started spamming chat though, you realized you might have said too much.

“Anyway guys look, I think Sykkuno might end up voting Rae, and oh he did it,” you laughed as the “defeat” screen came up and Rae started yelling at Sykkuno for not believing her.

~~~

The next day, Corpse was waiting as Rae asked people to join the lobby. Answering questions from his chat, he saw one about you and read it out.

“Is Y/N gonna play?”

“Ahhh, I don’t think so guys, I think she has an assignment or something. It’s been a bit since I played with her, it would have been nice to but yah I don’t think she’s available.”

Suddenly all the chat was talking about was you.

“Do you see the clip where she says she likes you?”

“Bhahah I think she has a crush on you lol”

“Did you see that clip?”

Corpse furrowed his eyebrows confused about what clip.

Another comment caught his eye.

“Do you like her?”

“Do I like her? Of course, I like her, it was amazing to meet her, her covers are great, she’s so nice, also she’s like the exact opposite of her voice, it’s so funny." He laughed remembering the photo you'd sent of all your plushies lined on the bed. "Yah no she’s really sweet, we’ve been talking a lot recently, it’s been fun.”

“SIMPPPPP”

“Omg he actually likes her.”

“CORPSE X Y/N”

“Oh don’t make her uncomfortable guys,” Corpse huffed as he saw the comments. “Yah I kinda like her, but y’all are too much” he muttered, before realising exactly what he’d said.

“Wait no, what.” he stuttered, “Um oh look Rae's found some more people.”

~~~

When you finally decided to look on your phone, you realised that your Twitter notifications were blowing UP. Quickly going into the app, you clicked on one of the mentions saying “CORPSE X Y/N, ITS REAL I CANT BELIEVE IT.”

Tapping the video underneath it, you listened as Corpse talked about you, blushing when you realised what it sounded like. But...he couldn’t actually have a crush on you... right?

He was probably kidding, you told your beating heart. Probably just wanted to go trending for something. A voice whispered in your mind that Corpse wasn’t like that but you didn’t wanna give yourself hope.

Just then your phone rung, making you jump and stare shocked at the screen when you saw Corpse with a yellow heart next to it. Corpse had never called you before.

Quickly picking up the call before it could go to voicemail, you shakily questioned “Hey corpse?”

“Uh hey,” he said, his voice sounding way too deep. “Sorry I normally wouldn’t call but like, I just got off-stream and saw the Twitter trends and everything. Um, I like - didn’t wanna, um make you uncomfortable with all that so I can tell them to back off if you want?”

“Um..” you said stalling, trying to process everything here. Deciding to oho full in, you just blurted it out, “Do you actually have feelings for me?”

“Like not just friend feelings", you continued, "but like the boyfriend-girlfriend feelings if you get what I mean.”

Immediately after saying that you wanted to slap yourself. Were you in 2nd grade? Like who the hell says boyfriend girlfriend feelings?

“Uhhh, I- I kinda do I guess, I like you but like it’s okay if you don-

“I do," you said cutting him off before he could finish.

“I um, I also like you.”

“Oh.

“Yah”

“Cool”

“Cool”

~~

Should I do a pt 2?

[bangbangchanie]

Maybe~Chan/ Changbin

Summary: When the love of your life died, falling again is paralyzing yet the person who's always been there makes it a maybe.

Paring: Reader x Chan(Past)/ Reader x Changbin

Warning: Character death, like angst really angst. Fluff

Word Count: 3.2K

AN: Admin Winnie here! Finally reposting this after removing a certain someone. Its the same sad story just with Changbin:)

Arms were tightly wrapped around your waist as your eyes stared at the scene in front of you. Red and blue lights flashing in the dark night sky as smoke and a blaring ringing sound echoes through your ears. You didn't realize you were screaming, screaming out his name as you saw his mangled car. Your knees buckled as the EMT who was holding you fell with you.

“Christopher!” You sobbed. His eyes were watching you from the scene, his body moving across the road.

“Baby, are you okay?” He asks as he reaches mid way as you cry his name again. “Baby, Y/n I’m right in front of yo-” he was cut off from talking and walking when someone walked through him. Your cries grew distant as he looked at his chest, his eyes wide as he looked back to the car. His bleeding body was being dragged from the car, as CEPR was being performed. It felt surreal, watching his limp body move with someone’s pushed against his chest. He brought out his thoughts when your cry turned into a scream of pain. His eyes met your crumbling body, he moved to you. His hand reaching out to only have it pass through your face making you curse.

“I’m here, baby, right in front of you. I swear I’m not leaving, not now, not ever.” He whispered tears trailing down his face as you finally stopped screaming his name and just cried. “I’m still here.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Chris..Chris was the life of the party even if there wasn’t one.” Minho said as he shook his head a small smile lifted up on his lips, though his smile was painfully matched with swollen red bloodshot eyes. His cheeks puffy as you stood in all black in your shared apartment. “He did this thing where if it was too quiet he’d just start singing a random ass song and dancing. You know? He..he always tried to find the light in the dullest things, and he always…he always made me feel..us feel like we were…are bigger than this.” His eyes tailored to your hunched body, your eyes dull as you give him a small smile, tears trailing down your face as his mother grips your hand. Her sobs wracked her body as Minho looked at the glass in his hand. “Y/n..Mr. and Mrs. Bang..Chris…god he was a special man. I am so thankful you two gave him a life and a voice..and Y/n thank you for making him smile when no one else could…this is for you brother.” Chris was next to you and his mother, his eyes tearing up as he watched Minho turn around and let out a small sob as he walked away. Changbin stepped up, his skin pasty and his eyes just as bloodshot.

“We met in the second grade..he was new and had this accent that kids liked to make fun of. But he never saw it as a set back, and took it as a complement…he..fuck.” Changbin stopped speaking as he wiped his eyes. “I..I was told a month ago that he was..was looking for a ring.” He paused, making you stop breathing for a split second as you leaned closer to his mother, your heart clenching as Changbin looked at you. “I was told to prepare a speech as best man, that who I was to Chris and who he was to me. He was..and still is my brother. A man I want to scream at because he left us. He left me. With a speech, and no event to give it at. I wanted to give it here, but I can’t because it hurts too much. I’m so sorry Y/n..” Changbin coughs as he steps away as you wipe at your face. You take a shaky breath as you stand. His brother is clinging to your hand as Chris watches you, moving to stand to your blank side.

“Thank you all for coming..I know..I know Chris would scream at us all for crying like this.” Your words made his mother choke back a cry as his father rubbed her shoulder. “He didn't like it when the people he loved were upset, or cried. He didn’t enjoy not know-knowing how to fix..fix it all.” You breathed out as you messed with your black dress. “He loved with his whole heart…we all know that. He did..he did this weird habit that I still don’t understand and I was with him for four years..but where’d he grab the bottom of his shirt and spread it out in front of him when he was in deep thought.” His mother chuckled as she shook her head.

“He stretched every single one of his school shirts.” She said, making the room lightly laugh as you look at Changbin and Minho who clang to each other, their trio now turning into a duo.

“We love you Chris..I love you.” You whisper as you sit back down, people now talking among one another as you swear you feel a wetness drop on your shoulder where his head hangs over as he tries to imagine his arms around you.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Honestly fuck you Christopher Bang!” You scratched at the broken picture frame. Your eyes were full of tears as you looked out the window. People living their lives, unknowingly passing the house of a broken girl that had black running down her face and it pissed you off that they didn’t know.

His scent was still wrapped around you, around the four walls of the apartment you shared together. His clothes still hung up in the clothes, and tossed outside of a drawer. His pillow at the end of the bed and his shoes resting against the front door wall.

“I hate you so much!” Your voice cracked as you fell to the hardwood ground. His large sweater falls over your hands as you bring your knees to your chest and sob into them. “Yo-you just left, n-no good-goodbye n-no an-anything.” You cried tears falling down as you rocked back and forth. The pain in your chest was breaking you down, shattering against any idea of love you had any future you planned together. You swear you heard his voice making you perk up and look around, the shuffling of his pillow made you stand up and wipe your cheeks. “Chris?” You whispered as you watched the bed dip.

“Y/n?” Changbin called out as he slowly set the key he had been given when you and Christopher had moved in. He was the security blanket for you two, always making sure you were sleeping, and eating. Killed the bug for the both of you, and watched the place as you traveled. “Oh Y/n.” He whispered seeing you down the hall in the bedroom. He walked down as you keep your eyes locked on the pillow, a dip in the bed that wasn’t there before. Your heart stopped as an arm wrapped around your middle, making you blink, and the dip in the bed was gone. “Come on, let me make you some hot chocolate.” He whispered against your hair as he pulled away and took your hand. His own body was covered in one of Christopher’s jackets. His body moved throughout the kitchen. “A month down.” He whispers, making you sigh as you let out another sob as your head falls.

“I-i miss him so fucking much.” You sob, making Changbin stop moving as he turns and looks at you. “Th-this isn't fair, we-we were gonna move into a house.” You whisper, making Changbin face you his mouth parted at the new information. “My love, my hero ,my everything was ripped for me…and it’s all his fault.” You sob, making Woojin jump into your body, his arm tightly wrapped around you as your body shakes.

“It's gonna be okay…it's gonna get easier..I think.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“What the fuck did you do to our bed?!” You scream at Minho and Changbin  who were standing in the living room talking.

“What do you mean? I mean I made it-ow!” Minho cried as you slapped him. Tears falling down your face as you glare at him.

“His pillow stays where it was, his blanket stays bunched up..I can't recreate it, because it won't be the damm same! You asshole!” You cry as you start to shake as Minho's eyes widen. Not realizing it hadn't made sense he last laid there.

“I did-didn't know.” Your body shook as Chan finally found a way to hug you without passing through you. His head nuzzles your neck making you cry harder.

“Im..I’m sorry.” You whisper, making Minho step forward and cup your cheek.

“It's okay.” Chris moves away and Minho and you share a group hug with Woojin.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Chris..I know this..this is weird.” You mumble as Chris sits next you on the bed, his hands reaching for your thigh as you let out a deep breath of air. “This is honestly crazy..but I just need you to know..what I said a few weeks ago..that it was your fault..it..it wasn't true..and when I screamed I hate you..it wasn't even close to the truth. Because…'cause you were..were the one and..I still need you here but you gone..and I took it personal…but death shouldn’t be personal.” You whisper, making him lightly smile as you take a deep breath. “I think..I think I’m gonna pack up some of your clothes.. give a few to your mom. They all smell like you.” You whisper as you reach for your phone and call up his mom for help.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” He asked as he watched you pack some of his shirts and pants for goodwill.

“Yeah..it's been nine months..I need to do this..it's not a lot..but..a start?” You mumble making Minho nod as he helps you empty one draw of his. “Okay..no more.”

“Progress.”

“Progress.” Giving each other a high five Chris chuckles as Minho misses making you laugh echo in return. Something Chris hasn’t heard in months.

Progress it was.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Binnie!” You laughed as Changbin spun you around your living room, his hand tickling your sides as Chris watched, a ping of jealousy hitting him. But he understood, watching you and his friends the past few months, the feeling for Changbin had grown for you and you him.

He wanted you two happy.

So he came up with a plan, his spirit moved through the walls as he grabbed your journal and opened up to your most recent entry. His eyes scan the words.

'I haven’t felt this way about someone since I first met Chris..and it feels wrong but so right at the same time. Changbin had made this feeling come up that I thought I’d never feel again. And it’s scary. I don't know if I can handle losing someone again.’

And then he knocks a picture frame down making a loud crash disrupt the two of you messing around. Changbin stood up straight as he placed you close to the couch and looked down the hall.

“Wait here."he mumbled walking into your bedroom, where he looked around till a picture frame that he glued together from the time you’d throw it across the room in a fit of anger, caught his eyes. It was a picture of Chris smiling, his eyes bright as your lips pressed against his cheek. It made Changbin smile as he saw the man he considered his brother, he hadn’t looked at a photo of him in a year, it felt good. It felt good seeing his face again, even if it would never be the same. It was still Christopher Bang smiling, and he swore he could hear the hum sound he made while you kissed his cheek.

As he moved it back where he remembered where he placed it after he fixed it. His eyes casted down and he saw your entry, and his heart began to speed up.

"She..she feels the same?” He whispered to himself, making Chris smile as he stood next to him and spoke.

“Of course she does, you make her happy.” Changbin jumped as he felt the vibrations of a voice he knew all too well in his head. “Can you hear me?” Chris said, making Changbin look around, and nod slightly.

“Bin? Is everything okay?” You ask walking into your room seeing the frame in his hand, his wide eyes stare at you.

“Uh..yeah.” he chokes as he runs his hand down his face. “Yeah..just this picture fell.” You humm as you move to stand next to him and stare at the two of you, tears gather in your eyes making Chris reach to wipe it away as he did so Changbin. He smiled at his friend as he watched the two of you stare at each other.

“Oh..shit.” you whisper seeing your entry that was open as you move fast to shut it. Already having an idea that he knew and now was ready to leave and never come back.“Did you..”

“Yeah. Yeah I did.”

“I think..I think you should go.” You whisper, making Changbin frown as he moves to rest and hand on your shoulder but you shrugged to get away from him. “Just..just leave..please.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Y/n, please call me back. We need to talk..please.” You listened to your voicemail again, Changbin pleas only made your heart break more.

“Dammit women, call him back!” Chris snaps as he watches you bite your lip. His favorite sweater wrapped around you, making his dead heart thud rapidly against his chest. Then his own voice travels through the air making his eyes widen. “Why do you do this to yourself, baby?”

“Hey baby, I just wanted to call to let you know I’ll be outside of the building waiting for you in five…I know I’m too late to change but I think my office attire will work for the date..I know you’ll look beautiful as usual..hence why you’re probably not answering me! But it's fine,I love you..I’ll see you in a bit.” You play another one, “Baby! Changbin just dropped off food, I swear he’d be a better boyfriend than me like how he is his single! Anyway I just wanted to call and say I love you, and have an amazing day at work!” As you went to play another you phone began to glitch due to Chris being the playfully smart ghost he is, and found a way to only play the part he wanted you to hear. “I love you, but it's fine you like Changbin.” It was choppy and wasn’t even a proper sentence but it made you throw your phone onto the bed as you stare at it. It played again, and again as Chris watched your eyes widen.

“Christopher Bang I swear if this you are coming to haunt my ass I’ll find a way to bring you back and kill you again!” You whisper, making him chuckle, your eyes snap to the empty spot in front of you, where he sat. “I..I finally broke didn’t I..cause I did..I did not just hear that laugh.” You whimper, making him frown as he looks at you. “I’ve missed that laugh.” You breathe out making him giggle, a smile lifting on your cheeks as your phone rings pulling you out of your thoughts.

Binnie is calling.

“Pick it up.” Chris said, making you roll your lip as you hear the very faint vibrations, like he was talking while you rested your head on his chest.

“Hello?” You answer by making Woojin let out a breath as he begins to speak but you cut him off. “I..I like you.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“I haven’t been here since the funeral.” You whisper walking hand and hand with Changbin, followers and balloons in hand as Chris' family walks in front of you. It was his birthday today. You somehow had gotten through the first one, tears and snot but this one..this one was easier in a way. Chris trailed next to the two of you as he watched you closely, the twinkle in your eye was back, Changbin's smile was bigger than ever.

Soon you reached his tombstone, bending down your smile, “Hi baby.” You whisper as Chris sits next to his name, you sit on the grass as his family sits on the bench next to his grave. Changbin sits behind you, over the last few months Chris' family has fully supported you two with the love that was twining the two of you. You place the flowers next to his name and lean against Changbin. “Happy birthday weirdo.” You mumble, making Changbin laugh as Minho arrives, his body moving to sit next to the two of you as he hits a card in his hand. “What’s that Min?” You ask.

“I….just a letter to my brother.” Minho says, making you nod as he places it next to your flowers, Chris smiles at his friends and family.

“What do you think he's doing right now?”

“About to fight Changbin.” Minho says with a smile, making Chris' mother laugh as she shakes her head.

“Idiot.” Changbin said, hitting his shoulder as he laughed and nuzzled his face into your shoulder.

“I..I hope he’s happy wherever he is. I hope he is at peace and that…that he isn’t actually haunting me.” You laugh, making Chris follow as Changbin nods and Minho and his family giggle. “I mean he said, if he ever died he’d haunt me so I’m wondering if it’s happening.” You said wiping the tear that fell down your cheek.

“I wonder if he can finally sit in peace and enjoy the quiet sunsets.” Minho mumbles, making the three of you look at eachother and break out in laughter.

“As if.” Changbin laughs as you place your head into his collarbone.

“I just want him to be happy.”

“I am happy..I think..I think I can leave now.” Chris mumbles to himself, another Ghost at the tree waiting with a smile on his face, freckles covering his cheeks as his fringe falls over his eyes.“I..I can let go now. Baby..baby I ..I love you so much. I know you won't hear this, I know you won’t..but I just..I just love you so much. I’m so happy you’re happy. Thank you for the birthday wishes…I love you guys.” He stood up and walked to the tree, the unknown ghost smiled and clapped him on the back.

“Are you ready for the fun part kid?” He asks, making Chris look at him with wide eyes.

“Will..will I see them again?” His question made the unknown ghost chuckle as he laughed.

“Ah you kids, never truly know what’s out there for us…you’ll see them whenever they visit here. You’ll get like a ring in your head, and any gift they leave for you you’ll be able to pick up and keep it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Felix, died 1976, leukemia at 17….you?”

“Christopher…died in 2020, in a car crash at 23.”

[strawberrylemonz]

Past and Present

Part 12

Part 13 [CURRENT]

Part 14

DT: @petrichormeraki @applepie1000 @jump-in-the-cadillac @ivorylin @sydneys-sketches 

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

Tommy quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The group in front of them turned to face the source of the group. Tommy mentally smacked himself upside the head as he pulled Fundy behind him, the Lovely Trio slipping behind him as Kristin and Grian stepped in front of Sam and Puffy, who held the children close. It wasn’t until three familiar faces made their way to him, that he felt like breaking. It wasn’t because Phil was there, concern and relief flooding his face as he looked over Tommy. It wasn’t because Techno was looming over them, facial expression unchanging, only betrayed by the several emotions going through his eyes. It wasn’t because of Ghostbur, because Ghostbur wasn’t floating there. He wasn’t even floating he was standing. There, standing with his hands stuffed into his pockets, stood Wilbur, who was very much alive. The three of them stepped towards the youngest member of their family, the one they missed so dearly, only to stop when he put his hands up in defense, stepping closer to the fox shifter behind him.

“Wilbur, you’re...you’re-”

“Tommy, you’re okay!”

Everyone on the Dream SMP frowned as Tommy made an “eh” noise, making a balancing movement with his hand as he peered back at the group behind him, all who, aside from Sam and Puffy, made similar noises and movements back at them. Much to their embarrassment, they were the only ones who found amusement to it. Regaining his composure, Tommy turned back to Kristin, giving her pleading eyes. She nodded before nudging Grian, who was already moving to pick up Theo. Clem smiled as she climbed into the embrace of her grandmother, hugging her with delight. After being reassured that the children were away from the group, Tommy returned his gaze to the members of his older server. 

“Let’s go to a more private space. I would very much like you all more if you don’t start anything unnecessary during my opening.”

Without waiting for a response, Tommy turned and, after ensuring Fundy was safely in front of him, began walking out of the cavern, everyone else following behind. As he waved to guests and Hermits alike, he led the group into one of the larger taverns. Taking out a keycard from behind the automated desk, he patted the robot working there before walking over to a large set of double door. Humming a tune that caught Wilbur’s attention, he inserted the keycard and pushed the doors open, leading the group in. He closed the door after the last two people, who happened to be a very disgruntled Jack and Niki. After everyone was sat down in their own seats, they all exchanged uncertain looks. Finally, Fundy decided it was best to break the silence. 

“So, I see the resurrection was successful.”

“Yeah, we managed to get Wilbur bac-”

“You have a son.”

Tommy saw Fundy stiffen beside him as the voice of Wilbur spoke up, quieter than they remembered. Fundy pressed his lips in a thin line as he peered up to his newly revived father. Giving him a little nod Fundy cleared his throat as he scratched the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I do. He’s great, you know. Very smart and fun, sneaky too.”

“Do I know who your significant other is?”

“I wouldn’t call him my significant other, we aren’t together. He was very...the situation was...we didn’t work out. But, yeah, you know him. You all do, actually.”

“Who is it?”

“Dream”

Fundy quickly spoke the name, reeling back as he waited for the expected backlash. Hesitating for a moment, he almost believed that, much like the situation with Tommy, he would receive no backlash. He was, however, quickly proven wrong. The only other revived man there was the first to speak up.

“WHAT?!”

“YOU FUCKED DREAM?!”

“LANGUAGE!”

“THE FURRY FUCKED GOD, OH MY FUCKING ENDER-”

“George? George, can you hear me? Dude, blink if you can hear me-”

“When we said ‘suck it green boy’, we didn’t mean literally!”

“How did you manage to get him to-”

As the chaos began to rise, Fundy began to shrink in his seat, panic settling in. Taking note of this, Tommy frowned as he tried to settle everyone down. When no one responded to him, he grew frustrated. Getting annoyed, Tubbo sat up to yell at the source of the chaos, only to find that he was beat to it. With a loud foot stomp, a booming voice yelled over the chaos. 

“Will you all shUT UP?!” 

Silence filled the room as everyone turned to face the source of the yell. There, fists clenched tightly by her side, stood Drista. Everyone hesitated about her next course of action, as the eyes on her mask seemed to glow with her annoyance. As she sat down, crossing her arms and legs together, she huffed as she prepared to speak up once more. Much to her annoyance, however, the door to the room creaked open, a new presence creeping in. 

“Sorry I’m late, you all have seem to have forgotten me back on my server.”

Everyone watched as the figure approached, Fundy shrinking in his seat. Tommy stiffened in his own, one hand in Tubbo’s, the other clamped around Fundy’s wrist. Tubbo, on the other hand, glared at the floor as he held onto Tommy’s hand, as if that alone would solve their issues. The figure, now more visible to be Dream, hummed as he stood in between the three boys and the members of his server. Seeming to only focus on the three, he crossed his arms as he laughed.

“Wow, I didn’t think I’d see you three again. Tommy, Tubbo, it’s been years. Good to see you two in good shape. Fundy, I haven’t seen you in a little over two years. Didn’t think that I’d find you here, of all places. Did you all miss m-”

SMACK

Everyone stared in shock as Dream held onto his face, trying to keep his mask steady as he regained his balance. Once he quickly regained his composure, he quickly turned to face his “attacker.” Standing in all her glory, stood his sister, hands on her hips as she stood there, anger simmering underneath her mask. As she stood up straight, she hummed in acknowledgment as Lani walked up beside her, leaning on her for support. Holding her hand out, Lani smirked as Drista gave her a high five. The beginning of their best friend handshake was cut short, however, when Dream spoke up once again.

“Drista? When did you get here? Is this where you’ve been? Why haven’t you come by to visit me-”

“Oh, I don’t know, why did you never reach out to me? And if you had bothered to show up to the revealing of the park on time, you would have known where I’ve been. Now sit down and stay quiet so we can all catch up.”

“And none of you better try attacking! All guests are unable to do any form of pvp that’s not in any of the special arenas, so don’t even try!”

“Yeah, what Lani said!”

--------

The group was walking to the opposite side of Tavern Town, towards the booth games. Fundy was walking with Quackity and Karl, telling them of al the projects he had done since he last saw them. Not trusting her brother at all, Drista walked beside Dream, Lani joining in on keeping an eye on the admin. Tubbo was catching up with Ranboo, as well as timidly speaking with an unusually kind Schlatt. Humming as he walked in the front of the group, Tommy bopped his head as he replayed a song in his head. Opening his mouth, he quietly sang out the lyrics that swam in his head.

“He’s in your bed-”

“-I’m in your Twitch chat”

Jumping slightly, Tommy turned to see Wilbur, walking up to be by his side. Joining him in this was both Phil and Techno, the three of them as awkward as ever. Unsure as to what to expect from them, Tommy just gave them a nod of acknowledgment. As much as he wanted to embrace the three of them into a grand hug, telling them how much he missed and loved them, he didn’t dare to do so. After all the years they spent away from each other, he was able to reflect and forgive them for the wrong things they’ve done to him, intentional or not. What he didn’t know, however, was how they viewed him after all these years. Did they forgive him for all the troublesome chaos he caused, intentional or not? Could they find it in themselves to do so? He didn’t blame them if they didn’t, he wasn’t even sure if he would.

“You know, we thought that you had died, mate. No one had seen you in so long after...after L’manburg. And I know he isn’t family, but he practically was, so it was concerning when Tubbo went missing too. Then, out of nowhere, Fundy was gone overnight. I thought I lost my family, so I became desperate to get Wilbur back so that the three of us could get you all back.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, mate?”

“Why get us back? Why want us as family?”

Did he forgive them? Yes, of course he did. Doesn’t mean that he had to forget their actions, as well as the consequences that came from them. Doesn’t mean that he wasn’t allowed to question their decisions. He still loved them, sure, but he needed answers. He needed to know if they loved him back, if they loved all of them. He watched as Wilbur was in deep thought, trying to find the right words to say. He turned to see Phil, emotion running through his face as he stared at Tommy, not knowing what to say to his questions. The last person he thought would speak up, spoke up.

“We were blinded by our own emotions, Thes- er, Tommy. That’s not an excuse for our impulsive decisions, especially ones that put your life at stake, we know this. But we are family, as much as I tried to run away from that fact over the last few years. I let the voices and the power that I held as a pvp god distract me from my original mission.”

“Original mission? What was that?”

“Protecting you. Well, protecting everyone in my family. I have always been protective of my family, but the first night you were brought home changed how I handled that. The moment you laughed, I knew that I had to get stronger to keep all of you safe. I never thought that I’d use that strength against the very same person who brought me to want to become stronger. I’m not going to beat around the bush, we’ve been a shit family to each other these past years. We’ve hurt you, in ways that we may not even know. But, Tommy, if you let us, we can try to be the family you deserve.”

Tommy stared at his eldest brother, surprise painting his face. Blinking a few times, he switched his gaze over to both Phil and Wilbur, before returning it to Techno. Lightly biting his tongue, he took his gaze off of the pink haired warrior and faced the front, refusing to look at any of the three men walking beside him. Finally putting proper words together in his mind, Tommy spoke up once more.

“You all have hurt me in a handful of ways, that is true. But I’ve also hurt all of you, too. For all that, I’m sorry. As for not being a family, that can’t be solved quickly. This isn’t something we can speedrun into a healthy dynamic.”

“Tommy, we-”

“But that doesn’t we still can’t heal. If you are all willing to take the time and effort to work with all of us to fix our family, I’m willing to give you that chance. Oh, and Technoblade? You can call me Theseus, it is a part of my name, after all.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile as the tension from the three men left their bodies, relief taking its place. Peering behind him, he made eye contact with his nephew, who stared back with worry. His worry, however, melted into a content smile as Tommy gave him a reassuring nod. Waving him over, Tommy smiled as Fundy excused himself, jogging up to be at his uncle’s sign. 

“Hey, Tom- Hey!”

“Haha! Look at you, being all amazing!”

“Can you not be an embarrassing uncle for five seconds?”

“Nope!”

Fundy rolled his eyes at his uncle, laughing for a while before standing up straight. Ducking his head in nervousness, he gave a shy smile and wave to his grandfather, as well as his other uncle and father. Before words were exchanged, however, a frantic wail filled the air, catching Fundy’s attention immediately. Taking a few steps in front of everyone else, he kneeled down with arms open. Running towards him was Theo, wide eyes as he reached for his father, who lifted him into the air in an instant. Burrowing his face into the neck of his father, Theo dramatically wailed once more. The concern that once filled Fundy and Tommy had melted away at this. They now knew that he wasn’t in danger, he was just overreacting. The two of them would bet anything that a certain gremlin was behind this. 

“Theo, what’s wrong, buddy?”

“SHE WAS GIVEN A SWORD, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIIIIIIEEEEE!!!!!”

Fundy and Tommy gave each other a look, both unsure as how to respond to that. A shrill shriek of joy caught the entire group’s attention. There, frantically swiping a wooden sword in the air, came a joyful Clementine at full speed. Running up to Fundy, she began to jump up and down, sword waving in the air, as she tried to reach Theo, who had managed to climb on top of his father’s head.

“DON’T LET HER REACH ME, PAPA!!! SHE’S CRAZY WITH THAT THING!!!”

Theo shrunk behind his father’s hat as Clementine reacted to his statement by growling at the fox hybrid. Sighing, Tommy scooped up the rowdy child, who squealed as she hugged the sword.

“Clem, ya can’t go around swinging a sword at your cousin. And don’t ever hug an actual sword, ever, dear god. I’d like you to keep your fucking limbs, Jesus Christ.”

Clem only responded to this with a giggly smile, turning back to face her cousins. Fundy rolled his eyes as he plucked his son off his head, cradling him in his arm as Theo hugged his father’s hat in his chest. 

“Clem, what do we say when we hurt someone or make them scared?”

“SUCK IT!!!”

“For fucks sake, Clementine, no. We say that to jackasses and assholes, not to your cousin. Try again, Clem.”

“Humph, sorry, TT.”

“Hm, okay! I forgive you, CC!”

Before the children, who were now conversing in their own secret language, were introduced to everyone, a concerned Grian and Kristin ran over. Once they saw the children, they physically relaxed. 

“Thank goodness they came to you guys, we nearly panicked when they ran. Things were going great, but then Clementine whacked Grian on the foot before turning her attention to Theo.”

“It’s what we expected, this is Clementine we’re talking about.”

“Grian? Is that really you?”

Grian stiffened as he turned to face Phil, Wilbur and Techno staring at him in disbelief. Rubbing his arm in uncertainty, he watched as Phil walked up to him. Eyes scanning his face, Phil let out a strangled noise as he threw his arms around Grian, never expecting to see his first missing son after all the years that passed by. Grian let out a sigh as he hugged back, a smile painted on his face. Pulling away, he let out a laugh as he turned to his brothers. Shooting Tommy a look, Grian snickered at the nod of approval given to him. Turning back to Wilbur and Techno, he let out a hearty laugh as he yelled out words that Techno knew too well.

“OH, I’M PRESSING THAT HUG BUTTON!!!”

“Wait-”

Tommy wheezed out a laugh as Wilbur and Techno were pulled into a group hug by Grian, the triplets finally being reunited. It wasn’t until they heard the choked up and shy tone that came when Phil spoke.

“Kristin? How, uh, hey! How up? What’s you? Shit, wait, no. How are you?”

“Really? Decades separated, and this is the greeting I get.”

“I didn’t mean to be-”

“At least buy me dinner, sheesh.”

[hugoisthecoolestaround]

THE GROUP CHAT: Hugo has freckles ME WHO SHOULD’VE NOTICED: Does he? ME 4 HOURS LATER:

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Among Us: Impulse morphs into Tango during an imposter round, but something glitches and he finds he can't switch back, even when they return to the lobby. Chaos, hilarity, and/or angst ensue between him and Tango while all of them try to figure out what's going on! (Partially inspired by a real glitch that happened in the most recent session)

that glitch was so weird! especially since, unlike in this fic, he looked normal to everyone else but on his own screen he was still Tango

Impulse has never been an expert at the morpher role but he gets gradually better every time he practises. Normally, the easy part is the sampling and the hard part pulling off the morph.

But this time, the morph is the easy bit.

Impulse doesn’t realise that anything is wrong until he finishes his morphing - or so he thinks - and trots through laboratory, heading for specimen.

“Hey, Tango,” says Brody as he passes in the opposite direction.

Impulse opens his mouth to respond, before his friend’s words sink in and he stops dead, turning. “What…?”

But Brody’s already gone.

As Impulse is staring after him in confusion, a body is reported and Impulse is teleported to the meeting table with everyone else.

Astro, the person who reported the body, is about to speak when he spots Impulse and frowns. “Wait… Tango…?”

Impulse frowns back. “No… Impulse…?”

“Tango’s dead, isn’t he?” says Brody, indicating his tablet, before following Astro’s gaze and realising what his friend is saying. “Oh, wait, hang on…!”

“What?” Impulse demands. “What are you looking at?”

Astro blinks. “Tango, why do you sound like Impulse?”

“Because I’m not Tango, dude. I AM Impulse. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not funny.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s not,” Brody responds. “You’re the morpher, aren’t you?”

“What?!” Impulse stares at him. “What’s leading you to say that?”

“Dude.” Brody raises an eyebrow. “Figure it out.”

Frowning, Impulse slowly looks down at his hand and finds it clad in red. He’s in a red space suit, and when he looks at himself in the reflection of his tablet, he finds Tango’s face looking back at him.

“GAAAAAH!”

Astro and Brody exchange a look as Impulse completely panics. They lock in their votes for him, before moving simultaneously around the table to attempt to calm him. “Impulse,” Brody starts. “I need you to c-.”

“I’M STILL TANGO OH MY GOD I’M STILL TANGO I DON’T WANNA BE TANGO ANYMORE I THOUGHT IT WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO LAST TEN SECONDS WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME AM I EVER GONNA BE ABLE TO CHANGE BACK OH NO WHAT IF I’M STUCK AS TANGO FOREVER I DON’T WANNA BE-!”

“Impulse!” Astro shakes Impulse’s shoulders, bringing him back down to earth. “Stop panicking! It’s obviously just some kind of glitch; you should be okay once we get back to the lobby.”

Impulse forces himself to calm down enough to think clearly. “Y-You’re right. We should probably just vote someone off and get this over with.”

“We’ve both already voted for you,” says Brody.

“...aww…”

Sighing, Impulse votes for himself.

When he appears back in the lobby with everyone else, he again looks down at his hand but realises to his shock that it’s still red.

“Oh my god!” the real Tango yelps. “You really do look exactly like me!”

“Okay, first of all, HE’S the real Tango,” Impulse says quickly, pointing at Tango. “Second, HOW DO WE REVERSE THIS?!”

“There’s two Tangos!” Skizz gasps suddenly. “Which one is the real Tango?”

“HIM!” Impulse snaps, jabbing his finger at Tango. “I JUST said that!”

“Wait, why do you sound like Impulse?”

“Because I AM Imp-!” Impulse has to break off in sheer frustration and disbelief. “Skizz, you GOTTA pay attention during meetings, man! Even as a ghost, you have the attention span of a GOLDFISH!”

Skizz blinks. “That’s mean! ...it’s true, but still mean. But how do we fix this?!”

“I don’t know!” Impulse shrieks. “I’m freaking out over here!”

“YOU’RE freaking out?!” Tango’s voice cracks with panic. “I’m staring into my own face! This is the most terrified I’ve ever been!”

“SHUT UP!”

Everyone falls silent and looks towards Brody, who strides into the middle of the lobby, in the centre of the group. “Everyone be quiet. Yelling at each other and panicking isn’t gonna help anyone.”

“Thank you, Brody,” says Etho gratefully, glad he didn’t have to raise his own voice. “Okay Impulse, I just need to edit something in your code for a second, then I need you leave the lobby and come back. Okay?”

Impulse nods shakily. “O-Okay. And if it doesn’t let me back in?”

“If you’re not back within five minutes, we’ll all leave and remake the lobby.”

“Okay.”

Impulse heads over to the door to the airlock and leaves the lobby.

Etho taps away on his special admin tablet, making sure everything’s ready for their friend’s return.

Half a minute goes by.

Then a full minute.

And then another.

Just as everyone’s starting to get concerned, the door opens and Impulse comes back into the lobby, an apprehensive look on his face. “Did that work?”

“The banana is back!” Skizz cheers, grabbing his friend in a hug. “Yaaaay!”

“I’m no longer looking at a carbon copy of my own face, so I’m happy,” adds Tango, giving Impulse a grin. “Let’s hope you don’t get morphling again, huh?”

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault. I’m usually a great morpher. Remember that time I changed back in front of three people and you didn’t notice, even though I was actually humming to myself in the process?”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure we were dealing with an oxygen-related emergency at the time,” says Evil. “But true, you’re not a terrible morpher. At least you remember you only look like the person, not sound like them.”

He shoots a pointed look at Skizz, who raises his hands and defensively says, “Hey. I’m not morpher very often. Gimme a- Wait, how’d this get onto ME? Impulse is the one who got the morphing stuck on him and you still manage to find a way to dunk on ME!”

Impulse laughs, relieved that the stress of the situation is finally over. “You just make it too easy, buddy.”

“Shut up.”

[solohux]

Prompt: the knights comes back to the ship with a de aged kylo and since kylo has had a crush on hux for months, the only thing he remembers is hux = happy,safe feelings❤️

In the two brief years that Hux has known Kylo and the Knights of Ren, he has never been summoned to the hangar bay to await their arrival. It’s strange, Hux thinks as he stands at parade rest amongst the sea of busy pilots with his gaze locked onto the hangar’s opening, that the Knights’ mission to Korriban should end in a meeting with the Force-null General.

Even stranger, perhaps, is that the request for Hux’s presence wasn’t made by the leader of the Knights but by Vicrul, arguably Kylo’s closest ‘friend’ amongst the group of mysterious marauders but a stranger to Hux; their lack of connection had almost prompted Hux to completely ignore the request but the words that the Knight had spoken quietly at the end of the transmission has made sure that the General is here early.

‘Master Kylo needs you.’

Hux breathes deeply, exhaling with a lowering of his tense shoulders. He would say that he and Kylo haven’t grown into friends or even acquaintances since they became co-commanders, remaining fairly indifferent to each other despite spending a lot of time together, especially as of late. Despite Kylo not seeming like one for paperwork and admin, he’s been asking to work in Hux’s office alongside him on the more menial tasks of Project Starkiller, offering insight that Hux is embarrassed to admit is valuable. Kylo is turning into a valuable cog in the well-oiled machine of the First Order; to have something happen to him now would be most unfortunate, both to Hux’s work and his private life.

The Night Buzzard approaches from hyperspace and slows to an almost-halt as it cruises into the hangar bay, no doubt piloted by Kuruk. As soon as the ship is landed, maintenance crews come off standby and set to work on it, refuelling it and checking its status, but all Hux can focus on is the lowering hatch and the five cloaked figures who emerge.

Kylo and Vicrul are missing.

“Knights,” Hux greets, giving a polite nod to each of them before focussing on the one in the middle, Cardo. “What is so important that you require my presence upon landing?”

The Knights all share a glance as though silently communicating with each other before Cardo speaks.

“The situation is delicate,” she says, one hand flexing nervously at her side. “There’s been some trouble.”

“I assume you mean Kylo,” Hux says, having come to learn that his co-commander’s name is synonymous with trouble.

“He is…changed,” Cardo says in a quiet tone though her helmet helps Hux to hear her. “It’s going to be a shock to see him but until we can fix him, he needs to stay with you.”

“Why me?”

“He’s been asking for you since this happened,” Cardo says, turning back around to the Buzzard as footsteps approach from inside. “And you’re the only one we trust with his care.”

“Care?” But none of the Knights answer him. They all step aside as Vicrul descends the ramp from the ship, carrying something—or someone—upon his hip.

There’s no doubt that it is a child, but how? Why? Hux can only stare in amazement as he tries to put everything together, looking at the child’s pale face, dark hair and the black robes that are much too big for his little, five year old body.

When he uncurls himself from Vicrul’s shoulder and Hux sees his tear stained cheeks, he recognises those the amber-brown eyes immediately.

Hux can barely speak, “Ren?”

“Hux. Want Hux,” the child says, wriggling out of Vicrul’s hold before the Knight can set him down, running with his arms out towards Hux but he stands on his long cape and trips. Hux is quick to catch him before the boy can actually fall down.

Being this close, Hux can see that the boy’s robes are the exact same as Kylo’s, only now on a much smaller body than that of the Master of Ren. The child scrambles into Hux’s hold, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, clinging on so tightly that it takes Hux’s breath away for a moment. The General gingerly reciprocates the hug and stands up, sliding one arm under the boy to support him as he sits on his hip whilst the other arm wraps around him in a loose grip, rubbing up and down slowly.

“This is Master Kylo,” Vicrul says, straightening his clothes now that the boy isn’t clinging onto him anymore.

“What happened?” Hux gasps, completely in shock. Little Kylo rests his head on Hux’s shoulder and grabs a handful of his greatcoat’s lapel, sniffling quietly.

“A trap was set in one of the Force shrines on Korriban,” Cardo says. “Master leapt without looking. He’s been reverted back to a child without any memories of his life.”

“No memories,” Vicrul repeats, “Except for you.”

“Me?” Hux exhales, looking down to Kylo. “Ren and I just co-commanders. Why would he remember me?”

“Hux,” Kylo says softly, lifting his head up and blinking his tears away, some semblance of a smile forming on his face. “Hux is my friend. Hux, safe.”

Hux’s stomach twists. Is this what Kylo truly thinks of him? A friend? Of all of his memories, his thoughts of Hux have held on through whatever Force-spell caused this age regression to happen to him. Perhaps they are more than co-commanders after all. He wipes a stray tear from Kylo’s cheek using the now-oversized cowl and touches his nose with his finger, making the boy giggle. Hux wonders if Kylo’s adult laugh is just as much of a glorious sound as his childlike one.

“Hux? Want to play?” The boy asks, pouting.

“I’ll have to clear my schedule,” Hux says. “And we’ll have to find you some clothes that fit you, hm? Perhaps a little First Order uniform.”

“Yuck, uniform!”

Hux smiles, “You haven’t really changed, have you, Kylo?”

“We can play pilots,” little Kylo says excitedly. “I’ll show you how to play! Please, Hux?”

“Well then,” Hux says, clearing his throat after he’s nodded to Kylo and turned to the Knights. “I suppose the six of you have a lot of work to do to fix your Master’s problem. You have my permission to use whatever you need to on board our ship to find your solution.”

“And what are you going to do in the meantime, General?” Vicrul asks.

Hux wraps his arm tighter around Kylo, “I’ve got a friend to take care of.”

[ask-beacons-finest]

It’s Raining Cats and Dogs! Wait…Are Those Roses?

A Ladybug Oneshot -Admin: Maryn

The yaps of a dog are echoed through the house along with the shrieks of a girl of roses. Zwei was a companion of the group when they were in school and now the newest resident in their house that they all shared together. All the girls were ecstatic except for the cat eared faunus living there. Blake was very hesitant to accept the dog into the home, but she couldn’t say no with all the smiles that adorned the girls’ faces. She had just barely warmed up to him at school when Ruby and Yang snuck him onto campus and now she was having to relearn living with Zwei after being apart with him for so long. Let’s just say that lint rollers were a very handy invention that moved into the home with Zwei. However Blake had gone through almost five lint rollers in nearly the one week he had been living there. It seemed like he was always on her things, not even Yang or Ruby’s things and they were his owners.

Speaking of Ruby, she was rolling around on the living room floor with Zwei playing with him. Although it was hard to tell just who was playing with who. Blake was curled up into the couch as far away from Zwei as possible reading a book. It was a great book set in a fantasy world and-something wet dropped on her feet-she felt her face melt into horror as she realized the dog might be drooling on her and Blake slowly lowered her book. She was a little relieved to only see that it was not the aforementioned dog but his ball. Taking a glance to her left, the small beast was planted on the floor staring at her. It felt like it was staring into her soul. Next to the furry hellish monster, there was the girl of roses looking at her with the same look in her eyes.

“What?” Blake spoke, raising an eyebrow.

“He gave you a toy, aren’t you going to throw it?” Ruby said, trying to give her puppy dog eyes. 

“You’re acting like a dog.” Blake glowered at Ruby.

“Does that bother you?” Ruby tilted her head.

“Yes.” Blake lifted her book up to begin reading but a finger was placed on top and the book lowered gently. The couch dipped beside her as Ruby sat down. She took the ball still lying on the couch and tossed it, Zwei took off after it in a mad sprint. 

“Do you not like Zwei?” Ruby said her voice was soft and concerned.

“No, I mean yes, I… I’m not sure.” She stuttered, unable to choose how she felt. 

“You did well with him back at the dorms. What’s wrong?” Ruby spoke a resounding pout in her voice.

“Yes, however he was only there for a short time and I had just barely gotten used to him when he left. Hence my discomfort at his arrival and continued stay.” Blake said a light blush staining her cheeks in slight embarrassment.

“Would you want to be friends with Zwei? He likes you, you know.” Ruby said with a growing smile on her face.

Blake looked in the direction he had run off in and back at Ruby. Her smile glowing so bright it could light up a dark room. Blake and Ruby had become closer in recent months. Living together certainly helped learn about each other. Ruby learned when to be more quiet around Blake at times and on the other end of the spectrum, Blake learned when to be more lively around Ruby. She loved her never ending smile, when she was in the White Fang such a smile was never seen, a rare diamond. Blake treasured the smile Ruby had and if it meant trying to get comfortable with Zwei to see that rosy smile that lit up her dark then she would try her best. She closed her book and set it down on the side table next to the couch.

“I will give it a shot.” Blake said softly a small blush coming to her cheeks. 

Ruby beamed, “Great! Stay here, I'll be right back!” Ruby shouted an in a cloud of petals was gone. 

Blake’s ears dipped a little, “I’m not the dog.” 

Almost as soon as that was said Ruby returned, startling Blake. In her arms she had dog toys, treats, a leash and the most important thing, Zwei! Ruby deposited Zwei on the ground two feet away from Blake and gently took Blake’s hand and pulled her to the floor. Blake let herself get pulled shakily to her knees beside Ruby, their shoulders brushing against each other eliciting a rosy-cheeked blush from both of the girls. 

“Here take this.” Ruby said and gave Blake a small dog bone. Blake examined the dog bone in her hand and she looked back at Ruby with an eyebrow raised. Ruby giggled and whispered in Blakes ear, “Tell him to sit and toss it.” 

Blake turned to the dog and eyed him wearily. “Sit?” She said and pointed with her opposite hand not holding the treat at the floor. Zwei yipped and in turn Blake cringed, he then plopped onto the floor. Blake’s ears perked and she tossed him the treat. ‘Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad. He is kind of cute.’ Blake looked back to Ruby, “Can I have another? What else can he do?” 

“Well, he can fetch, sit, roll over, play dead, shake and…” Ruby snickered, “He can talk shit.” 

Blake smiled and looked back over at Zwei, “Zwei, talk shit.” Zwei proceeded to yip, yap and growl. Ruby burst into giggles and Blake’s smile grew as she tossed the treat. She took another bone out of the bag that Ruby had, “Talk shit, Zwei!” Growls started again and the girls laughed. Blake then scooted forward and handed the bone to Zwei, “Please take it nicely.” Blake smiled gently as Zwei gingerly took the bone from her hand. 

Ruby looked about ready to squeal and covered her mouth. Scooting up closer to Blake she held out her hand, “Give me your hand.” Blake held her hand out to Ruby, Ruby took her hand and flipped it to be palm up on hers.

“Ready?” Blake nodded her head slightly nervous at what she thought was going to occur. Ruby guided their hands in front of Zwei where he sniffed them and Blake took a slight breath. He then bowed his head slightly and the girls placed their hands on top. 

“He’s so soft.” Blake said surprised her mouth open in shock. Ruby slowly pulled away her hand as Blake’s hand sat on top rubbing his head. Zwei gave happy pants of satisfaction. Blake looked over at Ruby eyes glowing, “I think I like him.” 

Ruby smiled happily. “Oh thank god! I thought Yang, Weiss and I would have to keep him in our rooms!” Ruby looks over at Blake, “can he stay in your room?” Blake smiles, “Hm, yeah sure.” She said while playing with his ears, “As long as he doesn’t lay on my clothes.” 

Zwei gives a responding bark of approval and the girls laugh. They continue to play with him all day, throwing and handing treats. A quick dinner was made and they continued to play into the evening and night. 

“Looks like they had fun.” Yang says quietly. Weiss and her had just gotten back from shopping and riding Bumblebee for the day. Weiss smiled upon entering the living room herself. She picked up a blanket and gently draped it over the two girls of ladybug colors. On the couch laid the two girls cuddled together with Zwei curled up at their feet.

[seulgiology]

still with you ┃jeon jungkook

pairings: idol!jungkook x non-idol!reader

words: 2.6k

genre: fluff :)

synopsis: you miss jungkook while he’s away on tour, but he reminds you that he is still with you no matter what. 

warnings: cute shit ahead, angst if you squint, might make you smile.

a/n: ahhh omg admin 2 is here to save the day. june has been a really shitty month for us when it comes to giving you guys some fics and we’re sorryyy. butttt here is some jk fluff inspired by his song still with you, bc omg it is so good and i listen to it like all the time lmao. when i listened to it, i got inspired to write a little oneshot ahaha. okay this is getting long lmao, love you all <3.

disclaimer: This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

--

The low music playing is what motivates you to get out of bed. You walk over to the vinyl player in your room to turn it off and when you do, you slump against the dresser with a tired sigh and rub your eyes. 

You can’t sleep.

That was the conclusion you came to after trying to fall asleep but failing, and here you are thirty minutes later. You had eaten dinner, took a hot shower, and even played a vinyl to help you sleep but even that rendered useless. You knew the cause of your restlessness was because your boyfriend wasn’t home and was overseas on tour still. 

It was a hard transition at first, getting used to your boyfriend being out of the country for tours. Some would think that after years of being together, you would’ve gotten used to it but they don’t understand how had it is. Since you’re already used to Jungkook being apart of your everyday life, it is hard when suddenly he’s gone for sometimes months. 

Even though at times you would fly out to wherever he was to attend a concert or see him. There are video calls whenever you two can and texting every day when he’s not busy. But, there was nothing like being in his presence. At times it was hard for you to fall asleep because he wasn’t there and you felt pathetic for needing him this much but you couldn’t help it.

You leave the room, the sound of your slippers being the only thing heard through the quiet house. You walk down the stairs and make your way to the kitchen, hoping some tea will help you relax some more. You fill the tea kettle with water before placing it on the stove and while you wait, you go back to your room to get your phone.

When unplugging it from the charger on your nightstand, you see two new messages from Jungkook from three minutes ago and you instinctively smile, unlocking your phone to see what he said. 

jk <3: hey baby, we just got done performing and im exhausted but happy.

jk <3: i know you’re probably sleeping but i love you and we will call when you wake up, sweet dreams baby.

A sad smile falls across your lips when reading the messages and you call him without thinking twice about it. You sit at the end of your bed and wait for him to answer the facetime call. He said he was exhausted and it was only five minutes ago so he shouldn’t be sleeping yet.

When he answers, your breath hitches at the beautiful sight of him. He’s smiling wide at the camera ad pushes some hair away from his eyes delicately. “Y/N, hey!” Jungkook is practically shouting and you hear the boys in the back yelling their greeting to you as well and you can’t help but smile.

“Hi,” you greet back in a small voice and Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice how off you sound. You watch as he bustles around and then finally sits down, where there isn’t as much noise being heard. “I didn’t know you were still at the stadium, do you want to call when you get back to the hotel?” You suggest and Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow a bit at the tone of your voice. It sounded a bit shaky and he just knew something was wrong.

“No, no it’s fine we’re not leaving for another twenty minutes. Plus, I’m riding with Jimin so I have to wait until he’s ready,” Jungkook assures with a wave of his hand and pushes some hair out of his face again, causing you to smile again. “I thought you were sleeping though. Why are you still up?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit sheepishly. You watch as Jungkook’s smile falls from his face and immediate worry crosses his features. “Ah, don’t worry Kook-ah, I just have trouble sleeping without you sometimes but I get over it.”

“Y/N…” Jungkook trails off sadly. Your eyes widen when you realize he started to worry anyways but before you could speak, he’s talking again. “We talked about this, yeah? Whenever you can’t sleep just call me, you know I’m not busy when you’re heading to sleep anyways. I always make time for you regardless,” he reminds you in a soft voice and the emotion that crashes into you makes you look down because your eyes started to tear up. 

“I know, I just don’t want you to worry about me. I should have been gotten used to this,” you whisper more to yourself, feeling even more upset. “I’m sorry,” You whisper, tears close to falling and emotion thick in your voice. 

“Y/N, hey, baby don’t cry,” Jungkook says in his soothing voice but you keep your head down, refusing to look at him. “I’m going to worry about you whenever I’m not by your side, that’s a given and that’s nothing you should be apologizing for. Don’t apologize for missing me, okay? Because I miss you too- so much,” Jungkook admits calmly and you can’t help but break down into tears. 

Jungkook is glad he has his headphones with him because he wouldn’t want the boys to hear you crying, it hurting him just not being there to hold you. He knew you took it hard whenever he had to leave and it made him feel bad sometimes but he knew you understood. 

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you say through your sobs, and Jungkook smiles sadly at you. You finally raise your face to wipe at some tears and Jungkook stays silent, waiting for you to speak. 

“I think it’s the time we been apart, you know? This is the longest we’ve been apart and it hasn’t even been two months yet,” you laugh is painful to hear because he knows it isn’t one of humor. Your chest felt like it was caving in the more you speak and as you look at Jungkook, your heart aches knowing you can’t touch him or hear him in person. “I just really miss you,” you whisper finally.

“I know and I miss you too,” Jungkook whispers back and feels himself tearing up as well, always having been a bit more open with his feelings when it came to you. “Just another week, okay? And if you’re still up when I get to the hotel, I’ll sing you to sleep.”

“Really?” you ask in a hopeful voice and Jungkook grins at your eyes brightening a bit. He nods with a hum and you smile the tiniest but it’s enough for him. 

“I love you,” he reminds you and your heart does that little skip it always does when he tells you he loves you. “I love you too, Jungkook,” you say back, the smile he gives in return enough to make you smile wider. 

You two hang up shortly after and you shuffle back down the stairs with a heavy heart. You felt a bit better but you were still missing Jungkook. You were going to have to get used to this so this wouldn’t be a problem for him for future reference.

You turn the stove off once downstairs and push the kettle to the back because you weren’t in the mood for tea anymore. When you get back upstairs, you just lay in bed and scroll through twitter, watching little moments and fancams from the concert earlier and pride swells through you at how good Jungkook is and has gotten throughout the years.

In fifteen minutes, your phone is ringing again and Jungkook is singing you to sleep. And that night you get the best sleep you’ve gotten since he has been gone.

-- 

It was two days later and you were coming home from dinner with some friends of yours. You had stopped by the store on the way home to grab some snacks because you were running low. You close the door behind you after and kick your shoes off by the door, trading them for your house slippers. 

You flip on the light and shuffle to the kitchen, turning that light on as well. It took you a few minutes to put the snacks away and after that, you got yourself a bottle of water from the fridge. As you walk upstairs, you text Jungkook letting him know you got home from dinner and you were going to watch a movie in a few.

When you get to the bedroom, you flip the light on and start to take off your clothes. You walk in you and Jungkook’s closet and turn to his side of the closet, picking out a pair of his sweats for yourself. Just as your finishing up, the doorbell is ringing.

You pull your hair out of Jungkook’s hoodie with a confused frown, wondering who could be at the door. You jog down the stairs while running a hand through your hair cause of how messy it looked after pulling on your boyfriend’s hoodie.

You open the door without thinking and who you see standing there knocks the breath out of you. You blink a few times to try to see if your vision is blurry but he is still standing there. Holding his camera bag and a suitcase by his feet, smiling shyly at you. 

“Surprise?” Jungkook says in more of a question and your mouth opens, then shuts. You can’t speak because you’re feeling so much right now. The feeling of relief and happiness is spreading through you so fast it is becoming overwhelming. You open your mouth to speak again but quickly shut it when realizing you don’t know what to say.

Instead of speaking, you do the first thing that comes to mind. You take two steps towards him and wrap your arms around his middle, gently laying your head down on his chest and closing your eyes. Jungkook smiles from above you before hugging you back, kissing your forehead softly and swaying you two gently back and forth.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like forever before Jungkook pulls away, grabbing gently at your shoulders so he can see your face. A smile finds its way onto your face as Jungkook is already smiling down at you, tucking strands of your hair behind your left ear. 

“Hi,” you finally greet and Jungkook can’t help but laugh in relief, swooping down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. You’re caught off guard but kiss him back anyways, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. 

It’s a short but sweet kiss and you’re the one pulling away from it this time. You smack your lips together and smooth your hands up his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook is looking down at you so sweetly, your heart is starting to hurt. 

“Let’s get inside,” you suggest, and Jungkook nods, gathering his stuff and walking into the house after you. “Have you eaten?” you ask after locking the door, while Jungkook takes his shoes off. 

“No, I’m more tired than hungry,” Jungkook tells you while ruffling his fluffy hair. It makes you smile just knowing he is here with you again and a few days before he was supposed to be home anyways. Jungkook looks at you when noticing your silence and raises an eyebrow. This is when he really takes the time to realize what you’re wearing. “Are those my sweats?” he asks, amusement laced in his tone and you quickly heat up, arms wrapping around yourself.

“No!” you’re quick to say but Jungkook is already hugging you again, muttering about how cute you are. You shove him away slightly, grumbling under your breath and pulling the hood over your head. Jungkook kisses your forehead before grabbing his things and shuffling up the stairs.

“Come back down when you’re done!” you shout up after him and he makes a noise of agreement back. You walk to the kitchen and take out a bottle of water, sitting at the island and going to take your phone out of your pocket when realizing you left it upstairs. You stand up and make a move to go get it until your eyes catch sight of your backyard.

You walk towards the sliding doors and slide it open, stepping out into the clear night. There was a gentle breeze passing through the warm summer air and you pocket your hands in the pockets of the sweatpants that are way too big on you.

It was the stars that caught your attention from inside the kitchen. The way they were sparkling and glistening so brightly in the sky made you smile, and admire them. You weren’t sure how long you were standing there but when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind you, you blinked out of your trance. 

“What are you doing out here?” Jungkook whispers against your neck, pressing a light kiss there which sends shivers down your spine. 

“The stars are beautiful,” you respond in a soft voice, and Jungkook hums. His chin rests on your shoulder and your hands lay over his. It’s a beautiful night and the breeze knocks Jungkook’s heavenly smell into you. Leaning back into his chest, Jungkook kisses both of your cheeks.

He then grabs at your waist gently and turns you around in his hold so he can see your face. You notice his change of clothes and any makeup that was left on his face is now off. Jungkook sways the two of you again but you take it upon yourself to start moving. 

The two of you dance around your backyard with happy smiles on your faces and at one point Jungkook starts to sing. It’s soft and low but it’s enough, it’s enough for your eyes to tear up and for you to lean up and kiss him hard. The dancing slows but doesn’t stop as the kiss picks up, passionate, and filled with so many unspoken promises. You grip at his shoulders and he squeezes your hips, pulling you closer to him. 

When the rain starts to pour, neither of you move. You hold onto each other tightly and Jungkook moves his head back, breaking the kiss. It’s a happy laugh that sounds through the air and your tears spill over when noticing he’s crying, even though the rain. 

“I missed you,” Jungkook admits, his voice shaky and your heart fills. “And I love you, so much Y/N, I will never leave you, okay? It’s always me and you, forever. I’m still with you.”

His words echo in your head beautifully. His teary eyes look at you which such fondness and with so much love, you know he is being honest with you. You’re not sure where this is coming from but you don’t hesitate to kiss him again, but this time slower. You two move together perfectly and your trembling lips make you pull apart. 

“I love you, Jungkook,” you say to him and Jungkook bites his trembling lip to keep from crying. The rain is starting to pour harder but neither of you care. “Always,” you assure with a small smile. The volume of your voice was a bit loud due to the heaviness of the rain but Jungkook heard you loud and clear. 

After the heartfelt moment outside, you two scurry back inside and rid of your clothes immediately, dropping it at the laundry room and as you’re drying your hair, Jungkook speaks.

“You know we just kissed in the rain right?”

“And there goes the moment.”

[carelessannie]

maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 2)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory WIP

Starker focus (Tony x Peter), Winteriron (Tony x Bucky), with reference to Stucky, Stony and Stuckony

This is the “meet... awkward” for my AU, and takes place roughly 8 months before the first chapter. Enjoy!

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, OmegaSub!Peter, BetaDom!Tony, OmegaSwitch!Bucky, AlphaDom!Steve, Heavy Awkward Flirting, Cute Nicknames, Kinda Sexy Winteriron

Maybe it goes like this:  

8 Months Earlier

Peter is looking forward to seeing his Pack after class, definitely needing to cuddle up with Annie in their nest tonight. And maybe Clint will bring home pizza. It’s been a long-ass day.

Okay, definitely pizza.

From the front of the class, Peter can hear his professor introducing the guest lecturer, and he drags his backpack around to his seat to unlock his laptop and notebook. Just as he logs in and dates his notebook page, Peter looks up to see the most attractive man in New York walk through the door, smile to the class, and introduce himself.

Tony.

Tony Stark?

No Way. The Tony stark?

Peter's ears ring, and he swears he sinks three feet into the floor.

Mr. “just call me Tony” Stark is saying something about BioMolecular Engineering, about class credit, about new processes in the industry, about independent research opportunities, about the— wait.

Peter jerks in his seat, mouth ajar, as The Tony Stark lists benefits of working in his research lab for Stark Industries, a dream Peter has nursed since high school. He barely hears the rest of the presentation, focusing on closing his mouth and blinking, keeping hot Arousal out of his scent, adjusting himself in his pants—

“—and I’ll take questions up front if you have them, thanks."

There’s a round of lazy applause, as students start to pack up and file out, and Peter shakes himself, You have to talk to him. He scribbles a few questions on his notebook and throws everything into his backpack, floating across the classroom and to the back of the line.

When he finally steps up, both of them freeze. Peter restrains himself from scenting the older man right there in the classroom because hot damn .

Peter lets out a short gasp of “hellomynameisPeterParker,” thrusting his hand forward, and is pulled in for a firm handshake, Tony Stark looking into his eyes with a vaguely amused expression.

Peter lets go, reluctantly, and stutters out, “M-mr. Stark? I think I’d be interested in the semester research opportunity.”

“Of course, Peter Parker,” Tony turns and grabs a StarkPad, scrolling briefly before handing it over to Peter, “if you want to fill it out today, feel free. It’s an equal opportunity research grant, and provides a weekly stipend for the duration of the program.”

Mr. Stark continued with details, as Peter quickly puts his information in the application and presses “submit.” He peers up at the older man, Beta? Probably? Most of what he can scent is spice and fire– maybe cinnamon, or chai like Clint? It’s hard to tell without throwing his face into the man’s neck, and inhaling deep–

“Mr. Parker? Pete?”

Peter’s head shoots up, and he realizes he’s been still for too long without responding, and immediately goes to apologize, “Oh, I-i’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I just… I finished the application? Shouldn’t I submit– or, sorry– send in a resume? Sorry.”

Mr. Stark keeps his expression schooled, but Peter can tell that he’s holding back a smile. Dammit Parker, way to nail the first impression. He shifts on his feet, biting his lip as Mr. Stark shakes his head slowly.

“No, it’s okay Peter. Our admin team will review the first round of applications by department, and send out an email link for further information, alright?” he gives into his smile, reaching out as if to... what, comfort Peter? But aborts the motion and crosses his arms, flexing slightly under his navy suit.

“Do you have any other questions, Peter?”

“No, n-no not right now, sorry, thank you Mr. Stark, sir. Um. Okay? I’ll see you later?” and Peter beats a hasty retreat out of the classroom, feeling his scent shift Embarrassed and hot tears prick his eyes.

Why does he always give a terrible first impression?

—

Tony stands, shocked in the empty classroom, schooling his scent and his breathing.

Thank you Mr. Stark, sir.

He collects his things in a haze, heading back to his pack and thinking about the gorgeous omega who just called his name.

Damn. His Alpha and Omega are gonna want to hear about this.

2 Weeks Later

Tony is straightening up the last few items in the R&D lab, hearing Pepper’s complaints of You need to care about your work space, Tony and You need to prepare a safe space for interns to work, Tony. And Pepper is right, of course, so Tony keeps cleaning.

He hears the doors swish open, and sighs, schooling his expression to neutral. He whirls around, raising his hands to defend himself against what he assumes is a new portion of nagging from Pepper, and instead–

The pretty omega from NYU.

What? “What are you–” Tony starts, watching as– Parker? Pete, Peter?– clutches a bag close to his chest, large doe eyes widening in shock and fear and… yup, there it is, FearShockEmbarassed Omega scent floods the lab as Peter takes a step backwards, lips opening and closing in shock.

“Hey, are you–”

“I’m so sorry, I–”

Tony shakes his head, stepping a little closer, “No, it’s okay, Peter? Right? From NYU?” with a nod in confirmation, Tony barrels ahead, “I thought you were– no, it doesn’t matter. Are you, are you here for the internship?”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, they said to come at noon, but I thought I’d get here early and, god I can’t believe it, I’m so sorry, I’ll just wait– uh, wait outside?” Peter stutters through the explanation, lowering his eyes and backing towards the door to retreat into the hallway.

“No, like I said Peter, it’s okay, honestly,” Tony looks around quickly, trying to find a seat for the started young man, and yanks out the stool to his workbench, “here, sit down, please?”

There’s a moment of stillness as Peter looks between the stool and Tony, muttering something under his breath and setting his jaw in determination. Damn this boy is adorable, and Tony forces himself to keep a neutral expression as the om– the intern – walks across the room and sets down his backpack. Tony turns to the other side of the desk to give Peter some space, and clears the last of the notebooks into a nearby drawer.

He wants to start a conversation with Peter, fingers twitching in the unbearable silence, but is saved by the lab doors opening again, revealing Pepper leading five lost looking interns into the room. She leads so gracefully, he thinks, and feels his scent turn Fond and Proud for the Beta. Pepper sits each intern down, greeting Peter as well, and before he knows it, orientation and introduction are underway. The interns have their own work benches, and Pepper lets another supervisor take over the first day paperwork.

While the interns work in silence, Tony refuses to fixate on Peter, even though he takes to the research environment so beautifully. He's smart, he makes the funniest sarcastic quips when he thinks no one is listening, and he's kind of quiet, but always speaks up when he has a strong opinion.

Tony keeps his interactions unbiased among the other interns, mostly betas and one alpha, and is so relieved when the day ends and the students finally shuffle out of the lab. Peter ends up last to leave, staring at Tony and nervously licking his lips as he shoulders his bag. He seems to hesitate.

“Yeah, what’s up Pete?”

“Oh… no, right, see you tomorrow?” Peter shifts back and forth on his feet.

Tony smiles, “Of course, early bird,” and honestly can’t help his eye twitching, helplessly, in a wink.

Peter stutters out some type of goodbye, and flutters back through the door.

Tony blows out a breath, “JARVIS, call Bucky.”

—

“So what you’re tellin’ me is, you’ve somehow managed to find a smokin’ hot–”

“Beautiful,” Tony interrupts, “and compatible–”

“Right, smokin’ hot, compatible omega, and you… hire him?”

“I mean, technically I didn’t hire him personally–”

“Tony–”

“No, you know what, I get it. It’s my fault I can’t have him. But Bucky, I swear he’s so damn smart, and I can’t even let myself hope about his orientation,”

Bucky groans audibly over the line, but Tony protests again, “–because I swear he would submit so beautifully, Bucky, I can just see it. And remember how I said he called me sir?”

“How could I forg–”

“It’s all I can think about. I don’t wanna be overbearing, but I’m completely helpless around him and have no idea what to do. Bucky, I winked at him. Winked. And he ran away so fast.”

He can hear Bucky laughing at him over the line, that idiot, and Tony drops his head in his hands.

“Want my advice, sweetheart?” Bucky doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “I think you should take it slow and court ‘im. Sounds like it could be awhile before you can make anything official, and what is he, like eighteen?”

“... Twenty.”

“Okay, twenty. He probably isn’t looking for a permanent pack anyways, alright? Get to know ‘im at work, and as soon as you can, you should also put a stop to him seeing you as his boss,”

“Wait, but–”

“No, Tony. As much as it feels great for this little omega to call you ‘Mr. Stark’ and ‘Sir,’ if you want anything more with this guy, you have to work to even out the relationship a bit.”

Tony slumps down into a seat, sighing dramatically. Bucky goes silent as Tony processes what he’s saying. A thought occurs to him,

“Wait, is that how Steve got you?”

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, you know our Alpha’s ‘bout as subtle as a dump truck. His advice is gonna be, ‘sit the omega down, state your intentions to court him, communicate clearly,’ all that shit,” another laugh, this time fonder, “I’m just sayin’ to save that for later, okay? Take it slow.”

Heading towards the door, Tony signals for JARVIS to move the conversation to his phone as he heads home. He pops in an earpiece for the call, and makes sure Bucky is still on the line.

“Yeah, I’ll take your advice Bucky-bear. Hey, are you home?” Tony taps his foot as the elevator descends to the parking garage, feeling a familiar itch starting under his skin.

“Yeah I am, Steve’s out until later... why, what’s up?”

He gets out of the elevator, heading for his car, “I think all this talk of the perfect omega has me missing you. Wanna do something soft and dirty when I get home?”

Bucky hums, the sound sweet and tempting, even over the phone line, “Whaddya have in mind, my Beta?”

“Oh you know I love when you call me that,” Tony peels out onto the main road, heading towards their coastal property, their home, “I want you to contact Steve and ask him to pick up dinner, your choice. I’ll tell him what my plan is for you tonight, so he won’t be surprised. I’ll be there in thirty-five minutes and want you in the red room, ready to play, understood?”

Tony can hear Bucky breathing quicker over the phone as he responds, “Yes, Beta.”

“My good omega. And for now, let’s not tell our Alpha about Peter. Not unless it gets serious, okay?”

“Mmm okay, Tony. Hurry home,” and Bucky ends the call.

Tony steps on it.