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afriendlyblackhottie · 3 years ago

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Bedroom Eyes

Summary: maybe working on New Year’s Eve wasn’t always a bad thing

Pairings: Chris Evans x interviewer!Black!Reader

Warnings: minors dni, fake dating, smut, daddy kink, rough sex, over stimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

(A/N: this is for my chick flick challenge!!! Yay finally putting something out ☺️☺️ not edited 👍🏾 like, follow, reblog with a comment and thanks for reading 💜 ✌🏾)

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Six months ago you and your boyfriend decided to ‘go on a break.’ Whatever that was supposed to mean. It’s just things hadn’t been clicking and you thought maybe some time apart would bring you back together.

So you moved out of your shared apartment and in with your best friend who promised to make you get butt naked ass wild. Whatever that meant. It all sounded like fun and games and it technically was but you’d kissed one fucking guy and David lost is goddamn mind.

And then the truth came out.

For all the yelling and the bitching about you, it wasn’t you. David had made the decisions for you without you even knowing. It was over. That was that. His new girl was moving in. Taking up your spot in the bed. She got to be the one to steal from his plate. It was her hand he was holding.

And you’d just gotten the honors of seeing it up close and personal for the very first time.

By now you’d kind of adapted to being single. Started getting used to waking up alone. It was kind of nice because you got to spread out. There were definitely pros and cons to the whole situation.

Didn’t have to worry about feeding him anymore. That was nice. Only had to worry about you. Even if you kind of liked cooking for him. But he was so picky it got so annoying.

God you missed the consistent sex. Probably most of all. That rose clit stimulator was fun but you were dying for even a little bit of penetration.

You’d been together for so long you’d forgotten what it was like to just be. Alone. Just you. Like what did you really like. Did you even like The Walking Dead or was it just because he liked The Walking Dead. What kind of food did you even like. Music? Did you even like music. Or art. There was just so much to rediscover.

And you’d been on your way. Even got a sweet new gig . Hell you were doing great. So why the hell did it still feel like you’d gotten punched in the stomach when you saw them together.

“H-hey,” you stuttered out. You couldn’t help it as you picked her apart. From her hair to her clothes. At some point you just got petty in your head and god you didn’t want to be one of those girls.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you all smiley and shit. Like we get it. God you sounded like such a hater. But who could blame you. You were pretty fucking salty. “Wha- what’re you doing here?” He asked all enthusiastic this smile spreading across his face.

She put her hand on his bicep and all you could think was, ‘girl, calm down. Nobody want him.’ Like a liar.

“Just hanging out,” you replied. “You must be Melissa.”

She nodded. “Uh huh. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh wow wish I could say the same for you,” you said through your forced smile. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy it was just you were fucking hurt. He’d moved on so quickly. Like had dropped an entire bomb on you that he’d met someone.

Honestly you’d only been here because you’d gotten invited last minute which made it even more fun that you’d run into them. And by fun you mean you wanted to pull out your eyelashes.

At least, Your sweet new gig came with some perks you admit. Had gotten to take home some pretty cool freebies. Like the new iPhone you’d gotten in a gift basket. Or all the meals on company dime. Yeah interviewing celebrities definitely came with it’s perks. Even when it meant working on New Year’s Eve, which ended up being worth it.

Well okay it would come with more perks but this had been your first big story. The actor you were interviewing was only free today since he was flying out soon and no one else had wanted to work on the holiday but it was kind of paying off for you.

You met up at this cafe which you were supposed to use to pay with the card your manager had given you except that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d been way sweeter than you’d expected and you don’t know how the two of you ended up sharing your life stories but you had.

Questions had been abandoned for conversation instead. Didn’t even look at your notepad at some point. Besides you were pretty sure all of this would stick in your mind. And that’s why he invited you to come out tonight. Neither of you wanted to stop talking.

It wasn’t like a date or anything. Just the two of you had been having fun. He was easy to talk to. First covering your childhoods because for some reason while you were supposed to be asking questions he kept going ‘hmmm what about you?’ like he wanted to hear all about it.

And he was really, really hot so it made you wanna talk longer.

Since the break had officially turned into a breakup your best friend had been trying to press you about getting yourself out there. Had tried tinder which was like a wasteland if you were being honest. And you ended up being uninterested in all the guys your friends tried to play matchmaker with.

“Um, are- are you here with anyone?” He asked, almost nervously.

“Hey, Babe, got your whiskey sour,” Chris said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders after handing you, your drink. It was like he’d been on cue. Great timing, Chris.

“Thanks,” you said smiling up at him. Hopefully showing that you were trying to express the double meaning with your eyes.

“Holy fuck, you’re Chris- you’re Chris Evans!” David laughed almost sounding sarcastic. You recognized that as his ‘well that’s fan-fucking-tastic,’ laugh. The one he did when he was nervous. “That’s great.”

Oh this was good. This was so good. Maybe he’ll finally stop texting you when he’s drunk now. Telling you, ‘she’s not you,’ as if you forced him into it. You weren’t the one that ended things.

“Yeah, hi,” he said. “And you are?”

“Chris, this is David,” you introduced. “Oh, and, Melissa.”

“Hi.” Melissa giggled out, eyeing him up and down

“David and Melissa… are they the ones we met at that charity gala?” He asked like he was deep in thought.

“No,” you laughed. Wow he was really selling this thing. “David’s my ex. Melissa is his new girlfriend.”

“Oh well it’s nice to meet you.”

“So how did you two meet?” David asked through gritted teeth.

“Work,” he said. “She interviewed me and we just hit it off.”

“Wow that’s… really, really cool.”

“Anyway it was nice meeting you, David. Gotta say thanks for not seeing what you had.” And that was how he finally pulled you away as you tried to keep in your excitement until he was far away enough.

“That was amazing,” you squealed as soon as you were far enough. Throwing your arms around him. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome. Figured you needed some rescuing when you looked like a cornered puppy.”

Your jaw dropped and you pulled away to smack his stomach. “Hey!”

Chris did this cute little smile and then rubbed the spot you hit. “I bail you out and then you abuse me?” Then he looked back at where they were. Seeing David looking right at the two of you. Chris’ eyes drifted back over to you before laughing. “Well guess you’re my date for tonight.”

“You’d do that?” You asked. Fuck he was hot.

“Yeah,” he replied. “LA is a small town. I’ve ran into so many exes. Wish I’d had someone to swoop in sometimes.”

“Well, thanks for swooping in for me,” you said.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “Alright, you wanna really get under his skin?”

You nodded not being able to stop the smile spreading onto your voice. “I’d love to.”

Chris grabbed your hand. You tried to not be too obvious that you were watching David’s reaction as Chris pulled you to the dance floor.

You were having too much fun hanging with Chris if anything. Doing shots and dancing. Your ex trying to sneak looks at you which you’d started paying less and less attention to as the night went on. Kinda hard to notice him when Chris was your date.

As midnight started inching closer and closer you kind of started to get nervous. Were you supposed to kiss him. He wasn’t going to kiss you, was he? Well guess it depends on how dedicated he was to his craft. You damn sure didn’t mind. Hell the two of you had ditched his friends a long time ago.

He’d just been so sweet all day. If you weren’t convinced he wasn’t just nice you’d think this was a real date with the way he was acting. He’d went off to get another drink and you’d went to the bathroom. As you washed your hands Melissa came in beside you, side-eyeing you as she was going into a stall. You crinkled your nose, hurrying the hell up. You were having a good night. You did not wanna deal with them.

Of course life couldn’t be that nice as David was waiting outside the door. You tried to walk passed him only for you to hear a, “Y/N, wait.” As he grabbed you by the arm to pull you back before you could walk away.

“What, David?” You asked.

“I just… are you really with Chris?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t aware that I had to,” you replied.

“What? I told you about Melissa.”

You scoffed. “Yeah because you dumped me for her.”

He huffed. “So? A heads up still would have been nice.”

“I don’t owe you anything, David,” you said trying to turn around so you could walk away.

“Don’t owe me anything? I’ve missed you so bad lately and you think you don’t owe me anything.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “That’s not my problem.”

“Everything alright over here?” Chris asked once again swooping in.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you replied with a sigh not even in the mood to hash this out.

“It’s almost midnight,” he said.

“Y/N,” David huffed, “come on. Let’s just talk.”

You sent a tight-lipped smile his way before getting closer to Chris. “Maybe later. I don’t wanna miss the countdown.”

Chris grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. Finally pulled you away just as you could hear the:

“10…”

“…9…”

He turned to face you as the both of you started doing the same as everyone else in the crowd. Glancing up to see David still standing there.

“…8…”

“…7...”

Was Chris really about to do this? He put his hand on your face. Stroking his thumb over your cheek.

“…6…”

“…5…”

He was seriously giving you those bedroom eyes too. Was this apart of him playing up as your date or was he serious.

“…4…”

“…3…”

Was this supposed to really be a date?

“…2…”

Goddamn he was so…

“…1! Happy New Year!” The rest of the crowd cheered but you couldn’t even get it out as Chris pressed his lips to yours.

You found yourself putting your hands on his strong shoulders. Feeling all tingly as he grabbed you to deepen it. Dear god he was so yummy.

When he pulled away he grabbed your hand. You got a quick glance at David who was looking at you in such disbelief. Oh well. Sucks to suck.

As the two of you sat in the VIP section this time you giggled over nothing. Falling back into your easy conversation like you were before.

“Okay, but guarantee your publicist is going to kill me,” you said with a giggle.

Chris snorted out a laugh. “No she won’t. She’ll just yell at me. Don’t worry I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Yeah I’m sure she’ll understand. I just fell under your spell.”

“Exactly! If anything she’ll feel sorry for you. Just make sure you cry extra hard.”

You laughed. Tilting your head back. “Well I’m sure my boss is really going to enjoy it when I write my article about my night being Chris Evans’ fake date.”

“I’d read it,” he said. “Besides, this fake dates feeling kinda real to me. We did kiss.”

“Yeah, we did,” you said your face feeling all hot.

Chris licked the corner of his mouth as he got close to you again. Putting his hand under your chin. “And I dunno about you, but I’m open to doing it again. If that’s okay?”

You nodded as you pursed your lips. Feeling suddenly self conscious from the way he was looking at you. Was your hair okay? Lipstick?

You didn’t really have anymore time to think as he started kissing you again. This time letting it linger. Leaning you back against the couch so he could get the best access.

“You wanna get outta here?” He asked pulling away. “Go back to my place?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I’d like that.”

Chris kept his hand on the small of your back, making you giggle, as the two of you tried to find the exit. Not bothering to say bye to your ex even when you passed him. Why would you when you were here with him. Literally who the fuck cares about anything else when a man like this was trying to take you home.

The two of you kept talking until he pulled up to a red light where he ended up pulling you into a quick kiss. Kind of nice knowing that it really wasn’t all for show. To be honest things could end right here and you’d be pretty happy. Hell it could end tomorrow and you’d be happy then too.

By the time you got back to his place he did the usual. Introduced you to his dog. Offered you a drink. Ended up pouring the both of you a glass of wine as Dodger played at your feet.

“No, no, no I refuse to believe that!” You shook your head. Giggling.

“What!” He gasped sitting beside you. “Do I look like I would lie to you?”

You giggled again. “Yes.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh whatever.”

“You’re not an actor for nothing,” you replied.

“I guess,” he said with a chuckle. Then he looked over at you out of the corner of his eye before grabbing the back of your chair to pull you closer.

“Hey!”

“What?” He chuckled. “You were too far away.”

“Well, you could have asked, Sir,” you said.

Chris smirked, one eyebrow raising up. “Ohhhh, sir… I like that sound of that,” he said sitting back. “Maybe you should call me that more often.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah? think I’ll need to?”

“Depends?”

“On?”

“If you can handle it,” he said putting his face close to yours.

“I think I can do that,” you whispered.

Chris licked his lips putting his hand on your cheek so he could bring you closer. Swiping his lips across yours quickly. “Have I told you how fucking pretty you are?”

You shook your head. Your face getting all warm. “No,” you whispered again this time feeling all shy.

“Well, I think you’re very pretty,” he whispered back before kissing you again. This time you put your hands in his hair as he started getting deeper. Fuck this was not how you’d been expecting your New Years to go. What a way to kick off the year.

When he added his tongue you let out the most embarrassing moan. He was just such a good kisser. And then he put his hand on your outer thigh. Inching up and running over your hip. “And you’re a good kisser,” he’d pulled away to say not even giving you a chance to respond before pulling you back in.

You might be actually having heart palpitations.

Finally he pulled away again to stand up. Helping you up with him. Then leaning down to kiss you again. “Let me give you a tour,” he said against your lips.

“Right now?” You asked with a pout.

“Mhm, want you to know your way around,” he said before kissing you again.

He held your hand as he made his way through the place. You’d already seen the living room when you’d walked in so he moved on before finally getting to his bedroom. Getting behind you and kissing all on your neck.

“And this is my room,” he’d said in your ear. Making you shiver as he kissed on you.

“It’s nice,” you breathed out. Pushing your ass back against him. Letting out a little gasp as you made contact against his cock. “Oh, fuck, Chris.”

“Mmm fucking like that sound.”

You leaned back so you could kiss him again. “More,” you whimpered as he started grinding against you.

That’s when his hands finally made their way to your chest. Grabbing all on your tits

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

One hand staying there as the other trailed down your body until it was to your crotch. That’s when he started rubbing you there over your dress. Making you try to get more contact on him.

“Just take this off,” he said with his lips all up in your ear as he started reaching for the hem. God it was just so… ugh you could tell you were wet a fuck.

Chris finally turned you around. Putting his hands on your ass. You don’t think you’d ever been kissed like this. With this much passion and want. Like there was this neediness, but at the same time no rush.

He smacked your ass making you yelp out another moan. Chris pulled away for a second so he could take his shirt off.

“You have tattoos?” You asked tracing your fingers over the words on his chest.

“A few,” he said as gripped your ass.

“Ow,” you whined trying to reach behind to make him loosen up. Only for him to let go and then come back against it with a smack. “Fuck.”

Hands going back up your body so he could undo your bra turning you back around so he could grab on your naked tits again. Pinching your nipples. “Get your ass on the bed.”

You did as you were told watching as he stalked over to you. You tried to cover yourself up with your hands. Suddenly feeling self-conscious about being naked in front of such a man.

“No, no. None of that,” he said as he moved your hands away from your body. “So fucking beautiful. You don’t hide yourself from me. Lay back, Baby. Lemme make you feel good.”

You nodded and did as he said again. He was still looking at you like he wanted to eat you up and after he kissed down your body you were pretty sure that’s exactly what he was about to do.

“So fucking hot,” he groaned as he pushed up your thighs. Licking his chops before leaning in a little closer to place kisses on your thighs. He leaned down to press his lips to your still covered clit. “These are cute panties, Baby. I like them,” he said all raspy before licking at the wet spot.

You gasped. “Fuck.”

Then he traced his fingers up and down. Making you breath out heavy. “Where’s your manners, Baby?”

You tried to rely but he kept kissing you there and then doing this thing where he’d lick and it was just driving you so frantic. “Oh, fuck,” you whimpered tilting your head back. “Oh, fuck, oh please. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“That’s better,” he replied with a little chuckle. Fuck he was getting pleasure out of treating you like this? Sadistic.

“More,” you moaned because well that sounded good to you.

Finally he pulled your panties to the side. “So goddamn pretty. C’mere,” he groaned before raising up to sit on his knees. Trying to get your panties off. Pulling them down your legs. “That’s my girl.” He pushed your thigh back up as he looked down at you.

Oh my god. It was like… he was hotter than you’d… like he was really doing… like you couldn’t wrap your head around what was happening. Fuck couldn’t even get your thoughts together. Face all fuzzy. Seriously he was looking at you like he was about to fuck you all night.

You wanted him so goddamn bad.

“Chris!” You raised up to tangle your hand in his hair. Tugging on the ends. “Oh my god!” Your hips stuttered up.

He in returned pinned you down. Wanting to keep you exactly where he wanted you. Like was it not enough he looked like a fucking daydream he had to eat you out like you were the best thing he ever tasted. Holy fuck. You were gonna fucking-

“Ah!” You screamed out as you squirted. Feeling like every nerve in your body was about to push out of you. Stomach clenching. “Holy fu- Chris!”

He kissed up your body until he was at your lips. The clinking of his belt buckle as he was barely undoing his pants. “You ready for me?” He asked getting in your ear again. His mouth felt amazing between your thighs but you kinda missed him like this.

He put his thumb against your clit make you let out this mewl. God you couldn’t believe you were really responding to him like this. He just felt so fucking good.

The quick sound of him undoing his pants was making you need more from him. “Chris, please,” you whimpered.

“What? Tell me what you want, Baby. I’ll do it.”

Oh fuck you think you’re about to fucking cum again.

When you’d interviewed him this morning at some point it did start to feel like a date. Just the way the two of you spent like… all day there until it was time to close. It was a holiday and those people wanted to go the hell home. Even if they were more than happy to keep bringing Captain America cookies.

It had been a long time since you’d talked to someone the way you did to him. The way he just… listened when you talked. Like he was the one interviewing you. Or like he really wanted to know things about you.

But you have to admit you had not been expecting to end up like this. He was Chris fucking Evans. Movie start. Hollywood heartthrob. Sure this might not go anywhere but at least you knew he’d fuck you right. Like so right. This man might be dangerous. He should not be able to look at you like that or touch you like this. It should be illegal.

But you wanted more.

“I want you to fuck me,” you confessed. “Please? Pretty please?”

“See I knew you could be a good girl. Such good fucking manners.”

Oh, fuck.

He finally pulled his dick out and you just had to see okay. Like you needed to know. Not for the article or anything. Don’t worry you were keeping it to yourself, but still you wanted to see.

God it was a good thing your coworker wasn’t able to make it. All you’re saying is if you were her you’d be pissed. Imagine getting this close to Chris Evans dick but you weren’t going to make it in time only for it to go to a smaller contributor.

“Fuck,” you groaned as it finally caught your eyes. Of course this pretty fuckin’ man would have a pretty ass dick to match. Fuck you wanted to- “Ah!” You yelped as he pushed the tip to your opening.

“Gonna fuck you nice and deep,” he said as he pushed the head in a like.

“Fuck,” God you sounded so whiney and pathetic.

You wanted more.

“Chris!” You cried, as he started kissing you. He was just pushing in so deep. His belt buckle smacking against your thighs until he finally took it out of the loops to drop it on the floor.

Dunno. Feeling pretty powerful that you’d made Chris Evans wanna fuck you so bad he couldn’t even wait to take off his pants before sliding in home to you.

“So damn tight. Can barely fit my dick in you,” he groaned. “So goddamn wet.”

“Don’t stop,” there was this tinge of desperation in your voice. “Please, don’t- ah- Chris!”

He’d filled you up to the hilt just then. Had your eyes watering. Face all screwed up. Goddamn. He felt so fucking good. You wanted more. So much, much more.

He wrapped on arm around your thigh to bring your knee up by your ear, while the other went under your head. He was just so close. Like he wanted you to feel every roll of his hips. Fuck.

“Don’t- ugh- don’t stop!” You cried.

So he fucking didn’t.

You didn’t even know you could cum like this. Just one right after another. And that was before he even took his pants off.

When he finally fell to your side so he could push them down his hips. You sat up so you could get on your knees this time. Was it weird to say your mouth was watering from looking at his cock? Who cares. You wanted it in your mouth now.

“Damn, Baby,” Chris groaned as you slurped him up. Damn you were gonna get addicted to this. You just know it.

He put his hand in your hair, pushing your head down so he was in your throat. Eyes getting watery wants again.

“That’s fuck- fuuuuck,” he groaned. “Come here,” he said snatching you off so he could pull you onto his lap.

“Ah!” You let out this scream as he’d slid you down his length. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.” He was just so fucking big and thick. You don’t really know how else you were supposed to act. It was just too much.

“That’s it. Bet your ex didn’t fuck you like this, did he?” He asked with a tight grip around your hips.

“Never,” you cried. “Fuck, Chris!”

“Good ,” he moaned. “Damn your ex was stupid. I wouldn’t let a pussy like this go.”

“Please,” you preened. Fuck you don’t even know what you’re begging for. You were just so over stimulated. “Fucking, please.”

“What you want, Baby? Just tell me and I’ll give you anything.”

Why did he have to look up at you like that. Was it not enough he was balls deep in your fucking guts? He had to look at you like that?

“I want-,” you tried to say but you couldn’t get a thought out this sob. Your next orgasm hitting you look a fucking freight train out of nowhere.

Chris chuckled and sat up. You looked so cute all fucked out. “I know, Baby. I got you.”

Honestly you felt like you were going to have a fucking mental breakdown. So you wrapped your arms around his neck. Sobbing into his shoulder as you came down his length.

Chris kissed your cheek and slowed down the movement of your hips. Ready to give you a moment. Fuck. He’d really done a number on you.

“It’s okay,” he said into your ear. “I’m here.”

You nodded and didn’t stop crying into his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He chuckled.

“It just felt too good. I got overwhelmed.” You sniffled.

“It’s alright,” he replied wrapping his arms around you, wanting to hold you. Bring you down a little. Let you know he wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s okay.” Chris kissed your forehead. “Here,” he said. “Lemme go and get you some water, okay?”

You nodded as you climbed off of him. He kissed your forehead again before moving away from you. Your body was twitching still. Little tremors running through you. Fuck. That was intense.

As you laid there, trying to get yourself together you couldn’t stop fucking shaking. Ugh. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t be sweet. But still. You were here in bed and breaking every rule with Chris Evans on your first time ever getting an interview like this, and you were tapping out?

That he’d literally went from helping you not look like in front of your ex and his new girlfriend and getting you water right now, and you were tapping out? You needed to get your shit together.

“Here,” he said sitting coming to your side to hand you the glass. “Gotta stay hydrated, Babe. Didn’t mean to wear you out,” he teased.

You chuckled as you took it from him. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” He asked. “We can take a minute.”

You nodded as he came to climb back in with you. Laying on his side the two of you facing each other.

Chris put his hand on your cheek. Stroking it with his thumb then placing a plump kiss on your lip. Why was he so cute. Fuck.

“I promise I won’t include this part in my article,” you mumbled.

Chris chuckled. “Well, it would definitely get a lot of hits if you did.”

“Your team would kill me. Hell my boss would kill me.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’d have to go through me first.”

“Look at you all tough guy,” you teased.

“Damn straight,” he said with a wink. “I take care of my woman.”

You raised an eyebrow even as your heart thumped so hard. “Oh I’m your woman now?”

He chuckled. “Working at it? I gotta be honest. I like you.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he said. “I know we just met but… it’s like since this morning I haven’t wanted you to leave and… I don’t know.”

“No I feel the same way,” you said.

He sighed. “So I’m not being a total meatball?”

“Yeah,” you said with a giggle, “but I like it.”

“Good,” he replied leaning into kiss you. He climbed on top of you as the two of you deepened. Wow barely even able to give watch other a chance. But what can you say you wanted him.

He pushed your legs apart again. Rocking his hips into you. You tried to move up hoping he’d get the hint and push into you, but it didn’t seem like he was. Fucking tease.

“Gonna fucking ruin you,” he said into your ear. “Make you my girl. You wanna be my girl?” Then he started nudging his tip against your slit.

“Uh huh,” you breathed out cuz fuck even that felt good.

“Use your words,” he said.

Fuck. Fuuuuuck. “Yes, Sir,” you whimpered out the correction.

“Much better,” he groaned as he pushed into you. “Fuck!”

You were hugging him so tight like you were already trying to push him out. Sensitive pussy not able to handle him. “Shit, Chris. Fuck.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t put on a condom,” he groaned as he fucked into you. “I just… I wanna cum in you. So fucking bad. Just over and over and over.” He was getting so fucking deep. This man was really trying to fuck you into the mattress.

And you couldn’t even say anything back because it was just too damn much. What could you say. You’d already embarrassed yourself enough tonight. If you weren’t careful you’d end up crying from his dick again and you didn’t want him to stop again. You wanted him to never stop.

Fuck how the fuck are you already fucking cumming!

“Fuck you’re such a fucking Daddy,” you sobbed into his shoulder not being able to help it as the moniker slipped from your lips.

“Yeah? Am I?” He hissed. “Shit, Baby,” he groaned. Headboard slamming against the wall. “That’s it, Baby. I’ll be your fucking Daddy.”

“I can’t fucking take anymore,” you finally admitted.

“Don’t say that, Baby. You can give me one more. Just one more,” he groaned.

“I can’t,” you whimpered.

“Yes,” he thrust in really deep making you gasp, “you,” he withdrew until just the tip was in, “can.” And then he did it again where he went balls deep.

Swear to god you were so fucking like how was he doing this to you it didn’t make any fucking sense.

“Fucking hold it. Hold it for me,” he said going a little faster. “You got it. You can fucking do it. Gonna cum in you. This my pussy now. Fucking hear me?”

He was just so animalistic and you were barely hanging on. Eyes rolling to the back of your head. Losing your goddamn mind. How the fuck would he expect you to move on when he was doing this to you. Who the fuck else would be able to do this to you. You’d just gotten out of a four year relationship and you didn’t know you could cum like this until now.

“Daddy, oh my god,” you sobbed again. “Fuck. I can’t hold on.”

“That’s okay,” he groaned. “Fuck. Cum for me.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded as his body got all ridged. Putting his hand around your neck as he started to feel his own orgasm catching up to him. “Fuck yeah. Cum for me, Y/N,” he said again.

Something about hearing him saying your name was just… it was all too much. Like everything was just too much. You couldn’t fucking stop. You knew your throat would be raw as hell in the morning.

It felt like he’d made you shatter into a million little pieces after having denied you while you had already had too much. Coupled with the feeling of him losing himself deep inside of you. Fuck. It was too much. And yet you know you wanted more.

“I think you broke me,” you whispered as he wrapped his arms around you. Sunlight had finally started to break through the curtains and he was barely letting you go.

Chris chuckled. Kissing your forehead. Sure you’d had little cat naps in between but each time he’d woken you up with kisses or by touching you. You were so fucking worn out. “I’m sorry. Alright come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You asked him.

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m gonna just take the day. Besides it’s a holiday. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” you replied. “Well, good. Cuz I don’t think I can move.”

Chris chuckled. “Don’t worry I’m not letting you go anywhere. I want you to get some rest, okay?”

You nodded as your eyes started to feel all heavy. Hell you didn’t think you could hold on anyway.

#fics by afbh #afbhchickityflickity #chris evans smut #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x black female reader #chris evans x black!reader #chris evans x female reader

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chippedaxe · 3 years ago

Note

Would you consider doing mcyt hc’s of their s/o pegging them? You kinda touched on it in some of the heat hc’s but I wanna know under other circumstances how it’d go

☆。*。☆。

★。＼｜／。★

Title: 𝒫𝑒𝑔𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑀𝒸𝓎𝓉'𝓈

Warnings: NSFW (Minor's DNI), coarse language, Pegging, dominance, praise, degrading, a bit of blood, binding/ rope bunny content, begging, scratching, biting, hair pulling, breeding

Pronouns: They/Them (you can imagine that the reader either has a penis or is wearing a strap on)

Synopsis: The reader finally pegs the dsmp, this is how they react.

Word count: 1.2K

Note: I hope this is ok !! I also get that it gets a little bit more rough towards the end of this? I hope that I covered all warnings (if not then pls just let me know)

Edit: I JUST REALISED THAT I FORGOT TO ADD TAGS 😭😭

★。／｜＼。★

☆。*。☆。

c! Dream

- He hates the idea of it, how was he meant to enjoy something like that? The way that you convince him is by telling him that he's allowed to be on top, he can control it however he wants.

- He didn't want you to stretch him out and make an embarrassment of him so he did it himself, his fingers reaching inside of his twitching hole "you enjoying yourself, dream?"

- He gets pissed at your little sly comments but also gets aroused from what you say, your stupid words making their way into his head and straight down to his cock.

- He lowers himself down onto you slowly, groaning deeply as it entered him. Your dick stretched his ass even more, he couldn't help whining, it felt like he was being split open! "Fuck!" He cursed as he bounced lightly, getting himself off on you.

- You feel his walls clench around you and that's when he lets go and cums all over your stomach, he slumps down and doesn't bother to move off your cock for a while. Dream just sits there while trying to catch his breath, gasping and squealing when you buck your hips up into him.

c! Sapnap

- He's more of a switch with you, he's normally the one to be fucking himself into you but if you request to bend him over backwards then who's he to deny you?

- He goes so soft when you start to dominate him, your chests are pressed together and your bodies are very close, not wanting to be apart or to let go.

- You slip yourself inside of him and he lets out the biggest groan "Ughhhhh.." he throws his head back gently and starts to lightly rock his hips into it. "Good boy, fuck yourself on my cock.." your whispers sent bolts of pleasure to his neglected dick.

- His hips are bruised from the way you keep grabbing at them.

- Let's just say that after the first time you peg him, you guys are doing it a whole lot more..

c! George

- Sex with him is usually quite peaceful and gentle, soft skin on skin, kisses and hickies peppered everywhere on your collarbone and neck.

- You suggested pegging to him and the tips of his ears turned red "pegging? you.. want to fuck me?" he was nervous but you could tell from the tent in his pants that he was totally into the idea.

- His back is arched and his hands are gripping tightly to the sheets, you thrust into him roughly and he has to stop himself from screaming in pleasure.

- You move the sheet so he can place it in his mouth and use it as a gag to shut himself up while you're making a big mess of him.

- There's scratches and blood running down your back from George's recklessness, George has bloodied teeth marks on his shoulder from you being uncareful.

- You have to take him to the bath immediately since he's basically drenched in both of your cum, he's also covered in dried sweat, salty tears and a bit of blood. It's such a pretty sight to see.

c! Eret

- She's not sure of the idea but she knows she's going to be teasing you either way, "oh.. you want to take control over me now? Are you sure you're able to handle that?"

- Your hands are tugging on his hair, fingers getting tangled in his beautiful locks. "C'mon baby, let me fuck inside of you, please.." You basically have to beg them to let you peg him.

- You stretch her out with your fingers, you look in their face for any signs of discomfort but its all fine. You glance up and see him biting down on his lip trying to stay quiet, you smirk as you realize that maybe he enjoys this more than they're letting on.

- You slide in slowly, groaning softly as you slide in. Eret gives out the sweetest moan "ah!" you thrust your hips into them again to hear more of his lovely noises "fuck.. fuck me" Eret rolls her eyes back and squirms around on the bed for a bit.

- He has an amazing orgasm, nails digging into your shoulders as she comes down from their high. This would definitely not be the last time you guys did that.

c! Karl

- He has no problems with letting his baby do what they want, especially since he knows that he can just travel back and prevent it from ever happening if it ever went bad.

- He's nervous when you show him your length, he's seen it before but not up against his stomach like that. He gulped and gave the okay that he was ready for you to enter.

- You inserted yourself into his fleshy cave and moaned as his walls were perfectly shaped around your cock, "oh fuck! please!" Karl gasped and shivered in pleasure.

- He would sometimes rub up against your cock if he was feeling in the mood but didn't feel like making the effort to thrust inside of you, he knows that you'll take real good care of him.

- He lets out so much more cum when you fuck him instead of when he fucks you. His load shooting out onto your chest as he rides you.

c! Punz

- There was literally no way to get him to listen to your requests, "please? it'd make me so happy!" you pleaded "I know other ways to make you happy, darling" he'd dismiss your pleas "I'll do anything!" you cried "you'd do anything for me anyways"

- One day you got the bright idea to tell him that the egg told you that you needed to fuck him "it says I need to breed you <3" is what you say when he wakes up to you rubbing him through his pants.

- "We don't have to, you can always deny the egg.." you knew he would've let you peg him at some point later on with a bit of convincing but you felt as if this would help encourage him for later on when you might do this again.

- He is the tightest fucking man you've ever felt, you have to check multiple times throughout to make sure that you're not hurting him. He looks so euphoric on your cock though, he breaths heavily and is desperately not trying to give in to you.

- You tell him the truth when you guys finish up "I lied, the egg never told me to breed you <3" you confess "Obviously it wouldn't"

#mcyt x reader smut #mcyt headcanons #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut #dsmp smut #dream smp smut

555 notes · View notes

kjhmyg · 4 years ago

Text

rough edges pt. 6 (m)

pairing: jungkook | (f) reader genre: college!au, badboy!jk, fluffy too :( warnings: mentions of drugs, unprotected sex, cursing, violence, alcohol, drinking, death, manhandling, college parties, boys lol word count: 10.7K

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / part 6 / 6.5

author’s note: hello i love u. first of all welcome to ♡ libra season ♡ sorry this took so long; it feels kinda short so maybe i’ll post a short 1k chapter next week (part 6.5). i wrote the last half of the last part like an hour ago i hope i didnt make any big grammatical errors or typos lol. also dedicating this to my friend haru who i miss loads.

RE asks tag

What was a red mark on Jungkook’s cheek, has now turned purple-ish. He promises it doesn’t hurt anymore but you notice him mindlessly touching it at times. So you kiss it very gently each time you say goodbye and he doesn’t stop you.

With one arm around over the back of your chair, he’s feeding himself fries with the other. You lean against his shoulder, watching as he nibbles away. “Can’t keep your eyes off me huh?” He mutters.

“You know I can’t.” You admit, giggling into quick, continuous pecks. He lingers on a little longer on the last one like he always does.

“Will you guys save it for the bedroom?” Jimin asks, face twisted in disgust. He doesn’t really care, but it’s fun to tease Jungkook. “Gross.”

“Gross is you dipping fries in your coke.” Hana shakes her head at the soaked fry between his thumb and index finger.

"Don't be mad you don't have refined taste in food like me." He shoots back. “A soaked fry has equal parts sweet and salty.”

“You’re just gross.”

Hana’s realised it doesn’t take much to get under his skin and is enjoying every bit of it. The irony is that it always starts with Jimin trying to get under Jungkook’s skin. Next to Jimin, Taehyung’s phone has his undivided attention. In fact, he’s been rather quiet today, spending the last five minutes or so frowning at his screen.

“Tae, you alright?”

“No.” He sighs, finally looking up. “I have to get a job.”

“...And?”

“Well I don’t want to.” He says simply. “Can’t believe my parents are cutting off my allowance because I spend too much.” He uses air quotes.

Except for Jimin, the rest of you only manage blank stares, unable to sympathise with his first world problem. "Yeah, I’m sure those thousand dollar Balenciaga sneakers you got last week have nothing to do with it.” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook. They were limited edition.”

“A thousand dollars?” You say. “What the hell dude.”

“Okay can we stop talking about the past and focus on the present?” Leaning back against his chair and looking into the distance, Jimin places a comforting hand on his shoulder

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you a nice job.” Jimin says and he lets out a tiny whine, throwing his head back.

That’s when it hits you. You have no idea how, but it does. And you have no idea if it’ll work but you’re doing it anyway.

A clueless Hana raises a brow in question at the sudden look of mischief you give her. She braces herself for whatever you’re about to do, equally curious and worried. “Actually, you should apply at our café.” You say to Taehyung.

“They’re hiring?”

“Well not yet.” Turning back to her, you widen your eyes slightly, prompting Hana to play along. She quickly does, noticing Jungkook watching her over your shoulder. “I’m leaving soon so they’ll definitely need a replacement.”

“You’re quitting?” Jungkook asks, sitting up straight. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” The little head shake you give isn’t enough to convince him. “I just wanna work somewhere else. Anyway, you’d like working there Tae. It’s nice.” The other boy perks up, seemingly interested.

Hana agrees, explaining the details of your work and what it’s like there. While they talk, Jungkook squeezes your shoulder to get your attention, “Are you sure nothing happened? Creeps harassing you again?”

“No, really.” You say, hand over his cheek. “I just want a change of environment. The job’s getting boring.”

The worry in his eyes gradually disappears as he seems to accept it. He gives a soft okay for now. Looking away, you let out a silent sigh of relief. On the inside, the rational side of you is yelling her head off. What possessed you to decide to quit your job for no good reason? This plan is banking on the chance that Jungkook will let you join him at the club. Which when you think about it, is very unlikely to happen.

Yet, another part of you is excited. Your mind is in a frenzy. Convincing yourself you’ll figure the details out later, you silently thank Taehyung and his Balenciagas for handing you this opportunity.

"Oh hey, we better get going." Jimin says, looking at the time on his phone. "We'll see you guys tonight?"

The girls of Eta Iota are hosting a party tonight. Naturally, the boys get invited and by association, you too. Sunhee’s cashing in on your promise of taking her to one, so you have to go even if it’s just to hang around for a while then leave. You part ways with Jimin and Tae as Jungkook gives Hana and you a ride back. He walks with you to the lobby of your place, where you tell Hana to head up first.

Right by the stairwell, he leans against the wall and holds you in his arms, between his legs. “Are you sure you wanna quit your job?”

"Yessss, I’m sure. I wanna work somewhere else." Resting your chin on his chest, you look up at him. "It's cute that you're worried about me."

“Of course I am.” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll help you keep a lookout for places that are hiring.”

You smile gleefully up at him. Oh, he’s going to help you get a new job alright. Just not in the way he’s thinking. Already, you feel bad for lying to him. But you keep telling yourself you’re doing this for him.

He doesn’t let you go so easily when you try and remove yourself, not giving up his hold on you. When you pry his hands off, he tugs you right back in, locking you in his arms as kisses land all over your face. “Stop,” you laugh, “someone might see us.” But you don’t look around to check for anyone. He doesn’t care either.

He lifts you up easily, wrapping your legs around him. Switching positions, you now feel the cool wall against your back. “Should we skip the party tonight?” He asks, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“You have to go. It’s part of your fraternity sorority socialising thingy thing.” He rolls his eyes at that. “Plus, I promised Sunhee I’d go with her.”

"Fine. But I’m only going ‘cause you’re going."

“So I’ll see you there, okay?” He nods in response as his hold on you loosens. A peck on the cheek and you’re going up the stairs, one step at a time, hand still holding on to his. As it slips away, he squeezes his chest with his other hand and groans in mock pain.

“Silly,” you mutter between giggles. He breaks character and skips up the steps to get another kiss from you. At this rate he would never leave.

“Jungkook seriously,” you say against his lips, leaning back to separate yourself from him, “you should go now. I’ll see you later anyway.”

He complies and lets you go, but not without releasing a very dramatic sigh. You hurry up the steps before he changes his mind, looking down over the railing as you go, waving your goodbye.

𝄖𝄖

Purple, purple everywhere. The Etas had decided to do their rush party while celebrating their anniversary. Which explains why the decorations are of their ‘official’ colour. Purple balloons, cups, banners, napkins.

“This is so fun!” Sunhee squeals, coming up to hug you from behind. “I’ve made a bunch of new friends!” She squeals again and hurries off elsewhere, leaving you and Hana once again.

“I’m glad she’s enjoying herself.” Hana comments, taking a sip of her drink.

“Aren’t you?” You nudge her side. “You’ve had like four guys come up and give you their number. Don’t act like you’re not having fun.”

“I guess I’m havin’ a lil’ fun…” she mumbles towards the end, sipping on her drink with a tiny smile. She’s holding up much better than you thought she would. Much better than you at least, she doesn’t seem too bothered by the constant yelling.

There’s no reason to worry about Sunhee. She’d clung on to you earlier when you arrived together as promised, like you’re her ticket in. As soon as you passed through the doors, a couple of girls from the host house came up to greet you. While it was a little awkward for you, Sunhee saw her chance and took it. She’s been hanging out with them since.

“Where’s Jungkook?” Hana asks. She’s still unsure about your plan. You had gotten an earful from her earlier on, back at the apartment. Only after you promised, pinky promised and swore you’d be safe, did she finally calm down.

“Somewhere.” It’s crowded enough to not be able to see the other end of the room. You crane your neck to see better. “Don’t know if I can find him with all these people around.”

“Go.” Her pretty, long eyelashes flutter over her eyes as she looks at you. “Don’t worry about me.”

You’re hesitant to leave, but she reiterates that she’d be fine and you finally nod, much to her relief. She has Jimin and Taehyung with her anyway, she says, nodding over to the pair a few feet away.

Before disappearing into the crowd, you turn back to let her know you might not see her for the rest of the night. But she’s read your mind, waving her hands at you. “You’ll be with Jungkook, I know.”

“Text me when you get home. I love you.” You blow her a kiss and watch her roll her eyes, then push through bodies of people to get to a different part of the house. There’s way too many people here. Most of them tower at least a head over you, disrupting your view. Your phone vibrates just as you enter the biggest room of the house which gives you a little more maneuvering space than the previous one.

Jungkook: u look great

Slowly, you turn in the spot you’re in, paying close attention to each section of the room.

Jungkook: i like pink

Jungkook: ur ass looks great in those jeans btw

You: reveal yourself

He doesn’t respond and you continue to wander around, until you reach a short hallway separating the kitchen area from the previous room. With more room to breathe, you decide to stay put knowing Jungkook won’t keep this up for long anyway. And you’re right.

"Looking for me?" His hot breath tickles your ear.

Spinning around, you're greeted by his wide grin and immediately hate how good he looks in a simple white tee with his house name, Kappa Sigma embedded on the left chest, and tucked into black jeans, "Hey you." He tastes like fruit punch when you kiss him.

Your bodies sway slightly to the music with his hands on your hips and your arms around his neck. He reaches behind, pulling something out of his back pocket and holds it up in front of you. “Lollipop?”

“It’s...purple.” You take it from him, observing its odd colour, wondering if this was even necessary.

“I know.” He chuckles. “They really go all out.”

You shrug, unwrapping the sweet and pop it in your mouth. “So, you wanna get out of here?” He asks.

“But I thought you liked parties,” you blink, “socialising, hooking up.”

“I know you’re making fun of me but it’s kinda hot when you talk like that.” He eyes the way your lips wrap around the lollipop, unconsciously mirroring the movement of your tongue licking the layer of sugar off your lips, suddenly going thirsty.

You shove him in the chest and he laughs, stepping back. “I’ve been here less than an hour.” You say. Although, it’s not like you were planning to stay long anyway. You know that, he knows that.

“You won’t miss a thing, trust me.” He hooks an arm over your shoulder. “Besides, we can get started on the hooking up part.” He winks.

You leave through the back, avoiding the large crowd up front. You quickly send a text to Hana to let her know you’re leaving. Out on the lawn, you walk past a group of guys drunkenly singing to their heart's content and you flash them a thumbs up despite how horrible they sound.

The Eta Iota house is just a few houses down from the boys’ and you walk back hand in hand, swinging your arms as you go. Jungkook watches your smile, and the way you laugh when your arms swing so far back that it throws you off balance and you almost fall. “You look good.” He says, softly.

“I know, you told me.” You say without sparing him a glance. “I look good in pink. And these jeans are good for my ass.”

“No.” His voice is as soft as his smile. Looking at him then, you notice the tender look in his eyes. “I mean you look good when you’re happy. It’s nice. Does that make sense? I don’t know.”

Your heart leaps at the way he looks away almost shyly, focusing entirely on the ground as he walks, his other hand in his pocket. You close the gap between you and kiss him on the cheek. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you too.”

The rest of the short walk back goes in comfortable silence, you still lightly swinging your arms. But as you reach the front of the house, Jungkook pauses. It surprises you when he decides to take a walk in the park instead. You give him curious glances along the way, wondering what’s gotten into him. It’s a ten minute walk from his place to a park that’s your go-to for impromptu date nights.

You walk past groups of people hanging around, laughing with food on large picnic mats. Finally you opt for an empty space on the grass, not too far away from others there but secluded enough to have some privacy.

“Oh my god, look at the clouds.” They’re big and fluffy, floating through the dark sky. “I wish we could see the stars. That’d be perfect.”

Jungkook follows your gaze. “There are places where you can do that you know.”

“Yeah, I’d love to go one day.” You say with a heavy sigh.

“We could go together.” Jungkook says, making you look at him. “Like a vacation.”

“Aw. I’d love that.”

He smiles sweetly, then turns in place to face you. “I went to look for places which were hiring earlier.”

“You did? Why?”

“Aren’t you...quitting your job?” He looks at you confused. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“Yeah but, there’s no rush.”

“Just wanna make sure you have something to fall back on.” He says, checking his phone. “So, the bakery right next to the cafe is hiring.”

“Jungkook,” you laugh, “I can’t quit and then take up a job next door!”

“I know but, just in case.” He goes on, looking upwards as he recalls. “The school’s also looking for a part-time librarian⎼”

“Baby no, that’s so boring.” You groan. “I thought I’d look for something more...exciting. Like a routesetter maybe?”

“I didn’t know you rock climb?”

“Oh I don’t.” He looks at you with a blank expression on his face. “What? I can learn to!”

"You're weird." He shakes his head and taps your nose. "Why would you wanna go out of your way for a part time job?"

"Cause...it's fun?"

"Even you don't believe that."

"You're right." The wheels in your head turn at full speed, trying to make this as natural as possible. You have to be careful, Jungkook's way too attentive when it comes to you. "Okay, I'll be honest."

He perks up. Face filled with curiosity, as if ready to say I knew it, that something was up, and that you wouldn't leave your job over nothing.

"I'm quitting because…" You gulp. "I want to spend more time with you."

"What?"

"Don't be mad." You add in quickly. "I just thought that I'd get to have more time to spare for you if I wasn't always working."

Eyes closed, he lets out a sigh and drops his head with a little shake. The small smile and amused look in his eyes makes you smile too. “Are you serious? Are you running a fever?” He places the back of his palm against your forehead and then checks the pulse on your wrist.

“I’m fine.” You snatch your hand back.

“The Y/N I know wouldn’t make impulsive decisions like this.” He quirks a brow, “You know you need that job. How else will you pay rent? Get groceries? You don’t ever let me pay for anything.”

“I’ll find a job with less hours.”

“Less hours, less pay.” He lifts your chin up, pouty lips calling him in. “Don’t be silly baby, you’re not leaving your job.”

“Too late.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I...may have...emailed my resignation...earlier on.”

He groans and you cringe when he shoots you a look of disapproval. You give your best kicked puppy look which doesn’t work. “This doesn’t happen often but I’m really mad at you right now.”

“Don’t be.” You scoot closer and when he turns his head away, you move onto his lap, forcing him in an embrace. “I’ll find something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Go back to work tomorrow and speak to your manager. Tell him you’ve changed your mind.” He asks seriously. “I’ll go and have coffee during every one of your shifts so we’re technically spending time together.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m the silly one?”

“Okay fine, I’m sorry.” You sigh. “I didn’t think things through…”

“You’re damn right you didn’t.” He rests his head in his palm. “So, what are you gonna do now?”

“Spend more time with you?” You inch even closer, if it’s even possible with how you’re already sticking to him like glue. He doesn’t reply right away but squeezes you in his hold, resting his cheek on your head. “Are you still angry?”

“Yes.”

You lift your head off him for a kiss. When he sighs this time, he feels the anger dissipating. At the same time he curses the way his body betrays him when it comes to you. You can barely tell he’s upset with the way he responds so eagerly. The pleased look you give him after has him rolling his eyes. “You can’t be mad at me. I’m cute.”

“True.” He leans back, hands on the grass behind him. “But, we are going to look for job postings online tonight.”

“But mom!” You whine, folding your arms in front of you.

“No buts.”

“Not even my butt?” Blinking innocently at him, you add in a little head tilt until he breaks and starts grinning. “Thought you liked my butt.”

He falls onto the grass, laughing in disbelief and you steady yourself on his chest. “What has gotten into you?” He says, watching as you hover over him. “You’re acting so weird.”

“No I’m not. I’m just happy, like you said.” You kiss him on the nose. “You’re the weird one. Nagging at me about getting a job. Being a responsible adult and stuff.”

He flips over, switching your positions so that he’s hovering over you now. Almost immediately, you’re distracted by how dreamy he looks with the view of the night sky behind him. You run your thumb over one side of his cheek. “You did this to me. Plus I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry. I can pull some strings and get you a job somewhere fun.”

He rolls over to your side and lets you rest your head under his arm, both of you watching the sky. You shift even closer, slinging one leg over his and draw circles on his chest. “Hey I mean, worse comes to worst, I could always come and work for you.”

Surprisingly, he laughs. Really hard. You lift yourself up and rest on your elbow to watch him. “Nice one.” He sighs. Then he notices the way you’re looking at him, face void of expression and brows up in question. “What? You were serious?”

“Slightly offended that you thought it was that funny but yes, I was.”

He raises a brow at you. “You? Want to work at a club? Doing what?”

“Bartender? Cleaner?”

“Don’t even joke about that, our cleaners are our most valuable staff. They clean, sanitise, then double sanitise, wipe up vomit, make sure the booths aren’t lined with nasty fluids.”

Your face twists in horror and he nods, proving his point. “Okay...fine so I’m not qualified enough for that. But bartending? I can do that.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He gets up and you follow. He ruffles the back of his head and dusts of the grains on his hands. “Baby, you’re not working there. I won’t allow it.”

“But𝄖”

“Y/N, I said no.” There was no room to argue, not even cheekily. He didn't raise his voice, but the tone he took was enough. Easing the firm stare he gave you as he said it, he turns his attention to his phone as it beeps.

𝄖𝄖

"Lucky for you, I told the manager you just needed a break to focus on school," Hana yawns, pulling up the blanket to her face, "you can come back anytime."

"You want me to give up?"

"Only because your plan is dangerous."

"Hana, I'm not giving up."

She sighs, turning over to the other side. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

You push yourself off her bed and sit on the edge, thinking. Quietly, you pull open the drawer by her bed, fumbling around until you feel what you’re looking for. The little paper you tore out of Jungkook’s notebook. When he started sleeping over, you had asked Hana to keep it safe for you. You stare at the address. You hadn’t gotten round to visiting the place, especially since you don’t even know what you’re looking for.

“Turn off the light when you leave, will you?” Hana mumbles half-asleep.

You leave the piece of paper and close the drawer.

𝄖𝄖

Two days later, you’re back at his place. The guys are all over, making sure the house is ready for a party tonight. Each of them were assigned different tasks to settle to save time. When you arrived, Hoseok made sure to separate Jungkook from you, for the sake of efficiency, so you’re stuck in the kitchen with Jimin. Helping him with the cleaning, you listen mindlessly as he rambles on about something. He yells at every guy that enters and tries to steal some snacks but sneaks some into his mouth when no one’s looking.

Just as you’re done wiping down the chip bowls, Jungkook walks in with dark stains all over his shirt and face. He chugs down half a bottle of orange juice from the fridge before opening a bag of gummies placed on the table for the party which has Jimin groaning.

“What happened to you?”

“Car oil needed changing. Cleaned up under the hood too.”

“What?” Jimin shrieks. “You were working on your car this entire time?”

“Yeah?”

“While the rest of us were preparing for the party? Unbelievable!” He huffs, “You were supposed to fix the first floor bathroom⎼”

Jungkook signals for him to stop, holding up a palm. “Fine, I’ll go do it now.” He reaches out for your hand and continues to nod at everything Jimin says as he tags you along, the nagging fading away as you run upstairs.

“You should really go and help out.” You say, plopping down on his bed with a bounce.

Jungkook hums, “I will. Later.”

Sniffing the shirt he has on, he lets out a disapproving grunt. He removes it in one swoop and tosses it into a basket. You watch quietly as he steps closer, eyes fixed on yours. He leans forward and your hands grip the sheets as you lean back, looking at him expectantly. Then his arm moves past your head and reaches for another shirt on the bed, behind you. He snickers and you slap his shoulder.

“I’m leaving.”

“Aw, come on, don’t go.” He jumps into bed and grabs you. He leans on his side, propped up on his elbow, hand on your middle.

“I have to get some groceries.” You play with his hair. “Then I’m gonna freshen up and come back here in time for the party.”

“Great, I’ll drive you.”

“No, you stay. Fix the bathroom.”

“But I don’t want to.” He groans, and rolls over onto you. Almost naturally, your legs wrap around him and he starts kissing your neck, moving down to your chest, pulling down your shirt. You stop him, giggling. “Why do you always wanna leave when we kiss?” He frowns.

“Why do you always kiss me when I’m leaving?”

“‘Cause I don’t want you to leave."

The smell of your skin makes him smile. It smells like...home.

You feel his weight slowly get heavier on you as his body relaxes and melts into yours, nestling his face into your neck. He almost drifts to sleep with the way you’re rubbing his back. When you ruffle his hair, he lifts his head and claims a kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Kookie.”

You giggle as he drops his face in the space between your neck and shoulder. Groaning, he recalls the night Suga found out about the nickname. He has since, constantly used it on Jungkook whenever he can. “He’s never letting that go. Thanks a lot.”

“I’m sorry.” You laugh, chest moving under him. “I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

Supporting his weight on one arm, he hovers above you while his free hand brushes past the side of your face. “You don’t remember anything you said that night?”

“No.” That can’t be good. You scan his face. “Why? Did I say something weird?”

“No. Just wondering.” He says gently, expression slowly changing into a smile that makes you forget you were even worried a second ago. “Don’t get drunk anymore. Suga likes you way too much when you’re drunk.”

“Does he?” You laugh, cupping his face. If Suga likes you, you can use this to your advantage. You can’t wait to tell Hana your plan worked.

When Jungkook hears the sound of his name being called from somewhere around the house, he groans and sinks into you again. You push him off you with much difficulty, laughing as he keeps plopping back down into you.

“Okay, they need you. I’m leaving so you can focus. I’ll come back later.” You say, when you finally manage to escape. Reluctantly, he follows behind as you walk down the stairs.

Just as you reach the bottom of the steps, you’re being pulled to the side, against the wall where he corners you into, hands on either side. “I’ll be waiting, so you better show up.” Down your back, up your front, his hands run over your body till they rest just under your jaw, making you lift your chin towards him. Breath hitching in your throat, he carefully brings his lips to yours, teasing a soft touch. Then he lets go.

He smiles like nothing happened and you catch your breath before racing to the front door. You hear a soft chuckle and turn to see him winking at you as he goes in the other direction. Hearing voices from the kitchen where the meeting has started, you quickly close the door behind you, ignoring the pulsing between your thighs.

𝄖𝄖

With a basketful of groceries, you stroll through the store, looking for anything you might have missed out. As you walk, you notice from afar, standing right in front of the refrigerated section your new friend Namjoon. You head straight for him, a little bounce in your step. When you stop right next to him, he turns slowly and carefully.

“Oh. It’s you.” He says as he realises.

“Getting some groceries?” You ask, looking at the shelf then back at him.

“Oh just,” he lifts up a bottle of juice, “getting my orange juice. I see you’re getting your monthly supply. You alone?”

“Yeah I am.” You nod, “My roommate’s busy with school stuff.”

“Right.” He smiles, then it seems like a thought comes to him. “Hey, you’re going for the party tonight right?”

“What? How’d you know about that?” You look at him confused.

“I have friends too you know.”

“But, you can’t come. You’re technically faculty.” You say, putting down your basket to fold your arms in front of you and stare him down. “Are you trying to get us in trouble?”

He chuckles, then points and holds up a finger in front of you. “Actually, I’m an external instructor. So technically, I’m not faculty.”

“How convenient.” You eye him down.

“Fine, fine.” He sighs. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to a party, okay? I just wanna mingle.”

“Hm.” You chew on your bottom lip. Seems genuine enough. You can’t help but wonder if he’s there for something else. How will that go down with Jungkook? “An instructor looking to mingle with his students...definitely no red flags there.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Come on, I’m not that much older than you. And I’m not that kinda person.”

“That’s what they all say.” You shrug. “Well, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“Cool.” He winks. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He walks off way too quickly, like he’s avoiding something and heads straight for the checkout counter. Of course you know why he’d go to a college party; the perfect place to sell his drugs. You can’t figure out if you should let Jungkook know about Namjoon. But then again, he almost always knows what’s going on. And he’d be uneasy knowing you know so much.

You pick up your basket off the floor and head for checkout yourself. Barely making ten steps, you notice someone leaning against the side of a shelf, watching you with his arms crossed, mischievous smile on his face. Your other new friend. How coincidental.

“Suga.” You say, a tone way too excited for his liking but he nods anyway. You walk over to him and stand awkwardly before him, holding your basket with both hands in front of you. “Hi.”

“Hey cutie.” He searches for someone behind you. “Where’s Jungkook?”

“Oh he’s back at home.” You smile. “They’re getting ready for rush week. And the party tonight.”

“Am I invited?”

“Oh, um…” You can tell he’s joking, but you can’t be too sure. How interesting would it be to have Jungkook, Namjoon and Suga in one place. You wonder what would happen if they met.

You chuckle nervously without giving an answer and he shrugs it off. “I was kidding.”

“I guess you can come if you want to.” You say with a tiny shrug. “I’m sure Jungkook won’t mind.”

He changes the subject almost immediately, offering to help you carry your basket, which you politely decline. He walks with you to the counter. “So who was that guy you were talking to?”

Oh, he’s an instructor from school and also the new drug dealer in town. “Oh him? He’s the new self-defense instructor on campus.”

“Really?” He looks amused, and bites his bottom lip in a half-smile. “Cool. And you guys are friends?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” You place your basket on the counter and help the cashier to unload the items to scan. You don’t notice the way Suga laughs silently to himself, shaking his head.

“You know what, I gotta go.” Suga says, walking backwards towards the exit. You don’t even manage to reply to him before he takes off. “Let’s drink again sometime soon!”

𝄖𝄖

Hana is less than pleased to know about your run-ins. She looks at you with daggers in her eyes. “You have to stop this. He obviously knows your plan."

"Stop overreacting. How could he possibly know that?"

She shrugs. The loud music drowns out your voices from being overheard by those around you. "It's hard to believe it was a coincidence running into him.” She says and you sigh, choosing to ignore her.

The last you saw Jungkook, he was laughing away with a group of people. You didn’t want to bother him, he’d be busy anyway trying to get freshies on his side. But it’s been a while and now you don’t see him anywhere.

While Hana mingles, you go off to look for him. In the kitchen, you find Jimin doing shots of something that doesn’t look edible with a bunch of guys cheering him on. But no Jungkook. You peek out on the deck out back but he’s not there either. A hand on the sliding doors, you sigh and step out into the courtyard, breathing in air that doesn’t smell like sweat.

You pause when you step down the stairs and spot something, squinting at the sight of two guys in the far end of the backyard, right by the bush-lined fence. Recognising that jacket, you realise one of them is Jungkook. He then pulls something out of his pocket and shakes hands with the other guy. You turn back before he spots you. Probably just a polite handshake. Maybe with an old friend. Yup.

Step back inside, you’re being stopped by a hand on your arm. “You look flustered.” He says.

“Hi Hoseok.” You force a smile. “It’s warm in here.”

His eyes flicker over to the backyard and back at you. “This is what he does at parties. It’s how he distributes them.”

“So?” You look around uncomfortably.

“I know you don’t like it either.” He stops you before you can reply. “Can you meet me outside in ten minutes? It’s important.”

“You’re already here, what is it? No one’s paying any attention to us anyway.”

“I can’t.”

The sceptical look you give him has him feeling restless. “Trust me, it’s very important.”

From the tone of his voice, he sounds sincere. You don’t want to, but do you want to risk not knowing something that could help you help Jungkook? You hate this. After a long pause, you nod reluctantly. “Fine.”

Neither of you realised the two figures approaching until they’re walking up the steps. Hoseok and you share a look, as if pleading to the other to act normal. As they reach the door, you see now that Jae is the other guy. He greets you as he walks past, then blends into the crowd. Behind him, Jungkook spares you a curious look at the little exchange. He then notices Hoseok’s presence.

“What’s going on?” He looks back and forth at the two of you. “You look upset.”

“Hm? Oh no, I’m fine.” You muster up your best smile. “We were just talking about the guy who puked in the sink earlier.”

“Speaking of which, I should go make sure he’s not puking elsewhere.” Hoseok says, taking his leave.

You can’t tell if Jungkook bought that but he doesn’t question it. His demeanour changes as soon as Hoseok leaves, directing his attention on you. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”

“No.” You smile. “I ran into him while looking for some food.”

“Oh⎼”

He doesn’t get a chance to continue when someone he knows slaps him on the back. They chat for a while as he keeps you close next to him, even when you try to pry his fingers off. The other guy drags him somewhere but before he goes, he turns to you. “Grab some food and meet me upstairs, I’ll just be a second.” He winks, stealing a kiss.

“You don’t have to. I’ll just come find you later on it’s fine𝄖”

“You’re not getting rid of me babe.” He jokes and you let out an awkward laugh as he goes.

You haven’t mastered being in two places at once, you’re not a ninja. And in a few minutes, Hoseok will be waiting for you outside. And Jungkook upstairs. You groan, searching the cabinets for some snacks before heading up to Jungkook’s room.

That’s when you notice a familiar blond head among the crowd you. It distracts you. You could’ve sworn that was Suga. But too many people are blocking your line of sight. As you reach the spot you had possibly seen him, he’s gone. You don’t have time to think about this. Swiftly, you run up the steps and head right for Jungkook’s door. And of course, a familiar face exits the washroom on the same floor.

“Namjoon.”

“Why do you look so surprised to see me?” He raises a brow with a playful smile on his face. “I told you I was coming.

You shake your head and look behind you. “Nothing I was just⎼”

“Hogging all the snacks?” He gestures towards the food you’re cradling in your arms and you laugh.

“There’s more downstairs.” You reassure him.

As if on cue, footsteps move swiftly up the stairs and you glance behind to find Jungkook halfway up, a cautious look on his face as he approaches you. Namjoon nods politely. For a moment it’s like you can no longer hear the music blasting, enveloped by the awkward silence.

“Uh, Jungkook this is Namjoon.” You notice the way his jaw clenches as he takes Namjoon’s outstretched hand in his. “And this is Jungkook.”

“The boyfriend. Nice to meet you.” He flashes a blinding smile Jungkook’s way.

“Likewise.”

Namjoon reads the room well and you’re thankful for it. He excuses himself, saving you from having to grease the conversation any further. “See you guys around.” He says, leaving.

Jungkook opens the door for you and you drop the snacks on his table. His fingers immediately wrap around you, lifting you up and throwing you onto the bed. “Finally." He mutters pulling you in.

You giggle nervously as he kisses you all over, pulling away from him. He shoots you a confused look. "Wait I...need the toilet."

He throws his head back but moves aside to let you go. "Okay. I'll wait."

Hurrying out, you close the door and run downstairs, rushing past the sea of bodies to the front door. Once outside, you look around scanning the few faces there for him. Hoseok stands around the corner at the side of the house and calls out your name.

The front and back of the house is well lit, but not the sides. Both of you stand in the shadows by the wall, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn't, instead, he looks around anxiously.

"Hoseok, what is it? You said this is important!" You hiss. "I can't be too long, Jungkook's waiting for me."

"Just give him a second, he'll be here."

"Who?"

"He's here." His eyes focus on a man wearing a navy sweatshirt, hoodie pulled up so you can't really see who it is. He only pulls it down when he joins you in the shadows.

"Hi."

"Y/N, this is Seokjin. He works with my friend."

"Oh. Hello." You watch him curiously. If you could describe a smile as being trustworthy, it would be his.

"Thanks for meeting me," he starts, "I’ll make it quick. It's about a case I'm sure the two of you are familiar with. Actually, I'm here to speak to you, Y/N."

"Me?" You ask, worrying.

"As you know we have an agent working undercover. He's seen you around and since you know about this operation, he’s worried you might get too close, given your relationship with one of the suspects involved. We want to make sure you stay out of it as much as possible."

"But I'm not doing anything to jeopardise the operation."

"We know." He nods, "But still, we have to emphasise that these people are dangerous. You do not want to get involved. You shouldn’t know about this operation in the first place, but nothing we can do about that now.”

Hoseok’s eyes downcast and hands hide in his pockets, knowing he wasn’t supposed to reveal anything to you. “He’s okay right?” He asks softly.

“He’s fine. He personally contacted me to speak with you. And he’s sorry he hasn’t answered his phone, it’s too risky.”

“Who’s this guy again? Do I know him?” You ask.

“You already know too much as it is. I can’t reveal the name of our agent. We can’t risk him getting exposed, it could cost him his life.”

Silence ensues. It’s uncomfortable to think about how someone could literally die from an unfortunate slip of the tongue. You wait for someone to diffuse the tension. Hoseok looks like he’s in thought, opening his mouth to speak then stopping. Seokjin beats him to it. “In case it’s not clear enough, your plan ends here Y/N.”

How does he⎼ oh. So that’s why Hoseok looks troubled. You stare him down and mutter through clenched teeth. “You told him.”

“I didn’t mean to!” He spits out. “When Seokjin called me earlier, I got reminded of you. I had to tell him. And I know you wouldn’t listen to me anyway, so I got him to come here.”

“Listen. I just want to help Jungkook, that’s all.” You sigh. “I promise I won’t get in the way.”

“I get it. Hoseok’s explained it to me.” It’s Seokjin’s turn to sigh. “Doesn’t matter what your intentions are, it’s best if you stay away.”

You look helplessly over at Hoseok, then reluctantly agree with a nod. “I’ll try.”

“No, you see, this isn’t a request. It’s an order. There is a chance you’ll get convicted as part of the group if you don’t keep your distance. Is that what you want?”

“No. But𝄖”

“Good, so we’re on the same page.”

“No, we’re not.” Huffing, you step closer to him. “I’m not doing this for fun. I’m trying to get my boyfriend out of there.”

“I understand. But there’s no telling what could happen. Let us handle it. If he’s innocent, then you don’t have anything to worry about. The most important thing here is that you don’t end up getting caught up in the mess. Do you really want to be associated with criminals?”

“Jungkook’s not a criminal.”

Seokjin holds up his hands in a surrender. “That’s not what I meant.”

Hoseok gulps, gently touching your arm. “Y/N please. Let them handle it.”

“I am letting them handle it.” You say stubbornly before turning back to Seokjin. “Look, I’m just here for Jungkook. Tell that to your guy. I won’t stand in the way of the operation.”

“You do know that this is all off the record?” Seokjin starts, “That means even though our undercover, as well as I, am aware that you’re not involved, if by any chance you’re caught with drugs or anything illegal at the time of the raid, you might get convicted. There will be no records to show that you’re innocent.”

“I understand.”

“Alright.” Seokjin pulls his hoodie back up. Now you can only faintly see the bottom half of his face. “Take care. Remember, no one else can know about this.”

He takes off in quick steps, round the corner and down the street. Hoseok fidgets in his spot, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t make him do this to scare you or anything. Promise.”

“I know, Hoseok.” You smile softly. “But you get it right? Why I’m doing this?”

“Yeah...” he trails off for a moment, then continues. “You saw him earlier didn’t you?”

“I did.” You shake your head with a sigh, “Trust me okay? I’m doing everything I can to help Jungkook, like you wanted me to.”

“I never wanted this. I don’t want you to get hurt if things don’t go as planned.”

“Whatever happens after, I’ll deal with it then.”

𝄖𝄖

Feeling numb, the walk back upstairs feels like you’re on autopilot, barely hearing the buzzing of the crowd. You take a deep breath before turning the knob of Jungkook’s door, willing yourself to forget the last ten minutes ever happened. He’d read you like a book in this state.

But your bright smile is wasted on an empty room.

“Jungkook?”

𝄖𝄖

The next day, you're sitting on the running track, soaked in sweat after a long session of track and field. The coach bids his goodbye as the team continues their cooling down stretches. Hana plops down next to you. “So?”

“What?”

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks, picking dirt off of your cheek with her thumb. “You seemed really out of it last night. Barely spoke the whole day today…”

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “Just thinking.”

You decided not to tell her about Seokjin and everything that was said last night. For now at least. She already has reservations about your plan as it is, telling her about Seokjin would just freak her out even more.

“Jungkook called you yet?”

“Mhm.” Technically it was a text, wishing you good morning with a kissy face emoji. Not wanting to make a big deal out of the night before, you reply as you normally would. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just tired actually.”

She hangs an arm over your shoulder and gives you a side hug. “No more parties for you.”

“Yeah they’re kinda lame aren’t they?” You laugh.

After grabbing your stuff, you’re headed for the locker room. You're too deep in thought to realise the girls on your team giggling around you. It isn't until Hana nudges you then nods to bleachers that you realise your boyfriend is waiting for you. He salutes the other ladies with a winning smile as they walk off, before getting off his butt.

The girls mutter quietly, and you hear the words lucky and they're so cute as they leave you. Hana waves to Jungkook before walking ahead. Jungkook trots down the steps and lifts you in a hug.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty.”

“That’s okay,” he smiles, swaying you side to side, “not the first time I have you all sweaty in my arms.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, then starts swinging your hands as you walk back. “Hey sorry about last night."

"Oh it’s fine. Don't worry about it." You say, with a shake of your head, looking at the ground. "You're a busy man, I know."

"Can I make it up to you? Tonight?"

"Alright." You nod. "I gotta shower first though. And you have to give me a ride back to get some fresh clothes."

"No need to dress up."

"But I want to." You pout and he chuckles.

The sound of whistling and yelling coming from the field gets your attention. It's the soccer team, practice still ongoing. It only just occurred to you that you haven't seen Jungkook there in a while.

"Why aren't you practicing with them anymore? Did you quit?"

Jungkook looks at you with an amused look on his face. "Y/N, I was never part of the team."

"Huh?" You stop in your tracks. "I'm pretty sure I've seen you on that field running after the ball."

"Yeah but I was never really on the team." He reiterates. Now you're confused. "I only practiced with them so I could watch you during track and field."

"What?"

"Have you forgotten? I'm on the basketball team."

Honestly, you hadn’t made the connection that it’s impossible for him to be on both the soccer and basketball teams until now. "No wait, you joined them just to watch me?"

"Yes and no?" He shrugs proudly. "At first it was because I got kicked off the basketball team. Then we started dating. I got to see you every practice. Then I got reinstated on the basketball team. And I didn't wanna stop seeing you during practice so I kept going. Until now."

"Jungkook that is𝄖"

"Sweet?"

"Lowkey creepy."

He lets out a tiny gasp with a look of betrayal on his face. "But...I wanted to see you."

You laugh at the utter disappointment he shows and pat his face, though it feels like a light slap, before running off making him chase after you.

𝄖𝄖

Laying on the hood of his car, with his arm under your neck, Jungkook listens to you talk about anything and everything. In your favourite spot, parked by the beach so you get the cool breeze and the gentle sound of waves crashing onto the shore.

He enjoys listening to you talk about your life; what your childhood was like, what kind of trouble you used to get into, your family. It’s like peeling off a new layer every time. Who knew you used to bully the bully as a kid? And let’s not forget that time you got detention for smoking in school but you only did it to get your dad’s attention so that he would stop dating the evil girlfriend who threatened to send you off to boarding school.

“Baby are you...a troublemaker?” He muses and you laugh.

“Well I was. I grew out of it.” You shrug and look up at him. “Kinda.”

“Would’ve never guessed. You’re so shy. And good.”

“Yeah. Once I realised how my behaviour was affecting people’s liking towards me, I changed.”

He smiles tenderly at you, always so full of surprises. You play with the hem of his sweater, then look up at him. “What about you? You haven’t told me anything about your past.”

Not once has he shared his own stories. You never asked because you didn’t want to pressure him. But you’re almost out of stories yourself.

Jungkook looks up at the sky for a while. You sense the hesitance. “There’s nothing much to say.”

“What about...your family? Do you have any siblings?”

There’s no reply, only the sound of the waves crashing and a distant laughter from a group of friends on the beach. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Propping yourself up on your elbow, you see now the faint sparkle in his eyes. Could be the cool breeze making his eyes water. He blinks it away when you stare. “We can talk about other things.”

He smiles as his eyes scan your face before you’re snuggling into his side again. “I like hearing your stories.”

“But I’ve told you everything.”

“What about your first kiss?”

You groan. “I’ve told you that one. It was during camp. He pushed me into the lake after that because it was all a dare.”

“Oh right and then you threw all his clothes into the lake as revenge.”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “It was pretty funny.”

He laughs thinking about tiny Y/N lugging a big bag full of clothes and dumping it into a lake as the owner yells in horror. Who knew you had it in you. You’re always so calm and by the book, it’s almost like a whole other person.

“Can you tell me about your tattoo?” You look up at him.

He smirks, turning his head to the side towards the arm it’s on. It’s a tiger head on the upper bicep of his right arm. Made up of shapes, lines, squiggles, it has sharp piercing eyes. It’s beautiful, really. “It’s just something to represent my loyalty towards my brothers.”

You’ve never seen this mark on the other frat boys, so you assume he’s talking about his other group of brothers. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Mhm.” It’s tough to crack him. He never reveals more than what he thinks you need to know.

After a while, you pluck up the courage to ask him about the job. “Have you thought about what we discussed?” You ask softly, playing with his fingers.

“What did we discuss?”

“About the job,” you remove yourself from him again and this time get on your knees, “about me working at the club?”

He sighs, looking at you like the stubborn teenager in your stories. “I already told you no.”

“You won’t even consider it.” You pout.

He smiles, surprisingly. “After careful consideration, I regret to inform you that you’ve been rejected. You don't have what it takes.”

“Rude!” You huff, “I have all that it takes.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I’m tough.” You spit out. You strike an awkward pose, doing something weird with your arms. “I have swag.”

It makes him laugh so hard he starts tearing and almost choke on his saliva. Embarrassed, you laugh along, hitting him on his chest. Cheeks hurting from all that, he opens his arms. “Come here you.”

You drop into him, mostly to hide your face in his shoulder. He holds you tight, a content sigh escapes him as he does. “I love you so much.” He says into your ear.

Lifting your head up to face him, he smiles tenderly at you, softly tracing a finger over your face, the lulling movement making your eyes flutter shut.

𝄖𝄖

“You got a problem with me?” Namjoon says to the smaller guy.

Suga smirks bitterly, unimpressed by how the new guy has no respect whatsoever towards him. “I do actually. What’s your deal?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You appear out nowhere, get dispatched to our district. Same area as Jungkook no less...are you trying to replace us?”

“Hey, I didn’t choose the location.” Namjoon shrugs. “Maybe if you guys didn’t suck so bad they wouldn’t have asked me to secure the bags.”

He braces himself as Suga lunges forward, shoving him against the wall, his collar bunched up in clenched fists. Surprisingly strong for a small dude. “You don’t come work for us and talk shit about us to my face.”

Namjoon tugs on his clothes, pulling them out of Suga’s grip. He clears his throat and tries to calm himself. “My bad. Next time I’ll do it behind your back.”

“What are you up to? You took a job on campus, why? Jungkook’s already got that covered.”

“Like I said, I didn’t choose to. I was sent there.” He steps forward, making Suga take a few steps back.

“Liar.”

“Look if you have a problem with it, take it up with the lieutenant.” Namjoon walks off, angering the other guy even more. The nerve of this new kid makes his blood boil. There’s something off about him, there’s no way the bosses would send a new guy in for no reason.

He stomps his way into Kyun’s office, slamming the door behind him. Kyun looks up, sees him, and goes back to his laptop. “What?”

“Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that RM guy?” Suga says, pulling up a chair.

“No. Why?”

“He’s so full of himself.”

“Name one person working here that isn’t,” Kyun says, “besides, you should be thankful I assigned him to you. Jungkook’s been slacking.”

“I told you, the school’s keeping an eye on him. He’s taking it slow.”

Suga can’t remember how many times he’s used that excuse. He can’t come right out and admit that Jungkook has in fact been slacking. Or rather, distracted. Not to mention the time Jungkook considered leaving all of this behind. It’s no surprise the lieutenant’s picked up on it.

“Whatever.” Kyun mutters, obviously tired of having this conversation.

“Wait,” the wheels in Suga’s head turn and he looks curiously at his lieutenant, “you’re not doubting Jungkook are you? Did you send RM in to replace him?”

“If Jungkook’s doing a good job like you seem to think he is, why would you be worried about this?”

Suga purses his lips, “He’s fine. He hasn’t missed any of his shifts. I couldn’t have gotten shit done at the club without him.”

“Numbers are still low though.”

“That’s because you’ve got the new kid stealing all his buyers.”

“RM’s good and the staff there seem to trust him. He stays.”

“Fine. Then get off Jungkook’s back about his numbers. He can’t sell drugs the same as before if you have another dealer there competing with him.”

Kyun thinks about it for a minute, then nods. “Alright fine. Anyway, it’s good that you’re here now. I can run through what boss wants you to get up and running at the club.”

It hits Suga that Kyun having doubts about Jungkook is bad news, at least, if word travels up the hierarchy. While Jungkook had promised to keep up, Suga intends to make sure he actually does. He can’t afford anymore slip-ups. Or distractions, in the form of you. He can’t let anything happen to Jungkook.

𝄖𝄖

Sneaking back into the house at such an ungodly hour, you guide Jungkook in the dark, careful not to make a sound.

Back in your room, his jacket and shirt are the first to go. He lifts you up and carries you to the bed, lips not parting from each other.

Slipping under your shirt, he unhooks your bra and pulls your shirt with it over your head. Lips smiling on yours, his hands knead your breasts and you feel your nerves reacting. He trails wet kisses down your front, fingers undoing your jeans and pulling them off in a single swoop.

He removes his own pair of jeans, leaving him in his boxers. Then, kneeling by your legs, he gently peels your panties off, taking in the view of your naked body, lighted up by the warm yellow of your nightlight. If he could, he’d engrave this image of you in his head.

His eyes wide and lustful, they trail over you. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers.

Hovering above you, he strokes the side of your face, before pressing his body to yours in a soft gentle kiss. He moves so gently, like you could break at any moment. When your hands wrap around his neck, he grabs hold of your wrists, pinning them above your head. You let out a soft whimper.

Jungkook takes his time, showering your skin with kisses. Starting from your neck down to your navel. He licks one side of your breast, teasingly drawing circles with his tongue along the nipple, then gives the same attention to the other. Your breathing gets hitched in your throat, feeling the blood rush down south.

He brings his mouth lower, hands now occupying your breasts where his mouth was. It sends you butterflies the way his hot breath brushes against your skin. There’s something different about the way he’s touching you tonight.

He spares some kisses down your inner thighs and watches the way goosebumps appear as they try to clam up reflexively.

Hands on your thighs, he pushes them apart and runs a teasing lick over your folds. Then his tongue finds its way to your clit, flicking it gently before his lips wrap around it and he starts gently sucking. You jolt and take in a sharp breath grabbing a fishful of the sheets.

His fingers delicately touch your folds, running a teasing finger over your entrance. Looking up from between your thighs, he watches the way you steady your breaths, eyes closed, brows furrowed.

It doesn’t last long and when you open your eyes, he’s hovering over you, licking his lips. Very eagerly you pull down the hem of his boxers, exposing his hard cock. His own fingers wrap around it, stroking himself gently as he reaches for a bottle of lube. He stares at you with a look you can’t read.

“Something on your mind?” You voice out.

He shakes his head with a gentle smile and takes his position between your legs, your thighs over his. Aligning himself with your entrance, he grips your ankles on either side. Slowly, he enters and you will yourself not to make a sound at the initial stretch.

Jungkook keeps a steady pace, watching intently the way he moves in and out of you. You can’t help but to stare at him and the way his abs clench every time he moves his hips into you. The flexing of his arms every now and then, keeping your legs steady. And the way the warm light casts shadows dancing over his body as he moves.

“Jungkook.” You call out for him, so softly.

He releases your ankles and leans forward, resting his body on yours. Pressing his forehead to you, he admires the look of lust in your eyes and the way you’re biting your bottom lip. “Yes, my love?”

Your fingers run over his face. You’re too occupied with the pleasure of him inside you that your brain refuses to put your thoughts into words. He chuckles when you only manage a breathy smile instead.

Your wrists get pinned over your head once again, and he watches you from above. Every thrust is deep and filling, his hips moving expertly to give you just the right amount of pleasure, leaving you a hot mess beneath him.

You look absolutely breathtaking to him; the parting of your lips, eyes shut and shaky breaths. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and your chest rises and falls with every breath you take. He lets out a low guttural sound and presses his body to yours, devouring your lips in a passionate kiss.

His hips pick up speed, grinding into you with calculated moves. You get lost in each other, a mixture of your quick breaths filling the room. The look in his eyes is mirrored in yours, waves of emotions flowing between both your bodies and soul.

Jungkook can’t describe his feelings for you. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time; warmth, love, trust, acceptance. All he knows is to tell you he loves you and hopes you get it.

Your eyes get misty as you let your own emotions get to you, feeling the twinge in your chest when you look at him.

Arms wrapping around his waist, your tongues dance between your lips. He knows all the right spots to leave you breathless. You feel it building in the pit of your stomach, and pull away from the kiss, no longer in control of your actions.

Jungkook feels it too, sensing the pressure between your hips as they wrap tightly around him. He steadies himself and gives you long, deep strokes, as he watches your breaths get quicker. The euphoric look on your face earns a grunt of approval from him.

Not wanting to hold back any longer, his hips grind into yours at a quicker pace, feeling himself reaching his release. His mouth latches on to your nipple, sucking it for a second before he hears small whines leaving you, signalling you’re close.

Willing yourself to keep your eyes open, you place a hand on the side of his face, making sure his eyes stay on yours. It gets blurrier with the way tears start to fill your eyes. “I love you.” You blurt out in a whisper and he rests his forehead on yours as he thrusts hard, one which makes your insides squirm.

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you. A single tear rolls down the side of your face as you start to reach your high. “I love you Y/N.” He breathes out against your lips before capturing you in a kiss. With one hard thrust, you find yourself succumbing to the pressure in your middle, unravelling a wave of pleasure that courses through your entire body, chest rising towards him and hands keeping him close.

Watching you, he reaches his own climax, hips bucking wildly into yours, and you feel his warm release spilling inside you, his moans lost in the kiss. It takes a while before his hips slow down into a gentle rhythm. Your body goes limp as you ride it out, drained of energy.

He catches his breath with his head on yours and when you finally catch each other’s eyes, you share a giggle. He shines in his afterglow, a look of pure bliss on his face. But he could say the same for you, thumb running over your cheek to wipe off the tear stains.

In that moment, it feels as if you’re staring right into his soul. He stares back at you, as if trying to say something more than what’s been said, worrying once again about conveying what’s in his heart. But you just smile back.

“I know, Jungkook. I know. I love you too.”

#jungkook fics #networkbangtan #kwritersworldnet #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #rainworks #my #hope you like it :(

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junghoseokwife · 4 years ago

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Merfolk in a Manhole 2

Merman! Yoongi, Merman! Seokjin, Merman! Jungkook, Merman! Jimin, Merman! Taehyung, Human! Namjoon, Human! Hoseok Human! Reader Summary: After getting kicked out of your apartment, you moved in with your parent close to the beach. Digesting as much salty air as you had, you became restless going to the beach to relax. A rather harsh wave smashed onto the beach bringing seaweeds a buttload of fishes and a hideous fish man with big bug eyes and webbed hands or was he a beautiful, sculpted tanned merman who needed help to find his friends? Paring: OT7 x reader Wordcount: 2.7k A/N: Sorry it took so long and I have been trying to get the hang of tumblr so please bear with me editing mistakes. Thank you for all the comments on the first chapter, I am never satisfied with my work so seeing you all like it makes me excited for more.

Your legs weren’t carrying you as fast as you wanted. You wanted to be as far away as possible. The financial stability you had been pining for had just been flushed down the drain and you were just so overwhelmed. You were never the most athletic of the bunch but today you could prove yourself wrong. The only sounds you could hear was the wind whipping against your body. You furiously tried to breathe, but the air was knocked out of you with every step you took. Your vision was collapsing on itself with the lack of oxygen that was entering your lungs. Your body shook violently as you round the corner of the street a little too late slamming your foot on the red and white traffic pole. The minor injury did not slow you down at all. You kept running the harsh pavement heating up under your foot, becoming a pain to move. Your name echoed through your head, your body jolting backwards slamming into a hard surface. You winced in pain as the adrenaline left your body, finally feeling the weight of your situation and the open wound on your leg .You watched the cars zoom past, too busy to care about the pedestrians waiting to cross; this foolish crusade of yours could have ended badly. The arm that had pulled you back tightened around your wrist. Your eyes scanned the road in front of you before looking up at the owner of the hand. “Hoseok” The drive was suffocating. Hoseok had not said anything after he bandaged your wounded leg and dragged you into his car. He tossed his now damage groceries, that he had dropped to chase you, into the trunk. Your anxiety peeking through as you nibbled at your fingernail. He looked through the rear view mirror letting out a disapproving sigh. “Stop that” He motioned for you to take your finger out of your mouth which you did reluctantly. He refocused on the road leaving you to your own devices once again. You decided to look out the window, small trees and dried grass was all you could see for miles. Crossing your arms you allowed the wind to blow your hair not minding the way it whipped your face. You had concluded Hoseok wasn’t carrying you home and you could not be happier, but a little knowledge on where you were going would put your mind at ease. You didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment, but knowing Hoseok and you weren’t on good terms made you queasy so you did the only thing you knew would melt his heart. “Hoseok?” You whispered putting on the best puppy eyes you could “No” He deadpanned not even looking at you. You scoffed; leaning back into the seat “Rude” you whispered under your breath missing the way Hoseok had to bite his lips to contain his smile.

..........

“Wow!” Your voice was louder than you expected on the quiet beach. Hoseok had hauled your injured self out of the beach and dragged you onto the sand. You made a small snail trail that would be helpful if you got lost wondering the beach which wouldn’t be unlikely with how excited you were. You’ve never seen the ocean in your life; your parents never liked the salty air or the sound of the waves. They wanted to live in a wealthy area not ‘some fisherman’s village’ and you just never had time for recreational activities. The aquarium at work could not compare to the vast ocean and long beaches. You sat down, unable to walk anymore with your injured leg. The sand was warm under your skin, sighing contently; you looked at the water eyes reflecting the scorching sun that bounced of the ocean. Everything was serene Everything was beautiful The sand crunched under Hoseok’s weight, you didn’t pay attention to his persistent poking to busy soaking up the view that you might not see again in a while. You really should visit the beach more often. Hoseok was fed up with you ignoring him like he had done to you through the whole car ride. He spun the soda can, now full with condensation, trying to find the coldest area. He smiled devilishly as he placed it onto your skin. You quickly jolt back hissing in surprise, quickly slapping Hoseok on his arm before he had time to flee. He fell into fits of giggles when you grumbled, rubbing the your skin to heat it up. “Namjoon told me about what happened” He sobered up rather quickly opening the can and handing it to you. You swung the can into small circles, slushing around the soda in the can. You hummed as you took a sip, peeking over the can waiting for Hoseok to continue. He also seemed to be waiting for you to say something or at least to give a different reaction if the deer in headlights look on his face was anything to go by. You cracked a smile taking another sip before putting the can down. “Is that why you took me here then, to cheer me up?” “No. I wanted to see you in a swimsuit.” He leaned in a little causing his breath to tickle your face. The serious look on his face caused you to splutter a little. You made a disgusted face leaning back to put distance between both of you. Hoseok’s laughter sound like music to your ears. He returned to his former position, finally taking a sip from his own drink. Hoseok and you had developed a flirty relationship over the years; you both would either reciprocate or reject the other person advances. This type of friendship came out of nowhere but you had no problem with it. “You should move in with your parents. If you get kicked out I mean…” He rose from the ground dusting the sand off his clothes. “They’ve probably been waiting for you to go home for a while” He held out his hand for you to take pulling you off the beach. “I know” you whispered, picking the cans off the sand. “They’re just -”A sigh escaped your lips as stacked the cans ontop of each other following after your friend to the car. Your parents weren’t bad people they just weren’t ready to have children, and it showed. They always kept you at arm’s length, like you were an acquaintance. They would control your social circle deeming Hoseok not worthy to be your friend and that you should get married to Namjoon for connections to his family. “I know…” He smiled sadly “But it’s been years. They are old now. You can leave if it becomes too much.” He turned around taking the cans from you, resting them into the cup holder. You grunted deep in thought. What if he was right? Could they change? You looked back at the beach for the last time as the car started driving. You missed it already.

“Hoseok wait!!” He slowed down the car; you ignored the confusion all over his face as you popped the door open running far down the beach. You ignored the pain that surged through your body, probably reopening the wound on your leg. The sand clung to your feet like it was trying to stop you from where you were going, you stumbled a little before scooping the item in your hand. You turned around to the street giving Hoseok a thumbs up. Following the trail you made earlier in the day you clambered into the car closing the door. You held the item closer to your chest, contented.

..........

Packing was all you seemed to be doing nowadays. Your possessions seemed endless with the need to rest cutting in ever so often. You looked at your still bandaged leg frowning a bit. The leg had gotten infected when you underestimated the severity of the injury giving you a well overdue hospital visit. Hoseok refused to make you continue packing since you needed to ‘rest according to doctor instructions’. He was correct but your rest time prolonged your packing. You had the whole week to pack up and move out which you thought was more than enough time since you had the help of Namjoon and Hoseok, but they had been at work for majority of the week, so most of the work fell on your shoulders. Despite your lack of communication, you were thankful that your parents had paid for the damage to the apartment, saving Namjoon and your wallet from the burden of a lifetime. You decided to rest, wobbling over to your bed. You looked around your almost barren room spying the item you had picked up from the beach. It collected the sunlight in your room separating them in small rays illuminating small areas off the room. You weren’t sure if what you picked up was a seashell, it was shaped like one; if you put it close to your ears you could hear the sea but it looked like an aquamarine gem. It looked so fragile you didn’t dare to take it up after you accidentally dropped it earlier in the week. You have been thinking about making it into a necklace. Warmth spread around your chest whenever you looked at the seashell, you weren’t sure if it was a memory of your time at the ocean or because of how beautiful it looked just sitting on your bedside table. You taped the final box, bending backward to stretch your back. You let out a pleased groan when the muscle loosened. You looked at the clock, just in time you thought. The boxes were already lined up at the front of your apartment waiting for the moving truck. Namjoon had texted you, sorrowful that he couldn’t be there to help you move out. He was just so endearing you couldn’t be mad at him. You sat down on one of the boxes, checking the time. “Any minute now” You grumbled staring at the phone like it would cause time to speed up. When the sound of feet approached you, you quickly got up from the box to give the movers space to do their job. But the sound of your name caused you to look away from your phone. “Mom?” Her eyes were glassed over as she took in your form. You guess that happens when you haven’t seen your only child for years. She covered her mouth choking on her tears a little before turning to your father. They really aged gracefully. The fine lines and wrinkles on their face gave them a softer appearance than what you were used to. They looked like grandparents, kind and wise. You could imagine your mom baking cookies and your dad making a fool of himself trying to help her before she kicks him out of the kitchen. ‘Imagine’ “Mom” She teared up repeating what you had called her. “I’m so sorry, my daughter” Few words had to be spoken to know what that meant. How deep it cut you? You might never know, but the tears streaming down your face had said enough for your parents. The movers quickly stacked the boxes into the truck not sparing a second glance at you and your parents tear eyed and red faces, probably to not make you uncomfortable. After finalizing the move with you the men returned to the truck transporting everything to your new residence. Your father started off in the direction of their vehicle not saying anything to both you and your mom. Her watery smile struck you in your heart, she clasped her frail hands. “Let’s go home”

..........

“Mom!!” She placed a hand over heart still not used to the term of endearment. She wasn’t sure how she went through most of your life not liking the term. She hummed, still stirring the porridge she turned to look at you. You were clinging onto the door frame for dear life having woken up early to go to work. It would take an hour or two to reach but you didn’t mind. You ha adjusted nicely into your new home despite it being a couple days. Your parents had tried their best to make you feel welcomed, correcting their past mistakes. Asking about Hoseok and Namjoon ever so often, trying to integrate your friends into their lives.

“Have you seen my wetsuit?” Before your mother could answer, your father was at the door handing your wetsuit to you. He didn’t say anything as per usual, walking back to his chair on the front porch to overlook the sea. You folded the warm wetsuit placing it under your arm; he must’ve hanged it outside on the line for it to dry since you were too tired to do it last night.

“Thanks dad” You whispered. He grunted as a reply waving you off to get dressed.

Old age does change how someone perceives life. Your parents seemed to value a more peaceful, simple life. Unlike their younger selves who wanted money, business and connections. Now your mom went fishing with your father, she hummed songs as she planted flowers in the windowsills or baked for the children in the village a mile or so from the beach where you reside. The beach house was rather beautiful perched on a cliff, surrounded by shrubs and coconut trees, which mom always had use for. She would experiment making grater cake or coconut pudding allowing you to be the taste tester. Ideally you’d have wanted a father just as openly doting as your mother but this was fine. He took care of you in silence, behind the scenes, washing your wetsuit or suddenly not being hungry when only one portion of lobster was left. If you refused and told him to eat it he would leave the table and sit in his chair overlooking the ocean, forcing you to eat the last piece or it would go bad.

Placing all your belongings into a draw bag you pecked your mom on the cheek and your dad on the forehead before making your way to the bus stop. Your parents had insisted you use their car but your lack of driver’s license would make that impossible.

.........

You, Hoseok and Namjoon were the only ones at work. What irked you more was the lack of work you were getting. The tenseness in the air was palpable as you munched on the snacks you found in the fridge. Namjoon looked too sick to eat picking at his food ever so often. Hoseok was trying to sleep which remain unsuccessful. The lunchroom door opening startled all of you to varying degrees. Seeing your boss march through the door you pulled your hand from the fridge taking a cup of coconut pudding with you. Namjoon was alert while Hoseok sluggishly sat up, fatigue settling in his bones.

“You’re eating more food?” You bossed cocked an eyebrow in your direction. The question sounded normal; as eating before doing your job, which mostly involved swimming wasn’t the best idea. But you understood what he was insinuating, he ‘teased’ you alot. You shoved another spoon of pudding into your mouth to avoid confrontation. Seeing he wasn’t going to get a reaction, he cleared his throat deciding to talk about the matter at hand.

He placed a flyer on the table. One you had been seeing for a while now, on every surface they could fit.

A photoshopped picture of a mermaid sat at the forefront. Around the image were words saying this was the newest attraction for the aquarium. The aquarium wasn’t running low on funds so you didn’t know the need for a stunt like this. It didn’t matter to you, the more the merrier. You could ask them how they managed to hold their breaths so long or swim so gracefully.

“You and you” He pointed to both men in the room. “I need you to train them.”

“You” He pointed to me, seemingly taking in my current condition of being unable to swim he thought carefully about the task. “Reward them if they deserve it; punish them if they deserve it.

The already quiet room fell into a deafening silence.

“They’re arriving in a week or so, so be prepared.” He pulled his phone from his coat pocket, dialing someone before making his exit. Leaving all of you to rationalize what he had said, because mermaids were only mythological.

They didn’t exist.

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 4

A/N Here’s the next chapter installment of Ginger Snap. I now have this story mentally plotted to its conclusion. It will have a total of 6 chapters, with perhaps a wee epilogue. In keeping with the theme, the title of this chapter is “Where There’s Smoke”.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I glanced around the sitting room, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Well, not a stranger. Through Jamie’s eyes.

We had sold most of our furniture before leaving Boston, not considering it worth the expense of shipping across the Atlantic. Frank hired an interior decorating firm to furnish the third floor Southside flat before we arrived. The overall impression was stylish, if a bit soulless. Having grown up a virtual nomad, there were no mementos or heirlooms to speak for my personal journey. For the first time, I regretted their absence.

The buzzer rang, and I shook away my wistfulness. Jamie’s tousled curls and reckless grin greeted me as I opened the door. Today he wore a fitted navy jumper, faded grey jeans with frays about the ankles and the ubiquitous work boots. A messenger bag was slung across his broad chest.

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to supply the ingredients for today’s lesson, because my cupboards are bare,” I remarked after inviting him in.

“Jus’ as well. I wouldna squander yer food. I have all we need right here.” Reaching into his bag, he removed a clear container filled with chunks of pink meat swimming in a broth of blood. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“What sort of dish will I be making with those?”

Those summer eyes shone in merry provocation.

“No’ a dish, Arsonist. An experiment.”

Two saucepans were set on the stove. Jamie had me place a few pieces of meat into the water of one pot before it warmed. To the other I added a pinch of salt and a clove of garlic, but waited until it came to a boil before adding the chicken. After five minutes, I used tongs to move the now-pale flesh to waiting salad plates. Neither looked particularly appetizing, but the first pot yielded a glutinous blob.

“I suppose this is the control group,” I remarked, looking at Jamie where he leaned against my countertop, ankles crossed like a cover model. “I’m already quite familiar with what culinary failure looks like, thank you.”

“No’ failure. Variability,” my teacher argued. “See here? If ye want meat tae dissolve til it doesna hold its texture, low heat is key. An’ if ye want tae infuse it with flavour, always combine heat an’ seasoning at the same time.”

I took a small nibble of chicken from the second pot, and sure enough it tasted mildly of garlic. It was otherwise quite bland, though. When I commented on this, Jamie nodded in excitement.

“Aye, verra good. Nature seeks equilibrium, as ye well know. Sae now ye have poultry tha’ tastes o’ water and water tha’ tastes o’ chicken. If ye were makin’ a stew or chicken stock, t’would be a good thing. Fer anything else, tis shite.”

I laughed, getting into the spirit of his well-executed game.

“Have ye any music?” he asked while we cleared away the results of round one. “I always cook better with a bit o’ background noise.”

There was a high-end stereo system in the living room, but I doubted Jamie would be interested in Frank’s collection of Brahms, Mahler and Celtic harp. Seeing my hesitation, Jamie dug out a portable speaker from his bag.

“Do ye mind?” I shook my head and soon my kitchen hummed with guitar chords and plangent vocals.

The lesson lasted far longer than the scheduled hour. Jamie had me bake, fry, roast and braise different samples, each time explaining why a particular technique might be used and insisting I taste the result. It was so much fun, I shed my habitual reticence while cooking.

“An’ now fer the pièce de résistance,” Jamie announced in dramatic tones. From his seemingly bottomless messenger bag he removed what appeared to be a miniature flame thrower.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, forgetting myself.

“I wanted ye tae ken there’s a place fer fire in the kitchen, Arsonist. Tis only a question of picking yer moment.”

With a flick of his lighter, he set the butane alight and handed me the small kitchen torch. Using extreme caution, I seared the outside of the two remaining morsels until they were a rich caramel colour. Jamie then wrapped them in foil, placing them in the oven to finish cooking. When they were cool enough to sample, the outside was pleasingly crunchy and sweet, while the inside swam in moist chicken-y flavour. We both declared them the winner.

“Tis a funny thing about fire,” Jamie remarked as he packed up his bag to leave by the more conventional front door route. “It can remain hidden beneath the surface, burying its secrets deep inside. Doesna mean it doesn’t burn, though.”

I thought about what he’d said long after he was gone, leaving me alone with his signature scent of rising bread and salt air.

That weekend, I blamed the poor weather when I declined Frank’s offer to shop for an engagement ring.

***

The next week, instead of asking to be buzzed inside, Jamie requested that I join him downstairs.

Grabbing a Mackintosh, my purse and slipping into comfortable walking shoes, I joined Jamie outside my door. He was particularly animated, despite the foul weather.

“We should ha’ started wi’ this lesson, but t’wasn’t the right day fer it,” he explained as we walked towards the farmers’ market that took place twice a week in the shadow of Castle Hill.

I considered protesting that I already knew how to shop for food, but Jamie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

We stopped at every stall, sampling the foodstuff on display, which was surprisingly varied despite it being November. Jamie knew most of the merchants by name and our progress was regularly halted by conversations on topics as varied as his family’s health, the latest rugby results and Scottish politics. I envied his wide circle of acquaintance and apparent ease interacting with them. There was no pretense, no stiffness, just a man who inhabited every square centimetre of his life to the fullest.

Jamie insisted that I taste various produce before adding it to the cloth bag he’d provided. Honey-crisp apples. Peppery radishes. Herb-infused venison sausage.

“Close yer eyes,” he instructed when I was practically dizzy with all the flavours. Still, I complied immediately. A rubbery moisture tickled my lips. “Open,” he said simply. I opened. “Tell me what ye taste, Arsonist.”

I chewed the morsel of cheese thoughtfully, letting the taste and texture coat my mouth before finally swallowing.

“Creamy. Thick. Salty. Sorrel.”

I opened my eyes only to fall into the inky vortex of Jamie’s pupils, which had expanded to almost eclipse his irises. His hand still hovered near my mouth, muscles frozen in abstraction. The cheesemonger let out an awkward little cough. Jamie blinked, and the moment vanished.

“Sorrel?” he asked a bit gruffly.

“Yer lass has a fine palate, Fraser. My sheep graze in fields full o’ it.”

I allowed myself a smug little smile. Neither of us corrected the merchant’s presumptive pronoun.

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged before the fire with a picnic for one. Frank had called from his office earlier to say he was working on notes for an upcoming symposium. Before me lay the results of the afternoon’s market adventure. Closing my eyes as I ate, every mouthful set my senses ablaze.

We never found time to visit the jeweler that weekend either.

***

The next week, I fell ill with a miserable head cold. Frank was in Oxford for his symposium, so I called Ginger Snap myself and explained to Jenny in a hoarse voice that Jamie should avoid coming to my flat at all costs.

I was curled up in a mentholated daze when there was a series of knocks. It took several minutes to free myself from my blanket cocoon and shuffle to the front door. Glancing in the entryway mirror, my hair called to mind an electrified poodle and my nose was twelve shades of raw, but I opened the door anyway. No-one was there. Leaning out to peer down the hallway, I practically tripped over a brown paper bag resting at my feet.

Inside was a metal thermos, still quite warm to the touch. As I unscrewed the cap, my stuffed nose was assailed by fragrant steam. Homemade cock-a-leekie soup. I felt a glow fill my chest that had nothing to do with my fever. Pouring a helping into a mug, I shuffled back to my couch-nest. I felt better already.

***

The following week, Jamie was distracted. I’d thanked him profusely for the soup, and asked if he could show me how to make it for myself. As the chicken thighs and stock began to warm, however, I caught him glancing regularly at his phone, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Are you expecting an important text?” I finally asked.

“Hmm? Och, Arsonist, I’m verra sorry. Tis only that we got a last-minute request tae cater a big corporate Christmas party, an’ Jenny is beside herself wi’ worrying.” He tucked him phone into the pocket of his cargo pants.

“When’s the party?”

“T’morrow,” he confessed.

“What! Jamie, what are you doing here? You should have called me to reschedule.”

“T’wouldna be fair, what wi’ us missing last week on account of yer sniffles. An’ wi’ Christmas ‘round the corner, I didna ken when I’d... er, when we’d have time for another lesson.”

I turned off the burner with a decisive twist. Jamie opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but I beat him to the punch.

“Jamie, the soup will keep. Growing your business is more important. I wish there was something more I could do to help, but under the circumstances...”

“Come wi’ me?” he blurted out.

I was nodding before the words finished leaving his mouth. Notwithstanding the fact that he had just literally been teaching me how to boil water, I didn’t want to lose his company so soon. We likely wouldn’t see one another again until after the New Year.

It was a thirty minute walk to Leith. Jamie could probably have covered the distance in half that with his long strides, were it not for me trotting along beside him. We stopped at several shops along the way to pick up provisions, arriving at Ginger Snap with our arms laden with the freshest food Edinburgh had to offer.

I had expected Jenny and Jamie to be working alone, but the fire station was abuzz with activity. I was hastily introduced to Angus, a distant Fraser cousin; Mary, a childhood friend of Jenny’s; and Murtagh, Jamie and Jenny’s godfather. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, and I stood awkwardly to one side, wondering what the hell I was doing there. I was preparing to make my excuses when Jamie called me over to a spare station. He gestured to the commercial-sized sink, which was full of vegetables of every dimension and colour.

“Claire, I need ye tae rinse and then cut these inta nice even pieces. Can ye do tha’ fer me?”

"Consider it done, chef,” I said with a jaunty salute.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as we each went about our assigned tasks. I chopped. Mary baked. Angus filleted. Jamie cooked, and Jenny plated the various canapés, salads and sauces and stored them in the enormous refrigerators that lined the back wall. Murtagh’s role seemed mostly to keep the troops in line with an assortment of verbal barbs.

Music played in the background. Volleys of witty banter flowed between us, but never at the expense of the work or anyone’s feelings. Angus nicked himself with his filleting knife, and Jenny sent him to my station for treatment, saying I was the team’s resident doctor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at home.

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, it was dark outside. The bulk of the work was done and the pace slackened, the pressure of the looming deadline relieved. One by one we cleared our stations, meeting at the small seating area to share a well-earned drink.

Jenny sunk into the couch beside me and let out a loud sigh.

“Ouf, I canna believe we got it all done. Claire, ye were a godsend. Normally I do most o’ the prep work, but it leaves me no time tae arrange the dishes.”

I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Nay, Arsonist, ye were amazing,” Jamie began to object, but he was interrupted by my phone buzzing. Glancing down, I felt my face fall. I’d completely forgotten about Frank. Now he was texting, asking me where I was. I quickly fired off a reply, then stuffed the phone into my pocket.

“Everything alright?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s only my fiancé, asking when I might be home,” I answered, still distracted by my uncharacteristic lapse. As I glanced up, I ran straight into Jamie’s iceberg gaze.

“I didna realize ye were engaged,” he looked pointedly at my bare ring finger. “Congratulations.”

He said the word as though every syllable pained him. I quelled the urge to explain, to say it wasn’t a real engagement because I’d never agreed, that I’d only been looking for a sense of security, but somehow found myself in a cage.

Instead I hastily finished my drink, called myself an Uber and quietly wished everyone a good night, all while avoiding the many questions written across Jamie’s expressive face.

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years ago

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Vmin Vlive Asks

From anon: saw on twitter people asking for vmin vilive again. If vmin were just friends it wouldn't be a problem streaming together, or if they hated each other as some say they would be professional enough to stream together without any problems. But since they don't, it's because it's difficult, even as a professional, because vmin is so cute with each other. just a thought.

From anon 2: It saddens me that we still haven't got a Vmin live/selfie. It really makes me wonder. Surely they can go an hour without flirting/touching/exposing themselves, right lol? Same with a selfie. V did a live with JK and JM did one with JK, last year. V uploaded a selfie of him and JK on NYE, but when it comes to Vmin we barely get crumbs. Not saying I expect it, but it raises the question of what the big deal is kinda. Worst part is antis see it as confirmation that Vmin aren't close. Makes me sad.

From anon 3: What are your thoughts on why we haven't seen Vmin selfies or vlives in a while? Same with Jikook. Nothing from them either. Do you think Jimin just isn't wanting to for some reason? Even TK uploaded a selfie on NYE and then we got Tae in a video, in a rush to get their selfie uploaded. Kinda makes me sad. Not cause T/JK uploaded a selfie, but I just wish Vmin would throw us a bone. Since we haven't seen any selfies/lives with J/k**k either, seems maybe its on Jimin's end why we aren't. Maybe?

Perhaps this is a moment where being a namjinist is quite a handy thing since we’re rather used to a lack of selcas, even if there are moments that we know (and even saw) them take some together and yet we never got to see the selca, meaning they took them merely for themselves as memory. Which kind of makes it actually much cuter, but that’s besides the point. Same goes for vlives, before the RJRJ vlive Summer 2020, we had to wait a very long time for a namjin vlive. Perhaps I’m just desensitized to this wish of a joined vlive, not that I wouldn’t want one, I very much do, but I’m used to just…not getting one, I suppose?

Admin 2 has actually written a post early on into our time on tumblr about their theories regarding the potential of a vmin vlive and how chances are we will likely not get one, at least not any time soon. Looking at anon 2’s question if they would really not be able to go an hour without flirting or touching or doing something else that could “expose” them—I’d like for us to remember their “Radio” for Japanese ARMY where they basically spent the entire time talking softly/sweetly with each other, Jimin calling the way Tae wrote words on a whiteboard “cute” (the video was deleted but this is at least the translation of this), how he wasn’t able to open a pen so he softly asked Tae do it for him, and how Jimin did this funny charade move which Tae claimed was “Jimin waking up” resulting in Jimin playfully/cutely “hitting” Tae’s chest (1:28 onward). And that’s edited content, yet it’s so sweet and full of little tender vmin moments.

Now imagine that but without editing and happening live.

Of course, Jimin and Tae are absolute professionals at their job, I don’t have any kind of doubt about it, but perhaps it’s just something they’ve decided they don’t want to do (despite Jimin’s initial “promise” of talking Tae into doing it with him, and Tae saying “okay” on the phone when asked about it). Not due to a lack of possibilities or time, not due to a lack of self-control both verbal and physical wise, but due to some completely different reason only they know. We know what literal hellscape the comments during vlives are, so imagine what kind of nightmare the comments during a vmin vlive would be…it makes me sad and furious just thinking about it. Considering the comments are already full of hate and shipping related comments and questions when they do solo vlives. Or how hateful people were when Jimin, Seokjin and Yoongi did their Just Dance vlive together in 2020, how Seokjin was basically accused of “getting in the way” of y*onm*n and far, far worse things, even though all three of them were having so much fun together.

We know how much certain people despise vmin and any (cute) interactions between Jimin and Tae that show that all their wishes or claims that “they hate each other” and “have drifted apart” are not true. Also, remember how Tae posted their ITS bed selca on weverse and was flooded with hate for it? I admit, that was in parts due to “bad timing” (or rather people being unable to stop demanding things from Bangtan without immediately turning hateful but that’s a whole different story) but in larger parts due to it going against “popular agendas”.

“Worst part is antis see it as confirmation that Vmin aren't close. Makes me sad.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years as ARMY, as well as vminnie and namjinist, it’s that the opinion of antis is worth less than dirt. Even dirt is more useful, tbh. They can think whatever they like, but the good thing is, their opinion and whatever they think is a “confirmation” of their agenda, it doesn’t affect the truth and the reality of Jimin’s and Tae’s bond in any kind of way. So, please, don’t let their noisiness make you sad. Literal antis are not worth our times. Not in relation to vmin and not in relation to BTS in general.

“Not cause T/JK uploaded a selfie, but I just wish Vmin would throw us a bone.” While I know what you mean, I’d like to remind you, and everyone else, that we’ve gotten a whole mountain of bones in recent weeks between RUN and other content like Winter Package. We might not have gotten any selcas or vlive, but we got so many other things, do they not count? Besides, we’ve made it five years without vmin vlive, I think we’ll be okay, no?

So, it’s okay to hope we might get a vlive from Tae and Jimin together one day, as well as a selca, if they’ve decided against it behind the scenes, we should respect and accept that. In the end, if they’ll one day do decide to do a vlive or post a selca out of the blue, imagine how happy we’d be.

Instead let us look forward with anticipation and excitement for tomorrow’s Grammy performance and hopefully their first win, even though I’ll forever be salty about the organizers putting their category in the pre-show instead of making it part of the main gala despite knowing that their category is basically the most anticipated one this year. As well as most of the categories with POC nominees being outside of the main gala. Very telling.

Then again, like that one Forbes article once said:

#answered ask #answered ask by admin 1 #vmin #Jimin #Taehyung #Vmin vlive

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haru-sen · 3 years ago

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Imperial Forces

I’ve written...a lot of words for a fanfic no one asked for, and only one person has confirmed knowing what the hell I am even talking about. My god. This is a preview of the IAL anniversary gift and may be changed down the road. Certain people instigated this, you know who you are, and I’m still salty at you.

TW: This is a darker piece of work compliant with some of the unpleasantness that one expects the Sith Empire. Includes: dubcon, mentions of previous sexual assaults, attempted sexual assault, bad boundaries, bondage, and improper use of the Force. Edited: Posted some minor corrections. Part 1/?

You sat at the table, ramrod straight, focusing on the silverware, and your glass of wine. The cut of the crystal was exquisite, and the wine was a Dathomirian Fury Red, if you recalled correctly, which you might not, because the entire day had been an absolute disaster, and you would be so very lucky if you made it to the dessert course. Surviving this situation was highly unlikely. You’d known for awhile that your time was extremely limited. But having dessert before you were murdered by a Sith lord, would be kind of nice.

You glanced up at the masked Sith, and then the bored moff across from you: dinner, dessert, death. At least the dining room was luxuriously decorated. You’d always expected to die in a dark, gross alley. This was an upgrade, really.

But for some reason, all these high-end pre-murder amenities were not making you feel any better.

They called you Cipher 13, because your real name was classified, and because the previous Cipher 13 took a one-way trip down a sarlacc pit the night before your spontaneous promotion. In all fairness, the name was probably cursed. You were the “unluckiest” of the Cipher agents, often getting the worst assignments or having your missions interrupted by the most unbelievable accidents.

It was an old joke by now, but you still got regular comments about your unenviable misfortune. Like today, when you’d gone to the quartermaster to stock up on the special blend of stimpacks Ciphers used. Fixer 3 had made an awkward joke about how your formula had “unpredictable results” and looked uncharacteristically scared when you took one right in front of him. Fixer 3 was normally a sensible guy and you liked him. You weren’t sure what he had been thinking today.

But it had been a long week, and you had not been given the regular rest break between assignments. Something “urgent” had come up. Watcher 5 had briefed you of your next mission, which was something convoluted and political. You were working for a Dark Council member. Watcher 5 had slipped in a snide remark along the lines of, “try not to let your personal chaos spill into this operation. Sith Lords have little tolerance for surprises.”

He said this, like you had control over these things. Ridiculous.

For example, how could you anticipate that a rancor would get loose at a diplomatic banquet and eat the person you were supposed to interrogate (along with half a dozen or so other very important people)? Not your fault, and certainly not within your control, and despite slicing the needed information from his personal terminal, the mission had been judged (unfairly!) to be a failure. Then there was that pazaak tournament on Nar Shaddaa where you had been burned by another Cipher, who outed you to the Hutts. It didn’t matter, in the sense that you won the game, shot her in the face, and received the boon you had entered the tournament to acquire. (The Hutts didn’t care who you worked for, as long as you weren’t crossing them.) You received demerits for having your cover blown by another agent’s blatant betrayal. (But she didn’t get any, because she was dead, and Minder 2 was pissy with you after that forever.) Then, there was that time you’d walked right into a Jedi strike team ambush meant for Darth Baras on Corellia… You were lucky to only lose a hand that day. Coincidentally, the officer who had given you the bad intel had also been fatally unlucky. He had a rare and deadly allergic reaction to the nuts in his ryshcate pastries, served at a diplomatic fete that weekend. How tragic it is when one can’t even enjoy their pastries.

But it wasn’t just misfortune. The current Keeper did not like you, had never liked you, and was growing more and more frustrated by the fact that you kept coming back alive, when many others did not. (You knew for a fact that the Minders had a betting pool regarding your survival. Minder 12 had been very helpful in providing you the behind the scenes information. You missed her.) As Keeper effectively ran the ops division of Imperial Intelligence, this was a definite problem.

Watcher 4 had been instrumental in keeping you alive. But now that he was gone, you were on your own with very few allies within your organization. That was why you had been given this newest assignment. (You missed Watcher 4 as well, and while you could not and would not try to prove it, you thought he and Minder 12 might have faked their deaths and run off together. It was a purely fanciful notion, but you could dream, right?) Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get happy endings. And Ciphers usually didn’t make it to five years.

You had seven.

By all rights, you should have been able to transfer to a Watcher position a long time ago. But that never happened. It was probably because Keeper hated you. You did not know exactly why. You suspected it was because you were not born into the upper echelons of Imperial high society. You had started out a slave, earned some freedom, and trained as a Cipher; but on the Imperial capital planet of Dromund Kaas, that wasn’t enough. Your continual survival offended him, a constant reminder of his own failure to erase you.

And so here you were, assigned to the whims of Darth Thanaton, a member of the Dark Council, a crusty overpowered madman, and worse, an absolutely unmitigated boor. He was urbane enough in his public appearances, but behind closed doors? An absolute drama queen.

You stood in his foyer, Thanaton was shouting now, and you got the impression that he did this a lot, having an audience present was optional. The man himself was older, fit enough to show his face (no mask or rebreather), and had been quite the assassin in his day. The room was black marble, filled with ugly stone antiques, and it felt like a mausoleum, only louder and more oppressive. Your head was pounding and your stomach churning as you struggled to pay attention to his spiel. You were professional enough that you could maintain a mask of respectfulness, despite your growing physical discomfort. You had powered through worse.

Like that time on Tatooine when you’d broken a leg in melee combat with Tusken Raiders…That had been a bad day. Or that time you’d gone undercover as a Hutt’s dancing slave on Nar Shaddaa. Or even when…

Focus. Thanaton was bad enough. You did not need to take a trip down traumatic memory lane in the middle of a Darth’s monologue.

Thanaton spent a good quarter of an hour railing against the failing morals and falling standards of the Sith academy on Korriban. And then another quarter of an hour complaining about the bureaucratic delay in assigning a “suitable” Imperial Intelligence agent to his cause. He went into great detail about how much the Council needed this work done, and how important it was, and how Lord Messor’s habits were unseemly, and Moff Kiljack needed to know his place, and...and...and… It went on much longer. He sprayed spittle when he spoke. It was painfully distracting.

You nodded along, like a good Cipher, even though you could feel the nastiness of his aura crawling along your skin. It worsened your nausea. You were no saint, but being near powerful Sith made you queasy. There was something fundamentally wrong with most of them, and your body knew it. But you stood at attention, masking your disgust, because to cross a Darth was a clear-cut and uncomfortable death, usually with choking, sometimes lightning. You’d seen it up close many times and experienced lighter versions of those punishments yourself. Best avoided if possible.

Keeper knew what he was doing. There was a fifty percent chance that you wouldn’t even make it to the mission. Snotty old Darth Thanaton would take offense at you for simply existing and smite you before you had a chance to get to work.

But you were not unaware of the situation. Lord Messor was an unconventional dark lord, taking more than his share of apprentices from Korriban (and doing who knows what with them? Sith Lords didn’t usually keep more than one alive at a time). Moff Kiljack had been one of those apprentices, and had shown an extreme aptitude for military strategy. He had then been put on a different career track, promoted to head of Messor’s security forces, and given free reign. Eventually however, things between the men soured, and the former security chief had managed to wrangle a promotion from the Imperial army, instead of just wasting away as Messor’s lackey. He gained some powerful allies and rose quickly to the rank of moff. To no one’s surprise, Messor hadn’t taken the change of allegiances well, and now things were awkward, to say the least.

Thanaton claimed that he found the entire situation offensive. You didn’t think it seemed any different from any other horrible day on Dromund Kaas. There were so many betrayals, atrocities, and political cliques, you just tried to keep your head down, and your heart beating. It was more likely that Thanaton feared Messor’s growing power and wanted to eliminate a rival.

If only you had gotten another off-world assignment. You’d already disabled the kill-chip implanted in the base of your skull. You could just fake your death, move to some peaceful, secluded farming planet, and not worry about being flayed alive for accidentally making eye contact with a power-mad sorcerer.

You’d always suspected your cause of death would be “someone else’s ego” or at least “collateral damage,” but you didn’t expect it to play out so literally. By the time Thanaton actually got to the point, you had been standing in his foyer for an hour, watching him froth and rant. Lord Messor or Moff Kiljack had just been assigned to deal with a situation on Hoth or Voss (you couldn’t tell because Thanaton had been going at it for so long that he kept switching the names and not giving you any kriffing context…) But you were to sabotage those efforts, make Messor and the moff lose credibility, fall from grace, and be tossed into the bone pile in the waste dumps outside the city.

That’s it. Ruin them on the basis of his disapproval and use his tenuously plotted scheme to do it. Failure would be met by death.

Success would also probably be treason, and that too was punishable by death.

Hell, if you did succeed, Thanaton would have to kill you to tie up loose ends.

Death, death, or more death, with no obvious way out. Normal mission parameters, really.

Nodding, you told him, “I understand, my lord. It will be done, my lord,” while preparing to take a shuttle off-world and commit very public suicide on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, you could just go throw yourself at the mercy of Theron Shan. He probably would only torture you a little, as a formality, before taking pity on you, and ending your misery himself.

OK, clearly you had been in Darth Thanaton’s dark energy radius for too long, because his madness and depressive thoughts were now rubbing off on you. Plus you still wanted to throw up. And Thanaton might have sensed your urge to flee, because he sent you back to the Imperial High Command with an escort: one of his security advisors, a pompous man of “good breeding” named Captain Prince, and a dozen heavily armed guards.

Druk.

The soldiers weren’t really there for you, you realized once you were already seated in the convoy listening to Prince further explain Thanaton’s “plan.” Lord Messor was taking on a greater role in the war effort against the Republic, and Imperial High Command was providing more men for his military gambits. Prince and his men were being overtly assigned by Imperial High Command, though they were actually loyal to Thanaton. Prince would be reporting to Messor tonight. Your cover was as Prince’s assistant. Your job would be reconnaissance and sabotage, and you would be reporting your progress to both Prince and Thanaton. You also would be expected to produce reports for Keeper, not that Prince understood the workings within Imperial Intelligence.

...It was shit plan. You knew it even before you heard it, though Prince seemed confident that his background would pass muster. That was a little more reassuring than Thanaton’s mad ramblings, but still amateur. Prince was a decorated military man, and had seen some very vicious combat, committed atrocities, and been rewarded for his service. He was not the man you would have put in charge of any operation that required subtlety. If Keeper had wanted this job done right, he would have assigned it to you himself, and given you free reign. There was a lot of subtext to unravel, but right now you had to nod along to Captain Prince’s blathering. He wasn’t nice, he stared at your chest longer than was polite, and he put a hand on your knee. You lightly brushed it off, reminding yourself that you could not kill Thanaton’s representative on the first day.

Like any highborn noble, Lord Messor had an estate outside the city. The route was straight forward, and you were taking a regular speeder to get there. Contrary to your expectations, the ride actually helped clear your head. You were still a little shaky, but less nauseated. Getting away from Thanaton helped. Wind lashed at your skin as you watched the jungle pass by, and you wondered how much of a lead you would have if you left for Nar Shaddaa tonight. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone noticed you were gone.

You waited, hands steady, even as you and Prince exited the vehicle. It was raining, as usual, and the air stunk of ozone. Three more men followed from another transport, and Prince did not offer any introduction, though you could feel them watching you with predatory eyes.

The Messor estate had several outbuildings, and the gates were high. A large fortress had been partially carved out of the cliff, the jungle providing more strategic cover. Though solid, it had the columned facade of an ancient Sith temple. You studied it, not quite sure what Thanaton had been complaining about. Lord Messor seemed to have traditional Sith tastes (gothic and imposing), at least when it came to architecture.

“Come on, kitten,” Prince said with a leer. “If you want to marvel about size, I have something to show you.”

The men behind you laughed.

You just smiled politely, and decided that maybe Prince would lean too far out a window tonight. The jungle provided a lot of ambient noise to cover any screaming. The winds were dangerous. Accidents happened, especially around you. Hell, if Prince was defenestrated, they’d probably be too busy mopping up the meat confetti to look for you…

Prince led the way to the fortress, frowning as an HK droid met you at the bottom of the steps.

“Greetings, Captain. Lord Messor is expecting you. Please come this way.” The droid pointed to a more discrete entrance: a small path leading to a recessed door. With the foliage and the angle of entry, it was well-concealed.

Prince’s upper lip curled in aggravation, but he adjusted course. You followed, noting the placement of the turrets, the thickness of the walls, and the fact that the droid that met you was a high-end assassination model. It spoke like a protocol droid, it had those functions as well, but you were very familiar with the HK series.

You followed Prince through the heavy durasteel door and to a narrow set of stone steps. The lights were low, and the stairwell was mostly in shadow. Then the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the HK droid and the other three men outside.

Prince stopped, he glanced at you questioningly.

“I didn’t shut it,” you said.

Prince pushed past you and tried the handle. The door did not budge. He frowned and drew his blaster pistol.

“Let’s go,” he told you, gesturing with the pistol for you to go first.

“Of course, Captain,” you said, maybe a little sarcastically, as you marched up the stairs, keeping an eye out for trip wires, pressure plates, or any of the other nasty surprises that Sith lords liked to keep around their homes.

...Druk. Sometimes there were creatures. The local fauna was bad enough, but the Sith liked to import nasty things as well as craft their own monsters. You’d seen plenty and you had no desire to face Sithspawn again any time soon.

You stepped lightly. The stairs went up for at least three stories, and then there was another door. You glanced back at Prince.

“Hurry up,” he growled.

You opened the large metal door, and stepped into a cavernous room big enough to serve as a huttball field. Dim lights shone in wall sconces, and two rows of black pillars lined a path to a massive carved throne. All these features seemed to be cut from the same mountain stone.

There was a figure on a throne, black and red robes under a heavy breastplate, a black hood and stylized skull mask covering his face. He wore heavy metal gauntlets, tipped with dangerously sharp talons.

“Captain Prince,” Lord Messor spoke quietly, his voice smoother than you expected, a lot calmer than some other dark lord whom you had met earlier today. The acoustics of the room were amazing, his voice carried through the hall.

“Ah, my lord,” Prince stepped past you, his blaster already holstered. “I am honored to finally- be in your presence.” He gestured for you to follow as he led the way toward the throne.

“I did not give you orders to approach.” He sounded almost bored.

Prince stopped. “My apologies, my lord. I did not-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Lord Messor said, resting his chin in one palm. “And I don’t have patience for your excuses.”

Prince cocked his head to the side and looked almost comically confused.

And then Moff Kiljack – you recognized that striking blonde hair and those icy blue eyes - stepped out from behind a pillar, and pressed his blaster to the back of Prince’s skull. There was no hesitation. He blew the captain’s brains out right there in Lord Messor’s throne room. Prince dropped with a thud.

You barely had time to avoid the splatter, let alone wonder what Moff Kiljack, Lord Messor’s sworn rival, was doing in his throne room. You glanced between the Sith lord and the moff, wondering if you had time to dive for cover while they battled.

Instead, Lord Messor just sighed. “Ensign De Veo,” he said, using your cover name, and giving you hope that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Also known as Cipher 13,” he added, crushing that hope. “I’m sorry for the mess. Kiljack can be so...uncivilized.” He stood and began descending from the dais.

You glanced over at Moff Kiljack, not at all surprised to find the blaster pistol aimed at your head.

“That’s unnecessary, Kiljack. I’m sure our dear Cipher understands her position.” Messor swept down the stairs from his throne, red and black fabric swirling behind him. He circled you like a hungry sleen. “Now, I realize this isn’t what you expected. But I’d be delighted to explain everything. So why don’t you join us for dinner, and we can discuss what you’re doing here, why you’re still alive, and what you need to do to stay that way. This should be easy enough for a woman of your caliber.” He chuckled.

There was no room for panic. You survived because you could think on your feet. Because you didn’t get caught up in “what should have happened.” You kept your mouth shut and most of your insubordinate comments in your head.

You gave a stiff bow from the waist. “I would be honored, my lord,” you said, already tasting lightning in the back of your throat. It was very unlikely that you would get through the night without a demonstration of Sith might.

Lord Messor laughed, like he found you genuinely amusing, and headed toward the eastern doors.

“Cipher,” Moff Kiljack was at your side, offering you his right arm. He was a tall man, very fit in his officer grays. There was blood on his cuffs and glove. He stood like he was carved from ice.

You swallowed and tentatively placed your metal hand on his bicep, wondering if you could scratch him with one of your poisoned needles without him noticing.

“I wouldn’t,” Kiljack said, not even turning his head to look at you. “Be a good girl, and you’ll make it out of this alive.”

You shivered, suddenly very cold in your officer’s tunic. The fear crept down your spine, threatening to freeze you in place. But that would not do. You forced yourself to breathe. You had forgotten that the moff had once been a Sith apprentice. Force-users could pick up surface thoughts. Normally though, you were better at shielding. You steered your mind back to nav-charts and the asteroid belts of the Outer Rim. Head held high, you walked with Moff Kiljack to Lord Messor’s banquet hall.

And so here you were now, seated to the left of Lord Messor, a very bored Moff Kiljack sitting across from you, watching you with cold eyes.

The table was long, almost the length of the room, and also carved from the same obsidian stone as the chamber. The same with the high-backed chairs, though they were not attached to the floor, and had plush cushions on them.

Your brain was working almost too fast, panic welling in each heart beat. You tried to calm yourself, as you stared at the vividly colored salad in front of you. You turned some of your hyperfocus on that. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and would not be out of place at a restaurant on Alderaan or Coruscant. Perhaps it would pair well with-

-So what the hell was going on? Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor shared a well-known enmity. But now they were working together, likely because they had learned of Darth Thanaton’s intent to bring them both down. Prince’s men were definitely dead. HKs were ruthlessly efficient like that. You were a loose end, but one they could bargain with. They would want to use you against Thanaton, of course, but you were an experienced Cipher. You still had some resources-

-a Starblossom spritzer or a Coruscant blush wine. You weren’t sure what the next course was, but traditionally there would be a protein and a starch, and-

-This wasn’t a con you could pull off alone. Not that it had much of a chance before. The original plan was half-baked garbage and you didn’t really want to-

Wait.

You willed yourself still, taking a moment to breathe. Your mind was moving too fast. There was something wrong. Had been wrong all day, your focus slowly sliding into the abyss. But trying to figure out what was exactly was wrong, was like grasping at fog. And with both a moff and a Sith lord watching your every move, now was not the time to buckle.

Your memory coaxed up a tiny epiphany. This started around the time you met Thanaton. Was it him?

Kiljack took a bite of his salad, his flat expression not changing, even as he chewed.

Lord Messor was not eating though. He raised his mask to sip his wine, but given the kinds of damage Sith lords did to their bodies, it was possible that he did not have a normal digestive tract.

“Is the food not to your liking, Cipher?” Messor asked, curling those metal talons against his palm with a rhythmic tap tap tap.

“It is exquisite, my lord,” you said, picking up your fork, and taking a bite. The vegetables were crisp, fresh, and lightly vinegared. There were sweet berries mixed in with crumbles of salty cheese. If this was your last meal, you could have really done worse. “Are these Alderaanian fickleberries? They’re a wonderful addition to the dish, just the right amount of sweetness.”

“Indeed,” Messor practically purred. “You have a sophisticated palate. I understand that you are well-traveled.”

“Or she’s used them before,” Kiljack said, still eating his salad. “Likely when she mixed them with the nuts in that Corellian ryshcate to poison Ambassador Morrow. Clever move: I understand the symptoms mimic an allergic reaction. Never thought to mix fickleberries with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice. All are harmless on their own, but when combined together, the enzyme produced causes catastrophic organ failure in most humanoids.”

You froze.

“Do you think that would work on Darth Thanaton?” Kiljack asked, tilting his chin up “No, that’s far too radical for him. Mixing foreign nuts and berries, he’d never go for that.” He flashed you a predatory smile. “You might have better luck with a rancor.”

They knew.

This wasn’t just about Thanaton. No one in Imperial Intelligence decisively knew everything that you had done, or how: just that you got results. But Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor, two mortal enemies had just sat you down to dinner and they karking knew. And if these two knew what Imperial Intelligence did not, that meant they were far more driven and dangerous than you initially expected and how did they know? Why did they go through all that effort-?

Terror, still fresh from your encounter in the throne room, blossomed in your chest once more. Dozens of scenarios played out in your mind: the consequences of your exposure. There was no need to go into graphic detail, though you kept getting distracted with colorful visions of your own evisceration. No matter what you thought of, it all ended very badly for you.

In that moment, you cursed your premature deactivation of your kill-chip. They knew. And if it was you versus a Sith lord and his moff ex-apprentice, you would not win. They had already done the hard part, already figured out what you did and how. And then you had just walked into Messor’s home, a gift-wrapped sacrifice. They wanted something from you, and judging by what they already knew, what it took to find that information out, they had the will and means to break you. You’d seen the inquisitors work, seen the aftermath too, the piles of mewling meat begging for death. Being on the wrong side of Sith and moff persuasion wasn’t any kinder. Electrocution or a snapped neck were far better.

You were on your feet in seconds, already turning to run, hoping Moff Kiljack would take you out in one shot.

“No!” Lord Messor raised his hand, and you slammed back down into the chair. Something in your body cracked as you struck the stone, and the world went black for half a second before you snapped back into your body.

You tried to move, but the force held you in your seat, pressing tightly against your chest, your arms pinned down on the armrests. You could barely breathe, let alone move your limbs. Shuddering, you could only watch as Moff Kiljack leaned against the edge of the table in front of you. He reached out, one gloved hand tilting your chin up.

“You hit her too hard, Messor,” his voice was calm. “She’s bleeding and her pupils are uneven.”

“Couldn’t help it. She moved too fast, and she was planning to self-destruct.” Messor’s voice came from behind gritted teeth.

“That, or hoping to get one of us to do it for her.” Kiljack shook his head.

Cold sweat dripped down your neck. Your breaths came in short bursts. You were trapped, back flat against the stone chair. You couldn’t move. And you were at the mercy of men who didn’t know the meaning of the word. A strangled sob died in your chest as you vainly tried to move your limbs.

“Shhhhh, don’t struggle,” Kiljack reached for your napkin and then gently blotted your nose. “Messor, she’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know,” Messor shuddered, and took a deep breath. “She’s very scared.” There was a note of something like hunger in his voice, but he raised his hand again, and suddenly you could draw in a little more air.

“Mmm,” Kiljack nodded, those blue eyes studying your face. “That’s it, stop fighting us. This doesn’t have to hurt.” He set the napkin down, watching you intently, like a puzzle he wanted to dissect. He smiled then. “You are very loud, Cipher.”

You gritted your teeth and tried to stifle your breathing. You must be badly injured if you were making too much noise. Ciphers didn’t make a habit of being loud. For obvious reasons.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiljack said. He leaned in, nearly nose to nose with you. “Quiet your mind.”

You stared at him, trying to swallow, but your throat was dry and your vision blurred. You dropped your head, too dizzy to stay upright.

Kiljack lifted your water glass to your lips. “Here. Take small sips. We don’t want you to choke. On the water.”

You flinched, waiting for one of them to follow up with a traditional Sith demonstration of force choking.

“Just drink your water,” Kiljack ordered.

You opened your mouth, closing your eyes as the glass touched your lips. The cool water tasted better than you hoped and the light steady stream cleared your throat.

“That’s it, good girl.” He stroked your cheek, his black glove soft against your skin. “Is that better?”

You managed a nod, feeling queasy from the motion alone.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Kiljack asked coolly. “Or do we have to keep you restrained? Another stunt like that, and I won’t be so nice, do you understand?”

“I’ll be good, sir,” you said, voice weak, and you had to grit your teeth, because speaking hurt. That force blow had done some damage to you. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, because your whole body ached. You still couldn’t move. And to make things worse, Moff Kiljack, of all people, was trying to gentle you like a wild tauntaun.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the different routes off of Nar Shaddaa instead of your current location. And you waited for the next threat of more pain, or the lightning, or whatever Kiljack wanted to use.

“Now, she’s gone silent,” Kiljack muttered.

“She’s in pain,” Messor said, his voice still low. “And while I find nav-charts far less tedious than endless streams of pazaak, someone really needs to teach you how to shield your mind better. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with such loud and irreverent thoughts.”

Normally, you were better at it. But Kiljack had said your pupils were uneven...OK, concussion. That made sense. You took an inventory of your injuries: bad concussion, something fractured in your chest or abdomen, and you still were trapped here with a dark lord and a moff who wanted you for nothing good. Druk. It would have been so much easier if one of them had just killed you outright. They were supposed to be good at that kind of thing. Hell, you could still bite your tongue off and-

Kiljack gripped your chin, prying your jaw open. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, Cipher.”

You whimpered.

“I will get the bit and the slave collar,” he said glaring at you.

You relaxed your jaw. You weren’t trying to upset him. You were concussed. And you didn’t have complete control of your faculties right now.

Kiljack narrowed his eyes at you. “Is that so? Do I need to get the bit for your own safety? Or would you prefer I make you a cloth gag? Messor, can we borrow your sash?”

“Sah-ee, sir,” you said. It was not the first time you’d given a disingenuous apology with another man’s fingers in your mouth at the dinner table, and quite frankly you were a little embarrassed to be in that situation again.

Then came the spasm of pain that would have bent you in two, if you could move that far. Instead, you twitched, teeth clamping down on the moff’s fingers as you struggled to breathe. You tasted blood in your mouth, though you weren’t sure whose it was.

Kiljack’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, and the slap you expected did not come. He waited for you to unclench before withdrawing his fingers. He examined his torn glove with a sigh. “We’re going to need kolto, Messor.”

A kolto pack floated over the table to Kiljack.

Nimble fingers began unbuttoning your collar. You opened your eyes to see Kiljack unfastening your tunic, a kolto pack in hand. His gaze lingered on your thin undershirt for a moment, and then he applied the cool healing gel onto your stomach, along your sides, and around to your back.

“I don’t think we’ll be finishing dinner out here any time soon,” Messor said.

“Messor, I’m not making do with just a salad, no matter what kind of fancy berries you put in it,” Kiljack said, wiping his hands off and checking his fingers. There were teeth marks, and some broken skin, but nothing severe. After the kolto application, the wounds started closing up as you watched.

Messor laughed. “We can take our meals in our rooms. Why don’t we call the medical droid and put our guest to bed first?”

The pressure on your body suddenly lifted, but before you could regain your bearings, Kiljack scooped you out of the chair.

“Is this causing you more pain?” He asked, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees.

“No,” you said, though breathing was still uncomfortable. Rib damage, likely. You didn’t struggle, too woozy to make good decisions right now. On the bright side, it looked like they weren’t going to kill you just yet, but also, you hadn’t made it to dessert, and you were a little sad at the prospect of missing whatever Lord Messor’s chef had concocted. Even if it was fickleberries mixed with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice.

Despite the danger, you could not keep your eyes open. The world faded away.

You dreamt.

You were back in that dining room, candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. You saw yourself bent over that banquet table, Lord Messor’s hand on your back, your face pressed against the stone, your wine glass rolling on its side, the red liquid dribbling onto the floor. You felt a spark and flinched, that light crackle of electricity as those metal talons trailed down your spine.

“Scared?” Messor murmured, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“Yes, my lord,” you panted, squirming under him, feeling his cock pressed against you through his robes.

“Good.”

You were on your knees, staring up at Kiljack, the tip of a riding crop under your chin. You didn’t recognize the room. There was a small fountain flowing in the corner. It was an office, probably aboard a starcruiser from the shape of the window. You did not recognize the orbit. But Kiljack was in full moff regalia, gray tunic coat and jodphurs, black boots and gloves, and a heavy belt. Was this his battleship?

“I told you to open your mouth,” Kiljack said coldly.

You hesitantly parted your lips, noticing that your hands were unbound. You could-

Kiljack pushed a piece of silicone into your mouth, the ring shape holding your teeth apart. He fastened the strap snugly around your head.

“That’s better,” he said, an edge in his smile as he cupped your cheek. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you were more careful with those teeth. Now be a good girl and stick out your tongue.”

The bedroom was large and dimly lit.

The bed was enormous, draped in scarlet silks and pillows. It was comfortable, but you could not actually move very far. You poked at the gold collar latched around your neck. You wore matching bracelets and anklets, but there was a chain attached to the collar and secured to the headboard. You rolled your eyes at the outfit: the dancer’s garb with the red and gold harness top, chain belt and lashaa silk loincloth, and knee high boots.

You had worn these before – what spy hadn’t? But you didn’t remember getting here, or where here even was.

There was someone else in the room, somewhere in the shadows, just watching you. You looped a length of chain – your best bet for a weapon, and began examining where it connected to the headboard.

“I thought you were going to behave today.” Messor’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“But if this is how she wants to play, why should we deny her?” Kiljack laughed.

The lights went out. And suddenly you weren’t alone on the bed.

“So do you like the view?” Kiljack whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear us.” He tightened his grip around your waist. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

You sat on his lap, looking around the throne room, in all its sinister glory. Crimson imperial banners hung from the walls and pillars, the firelight casting harsh shadows. There was a second story balcony overlooking the throne room. It was too dark to see if anyone else was up there. But the rest of the cavern was a vast expanse, easily surveyed from the throne where Kiljack sat: Lord Messer’s throne.

He was right. If you made any noise, it would echo.

You swallowed roughly, eyes drifting to the spot where the moff had executed Prince. There was no body or blood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiljack growled in your ear.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“You’re in my seat,” Messor said, the words echoing off the walls as he materialized from the shadows. His tone was dangerously mild. He stalked up the stairs toward you.

You started to move, but Kiljack held you tightly against him. “About time you got here,” the moff said. “I was getting bored giving the tour. Maybe we can move on to something more exciting.”

You sat up with a strangled gasp, your head pounding. Another unfamiliar bed, but when you looked down, you were covered in blankets. You peeked underneath, finding yourself still dressed in your thin tanktop and uniform pants. You ached, like you’d been in a fight. But there wasn’t pain between your legs, a small, but important reassurance. The inside of your mouth felt like a stable floor and you winced as you looked around, the dim lights still aggravating your eyes.

It was a large elegant bedroom, the furniture silver with red trim. It was neat, but it felt lived in, not a guest room. You started to look around, but your vision swam. Holding your head, you gave yourself a moment before trying to focus.

Yesterday was an absolute sarlaac snarl. You’d been sent off on a poorly-planned suicide mission, and your reactions were...wrong. Judging by how awful you felt right now, you’d been drugged. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to analyze each location step by step. You started feeling ill in Darth Thanaton’s presence, but you neither ate nor drank there. Maybe he did have some secret force brainwashing powers, but that was unlikely. That ability was too subtle for a bombastic coot like him.

...The stims. Something had been wrong with the stims. Fixer 3 wasn’t being a smart ass. Fixer 3 had been trying to warn you. Echuta! It had been right there in front of your face and you were too distracted and arrogant to notice.

You growled, throwing the blankets off. You tried to stand, but found you were still too dizzy.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

You blinked.

Just off to the side, nestled between a wardrobe and a table, sat Moff Kiljack. There was a blanket on his lap and a blaster pistol on the table. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, before he stood, fully dressed, though his jacket was unbuttoned. A faint dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked you over. “That’s better.” He tapped his left temple. “You’re not so loud any more.” He gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “I know that wasn’t entirely your fault. You were out of your head. The medical droid analyzed what was in your system, if you’re curious.”

“Someone sabotaged my stims,” you said, resting your head on your knees. “Someone in Imperial Intelligence.”

Moff Kiljack nodded. “Makes sense. You also had a bad concussion, cracked ribs, and some bruising. The kolto pack helped a little, but a localized injection sped it up.”

“Thank you,” you said, even if you were not so sure that you were grateful to be saved. Because you still had a lot of questions about what was going on, why these two “enemies” had put so much research into your accomplishments, and how much they knew about Darth Thanaton’s intentions.

You closed your eyes, knowing a few things already:

Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor had a complex relationship; this was likely Kiljack’s room and Messor would not keep it for him if they were really enemies. You needed to figure out the exact nature of their alliance and how much of that infamous enmity was a smokescreen. They worked too well in tandem for all of that showboating to be real.

Keeper was now actively trying to kill you. It would be very difficult to tamper with the stims otherwise. Thanaton was probably meant to be the instrument of your death. He was old, powerful, and no one would bat an eye over a Darth executing a Cipher.

The sensitivity was getting worse. Once it had been an asset, just enough insight to give you an advantage. Now it was opening you up to too many other things. And you lived in the capital city of the Empire, where so many hungry Sith congregated. No, this was bad for you. Kiljack was right, you needed to shore up those shields, and hide yourself better. Anything less would get you shipped off to Korriban.

“Can you hold down food?” Kiljack asked, suddenly standing beside the bed. He set a glass of water on the night stand.

“Not sure. Thank you.” You eyed it for a moment, knowing that he could have slipped any manner of drug in there, but at this point, what choice did you have? They needed you for something, and that meant they probably needed you alive and functional. You took the water, sipping it slowly.

The moff watched you like a hawk, probably worried that you were going to choke or throw up.

You studied him, noting his bare hands. There were scars on them, but it looked like the bite marks had healed. “Sorry about biting you last night,” you said. Apologizing seemed like a good idea. It would be wisest if they thought you were docile and amenable to them. You still weren’t certain that you were going to thank him for sparing your life. But you were a little more confident that they weren’t planning on torturing you to death. Not immediately, anyway.

“You need to be more careful with those teeth,” he said, without a hint of inflection, that handsome scarred face stoic once more.

You stared at him for a second, a moment of deja vu. You shrugged. “I need to be more careful, period.” You dropped back onto the pillows, another wave of dizziness skewing your balance.

The moff picked up a personal comm. “Echo, let Messor know that our guest is awake, and have something mild brought up from the kitchens for her.” He glanced over at you. “I can send for the medical droid.”

“You already had me checked out, right?” You asked, staring up at the stone tiled ceiling.

“Yes. There was a small amount of bleeding in your skull. We took care of it. It can provide some painkillers and anti-nausea meds if you want.”

We took care of it.

That was an interesting way to phrase it. The medical droid might have accomplished it on its own, though the procedure would be more invasive.

“I think I should go for the anti-nausea meds,” you said, one hand over your eyes. “But if you give me a minute, I can try to get upright and-”

“Just stay there,” Kiljack said. “Messor will be along shortly. Finish your water.”

You sighed and downed the rest of the glass, spilling a little down your chin, and not really caring because your head hurt.

The comm unit chimed and Kiljack stepped out of the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large platter of flatbread, grilled fish, and some fruit. There was a small glass of anti-nausea medication too. He set it all on the nightstand and poured you another glass of water from the carafe.

Your stomach rumbled, so you took a few berries and ate them slowly, letting the sweetness roll down your throat. You downed the medication in one shot.

When everything stayed down, you took a few more berries, and then a piece of bread, passing on the sauce, just in case.

Kiljack settled back down in his chair, watching your every move.

You had taken a break from trying to eat, when there was a knock. It was distant, and you realized this bedroom was probably part of a suite. Kiljack got up, giving you a stern look.

You pretended not to see. You were still too messed up to make a run for it, and even if you did manage to escape, where would you go? Keeper was trying to kill you. Thanaton was not going to be happy about Prince. And Nar Shaddaa with its flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, would give you a migraine bad enough to make your head explode. You could stay here in the comfortable bed for a moment. You needed a more accurate picture of the situation, before you did anything rash. You did not need a repeat of last night.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to get back to the fleet, I’ll just stay here and babysit your new pet spy,” Kiljack said sharply as he returned and practically threw himself into his chair.

Lord Messor followed, still in those sweeping red and black Sith robes, that stylized skull mask in place. The Sith had several skull motifs, though to be honest, his reminded you a little of the Mandalorian mythosaur skull symbol, without the horns.

“I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better,” Lord Messor stood in the doorway. There was a slight mechanical quality to his voice that you had not noticed last night. The mask had a built-in vocoder then. Interesting.

“My lord,” you said, attempting a bow at the waist and feeling your head swoop dangerously close to your knees.

“Don’t-” He sighed. “We can do this informally, Cipher. You’re still recovering from your ordeal.”

You nodded, wincing as you leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate that, my lord.”

“We’re in private, Cipher. You can forego the title as well.”

Thankfully, you were already lying down, because otherwise you would have fallen over in shock. You had never actually expected to hear a Sith lord say that. After Thanaton, it was a pleasant reversal. But you did not trust that magnanimity.

If Messor and Kiljack knew about the “extra” missions you did, then they had to have a fairly accurate psychological profile of you. They had to know that people who forced you into bad situations ended up having freak accidents. Being polite was just a good way to manage you. You had no illusions about the altruistic natures of moffs and Sith lords. But you could appreciate the effort and you would work with good manners. This was certainly better than spending an hour being shouted at by Darth Thanaton.

You waited for one of the men to speak. They were the ones who wanted you here, after all.

“You were recently tasked by Darth Thanaton to sabotage our strategic efforts on Hoth and Voss. You were assigned to Darth Thanaton by Imperial Intelligence, but that does not mean Imperial Intelligence condones his actions. However, as Thanaton is a member of the Dark Council, politics must come into play.” Messor’s hands twitched. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlets today. He had large hands, dark skin, and thick callouses, probably from handling weapons.

“So someone in Imperial Intelligence tipped you off?”

“Your...Keeper saw fit to warn me,” Kiljack said, fingers steepled.

You frowned. “But not Lord Messor.”

“I think you’ve already figured out that Messor and I are...exaggerating our feud.” Kiljack gave a wry smile. “But that is very guarded knowledge.”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then winced, because you did not need to be bobbing your injured head like an idiot bird. Your brain had taken enough of a blending.

A secret political alliance gave them an interesting cover and access to a wider range of intelligence. But Moff Kiljack did not have the wealth and prestige that Lord Messor did. He would be at a fundamental disadvantage. A Sith lord was not likely to trust anyone outside their control. There were a lot of disadvantages to this tactic and you could not see a clear payoff. You sat with that for a moment. There was an important reason for their ruse, though you doubted they would tell you anything but a plausible cover story today. But the layout of the game started to form. You looked at the empty spaces, trying to find the details that didn’t make sense.

...There it was. There was a third party in play, aiding and abetting this ruse. Someone with enough clout to help Kiljack get his promotion. Someone that even Keeper did not want to cross...

Another Dark Council member then. And given Kiljack and Messor’s military interests and mostly low-key behavior, you had a good idea whom that Council Member was, though again, not why they were using this exact ruse. But if Kiljack’s patron was who you thought it was, you did not blame Keeper for wanting to stay on his good side.

But you were also pretty sure that you were not supposed to survive that meeting with Thanaton yesterday. The exchange would go something like this:

“Send me another minion, peon!”

“I’m so sorry, your Decrepit-ness, you killed my only available agent and we’re very shorthanded! There’s no one else to send. You’ll have to wait.”

Keeper would be off the hook with Thanaton and Kiljack’s patron. You would be dead. Three problems solved.

Except you were alive, and no problems were solved. You looked up to see Kiljack studying your face.

“Do you suspect that Keeper knows the feud is fabricated?”

“No. That’s very exclusive knowledge,” Messor said without a trace of doubt.

You wondered how he could be so confident – not because he wasn’t ruthless – but because your business was secrets: keeping them, stealing them, rooting them out. If people wanted information badly enough, they would find a way to get it. No matter how well you thought you covered your tracks. Your stomach soured a little at that thought. They’d figured out some of your secrets. You’d have to return the favor, if only for your own pride. And maybe some leverage.

“So you want to recruit me as a double agent against Thanaton,” you said.

“Partially,” Messor admitted. “But I had a more permanent offer in mind for you.” He cleared his throat. “My current intelligence chief will be retiring soon. You were recommended to us.”

You blinked. “I can’t just quit Imperial Intelligence, believe me, I’ve tried,” you blurted out.

“You can if you have the right patronage,” Kiljack said. And he had some experience there, having gone from Sith apprentice to moff.

“You want me to help you bring down Thanaton, get you onto the Dark Council, and then you’ll hire me?” Your lips twitched at that tall order. Sith expectations.

“I will hire you now as a house intelligence agent, at double your current pay with all the usual amenities one expects from the well-to-do estate of a Sith lord,” Messor said. “Promotion to intelligence chief pending results.”

That would have been extremely generous, except Imperial Intelligence was criminally cheap. Sure you had some good benefits, but they didn’t have to be competitive when their employees literally weren’t allowed to quit. Still, it was not a bad offer. Better than a lot of the alternatives.

Messor continued. “Handling Thanaton and the Council are longer term problems. If we succeed on Hoth and Voss, I will have enough clout to extract you intact from the employ of Imperial Intelligence. And it will be easier since you’re already assigned to me: possession is nine tenths of the law.”

You sat with that for a few seconds. You could play the long game, letting Thanaton think you had wormed your way into Messor’s confidence. That would sit well with Keeper – it kept him out of the hotseat. You could go back to Keeper and see which way he wanted you to go – for intel purposes only - and then do whatever you wanted anyway. You could say no outright, and get shot in the head by Kiljack…

“You have questions,” Messor said, still keeping his distance.

“How long have you been tracking me? And what brought me to your attention?”

“A man once called “Sparrow” recommended you to us a year ago. He is around here if you want to catch up later.”

You sighed, of course Sparrow was still alive. That explained a lot. He knew you well enough to guess which missions you had purposefully altered. He knew your expertise well enough to conjecture methodology. That he shared this information with a strange Sith lord should not have surprised you entirely. The former Cipher 7 was a skilled assassin; he’d been declared KIA with his brother two years ago. But it seemed he had found a safe haven here.

“His brother?”

“Didn’t want to work with us. No one was going to force him. He took a shuttle to Yavin 4. Sparrow visits him occasionally,” Kiljack said.

“Why me?” You asked, not because you doubted your abilities, but because you still did not quite understand how this coalition worked.

Messor was silent for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman. And looking at your track record, we thought your methods would align with ours.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked.

“The Rancor Incident,” Kiljack said with a smirk.

You kept your face neutral.

“Lord Vilhus was there, a very nasty individual. But the casualty list also included Ieyak the Butcher, Margrene the Bloody, General Arus, Enso Chain-Maker, and Lord Casten. Coincidentally, none of the slaves, servers, or civilian bystanders were hurt. And everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. That took planning, skill, and finesse.”

You stared at your lap, trying to remember if any of those people had good or bad ties to House Messor. Vilhus wasn’t anyone’s friend and Arus wasn’t related. Casten might have attended the Academy at the same time as Messor. You pondered that connection.

Because once you’d had a close...friend, a lower ranking analyst in Imperial Intelligence. A smart and pretty Twi’lek who didn’t deserve the things Lord Vilhus did to her. Lord Vilhus was a Sith lord and could do as he pleased to those weaker than him. So when you saw him there and that rancor… It was just an opportunity.

You looked up to see Kiljack studying you intently. “None of them were allies to House Messor or myself,” he told you.

“Am I...broadcasting?” You asked, trying to make sure your mind was quiet.

“No, it’s just the next logical question,” Kiljack said. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something else we need to address.”

“You’re a Sensitive,” Messor said.

You winced. Of course they’d picked that up yesterday. “A little. Nothing kinetic level, just intuitive boosts every now and again. Came along later in life.” Though it still might be enough to get you sent to Korriban. And now they knew. Which was a manageable thing. You knew about their fake feud, they knew about your force sensitivity. Mutually-assured destruction ensured that the balance of power remained less complicated.

Messor nodded. “Kiljack is very good at shielding. You should consult him about how to better protect your mind.”

Kiljack gave Messor a side-eyed squint, but did not protest.

Accept the offer, take a hard job, and maybe get out from under Keeper’s thumb. Or decline and end up dead. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“What do I have to do to sign on?” You asked.

Different Sith lords had their ways of ensuring loyalty, or at least compliance. You had undergone years of conditioning to be kept under the authority of Imperial Intelligence. A lot of that conditioning had come undone in your term as an active operative. You had worked hard to slough the restraints that would have otherwise hobbled your thinking. They might have had your service, but your mind was your own. Ciphers had a lot of leeway to run operations as they saw fit, because an obedient drone could not do their job. But there were still ticks, involuntary habits ingrained in your mind, pathways worn in by years of unpleasant reinforcement. Oh, you weren’t loyal to Imperial Intelligence, but you knew to instantly bow your head to a “superior,” to mask your emotions with a lie, and that the mission came first at the expense of all else... You knew these things in your bones, because of the conditioning. And you understood intimately how those rituals did psychological damage.

So when Lord Messor stepped into the room and drew closer, you prepared yourself for something unpleasant.

“Give me your hand, the flesh one.”

Permanently, or just to hold? You wanted to ask, but you kept your mouth shut and extended your right hand. He took it gently between his palms. His skin was warm and rough. You swallowed, preparing to be overwhelmed by your reaction to the Sith.

The world turned black.

Then heat and light poured into your skull, a waterfall rushing through you, and you screamed under the torrent. It cut through your perception, and tethered something in your head, to that little spot of intuition that always knew when a weapon was being drawn or when someone was lying to you. That metaphysical aperture expanded, wedged open by the hooks of Messor’s connection. He was in your head, and for a moment, you were face down on the dining room table, those claws tracing along your spine while he pinned you there, while you squeezed your thighs together, squirming at his touch…

Then you felt the weight on your left arm, felt Messor squeeze your right hand, and you forced your eyes open.

Kiljack held you to the bed, your left hand pinned over your head.

You could feel Messor through the force. He was in your mind, had his own private backdoor in, a new sort of violation. And that realization enraged you. Snarling, you thrashed, “You bastard! Get the hell out of my head!”

“If you shield well, I can’t see what’s in your head,” he said calmly. “And I won’t go looking.”

Cursing, you lunged at him, but Kiljack held you down, his full weight on your body.

“It’s not mind control, it’s a minor force bond,” Messor said, tone even.

So this was how he kept Kiljack in line. And you had just willingly submitted yourself to the same treatment. Maybe death was preferable. Fury overtook you and you tried to throw Kiljack off you. When he didn’t budge, you sunk your teeth into Kiljack’s shoulder.

He jerked, then braced himself, hand tightening on your throat. “I thought I told you to be more careful with those teeth,” he rasped, pupils huge.

You waited for the leash or the neural bolt.

It’s not a leash. It goes both ways. And it fades with time. Messor said quietly in your head. Also, if you keep biting Kiljack, he’s going to choke you out.

Groaning, you released the moff, feeling his fingers begin to loosen around your neck. You kriffing piece of sarlaac scum! I’m going to feed you your teeth!

“I hope you’re talking to Messor, because you’re not in any position to threaten me,” Kiljack said gruffly, running his thumb over your throat, before letting go of your neck.

“You’re on the list too, don’t worry,” you hissed.

Messor released your hand, a hint of amusement in his aura. “Get some rest, Thirteen. We can talk more later.”

I know so many annoying drinking songs from dozens of planets. I will be screaming them into your skull all night!

“Charming,” Kiljack said, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his ripped jacket and glared at you. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, you can go crawl into someone else’s bed, because-”

There was the ghost of a memory, a shirtless Kiljack laughing as he lay in the bed, another man pinned under him, like you had been, a flash of heat pulsed between your thighs-

Messor inhaled sharply.

Kiljack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you-” He pushed his hair back, suddenly very tired. “Just go. Your proximity is probably making things more difficult.”

“Your shoulder,” Messor said softly, he stepped out of the room and returned with a medkit.

You watched silently as Messor carefully cleaned Kiljack’s wound, and treated it with kolto.

Kiljack leaned into Messor’s hands, his head resting against Messor’s shoulder, and it clicked.

There was more than one reason why Kiljack did not betray Messor, one you had not anticipated. You gave a dry laugh, how utterly ridiculous. These stories never ended well for the Sith or their lovers. Suddenly very drained, you dropped back into the pillows.

Rest.

I hope you get eaten by a gorryl slug, you bastard. You pictured the giant carnivorous slugs of Kashyyyk, arboreal hunters that dropped onto their prey and were nearly impossible to pry off. They would exude digestive juices and slowly digest their victims. An unlucky person could take a very long time to die.

What are those- oh that is awful. I’ll have to remember that one. A low laugh in the back of your skull. Kiljack is very good at shielding. He will help you if you ask, nicely.

I’m going to gut you like a ghest.

Get some rest, Thirteen. You’ll have plenty of time to threaten me later.

#SWTOR #Crossover #in alio loco #reader insert #Fanfiction #Crackfic #Improper Use of the Force

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clockotea · 4 years ago

Text

Chain Thoughts

Words- 4096

Warnings- Read below. Dissociation, depression.

Ships- Slight Purly.

Notes- Okay yeahhhhhhhhhhh. I didn’t proof read this or edit it. I just wanted it done, because I like concept of this headcanon, however I don’t have motivation to edit. If you see some problems with spelling, grammar or whatever, I apologize. I’ll edit it later. I went through moments like Ponyboy does in this when I was younger and there are times where I still do. I’ve been busy with school so this took me awhile, and now we are going back on wednesdays so I won’t have that much time to write. I also rushed the ending :( I’m thinking about writing about if Ponyboy got put into a boy’s home. SO YEAH

-Ally-Lx

Headcanon- This headcanon belongs to @chaotically-cas

“When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.”

It didn’t make sense. There were seven days in a week. So, why did Ponyboy only remember waking up 5 out of the seven days? Ponyboy pushes his potatoes to the side with his spoon. His other hand rubs his chain between his fingers. All he remembers was an argument with Darry before falling into a daze.

“What’s the matter with you, Ponyboy? Normally you would be stuffin’ your face.” Says Soda with a mouth full.

“What? Were you raised in a barn, little man?” Scolds Darry. Soda smirks and nods his head. Darry glares daggers at Soda. He slaps him in the back of the head, causing him to choke. Soda swallows this chicken and points his fork at Darry. He says some funny threat making Darry chuckle, but Ponyboy couldn’t process it. Ponyboy rubs his forehead where a migraine was starting to form.

“Ponyboy.” Darry’s voice breaks him out of his trance.

“Hm?”

“Mrs. Rutt called today.” He crosses his arms, expecting Ponyboy to explain why.

“Darry, just get to it.”

“She says you have 6 missing assignments.”

Darry didn’t have bad grammar skills, like the rest of the greasers. He didn’t cut his ing’s short. He didn’t round his vowels, either. It was considered formal until the rest of the gang was there. Even then, his speech was formal.

How did I forget about the 6 assignments?

“Ponyboy, you can’t just go running off forgetting about your homework.” States Darry. His face seemed to be made out of stone. The light draped over him like a cloth, creating perfect shadows that outlined his muscles.

“I wasn’t- that’s not it-”

“Oh, cut him some slack, dare-bear,” Darry grumbles at his nickname. “It’s not like you have never had a late assignment.”

Ponyboy grabs his plate. He goes to put the food into a container.

“You haven’t been excused.”

“I didn’t realize I was eating with the president.” He sneers back.

“Yeah, well, you better sit your ass down.” Ponyboy freezes to see if Darry takes action.

“Ponyboy, hand me your plate. I’ll finish your food.” Soda says, breaking the silence. He nods and hands the glass plate to Soda.

“I’m going to go do those assignments.” Ponyboy whispers hoarsely. He fidgeted with his chain looking for approval from Darry. Darry sighs and nods.

IT WAS ONLY THE START

What am I doing? Ponyboy looks around. It didn’t feel real to be walking to the dingo in these jeans. Where am I going? Ponyboy looks around. The sun was dipping below the horizon yet beaming down on him. Ponyboy’s hair had turned a reddish-brown in the sunlight. The grease in his hair reflected against the sunlight.

Think, C’mon Ponyboy. Think. What do you remember last? Last night, he and Darry had gotten into an argument. It was about how he managed school work. The entire gang was there. He brought up how Ponyboy had 6 missing assignments. Steve had chimed in and said that Ponyboy had skipped class. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I’m ahead in that class. But the argument had gotten blown out of proportion when Two-Bit said he saw him and Curly hanging out. It was bad when Darry said he didn’t want Curly around Ponyboy alone, but when he said he didn’t want them together at all, Ponyboy couldn’t help but argue back.

‘Ponyboy.” Ponyboy snaps his head to the voice. Hair slicked back... leather jacket… mickey shirt… boots… rust color hair… grey eyes. Two-bit.

“You alright, Pony?” He holds the door open.

“Yeah. I’m good.” Lies Ponyboy. He felt as if he had taken a huge step off a cliff, into a cold pool of water. It made him feel cold and as if he was on autopilot.

He takes a step up into the crisp air. The sound of chatter. The smell of what? The smell of fries. Warm red-colored booths. The pale floor seemed to gleam under the neon blue sign above the menu. He scans the room to see who Two-bit would be hanging out with. Ponyboy blinks as he makes his way to Johnny Cade beside Two-bit. Johnny nods his head at Pony. The seats crack under the weight of Ponyboy. Two-bit smiles.

“Hey, Ponyboy. What you doin’ walkin’ all your lonesome?” Johnny asks, clearing his throat.

“I saw him standing outside looking around like a doof,” Laughs Two-bit. “So, he’s just being his regular self.”

All of Ponyboy’s doubt seems to drip away the more Two-bit teases him. Ponyboy makes snarky comments back as Johnny scans his eyes over Ponyboy. Johnny shakes his head and messes with his jacket.

“Alright, guys. Enough,” Chuckles Johnny. “Ponyboy walking around alone is just asking for you to get jumped.”

Two-bit smirks mischievously, “Aw, c’mon Johnny. Ponyboy is tough. He can take on 5 socs at once.” Ponyboy smiles.

Johnny shakes his head, “I just don’t want what happened to me to happen to him,”

“As I said, he can handle any soc. The only person he cannot handle is me.”

“Oh yeah?” Smirks Ponyboy.

“Yeah!” Two-Bit slams his elbow on the table. “Let’s go. I’m stronger than 10 of you”

“Let’s find out!” Ponyboy slams his palm into Two-bit’s.

The two boys arm wrestle until they are red in the face. Johnny laughs at how they struggle and refuse to give up. They didn’t want their pride to be damaged. The 3 boys ate fries that were too salty. Two-bit would eat their fries instead of his, letting his fries go cold. Ponyboy sipped his Pepis as Johnny messed with the whipped cream on his milkshake. It wasn’t until Two-bit brought up Ponyboy’s curfew did they get up to leave. Ponyboy felt as if everything in the world was right. He was smiling and laughing. Everything was right until they got home. Then it feels as if Ponyboy was in the pool of water again and drowning.

Why is it only happening to me?

Ponyboy flipped over to his stomach. Darry had told him to get up 30 minutes ago. Ponyboy used to be an early bird. He would wake up and sneak out onto the roof to watch the sunset. His mom would come up with him and sit with him. It was a time where Ponyboy was comfortable. It was a time when he felt safe and didn’t have to worry about Darry throwing him into a boy’s home.

What was the point of getting out of bed, when no matter what you do, it irritates people? He already knew how Steve felt about him. Dallas barely talked to him. He was always out messing around. They often thought of him as a kid.

Ponyboy softly runs his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t feel angry or sad that the gang thought of Ponyboy like that. It made sense. Am I really that annoying? I don’t mean to be. Ponyboy sighs. He didn’t want to get out of bed, it was too warm and comfortable. It’s the only place I can’t screw up.

The door swings open and slams with a crash. Ponyboy rolls his eyes with annoyance. His back was warm, and felt as he was laying in a hay stack. He shifts uncomfortably.

“Ponyboy?” calls out Whos voice is that? Dallas.

“Hm, Yeah?” whines Ponyboy. Dallas walks in. His hair was flowing all over. His jean jacket looked stiff, the buttons raddled against his chain. Dallas’s pants dipped into every crevice everytime he moved. He raises his eyebrow at the fact that Ponyboy is still in bed.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you when you are having personal time.” He says chuckling.

“C’mon Dallas, tease me all you want. Just don’t tell Darry that I’m still in bed,” mutters Ponyboy. Dallas presses his lips into a thin line. The bed dips into Dallas’s favor as he stares at Ponyboy, as if he had just spoken a random language to him.

“You mean to tell me that Ponyboy Curtis hasn’t left bed all morning?” He questions.

“No sir,” Says Ponyboy into his pillow. Dallas whistles and continues to stare at him. Dallas smelled of booze, metal, and cigarettes. Dallas pulls a cigarette from his pocket. He flicks a match against the box and lights it up.

“Aw, c’mon Dal, you know Darry will kill me if he smells cancer-stick smoke in me and Soda’s room.” Ponyboy sits up and glares at Dallas. His hair falls over his forehead and partly in his eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back lightly. The sunlight reflects in his eyes.

“Ponyboy, you feelin’ alright?.” He asks, puffing smoke out of his mouth. The smoke coats the room in a thin layer, of the gray, toxic, cloud.

No, something is wrong

“Yeah, just thought today was supposed to be a lazy day.” Ponyboy states.

“Well, not anymore!” He hollers. “Curly was practically begging me to give him Darry’s schedule so he can sneak in and talk to you. I couldn’t betray Darry’s trust that much, so I’m just going to take you to him.”

“So, he’s finally out of the cooler?” mumbles Ponyboy.

“He’s been out for a week. Just hasn’t had time to see you.” Dallas smiles at Ponyboy, like Curly not sparing time for him was funny. I wouldn’t spare time for me either. What was it that made Ponyboy sick to his stomach? The fact that it was summer break and Curly was “busy”, or the fact that he didn’t even come himself.

“Why didn’t you just bring him here?” Asks Ponyboy reaching for a shirt. He digs his fingers into the soft fabric of a black shirt. It was tossed to the side from last night, when it got too hot to keep it on.

“He’s busy with Tim. Said he’ll meet you there.”

Ponyboy slips the the shirt on. The feeling of being alone and disconnected was joining him again. Ponyboy sighs and rubs his forehead. He twists his chain in between his fingers. The cold, round, edge pushes down into Ponyboy’s skin. Dallas stands and pats his shoulder.

“Get ready,”

“I’m not going, Dallas,” Ponyboy whispers.

Dallas drops his gaze, “Oh, how come? Don’t want to disappoint Darry?”

Dallas goes to pinch Ponyboy’s cheeks, but Ponyboy catches his wrists.

“Screw off, Dallas.” He sneers.

“Oh, Jesus. I get you might get jealous about not seeing him, and you want to create a statement but-”

Maybe it would all stop if I gave up and listened to Darry.

“I don’t want to create a statement, Dally. I got enough stress on my back with me arguing with Darry. I can’t handle whatever crime he’s gonna’ get himself into when I’m around. It would make Darry furious”

“What’s the point of having rules if it ain’t for them to be broken.” Chuckles Dallas.

Ponyboy sighs and rubs his temples. It was getting harder and harder to process what he was saying, why he was mad, why he wanted to understand Darry.

“No, it would put stress on Darry. He has enough stress with me here.” He argues.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m starting to think you being put into a boy’s home would make it less stressful for Darry.” Chuckles Dallas. Dallas thought he was making a light-hearted joke. Something that was going to make Ponyboy chuckle, and he would get over it. Ponyboy couldn’t help but let everything take over. Before he knew it he was, so out of it, he didn’t know what they were arguing about.

“It would be… wouldn’t it?” Murmurs Ponyboy. Dallas’s eyes shoot up, trying to catch the emotion on Ponyboy’s face. Ponyboy’s eyes used to be warm summer green that would look grey in different lighting. They were kind of green that was warm and welcoming, like the green leaves that would grow on the tree’s Darry and Sodapop would climb when his parents were alive. Used too. All the stuff that made Ponyboy look like a kid was slowly fading.

“Hey, you know I ain’t mean that,” Chuckles Dallas. “It was a light-hearted joke.”

Ponyboy chuckles, “Yeah, I know. I’m still not going.”

“Alright… “ Ponyboy sits on the bed as Dallas closes the door behind him. Why was this feeling only happening to him? Why wasn’t it happening to Sodapop or Darry?

I tried, I really did.

Sodapop’s hands were warm compared to Ponyboy’s back. Ponyboy had been feeling colder ever since he stopped eating as much. He was sleeping in sweatpants, and hoodies trying to keep his body heat. Soda had slid his hands up his shirt and was rubbing his back just like their dad used to. Darry sat in the chair watching his brother comfort Ponyboy.

“Pony, are you alright?” questions Soda.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” Darry can’t help but bite his lip, a habit he picked up when he was nervous.

“You haven’t left our bed yet. Steve and I are going to a party. Do you want to join us?”

He’s a tag-along, Soda.

“No. I don’t want to be a tag-along and annoy you and Steve.”

“Ponyboy… You’re not a tag-along.” He whispers.

They sit in comfortable silence, waiting for the other to speak. Soda’s fingers trace over Ponyboy’s spine. He runs his nails all the way to where his pants start. Sodapop’s eyes fill with concern. Ponyboy shift’s to face Soda. His eyes were hazy and cold. His cheeks were no longer a soft red but a pale tone of peach. His lips weren’t a rose pink and curved into a smile. He looked tired, cold, and bored.

“Maybe you and Darry could go to the movie theater?” Suggest Sodapop.

“No, I don’t feel like it.”

“Ponyboy quit bein’ difficult. You can’t be lazy all day.”

“C’mon Darry, just leave him alone.” Says Soda.

“I would be going out and having fun if you allowed me to see Curly.”

“Is that what this is about. Are you acting this way over Curly?” Gasps Darry.

“I ain’t actin’ weird, and yes, I’m still angry about you banning me from seeing Curly.”

“Why, he ain’t that important.” Soda says softly. Steve walks in and leans on the door frame.

“I finally have a friend that’s my age and is my friend not because of my brothers, and then you banned me from seeing him.”

“... He’s not wrong, Darry.” Says Steve.

“He’s a bad influence!” scowls Darry.

“Yeah, and Dallas ain’t?” Ponyboy could feel the confusion in Soda. He knew it wasn’t just about Curly. Darry was picking up on Ponyboy’s body language and could tell. The reason why he was acting this way was not just about curly.

“Darry, Curly likes Ponyboy as a friend too. He asked why you didn’t sneak out to see him the other day.” Said Soda looking at his brother. His face was tight, and his hair was slicked back. He smelled of cheap cologne like he was going to impress Sandy.

“I didn’t want to sneak out because it would stress out Darry, but now that he knows that I was asked to sneak out to see him.” Ponyboy sits up and looks at Darry. “I’m askin’ kindly. Otherwise, I’m just gonna sneak out.”

“Ponyboy, you shouldn’t be speakin’ to your elders like that. Darry has done so much for you. Your lucky he didn’t send you to a boy’s home!” Sneer Steve. His patience was dwindling. Evie was waiting for Steve. She had called him and reminded him about how dolled up she was getting just for him. Why wouldn’t he want to rush to his beautiful girlfriend?

“Steve!” Hollers Darry.

“Yeah, and I bet he regrets not putting me in one.” Taunts Ponyboy. He stands up and walks out of his room. The wood creaks under his weight.

“Ponyboy, I ain’t gonna put you into a boys home!” Calls out Darry.

“Why not? You already suffer from the bills! Why should you worry about me!”

“Ponyboy!” Sodapop reaches for him. Ponyboy yanks his arm out of Sodapop’s hand. Ponyboy slips on his white converse. His feet fit perfectly in the soles of them. The shoe curve at the right places, cradling his feet as he runs out the door.

Where are my memories going?

The last thing Ponyboy remembers was storming out of the house. The next thing he knows, he’s sitting next to a curly hair boy. Curly had seen Ponyboy running off and went running after him. Curly basically tackled the skinny boy. He gripped his arm and pinned him. The fear that was in Ponyboy’s eyes made him worry. Curly watched as Ponyboy’s lips curved into a frown.

“Tell them before it gets worse.” Cuts in Curly.

“They won’t understand.” Chokes out Ponyboy.

“If I understood everything you said and I’m worried. Then your brothers will be worried.”

“Yeah, because Darry is just one brain cell smarter.” Snorts Ponyboy. Curly gives him a rough smirk. Curly watched as the sun reflected in Ponyboy’s eyes.

“Curly I-”

“No overthinkin’. just sit here in silence before you say some dumb shit.” Ponyboy grins at the sky. The silence covered the boys like a thick blanket. It made them feel safe and like they are in their own bubble. Ponyboy turned to Curly to admire his figure.

The grass caressed his cheek, and Curly’s smile softened. His body looked like it could’ve been shaped out of clay. His hair curled around the edges of his face. The grease in his hair was already starting to wear off, making his hair fling up. The sky paled yellow, then crimson, and with one deep breath, electric indigo.

Why aren’t they noticing?

Ponyboy woke in Darry’s arms. He had been thrashing around and screaming, trying to wake himself up. Darry’s grip tightens around the boy. Even though Ponyboy had awakened from the nightmare he was suffocating in, Darry didn’t let go. Darry’s arms felt as if they were melting the thin layer of ice on Ponyboy’s skin.

“ I got you.” Who? Who has me?

“I-I” Gasps out Ponyboy. His nails dig into Darry’s skin. The smell of sweat and wood.

“Who’s holding me? Who is holding me?” He whispers. Darry’s grip tightens on the fragile boy. His strong figure had gotten smaller. The damage of not eating as much as he used too was showing through. Although he was still stronger than most kids his age, Ponyboy struggled to get out of Darry’s arms.

“I need you to calm down.” Scowls Darry. Tears start streaming down his face. Ponyboy feel’s as if he’s back in the cold pool of water, and drowning. He gasps trying to let the air reach his air, but nothing could get through.

“No.. N-no,” Stutters Ponyboy. “I can’t remember who you are. Please, I can’t remember who you are.”

I don’t know who’s holding me. I don’t know where I am, and why I’m here. I don’t know my name.

“What? What are you talkin’ about?” Darry’s voice was laced with concern.

“I can’t even remember my name.” Cries out Ponyboy. He tries once again to push Darry’s arms away. Darry just pulls him closer.

“Ponyboy. Your name is Ponyboy,” Whimpers Darry. “I’m your brother, Darry.”

Ponyboy shakes his head and starts crying harder. He gave up on pushing away Darry. The entire house creaked, as the leaves scrapped on the outside of the house. Darry’s hands start shaking, they grip Ponyboy’s arms harder.

“Ponyboy-” Starts Darry. Ponyboy doesn’t feel like he is in his body. He feels as if he was floating around his body. It was cold and all he wanted was his parents. Aren’t they dead? To come get him, and wake him up. He wanted them to push him back into his body. Darry stops the questions when every time he asked, Ponyboy shakes his head no. He let the small boy fall asleep

It’s come to come home.

Ponyboy wakes up in Darry’s arms. It was soft whispers circling around him. Ponyboy could feel the goosebumps prickling on his skin. Are they going to send me to a boy’s home? Is there something wrong with me?

“So, let me get this straight, he didn’t remember you or his name?” Cuts in Sodapop’s slow and hoarse voice.

“Yes, Sodapop. That’s what I said.” Darry says harshly.

“I don’t know, Darry. He could’ve just been shocked from the nightmare… remember how he got them right after mom and dad died? They never really went away. The doctor just said he needs to run outta energy. He barely leaves our bed anymore. His nightmares could just be getting worse.”

“No, this was different, Sodapop. I wouldn’t be telling you if it wasn’t. I’m thinking about taking him to the doctor again.”

“No offense Darry, but can we even afford it? I care about Ponyboy too, but I don’t think we can afford it.” Whimpers Soda.

“No, I don’t think we can,” Whispers Ponyboy. Both Sodapop and Darry’s eyes trace over his figure. Ponyboy pushes Darry’s arm off of him. He sits up and flops on his stomach, away from the boys. The cold air hit his back. He felt as if he just go out of a sauna. “Plus, it was just another one of my nightmares. It’s no big deal.”

“No Ponyboy, this one was different. You couldn’t remember me or your name.”

“Just like Soda said, I was just in shock. It’s no big deal.”

“Ponyboy, it is a big deal. Please, let’s just take you to the doctor. I’ve already made the appointment.” Hisses Darry.

They are wasting money on me. Just because I’m sick if I could just suck it up.

“Darry, please. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t take me to the doctors.” Ponyboy turns to his brother. He had changed for work. He wasn’t there. He called in sick. All because of me.

“Alright, so something is wrong,” Grumbles Sodapop. He sits up and grabs Ponyboy’s arm. “Pony, if nothing’s wrong explain everything. Why you’re acting weird, why you can’t get out of bed, why you look like you’re sick… why you are aggressive.”

It clicks in their heads. They both look at Ponyboy as if he was crying. Concern was written all over their faces. Sodapop’s grip loosens. They saw it in their mom after Ponyboy was born. Mothers get depressed because they lost a part of them. Ponyboy was depressed because he lost a big part of his life.

“Oh, Jesus Ponyboy. Why didn’t you tell us?” Asks Darry.

“Tell you what? God, you both don’t know when to mind your own business.” Ponyboy stands and walks out of the room. The house was quiet but he could hear Steve’s and Two-bits voices outside the door.

“That doesn’t explain why he’s forgotten things.” Mutters Sodapop. He trails after Ponyboy with Darry. Ponyboy opens the white refrigerator door. He scans the fridge for a coke.

“No, eat some real food.” Demands Darry.

“With some water. I can’t remember the last time you drank water.” Murmurs Sodapop.

Ponyboy sighs as he grapes a coke. He slams the door shut and turns to his brothers.

“Nothing is wrong with me.”

“No, nothing is wrong with you. However, you do need help handling emotions.” Says Darry calmly. Ponyboy scrunches his eyebrows together. He scoffs and opens the coke.

“What about emotions?” Calls out Steve. The door slams shut behind him, rattling the entire house. The floorboards creak under Steves’s weight.

“Steve, give us a second for ourselves goddammit!” Cries out Darry.

“No, Steve come in. I was just about to go to Curly’s.” Calls out Ponyboy. He lifts up his bottle to chug the rest of his drink. Darry pulls the drink out of Ponyboy’s hand.

“No, you’re not going to Curly’s. We’re taking you to the doctors or so help me Ponyboy-”

“No. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with me!”

“Your Ponyboy, lots of things are wrong with you,” Steve says chuckling.

“Steve, can you get out.” Says Ponyboy.

“Steve this is private.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Steve leaves the room leaving it to be silent.

“Ponyboy, just let us take care of you.” Whispers Darry. Darry runs his fingers through Ponyboy’s hair. His fingers glide through Ponyboy’s hair without any trouble. His hair didn’t have any grease in it. Ponyboy almost broke down there. He felt disconnected and helpless. Darry pulled him into his arms.

It’s been a few months since Ponyboy was diagnosed. He went to the movies to draw him out of his head. To protect him from his thoughts. When Ponyboy stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, he had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.

They thought everything going on in Ponyboy’s head was horrible. They weren’t ready for what was going to happen.

#theoutsiders #ponyboy #staygold #curly shepard #the outsiders sodapop #darry curtis

31 notes · View notes

offtopicoverload · 4 years ago

Text

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Poppy messed up. Poppy messed up even if she doesn’t know it yet. But Bea knows it. Bea knows that Poppy messed up really, really bad this time. And Bea’s going to make her pay for ever even thinking about messing with Zoey.

Or, what should have happened at the bacchanalia if MC wasn't so stupid and Zoey was respected and yes im still salty

also didn’t edit as much as normal so there’s definitely issues in this one but whatever

Zoey x MC (Bea Hughes)

~5.5k words

Bea rifles through the false bottom of Poppy’s dresser, searching for her credit cards that can be used against her, finding all sorts of blackmail and dirt to levy against the obnoxious rich girl. Bea eventually spots them buried beneath papers and folders, a phone, hard drives, all kinds of things that no doubt hold enough dirt to destroy Poppy for good.

But Bea’s only here for the cards, she doesn’t have the time to sort through everything right now. She grabs them, her hand knocking against a manila folder as she does. ‘Human Sacrifice’ is written in red sharpie, a paper falling out of the side, with a name at the top.

Bea’s eyes go wide as she reads every letter over and over and over again, every drop of black ink. She rips her phone from her pocket, fumbling to swipe and tap to her contacts and presses call on ‘Zo 😘.’ It rings for a minute, each tone sending panic spiking through Bea.

“Hey, what’s up? How’s it going?” finally rings from the speaker pressed to Bea’s ear.

“Get the fuck out of there,” Bea doesn’t bother with greetings, skipping straight to the point, “Get the fuck out of there right fucking now, Zo, fucking run.”

“Why? What the hell’s going on, Bea?” Zoey sounds on edge, no doubt concerned by Bea’s words and tone. Good.

Bea pulls her phone from her ear, putting it on speaker and opening her camera, “I don’t know, but it’ll be bad, so please leave, Zo, I’m on my way,” she hurriedly snaps pictures of Poppy’s stupid cards to use against her later.

“Okay, I’m seriously freaking out right now, can you please tell me what’s happening before I book it?”

Bea jams the cards and folder back in the false bottom, shoving it closed and struggling to her feet, “You’re Poppy’s ‘Human Sacrifice’ and you seriously need to leave, I’m not fucking around. I have no idea what she has planned but it’ll be bad, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going, I swear. But are you coming with?”

Bea rushes out of the room, darting for the stairs, “I’m coming now, I’m almost at the stairs and I’ll -”

“Fuck.”

“Zoey?!” Bea shouts into the speaker, not receiving an answer as she sprints down the hallway, tripping to the ground as she rounds a corner, desperate to get there in time.

“Put your hands together for this year’s sacrifice, Zoey Wade!” Poppy’s voice rings through the foyer as Bea slams into the railing, just to find Poppy standing on a makeshift stage to address the crowd and a spotlight on Zoey by the door.

“Bitch!” she swears under her breath, stumbling for the stairs as Poppy continues.

“A little backstory on New Money here. Once upon a time, Zoey grew up in a three bedroom home in… Brooklyn.” Bea can feel the steam coming from her ears as she barrels down the staircase, gripping the railing to keep from falling in her stupidly high heels that she should have never bothered with.

“Three? Where did you keep your clothes? And where was your dog’s room?” Trixie joins, only further enraging Bea with her incompetence.

Zoey's voice rings through the foyer, drawing Bea’s eyes as she stands her ground, “We kept our clothes in the closets and our dog didn’t have his own room. You know, how normal people live.”

“Not these people. I’m sure none of these people’s fathers worked as a banker either,” Poppy taunts, a sadistic smirk on her face.

“Like handling other people’s money?” Luis sounds as if it’s the most insane thing in the world.

The crowd erupts in laughs and jeers just as Bea reaches the end of the obnoxiously long staircase, already shoving through the crowd, elbowing everyone in sight.

“No! He… He was a senior manager! What the hell is wrong with all of you?!” Bea can just barely see Zoey across the room as she dives into the crowd, spotting a line of frat guys blocking Zoey from the door.

“I’m sure it must have been rough for him, working so hard to support you,” Poppy looks at her in fake sympathy. “Though I guess those paychecks weren’t enough to cover everything. Like say… a tube of peach flavored lipgloss? Sparkly pink nail polish? Maybe a pair of cubic zirconia stud earrings?” Poppy asks, feigning innocence or kindness, Bea can’t tell and she doesn’t care anyway.

“Poppy… Don��t,” Bea can barely hear Zoey’s quiet response anymore, can barely see her through the gaps in the crowd, and she hates what she sees. Zoey’s eyes are shining with tears, every muscle in her body tense as she trembles, glued to the spot.

Poppy turns back to the crowd, not even bothering to address her victim anymore, “That’s right, everyone. There’s a thief in our midst. A shoplifter.”

Bea pushes forward even more, jabbing everyone within arm’s reach until Michael grabs her, arms around her waist as he yanks her backwards to prevent her from reaching Zoey. She struggles, squirming and kicking in his grasp, shrieking as his arms tighten around her.

“Bea?!” Zoey’s voice sounds terrifyingly hopeful as she scans the crowd for Bea trapped in Michael’s hold.

“Zo!” she shouts back, pushing her head above the crowd to meet her eyes, just as a projector launches photos behind Poppy on her stage, drawing the entire crowd’s attention.

It’s a younger Zoey in an office, with red eyes and tears still streaming down her cheeks, a mugshot of sorts. Bea squirms even more, elbowing Michael in the ribs, but he still won’t fucking let go.

“Someone lock up the imported silverware!” Chloe’s shriek echoes in the foyer, providing a soundtrack to Bea’s struggles.

She jams her heel into Michael’s thigh, earning a yelp from her captor and pushing up enough to see the heartbroken expression on Zoey’s face, “How did you… Those… Those records were sealed! I never even had to pay a fine!”

“Oh, I know, I know,” Poppy nods with that same ridiculous sympathy again, “You may not have had to pay the price, and how could you have? Considering you clearly didn’t have any money. But this burden will live on with you forever,” her tone quickly turns malicious as she zeroes in on Zoey, “I will never let you forget that this is who you are. That you, Zoey, are a sad, little social climber who had to wait for someone with balls to cling onto to even make it onto our radar. Well, you’ve finally done it. You’re on my radar. Are you happy now?”

“Shut the fuck up, Poppy!” Bea screeches, jamming her heel even further into Michael’s thigh to rise above the crowd and glare at Poppy, flames in her eyes as she attempts to light Poppy on fire.

“Oh, Farmsville. Stupid, naive, little Farmsville,” she gives a saccahrine smile, hauntingly sweet. “Let the sacrifice begin,” she announces into the mic, eyes still trained on a furious Bea.

Zoey screams as tomatoes and wine fly at her, soaking her skin, her hair, her outfit, all of it seemingly coming out of nowhere as the crowd pelts Zoey mercilessly. She ducks her head, covering herself with her arms and backing away, only for the frat boys to shove her back in the spotlight.

“Betcha didn’t see that one coming,” Poppy mouths to Bea, right as Michael finally lets her go, rubbing his thigh and grabbing a tomato from Luis, hurling it at Zoey with a laugh.

And Bea can’t take it anymore, can’t take how powerless he just made her feel, can’t take how disgusting they all are, how cruel and heartless. She can’t take this shit anymore, she can’t deal with it, she can’t stomach it, not when her best friend is being assaulted across the room without her help.

She slugs him in the jaw, sending him reeling and staring at her in shock, but she’s already moving back through the crowd as the tomatoes fly, nearly tripping over people as she hurries as quick as she can. Zoey’s so close to the front door, she almost made it, she was almost safe. If Bea was only a few seconds quicker she could have changed this, she could have fixed this.

Bea shoves through the crowd to reach Zoey, receiving a few elbows to her sides and irritated comments, but she doesn’t stop pushing. She finally sees Zoey through the crowd again, the frat boys guarding the door throwing tomatoes at her without remorse as she cowers, arms raised to protect her head.

She grabs Zoey as soon as she reaches her, arm coiling around her waist and pulling her into her side protectively. Her hands are raised to hide her face as she leans into Bea, a slight whimper escaping her throat as Bea holds her. She pulls Zoey along to the door, shoving through those ridiculous frat boys and stomping on a few feet to do it, tomatoes still pelting them as she yanks the door open. She drags Zoey along, the other girl stiff at her side, arms still raised as they put the sorority house behind them, Bea running until it’s too far in the distance to be a threat.

She slides to a stop on shadowed grass, their heels ruined as she turns to Zoey, still tucked into her side. Her face is blank save for a few tears in her eyes and a quivering bottom lip, her eyes glassy as she stares into space. Bea can feel her body trembling under her arm and concern spikes within her, “Zoey, babe, what can I do to help? What do you need? To go home? I think we went in the wrong direction to our dorm, but we can still go. Do you want to get something off Postmates? Do you want to go and attack Poppy? I got the pictures,” Bea rambles, trying to catch Zoey’s glazed over eyes.

But Zoey doesn’t utter a single word, simply wraps her arms around Bea’s neck and buries her face in her shoulder, a sniffle muffled against her skin. Bea holds her tight, fingers scratching at the small of her back and swaying softly from side to side. She starts humming through random song choruses and verses stuck in her head until she lands on Uptown Funk. It popped up in their playlist earlier, as they did their hair and makeup, and the bathroom exploded in an impromptu performance.

“This hit, that ice cold, Michelle Pfeiffer, that white gold. This one for them hood girls, them good girls, straight masterpieces.” She pulls back, Zoey following and glancing up at her from beneath her lashes, the smallest smile on her lips as she watches.

Bea pounces on it, smiling and dancing goofily, jumping around in her heels, “Stylin’, wilin’, livin’ it up in the city.” Zoey laughs softly, Bea’s hands falling to hers and swinging her arms as she moves from side to side, “Got Chucks on with Saint Laurent, gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty. Too hot! Hot damn,” she echoes, “Called a police and a fireman, I’m too hot! Hot damn,” she fans Zoey, who rolls her eyes with a smile.

“Make a dragon wanna retire man, I’m too hot! Hot damn! Say my name, you know who I am, I’m too hot! Hot damn! And my band ‘bout that money, break it down,” she crouches low, pulling Zoey with her, “Girls hit your hallelujah,” she chants low, looking to Zoey expectantly.

Zoey meets her gaze with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, Bea tilting her head as she waits and waits and waits and - “Whoo,” Zoey cheers, Bea’s smile exploding as she launches forward, tackling Zoey in a hug and sending them tumbling to the ground. “Bea!” Zoey exclaims, even though it’s followed by laughter.

“What?” she asks cluelessly, pulling back from the embrace enough to meet Zoey’s dark eyes as she feigns innocence.

Zoey rolls her eyes, “God, you’re such a dork.” But she’s smiling fondly, even with tomato chunks stuck in her hair and dripping from her body. Bea beams wide at her success in cheering her up, her eyes nearly shutting as she just stares at Zoey, who shoves her shoulder, “Dork.”

“Yeah, but you’re smiling,” she singsongs the last word, still grinning down at Zoey beneath her.

Only that smile falls away as soon as it’s mentioned, her head falling back to stare at the sky blankly. Bea wiggles closer, flopping onto her back beside Zoey and staring up at the few stars they can see, her hand slipping in Zoey’s and interlocking their fingers. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Zoey sighs, staring up at the night above them, her thumb brushing along Bea’s knuckles. “I only did it because the group of girls I hung out with in middle school did. They never once got caught, so I thought it’d be okay.”

Bea turns her head to watch Zoey’s shadowed features, “And of course the one time they convinced me to try it with them, I got picked out and searched. Me, the only black girl in the group,” she scowls to the sky. “They all abandoned me there, not even looking back as I got taken with security,” she pauses to glare upwards, and Bea squeezes her hand in the silence. “But after I got off with just a warning, they wanted to keep pretending we were the bestest of friends.”

“I hope you told them you didn’t have time for snakes,” Bea grins, hoping the joke’s enough to lighten the mood, to help Zoey feel better.

“I’ve been dealing with mean girls, girls like Poppy, my entire life,” Zoey looks angry, rightfully so, “I don’t know why I thought for a second Belvoire would be different.”

Bea turns back to the few glimpses of stars they can see in the city, “I know it’s not much, but I’m always here. I’ve got you no matter what, babe.”

“I know,” Zoey whispers to the sky, silence settling between them easily, a familiar presence from study dates and weekends spent collapsed on the couch. From early mornings to late nights when they’re too tired to speak more than a few words, to do anything but smile or squeeze the other’s hand or shoulder. From haunting hours in the middle of the night after awful days to sunrises that promised a second chance, a redemption of sorts.

Bea sits up straight, squeezing Zoey’s hand as she looks down to her, “You wanna go home now? Wash up and get some sleep?”

Zoey nods stiffly, sitting up beside Bea and dropping her head to her shoulder, “Can we order pizza? And breadsticks?”

“We can order the entire pizza place if you want, babe,” she raises their interwoven hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Zoey’s.

---

Bea stalks into the courtyard the next day, determination boiling inside her as her gaze locks on Poppy sitting with Chloe and Veronica, tapping away at her phone and drinking a smoothie. She makes a beeline for the witch, fists clenching and jaw tight as she approaches.

She woke up early for this, made calls for this, went to the store for this. She went out of her way for this, and she’s going to relish it, relish the start of her vengeance. She’s not just going to forget what happened last night, she’s not going to move on or accept the revenge from posting trash about Poppy on The T after Zoey had fallen asleep.

She needs more, and she needs to make her suffer, to feel gross and less than, to feel loathed and despised. And Bea knows she can do it, that this is just the start.

She slams her palms on the table, startling Chloe, provoking Veronica to whip out her phone and start recording, and not even earning Poppy’s signature glare, “What do you want, Farmsville? I thought you’d have slunk off to your corn field by now.”

Bea doesn’t even say anything, just grabs Poppy’s smoothie, pulls off the lid and dumps it on her head with a neutral, unbothered expression. The only indication of her rage is the fire still in her eyes from the night before. Poppy cringes under the waterfall, her mouth falling open and arms raising to protect herself, “You are dead, Farmsville!” she screams as the liquid stops falling.

She stands, hovering above Bea in her ridiculously high heels and ruined pompous sweater and skirt. But Bea doesn’t back down, she meets her gaze, she squares her shoulder. She’s from the country, she could take this city bitch no problem.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Poppy spits through gritted teeth, her lips pulled back in a snarl as she glowers at Bea below her. “I will ruin you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Bea spits right back.

Poppy smirks, self-satisfied and disgusting, “I already destroyed your little pet. How come she’s not following you around? Still too mortified to leave your nasty little dorm? Or did she finally realise she’s not cut out for this life? That she belongs in Brooklyn?”

Bea explodes, shoving Poppy backwards and nearly pushing her to the ground, her heels stumbling beneath her and ankles almost collapsing, “Zoey’s off limits!” she shouts, face flushed in her fury. “This was between you and me, not a single other person!”

“Then how come you constantly messed with the Zetas? And Carter?” Poppy counters, regaining her balance and matching Bea’s anger.

“That was different and you know! I didn’t humiliate or harass them, I didn’t fuck with them, I offered them an alternative to her Royal Bitchiness!” Bea gestures at a smoothie-soaked Poppy.

“I don’t see a difference. Besides,” Poppy shrugs, feigning indifference, “Why do you care?” she flicks her hair over her shoulder, “I thought she was just a tool. She’s not even top 15, she doesn’t matter.”

Bea steps right into Poppy’s face, fury flowing off her in waves, “I will ruin you. I will wreck your stupid little reputation, I will crush your pointless popularity, I will make sure that you are nothing but an average, basic, heartless bitch. I’m going to take your crown and give it to someone who deserves it, someone who isn’t mean and cruel and evil. I’m going to make you nothing, Poppy.”

“Yeah? And who’s taking my spot?” Poppy taunts, “You? Midwest trash will never touch first place,” she scoffs.

“No, not me. I’ve sunk to your level and I don’t even care. I’ll make sure someone better than the both of us takes that stupid spot.” She takes a step back, putting some much needed distance between them to prevent herself from punching another person within twenty-four hours. “But until then, I’d watch your back, Pops,” she turns on her heel, striding away. “Go ahead, boys!” she calls without looking back.

A shriek sounds from behind her as Carter and a few of the football and frat guys that most certainly do not include Michael, dump a tub of crushed and mashed tomatoes on top of Poppy, juice soaking her clothes and chunks mixing in with her strawberry blonde locks. “Farmsville!” she shrieks, Bea smirking as she walks to her dorm, not once sparing a glance over her shoulder.

---

Bea sits on her bed, grading papers for Kingsley as Cutiepie lays flopped on his back beside her, his little legs sprawled in the air and his tongue lolling from his mouth, Bea occasionally breaking to scratch his exposed underside. She tosses a paper to the side, pulling up another as her door flies open, slamming into the wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Zoey asks, striding into the room and waving her phone crazedly.

Bea glances up, pen pausing above the paper, “I’m… sorry?” her brows knit together.

Zoey huffs, “You dumped a smoothie and tomatoes on Poppy?! In the middle of the courtyard?!”

Bea caps her pen and drops it to the bedspread, smiling as she leans back and props herself up on her hands, “Yep!”

Her amusement isn’t shared, Zoey glaring at her angrily, “Why the hell did you do that?! Are you trying to start a war?!”

“I’m trying to finish one,” her smile’s fallen away as she meets Zoey’s dark, furious eyes.

“Why?! She’s just going to retaliate!”

“Good.”

Zoey gestures wildly, as if she’s the only sane person left in the world, “Why is that good?! What is going on with you?!”

Bea leans forward, her elbows landing on her knees as she meets Zoey’s eyes, her expression stone and tone serious, “She fucked with you. She crossed a line and she’s going to pay. Every time she escalates things, I can, too.”

Zoey’s features soften and her eyes fall shut, a sigh slipping past her lips. She walks to the bed, flopping face first onto the comforter, frozen as Bea sets her papers aside and scoots closer. She pokes Zoey’s shoulder, moving up to poke the side of her face when she doesn’t move, “Zo?” she asks softly.

“You’re really stupid, you know?” she finally says.

“Probably,” Bea concedes, “But why exactly this time?”

Zoey exhales sharply, rolling over to her back and meeting Bea’s eyes, “She’s ruthless. She doesn’t care about you and she’ll do whatever she can. It’s a miracle you’re still here.”

“Then I’m going to take advantage of it,” Bea answers coolly, confidently.

Zoey’s eyes fall shut again and she takes a deep breath before wiggling further onto the bed beside Bea, her arm open for her. And she obliges, falling to her side and dropping her head onto Zoey’s shoulder as an arm tightens around her shoulders, “I know there’s no stopping you, but you’re not allowed to get kicked from school. I’m not putting up with a shitty roommate because you got expelled or quit or something.”

“Okay,” Bea nods.

Zoey continues, “Do you promise you won’t do anything that might impact your stay at Belvoire?”

“Is this a contract? Do I need to get a lawyer?” Bea jokes, smiling against Zoey’s shoulder.

“Bea.” Her voice is stern, “Do you promise or not?”

She raises her head to meet Zoey’s gaze, the jokes falling away she pushes as much earnesty into her eyes as possible, “I promise, Zo. I’m not going anywhere.”

Zoey releases a sigh of relief, “Good,” just as Cutiepie crawls onto her side, flopping on her stomach and the tiniest amused smile quirking her lips. Bea reaches down to scratch his head, picking him up under his arms and pulling him into her grasp. She settles back against Zoey, setting Cutiepie on her chest and scratching behind his ears. He turns, licking at Zoey’s chin as she laughs softly, “Little weirdo.”

“Yeah, but you love him,” Bea grins.

Zoey pauses for a beat, glancing at Bea below her, eyes on Cutiepie, “Yeah, I do.”

---

Papers and plans surround Bea and Zoey on the floor of Bea’s bedroom, the former plotting her next move against Poppy as the latter scrolls her phone, her head on Bea’s shoulder as she works. Bea sorts through her papers, scribbling notes as she scans the pages.

Zoey glances up at her, finding her brow furrowed as she taps her pen on a page, focusing intently. Zoey sighs, sitting up and cupping Bea’s cheek to draw her gaze. She doesn’t give it, fighting to keep her eyes on the mess before her, “Zo, I’m working.”

Zoey’s palm pushes Bea’s face even farther from her paper, and she gives in with a sigh, irritatedly meeting Zoey’s gaze. There’s a crease between her brows and a frown on her lips that makes Zoey smile. Bea rolls her eyes at the quirk in her lips, “What, Zoey?”

She raises her other hand, cupping both sides of Bea’s face and uses her thumbs to lift the corners of her lips, “Turn that frown upside down,” she murmurs softly with a grin.

Bea’s jaw falls open as she stares at Zoey, whose gaze is trained on her lips, fingers still brushing the corners. She swallows thickly, “I, uh, that’s why you interrupted me?” she chokes out through a throat that seems impossibly dry.

Dark eyes finally meet her own, “Yep,” she beams. “But now that I have your attention,” she drawls. Her hands spring from Bea’s face, grabbing her hands as she jumps up, “Movie night!” She drags Bea along before she’s even on her feet, pulling her out of the bedroom and into the common area. She sets her on the couch, pushing down on her shoulders to get her to sit.

“Zo, I need to finish -”

“Nope!” Zoey cuts her off, looking at her sternly, “Movie. Night.” She turns, grabbing the remote and pulling her phone from her pocket. She passes the remote to Bea, giving her a sharp look when she attempts to decline, and pulls up Postmates on her phone.

They spend the night on the couch, ignoring the problem of Poppy, ignoring the plans Bea’s been working on, ignoring their homework and all the assignments Kingsley needs graded. They ignore everything outside of the dorm for the night, gorging on Chinese takeout and watching bad movies that make them laugh until they cry.

---

Bea and Zoey sit at a picnic table on the courtyard, eating burritos and scrolling their phones, occasionally showing each other funny videos and posts. It’s a calm day in the courtyard for once, no events or billboards of hog calling.

Well, it was a calm day, but Poppy’s intent on ruining that. She storms across the courtyard with Chloe hot on her heels, eyes trained on the back of Bea’s head as she sips an iced coffee, laughing at a dog video Zoey just sent her. “Farmsville!” she screams across the space.

Bea glances over her shoulder, shrugging as she spots the fury on Poppy’s face, and turns back to her lunch, still tapping away at her phone. Poppy muffles a scream, striding directly to Bea, “Farmsville!” This time she doesn’t even get a glance.

She stops at the table, grabs Bea’s burrito, and throws it as far as she can, leering down at her. Bea stands meeting her gaze, “What, Poppy?”

“You leaked my credit cards?!” she hisses, snarling like a wild animal.

Bea grins, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. I know it was you.”

“Do you now?” Bea asks calmly, reaching for her coffee and taking a long sip, meeting Poppy’s gaze coolly as she does.

“This part of your little vengeance plan for New Money?” she leers at Zoey, still sitting at the table and eating quietly. “Why do you even care about her, Farmsville? I get that she’s a little useful, but she’s still replaceable, just like anyone else,” she scoffs.

Bea slams her drink on the table, startling Poppy briefly as rage immediately takes over features, “Is that what you think Poppy?! That no one but you matters?! You think you’re so important and above everyone else even though you don’t do shit!”

Zoey’s abandoned her lunch now, crossing over to the opposite side and hovering warily behind Bea, close enough to intervene if necessary but far enough to let Bea handle it. It’s part of her plan, after all.

Poppy scans the pair of women before her as if she’s unimpressed, “No need to get so worked up, Farmsville. This never would have happened if you hadn’t picked her. Just find someone that’s not a criminal,” she shrugs.

Bea flies forward in the blink of an eye, tackling Poppy to the ground and towering over her, Zoey shouting behind them in shock, “Bea!”

Before she can do anything, Bea punches Poppy right in the jaw, sending her head flying. She punches once, twice, and is rearing up for a third hit when Zoey’s arms slip around her torso and jerk her backwards, pulling her back as she squirms and fights in her grasp, “Let me go, Zo! Let me fucking go!”

“You’re gonna get expelled!”

“I don’t care!”

Zoey’s lips drop to her ear, “You promised me.”

Bea immediately goes limp in her arms, all the fight knocked out of her in a fraction of a second. “Thank you,” Zoey whispers again, Bea’s feet slipping beneath her body to hold her up.

“You fucking animal!” Poppy shrieks, still sitting on the ground as Chloe pokes at her jaw, only pissing her off even more.

“At least I can admit it!” The fight’s back as she stands properly, slipping out of Zoey’s grasp, even as the other woman attempts to keep her back. “At least I can admit that this is all ridiculous! At least I can admit that it’s pointless and stupid! Can you admit it, Poppy? Can you admit that your precious crown has no worth? That you have no worth?” She stands over the strawberry blonde, staring down at her intently.

“Fuck off, Farmsville,” she scoffs, stumbling to her feet by gripping Chloe’s shoulder and shoving the blonde to the ground. “Run back to your cave with your little felon friend. At some point you’ll realize just how little she matters,” Poppy spits.

Bea meets her gaze easily, jaw clenched tight, “She matters more than you. She matters more than me. She matters more than anybody, and at some point you’ll realize that, when she’s more successful than you, more popular, more wealthy, more respected. You’re a vile creature, and somebody you’ll lose your power and sit sulking as everyone stops caring about you. Because you. Don’t. Matter.”

“Bea, that’s enough,” Zoey slips an arm around her, carefully leading her away, their lunches abandoned. And this time Bea doesn’t resist, doesn’t fight back, doesn’t try to squirm away to fight with Poppy more.

She lets Zoey lead her back to their dorm, sit her at the kitchen counter, and make her a cup of tea. She lets Zoey turn on 90s music as she dances around the kitchen, trying to lighten the mood and resolve some of Bea’s anger. She lets her wrap her in a hug when the music and dancing doesn’t work, let’s her tell her to let it go and move on, to forget about Poppy and all her bullshit.

“I can’t just forget it, Zoey, I can’t let her get away with everything she’s done,” she meets dark eyes, her own shining as she silently pleads for Zoey to understand, to give her permission to carry on this path that will only lead to destruction.

Zoey sighs, her head dipping as she thinks. She looks back up after a minute, meeting Bea’s gaze, “If we’re doing this, we’re being smart about it.”

“I’m doing it, Zo. You’re staying out of this,” her brows knit together, her face serious as her eyes pour into Zoey’s.

“Nuh-uh,” Zoey shakes her head. “You just attacked Poppy. You need me to keep you in check, babe, hate to break it to you,” she smiles teasingly.

“She already -”

Zoey cuts her off, “I don’t care. You promised me you’d stay safe, and clearly you can’t do that on your own, so suck it up and get over it, Bea.” Her words are sharper than she meant them to be, harsher as she stares down the woman across from her.

Bea sighs, her head falling to the counter beneath her arms. “Fine,” comes out muffled against the countertop. “But if she ever throws another tomato at you, I’m killing her on the spot.”

Zoey laughs, “Alright, deal. Luckily, I don’t think tomatoes are her choice weapon,” she grins down at Bea’s hunched form, relief spilling over her at Bea’s acceptance of her plan.

A hand slips in her own, Bea squeezing tight as she weaves their fingers together, “They better not.” Zoey squeezes back, lifting their locked hands to kiss the back of Bea’s, her thumb tracing her knuckles gently.

They miss the rest of their classes that afternoon, Bea plotting intently as Zoey reels her in on the crazier ideas. They order more burritos and watch the chaos of Bea posting Poppy’s cards on The T, all the purchases people made, all the people complaining that the cards were declined, and all of Poppy’s messages urging people to stop and telling them off when they don’t.

It’s amusing, Zoey has to admit, watching Poppy suffer and face backlash, to be the one under the criticism of the Belvoire public, be the one struggling and hurting. It’s nice, to get revenge and not even have to feel an ounce of guilt.

And it’s nice that Bea’s the one that got it for her, the one that decked Poppy in front of dozens of students because she talked trash on Zoey, the one that took tomatoes to the head to help Zoey.

Maybe it’s just Bea that’s nice, Zoey decides as she watches Bea break from her work to grin at Zoey, butterflies whirring in her stomach as she meets that smile, a tornado of fluttering wings whirling in her gut, a sickening but thrilling sensation filling every ounce of her body, an overwhelming but welcome presence. Yeah. That’s it; it’s just Bea that’s nice.

#choices fanfic #queen b #zoey wade #zoey x mc #qb revenge #justice for zoey wade 2020 #another zoey from between for real prompts and an aurora fic #longer this time #im iffy on this one but wanted to post

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kob131 · 4 years ago

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCnynO7H3Do

Vexed has however decided to speak on Ironwood. ... Guess how that goes.

“Ironwood is such a cartoon villain! Look at how he is framed!”

This would mean a little more than jackshit to me if this was real or at least not coming a RWBY watcher since the latter would be all about manipulative editing and the later I might believe wouldn’t need to be handheld through a basic scene but not only is Ironwood a fictional character in a fictional show where you’re trying to invoke emotions in the audience: The RWBY fandom can’t analyze a scene worth shit unless someone walks on screen and literally explains everything. And Vexed himself is such a manipulatve liar that he’s even LESS trustworthy.

Not to mention I’ve seen footage of Hitler’s speeches and the responses- you can go a few levels deeper in reality itself. Not really that cartoonish to me.

“They thought they made him a villain at the end of Volume 7 but failed miserably!”

A. Judging from the reactions and how Ironwood’s defenders were half made up of people who’d side with anything they think is the opposite of what the writers’ intended- I’d say they did the job perfectly fine.

And B. This is exactly what I was talking about. The fact that someone didn’t roll out a fucking flowchart of his character you immediately started interpreting Ironwood’s downfall as a failure to make him a villain. You literally took basic ambiguity necessary for good writing and twisted it to make things look bad.

You’re the fucking reason why RWBY is blunter than a stoner’s cigarette.

“They ACCIDENTALLY made him compelling!”

... You do know the commentary you are quoting doesn’t say ‘we tried to make Ironwood not compelling’ in any form right? All they’re saying is ‘we wanted to make Ironwood’s descent into villainy understandable and subtle.’ In fact, the writer’s job is suppose to be about making the villain compelling so they likely INTENDED on it.

... You mixed up ‘compelling’ and ‘sympathetic’ didn’t you? That either means you don’t know what those words mean or you have an incredibly narrow view of villains.

Also I gotta love that ‘Oh, he was only making hard choices and yet he’s a VILLAIN?!’. Not only does it ignore that villains are made by their choices, bad things can happen due to good choices and that it’d be thematic SUICIDE to portray Ironwood as in the right while kicking the more moral Ozpin for his actions-

It also showcases you’re just a salty Ironwood fanboy. You didn’t consider how he got here as a character or what makes sense for what he represents- You got pissed your headcanons of a character was contradicted so you pitch a fit. I know this because you pulled this shit with WEISS before.

“Isn’t it strange that Salem was used to set up Ironwood’s ultimatium?”

No. Ironwood’s flaws as a character have always been centered around his reaction to Salem’s existence. He acts unilaterially when he believes Salem is close by, his paranoia flares up when Salem is concerned, his stubbornness is the result of glorifying Salem as this nigh unstoppable evil that must be stopped at any cost.

Of course he’s at his lowest when Salem is there: this once in the background ultimate evil is now making public moves, everything is stacked against him and he sees other people’s ways as having failed. Why wouldn’t he dig in his heels when faced with such a situation considering his character?

“I’ll be doing a video on Salem at the end of this Volume-”

And I know it’ll be as much of a failure as all the others. You could literally release a video of you saying ‘RWBY bad’ for ten minutes sand get the same reaction.

“Let’s focus on James, who was the best character in the show-”

Subjective and shows your bias AGAIN.

“Who was the focal point of Volume 7-”

A. That’s actually more him and Ruby but you aren’t the type to pay attention.

And B. You are now acknowledging the existence of his actions in Volume 7. You cannot try to say his descent wasn’t explored unless it’s admission you didn’t understand Volume 7.

“The man who hasn’t done much of anything in the first half of this Volume-”

That is such bullshit I don’t even know where to start?

He caused the events of Volume 8 to play out. He contacted Penny, setting up her own doubts about her decision, he used Watts to make the virus that setup the climax, he denies the heroes access to resources thus preventing them from attacking Salem, he puts them on edge from his orders to arrest preventing the heroes from openly acting-

He’s pulling as much weight as RUBY here and I’m honestly insulted.

“The man who is now just a crazy cartoon villain.”

You know, this reminds me of a comment I saw once. It was about Persona 5′s villains and how everyone said they were cartoon villains too. ... I then proceeded to point out how each one was actually pretty realistic when you actually look at reality.

Kamoshida? Replace ‘Gym school teacher’ to ‘Rich man’ and you have Jeffry Epstein. (Who didn’t commit suicide)

Madrame? *jabs at RT*

Okumura? He was based on real life Japanese business tycoons and their actions.

Shido? Literally every US politician.

Same applies here, but even worse. Ironwood descended from a high perch due to very serious circumstances, doing all this in a misguided attempt to protect people. A certain senile President did similarly shady shit...to protect himself.

You can’t call ‘cartoon villain’ to a man more understandable than REAL PEOPLE.

“Make a decision- Mantle dies or Mantle dies! HOW STUPID!”

Completely ignoring how they believe they can still save Mantle...and Ironwood is using that to try and force their hand.

Literally anyone who tries to be manipulative does that. And again, I understand him better than...well, everyone who HAS tried that.

“I would have respected him more if he just blew up Mantle-”

So kill the tone of the show, the main conflict of the past two Volumes AND his characterization as a pragmatist?

Someone check Vexed’s foot and make sure it’s still there: he’s shot it so many times now.

“Explain to me why he won’t just let Mantle evacuate?”

He’s incredibly stubborn, mentally scarred and physiologically compromised? AKA his CHARACTER?

“IRONWOOD ISN’T THINKING! RWBY BAD!”

It’s the fucking INTENT to show he isn’t thinking. All you’re doing is proving the writers’ competence at this point.

“Ruby should have just said Penny was in Mantle-”

To the guy whose immensely unstable at this point, saying ‘Hey, my only bargaining chip is in that place you don’t care about where you can possibly get the chip by killing Penny and finding who has the Maiden powers now!’?

Sounds like you’re the one missing more than half a brain.

“PLAN FAILED!”

Yes, your plan did fail because My IQ isn’t in the negatives.

“I love how the writers thinking that Ironwood acknowledging he’s slow-”

... You took a look at this scene, with him looking like that, with that music, with the context of his character, with the question of his character, with Winter’s look at him...

And came to THAT conclusion?

... Yeah we’re done here. I’m not giving any more effort. I’ve clearly given a Herculean amount of it compared to Vexed.

I’ll end this with a quote from one of my favorite Bad Religion songs:

Life is the crummiest book I ever read There isn't a hook, just a lot of cheap shots Pictures to shock and characters an amateur

Would never dream up

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction

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pip-n-flinx · 4 years ago

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yup, it all goes below the cut

So I’ve been seeing a resurgence of ME content following the trailers for ME4 and MELE, which makes sense. But I’m a salty m-fer and I honestly am sick and tired of Mass Effect getting shit on for things that other game studies (looking at you fromsoftware) get praised for. So we’re going to unload a little.

The underpinnings of the mass effect universe is this huge extinction cycle, designed and perpetuated by the Reapers. As sufficiently advanced civilizations reach a tipping point, not unlike the great filter theory of space travel, these AI come in and wipe anyone out. This sort of cyclical storytelling, with pieces of the previous cycles being dribbled in throughout the trilogy, seems pretty similar to progression of Dark Souls. At the end of the Mass Effect Trilogy, many fans were upset by the ending choices: Destroy, Control, and Synthesis.

What are your choices in Dark Souls? At the end of the first game, the cycle ends and you, the player, get to choose how the world enters the next era. Does they cycle of undeath continue, or do you shatter the world and hope something new rises from the ashes?

How, pray tell, is that really any different a decision? And why is it when fromsoftware does this its groundbreaking storytelling, but when bioware does it we decide collectively its ‘just a shitty recolor of the same ending?’

I agree, there are some flaws in how they chose to animate the climactic moments of ME3. For one, the fleet assembly and space combat with the reapers above Earth doesn’t change much no matter how many/which allies you bring to the final fight. And of course, the ‘garbage recolor’ ending. And I agree with the premise that more than the color should have changed. We should not have had to wait for the still flawed Extended Cut ending to be released to see how Shepard’s final choice changes the end of the game.

We can also comment on what the crucible actually does. If it is some incredible power-source in need of direction - the citadel - it is a strange choice of weapon to design for your battle against the reapers. We could speculate endlessly on why the writing team chose this, but the real issue here is that there is very little in game context for how this comes about. We get a few lines from Hackett and Liara explaining the Crucible, but that’s about it. Surely there could have been more discoverable codex entries about it, perhaps on Eden Prime with Javik?

To be clear, I don’t actually have a problem with the end of the Trilogy. Sure, it has its plot holes, but I’m not actually too fussed about it. It felt like a fitting end to the series to me. Graphically a little disappointing, to be fair, but otherwise a fine capstone to the story.

I’ve actually read some comments and posts explaining that they ‘won’t buy the legendary edition because they won’t fix the ending’ and I.... Do you even know what a remaster is? I’m not buying the remaster because I think many of the new lighting choices detract from the story, and a reskin won’t ensure the graphics stand the test of time any better than the old ones. I’m perfectly happy replaying the original trilogy without a fancy graphics package that adds nothing to the artistic vision nor sets out any distinctive art style. A few years will see even these HD 4k graphics obsolete/dated, and I’ve spent enough money on Mass Effect as it is.

Moreover, I really hate what speculation and rumor I’ve heard about Mass Effect 4. First, I hate that it will be a ME4 and not an MEA2. This will take some explaining so bear with me.

I’ve seen videos of the original graphics and animations that caught so much flak for Mass Effect Andromea. Unpopular opinion: I don’t think they were bad, and I certainly don’t think they were bad in the context of Mass Effect. None of the games prior had flawless rotoscoping or anchoring. Even watching stock sheploo in the original trilogy is painful if you’re hoping for realism. If y’all want to play this game we can start sharing clips but suffice to say I’m personally convinced we can go tit-for-tat on awkward animations.

Moreover, I think Mass Effect Andromeda is the best Mass Effect game. Best gameplay, by far. It has all the hallmarks of a great sci-fi: new aliens, new planets, new villains. And while I understand some people felt the switch from overcompetent supersoldier Shepard to young-kid-with-daddy-issues-and-more-than-a-few-bad-bosses Ryder was jarring, I absolutely loved playing a plucky hero who lost their mentor before they’d even properly started training. It gave the game an urgency I loved, and to me Ryder felt like a much more relatable protagonist than Shepard.

The story itself is a fucking masterstroke. Hear me out:

So in Mass Effect, the twin plot drivers are infighting with council/alliance/cerberus ‘allies’ while facing down the threat of and advanced AI wiping out all organic life to preserve diversity and make way for the next ascendant race. In Andromeda, we’re met by the same bickering and infighting amongst our own faction, and the Kett. The Kett, for whom nothing is cyclical. Everyone must assimilate. Who shun technology and seek to eliminate biodiversity by ensuring all civilizations end with Kett. And instead of a well trained military commander and a ship of soldiers, mercenaries, and specialists in the sciences who grow to be respected players on the galactic stage, we get Ryder. Ryder and their crew of misfit nostalgia-driven rock-licking rule-breaking cereal-smuggling culture-vulture heart-broken multiple-amputee nervous-doctor neophiles who meet one alien and have to save all their races from genocide by a rogue Kett Archon. And the Jaardan? the long gone artificial life-forms who had the technological capability to be reaper analogs? They’re the life-givers, the gods of the Andromeda galaxy, seeding species and hope into the galaxy for the player to find.

It’s such a perfect inversion of the original trilogy while still preserving the genre and the universe they had already built. It’s fucking brilliant. And I’ll never forgive them for abandoning it, nor will I forgive the fans whose vitriol stopped the project in its tracks, and killed any hope of a second trilogy.

Honestly, I don’t care if you agree about MEA, or the ME3 ending. I know this isn’t a common take among bioware fans. I just... I’m so fucking done with this franchise and this fandom. I’d like to think my mutuals and the other blogs I follow have level headed positions on this stuff (possibly more level headed than my own salty takes these days) but I honestly wonder why I’m even on this platform some days. It doesn’t spark much joy anymore. I hope no one takes this personally, I certainly don’t mean this as an attack or criticism of any of my followers but damn, I’ve got a lot of feelings tonight and almost all of them are negative...

#long post #really long post #mass effect critical #bioware critical #fromsoftware critical #sort of #fandom commentary #god I'm tired #I should just be in bed but I wanted to read #and I found some interview with mass effect devs #I just wanted to read some new stuff on one of my favorite franchises of all time and it was completely ruined by all the 'hot takes'#and even the editing of their words painted this unnecessarily negative picture #and I get it #they aren't even close to perfect games #and AAA studies shouldn't release games with as many bugs as is the norm #I know that #don't think I ever pay full price for a shitty buggy bethesda game anymore #haven't bothered with them since oblivion was new #but I just....#I feel like theres this dirth of critical thought #or coherent standards #when we talk about art in any form #and it kills me inside

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bluecastleheadcanons · 4 years ago

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Karasuno Youtuber Headcanons

Haikyuu YouTube AU!! +plus some coffee shop stuff

Hinata Shouyou

Very chaotic

Does challenges

Storytimes

Loud all of the time

Kenma is his internet best friend and they do collab live streams

They also play online video games together but Hinata socks at them

They both have fun though and people love seeing Kodzuken laugh

Collabs with Lev

Sports videos

He has a part-time job at a sports store

His volleyball highlights

Also surprisingly good volleyball tips and tricks

"SPIKING TIPS FROM THE FUTURE TINY GIANT!!"

Vlogs

He, Yams, Yachi, Tsukki and Kags have a joint channel where they have sleepovers and do fun little skits

In one of those videos they convinced Tsukki to give Yachi a piggyback ride

It was so cute

The whole sleepover thing is very domestic and Yams makes dinner while the other three will wash up after

His fans think he's very cute

Kageyama Tobio

Volleyball highlights

Collabs with Hinata a lot

"Quick attack tips ft the human tangerine"

Doesn't post often

The occasional vlog or challenge

People think Oikawa is his brother for some reason

No one knows why or where it came from

Oikawa has shown up in only one of his videos and it was during a volleyball collab

They spoke once but apparently, that was enough for fans to make this conspiracy that even though they have different last names they were brothers

Yes volleyball Collabs

It's when they (everyone mentioned in this list) all come together and play a couple games

Him, Hinata, Daichi, Yaku, Bokuto, Oikawa and Iwaizumi play for the teams in their areas (since they don't go to college and Iwa's FS doesn't have a VB team) the rest play for their college team

He works at the same place as Hinata

his fans think he has two personalities because he acts so different with Hinata

I forgot to mention but Kags lives with Hinata

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Soft

Does get ready with me plus storytimes

"Get ready with me pt3 ft the time I got lost at the mall"

Reactions

Collabs with Tsukki/lives with

His editing is so cute

Lil effects pop up on screen

He works at a cute cafe

Gets to bake the cakes and breads for the place

He really likes it there

Even if he has to take a train and a bus to get there

baking videos

Teaching Yachi to bake and Hinata and Kags to cook

"Teaching my friends how to adult pt 4 ft Kags, Hinata and Yachi"

Vlogs when he's out with the others and they do it too

He and Tsukki live the furthest away from everyone and travelling up is a huge hassle but he literally doesn't care

Tsukki does but Yams doesn't

This man would climb the sun for his friends

Fans get really sad when its winter and his feckless fade

There's a cute video clip out there from one of the volleyball collabs of Oiks helping Yams with serving

He participates in Sugas mental illness awareness week thing

Him and Yachi usually do the segment for anxiety and panic disorders

His fans think he is baby and forget how tall he is

like damn this man is almost as tall as Tsukki

Tsukishima Kei

Reaction channel

Salty saltyshima

Judges everyone its so fucking funny

His reactions consist of him looking into the camera with a look in disgust and mumbling what the fuck

has one vlog on his challenge and its cus Yams made him make it

Fans ask him to react to Hinata, Kageyama,kuroo and bokuto's channels those are a fan favourite

He reacts to horror movies occasionally

"Why do people find these scary pt12"

Those are funny

"Oh my God, just fucking run!" "What is wrong with you??!" "You are the reason I want to dye my hair" "I knew she was gonna die"

Collabs with Yams featuring soft Tsukki

Take a shot every time this man rolls his eyes or says "tch"

Can and will debate with you

Does something like BuzzFeed unsolved with Kuroo

He's a sceptic

Kuroo flinches at every noises

And Tsukki is here sipping his invisible wine not giving a fuck

"But Tsukki someone died there"

"Someone probably died at the Chipotle we just ate at"

He works at a book store

Yachi Hitoka

Very shy and nervous

Anxious baby

Does get ready with mes

Cute room decor videos

Her video titles are so misleading

"Rearranging my entire apartment because I have anxiety ft the Bois"

And then in the video, she is this 4"11 cutie whose living room is pink

Fans find her videos really cute

Goes to college for interior design and graphic design

Does baking videos sometimes

She cannot bake to save her life but watching her try is entertaining

Sometimes her and Oikawa attempt to cook

"Making angel food cake with the grand king"

Her apartment building is across from the one Iwa, Oiks, Makki and Mattsun live in so when she needs some help and the boys are busy she'll go to them

"Painting my living room for the fifth time this year ft new friends???"

That video was messy they were covered in paint

She has a wall of paint handprints of the people who have helped her

So far: hinata, kags, tsukki, yams, dai, suga, asahi, noya, tanaka, iwa, oiks, kiyoko, and kuroo

Can be seen in some of Matsuhana's skits

Works at the same cute cafe as Yams

She participates in Sugas mental illness awareness week thing

her and Yams do the segment for anxiety and panic disorders

It was highly requested Yams taught her how to bake

Nishinoya + Tanaka

Definitely gaming

Also sports

Work out videos

Parkour

Those dumbass who do the dumbest shit like concrete their heads into a microwave

Please help them

Shares an apartment

Noya can actually draw and does art ticks and tricks

His drawings are really good and he does commissions

He works at an art studio and helps out kids

Tanaka, however, sucks at drawing and people love to see him try

"TEACHING RYUU TO DRAW PT4"

He works at the same sports store as Hinata and kags

They do prank videos

collabs with Makki and mattsun

Those videos are so fucking chaotic

Asahi is usually the victim but after one of their pranks went wrong and Daich walked into it they stopped pranking Asahi for a while

Collabs with Asahi and Kuroo and Bokuto

Sometimes with Yachi, if she needs the extra help

Constantly post photos of each other sleeping

Fans think they are fucking hilarious

Sugawara Koushi

Vlogs

Chaotic storytimes how is this man even alive

Gets Embarrassed very easily which makes all if his storytimes really funny

"I tripped over at the airport...again"

Does advice videos

"What to do when……. Pt21"

His channel has no consistency his videos are all over the place

Collabs with Daichi and Asahi lives with them

Does cooking videos

Swears???

Bleeps out with cute noises tho

He's shorter than he looks

Bc most of his videos are with Daichi who is also short when fans meet him its a bit of a surprise

Collabs with Oikawa sometimes fans like to see them interact

Collabs with Yaku!!

Goes to college for psychology

College vlogs

Gets anxious when posting and overthinks a bit too much

Organises mental health awareness week posts with Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Asahi, Bokuto, Akaashi, Yachi, Yamaguchi and Kenma

Basically where each of them post about me talking health for their assigned topic and some collab like Iwa and Oiks and Yams and Yachi

He does the first post which is where they all do a qna together and fans ask related questions

Doesn't drive so Daichi drives him everywhere

He is very good at taking care of people

Fans think he was some sort of mother spirit in a past live

Sawamura Daichi

Work out videos

Life Advice videos

Has a bunch of bloopers because Suga doesn't know how to knock

There is one blooper video where all it is just Suga walking in on him filming

"My roommate doesn't know how to knock"

Car trips car trips vlogs

He does storytimes in his car

"How I lost my tooth"

Slight lisp because of said tooth

This man drives a lot

If he's doing a storytime in his car and people start honking (not at him just in general) he will look into the camera as it zooms in and a fun Lil tune plays in the back

Grocery vlogs

Personal trainer at a gym

Drives Suga to college

doesn't know how to feel about people calling him daddy

Suga just laughs at him

Is hugely clumsy and trips over everything

The coffee table has missing pieces because of how many times this man has walked into it

Drops his camera and phone daily

Most of his fans are thirst and the other ones thank him

Azumane Asahi

DIYs

I'm talking like troomtroom but actually good and useful life hacks

Does camera work for Suga and started off with that

He looks scary but Suga is the one you gotta look out for

Does tips on how to deal with anxiety

Meditation

Posts calming videos to help you sleep

Photography goals

There are many many compilations of Suga and Daichi bullying him made by fans

Flustered by thirst comments

works at the same coffee shop as Yachi and Yams

Collabs with Tanaka and Noya

Gets bad post anxiety

Anxious boi

Participates in Suga’s mental illness awareness week

His segment is on what to do to help someone having a panic/anxiety attack and what the differences are

Even tho Dai and Suga are more like the parents if those two are doing something stupid or risky Asahi can go from child to parent real quick

Honestly, those two can be complete children sometimes

Very good at taking care of people

He never forgets a thing and he makes life hacks for forgetful people

Daichi and Suga are constantly forgetting things

Asahi thinks he has enough footage of that two forgetting stuff, tripping and just being children in general that he could make at least 5 compilations

Fans actually really like him

Kiyoko Shimizu

THE NON CONTROVERSIAL MAKEUP ARTIST

She's so damn nice to everyone

No one can hate her

Her make-up skills are afuckingmazing

Her looks are always perfect

Her works as a hair and make-up artist for a production school

She appears in Yachi's videos often

I don't really have a lot for Kiyoko

#karasuno #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #youtuberau

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years ago

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Reckless (6,275 words)

(This story is the sequel to “Careful” which I wrote in response to a prompt by @goodomensprompts and comments by @kedreeva - quite a few people asked for a follow-up, so here it is! I have one more part planned.)

(Available on AO3)

Aziraphale had always been careful.

Not anymore.

Rushing up Regent Street in the middle of the day at Crowley’s side, so close their shoulders brushed, so close every human they passed could see what had been kept secret for so long. Could see it in their clothes, still in disarray. Could see it in the smile on Aziraphale’s face, in the glances he shot at the demon next to him.

Crowley hid his expression better, with his dark lenses and perpetually sour face, but who could miss how both pairs of hands, ungloved, constantly reached out to touch the shoulder, the small of the back, the curve of the face?

Feeling daring, Aziraphale offered his elbow. Crowley wrapped both arms around it, clinging as if he were a drowning man and Aziraphale a spar of wood; as if Crowley were lost in a blizzard and Aziraphale were the only source of heat; as if the world were a monsoon and Aziraphale might blow away in the wind.

An angel and a demon, walking arm-in-arm down one of London’s busiest streets.

Utterly reckless.

Aziraphale walked faster.

By the time they reached the shop, they were almost running.

Aziraphale fumbled with the key as Crowley stood oh so close behind him, one hand at his wrist, the other sliding across his hip, his waist, the curve of his stomach, pulling him back into that unfathomable heat. Aziraphale’s hand shook and the key fell to the ground.

Careless.

“Crowley,” he gasped, winded not only from their run. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Not only talk.” Warm breath stirring through his short hair.

“Not here. It isn’t safe.”

“Then get that door open!”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the doors sprang apart. Together they stumbled, tumbled, fell through the door, fell to the floor.

Crowley knelt over him, fists still clutching Aziraphale’s lapels from when he’d tried to slow the angel’s descent. The expression on that narrow face was something entirely new.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers again and the door slammed shut, locked, the shades drawn as Crowley leaned down –

And kissed him breathless.

Six thousand years.

Six thousand years since a meaningless reassurance, a bad joke, a shared laugh had untwisted the knot of anxious worry that was Aziraphale’s constant companion, given him a moment’s relief from the endless press of fear.

It had only lasted a second the first time. But again and again, this demon had made him feel happy. Safe. Fearless.

And in his heart, something had grown, something with an ineffability that had nothing to do with the Plans of Heaven.

When Crowley finally released him, sitting up, Aziraphale felt as if his soul went too – gently pulled out of his body by those lips, left to hover between them in the air of the bookshop.

“So. Ahem.” Azirpahale sat up, attempting to smooth his jacket, recover any of his dignified attitude. “I suppose now we, ah, talk.”

“Mmh.” Crowley reached up, adjusting Azirpahale’s cravat with a crooked smile. “I can’t think of a thing to say.”

Aziraphale snatched his fingers, pressed them to his lips.

Centuries of hovering around each other, fearing to even brush against the other’s skin in case the fire it ignited should burn them to ashes. Now that they’d finally crossed that line, thrown all caution to the wind, he realized he might never be able to stop.

It was addictive.

And he was powerless to resist.

The smell of Crowley’s perfume, the salty taste of his skin, the gentle burn of his fingertips as they cupped Aziraphale’s chin, turning his face toward those lips, oh, those lips…

Here we go again.

Aziraphale finally broke the cycle, broke the kiss, putting his hand on Crowley’s chest, tilting him back. Giving himself enough space to breathe, to speak, to think.

“Are we safe?”

Crowley reached up and pulled his glasses off. “I don’t care anymore.” Oh, the softness of those slit-pupil eyes was almost enough for Aziraphale to lose himself again.

“You said –” He took a deep breath, searching for that reserve of caution and worry that had kept them safe for so long. “You said Hell has been…watching you. Checking in more often. Is there a chance anyone saw us?”

“I think just about everyone saw us.” A laugh, just a hiss of breath across the teeth as Crowley leaned closer, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “But my side…I don’t know. I won’t know until they come for me.”

Aziraphale swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “You aren’t safe. It’s my fault, carrying on in a public place like that…”

“No.” A hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, fingers playing through the curls. “I asked for this. I wanted this. I told you I was ready to fight for what we have, and I meant it.” He tilted his head, lips brushing across Aziraphale’s forehead. “Though it would help if I had Holy Water.”

Aziraphale glanced at the door of the shop. “I can’t just miracle it up. It takes time. And anything more than a few ounces and Heaven will notice, send someone to investigate.” He wasn’t ready for that yet. To confront the other angels. To admit how far he’d strayed from his orders and his purpose.

“A few ounces will kill a demon.”

“Do you think they’ll only send one?”

“It’s still better than nothing.”

Aziraphale’s mind reeled. They weren’t having this conversation. It was absurd. They couldn’t win a fight. Safety came from avoiding a fight. They had to be clever. “No. You need to leave London.”

“What?” Crowley pulled back in shock.

“We have to assume your side already knows. If they find you, they’ll destroy you. London isn’t safe. England isn’t safe. I don’t know if anywhere in the world is safe, but someplace quiet and secluded should do for a start.” He stood up quickly, bustled around the shop, searching.

“Angel!” The familiar snap was back in his voice. “I told you, I’m not going to leave you. You can’t just – send me away!”

“You can’t stop me,” Aziraphale reminded him mildly. “I’m a Warrior of Heaven.”

“What are you going to do?” Under that angry scowl, the lip quirked just a little, a smile fighting to get free. “Tie me up and throw me on a boat?”

“If I had to, yes. But it’s not necessary in this case.” He found what he was looking for, held it up: a heavy leather Gladstone bag. “I’m coming with you.”

The words weren’t quite as hard to say as he’d expected. They only tore through his heart a little.

“Angel, no.” Crowley scrambled to his feet, following after him. “This shop is…your dream. Your home. You can’t just leave it.”

Aziraphale dropped the bag onto the nearest table, clearing aside a stack of Charles Dickens and making room between statuettes of angels. He rushed back to the shelves, gathering books with shaking hands. “There are protections woven on the building. For when I’m away on assignment. Humans will just ignore it, walk past. They should last for years, decades without needing to be refreshed. Plenty of time to come up with a plan.”

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley objected, as Aziraphale turned back towards the table with his autographed books of prophecy and began arranging them into a neat stack. “Decades? You think they’ll give up on us that quickly? Aziraphale, if we leave London, they’ll – we might never be able to return.”

“Then we don’t return.” Aziraphale busied his hands with organizing his favorite misprint Bibles.

“You love this shop. These books,” Crowley reminded him gently.

“Not as much as I love you.” He said it with all the conviction he had, but it still hurt. Even when Crowley wrapped his arms around Azirpahale’s waist, buried his lips in Aziraphale’s hair.

He wanted that warmth, that love. Ached for it. There was no doubt in his mind that leaving was the right thing, the smart thing to do. But Aziraphale would leave a piece of himself behind, forever missing the life he could have had.

“There’s just…so much.” His eyes roamed across the endless shelves, just dusty enough to discourage enthusiastic browsing; the countless volumes, each one a priceless treasure, lovingly collected over the decades. “How do I know what to take?”

“We can rebuild your collection,” Crowley promised, nose brushing down toward Aziraphale’s ear. “Just take what’s irreplaceable.”

Aziraphale turned to face him, slipping his arms around Crowley’s neck. “Oh, I’ve already got that.” He closed his eyes, leaning in, seeking the soft lips and hot breath of the demon –

“The Lemegeton!” Aziraphale pushed Crowley back.

“I – what?”

“The Lesser Key of Solomon! I need to get that.”

“I know what – why do you want a demon summoning manual?”

“It’s a special edition,” Aziraphale explained, already running toward the shelves in the back. “Just pack those up for me, there’s a dear.”

Crowley grumbled something, then raised his voice to add, “Get that Austen one while you’re back there.”

The only sound was his footsteps – quick and sharp on the hardwood floor. He took his time over the grimoires – there wasn’t a moment to spare, but these could be useful.

The Ghayat al-Hakim fi’l-Sihr.

The Liber Juratus Honorii.

The Sefer Raziel HaMalakh.

The Book of Abramelin.

Aziraphale carefully stacked them on a table, and the pile grew worryingly tall. How would he carry them all? Did he have another bag, perhaps? Or could he miracle them small enough to fit? He hated miracling his books, of course, but these were dire circumstances –

The bell over the shop door chimed.

It should have been locked.

Cautiously, trying not to make any noise as he moved, Aziraphale shifted back to the end of the shelf, leaned past to see into the main circle of the shop. The door was still shut. He couldn’t see any customer. He couldn’t see Crowley, either, but another shelf blocked the table from view.

It was far too quiet.

Aziraphale stepped back into the shadows, clutching a thick book in either hand, concentrating.

He could sense Crowley somewhere nearby. Probably still in the shop. And another supernatural entity. More than one, but shielding themselves. He would have to –

“Aziraphale! Glad to see you’re alright.”

He spun. There, striding down the length of the shelf: the Archangel Gabriel, grinning with cheerful good humor.

“Alright – Of – of course. I’m fine!” Aziraphale tried to match Gabriel’s smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Wrong thing to say. The smile vanished like a candle snuffed out, leaving only the warm violet eyes, carefully blank, revealing nothing. “Because of the demon threatening you.”

“Ah. Yes. That.” He tried to swallow, but his heart seemed lodged in his throat.

“We had reason to believe you were in danger. I came down personally to check on you.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale shifted the books from one side to the other. How much did Gabriel know? Worse, what did he think he knew? “That’s…most kind of you, really. I’m – I’m flattered you would…er…”

“We assumed you’d be relieved to get backup from a few fellow angels.”

“A few?” He cleared his throat. “No. Yes. I’m – I’m – I’m…”

The arm Gabriel put around his shoulders was decidedly less friendly than usual. “Let’s get this sorted out,” the Archangel said, steering Aziraphale back towards the front of the shop.

Any protest died in his throat when he saw Crowley, still standing at the table where Aziraphale had left him, but no longer alone.

His hands were pressed flat on either side of the bag full of books. To his left stood the Archangel Uriel, to his right, Sandalphon. Each resting a hand on one of Crowley’s arms.

The demon stood absolutely motionless between them, eyes once again shielded by dark glasses.

Beside the table stood Michael, flipping through one of Aziraphale’s books.

“What did you find?” Gabriel asked, not releasing Aziraphale just yet. Three pairs of eyes – and one of black lenses – turned to face them, all four gazes equally expressionless.

“Looks like prophecies,” Michael said distastefully, tossing aside the book of Mother Shipton’s verses. It hit the ground with a sickening CRACK. Aziraphale tried not to flinch at the thought of the damage. The arm over his shoulders tightened just slightly before finally pulling away.

“What would a demon want with books of prophecy?” Gabriel gestured to the nearby armchair. “Have a seat, Aziraphale,” the Archangel offered. As if this wasn’t Aziraphale’s shop.

Michael picked up another book, turning pages so sharply that they tore.

“Oh, that’s…ah, quite alright.” Aziraphale shifted the two books he carried, pressing them to his chest, trying to steady his hands again. “I’ll…I’ll stand. After all,” a short laugh bubbled out, “everyone else is standing.”

This was bad, of course, but at least it was Heaven they were confronted with, not Hell. That must give them a chance. Surely, if he could just explain, the Archangels would be reasonable…

“Not everyone,” Gabriel corrected, nodding to Sandalphon.

The shorter angel struck, fist sinking into Crowley’s side.

As the demon fell to the floor, Sandalphon’s other hand caught him on the side of the head, knocking his glasses askew, throwing him back. Crowley sprawled on his side. Boneless. Defenseless.

Uriel grabbed his jacket, hauling him back onto his knees. “Hands where we can see them,” the Archangel intoned, and Crowley quickly obeyed, flattening his palms against the table once more.

He didn’t resist at all. He hadn’t even made a sound.

“Something wrong, Aziraphale?” Michael asked, studying his face.

Get yourself under control!

Aziraphale quickly schooled his features, trying to find the calm stillness he wore as a mask. It had always been ill-fitting, but now it was cracked, falling apart, broken by the emotions of the day.

Useless.

“I don’t approve of violence in my shop,” he said as evenly as he could. He tried to catch Crowley’s eye, beg him for some hint what they should do next. But the face was as stony as when they’d met at the park, when Crowley had first made the awful request that set all of this in motion.

“We should all just take a moment and…and talk this through,” Aziraphale continued. “There’s been a…misunderstanding.”

“Really?” Gabriel glanced at the other angels, arms folded now, face mildly curious. “Please, enlighten us. What have we misunderstood?”

Carefully, trying to buy time to think, Aziraphale placed the two books he carried on the table, angling the spines so no one could read them. On top was Crowley’s favorite, The Complete Works of Jane Austen. Below that, the Lesser Key of Solomon. That would be harder to explain.

“You all know, I think, the demon Crowley.” He gestured weakly, smiling into four pairs of uncaring angelic eyes. Or tried to – Gabriel stood behind him, Michael a little too far to the side. He had to keep turning, twisting, trying to see them all. “He’s been my adversary for nearly six thousand years. And he is here…today…to…defect!”

“Defect?” Gabriel frowned, brow furrowed slightly. “What, precisely, does that mean?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to marshal his thoughts, though his mind was a whirlwind.

When his eyes landed on Crowley, the demon gave a tiny head-shake. But it was too late now.

“Well, earlier today, he…Crowley, he sent me a message to meet him at a location. And, oh, I expected a trap because he is a cunning, wily enemy, as you know, always a step ahead of me!” He cleared his throat, wishing the other angels would respond, give him something to work with. “Or, half a step. A step behind. It’s a very, sort of, cat-and-mouse…yes.” Aziraphale’s hands kept twisting in front of him. He tried to fold them behind his back, tried to stop his body from swinging nervously. “In any case, he told me the Opposition had some…big plan brewing. Brought these books as proof. He wanted to…to stop this plan. He has agreed to renounce his Rebellion, and…and rejoin the Choirs of Heaven,” he finished triumphantly.

In the cold silence that followed, Crowley hung his head. Aziraphale tried to ignore the sick feeling inside.

He knew perfectly well Crowley had no interest in rejoining Heaven, had quite nearly spit in Aziraphale’s face the one time he’d suggested it. But it was the only thing he could think of right now, the only path that might end in safety for them both.

They’d been fools to think that they could fight. That Aziraphale could do anything other than obey, follow the purpose he'd been designed for. This was the logical solution.

The Archangels would be skeptical, of course, but Aziraphale was willing to vouch for Crowley’s loyalty, to swear by anything that the offer was sincere. Surely Gabriel would see the value of inside knowledge, and in time even come to accept Crowley as one of their own.

They could be on the same side.

If only Crowley would chime in with some plan of Hell’s, anything, to prove his worth.

The demon had never been so quiet.

Finally, after a long penetrating look that left Aziraphale feeling lost and exposed, Gabriel turned to the other angels. “Michael?”

Heaven’s Chief Soldier and Head of Intelligence began laying pieces of blank white paper on the table. Three of them. “Where did you meet?” A sharp, clipped voice.

“Far from here,” Aziraphale lied, not wanting to give Heaven any reason to look into their behavior at the Park. “The other side of London. At a pub.”

“Why didn’t you report this immediately?”

“It was rather a large story to swallow.” That was certainly true. “I…wanted to interrogate the demon privately, ensure he was telling the truth. I mean, I wouldn’t,” another laugh he couldn’t control. “I wouldn’t waste your time with an unverified report, would I?”

“How did you return?”

“Hired a carriage. Better to be seen by as few as possible. And we needed to move quickly. Hell could notice his absence at any moment.”

Michael straightened the three pieces of paper on the table, letting his words hang in the air a little longer. “And why was your name inside that book?”

Of course. Autographed books of prophecy. “Well, obviously, that one was mine.” He cleared his throat again, glancing at the bag. The rest were still packed. Michael shouldn’t have had time to check more than one or two. “I have quite the collection and I needed them to, ah, to cross-check. Confirm the others were authentic. I put it in the bag because…I…”

Gabriel’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “That’s all we need.”

Crowley still knelt, slumped over, nothing visible now but two long hands and a shock of red hair.

“Why…is the demon…being so quiet?” Aziraphale tried to smile. “Usually can’t shut him up, you know.”

“We have our ways.” Uriel stretched out one delicate hand, and with a snap of fingers manifested a smoky amber marble, hovering in the air.

And as they watched, it spoke with Crowley’s voice.

“I followed him to the park. Don’t know why he went, but he always goes alone. Makes it an ideal place for a Temptation. I tried to trick him into giving me valuable books, knowledge my side could use in the coming days. Didn’t work. Clever bastard saw right through it as always. So, I overpowered him, dragged him back here, forced him to let me in, give me his precious books. The only reason he’s going along is because I told him I can burn the shop down with Hellfire, him with it. Once he knows that’s not true, he’ll turn against me.”

“Lies,” Aziraphale whispered weakly. Their stories contradicted on nearly every point. In trying to save them both, he’d sealed their fate.

It was hopeless.

“We offered the demon mercy in exchange for the truth,” Uriel said, voice chillingly flat.

“Besides, a demon can’t renounce its rebellion,” Michael explained, as if to a child. “That’s what makes them demons.”

“Fortunately,” Gabriel interjected brightly, “we don’t need to rely on testimony alone.”

Michael reached across the table, turned over one piece of paper.

On the reverse was an image of Crowley and Aziraphale at the duck pond, the demon grasping at him even as Aziraphale tried to turn away. It certainly could look as if Crowley were threatening him, if you hadn’t been there, hadn’t felt the soft tenderness of his touch, heard his urgent voice – Angel. Aziraphale. I will never leave you.

“They met in the park.” All condescension was gone from Michael’s voice now, leaving nothing but ice.

The second page turned over, showing the pair running down Regent’s street, Crowley’s hands hooked around Aziraphale’s elbow.

“The demon dragged him back by the arm.”

The third page. Standing before the door of the shop, Crowley clutching his wrist as he fumbled with the key, jaw tight as he hissed into Aziraphale’s ear.

“The demon forced him to open the shop.”

Michael looked up, grey eyes flicking from Aziraphale’s face to where Gabriel stood behind him. “Only one story matches the evidence. Which raises another question: Why would an angel lie?”

The hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder squeezed, and it didn’t feel friendly at all. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“The…the Hellfire,” Aziraphale mumbled, all but breathless. Crowley’s head tilted up again, and now he could see one golden eye visible above the frame of the glasses. Terrified. “He said…he’d…”

“You still feared him?” Michael asked, smiling dangerously. “Even with all of us here to subdue him?”

“Why didn’t you say something in the back of the shop?” Gabriel wondered.

“Why lie about the location of the meeting?” Uriel turned the golden marble between two fingers.

“Could be he was corrupted by the demon,” Sandalphon suggested, jerking back on Crowley’s hair, arcing his neck.

Aziraphale struggled to keep a straight face, to keep his panic under control. “That’s. No. Ridiculous.”

“I’ve heard such things might be possible,” Uriel offered, plucking the glasses from Crowley’s face, studying them, tossing them aside. “Enough demonic influence could corrode an angel’s Grace. Irredeemably.”

“Well, no angel is irredeemable.” Gabriel pointed out.

“There were some,” Michael reminded him. “A few thousand years ago.” All eyes turned to Crowley.

“We could let him speak,” Sandalphon suggested.

“It would be cruel not to,” Michael’s voice was almost sickly sweet. “After all, we’re angels.”

Uriel pressed the glowing marble to Crowley’s lips. The demon breathed it in with a gasp –

“You got me,” he said, voice strained from the way his head was still held back. Sandalphon released it, just enough to let him meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “I corrupted him. Or tried to. Stubborn bastard resisted me every step of the way. But it almost worked.”

Solid gold eyes, not a hint of white, pupils narrow. Filled with fear and desperation, but Aziraphale could still see what burned behind that, the fire he’d pretended to ignore for so many centuries. The familiar smirk appeared, arrogant and reassuring. “Discorporating me will undo my work, but don’t think this is the end of it, Angel. I’ll be back, if it takes a hundred years, if I have to claw my way out of Hell. And we will pick up exactly where we left off.”

Aziraphale swallowed back his tears. “Oh, you’re wrong. Things are going to be different next time,” he vowed. “I’ll be ready for you. I’ll be waiting.”

He knew he should be looking at the Archangels, gauging their reactions, seeing if they believed it. But he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t waste one second of the time they had left.

It occurred to him, almost idly, that Crowley had never actually said I love you.

He didn’t doubt it, of course. He just wished he had the words to hold on to, when the light left those eyes, to sustain him during the long wait for Crowley’s return.

“Oh, after a threat like that, I don’t think we should discorporate him.”

Blue and gold eyes turned to see Michael holding a blade. A stiletto, narrow and straight, little more than an oversized paperknife. But sharp, and the deep bronze-gold of a holy weapon, glowing with its own mighty aura.

Not a sword. The blade of the Archangel Michael could take whatever shape was needed, and a sword wouldn’t be necessary here.

“Don’t – that’s ridiculous.” For the first time, Crowley began to visibly struggle, trying to break free of the iron grips that held him in place. “You – you can’t!”

“This isn’t how we do things,” Aziraphale said, voice tight. “We deal with our own, Hell deals with theirs.”

“Naïve,” Uriel said, smirking, almost laughing, and reached over to loosen Crowley’s collar, exposing a pale throat.

As Michael stepped closer, Crowley ground his teeth. A flash of red and black across his body as he prepared to shift form – and the power dissipated, brushed aside by the angels who held him. “No.” More miracles flashed across his skin – black to change size, red to create fire, even brilliant white to stop time – each sizzled harmlessly into the air. “No!”

Sandalphon grabbed his hair again, pulling his head back painfully.

“Don’t.” Aziraphale cried, shaking with terror, with pain. “Please. This is murder.”

“It isn’t,” Gabriel said, almost soothingly. “You’ll see. Once we’ve removed this corrupting influence, we’ll bring you back to Heaven. Remind you of your loyalties, your purpose, everything you’ve forgotten. You’ll see this was right.”

Crowley continued to fight, to struggle, to scream every curse he knew at the ones who held him. But Aziraphale could only watch. Unable to move, unable to help, unable to think –

Witless. Powerless. Helpless.

This was Aziraphale’s fault.

This was where his thoughtless words had brought them.

All he’d needed to do was refuse the holy water, walk away, and they would have been safe. Crowley would have been safe. Instead, he’d shouted out words, emotions, things better left unspoken for all of time.

He’d been careless. Reckless.

Gabriel stood behind him, much as Crowley had less than an hour ago, when the world had seemed new and full of possibility.

Michael’s blade moved inexorably forwards.

Crowley screamed, wordless.

Aziraphale snapped.

There was one thing that every being in the room had forgotten, perhaps Aziraphale most of all:

The quiet, bookish angel with the manicured nails and tartan cravat had been created as a warrior. Not just any warrior, the Guardian of Eden.

Protector of Humanity, Heaven’s greatest weapon against all of demonkind.

He had rejected that role, run from it, hidden from it.

But now, seeing a holy blade mere inches from the throat of the one he loved most – he embraced it.

With all the power granted to him by Heaven, Aziraphale drove his elbow into Gabriel’s solar plexus, sending the Archangel reeling.

Then he grabbed the nearest book and threw the heavy tome at Michael, corner of the spine striking just where neck met shoulder.

Two down.

A calm settled over Aziraphale’s mind. He fell into a fighting stance, one he never remembered using or even learning. It was recorded somewhere at the very base of his being.

As he watched, his remaining opponents released Crowley, circling warily towards him. He could see their true power, hidden behind their customary forms, Sandalphon’s stretching upwards, tall as mountains, Uriel’s coiled like a steel trap.

They were warriors. Michael, too; a blow to the neck wouldn’t immobilize the General of Heaven’s Legions for very long.

Three against one might almost be equal odds.

He would need to end this quickly.

Dozens of eyes opened along Aziraphale’s arms, across his face, taking in the room from every angle.

Two steps and a lunge, fist rising to meet Uriel’s ribs, but the Archangel dodged away, swinging for Aziraphale’s head. He ducked easily; it was only a distraction, meant to keep him from noticing Sandalphon circling behind him.

As if he could be fooled so easily.

Aziraphale reached back, grabbed Sandalphon’s arm, spun, hurling the other angel at Uriel.

The impact, angel against angel, sent them both staggering back, colliding with the nearest bookcase. The shelves wobbled dangerously, dropping hardbound books, but didn’t collapse.

They would be back in a moment, but Aziraphale had accomplished his goal.

Crowley was free.

He turned back to the red-haired demon, kneeling on the floor, and smiled, though not with the muscles of his face. That’s not what they were for. Instead, it shone through his whole being.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, rising to his feet. “Is that…you?”

What a strange question. He’d never felt more…himself.

Walking on bare feet, white robes shaking gently in the breeze, Aziraphale reached out a hand to cradle his face. Had Crowley always been so small, so delicate? He hardly even reached Aziraphale’s shoulder.

He could see Crowley's true self, as well, coiled in the air around him like a serpent. Torn and scarred from timeless epochs of abuse, from fighting to survive, but still intact, still strong, still woven through with golden threads of love that no power in Creation could destroy.

Yes, it was all so clear now. This beautiful, precious being needed to be protected.

That was Aziraphale's Purpose.

Behind him, the other angels prepared to attack. He could see the energy gathering around Sandalphon – always smiting, that one. There wouldn’t be time for Crowley to reach the door.

“Angel…” Tear-filled golden eyes reflected the soft white light that surrounded them.

“Go, my love.”

He let himself linger on the demon a few nanoseconds longer, enough time to memorize every line and furrow on that face.

Then he turned his full attention to his opponents.

Sandalphon’s blast of energy raced towards him, and Aziraphale caught it in one hand, crumpled it like paper, let the power flow back into the air like the heat of summer.

Michael had joined them again, blade in hand. Where had Aziraphale’s blade gone? It was a nice sword, flaming. Very impressive.

Ah, well. Improvisation it is.

Three angels rushed towards him.

With a wave of Aziraphale’s hand, sixty-three angel figurines came to life throughout the shop, and flew in to intercept them.

Not that his little army could do much other than provide a distraction, but they did that beautifully, tugging on hair and clothing, giving the other angels too many things to concentrate on. He could see the way they dodged, fruitless, careening into each other. The way their minds raced, trying to keep up with the action, to take everything in.

But Aziraphale’s mind was glacially calm. It was nothing at all to track all the trajectories, to see what each of the other angels planned to do.

To walk into the swirling melee and with a casual backhand, send Uriel across the shop to crash into the back wall.

His mind had never been so clear. If this was what hid behind the anxiety and fear, why, he should have given in eons ago.

The other angels moved so slowly. They were so tiny.

Even Sandalphon, fists flying, couldn’t keep up with Aziraphale’s movements; the Guardian picked him up and threw him across the shop.

It was so simple. So easy.

Effortless.

Until Michael’s blade sank into his right shoulder.

The brilliant fire of pain cut through the calm of his mind. Aziraphale screamed, not with sound, but with a wave of power rolling through the air, shaking the books from their shelves. His army of miniature angels fell, the glass and ceramic ones shattering with the sound of a hundred broken hearts.

He stumbled back, jerking the blade out of Michael’s hand. Bright gold ichor ran down his arm; dozens of eyes tried to blink themselves clear, focus on the room, the enemies again.

They were back again, all three, trying to rush him, overwhelm him. They thought this made him weak, to lose one arm, as if he didn’t still have another to fight with.

But suddenly his movements were slow, clumsy. He couldn’t see fifteen steps ahead in the fight anymore.

Now it was all he could do to keep them at bay.

“Aziraphale. You need to stop this.”

A handful of his eyes turned to look at Gabriel, standing just beyond the fighters, face a picture of stern disapproval.

“No.” His enemies still stood. He had to keep them busy…keep them from…

“Can’t you see what’s happened?” The Chief Archangel continued. “You’re fighting your own kind. The corruption must be worse than we thought.”

“I’m not corrupted,” he said, pulling the blade from his shoulder. It was so tiny. His fingers didn’t seem to want to hold onto it. His right hand was numb.

Useless.

“Come on, Aziraphale. Does this look like the work of a healthy angel?” Arms spread wide indicating the fight, the broken figurines, the toppled books, the shop itself. “We’ve had our suspicions for a long time. Frivolous miracles. Attachment to material objects. To ephemeral beings. To foods! Who knows how long the poison has been creeping into your mind? But it might not be too late.”

A steady hand held out, palm up. An offer. “Come back with us. We can purify you. Make you whole again.”

Aziraphale took a step back, but suddenly it was hard to keep balance. Michael's blade wavered, nearly fell from his grip. He was…tired. “That’s not…”

“What other choice do you have?” Gabriel pressed on. “If you continue to fight, you will lose. Why destroy yourself? Why reject the power of Heaven? For that?”

Two eyes on his shoulder followed the gesture.

There, by the open door of the shop, crouching, hidden, so that Aziraphale had failed to notice –

“Crowley. Why are you still here?”

He straightened, slowly, clinging to the doorframe. Tense, shivering, hardly able to stand – yet his eyes stayed locked on Aziraphale. Unwavering. “I told you. I will never leave you.” He held out his shaking hand, palm up. “Come on, Angel. Time to go.”

Aziraphale blinked half of his eyes, then the other half.

His right hand flashed, throwing the blade of Michael, pinning Gabriel to a bookcase by one coat sleeve.

Aziraphale scooped up the last book, lying on the table beside him, swinging it towards the other angels, scattering them. He felt it hit one, but he didn’t pause to see which, to notice if there was any damage.

He ran.

In three steps, he was where he belonged, beside his demon, grasping that hand, feeling Crowley’s strength pull him through the door.

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley miracled the doors shut, locked, and Aziraphale collapsed against them. Normal height, two eyes, familiar suit, rumpled and torn. No holy glow, just a long blood stain down one sleeve, a dull pain that went straight through his shoulder.

His head felt fuzzy, confused, packed once again with doubts and worries. He couldn’t even remember exactly what had happened – it was like sobering up after a particularly rough night of drinking. He needed rest.

But there wasn’t time for that.

He tossed the Key of Solomon to Crowley. “Page one-hundred eighty-three.”

“What?”

“The incantation.” He pressed his left hand to his wound, quickly drawing a circle of blood on the window of the door, right over the sign reading Sorry, We’re Closed. “Hurry!”

Crowley flipped through the pages. “I don’t recognize any of this!”

“I told you – it’s a special edition.” He glanced at the page Crowley held out for him, added a few lines to the sigil drawn in blood. “Manuals on summoning, binding and warding off both demons…and angels!”

He muttered the incantation under his breath –

Energy ripped through his body, down his arm, into the mark of blood –

And the whole shop glowed in a faint blue light.

Aziraphale let out a deep breath, letting himself fall to his knees beside the door, boneless with exhaustion.

“That should hold them. Not very long. Depends on how angry Gabriel is.”

“Angel. What…in there…”

“Crowley, I can’t.”

“Aziraphale, you –”

He turned to face the demon, and every fear and worry rose like the tears to his eyes, and he didn’t have the strength to hold them back anymore. “Please, don’t ask me. I just…what have I done?” He held one shaking hand to his forehead. He couldn’t even think through all the emotions. Anger. Grief. Pain. Fear. Loss. They seemed so much bigger than him. “I – I attacked the Archangels. I’m in Rebellion! Of all the angels who ever disobeyed, I must be the worst…most wretched…”

Crowley knelt beside him, pressing the book into Aziraphale’s chest. The angel instinctively grabbed it.

It was comforting, feeling the press of leather and paper against his hands. Even more comforting when Crowley reached across, traced a hand along his cheek, and whispered reverently: “You were beautiful.”

Then Crowley picked up something that lay on the sidewalk beside them: a brown leather bag. Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed it was missing from the table.

“My books!”

Without his glasses, Crowley seemed so different. Not the cold, distant demon full of ridiculous plans and cunning temptations. He seemed more frail, more vulnerable, and very, very tired.

But he still managed the same careless shrug and arrogant smirk. “Well, I might not be much good in a fight after all, but I’m not completely worthless.” He stood up, then held out his hand. “They’ll all be coming for us now.”

Aziraphale pushed aside the emotions that clouded his mind, grasped that hand, let it pull him to his feet.

And didn’t let go.

An angel and a demon, running hand-in-hand down one of London’s busiest streets.

Utterly reckless.

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