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protege-not-protagonist · 1 year ago

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Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 5

Ch 5: My Brother's Keeper Pt. 2

Blurb: The team work out the new Unsub's motives and start searching for a suspect who fits the profile. But as Grace works the case, certain aspects of it stir up a past she would rather forget. Meanwhile Spencer can't help but start working on the victimology of this new possible serial killer back home.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: 16+ mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens and how you can avoid it.

TW: Ableism, child death, violence, gore, crime scene depiction, kidnapping.

BAU, Quantico, VA, 7:45 PM

Spencer knocked on the door of Penelope’s cave. She didn’t turn around, continuing to stare at the collection of monitors in front of her.

‘Who dare’s seek the goddess of knowledge and everyone’s business? Speak mortal.’

‘Hi Garcia,’ he announced himself sheepishly and braced for a bone-crushing hug.

‘Oh oH My GOd! You’re HEERRREEE! You’ve come to see meee!!! Here at work!’ she lept from her chair and all but tackled him. ‘It is way past home time, Mr. Why are you still here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I thought you weren’t going to come here any more-’

He pulled back and shrugged. ‘I wish I could say that I came on a whim, but I need to ask you something. I thought it would be more polite to ask the goddess of knowledge in person. She would perhaps be more gracious than if I only spoke to her on the phone. I wouldn’t want to anger her.’

‘I don’t think I could ever be angry at you, gorgeous grey matter!’ She planted a kiss on his cheek and smiled at him. ‘What’s up?’

He looked at the numerous lists the computers were compiling and searching. ‘How is the case in Groton going?’

‘It is not good, and very icky. It’s a family annihilator. The parents are still missing, the children are confirmed dead, the team is waiting for the state police to arrive and they're still working on the profile. I am trawling through everything I can get my hands on, but there are no suspects yet, and the profile is too broad, and I am miserable. I don’t want to go home without finding something.’ She sunk back into her chair, deflated. She then cocked her head, ‘Hang on, how did you know about the case?’

‘I was speaking with Agent Matthews this morning. Alvez came to tell her they were getting called away to it,’ he said and watched Garcia’s expression brighten with excitement. ‘What?’

‘Oh my god, you guys finally met. What was it like? She adorable, right? She’s like a tiny Baby Spencer. Except, well, she’s not tiny at all. She is almost as tall as you, and really quiet somehow. Have you noticed that? She’s like a ninja. Actually, it makes sense, because she literally is a ninja, she has a black belt, did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t. I don’t know much about her. I just met her today.’ He frowned. A martial artist? He hadn’t picked that.

‘You wouldn’t expect it, right?’ Her face fell, seeing his slight frown. ‘Don’t worry though, she is probably more unco than you ever were,’ she interjected. He frowned because a martial arts back ground really blindsided him, but he knew from Garcia's expression she thought it was because she told him Matthews was "cool." She didn’t want him to think she had replaced him. He smiled as she rambled. ‘Like way more unco than you were. Last month, Simmons tried to get her to sub in for the FBI mixed volleyball team, because she mentioned she did it in high school. She didn’t tell us she had only umpired though. She didn’t want to let the team down. Poor baby got Scott-Stirling-ed by a buff firefighter first serve-’ He watched Garcia's loyalties conflict on her face as she realised in trying to reassure him, she had embarrassed Grace. ‘-Um please don’t tell her I told you, we’re not supposed to talk about it. Simmons was devastated that the FBI lost to firefighters. It knocked us out of the finals for the first time in years. And Grace was really upset-'

‘-Garcia,' he stopped her. 'It’s fine. I like her. She seems like a good fit here. She’s nice.’ He smiled at her, letting her know he approved. ‘Nice’ was the key criteria they both hoped for in all members they worked with. ‘What is Scott-Stirling-ed?’

‘It’s a reference to a meme, she um got-’ Garcia mimed getting smacked in the face and passing out.

‘Ouch.’ He winced. Speaking of Agent Matthews, the pulled out her notepad, ‘Hey Garcia, I know you’re busy, but-’

‘Anything for you, Reid,’ she gave him her full attention. ‘Hit me.’

‘Did Matthews ask you for mortality data for the past 5 years?’

‘No, she did not. I am trying not to get offended, but she knows her way around data collection and can use Excel like no man's business. Was it for her thesis?’

‘Thesis?’ He asked in surprise. ‘She’s working on a Ph.D?’

‘Ah, she would have called it her personal project?’ Garcia said smugly.

‘Yeah?’ He asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘I’ve been here long enough to pick up a few things from you profilers. Grace has this complex about being seen as smart. I can’t work it out. When she’s around people she doesn’t know or sees as superior, like people she should show off to, she acts… shy, but that’s not the right word, it's more like she’s afraid of people knowing she’s smart. For example, now when I ask her what she did on the weekend, she tells me exactly what she did. But if I asked her when she first started, or if Tara, JJ or Emily asks… she like normal-ifies her life. “Oh, I had brunch with a friend, did some chores, worked on a puzzle.” Except I know her friend is actually her supervisor, Dr Boland, with the Smithsonian. The puzzle is sorting boxes of bones in the unidentified collection. Chores is code for personal stuff, that I won’t share with you because she trusts me enough to tell me. It’s weird, but you should be flattered. It means she has a high opinion of you.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, but she sees you as a friend, which I can tell makes you feel just a little superior to me right now.’

Garcia giggled. ‘Maybe just a bit. But the thesis, I don’t think she’s got a solid hypothesis, but she’s looking at something to do with efficient grave finding. Somehow from that, she’s working a model for clandestine-depression—something-or-other. It’s beyond me.’

‘You mean a predictive model for Secondary Depression indicators of clandestine burials?’ He guessed.

Garcia shook her head, ‘I don’t know what that means Reid, but it sounds kinda similar to what she told me. Please don’t tell her, but I kinda... wasn’t listening when she explained it to me.' She grimaced. 'I love her to bits, but I switched off as soon as she said grave finding. And I know that’s bad, but it was Saturday. Saturday. A day off and we were having bubble tea and enjoying the Romantasy Fiction Festival. I wanted to think about hot elvish princes, to buy merch, and get a book signed. I did NOT want to think about bones.’

‘She said it was a fantasy novel convention.’ He frowned, ‘What’s Romantasy?’

‘Oh Reid, I’m sure you pretty little head will work it out, but she wasn’t lying. It was a fantasy novel convention. I, however, was solely there for the more spicy adult readers panel, which, I may have miss judged Grace’s interests and booked her a seat for as well. And that may have triggered the nervous ramble about said thesis on the way to the YA fiction stands she wanted to visit Afterwards. Like I said, graves are her comfort zone, elvish princes are mine. Anyway, why is her thesis important?’

He nodded along, ‘Would you say her research is more generalised, doesn’t involve case studies?’

‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘She is working with is census data. She is going off public information, said it would be unfair to fellow students if she used FBI resources. I think she’s been compiling data: place of death, cause of death, place of burial, missing persons reports, geographic data and also weather data.’

‘So she hasn’t asked you to pull case files for specific people?’ He pried.

‘She asked me for Nathan Harris’s files yesterday, oh and one of Rossi’s interviews from a few years back, but she did come to me after she couldn’t find them herself. I get the sense she doesn’t want to bother me. She’ll even go to the basement and go through the compactors before asking me to search for something,’ Garcia told him.

‘Can you see if she has pulled any files by herself?’

‘What has she done? Is she in trouble?’ Garcia asked and quickly pulled Grace’s work search history.

There was nothing related to old cases that he could see recently. That was good news. If their hunch was right, they were dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated killer who might have had access to their case files. And those types had been the most dangerous the BAU had dealt with. It was not something Grace should pursue alone. It was dangerous.

‘Reid, what is going on?’

‘Can I get you to discreetly compile a list-’ She turned around and poised her hands over the keyboard, ‘-of every case we’ve worked on has led to an incarceration noting that an unsub is criminally insane or a person being institutionalised, as well as the current status of that unsub and print it for me? Can you also set a tip off warning if anyone accesses more than one of those files or searches the same parameters?’

‘Oof, that is a big list, that will take all night compile and print, tree killer, especially with these babies already searching like 7 different databases for all these things-’

‘It’s okay, it’s personal request, it might not be serious, I can come back tomorrow and pick up the list,’ he tried to brush it off, not wanting to alarm her. But it didn't work.

‘Why the secrecy and setting the tip offs them?’ She stared at him with worry. And he knew he couldn’t lie to her.

‘Agent Matthews found a pattern that might indicate an active serial killer while compiling her data, but it’s hard to tell at this stage. If there is one, they’re making the deaths look like suicides. It’ll be faster if I go through them rather than trying to correlate it with the computer. I remember what we profiled. I’ll be able to determine if it’s in character or suspicious. You guys can take it from there. But Garcia, if this unsub is out there… it would mean he has access to our files or has been following our cases closely for years.’ Spencer watched carefully to see any sign of fear in her. He knew how personal things got for her if the unsub was inside the system or could find out that anyone was looking for them. But there was no hesitation.

She finished typing and hit enter. ‘I’ve queued it up for you. That list should be ready and printed by morning.’

'Garcia,' he placed a hand on her shoulder, ‘Thank you so much.’

‘You are very welcome.’

The computer chimed, and they both looked at the alert on the screen.

‘Oh no. No, no,’ she winced.

His eyes flicked over the preliminary report the Highway Serial Crimes database had just flagged and he sighed. ‘I know this isn’t the news you hoped to update them with, but until we get people to Rapid City and process the crime scene, there’s not much else you can do from here once you send the team that. Have you eaten yet?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, we better fix that. Do you want to grab dinner with me?’

She managed a small smile. ‘I’ll never say no to spending time with my favourite genius. Tandoori or Burritos?’

‘Actually there’s this new Korean barbeque place I really enjoy-’

‘Done. I will drown my sorrows in kimchi and gyoza.’

‘Wait, did you just say I’m your favourite genius?’ He pretended to preen, which made her laugh. Good. He couldn’t leave her without putting a smile back on her face.

------- Groton, SD, Gold Stallion Inn Thursday July 8:15PM

The team reviewed their evidence, waiting for the State Troopers to arrive. They picked at the bowls of loaded fries the Inn’s owner had served them. They established a headquarters in the Inn’s adjoining diner that had been commandeered. The local police were looking at camera footage from the main road’s traffic light, trying to pin a time on the abduction by spotting the family car. Avery and Dr Boland were debriefing the CSI team and cataloguing the personal effects in the Gile’s room. They were also processing prints they had found. Nothing had come from it so far.

Dr Lewis updated the case board as the new crime scene photos came through. Garcia had found a link: Rapid City PD, the state capital, had just reported the bodies of a man and a woman who matched the description of their kidnapped parents. Photos of Lilian and Travis Giles Bodies stared back at her and names were now attached to the photos of the victims she had just seen: Tyler and Connor.

Grace was surprised that the parents weren’t as hard to identify. Their deaths were nowhere near as brutal. If it weren’t for the stolen car, she would not have thought it was the same unsub.

The Giles were found in a ditch next to a main road. Posed next to each other, single shots to the chest. She would guess a 24. Calibre. There were no casings, so he’d used a revolver or was more organised than they thought and took the casings with him. He had also dumped the Giles’ car as well. That was what disturbed her the most; he’d be looking for another ride, which meant he’d be looking for new victims.

The profile of a Family Annihilator was typically a patriarchal male narcissist who was experiencing stress, which presented as rage directed at his own family. However, this wasn’t his own family, and annihilators usually fitted into a certain typology. There were kills with motivators like; financial gain; drugs; sadism; or jealousy that an ex-partner had moved on. Or there were fantasy motivated kills; like believing a delusion that by killing a family, they were protecting them; assuming the role of a parent, inserting themselves in the family; punishing a certain member of the family for their own family troubles; or the involvement of a sexual fantasy.

This had various elements, but not enough to point to a specific motivator. Then there was also the overkill on the children that had a disability as well. This case seemed all over the place, yet somehow, in this unsub’s head it made sense, trying to untangle that was proving difficult.

Grace sat on the table closest to the map with her legs criss-crossed. A can of diet coke appeared in her vision unprompted. ‘You need some caffeine?’ Prentiss offered her her favourite beverage. She took it appreciatively and nodded a thanks as Prentiss continued pacing the diner, talking out loud to the team.

‘Okay, so this guy is one of a kind. There’s no sexual assault to any of the family members, overkill on kids. Then he is taking the parents across the state before killing them. Why, how does it all connect?’

‘Maybe he enjoys prolonging the terror of the parents. But if that the case why the overkill on the kids?’ Rossi put forward.

‘Well, separating the family would raise anxiety and terror for both the parents and the kids. Maybe there’s something there.’ Alvez agreed.

‘The posing of the parents, the shots to the chest could be a message, something about love or the family unit?’ Dr Lewis suggested.

‘What I don’t get is how did he get the parents to go with him all the way? I wouldn't comply if he did that to my kids. I'd be too broken to drive. I have no reason to follow directions.’ JJ pointed out.

‘Well, maybe that’s it, maybe the parents don’t know? Maybe he takes and kills the kids before the parents notice them missing. Then he threatens the parents, tells them to drive, do what he says and they will see their kids again,’ Simmons proposed.

There were nods of agreement around as Emily added their points to the board.

‘But if he is not showing the parents their kids’ remains, then it’s not about the psychological torture for the parents. Which means this whole thing is about the children. It’s the kids he is angry at, their the target of his rage.’ Dr Lewis spoke, and Grace focused on the map in front of her.

Dr Reid’s advice played in her mind as her team’s theories continued to bounce around. She placed her finger on Minneapolis, where the Giles were from, and drew it across to Groton, then from Groton to Rapid City.

Why Groton? There was nothing to attract the Giles family here, no personal connection. Simmons said it was a rest stop, but where were the victims going if they chose to stop in Groton? They most likely took Route 12 to get here, so perhaps the route went somewhere important. Using her phone, she searched Route 12. The result surprised her; it was a scenic route. It went all the way to Washington State coast. Coast to coast pretty much east to west. It was a tourist drive.

The next question was why dispose of the child victims at a golf course and then drive 6 hours with the parents in their own car and kill them, and dump them and their car?

Answer was that the car ride had to be some kind of ritual.

To get to Rapid City he would have taken Route 37 south and then Route 11 to west to Rapid City. When she typed Route 37 and 11 into google, all it did was confirm that it was the fastest route to get to Rapid city. There wasn’t much else about it. So if it wasn’t about the journey, it had to be the destination. She searched the map in front of her around the Rapid City area and something stood out nearby.

‘Mount Rushmore,’ she voiced.

‘What you got there Five-O?’ Alvez asked as he spied her put a pin on Mount Rushmore.

She thought of the timeline. The Giles checked in to the inn and had dinner around 7:40. The map said that the journey was about four hours, which meant they left Minneapolis at around 3:30. on a Wednesday. It clicked; school. School was out. It was summer. Grace swept her eyes over the Giles’ belongings CSI were cataloguing into evidence across the other side of the diner. She looked over at the table of belongs and saw large full suitcases, multiple camera bags, a large advanced first aid kit and a Nintendo Switch. The family left Minneapolis and drove as far as they could before they would need to stop for dinner and a rest. This was supposed to be a road trip holiday. Probably the first the family had been able to go on because Tyler, the younger boy, was now old enough that his bones didn’t fracture as easily.

On the other side of the equation, the trip the unsub took to Rapid City was around six hours. Right nearby was a famous landmark, and the fact that the car was dumped might suggest that the unsub was taking a rest, like he would stay the night there.

Four to six hours was the distance you would travel a day if you had kids in the car.

‘I think it’s a road trip,’ she turned to her team, ‘He saw the Giles family was on a road trip. That’s why he chose them. He kills the kids to get rid of them and then makes the parents fulfil his fantasy; he made the parents drive him to see mount Rushmore. That’s his fantasy: he is on a family road trip and he has their undivided attention.’

Everyone went silent. It wasn’t the last piece of the puzzle, but it certainly filled in a lot.

‘This guy wants to be an only child,’ Rossi concluded.

Prentiss stalked forward and with confidence wrote in big letters across the board; JEALOUS ANNIHILATOR.

-------- Groton, SD, Gold Stallion Inn Thursday July 8:35 pm

‘We are looking for a white male in his late 20s to early 30s. He is definitely physically fit and we believe he has served time before. He is emotionally immature, violent, bad tempered, and a narcissist. He has an inflated ego and this will make him difficult to be around. He most likely doesn’t have many friends or stable relationships because of this,’ Prentiss told the gathered police, CSI, and State Troopers. They all listened intently, some even scribbled notes down.

‘This guy would be in and out of a job or in a job that afforded him isolation, but it will be a menial job with physical labour. This kind of job paired with his narcissism makes him feel undervalued and un-listened to. He craves validation attention. And this is something he has struggled with since childhood.’ Alvez explained.

‘We are looking for a type of killer called a Family Annihilator. This unsub falls in the jealous type. This type of killer is usually a patriarchal male jealous of his Ex “replacing” him with a new partner or new relationship, which results in the unsub killing his own family. However, in this case, instead of a patriarchal role, he is taking on the role of a child. He is jealous of his siblings. He wants to be an only child. And also unusually in this case, he is subjecting other families to his rage which indicates he cannot inflict this upon his own family. Now this will because he can’t get to them, is too afraid too, or he has already killed members of his family and cannot complete the fantasy. The target of his rage is mostly likely his younger siblings, who probably have a physical disability that affects their mobility.’ Grace detailed and met Avery’s eyes. He sent her an encouraging nod as he prepared a press brief.

'As this guy seems to have periods of organised behaviour and disorganised behaviour, is likely that he is delusional and has suffered a psychotic break caused by a recent stressful event. He is stuck in a fantasy that involves going on a road trip holiday as an only child and when reality breaks that fantasy; he snaps. We need to issue this warning to the public: Holidaying families with physically disabled children need to be aware and exercise caution. Stay together and ensure their vehicles and hotel rooms are locked. Be wary of hitchhikers and rest stops.’ Rossi told them.

‘As the children of the family were killed first and brutally, the children are surrogates for people he really wants to kill or wants to relive killing. These would be his own siblings. They would have probably been younger than him and had mobility issues. This would have resulted in them receiving more attention and care from his parents. Which, when met with his difficulty in empathising and narcissism, caused extreme resentment. He likely expressed this in outbursts of rage throughout his youth, attempting to gain attention.’ Dr Lewis explained.

‘His delusion is trying to recreate something from his past. We believe there was a particular traumatic event in the unsub’s life that would have either occurred when he or his siblings were around 10 to 15, as this is the age of his victims. We need to be looking at incidents involving families with one or more children with physical disabilities or mobility issues around 15 years ago. His choice of disposal site and abduction point suggests he is local or grew up here. So have a think back to anyone you remember fitting this description,’ Simmons added.

‘Rapid City Police is canvassing rest stops and hotels within a 10-mile radius of the last disposal site. He will probably be out there looking for new victims, so it is priority one that we get this warning out to the public to reduce the opportunities for this guy. We will send three of our agents with the state police to Rapid City, and we will reconvene in the morning with any updates to the case. That’s all, thank you,’ Prentiss summarised and the crowd of people dispersed. She turned to her team.

‘Simmons, JJ, I want you to take Avery and some of the State Troops with you on the jet and get to Rapid City as soon as you can. Get some rest and first thing in the morning, get everything you can from them. We need crime scene collaboration and geographic profiling to be top-notch here. We can’t let this guy slip out the net. Rest of us will stay here and try to figure out who this guy is. Hopefully, Garcia can find something in the morning or the locals will come forward. The Groton is too specific a place for it not to be personal choice. I think it’s likely he could return here.’

They all dispersed, finishing up what they could and deciding who would room with who. Grace paired up with Dr Boland, who said she was a heavy sleeper, which was great because Grace was not a great roommate.

She sat on the table flicking at the tab of her can despondently. She stared at the crime scene pictures and the then at the smiling family photo. She thought she should give Dr Boland a head start.

Grace knew she had always had trouble sleeping, diagnosed insomnia, which, when the treatments didn’t work, lead to the ADHD diagnosis. She had known that she would have disrupted a light sleeper. Given the various positions she had woken up in, she knew she fussed a lot in her sleep. There was also the fact that occasionally she woke up screaming, tangled in sheets, stumbling into a wall or tumbling over her nightstand. Not a pleasant roommate at all. But what she didn’t know until JJ told her was she talked in her sleep whenever she passed out on the couch in the jet.

This was one of those cases that would add to the bad nights if she didn’t get home to get it all out soon. It wasn’t just the brutality of the case; though that never helped. Instead, it was the motivation behind the case. This was awful on another level for her. It was too close to home. She wished she couldn’t imagine the hate this unsub had towards his own siblings that caused the carnage she saw in the photos as she stared at the board. True, she didn’t know resentment on this level, but she was ashamed to admit she understood.

‘What is it, kid?’ Rossi’s voice startled her. She turned to him and saw his concern. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he gave her that look. The downward tilt and eyebrow raise. The one he gave her when he first met her. She sighed. He knew her weakness, her tells, he knew her probably better than anyone. There was no point in trying to hide.

‘This case… it’s just the amount of times I wished that… nothing like this, of course, but I don’t know, the times that I wished they would just disappear, that they would just get out of my life, you know? What does it say about me? I understand this guy and I hate that I do.’

He reached a hand out and rested it on her shoulder, and she didn’t flinch away.

‘Hey, just cause you understand a wacko doesn’t mean you are one, right? You’ve got empathy. That that is a certified fact. Thinking like that, it’s part of the job.’ She hung her head. He didn’t let up though. ‘Considering what you’ve gone through, I think I’d be more surprised if you hadn’t had thoughts like that. No one is that much of a saint. And call me biassed, but you’re my favourite.’

She snorted a laugh then, ‘You haven’t met them.’

‘Well, by the sounds of it, I never will. One’s in space.’

‘Pfft if only,’ she snorted, then chuckled as she remembered something he would find funny, ‘You know, before I knew where babies came from, I used to think they came from space. Dad played along. He told me that what’s the helicopter pads on top of hospitals were for, it was where the spaceships landed. When they were born, I remember siting by the window with dad, looking at the stars trying to guess which planet they came from.’

‘My money’s on Vulcan,’ Rossi joked.

‘See, you would think so, but I’ve been told that Vulcan is actually inhospitable to humanoids,’ she rolled her eyes.

Rossi shook his head amused. His eyes flicked to her face and he could tell exactly where her mind was at now.

‘How is your family?’ He lowered his voice and stepped closer, asking before she could dodge it. She took a deep breath and her shoulders sagged.

‘Last I talked with mom, dad’s not any worse, but he’s not any better. They’re in Houston to be close to Ody and his girlfriend. I don’t know about Cass… she was in Hong Kong last I heard. But I don’t know, people don’t tell me stuff anymore. And the thing that sucks is that mom’s the only one who reaches out, because she feels guilty. And I still can’t… I can’t forgive her. I only talk to her because she’s that last link I have to the rest of them. And I think dad wants to talk but… the way I left, Rossi, the whole thing, it hurt everyone, especially dad. I’ve tried to fix it, but its just… its not fixing. I reached out to Ody about Thanksgiving. I haven’t heard anything back.’

Rossi gave her a painfully empathetic look. ‘I wish I could say it will be fine, that it will go back to normal, but you and I know that things like that are going to take time to get over, and they are never going to go back to the way they were. But, I want you to know my place is always open for thanksgiving if you want somewhere to go.’

‘I appreciate it, Rossi but… if I don’t get invited home or called away, I’ll probably spend it in Honolulu, with you know… She doesn’t get any other visitors.’

She could tell he hoped that she wouldn’t say that.

‘You don’t have to keep going back there. You don’t have any obligations.’

‘She has no family, no one else Rossi-’

‘-Yeah, and that’s her own fault, because she killed them, Grace.’ He said simply.

She knew he was right, and she knew he meant well and he tried to understand, but he never would. There were very few people on this side of the law that would.

‘I know, but I also know she did what she did because not one person who should’ve cared for her, ever did. She was my friend Rossi, in some way she still is. Everyone deserves to have at least one person who cares.’

‘I just worry that you forget that you need to take care of yourself,’ Rossi admitted.

‘My therapist isn’t concerned about it, and I’m always honest with her,’ she told him, hoping that it was enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t. She sighed. ‘Look, tell you what, if… I don’t get invited home and I end up spending Thanksgiving in Honolulu, I promise that I will spend Christmas with you. Does that make you feel better?’

‘Immensely,’ Rossi said. ‘And you’re not just using me to hide from this stripper that Alvez, JJ and Tara have been talking about?’

She laughed, ‘No, though it would be kinda funny to see you kick one out of your house mid-Christmas dinner. It’d be a better show than what they'd be paid to perform.’

Another thought came to her, and she remembered what she was supposed to tell him and Prentiss tonight, when she had the chance.

‘On a kinda related note, there’s no rule I’m missing, like you can’t be in the BAU if you were friends with a… ah, mass murderer before you joined, right? Cause I declared everything when I joined the bureau, I’m not going to get fired if it comes up or-’

‘Hey no, no. You weren’t on that case, and given that the circumstances in which you became friends were unrelated to her… activities. There is no conflict of interest,’ Rossi reassured her, then shrugged, ‘Unless she breaks out and we have to catch her. Then you would have to sit that one out. Why do you ask?’

‘Hypothetically...' she began

‘Oh no,’ Rossi rolled his eyes.

She winced and continued, ‘-If a current case were to involve her, but not for the crimes she did, but like, she was a witness to another crime? Would that be a conflict of interest or an established rapport?’

‘That’s an oddly specific, you care to explain that hypothetical kid?’ Rossi frowned.

‘Well, I… may have something to run by you and Prentiss.’ She walked over to her bag and pulled out her files from this morning. ‘This is what I went to see Dr Reid for.’

‘Hey Emily! You got a minute?’ Rossi called her over.

Prentiss turned to them and looked at Grace’s files and Rossi's frown.

‘Why do I sense a migraine coming on?’ she asked, concerned.

‘Uh, I’ll try to be quick but, you better grab a coffee. I’m sorry, this isn’t going to take a minute.’ Grace apologised.

---------

Rapid City Area, SD, Thursday July 9:00 pm

He sat at the diner with the map and a plate of pie in front of him. He wasn’t looking at it, though. He was looking at them; his new family. They were perfect; well, they would be. The young burden was in a wheelchair, like his brother had been at the start. These kids were girls though. But that didn’t matter. Surely if the parents kept the runt, they would love to have a bit of variation. A boy would be a lovely addition. They would welcome the change, unlike the last ones.

He watched the eldest girl, perfect like him. She was on her phone, withdrawn like he had been. The parents talked to her sister animatedly, ignoring their perfect child. The Elder Girl was unappreciated like he had been. He saw himself. He’d make it right for her. It could be fixed. He could stop her from growing up to be like him, do her a favour. Not before he undid it though, that had to come first, and there was only one place he could do that. He couldn’t hear what the family were saying from here, but he decided tomorrow they would be his.

‘…The FBI especially has warned holidaying families with children with mobility issues and physical disabilities to be alert of their surroundings, to travel together when making stops, and ensure doors are locked. The killer is thought to be armed and dangerous and currently in the greater Rapid City region. Anybody with information is encouraged to call the hotline at the bottom of the screen…’

The words caught his attention. The FBI was looking for him in Rapid City? He smirked. The fools. He was finished here. He’d seen what he needed to. They wouldn’t find him here. How stupid would they look when he took this next family, right from under their noses?

----------

Next Chapter

Note: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this and if you love it, or even just like it, please leave a comment and/or like, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me.

TWs:

Ablesim: this is the big one. Unsub is targeting physically disabled people and uses awful language to describe disabled people. this is in his view point. it is the last section of the chapter under the time stamp 9:00PM if it not something you wan to read skip it. Summary is, he decides to target a family cause he see they have a young girl in a wheel chair. It's never justifiable at all to hate like that. unsub is horrible and delusional. Be warned for ick factor.

Child death: sadly the victims are kids. also hinted that the unsub has done this before to his own siblings

murder, crime scene description: non graphic, but the parent's are shot, some photos are described.

#oc #OC Grace Matthews #BAU #criminal minds #mentor spencer #big brother spencer #spencer gets a happy ending #the protege #the protege chapter 5 #fanfic #my fic #criminal minds case #spencer reid

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thelordofgifs · 2 years ago

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I just caught up on tfs - it made a long train journey a lot better!

I love the interjections from the cool, omniscient narrator. In my head they are done lemony snicket style lmao - 'Here Curufin was about to make a Terribly Stupid Cruel and Self-destructive decision, or in fewer words what his brothers had nicknamed a Curufin'

Two Qs - do you hc there being moral differences between the followers of each feanorian to match their Lords? E.g. Celegorms servants with E&E 1.0 vs. Ambarussa possibly being stabbed in the back by theirs at Sirion? If so why do you think all of Maedhros' followed Curufin in tfs as he's attempting to attack Doriath?

Also since Luthien is getting reembodied like in Canon, is she going to take more of an active role? Obvs she doesn't want to and ABSOLUTELY deserves her peace... but her words to Finrod seem to suggest she's a touch invested, esp since Thingol is going to be involved...

Ik this is really long so apologies, but hope this helps take your mind off the pain a little and it's more manageable soon!

Ahhh tysm you don’t know what it means to hear that as a longtime reader-of-fics-on-the-train!

hehe to me the omniscient narrator sounds like me but when I’m drunk or otherwise unfiltered, so the Snicket comparison is very flattering. Curvo absolutely deserves to be skewered Lemony Snicket-style though. What a loser (affectionate)

I don’t *particularly* think there were moral differences between the followers tbh, that feels a little like stereotyping. Sure, one reason you might choose to follow, say, Maglor over Curufin might be “I think Maglor is a better person” – but another might be “I don’t want to live in Himlad”, “I want to join the cavalry”, or “my best friends are followers of his”. Celegorm’s servants might have, for all we know, followed the same terrible corruption arc he did himself; and tbh the Fëanorian followers who turned backstabber at Sirion were definitely the most moral of the lot, not that that’s saying much. In tfs Maedhros’ people followed Curufin for several reasons: Curufin’s getting quite good at this whole coup thing, everyone can see that Maedhros has completely snapped and doesn’t really have any authority (although, importantly, nobody noticed that he was actually having an unreality attack: hence why he was still wandering around with a knife, to deleterious effect), and frankly “Thingol killed Fingon and Maglor” sounds like a solid reason to follow Curufin in attacking Doriath. Not that some of them didn’t have doubts, but Curufin was both being difficult to disobey and also looking like the saner option from among the available lords.

Lúthien is going to do SOMETHING. I haven’t decided what yet!! But so far one of the biggest divergences from canon her story has had is her pity for Maedhros, and the genuine liking she took to Maglor – and I definitely think this is going to bear fruit! If one of the questions tfs is posing is “can the sons of Fëanor be saved from the awful things they bound themselves to?” then Fingon and Lúthien are very key parts of the answer.

Thank you so much for this ask! It definitely helped, and I loved hearing your thoughts ❤️❤️

#asks #theworldisquietheretooquiet #the fairest stars

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abbymorla · 1 year ago

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Blog Project Day 4 1/24/23

In Astroboy I think it is pretty awesome that the author, Tezuka Osamu, makes an appearance and acknowledges the technological advancement of Japan. The author also ponders if a science based society has really been fulfilling to people. It is cool that Tezuka Osamu took a seemingly lighthearted manga and interjected some food for thought. I also appreciate Tezuka's use of pathos in this manga. It is easy to sympathize with the creator of Astro. I think many people who lose loved ones would do just the same if possible.

Furthermore, Astroboy addresses real stigmas associated with Japan! In the second chapter it points out something negative commonly associated with Japan- that Japanese people eat dogs. But rather than respond emotionally to this, the manga is factual, presenting instances of animal poaching/ abuse in other countries. I think that media is a powerful tool that can be used to bring awareness to common misconceptions, racist comments, etc. Side note I think it is so cute the manga says you have to treat dogs like family.

Embracing Defeat is completely heartbreaking. The emperor- so disconnected from his people, announcing the defeat of Japan. So many wives were probably filled with hope, just to find out their husbands died in battle or committed suicide as instructed by their superiors. It is important to note that the emperor never took accountability for his actions, never acknowledged that it was a complete and total loss and played the victim claiming to be the person who had the most pain. Despite a great defeat and several tragic events, Hirohito insisted that everyone remain unified and that they truly are still a divine country. Gaslighting!!!!! In the very end of this reading Sakaguchi says that in order to create a moral world, each individual has to have their own "samurai system". I agree with this as without introspective thought and moral assessment, the world would be complete chaos. If we all had our own "samurai system" we would force authority to comply to our standards.

#manga #anime and manga

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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twistedcharismaaa · 2 years ago

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Menace 4.2

Summary: A supernatural journey starring Masego (Micah Davis) and Tanerélle (Velvet).

Author’s Note: Hi guyssss! Here’s part 2 of chapter 4! I hope you all enjoy it! Please don’t forget to leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary! I love you guys and enjoy!!!

*Continued Flashback*

The next day Masego awakened in a pool of cool water. He sat up immediately and looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings. It looked as if he was in the middle of nowhere. There was absolutely nothing around him but trees, bushes, and open air. As soon as he started to stand to his feet, he saw a woman run from behind the bushes. She outstretched her hand towards him with a look of concern resting on her face.

“No! Don’t move! You’ll break the healing process!” She warned.

Masego looked at the woman with a confused look on his face. His eyes glossed over her small anatomy and landed on her soft facial features. Her eyes were kind and warm. She approached him timidly with a trusting smile residing on her lips.

“Healing process?” He repeated. “Where am I?” He added.

“You mean to tell me you don’t feel that? You lost a lot of magic. I found you in a cemetery after the black moon passed. I brought you here to heal you and to try to salvage what was left. My name is Elaya,” she answered, honestly.

“Masego,” he responded, as he cautiously laid back down. “And thank you,” he breathed.

With a smile, Elaya nodded and sat beside him.

“How did you find me? How did you escape the curse? I saw people dying in the streets. It was an attack on our kind-”

“Not just ours,” she interjected. “This happened all around the world. Every person that harbors even the smallest bit of magic is dead. Fairies, witches, creatures of the sea, and everything in between. Only beasts and humans walk the earth now. There are only a few of us left,” she continued.

“How do you know?” Masego responded in disbelief.

“I‘m a witch just like you. I can feel the difference. It’s in the very air, the roots of the earth, and the tides of the sea. The magic is like a flickering flame now,” she answered, as she waved her hands back and forth on top of the water. Masego watched the water glow and bend to her will. The sensations of the small waves soothed his body but not his mind.

“How did you escape it?” He questioned.

“I’m not sure honestly. I saw the black letters form on my skin and disappear repeatedly. I think my gifts shielded me long enough until the curse passed over. I’m a healer,” Elaya replied, now resting her busy hands in her lap. “I’m finished. You can get up now if you wish,” she added.

With slow movements, Masego sat forward. With the help of Elaya, he stood to his feet.

“How are you feeling?” she questioned.

Masego tilted his head back, licked his lips, and fixated on the clear blue sky above him. His eyes danced over the sky as if he was in search of something. He replayed that night over in his mind. He thought about all of the things he could’ve done differently if only he was prepared.

“Angry,” he confessed, before returning his gaze back to Elaya.

“I know,” Elaya responded, with tears welling in her eyes. “I am too,” she whispered.

Masego’s anger boiled inside of him like lava. His coven was dismantled, his powers were weakened and his community was destroyed. Whoever did this deserved more than just simple revenge - he wanted their blood and he wouldn’t be satisfied until he drowned it.

“C’mon, we have work to do,” he instructed, politely as he placed his hand on top of Elaya’s shoulder.

“Work?” Elaya quizzed.

“I’m going to restore the magic and kill whoever is responsible for this,” he answered simply. “And I’m going to need your help,” he continued, with a half smile.

The determined look in his eye was brighter than any starry night.

“You really think it’s possible? With just the two of us?” she questioned, feeling unsure.

“I do,” Masego paused. “There’s more of us out there. You said it yourself. We just have to find them,” he added. “Elaya will you help me? Please? ” he questioned, as he stared into her eyes.

A brief silence fell between them both. Quietly, Elaya’s mind drifted back to that night like a boat on a slow tide. She folded her arms against her chest and closed her eyes. She never felt fear the way she did that night and she never wanted to feel that way again. It was clear to her that her people were being hunted and these weren’t the times to be alone. She needed Masego as much as he needed her.

“Yes,” she whispered, before opening her eyes again.

An ever-growing grin appeared on Masego’s face. And just like that, their search began.

—-----

*Present*

Determined and fueled by his anger, Masego searched relentlessly for others like him. Years turned into decades and decades into centuries. Luckily he stumbled on a few gifted supernaturals along the way. Underground connections were made, allies were formed, and friendships were created. Slowly, he rebuilt. Everything was going to plan until Velvet arrived. Ever since then, there has been nothing but madness.

“If you want your debt repaid, kill him!” Masego yelled, with a heavy breath.

Velvet looked at Masego and then back at the vampire that stood before her. She realized that she had two choices - kill the vampire or kill the witch that intended to imprison her. Both choices would grant her freedom but at what price? The clock was ticking and she needed to make a decision fast.

“Velvet!” Masego called out once more.

Laughter rumbled from the monstrous vampire’s lips as he approached Velvet and Masego gradually. With one flick of Velvet’s fingers, her claws appeared. She flicked her tongue over her sharp teeth and made her decision. A corrupt smile formed on her lips before she took her first strike.

—--

Part 4.1 Part 5

@ghostfacekill-monger @chaneajoyyy @l-auteuse @sheabuttahwrites @brwn-recluse @19jammmy @isisafrofairy @blackburnbook @neeville @nelleana @theboldlady @geriixox @errin261 @mooon-berry @just-juicee @teardropzih @highasfantasy @savagescorpion @xxariaxxaxx @themajesticnigerian @miyahmaraj @theholytrinity @theconsciousrebel @squigglyemotions @theycallmechanty @sataband0 @gbdinfinitedrill @hooliemooliedonutshawp @nzia-writes @fendionmyfeet @pinkthongs

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missgeniality · 4 years ago

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Opaline Moon (m)

“The Moon can never breathe, but it can take our breath away with the beauty of its cold, arid orb.” - Munia Khan

➺ Banner: @hobiandsprite 💕

➺ Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Friends to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11.2k

➺ Summary: You are ingrained to love Jin, right upto the blood that courses through your veins. Confessing, however, is a whole other game. So it’s a good thing you’re bad at keeping your hands to yourself, because happenstance can handle the rest.

➺ Warnings: talks about dance floor fucking, making out in the bar bathroom, fingering, pussy slapping, passing out drunk, daydreams about thigh riding, reader masturbates, they make out A LOT, neck kissing, a hickey, nipple play, some biting, cum eating (kind of, you’ll see), blowjob, protected sex!, reader and jin are corny, the hurt is real but the sex is real-er

➺ Author’s Note: My lovely, lovely moots - @taegularities, @kithtaehyung and @baepsaetan, thank you so much for betaing this and hyping it up, your comments made this fic a hundred times better! As I mentioned on the teaser, this fic took a lot out of me, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing the angst and will write more whenever the story aligns! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing, and I hope this lovable Jin reaches your heart! (ngl, in usual fashion, I will come back and edit it again, so if you see a spelling mistake, your eyes are lying to you) Do let me know what you think, your asks and comments make my day!

This is the second part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Sweltering heat. Blaring traffic. Little to no sleep. Through all things wrong, one man’s thoughts wrapped around you like a cooling breeze, a shield to protect you from the vicissitudes of reality, to draw you back into all of him. Unfortunately, your reality may never see that day come to light.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, the man who cooked you up a greasy break-up meal at three in the morning with not a sight of discomfort, putting your needs above all.

Kim Seokjin, whose puns make you roll your eyes heavenward, half awed at how he manages to pull one out of his collection at a moment's notice, and half irked by the untimely laugh it brings out of you.

Kim Seokjin, the man who will never be yours, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

One could argue that the miscommunication that had caused this present condition was two-way. If you had stopped him, corrected him, let him know the truth… you wouldn’t have to resort to the extreme measures you’re currently entangled in. One would also say, you are trying to redeem your mistake by trying too hard. Surely, everyone and their mothers could see through your ruse.

This is the fourth time you’re visiting Jin for his BE shoot - a shoot taking place two hours away from the city, disguised under various layers of secrecy to prevent any leakage of the album concept, or Jin in general. Of course, you had been made privy to such exclusive information, because you and Jin were ‘best friends’.

Best. Friends.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Best friends. The term you coined for (and forced upon) the bond you had. The bond that was too close to sprouting into something new, something fresh, something that was filled with glimmering allure and dragged you in like quicksand. But also, it reeked of commitment, of shadows, of newness that you hadn’t felt in the longest time, and fear of already being far too deep in without even taking the first step.

The loud thrum of some internet kid’s new hit pulses through the air of the club as bundles of couples occupy the dance floor, laughing and gyrating to a song that, in your opinion, most definitely does not suit gyrating. But with enough of the weekend happy hours intake combined with hormone-riddled minds, one could very well throw it back to a church choir.

You weave through the drunken bodies, trying not to spill the precariously held three drinks in your hands, making your way to your inner circle, the only people to blame for dragging you to this slosh-fest.

“Y/N!”

Somehow Hoseok’s voice can echo across the club, but you didn’t even need his addressal because Jin’s laughter is loud enough to navigate anyone to your table. Seeing you struggle with the glasses (and mostly the crowd, with some of them living their exhibitionist dreams), Hoseok gets up to assist you.

“I swear, if I see one more couple pretending to be dancing as they rub one off of each other’s thighs, the black market will have my eyes.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin’s breathy voice interjects your black-market dreams, still bursting in short laughs from whatever sent him rolling before your arrival. “Why don’t you go join them?”

“And whose thigh is she taking, yours?” Yeji snorts out, one hand holding her nebula blue drink, the other wrapped around Hoseok, urging him to come closer. Jin’s features scrunch into a cringe, and you’re thankful for the dim lighting because the disappointment in your features does not reach them.

“The only action these leather pants are getting is in the damned laundromat,” he points to his shiny trousers, “some jerk dropped his drink on it.”

“You could be the first person to give some chick an orgasm and a yeast infection.” Hoseok giddily adds, his fifth shot clearly making a mess of his brain cells.

Jin claps and gets up to move away from the group. “Better than a pregnancy!” he yells, before zigzagging through the crowd, possibly to the restroom. He is on his third cocktail, and you’d think cocktails are lighter drinks. But in this bar, their taps just seem to flow with tequila, and it is very evident in the way Jin is currently walking.

His absence hits you harder than you think, but it might be the alcohol talking. Jin has always been the mood-maker of the group, the one who brings everyone together. Of late though, his magnetic persona has been an irritant in your life. Any outing you two take, any chance you have to come clean about the burgeoning crush you have on him, is effectively disrupted by one of his posse. And today, Hoseok and Yeji took that trophy.

“Earth to Y/N. Has the cocktail finally broken you?”

You flutter your eyes in a manic fashion, to disperse the daydream you were indulging yourself in, and bring your attention back to the couple calling for you. Surprisingly, they have stood up, Yeji emptying the last of her neon drink.

“What happened?”

“We are going to the club nearby, they have better stuff. And that’s code for ‘they actually add water to the drink and the surround sound doesn’t shatter your ear drum’.’”

She isn’t wrong. The cocktails and music here are a 19-year-old frat party dream, not something the working class can digest. But you’re tired at this point, and don’t want to be smothered by someone else’s love life when your own is down the dumps.

“You guys carry on! I’ll tell Jin where you are and he’ll meet you there!”

You watch as Hoseok and Yeji lead each other to the exit, hands circling their partner’s waist. They giggle on and on, about nothing and everything, and it only hardens the emptiness you feel inside you.

Why can’t you gather the balls to spit your feelings out? What could possibly go wrong? Yes, you may lose one of your closest friends, but is this friendship really worth the agony? The bitterness you feel when you see any couple enjoying themselves? The anger you harbor whenever Jin tells you about his dates? The heartache, when he hugs you and tells you that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him… as a friend? Is it? Your plastered brain tells you to not make any rash decisions, so you don’t, instead choosing to get up and search for your best friend.

The corridor leading to the washrooms is dimly lit, throwing a merlot filter over your eyesight, making you squint in search of your friend. You being shitfaced does not help, and while relishing in your floating wooziness, you see Jin come out, and feelings you’ve held at bay for so long slither through your currently porous defenses.

He has always been good-looking. He himself has said so a dozen times.

But wow.

His hair lays messily atop his beautiful face, unkempt, like a breeze of beauty swept across his mighty looks and displaced every strand, causing disarray, but even the disarray only frames his superior looks and adds to its potent charm. The black, patchy sweater hanging loose off his broad shoulders makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel as a friend. That stupid gut of yours is currently screaming, yelling for all hands on deck, trying to block all the feelings from gushing in and sending you into overdrive.

By the time you can gather yourself to stop from giving in to those dangerous thoughts, Jin has crossed the distance between you, coming close, too close. Chocolate-brown eyes peer into your soul, searching for whichever fantasy you chose to lose yourself in. His eyes flit down to notice your rumpled dress that has found its way a couple of inches above its designated spot. His gaze returns to yours, but not without a newfound hardness, an almost steely glaze over the kindness that you usually find in the chocolate pools, accentuated under the garnet lighting.

“Hey, umm…” You beg for a reprieve, from your thoughts, from your filthy mind, from the way he is eyeing your cleavage, or just for the burning between your legs. You’re about to make some serious mistakes, you can feel it down to your bone.

You’re far too overdressed.

You knew it when you were in the process of getting dressed, but right now, you feel it much more - you look like a shiny disco ball orbiting amidst the plethora of loose tees, leggings and flannels. Everything screams comfort, because the amount of work they’re putting into this begs for it.

The strappy lace sundress you wear is extremely out of place, the halter-neck tie behind your neck fastened a little looser than necessary, giving your breasts the exposure they deserve, a nice valley view. Your dress skirt, adorned with pretty frills and dainty flowers, cut across your thigh to frame your petite hips. You are one floppy sun hat away from an extravagant Greek cruise - and in the moment you wish you had one to hide your face in shame.

You’re just out here, trying to escape the zone.

“Oh, would you look at the time, it’s tits out Tuesday already?”

Your eyes roll before Sanghoon even finishes his sentence, because you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. On the team of the set design, he is carrying a whole drapery worth of plush, mauve curtains, struggling with the slipping fabric. But apparently not struggling enough to stop him from getting his nose into your business, it seems.

“Literally not even a time you just mentioned. Can’t get one thing right.” You can’t stop yourself from stretching a hand out to feel the curtain fabric, the satiny sheets begging to be touched. Before you can though, Sanghoon moves away, not allowing you to shift the focus of the conversation.

“Don’t steer away from the facts. Your tits.”

“That’s the fact?”

“They’re out.” He bucks up, trying to point with the hand stuffed underneath all the cloth. “That’s the fact.”

“Ugh, can’t a girl dress up once in a while?” The pointed attention makes you uncomfortable, because everything he’s insinuating is true. With every passing staff member, you count a new shade of grey, interspersed with occasional blacks and greens, a stark contrast to your floral overtones. Amidst the thousand footsteps taken in your vicinity, only yours are pointed heels, echoing across the studio with every clack. But you’re a stubborn one, refusing to give in to his totally valid argument. “I just woke up early.”

“Girl.” Like light through frosted glass, he sees through your bullshit, but only partially. “You put an alarm to dress up? I have nightmares of the boss brandishing her whip and telling me to get into position, and even that doesn’t wake me up.”

“Have you ever considered… not announcing your kinks to everyone and their sisters?”

“Ehh,” he simply shrugs, “nothing is new when you’ve serenaded your boss drunk in a karaoke bar and still managed to keep your job. Wait. Is that highlighter?”

“Stop staring into my tits!” You can’t believe you got caught, but also, who can you blame? After testing this outfit out from the crack of dawn, you decided your cleavage needed some extra help. Three YouTube tutorials and one TikTok lady - who make it look far easier than it is - down, the contouring brought out the swell of your breasts, and against the light fabric of your dress, it does look too good to be true.

Memories of that night in the bar come in billows and waves, of how enamored Jin was with the way your boobs looked at that time. Even under the dingy lighting, in the cramped space, under heavily inebriated scrutiny, you couldn’t miss the flicker of heat in his gaze every time it passed your chest.

One thing led to another, and it was a cascade none of you could stop. The heat of attraction between you two does not help your wandering mind, and the fever drowns the knowledge that what you’re feeling is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, crossing some lines that can never be mended back again. With the proximity, his musky scent invades whatever defenses you were trying to patch, piercing through all your inhibitions and you pull him into you, claiming his lips to be yours.

With his wobbly knees and your wobbly heels, you somehow find your way to the washroom - mostly he does, you give in halfway to wrap your legs around his lean waist, his sturdy legs balancing your weight on them as your back hits the wall, and his lips tear down your walls.

“You look so fucking sexy today,” between bated breaths and indulgent sighs you confess, “just driving me nuts.” Letting your hands drag along his abdomen, feeling the ups and downs of his abs, you attempt to rid him of the sweater that’s been on your hit list all night. But to your dismay, your endeavor is blocked, when Jin gathers your wrists in his palm, turning you around to bend you over on the countertop, the smooth marble chill hitting your braless chest, perking your nipples under the cold.

“And you?” Jin bends to give your earlobe a languid lick, progressing very slow, a complete contrast to the movement of his hips as he ruts against your ass, your already short dress bunching up with every move. “You think it’s smart to have your tits torment me like this?” Grabbing a handful from behind, he tests the weight of each fleshy mound, and by now you are certain your perked nubs can pierce his palm.

His free hand, not yet torturing you, decides to get in on the action and disappears under the counter, swiftly crossing the bunched fabric of your dress, gaining easy access to your pussy. The cold touch of his pads sears against the heat of your core, finding your pleasure button and languidly fiddling with it, with no intention to cross you over the brink in sight. The only pleasure you can indulge in is the reflection of him abusing your nipples, pinching and tugging them down, whispering filthy words into your ear as he takes in your fucked out countenance.

You feel lacking, weak hands balancing your dizzy self, finding purchase to keep you upright - but you’re both drunk on alcohol and hypnotized by his beauty to do much more than stare at his mirrored counterpart. “For fuck’s sake, kiss me.”

How he understood your slurred words, you don’t know, but you are glad he did. In a moment you’ve been displaced, the hurried motion sending your neurons into a flurry. Once your back meets the hard marble, and your eyes have the privilege to see his, you pull him in closer, the force enough to hold you against the wall while your legs wrap around his lean waist.

Originally not a fan of drunken misadventures, that side of yours is strangely mute to the going current onslaught. Well, you don’t have much breath left to say anything, because Jin is efficiently stealing it all, his teeth clashing with yours as you engage in the messiest kiss ever known to mankind (or at least, to you). He changes pace often, dragging his tongue leisurely against your lower lip, conveying tacit words, just to switch it up with a sharp bite and reel you in.

One corner of your senses can feel his fingers messing around your cunt, and playing with the wetness your thong can barely contain. It makes you shudder, the damage that his fingers can cause solely circling around your hole.

“Fuck me.”

In your drunken stupor, you don’t know if the words leave you right, but you get confirmation when his long fingers finally penetrate your cunt, giving your walls something to clench on - although nothing could possibly compare to what you imagine you can get from his dick.

“God, you feel that grip,” he grunts, with two of his fingers in you, and Jin’s smile is the most sinister you’ve ever seen. “I think we should take this home,” is what his lips utter, but his fingers delve deeper, searching for the spot that crumbles you. The base of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit, and you are forced to bite down on this sweater, lest an embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and cues outsiders into your filthy doings.

“Now,” you half-hiss, half-growl as you grab the cusp of his legs to feel his half-hard erection grow under the pressure of your hand. Your palm sliters up just to go down again, this time without the blockade of his pants, but you are stopped short of success when Jin’s fingers slip out of you to give you a sharp swat.

“Stubborn, aren’t we? Can’t fucking wait,” he whispers into your ear, and as he envelops your lobe with his cushiony lips, he continues, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No, no, no.

Your brain rejects logic, chews and spits it out before any of the rationale seeps into you. You have wanted this for far too long. The need inside you for a meaningful relationship materializes in the form of recklessness, desperately looking for surface-level relief for the moment. A night of sewing sutures to your battle-worn heart, stitches that may come off at the slightest strain - but right now, that will do.

“Please, Jin,” your tantalizing tone riles up his cock again, eagerly waiting for your next words, “can’t you feel me dripping? Come on, I can take you.”

“Fuck, hear that wetness.” He lets his palm slap against your sopping entrance, not stopping with one. With every slap, droplets of your arousal splash out, the insides of your thighs coated in the sticky sweetness, but your body is an endless reservoir producing plentiful more for Jin to play with. “Have you been sitting with this all this time?”

Two long fingers invade your channel again, leaving you with no response other than a gasp. They scissor incessantly, preparing you for what could be the railing of your lifetime. One curl inside and his fingertips hit the spot he was looking for, making you warp your body to take the pleasure coursing through your veins. His tongue seems to mimic the actions, looping around your earlobe as he sucks it inside, both ends of your body engulfed in all the attention he could provide.

Your cunt is weeping against the assault of this man’s hands, tears of your cum flowing down your legs with every pump of his arm. You are getting there, the sweet swell of release inching closer and closer.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The tightness in your belly, that is to a point caused by Jin, is harboring other sensations that are not entirely pleasant. Maybe you’re anxious about the happenings. Maybe you haven’t had a good orgasm in a while and have just forgotten how this thing works.

Or maybe, the bar should have the water tap actually give out water.

Either your eyes close, or your brain does, but suddenly all you can see is darkness.

Again, you are just trying to escape the zone.

“Step under those studio lights,” pointing at the too-bright stage lights being set up at the moment, Sanghoon continues, breaking your daydream, “I bet you could signal to aliens with the booby-reflection. Call them to Netflix and chill.”

“In about five seconds, my heel will be puncturing your eye. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Sanghoon’s drivel was cut short, and so were your murder plans, with his entry. “Oh look, he’s on set. Gotta go!”

It’s like the lights, earlier threatening to burn away your skin, dim down in reverence of the glow of his face. The twinkle of his eyes when they meet yours. The shine of his smile when he throws you one. The vibrance of his tone when he calls out your name. Everything he does now threatens to burn you whole and it’s a wonder you’re not scalding, but the singe hurts you deep inside.

“Y/N! How do I look?” It’s a bathrobe. Like satin, or silk. Fucking hell, your brain could explode with the adjectives coming up, a whole chunk of them very much inappropriate to utter out in the current scene. Your arms want to rise, engulf him into you, and you have to physically halt the muscles from doing anything stupid. Brain, quick! Say something snarky and spicy, as best friends do!

“What’s the theme, unicorn puke?” The safest way to deflect is to attack. So you do just that. “You look like you dressed out of Hannah Montana’s closet. Which if it's true, I really need to see it. There’s a top that I’ve been eyeing for decades!”

“Don’t say decades.” Jin’s eyes crinkle in humor. “Makes me feel so old. Your dress is pretty cool too!”

Cool.

You find out how difficult life can be when you count every single minute of yours. So far, you have counted 4,310 minutes. That is two days, twenty-three hours, and fifty minutes. Ten more minutes and it will be three whole days since you and Jin spoke.

Yet again, you can’t blame him. When you came to the next day, you were in your bed, clad in the same shimmering silver bodycon that you had donned last night. The same one that had been privy to the colorful deeds you had committed in what was a dreary, colorless setting.

One ibuProfen and ginger ale, downed with some severe recollections of the previous night, and you had been ready to throw it all up again.

I don’t want to hurt you.

Words couldn’t describe what you were going through, and numbers weren’t invented to count the endless thoughts racing in your brain. You don’t know what is more upsetting. The fact that you actually had a chance to open your heart and you totally let your pussy think instead? Or that he was the one coherent enough to stop you from getting too far, and you let your desperation get the best of you? Everything about that night was wrong. And all the wrongs lie on your side.

I don’t want to hurt you.

In the moment, it was physical, he had to have meant that. But there was a tremor in his voice, you can remember clear as day, a slightly shaken side of him had emerged through the intoxication, and the words he had breathed were not shallow. There was a gravity to them, that you’d stupidly ignored in the heat of the moment.

And now, here you are. Counting up till the last minute, after which you can effectively call the friendship ruined. Stirring your tea mindlessly, you try to focus on the show on TV, the variety show comedy not striking the usual funny bones that they could 4,311 minutes ago.

The programmed ding of your phone bursts your thought bubble, a sound you have missed the past 72 hours. The ring you dedicated to Jin, that always had you running to receive because anything he sends brightens your day. But unlike those happier times, this ring has your gut fall into a pit of despair, struggling to choose between dispersing the suspense or remaining blissfully unaware of the damage you caused.

Jin: Free tmrw? We could grab coffee Jin: And talk

Talk. How? You barely remember what went down, save for fleeting moments that you recollected with great difficulty. Your fingers type back, trying to mimic the nonchalance in his text, that is very much absent in your actual demeanor.

Y/N: Sure. Paik’s at 1? Jin: Yup. See ya

Three texts, zero laughs. Of course, you’re not expecting him to land his jokes in this situation, even someone as talented as he can’t flip this tension. You’re just going to have to wait for tomorrow, when he decides whether you have a place in his life or not.

The painstakingly worn outfit, accessorizing the whole look, the straps of your heels digging into your toes, the specks of makeup dust lying stale on your collar bones, the shine faints at that word. Cool. A perfectly normal phrase for a normal friendship. You are left maimed, while he absent-mindedly tends to the rope of his robe, blissfully unaware of the cyclonic emotions churning inside you. All you can possibly do is gulp it down.

He runs his hands through his hair, beautiful locks coming out of place, and from one corner of the set, a groan of anguish emerges.

“Oppa! Don’t play with your hair and face.” A masked lady runs forward waving combs that look like artillery, “We just got done setting it!”

Some finger guns, a happy apology, and some silly jokes later, all the stylists merrily round up to undo his doing, and Jin signals to you to catch up later. And as he walks away, the strings tugging at your heart reappear, as they do every time you come to meet him.

You have a masochistic streak in you, putting yourself through this every day, when he had made it clear, that you two never stood a chance.

As if things aren’t already difficult, he looks like a dream.

Soft, snowy skin gleaming like it has personal lighting wherever it goes, you get flashes of the rarely witnessed sweat on his skin, from the ferocity of last night. He’s blowing away the foam of his cappuccino, and tiny bubbles float into the air before falling flat on the table, like an animated shine that follows him along. God has His favorites, and God makes sure all the lighting in the world is perfect for these favorites.

In no hurry, you wait at the counter to get your latte. After receiving it though, you can’t linger any longer and drag yourself to the table of doom.

“Hey.”

If the rasp in your voice is evident, he doesn’t show any recognition on his face. But you’ve learned to never trust an acting major.

“Hi. How are you doing?”

Inadvertently, a snicker escapes your lips. “Are you interviewing me for a job?” you joke, trying to disperse the heavy air, filled with unspoken words. “If so, at least know that I’m very expensive.”

The familiar windshield wiper laugh does not greet you. Dead silence does. The half-smirk he painfully gives you is heavy, and the furrowed brows haven’t an inkling of joy. It shoots daggers in your heart, to know that you are the reason for this jolly man’s despondency.

“Listen, I don’t think we should skirt around the issue too much. It happened, these things happen. You think Hoseok and Yeji didn’t have sex before making it official?”

His matter-of-fact nature isn’t new to you. Jin has always been a very practical man. Regardless of his inane sense of humor, his logical point of view has always been flawless.

But right now, at this very moment, logic isn’t what you are looking for. You are looking for answers, but as far withdrawn from logic as possible, to take the edge off of the tension-laden air that surrounds your table.

“Yeah, but even… unofficially… we aren’t a thing, right?”

Your abrupt question takes Jin unaware, almond eyes widening, like a toddler caught in an act.

“No, no! Of course not! I would never!”

His confession slips out with an ease that hurts you, digs deep to carve out the part of you that dreamt of anything more. Your eyes fall to your knees to avoid his perceptive gaze, the sting clear as the sky on a summer day.

You force a smile and continue. “Then there’s no issue. Anyway,” you gulp your coffee down, burning your throat, but it's a distraction from the burning inside, “I need to get to work. Anything else?”

He’s still searching you, for what, you can’t possibly fathom. From the looks of it, he should be happy with this homeostasis; he doesn’t even know what this means for you. To still stay suspended in limbo, not being able to move up or down, to continue having thorns digging into your beating soul as you watch him like nothing bothers your already frail feelings. Scene by scene, you can visualize the future, him distancing himself from you as he finds the one he calls his, with you left in the shadows. Your knees tremble in fear of the impending future.

Seeing you in a tizzy, he calls out, the voice too loud for the cafe and your mind’s prison cage.

“We’re still best friends, right?” If you knew better, you’d say his expression is that of sadness, of regret. But your judgment is clouded with your own bothers, and you interpret it as a look of pity. Like a lovesick puppy, kicked to the streets, with nowhere to call home.

“Yeah! Always.” You give it as much enthusiasm as you can muster.

Best friends.

Ropes wind around your heart, tugging and causing the deep ache that sets in as you walk back into your dreary building. Each string pulls you into a different dimension where you could move on, where you could be okay with the setting you had just agreed to. Where you would keep up your end of the promise and truly remain friends with him.

But no matter how strong the tug, your heart never yields, never lets go of the castle of dreams you built, staying steadfast in its own misery, choosing to hope, choosing to live the life of unrequited love.

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Applause and hurrays echo across the set to bring you back to the present. The shoot has officially concluded, which means it's time for your most favorite and least favorite part of the day - Jin and you doing best friend things, like grabbing lunch, gossiping about obnoxious coworkers, threatening to disembowel each other (in Mortal Kombat, of course) and other friendly activities.

Ever so respectful, Jin takes his time thanking every member of the set, regardless of whether they moved a cushion or held the reflector screen for hours. All the women gush over his beauty, reminding him of how, even amidst the glowing ornaments, his face was the brightest. His responses vary, from quiet little giggles, to complimenting the crew for making it happen, to straight up owning his charisma like a boss. That’s your man.

Well, not quite. Not one bit.

After exhausting the handshakes and hugs to be received, Jin walks to you, hands pushing his robe back to give it a cape like effect. You’re just glad that the man’s child persona still stays with him, no matter the situation. He guides you to his green room, cracking his bones on the way, (very sexily, might you add).

“Holding a pose for that long gives me cramps! You’d think dancing breaks my back, and you’d be wrong.”

You’re desperately avoiding looking at his fingers, and keep your eyes below them - shoot! His ceaseless stretching gives you a glimpse under his shirt - it is dragging your memories back to the last time you saw them, and you’d rather not. It is hurting you in more ways than one.

Eye contact is your safest bet. Looking up, you give him a lopsided grin. “Your grandfatherly days are approaching, Jinnie.”

“Hey!”

The rest of the conversation was less speaking, more yelling and chasing after each other to the green room, Jin taking mock-offence at your jab at his age, and his fingers reaching out to flick your forehead in retort. In your noisy, messy fashion, you both finally enter the room, dim gold light bulbs and shiny mirrors meeting your huffing self.

One hand on your knee, you hold on to Jin’s arm with your other, gasping for breath.

“Your grandmotherly days are already here, Y/N,” he snorts, and earns a kick on the shin, but that doesn’t stop him from bursting into snickers.

“Wow, why does one man need 4 mirrors?” You gape at his current green room, mouth wide open. It looks better than your entire apartment, with the counter carrying top-of-the-line makeup products. Only the best for this man. “So you can admire yourself from 4 different angles?”

Jin has disappeared into one of the inner rooms, but you can hear him snort at your comment. “Come on, I’m not that conceited. When the whole crew shoots together, the extra mirrors help.” The last part of that sentence is muffled, and that cues you into an important fact.

Jin is currently changing into something more comfortable.

A process that includes him getting naked.

Well maybe he doesn’t get fully naked, top on, top off, bottom on, bottom of-

Still. You’re sweating like a whore in church.

And things only get tougher when he finally comes out.

The ocean blue sweater he dons is tucked in. Who tucks in sweaters? Kim Seokjin. Why does he tuck sweaters? Oh, because he’s got an amazing waistline that he should most definitely show off, and the heat between your thighs becoming increasingly potent is a testament to that. You pretend to adjust your heels, giving the right expressions to show you’re in pain, but in actuality you are bringing your legs closer to get you some relief, just any relief.

Ripped jeans too. You get a peek of the thighs you were denied access to the night of the fuckening. Ridged and beautiful, not a speck in sight to mar his perfection. You are glad the facial expressions for pain and pleasure are not far apart, because your thighs, albeit very lacking, are helping the imagery in your head. Just Jin, seated on one of these leather chairs, and you straddling his thigh, clit aching against the strands of the rips in his denim, the fabric soaking up the wetness, with every push forwa-

“Now that you mention it, I do look dashing.”

And there goes that dream.

You pinch his cheeks in adoration, the vulgarity of your thoughts getting whitewashed by his silliness and blooming heart-shaped flowers in their stance. You feel your own pinch in you, wondering if this scene would be the same had you blurted your feelings out that day at the cafe.

It's times like these when you remind yourself why you choose to quieten that side. This dynamic cannot reincarnate in any other form. Any imbalance to this equilibrium could cause a serious case of best-friends-turn-awkward-acquaintances, and you don’t know if that’ll hurt you more than you currently do. You don’t plan on finding out.

But on God, he tests that resolution every single day.

Jin doesn’t even hint that he knows of the turmoil blasting behind your eyes. He nonchalantly fixes his hair, gives you a one-over as you are mentally undressing him, nonchalantly as well. Then he moves to grab his cologne, and two spurts disintegrates all the whitewashing and takes you back into the obscenities you were unfolding.

“So I’ll just go over the shoot photos, and then we can leave! You’re cool waiting here?”

“Hmmn, yeah!” You don’t let your mouth run any longer, fearing what might slip out.

He gives you a wide, innocent smile. “Great! See you in a bit.” Poor guy. If only he knew how debase plans you were conjuring just from the aroma of his cologne.

It is musky, like cedar or pine, perfectly suiting him. It is the same scent you remember inhaling, face stuffed in his sweater when he was fingering you to the tenth circle of hell. As he walks away, the fragrance diminishes, save for the slightest hint of lingering. You search for the source, and find the culprit strewn across the sofa.

The outfit Jin wore for the shoot held remnants of the perfume, and when you bring the shirt close and take a long, deep whiff, you transport yourself to the land of your dreams. You relish the fever smell of his cologne, mixed with his own natural scent, deciding that this is what you wish to smell like every waking morning.

Your longing for him has crossed way beyond physical boundaries. You longed for his love, longed for his attention. Longed to be the one that brings the light to his face. From morning rays to the darkness of the night, you wanted to experience it all by his side. To be his lone star, shining bright beside the moon.

Your hands are moving without your control, disrobing you of your thirst trap of a dress and putting on Jin’s shirt instead. One look at the mirror and you let out a silent groan - it fits you just right. Just enough to cover your ass cheeks, loose enough to let the air conditioning hit your heated pussy. While well-fitting shirts have never been the cornerstone of a successful relationship, your delusional mind takes whatever wins it gets.

Adding layers to your pipe dream, you don the robe that gave you a tough time throughout the shoot. When you press the tails of the robe to your cheek, the softness of the material is soothing. Soft, like Jin’s eyes, like his hugs, like his smile. Like him.

Leaning against the counter, you steady yourself, mind split in titillation. Your fingers find their own path, drawing circles on your breasts over his shirt, imagining Jin’s long fingers in place. While teasing your nipple to pointed peaks, you slip your other hand under your panties, trying very hard to mimic his digits, twiddling your clit between your fingers. Alas, the effect isn’t achievable, because Jin seems to know how to play you better than yourself.

The scent is getting stronger, without any provoking, and it is doing wonders for your immersion. You let out a loud moan when your fingers press inside, and you’re just glad no one can witness this.

“Y-Y/N?”

Fuck.

You are pulled away from your dreamland that was so impenetrable that you didn’t hear Jin step into the room. All the blood gushing to your nether regions has made a U-turn to flood your brain to think of a plausible explanation for this position. Instead it makes you giddy, and when you try to stand you wobble in your heels, to be rescued by what you think is a very scandalized Jin.

Time stands still when your eyes meet, and what you see are blown out pupils trembling, many questions fluttering between you two. Jin crosses a tenth of the distance between you, lips flutter as they try to make a decision - do they want to part and give way to the voice of question? The voice of reason? The voice that will break this hush, burst this bubble where he has the one chance to give in to his longing?

You bring your lips closer, and cause immense disquiet in his dome, the way of his heart gathering speed against rationale. Your eyes dance between matching his gaze and finding his lips, every fraction of an inch you cross sending tremors through you. You can feel the shockwaves traverse through your body, making a pitstop at your lips, tingling them awake. They move downwards, passing your heart, beating it wildly against its cage, and then to the pit of your stomach to tighten in anticipation; finally reaching the tip of your toes, where you stand right now, a nanoscopic distance between you. Each one of you is afraid to cross the bridge, unaware of the other’s desires.

Finally, Jin acqueises and meets you on your side.

Atomic explosions ring through your head, clearing out every single thought that is not about Jin’s lips on yours. The ropes that held your heart from beating to the tune of your want, they’ve loosened their knots to give you the leeway to love freely. As your lips exchange positions, his teeth lightly drag across your plush petal, and it brings back the most important part of that night that you couldn’t recollect - the one where his lips sang wordless songs of adoration against yours. Blind as a bat, you were.

You dig your fingers into his hair, not minding your residual arousal coating his locks, and you feel his hands doing the same to you. With your eyes closed, you feel a rough edge to his cushiony soft lips, but Jin fixes that mistake - one stray strand of hair trapped in the middle of your indulgence - he pulls it away to give you all of the kiss. The hand tucked in your tresses pushes in, silently demanding more access, and you’re nothing but ready to give it.

His tongue sneaks in to play a game with yours - when you seek it, it goes into hiding, finding perfect pleasure in soft, sweet kisses, but when you stay, it comes back in, awakening your tongue to deepen again. Everything he is doing is too much and not enough in one go, and you whine into his mouth in desperation, seeking some well-earned relief after months of holding back.

Amidst the flurry of your lips, your back hits the vanity countertop, and Jin pushes away everything on top to make space for you, not caring what expensive item flies down the counter to accommodate your ass.

As if you’ve made up for the months of holding back, the softness of the kisses erodes, teeth coming into play more and more, reminiscent of the night that went by in a blur. He swallows every mewl you give in return, blissed out beyond repair, your neediness making his cock strain against the denim.

His hand snakes down, spreading his fingers to get a hold of your back to push you towards him, covering any gap that dared to intervene. Now unworried about the shoot, your hands have effectively ruined his perfectly placed locks and messed them up to resemble the craze he let you spin in.

Before he can glide his tongue back in, you break the kiss, lest you lose yourself in it to the point where you forget to breathe. With attached foreheads, you take deep drags of air, letting the oxygen flow to your brain before you make some ill-advised, unclarified decisions.

“I- I was jus-”

“Shhh. Wait,” he breathes out, wanting to take a second and fully savor the moment. You nod in return, making his head move along with yours.

After sufficient air fills his lungs, Jin starts. “Y/N, we should stop.”

Last time this had happened, you had tried to force your way through his barrier, without giving his feelings a second of consideration. So this time, you don’t repeat your mistakes. “Tell me why.”

“Because, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m way deeper in this than you think.”

“Jin, I-”

“Let me finish.” He stops you before you can explain how much you reflect his emotions, possibly more. He doesn’t seem to want to listen now. “Let me finish, or else I’ll chicken out, for the millionth time.”

You’re dumbfounded. Millionth time? When was the first? Acting majors, by God.

“I love you, Y/N.”

No, now you are dumbfounded. Your hands, holding his precious locks, drop down in shock, at sheer disbelief that all this time, he has been ready and waiting to return you the favor. Jin though, misinterprets it as a look of disdain.

“I-I know I do, and I’m sorry that I do. I know you don’t feel the same way. You can hate me all you want, but this is the truth.”

“And yes,” he continues, refusing to halt for even half a second, afraid that the courage he mustered to confess would dissipate the moment he does, “I’m attracted to you, and I don’t know what went down here --” flicking his wrist to mention your (his) outfit, “--but I’m looking, okay? And I’m hard as fuck. But that’s not all there is to it.”

“I need all of you.” He takes an audible gulp, trying to stymy his emotions from overpowering him. “I want to take you out, I want to hold you hand, I want to bring you to all the places I love. I want to introduce you to people, not as my best friend, but so much more than that. It hurts me,” bringing his hand to his chest, he emphasizes the point of pain by clutching over his heart, “hurts to call you that because I’m lying through my fucking teeth.”

You break eye contact, because there are tears smarting your eyes at his heartfelt revelation. You can’t believe the idiot that you have been all this while. The man of your dreams stands in front of you, baring his soul, and you can’t even do him the decency of telling him what you felt yourself before jumping his bones.

And you love him, too. Maybe you haven’t said so, even to yourself, but you’ve known all this while.

You love him.

“If you are just looking for a fuck, or want any sort of a ‘benefits’ situation, we should stop. I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

“Jin, my God,” you half-sigh, half-laugh, feeling a burden lift off of you after months of pining.

“You don’t have to pacify me, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Even in this moment, he is looking out for you. His lips are curved upward to show you that he’s okay, but his pupils are shaky and restless, not in sync with his smile. You hope your next words can fix that for him.

“Pacify you? Hate you?” You shoot him an incredulous look, one you will explain to him very soon. “You are a much better person than I am, Jinnie. For months now, I’ve loved you, but even at this point, I didn’t stop to tell you.” The guilt of letting your hormones cloud your judgement for the second time lays heavily on your conscience. “I’m sorry for not making this clear earlier, but let me now. I love you, Kim Seokjin. I have for way too long. I want you, I need you. You have me, in every possible way.”

It feels unparalleled to get that off your chest. The leaden weight of your emotions immediately disappears - or the fact that it's shared, makes it much, much lighter. But then you look at Jin, and he still seems to have not put two and two together. You patiently wait for him to process all the information.

When he finally recoups, he yells, “What?!”

You let out a loud guffaw, the first one with no inhibitions in the longest time. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything that day at the cafe?!”

“You said you’d never date me, asshole!” You punch his chest softly, before slipping your hands behind him and pulling him closer. “I might not look like it, but I have some dignity.”

“I said that?” Jin brings one hand to pinch his nose in annoyance. “What an idiot. I think I was just inverting everything to make sure I don’t accidentally slip up.”

You lift your head to meet his eyes again, letting him see the tears you were hiding. You find a couple in his eyes, too. But the smile on your face is genuine, and that is all that matters. “I was blind too, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Flitting your eyes down to find the contour of his cock against his jeans, you ask him innocently, “How about we make up for lost time?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” And with that, your lips are engulfed again.

When you have all your guards down, the kiss tastes sweeter than before. Mere moments ago, while thoroughly enjoying the kiss, a sense of reticence had clouded your pleasure, holding you back from luxuriating in the headiness. A series of what-ifs had plagued your subconscious without your realization, but with all that cleared, you wholly submit to the kiss, emptying your mind until nothing but his name remains.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jin gasps out, when you bite into his pillowy lower lip, “I thought you looked the prettiest in the dress earlier but,” after pulling away, he drinks your current attire in, “you look the most beautiful in this.”

You snicker. “Even more than World Wide Handsome?”

His eyes bore into yours, no hint of the joking lilt he always carries in them.

“So much more.”

Your hands find their place amidst his shaggy hair again, and you lodge his face into your neck - a command Jin acquiesces to with great pleasure. After a long, wet lick to your collarbone, he lays feather-soft kisses on the trail he left, starting from your shoulder and working inward, until he brushes against the back of your ear. You grasp at his sweater, because his lips feel so good. Your breaths are short, sucking in every time he allows your skin the luxury of a soft peck. Once he lays a kiss on your forehead, he brings his gaze down to one of the main reasons that causes his cock to stir.

“Fuck, look at your nipples under my shirt.”

Gazing down, you can see the two pointed peaks that caught Jin’s eyes.

“That tends to happen when I’m thinking of you.”

He twists a nipple over the shirt, hardening it further, and you throw your head back in the satisfying pain. “Yeah, I remember.”

You are unraveling every second, the ache swishing amongst the bliss his fingers are bringing in you. He’s switched over to drawing circles around your nipple, until he snaps and tugs your shirt up, finally revealing the palmfulls of flesh awaiting his hands.

“Ah that night, I didn’t get to do this. Take this off.” But then, he makes you put on his robe again. You throw him a questioning look, to which he responds with a sheepish smile, “Just so, you know… you don’t feel cold… or something.”

“Just say you like me in your clothes and move on.”

“I love you in my clothes,” he admits in a heartbeat, his expression that of anguish, “can we move on?”

“God, gladly.”

Unexpectedly, he bites the side of your boob - not hard at all, but feeling his teeth against your skin sends your head reeling backward. Your involuntary response is to wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your core against him. His teeth continue to nip you lightly across the expanse of your breasts, the trail of saliva he leaves cooling parts of your flushed body. Finally, finally, he latches onto your left nipple and gives it a long, pleasurable suck.

“Ahh, Jin - you’re too - God damn it - you’re too good at this.”

Without stopping the onslaught he is unleashing on your breasts, his fingers begin to move - but soon, they stop, hesitation rippling off of their tips. His pace falters, and his mind is fighting on the next course of action.

“Can I-”

“Finish what you started that night?” you complete for him, already prepared with your answer. “Yes, please.”

All forms of uncertainty shoot out of his touch, and he confidently trudges forward. Playing with the band of your panties, he gives you a well-intended chuckle, murmuring, “As far as I remember, I was so good you passed out.”

“Boy,” You groan, intended in jest, but his teeth slide against your jaw and it mostly comes out more wanton than jovial, “let me see you have tequila for dinner and remember much the next day.”

“Fair fair,” he gives in, shifting to buss the valley of your cleavage, feeling your heart thud against your ribs holding it in place. “Well today,” he starts without moving his face, his nimble fingers moving past the barrier of your underwear, pressing two fingertips directly on your clit, and hissing like it's him at the receiving end, “I’ll give you enough to remember.”

You pull his sweater off and chuck it away, not wanting to be reminded of any blockades that kept you apart, and your hands roam the expanse of his back remembering the touch of his skin from the night at the bar. His body isn’t new to you, but the circumstances make it feel different.

Finally, his fingers find their way inside you.

Yes, this. This was what was missing from your drunken tryst. With your heads in place, your ardor intensifies, and you move his lips back to yours needing to release your animalistic desire into his mouth. Pleasure surges through both of you as you threaten to swallow him whole.

You can feel him being more present, and considering the merciless finger-fucking you had earned that night, this is taking it to a whole other degree.

The night at the bar, his fingers did their best to ravish you, but now, Jin is paying attention, close attention to the way you respond. Every muscle movement is recorded in him as you struggle to accommodate three of his lengthy digits. Leaning close, he gives your peaked nipple the lightest feather lick - the suddenness sends shockwaves through you as he continues to tweeze the other, talented pianist hands performing his musical piece on both ends of you.

His fingers pump into you with determination, finding new depths to explore that he missed out on, and with a curl of his pointer, you blank out, screaming in the orgasm that is washing over you. Every skincell of your body feels the quiver of lust spreading, your cunt squeezing for an eternity, milking the orgasm out to the extent that you can.

When you look down, your metaphorical orgasmic flood manifestes as a deluge of your arousal leaking on the table. And when you look back up, you can see the salacious ideas making their rounds in Jin’s head as he looks at the inundation you released.

Hurried hands still convulsing from the intensity of your orgasm, you undo his belt, followed by his jeans and finally - getting the pleasure you were heartlessly denied of - his cock is out, in all its glory, twitching as the cool air hits its naked skin. Jin’s plans don’t go hand in hand with yours though.

“Are we just - holy fucking shit - just, umm, leave that to waste?” he lustfully looks down to your leaking core, and someway, through your hold on his dick, he tries to steer you into his plans.

“I don’t know about that,” you cheekily reply. You have the right idea to satisfy both of you, and get down to the task.

With the flat of your palm, you swipe across the droplets of cum you released, gathering them to transfer them onto his thick length. Jin thrusts into your hand, the wetness jolting him into attention, and he places an arm on your shoulder to steady himself.

“You’re going to taste yourself?” he asks as you continue your vacillating motion, twisting at the base of his head with the wetness you graciously provided yourself. You give him a nonchalant look, something he is trying to do to you as well.

“Who said I’m gonna suck you off?”

His look changes, and the one you get in return is cocky, arrogant, downright rude if you were honest. You expected him to play on with your banter, but one raised eyebrow and the lazy smirk he gives, to what he probably thinks is a joke - Zeus could land on earth and not be able to stop you from gobbling his meat.

Your mouth is filled with his dick even before your knees hit the ground. Jin staggers back, but your suction on his dick is funnily strong enough to pull him back before falling. You switch positions, having him balance himself against the counter, all while you refuse to leave his cock out. His giggle of endearment has you pouting, but it swells your heart and makes you want to give more, more of anything and everything. With your renewed vigor, you push yourself in until his pubes tickle your nose, and his tip tickles your throat.

“Your-”, “I-”, “uhh-”

Every new sentence Jin starts crumbles to your actions. You furrow your brows both in concentration on your blowing skills and trying to decode what he is trying to say.

Jin takes a large gulp, adamant on making this one a coherent sentence. “You know, I used to imagine this, and in my dreams I used to be very sexy and suave, talking my way throug-oof-” You run your tongue over the tip of his leaking dick, emphasizing the point he is coming to, “Now I can’t even complete sentences here.”

“You being you is super sexy in itself.” And you curve your tongue to match the arch of his cock, letting the incoming saliva pool on it before letting it run down his shaft, dripping down from his balls. Strings of his precum connect to your lips, and you swipe your tongue through them, relishing the salty goodness before going back in for more.

“Y/N, shit, did you just moan?”

How couldn’t you? The fact that he is horny for you, so much so that rivulets of precum don’t stop drizzling down your throat, has you preening. You hum your assent in response, not willing to let go even for a moment, but Jin pulls you off before you can get a chokehold on the base of his cock again.

“Never had a woman moan while sucking me off. It’s sexy as fuck,” Jin breathes into your lips as he dives in for a kiss.

Your chest is heaving, catching the breaths you lost when you were down. “Then why’d you stop me?”

“Are you kidding me? I was about to lose it right there.”

“Jinnie, come on,” you break the fragmentary kiss you were sharing, looking into his glassy eyes, “let me feel you come on my tongue.” To emphasize your conviction, you lick his lips, persuading him of the sinful deeds your tongue is capable of doing if he’d just let you.

“Oh man, stop. What’s worse than busting a nut in your mouth? Busting it while you’re kissing me. Making me feel like a teenager.” You erupt into a loud laugh, soon followed by Jin as well. It is so him to joke about this.

“And babe,” all hints of embarrassment vanishing from his tone, “I’m only going to come inside you.”

“Fuck, fuck, yes. You got a condom on you?”

“Yeah, let me grab my wallet.” The instant he moves away, you feel naked, shivering from the comfort stolen away from you. But then you hear Jin grumble, “I hope I don’t have the bacon-flavored one.” And the absurdity of it all puts you at ease again.

“Ew, stop, even you can’t make that sexy. My lady boner is dying.”

He envelops you again, and you can feel the laughter echoing in his lungs before making it out to your ears. He brings your attention to the familiar rustle of foil wrapper. “Thankfully, we got chocolate.”

“Mmmh, gotta love chocolate.”

You take the condom out of his hands, and roll it onto his stiff length, flattered that he’s holding his erection for so long.

“Okay, stick it in me!” And you smack your ass in readiness, and a very flabbergasted Jin breaks out chortling.

“Y/N, stop being my best friend for like, five minutes!” His brows are furrowed in pretense exasperation, but you can see his lips holding back a genuine smile through the grimace, just happy that your dynamics haven’t changed the slightest, even though everything else has shifted.

“Okay okay,” you try and suppress your own laughter, before continuing, “how do you want me, baby?”

“Bend over on the vanity. And keep your eyes on the mirror.” And as you move into position, his palms grab your ass and squeeze it hard, feeling your glutes push back against his grip, and he pushes you forward till you're on the tips of your toes. You watch him through the mirror, watch him admire the way your ass curves over the table edge, how your toes struggle to keep you up, and how the dimples of your back are deepened by the arch, peeking under the bunched up robe tails, just waiting for him.

“Jin.” Your hushed whisper puts him in action.

Pushing the head in is anguish and relief at the same time. His bulbous head stretches your entrance; even with your preparation, you feel it sting. The searing gets better and better with every inch slipping in, and when he finally lodges inside, you let out a heavy breath, still panting and keeping yourself from screaming bloody murder in pleasure. Jin bends forward to paint the back of your neck, sucking the flesh till the circular bruise comes to surface.

“Can you- can you-fuck, no, wait-” Your brain is at war with itself, battling between adjusting to his girth and having him pump you into adjustment.

You can feel Jin’s snicker from behind you, and he finally makes the decision for you. “I’ll wait, I have things to do here,” he says before playing around the patch of skin, spreading from the base of your hair to the expanse of your back, his teasing licks relaxing your walls and accommodating his girth. The pain is almost gone, expect for the lingering ache that only helps you.

“You can move now, babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Your words snap him out of the painter’s dream he was in, and he twitches inside you. Something about the ease at which you both have adopted nicknames for each other softens his heart and hardens his cock.

Pulling out till only the head rests inside, Jin himself struggles against the third degree grip your pussy has on him. As he is thrusting inside again, your walls tense up, making it harder and harder for him to hold back.

“Y/N, sweetie, relax. I got you.”

“Jin, I’m-” You have tears running down your eyes, the pleasure and unsurmountable happiness rolling out in fat hot drops. “Fuck me harder. I won’t last.”

“Shit. Okay, hold on then.”

To what? Is what you’re going to ask before Jin unleashes his carnality onto you. Your breasts, dripping in sweat and saliva, are plastered to the countertop, which in itself is jiggling to the beat of Jin’s thrusts. His dick is curving inside to hit you repeatedly, and you have to gather the satin fabric to wipe your eyes to keep your gaze fixed on him.

He looks majestic. Forehead embellished with beads of sweat, his hair coiffed up, lips sanguine red after your vicious kisses - you swipe your tongue along your own lips to find them battered in response. His honey chest is heaving with every push, and a particular one hits you just right.

You let out a guttural groan, and Jin takes note of it immediately.

“Up,” he commands, and loops an arm under your belly to you pull you up and closer and now every thrust hits deeper into that spot he has found in you, your back connected to his chest as the two of you move in tandem; this is the most together you’ve ever felt with anyone. This moment is to be etched in your memories forever.

You scream into your fist to muffle the sounds, the edge of the table digging into your hip bone as you feel yourself getting closer to the brink. One swipe to the clit is all you have left to bring you to your release.

And from some telepathic force, or from the clutch your pussy has on him, Jin beats you to it. His fingers come down and carefully find your swollen nub, pinching it between his fingers. If he thought you’d shown him your hardest clench, he was wrong, because right now your dam has broken, and the iron-clad grip you give his cock sends him reeling, too.

You are gushing on his dick, the rubber dripping with your wetness. Jin too releases into the condom in stuttered gasps, his thrusts becoming shorter and shallower as he comes down from his high.

Petal-like kisses fall on your back as the two of you regain your breaths. The mirror that served you two well is covered in a fog of hot breath and perspiration, blearing your vision of yourself, but somehow, it sparkles with Jin’s reflection. His nobility-esque visuals use the haze as a valance for his appearance, framing them to make him look like you’re among the clouds. And in some way, you actually are.

“Ah, let me go.” You jiggle your shoulders back to make the man above you move. “Fuck, can you check if my spine is in place? I think you dislodged it.”

“Shut up and come hug me, I’ll squeeze it back in place.”

Now this is something you could get used to.

As he ties and throws away the used condom, you flip over to face him and fall back into his embrace, broad shoulders promising to protect you, making you feel safe in his care. Jin on the other hand is simply ecstatic to feel you on him, feeling your thumping heart beat for him, after months of pining and pondering whether anything would become of the seed of your tumultuous friendship. Now, it has blossomed to a garden of prospect and promise, every petal of every flower here reading a new opportunity to tell you how much he adores you, cherishes you, treasures you. How much he loves you. An opportunity he doesn’t wait to use.

“I love you.”

The pink tinge of your cheeks either comes from the sex, or from his comment, but either way, he is glad its from him.

“I love you too, Jin. So, so very much.”

If your heart could leap out of your chest, it would do so, to find its way to his and fuse into one. But for now, your entwined bodies give you all you want.

You hear Jin stifle a laugh, and pull back in question. He points to something odd on the countertop.

“What is that?”

The cream white surface of the table, that was maligned by your ignoble deeds, now sports two glistening, wheatish semi circles that look very similar to the sizes of one person who was splayed on top of it just moments ago.

“Is that…” Jin is trying to contort his lips and halt the looming snicker, and he brings his eyes down to your chest (trying not to get hard again), “Did you have makeup on your chest?”

“Shut up.” All you can do is fall closer into his arms, hopefully masking the tint of embarrassment highlighting the apples of your cheeks. “I wanted to make them look extra good for you.”

He’s given up on holding back, the full-bellied laugh that resonated from him echoing across the room. But it dwindles down fast, coming to small chuckles of tenderness, and he slips his digits beneath your chin to have you meet his gaze.

“They always look good,” he whispers, his admittance setting your chest aflame, “trust me, I’d know.”

Taglist 💛: @little7bitchh, @afangirllikeme-blog, @h34rt1lly, @marpotterhead

Thank you so much for making it to the end! I hope you enjoyed the fic, my ask box is always open for your lovely opinions. To read more of my work, find my main masterlist here. :)

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koolkat9 · 2 years ago

Text

Hetalia Polyship Week 2022: Day 4

@hetalia-polyship-week

Rating: T

Ship: GerFruk

Prompts: Supernatural || “Is that a knife in your pocket?”

Word Count: 548

Author’s Note: This takes place in my beloved paranormal au A Vampire, A Werewolf and a Merman. All you really need to know for this fic is that Francis is a vampire, Arthur is a werewolf and Ludwig is a merman. But it would be appreciated if you could check out my other fics in this au.

A Vampire and a Werewolf Save a Merman

It was a peaceful morning, though damp. The storm from the night before left the world wet and the tide high but the quietness it also brought was appreciated. If only the clouds could have stuck around, so Francis didn’t have to lug around his umbrella.

A cool breeze blew through, causing Arthur to pull his sweater around him even tighter. He scooted a little closer to Francis, though vampires weren’t exactly personal heaters. He could pretend and perhaps use it as an excuse for affection. Either way, Francis found it cute.

Francis smiled slightly. At least he wasn’t the only one struggling with the weather. He took hold of Arthur’s hand with his free one, swinging them slightly as they walked.

Unfortunately, their lovely stroll took a turn for the worst as they caught sight of the shimmer of a familiar set of blue scales. It was Ludwig…but why was he onshore like that and…flailing? Francis didn’t like the looks of it.

Arthur must have had a similar feeling as he immediately took off towards the struggling merman. Francis could only follow.

Their bad feelings were proven true as they came upon Ludwig, tangled in what looked like a fishing net.

Without a second thought, Arthur pulled out a knife, fell to his knees, and began cutting. “Shh, calm down love,” Arthur murmured, “I don’t want to cut you.”

“Why do you have a knife just in your pocket?” Francis shrieked.

“Really? That’s your concern right now?”

“I’m fine–” Ludwig began but only to be cut off as he began gasping for air. He had been out of water for far too long.

Throwing his umbrella to the side, Francis crouched down to the ground and began splashing Ludwig with water before pulling Ludwig’s tail into the water so the waves could crash over him.

Arthur followed and began his work on the net once more.

Ludwig was still panting slightly, but he could breathe again. Francis began to comb his fingers through Ludwig’s hair, whispering sweet nothings until his breathing returned to normal.

A few minutes later Ludwig was free, and the three lovers collapsed against each other. Arthur reached over for Francis’s umbrella and covered Francis with it once more. “I’m not putting aloe on you after this you numpty. What were you thinking?"

Francis shrugged. "Ludwig mattered more."

"Yes but--"

"We're all safe," Ludwig interjected, "That's what matters."

They all remained silent for a moment, cuddled up and just enjoying each other's presence.

“Thank you…” Ludwig finally said. “That storm was rough last night. Got caught up in that net and then got beached after the tide went out.”

“You’re welcome mon loulou.”

With everyone safe, the three lovers settled on the beach to enjoy the sunrise together. But their peaceful time was once again interrupted by Arthur’s chattering teeth.

“And that is a sign that we should head home for breakfast,” Francis said, rising to his feet.

“I-I-I’m f-fine,” Arthur protested.

“Sure,” Francis deadpanned, “Anyway, I need to change out of these clothes and get them dry before they’re ruined.”

“And I could eat,” Ludwig added.

Arthur pouted slightly, still feeling they were fussing over him, but he agreed. He would need a bath anyway before he started smelling like a wet dog.

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naralanis · 4 years ago

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little bumps in the road (pt. 16)

Previously, on LBitR

Lena takes a moment to examine her surroundings after she takes stock of her body—besides her throbbing hand now encased in a professionally-made cast and the headache pounding at her temples, she’s physically fine. She does her best to ignore the very smug Lex Luthor at the foot of her bed.

It’s a cell, there’s no doubt about it—albeit is one nice enough to be mistaken for a mid-range hotel suite if someone didn’t know any better.

Lena knows better.

“How are you feeling, sis?” Lex quips jovially, stepping to a cart with a pitcher of water and pouring a hearty glass. Lena grimaces as she sits up, rolling her eyes at his playful tone—playful Lex never meant anything good, but what else is new?

“Nasty break you got on your hand there—the doctors told me you have multiple fractures. How did that happen?”

His expensive loafers squeak slightly on the floor, and he stops right next to Lena. His grin is cheerful and utterly insufferable—the same smile he’d sport he taught her a lesson, even when they were children, the same he’d flash at her whenever he explained—in excruciating, condescending detail—exactly how she’d lost their latest chess game.

Lena would very much like to punch it off his face, even if doing so would accomplish nothing beyond giving her some fleeting satisfaction.

Sadly, her hand is out of commission.

She takes the glass he offers and downs it in practically one gulp, relaxing despite herself with the cool water running down her dry, tight throat. Lex raises a brow, amused.

“You trust me not to poison your water? Impressive.”

Lena rolls her eyes, slow and deliberate. “Nope,” she says, smacking her chapped lips. “But if you wanted me dead, you would have done it already. Plus,” she hands him back the glass, cocking her head towards the pitcher. “Poison was never really your style. It’s not dramatic enough.”

Lex chuckles, looking impressed despite himself. “Touché,” he concedes, taking the glass back and refilling it. “I do enjoy a good drama. Now,” he hands her the glass again, waits until Lena has taken a more sedated sip. “Want to tell me what happened to your hand? I am so very curious.”

Lena meets his gaze head on once she’s done drinking, remaining silent for long moments—just until she sees the slight twitch of his lips when he gets impatient. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she drawls, feigning disinterested as strongly as she is able, “but I punched a cement wall. Wouldn’t recommend it, it’s rather painful.”

Lex chuckles again, and his eyes glimmer with a giddy anticipation, like a child about to be let loose onto a pile of Christmas presents, unable to hide his excitement. “Cement, huh? I would have guessed steel, myself.”

Lena can’t help herself—she flinches, just a little but enough to be noticeable, and she knows—she can see the satisfaction in his eyes when Lex does notice how her shoulders suddenly tense.

“A haircut and new glasses, and she’s a whole new person,” he laughs. “Though, let’s admit it—despite fooling you, a supposed genius… she never was a master of disguise, was she?”

“How’d you find me?” Lena interjects, trying to do so calmly, though she’s moments from snapping. Something about hearing Lex refer to Kara in any way makes her skin crawl. “How have you been tracking me?”

She says me, not us. Because, if her hunch is correct—and Lena hopes to god that it is—Lex should have no way of tracking Kara now that she’s alone.

His grin widens, predatory and gleeful all at once.

“Is that really what you want to ask, Lena? How I found you? Don’t you have better questions—for example, why I haven’t turned you in to the authorities yet?” He pulls a chair and sinks into it—comfortable, settling in like one would at the cinema. He crosses his legs and steeples his fingers over his lap, looking so much like Lionel like that it makes Lena nauseated. “You are, after all, America’s most-wanted criminal,” he chuckles. “That’s quite a distinction, even for a Luthor, don’t you think?”

Lena shrugs. “You own the authorities in this reality, Lex.” She points out, and Lex nods once, as if he is conceding the point. “Plus, you have a tendency to monologue like any cliché cartoon villain. I’m sure you’ll clue me in on your grand plan sooner or later.”

She can tell he’s bothered by the cliché jab—that nearly imperceptible twitch returns momentarily to the corner of his mouth, but really, Lena just can’t help herself. As quickly as it appeared, the twitch is gone, and Lex’s lips tug into an even wider smile, like a shark showing off its teeth. He leans back on his chair, and his gaze is both cold and cheerful in a mixture that makes a shiver run down Lena’s spine in the worst way possible.

“Have any headaches lately, Lena?”

Lena swallows, thinking of those disjointed memories, those blinding flashes that rattled her brain. “No more than usual,” she lies, clearly not convincingly if Lex’s responding scoff is any indication. She’s thought about this, ran the probabilities in her head—she’s just not sure she wanted to believe her brother would stoop that low.

Even if, deep down, she knows better.

“Funny,” Lex quips, tapping a silly little rhythm onto the arm of his chair with his manicured nails. “They are a common side effect. Along with…” his eyes narrow and his grin widens impossibly further, from ear to ear, like this is his moment of triumph. “Memory loss.”

Lena sucks in a breath—her heart feels loud, like it echoes from her chest and bounces off the walls of this tidy cell. She doesn’t dare say a word, and immediately, Lex seems bored with her lack of response.

“You know what your problem is, Lena?” he asks, brushing off some nonexistent lint from the sleeves of his suit. “You always fail to consider the big picture. You never think of the greater possibilities.”

“You used Non Nocere,” Lena grits out through her clenched teeth. Her jaw is so tense the pain radiates all the way down her neck, and her good hand is fisted in the sheets, knuckles white with the strength of her grip.

“I improved on it,” Lex quips happily. “You had a good base, but no follow-through—it’s your biggest flaw. But your little project with the Q-waves… it had potential. I just took it further than you would ever be able to take it.”

“You—” Lena chokes on her words, bites her tongue. She’s trying, she’s trying so hard to be brave, to maintain her composure, but those flashes return full-force, blinding—those tangled memories are flashing again, like Lex’s mere mention of the Q-waves is a trigger—and she is suddenly reeling, trying to push them down. “You mind-controlled me. You sick fuck!” She hisses. “You made me try to kill Ka—you made me try to kill Supergirl!”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Oh, Lena, who’s being dramatic now? You said it yourself; you wanted to hurt her. I just gave you a little nudge.”

“Not like this!” Lena gasps—her strength is waning; she can feel it draining from her limbs, she feels the last tendrils of her resistance evaporating into thin air, vanishing from her mind. “Never like this!”

Lex ignores her completely, continuing on as if he was giving her a chess lesson. “I have to say, the implant worked much better than the contacts; it is far less error-prone. Tracking you was just a bonus—though I have to admit I really enjoyed seeing you two run around the country like you ever had a chance.”

Lena can’t talk; it takes all of her energy to just stop the rattling inside her skull, to wait with cold dread for the moment—because it’s coming, she can feel it coming—when Lex just takes control again.

“It was smart to go your separate ways, but I wouldn’t worry too much,” he continues, voice low and dangerous. “She’ll be back for you. Despite everything, she always comes back, doesn’t she? Even if it’s just to die by your hand, all over again.”

“No,” she grits out, trembling. “N-never.” She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, not again—she couldn’t see Kara falling again, she couldn’t kill her again.

Lex leans towards her, puts a hand on her covered knee and gives it a little squeeze—the kind of gesture a parent would use to reassure a child, but this? This is a taunt. Lex doesn’t just own the authorities in this reality—he owns Lena’s mind.

“Did you like it, when I took you to the top floor?” He drawls. “I figured you would appreciate seeing her face-to-face when you pressed the button. Maybe we’ll have you on the ground this time, huh? To see her hit the pavement? To see her really die?” he chuckles, patting her knee and standing.

“I won’t hurt her.”

His laugh echoes in the room, louder than her heartbeat, her short gasps for air. Lex walks leisurely to the door before turning back to face her once he activates a biometric lock, ready to leave Lena alone with her terror.

“Oh, Lena—but you will. Trust me.”

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#nara's word vomit #LBitR #supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #fic writing #femslash #OK LISTEN #everything will be fine #just not right away #BUT SOON I PROMISE #also #CANON WHOMST #this programme is brought to you by Nara Being a Bastard #I am sorry but not overly so

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amiedala · 3 years ago

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SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY: “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

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nctsjiho · 4 years ago

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JiHo vs Geo (NCT JiHo’s Duality)

Fan Video by ‘NeoVerse’ on Youtube

(indented text = comments added by the maker of the video, in this case NeoVerse) So we all know JiHo. One of NCT’s rappers and dancers. She’s always portrayed as cool, confident, intimidating, so for today, let me introduce you to Geo.

The cute, easily embarrassed 00 liner, whom everyone in NCT (and the fandom) has a soft spot for. Though whenever Geo comes out she’s usually getting teased by the boys...

^^ Let’s get started!

[JiHo Vlive ft. Taeyong & Taeil 190407]

“So we’ll be in America soon for the second leg of the Tour.” Taeyong said. “Are you excited?” JiHo asked looking at the oldest of the three. “Yes, we’ll finally get to see all our overseas fans. And we’re even going to see Johnny’s home-”The 3 of them looked off camera once loud noise started to fill the room. The voices obviously belonged to Dream. Taeil and Taeyong shrugged it off and Taeil continued to talk. The noise wasn’t too loud, but it was still a bit distracting non the less.

JiHo continued looking off camera every once in a while. It looked like she finally made eye contact with one of the young boys, because she squinted her eyes a bit more and suddenly the room became silent besides for Taeil talking. The girl gave the tinniest nod before looking back at the camera and joining the two other men in their conversation.

In the background you could hear a door close just after a few silent “sorry’s” were heard.

JiHo: the NCT member who can make Dream, who never stop talking, shut up without even saying anything. The power this girl has

[‘NCT - RESONANCE Pt. 2’ Departure Ver. Jacket Behind the Scene]

Loud cheers filled the echo-y room as JiHo walked in. All the 23 boys were already in their spots, but the girl had walked in late (for an unknown reason). She hides her face in embarrassment as she approaches Renjun who was standing on the far right side of the bleacher-like structure. “JiHo needs to go up one level!” One of the staff members yelled.

JiHo gets up on the structure a hand helping her up, it was Johnny. As she stands up completely she notices she is standing between Johnny and Sungchan. “Please tell my I’m not standing between these two giants.” She looks in the direction of the staff, face full of concern. Her comment causing almost everyone to laugh. “Why? Don’t you like standing between us?” Johnny teased poking at her side. She squints her eyes at the taller man, triggering a few more laughs out of him.

The director instructs the girl to stand between Ten and Shotaro on the other side of the structure and she quickly walks over to them, almost tripping on her way over, where Ten greets her with a big hug. “Ah so cute~” Mark cooed, looking at the embarrassed girl.

[NCT World 2.0 ep 4]

It’s really no secret that JiHo is a very athletic person. She works out and tries out new sports for fun. So even though she might not have the strength as her male colleagues (well most of them, sorry Kun), she was definitely one of, if not the most, agile members in the group.

When they announced the next game, JiHo’s team mates had look slightly worried. The vault was already at 1.70 m which was already taller than her, though JiHo would never openly admit that.

It’s only when the vault is at 2 m high that the members realise the smaller girl had cleared all the previous heights successfully. She’s now standing at a couple meters away to sprint towards the vault.

“We didn’t expect JiHo to make it this far.” Defconn commented. “She’s definitely an ace.” Kim Hwan, the other presenter, added.

We’re talking about the same JiHo right? This girl can literally carry her members on her back!

“Wow~ Look at noona’s face.” Jisung pointed out to his team mates, who unfortunately didn’t make it. The girl had her eyes set on the vault. Completely focused she put up her fist. “JiHo, challenge!” Her first few steps were big but slow, then her pace started picking up, until she had reached the vault.

“Ji-” The camera picks up the shocked faces of the boys as her team members jump to her aid. JiHo was laying on her back on the blue mat, the vault in pieces all around her, with one of the pieces almost making its way towards the girl’s face. Thankfully because of the concerned boys’ fast reflexes they helped avoid a big accident.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked now that they were standing again. “I think I can make it though...” She furrowed her brow, shocking the boys with her comment. Despite all the boys’ protest JiHo was one again standing at the starting position to run towards the vault.

Taeyong stood up in a panic. “She isn’t going to try again right-” “JiHo, challenge!” And without a second of hesitation she ran towards the vault, 5 boys ready to save her in case she was to fail again. Once her feet hit the mat she looked at the camera with a smirk on her face and a fist in the air. She had cleared the vault.

“I swear to God her confidence is going to be the dead of me.” Taeyong let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

[NCT World 2.0 ep 2]

JiHo’s challenge was to do a rope skipping routine. Since she has been rope skipping for as long as she can remember, it wasn’t really that hard. The challenging part came from that she had to learn a specific routine and execute it perfectly within 10 minutes.

After 3 minutes she had the short routine down, some moves were slightly more difficult, but nothing she couldn’t do.

“JiHo, challenge!” She yelled out. She pulled of the routine effortlessly. Or that’s what she thought at least. Everyone had jumped to their feet, cheering JiHo on those who never saw JiHo rope skipping completely in awe at what she just pulled off. “Let’s go-” Mark had yelled, just before the lights turned red. “Mission failed.” The deep voice boomed over the speakers. Everyone stunned, they could’ve sworn she just did it right. But after review JiHo realised her mistake.

She stood closely to Jaemin’s seat who asked her if she got the routine down now. JiHo nodded while she absentmindedly swung around the jump rope. A particularly hard swing causing the rope to round her back and hit her left arm harshly. The loud sound of the rope hitting her skin was accompanied with a wince at the sting. Jaemin had jumped up asking if JiHo was okay. The girl had slapped her hand against her reddening skin before she started whining that it hurt.

Jaemin took the opportunity to baby her. “Aigoo~ You need to be more careful.” He said rubbing her arms, before pulling her into a hug. The boys who sat a bit further away had started laughing once they realised the girl was okay. “Jaemin-ah, they are laughing at my pain.” She pouted and the boy pulled her closer, glaring at the other members.

Yangyang... I saw you laughing at our baby girl...

[NCT JiHo notices SASEANG at the Airport]

In the shaky fan video with not much context you could see NCT at the airport. The reason why they weren’t moving unknown. The only thing you could tell from the first half of the video was that NCT was standing in the middle of a clearing in the airport with tons of fans surrounding them.

Jeno and JiHo were standing next together, being filmed by the fan. She kept on glancing in a particular direction. At some point Jeno leaned in to whisper something in her ear and she shrugged in response, her body seemed a bit tense.

After another couple of seconds went by, JiHo suddenly starts moving in the direction of the fans - the same direction she kept glancing at. This caused the fans to start screaming and a body guard to quickly try and catch up with her.

It isn’t clear what’s being said, but JiHo exchanges some words with a male fan. She then puts her hand out, the fans around her going quiet. The man hands JiHo his unlocked phone and she starts scrolling through it. With a bitter look she hands the phone back, grabs her own, takes a picture of the man and then leaves. Once she reaches the boys again an indifferent expression remains on her face. Jeno’s hand massages the girl’s shoulder but she doesn’t seem to relax until they are able to leave the airport.

Apparently the male “fan” was a sasaeng and on his phone were pictures he had taken of JiHo and the rest of NCT (?) during their overseas schedules in places no fans were allowed. She deleted them and taken a picture of him for the security, possibly also for the authorities.

[NCT 127 fan event @ Capitol Records]

After everyone had gathered on stage, it was time for each member to introduce themselves. JiHo was last in line and when she started talking in her mic, it was clear that her mic did not work. The girl looked back at the staff, but they didn’t seem to notice directly, so she turned to her right and grabbed Doyoung’s mic. He didn’t let go of it, causing the girl to lean in towards Doyoung and start introducing herself. “Hi! I’m JiHo.” She giggled slightly embarrassed, which emitted a chorus of “awe’s” from the fans.

Later on in the interview, now with a working mic, the question “Who is the most attractive member of the group?” had been asked. Some members had answered already but the interviewer asked JiHo’s opinion. “Uhm...” She hummed as she looked over her members. “I think everyone is very attractive.” She gave as her final answer which left everyone a bit “disappointed”. A fan interjected, yelling, “We all know you think it’s Jungwoo!” JiHo’s face turned the brightest shade of red as she looked at the audience in shock. Everyone at the event had burst out laughing and JiHo sank back in her chair.

[NCT JIHO Choreography | More Than That (Lauren Jauregui)]

JiHo’s know as a bit of a tomboy. I mean she hangs out with dudes pretty much 24/7. So when she dropped this video, let me tell you, we NCTzens were shook.

As the music starts playing the lights slowly turn on. JiHo is sat in the middle of a dance practise room in a chair, head tilted slightly backwards, exposing her neck.

The camera comes closer and JiHo makes eye contact with it, her mouth is slightly agape and she stands up. She hits every beat, dancing in her own, cool style, nothing very girly or sexy, until a certain line comes up.

“I got a situation, I can tell you wanna know“

She brings her clasped hands up, stretching them out above her hand, before pushing her right hip out circling it from the front to the side. She lets her hands drop back down.

“How you can take an honest girl and turn her to a”

Her facial expression turns more cocky. Her left hand goes down the side of her body onto her left thigh while she moves down to an almost squat position. Her right hand comes up from her chest to her neck at the end of the line where the singer lets out a gasp.

Turn her to a WHAT? Explain Lim Jiho! Into a what exactly?!

Stan twitter of course went crazy at the sight of their tomboyish, innocent girl choreographing such a seductive dance. Besides those two lines, most of the dance was just her usual boyish hip-hop style. But the whole vibe of the song, along with her facial expressions had caused such beautiful chaos. Also JiHo in those sweatpants and a sports bra/crop top was something NCTzens weren’t ready for yet.

[Weekly Idol ep 410]

This is probably my favourite JiHo moment ever. For a bit of context. The people sitting down on pillows have to come forward for the members they want to be partnered with and show their charm. After everyone has “seduced” the sitting member, they must close their eyes and if their rose gets picked they are partnered up.

The reason I like this so much is because JiHo was already pouty since Doyoung and Yuta were both seducers as well so there was no chance of partnering with them, but she really wanted to team up with either of them.

After Mark danced to ‘Pick Me’ (and JiHo did everything in her power not to cringe, she failed), he turned around to see which members would come over. When he turned around he saw 4 faces. Those of Doyoung, Jaehyun, Yuta and JiHo. The last two he didn’t expect to come.

One by one they all had to explain why they picked Mark. “Dude, honestly I just don’t want to be picked last.” The girl said in English sending Mark into a fit of laughter. They than had to show show their charm through singing, dancing or acting cute. Once it was Doyoung’s turn, he started dancing to ‘Pick Me’, just like Mark did earlier. “Oppa! I wanted to do that.” She said annoyed to which Doyoung looked shocked. “You were going to dance to a girl group song?” She just rolled her eyes.

Once it was her turn the host had encouraged her to dance to ‘Pick Me’ like she initially planned. “If you do it better than Doyoung, you will have a better chance.” One of the boys had reasoned, that was enough for JiHo to stand up.

She patted down her sweater before getting “in the zone” and she started dancing and singing the song as if it was her own. Some of the boys started cringing at the unfamiliar sight of their female member acting girly and cute, willingly. Then the camera shows Yuta and Jungwoo who were clearly enjoying the show and Taeil smiling fondly as well.

omg this is peak Geo behaviour <3 How is she this cute? Is she really a member of a mostly male group?

Cut to JiHo getting rejected right after Doyoung gets rejected. They sit back next to Johnny, the girl’s head resting on Doyoung’s shoulder. “I guess dancing to that song wasn’t the way to go.” She sighed.

This time it’s Jungwoo’s time to choose a member. He danced to ‘Havana’ to which everyone joins in. Once seated it’s time to start the next round. When Jungwoo faced the group again everyone, including JiHo has come forward.

Johnny danced and Jaehyun and Doyoung sang for Jungwoo, then it’s the girl’s turn. “JiHo! Aegyo!” Haechan yelled and before she can say anything, Yuta agrees. She looks at Jungwoo with a sigh. “Oh it doesn’t look like JiHo really wants to team up with Jungwoo.” Doyoung teased. JiHo quickly dismissed his claim, poking his side which had him twitch.

“Oppa... I think we could make a really good team.” She said with her face rested in her hands. Than she points at her heart. “It would really hurt right here if you reject me.” At the end of her sentence she stands up and throws her rose away. Everyone is dying from laughter or second hand embarrassment. The girl takes a few deep breaths to calm down and she sits back down.

ngl even though that was very cringy, how is JiHo this good at aegyo? I’m sure Jaemin would love it...

They have to make eye contact with the Jungwoo now and once it’s JiHo’s turn she locks eyes with him with ease. Her eyes never faltering which intimidates Jungwoo a bit. “JiHo, you’re supposed to make a connection, not scare him away.” She swats Doyoung’s arm at his remark.

Guess what. Our poor girl was rejected once again

JiHo stands up with her cushion and walks back behind the line. “I danced for you!” She points at Mark. “I acted cute for you!” She points at Jungwoo. “And this is what I get?” The girl actually looks a little agitated which prompted in Jungwoo hugging her and apologising, but she pushes him away. “Whoever my partner is, he and I will end your team.” She threatened while raising her brow. But she only manages to look cute, because she still has a pout very evident on her lips. The tall boy cooed at her and patted her head before walking back to his chair.

Finally Taeyong takes his place on the seat. Once he turned around he could only see Jaehyun and Doyoung sitting back at the line, making a heart with their arms together. A look of despair washed over his face for a quick second before he realises JiHo wasn’t there anymore.

“Where’s JiHo?” He asked and the boys motioned him to turn around once again. When he does he finds JiHo holding her hands up in a heart above her head. “I’ve been rejected twice by those men there.” She points towards Jungwoo and Mark. “And now Doyoung has betrayed me as well. So please be my partner.” Her tone is slightly sad and Taeyong nods and pulls her into a hug.

My heart! :’( She wanted to be in a team with Doyoung from the start, how could he betray JiHo like that!

“Let’s win this!” JiHo yelled, a smile finally finding it’s way back on her face after she found a partner.

That was all for today’s video! Thank you so much for watching!

---

Side Note: This post is inspired by a post by @nct-aria. They’re an amazing NCT addition blog, which I definitely recommend you check out.

#jiho.video #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct female member #nct extra member #nct additional member #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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fandomfindings · 4 years ago

Text

Doughnuts

Pairing: (Five Hargreeves x Reader)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warning(s): A few swears

Summary: A Five Hargreeves imagine where he sneaks you out of your house to spend the night with him and his siblings at a local doughnut shop.

A/N: In this story I imagine Five to be a bit older. While I am aware he time jumps when he is 13 I can’t see him being interested in having a significant other at that age. Of course you can imagine him how you please, but I thought I should make my idea known as the author. Please enjoy the story.

----------

"Are you sure you can't come with us tonight? I think it'll be fun," Five said as he begrudgingly walked you out of his room so you could head home.

"I think so too but you know how my folks are," You replied as you both descended the stairs. "They barely want me around you guys, let alone sneaking out at night to do so."

Five rolled his eyes, knowing the dislike your parents had for his family to be real. "It's just some harmless fun."

"I know, but they don't see it that way, Fivie," You tried to explain, turning to face him as you reached the entrance of the mansion.

"We can get Allison to rumor them," Five plotted.

"We are not getting Allison to rumor my parents! Are you crazy?"

"Yes," Five answered shortly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, making you roll your eyes in response.

"I've got to go," You stated bummed, you, of course, wanted to go, but you knew your parents wouldn't have it. You were lucky to spend more than a few hours with the Hargreeves and be dating Five.

"Stay," Five said, moving you closer to him by pulling at your arms.

You smiled sadly at your boyfriend, "You know I can't."

"But- the fuck you looking at?" Five began in a soft tone but quickly shifted once he caught sight of his brother Klaus. Klaus was walking by when he caught a glance of you two, making kissy faces. Five didn't like that.

Klaus said nothing. He merely raised his hands in mock surrender, with a face to match. You did find it interesting that Five still didn't like showing some of his softer qualities to his siblings sometimes, but you knew that's just who he was as a person.

You chuckled at the interaction between the siblings, you then placed a quick peck to Five's lips before telling him goodbye.

----------

A few hours had passed since you left the Hargreeves residence. In that time, you made yourself do random tasks to keep your mind off the adventure you'd be missing. You even succumbed to doing your homework despite it being the weekend.

As you finished up the last of it, you heard a small thud coming from your window. You ignored it, not thinking much of the noise, but then you heard it again and again.

Deciding to check out the repeated sound, you went to your window only to see your boyfriend. A smile quickly appeared on your face. Five smiled as well as he tossed another pebble at your window.

"You're literally throwing rocks at my window," You said with humor once you finally opened the thing separating you and Five.

"Romantic aren't I," Five commented, dramatically outstretching his arms and raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure." You replied sarcastically, causing Five to smile even more. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm busting you out," Five explained spatial jumping into your room. It made you jump in surprise a bit, for Five was previously in front of you but now behind.

"What about my parents?"

"They've been asleep for a while now," Five reassured, shoving his hands in his pocket with a half-cocked smile.

"How long have you been out there?" You wondered out loud, not even realizing your parents had already called it a night.

"Long enough, now come on."

You hesitated, glancing between your bedroom door, Five, and the window. It didn't take you long to make up your mind. "Fine," You said, quickly slipping on a pair of shoes.

You looked to Five ready to try and sneak your way past your hopefully sleeping parents and out of the house. However, Five had other ideas. He outstretched his arm to you, even though you were confused at first you took it.

"Hold on," Your boyfriend instructed, lapping his hand over the one you had placed on his bicep.

Before you knew it, you had gone from your bedroom to your front yard in seemingly no time. Your stomach instantly churned, your body obviously not use to the sensation.

"I think I'm going to be sick," You said dramatically, reaching for your stomach, releasing the tight grip you had on your boyfriend.

"Save it for the doughnuts," Five quipped back, taking hold of your hand and whisking you away from your front yard.

You two hadn't gotten far, maybe to the end of the street when you realized something.

"Oh shit, I forgot to grab my wallet. Can you take me back?" You asked Five, stopping him from walking any further.

"Our dad's a billionaire I think money is the least of your problems," said a sudden voice as an arm wrapped around your shoulder.

You looked over and saw that the rest of the Hargreeves siblings stood there, waiting for you and Five. The arm that was now rested upon yours was Diego's. However, it was speedily removed thanks to Five moving you just out of Diego's reach, eyes squinted.

Ignoring your boyfriend's actions, you asked aloud, chuckling, "What's the most?"

"Deciding what donuts your gonna get," Ben said with a smile before walking in front of everyone else, signaling the start of the late-night journey.

----------

The trip to the doughnut shop was quick. It was called Griddy's Doughnuts. You remember Five and the others mentioning the place in passing, but this was the first time you would be joining them, and you were excited.

You all entered the shop, it appearing more like a diner. The joint was lively, but not too much for a Saturday night. Soft music played from a jukebox, and patrons chatted among themselves. You got lost in the atmosphere for a bit before felling a tug at your waist. Five was directing you in the direction his siblings had walked off to in your temporary absence.

It was a small spot by the windows. The siblings had already moved two tables together as if it was second nature to them. All eight of you sat down in no particular way. You ended up sitting between Five and Vanya and across from Allison.

Not long after you all sat down, a waitress came over; she seemed nice enough; you didn't catch her name though. You were already too engrossed in a conversation with Ben about a book you had recently finished.

You realized Luther had requested the waitress bring an array of doughnuts to the table, not really caring about the flavors. Despite the large number of doughnuts, Luther had ordered, the waitress was not surprised; she was used to the Hargreeves.

Conversations followed, along with doughnuts and laughter. You had never heard so much from the siblings despite knowing them for so long and dating Five for quite a while. You were having the time of your life. It was nice to spend time with your close friends and boyfriend, especially without them at each other's necks. Well mostly.

"So who's going to be the first to puke?" Diego questioned, slinging his arm across the back of Ben's chair.

"Vanya," almost everyone besides yourself said in unison.

"What? No. Don't act like you guys haven't before," Vanya objected, setting the doughnut she had in her hand down.

"Yeah, but Vanya, it's usually you," pointed out Luther.

"Maybe it'll be Five," said Vanya.

"Yeah, right, I've never -," Five began but was interrupted before he could finish his rebuttal.

"Yes, you did. Remember last year when you -," Ben started, but like Five was also interrupted.

"That was one time!" Five shouted, not letting Ben finish his story. You would be sure to ask one of them about it later.

"He's just trying to act cool because (Y/N)'s here," Diego remarked, smirking.

"Oh, I'm not acting asshole."

"Maybe it'll be (Y/N)," Allison interjected, trying to stop her two brothers from arguing any further.

"No way, my baby's tough," stated Five as he tightened the grip of the arm he had around your shoulders.

"Get a room, you two," Luther said, rolling his eyes jokingly.

"Oh, we will," Five challenged, squinting his eyes at his brother.

"I think it'll be Klaus. I mean, look how green he is," like Allison, you changed the target, blushing at Five's statement.

"I'm always this green," Klaus tried to deflect once he heard his name get thrown into the debate.

"Yeah, uh-huh." You said, clearly not believing your friend.

The discussion continued for a bit longer, everyone having their own opinions. You stuck with your guess of Klaus, Vanya agreeing with you. Allison and Diego voted for you since you were the newbie, and everyone else voted for Vanya. After a little more than an hour of banter, you all decided to leave.

Quicker than you all had thought, you got your answers to the puking debate. You and Vanya had won. Klaus rid his guts of the many doughnuts he had consumed in the past three or so hours, causing everyone to look away in disgust.

You said goodbye to all your friends as you and Five left for your home, you only gave Klaus an air hug for safe measures.

The walk at first was quiet; you both content with the silence as you walked hand in hand. A smile was placed upon your lips; it hadn't left since you entered the shop. Five noticed the whole time, and it made him happy.

"I'm guessing you had fun," said Five, interrupting the silence.

"You would be correct," You replied, the smile growing even wider if that was possible.

"I'm glad."

"Thank you for busting me out," You joked, referring back to the words he had used a few hours ago.

"It was my pleasure," Five responded, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it softly.

Unfortunately, you had reached your home too soon for your liking. You wanted to spend more time with your friends and Five. They brought much happiness to your life, especially today. You knew you would see them again, hopefully soon, but you knew today would hold a special place in your heart.

Five jumped you and him back up to your room, much like how the night began. Your stomach churned again, but you were a bit more prepared for it, so it wasn't as bad.

"How'd you do that?" You questioned Five realizing you hadn't earlier in the night. Tonight was the first time you had seen him teleport with someone else.

"A little trick I've been working on thought it'd come in handy," Five smirked.

"Handy as in sneaking me out of my house?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"Exactly."

"We'll have to use it more often then," You smiled, tugging at the tie he was wearing and bringing him in for a kiss.

----------

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this imagine as much as I enjoyed writing it. I finished watching season two about a week ago and I have been wanted to write a Five imagine, him being my favorite character. Who is your favorite Umbrella Academy Character? Anyway please let me know what you guys think!

Lots of Love <3

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asthmark · 4 years ago

Text

❝ stuck ❞ l.dh

request → “Hi~ I'm absolutely in love with your work. It makes me so soft uwu. I was wondering if you could write a Haechan one similar to the roommate Jeno one you wrote. About what it's like to just live with him” —@demiwizardstay

pairing → demon!haechan, reader, guardianangel!mark

word count → 4.5k

a/n → whoops i made this into a demon!haechan au hahaha sorry i hope this is domestic enough for u tho :D

your eyes must be playing tricks on you.

there’s no other reasonable explanation.

on the other hand, the shadow splayed out ever so comfortably on your couch seems to be very real. it must be just as aware of your presence as you are of its but to your surprise, it isn’t telling you to put your hands where it can see them or demanding to know where all your most valuable items are. it sits there, peacefully as if it owns the place. for a split second you consider the possibility that you walked into the wrong apartment but the key in your hand reminds you that the situation you are in is not your fault in any way.

“so... are you gonna scream or just stand there?”

the figure’s voice is unmistakably masculine and drips with sass. you know you should feel scared. your heart should be pounding as your shaky fingers dial 911 and you hysterically report an intruder to the authorities and beg them to come fast. however, it seems that this stranger’s calm aura has rubbed off on you as you respond with an equally as unbothered tone.

“well, i would appreciate it if you invited me in.” you pause. “oh wait, it’s my apartment.”

with that, you step inside and go about your regular routine with a calmness you didn’t know you possessed; especially when there was an… unwelcome visitor lounging on your sofa. despite that, you kick off your shoes and toss your jacket somewhere on the floor like you normally would. you twirl your keys around your fingers as you go to turn to flick on the light switch. it rids you of the darkness that had settled upon your apartment and the stranger is completely revealed to you.

the first thing you notice about them is their sun kissed skin that’s littered in the freckles you would compare to the most captivating constellation. although, the stranger’s flawless complexion is the least of your worries considering the two horns that peek out from underneath their tufts of brunette hair.

you physically restrain yourself from asking for his skin routine and instead opt for yet another sarcastic comment. “all ready for halloween, i see.” your eyes lock onto the appendages, choosing to ignore how realistic they were. “was party city having a sale?”

your comment seems to get your uninvited guest out of his daze as he scoffs. “are you kidding?”

“hey, this is my place, i ask the questions,” you scold.

he ignores you, instead going to tug on his horns. “these are all real, baby.”

you force yourself to maintain eye contact with him, waiting for him burst into laughter and tell you it was all a prank. instead, his unfaltering smug gaze pierces into you. you swear you stop breathing when his eyes flash bright red for a second.

“alright, you can tell the camera crew to come on out.” you glance around hoping this really was just some sort of hidden camera–practical joke type of thing. you half expect ashton kutcher jump out and tell you that you had gotten punk'd but you’re never granted that privilege. your eyes end up back on the boy lounging on your sofa and he returns the stare, eyes narrowed and mouth curved into a smirk.

it was almost… devilish.

“oh my god.”

“not quite.” he finally stands, stretching his limbs out without a care in the world. “wanna try again?”

you stay silent, mouth slightly agape. there was only one other explanation.

he’s satan. and he’s also in your living room. and the worst part was how undeniably hot he is.

you regret giving him the satisfaction of your stunned silence as it seems like that was the exact reaction he wanted. he laughs at your expression and it just sounds evil.

“alright, alright. i’ll tell you what i am. but only because you mortals are always so cute when you’re scared.”

“i’m not scared, you idiot,” you interject without a second thought. “i just didn’t know i’d be selling my soul today. it’s a total bummer. i’m so young, i still have so much to do. i never even got around to trying yoga with ryujin!”

the boy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “your soul? did i say i wanted your soul?”

“well, you’re like, satan right? isn’t that what you do?”

he rolls his eyes. “i’m obviously a demon. satan is a loser who never leaves his fiery throne. which, by the way, isn’t as cool as it sounds. we’re not on the best terms at the moment.”

“so... you don’t want my soul?”

he shakes his head vigorously, looking disgusted at the mere idea of it. “what would i even do with it?”

“i don’t know. honestly i’m just going off of what i see in the movies.”

“that was your first mistake, baby.” he makes his way closer to you. “this isn’t the movies.”

“okay, back it up,” you say, attempting to put some distance between you and him.

he raises his hands in defeat as he obeys, retreating back to your couch.

“why are you here of all places? shouldn’t you be sipping on a piña colada with satan right now?”

he crosses his legs nonchalantly. “like i said, we aren’t on speaking terms. in fact, i’m kind of… banned.”

“banned?” you echo. “from where?”

“hell? duh.”

you scowl at his attitude. “it’s not my fault you’re on timeout.”

he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “don’t call it that. it’s just a punishment.”

“same thing,” you say, making your way into the kitchen. you weren’t sure if leaving a demon unattended in your living room was the best idea but the initial shock had already worn off. besides, it seemed like he had been in your apartment for a while already. “what did you do anyway?”

“it’s not even that bad,” he grumbles.

“must have been if you got kicked out of hell.” you chuckle to yourself as you open up your pantry, looking for something to stuff your face with. “do you understand how bad you must be if even the devil himself can’t stand you?”

“i’m not bad, per se,” he says, picking at his nails. “just a little annoying.”

“no kidding,” you grumble to yourself, rummaging through your pantry, in pursuit of your favorite snack. you were sure everything would make more sense once you got some food in your system. when all you find is an empty, crumpled bag where your chips had once been, you whine loudly. “did you eat all my hot cheetos?”

“they reminded me of home!”

“i can see why they kicked you out,” you retort.

“listen, i get that this is an inconvenience—”

“that’s kind of an understatement.”

“but, this is the only place i can stay. turns out people freak out when you appear in their living rooms. you were the only one that didn’t.”

“yeah, people usually don’t take too kindly to that—hold on, did you say stay?”

he crosses his arms over his chest. “where else am i supposed to go?”

“anywhere but here.”

he gives you an unamused stare, his eyes glinting red once again.

“i mean, don’t you have any demon friends you can stay with?”

“not here. we avoid earth at all costs. it’s trashy. that’s why this is a punishment.”

not even you can argue with that. “understandable. well, how long are you gonna be here?”

“don’t know.”

you blink at him. “so… you’re planning to crash with me until satan decides to be your friend again?”

he groans. “first of all, he’s never been my friend. second of all, yes, that was the plan i had in mind when i broke into your house.”

“broke in?”

“well, actually i used teleportation powered by the dark arts to get in but i don’t think your tiny human brain is ready for that conversation.”

“and i don’t think it’d be in your best interest to insult the person you’re currently trying to move in with.”

that seems to shut him up, as he purses his lips together and stares at you blankly.

“listen, if we’re going to do this, there’s gotta be some ground rules, okay?”

he stays silent so you decide to continue.

“you have to pull your own weight around here. you might be some powerful being of the underworld but that doesn’t mean you get out of laundry day and doing dishes, got it?”

he seems displeased, if the frustrated huff of air he lets out is anything to go by.

“and you have to promise me that by staying here you aren’t putting me in any kind of danger.”

“well, i can’t guarantee i won’t cause problems,” he says, raking his fingers through the hair in between his sharpened horns. “but i can protect you from whatever crap comes our way.”

you contemplate it. you weren’t entirely sure what a demon like him was capable of but it seemed like it would be a list that was equally lengthy as it was impressive. yet, you still can’t bring yourself to agree to anything.

as if he senses your apprehensive nature, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his hazelnut eyes. you only get to admire the warm tint for a split second before his eyes flash red yet again. they stay glowing longer than any of the previous times; long enough for you to notice how shiny and bright they are, reminding you of ripe cherries.

“i promise.”

the tone of his voice is surprisingly firm and definitely the most serious you’ve heard him the entire night. he retreats his hand from you and you find yourself leaning forward, almost craving his touch. his eyes go back to their original hue and you feel yourself regain your senses.

“what did you just do?” you ask, leaning back from him. “what kind of dark magic was that?”

he tries to conceal his smile but ultimately fails, his pearly whites coming onto display. “that wasn’t magic, baby. i believe you just got lost in my eyes but don’t worry. i would too.”

you let out a bitter laugh. “oh my god, you’re vain.”

“do you mortals have to mention him every five seconds?” he chides, grimacing.

it takes you a moment to realize who he’s referring to but when you do, you erupt in laughter. “really? that gets to you? you’re pretty sensitive for a big and bad demon.”

“i have a name, baby.”

“so do i.”

his lips curve into a coy smile. “donghyuck.”

you give him your name in response, not even bothering to think about it twice, much to your surprise. most would probably be more hesitant to introduce themself to a demon, much less invite them into their home.

yet here you were, doing both.

he offers you nothing more than a grin—it seemed more genuine than the last—before turning on his heel to make his way farther into your apartment. “so, where will i be sleeping? i was thinking your bed would be ideal.”

“well, i was thinking you could start with a thank you,” you suggest, trailing after him.

he saunters down the hallway, twisting the knob of the door second to the left and peeking in. you can only imagine how much snooping around he had done before you had arrived, judging by the fact that he maneuvered your home so expertly.

he hums as he scans the room as if it’s the first time (which you’re sure it’s not). “it looks comfortable enough for the two of us.”

you can tell there’s no arguing with him, especially as he steps inside and sits himself on the edge of your bed, hands running over the soft fabric of your comforter. he bounces up and down a couple times, seeming satisfied enough with the mattress.

in the blink of an eye, he’s underneath the heaps of blankets, tucked in snuggly.

you exhale, trying to maintain patience. “i can tell this whole dark magic thing is going to be a problem for me.”

even though only his eyes peek out from beneath the polyester sheets, you’re positive he’s wearing an obnoxious smirk. his voice comes out slightly muffled when he answers, “think of it as a blessing, not a curse.”

“we’ll see.” you try to suppress a yawn but it manages to escape you, eyes squinting and your hand clamping over your mouth. “right now, i gotta sleep. hopefully i’ll wake up tomorrow and realize this was all a dream.”

“so, what you’re implying is that i’m a dream?”

“i meant to say nightmare.”

“that’s more accurate.”

as if the dazed tone of his voice didn’t give his sleepiness away, donghyuck’s drowsy eyes and horns sinking into the soft plush of your pillow certainly did. he looked the least threatening right then and there and you decide that this is the donghyuck you like best. you can’t help the sudden urge you feel to curl up in bed right next to him and doze off into blissful unconsciousness.

“what are you waiting for? get in here.”

could demons read minds too? you can’t be bothered to think about it for another second before you take donghyuck’s very tempting offer and crawl into your bed. you don’t care that you’re not in your pajamas or that you smell like coffee beans, courtesy of the cafe you worked at.

all you can seem to focus on is the feeling of donghyuck’s soft breath against your neck and his oddly cute snores. it was ironic; a demon all cuddled up beside you, sleeping like a baby. you almost giggle at the striking comparison.

needless to say, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

“you know, it really pisses me off to come home and see you sitting in the exact same position you were in when i left.”

donghyuck rolls his eyes, an expression he’s mastered over time. “what else am i supposed to do? you made it pretty clear that you hate my demonic rituals and that’s kind of my speciality.”

you shrug as you kick your shoes off upon entering your shared apartment. “i don’t know. but binging the entire marvel movie saga can’t possibly be healthy.”

“we don’t have this in hell!” donghyuck exclaims, gesturing to the television his eyes remained glued on.

“well, you should get used to life on earth considering you don’t know how long you’re gonna be stuck here.”

“i’m already on it. pop culture is actually really informative.”

“not what i meant. i was thinking more along the lines of a job.”

donghyuck finally tears his eyes away from the television to give you an unamused stare. “that’s really funny, y/n.”

“i’m serious! would it kill you to get off the sofa?”

“no. nothing would. i’m immortal, remember?”

you narrow your eyes. “oh yeah, almost forgot. you’re gonna be a bother to me forever and ever.”

“this isn’t the ideal situation for me either. but no need to torture me with low life mortal tasks.”

“bills gotta be paid, it’s a part of life,” you respond, taking a seat beside him. “or else we’ll both be breaking into people’s houses and begging them to move in.”

“i didn’t beg, alright? and i didn’t break in either! i simply... appeared.”

“that’s even worse.”

“you didn’t seem to mind when you were all snuggled into me this morning.”

donghyuck’s words paired with his taunting tone cause you to feel slightly warm but you ignore it for the sake of a comeback. “you seemed comfortable yourself because when my alarm for work went off your arm was pretty tight around me.”

you swear you see him pout for a moment. “that’s not my fault! there aren’t many people open to cuddling in hell! i was just… seizing the opportunity.”

“since you’re all about opportunities, you should really look into that job. remember what we agreed on? no slacking off.”

“i’m not! just look in the kitchen!”

you know whatever it is, you’re not prepared for it. nevertheless, you tiptoe to said area, hoping your roommate had simply followed instructions and done the dishes and swept. but, of course, that itself is too much to ask as you watch the sink overflow with suds, plates and silverware scrubbing themselves clean and floating into their respective cupboards. a broom dances across the tiled floor, dust flying everywhere. you find that the mess in your kitchen resembles a train wreck; you want to look away but you just can’t.

you call out to donghyuck, eyes still trained on the chaos before you, asking, “what did we say about rituals?”

“it’s a little more complicated than a ritual, baby!”

once you finally gather enough willpower to walk away from the kitchen and whatever is happening in it, you return to the living room, placing yourself in front of the television that donghyuck is so entranced in.

“you’re coming with me to work tomorrow, got it?”

donghyuck groans for a second before rolling his eyes dramatically hard. “fine. now, can you move? the avengers are about to fight thanos.”

you comply, retreating to your bedroom but not before shouting back, “iron man dies!”

you shut your door, donghyuck’s frustrated screeching still coming through loud and clear.

your phone alerts you that it’s 6 am by playing an alarm so loud donghyuck falls out of bed. comically enough, it’s the loud thump! that comes when donghyuck makes contact with the floor that really gets your eyes to flutter open. you peek over the edge of the bed, every bit of grogginess leaving your body the second you see your roommate tangled in your sheets, limbs sprawled on the ground.

“are you okay?” you ask, laughter lacing your words.

“doing just fine,” he mumbles in response. soon thereafter, his eyes shut once again.

“hey! no way are you going back to sleep, we have work!”

you drag yourself out of bed over to where donghyuck lays, attempting to resume his peaceful slumber. you grab his arms, attempting to hoist him up. you’re almost positive he’s making it more difficult than it should be as he lets his body go completely limp in your grasp. when you finally get him standing upright, he smiles lazily at you, obviously still half asleep.

“c’mon dork, you need to get ready. you’re gonna make some cash today!”

donghyuck makes it clear he understands nothing as the morning progresses.

he doesn’t get the importance of being on time or even working in the first place. he offers to just take out your landlord, which according to him will “solve all your problems”, more times than you count and you’re sure that if he mentions it one more time you’d actually consider it. he also claims he doesn’t understand the concept of a shower, asking you to help him out, yet the knowing smile on his face lets you know he’s more than well aware of what it entails. unfortunately, you realize this after spending more time than you’d care to admit explaining the concept of getting naked to him in a tight, confined space to him only for him to request a demonstration.

upon leaving your apartment, more new things are revealed to donghyuck. you can’t help but admire the wonder and awe in his eyes. the adoration quickly wears off when he throws a temper tantrum at the subway station, refusing to board it and you have to physically force him on and promise that no, he won’t get trapped inside.

despite the slight bumps in the road, you arrive at your shift with time to spare. the clock tells you that you won’t have to be behind the counter for another five minutes so you grab your apron and provide donghyuck with one too. you give him quite possibly the quickest tour of the cafe ever and explain to him over five times what you were there to do (“so, we just take people’s orders? we serve them?” “and they pay for it.” “just when i thought it couldn’t possibly get dumber”). you end putting him on cleaning duty since you were well aware of his lack of social skills. he frowns when you tell him he has to do it himself, no magic allowed. the last thing you needed was someone getting nearly knocked over by a levitating broom and bringing it to your manager’s attention. speaking of—

“good morning, y/n,” greets doyoung. his hair is slicked back and his eyes shine, as always. “always a pleasure to see you on your shift.”

donghyuck watches you cautiously, observing the way you smile nervously and avoid meeting doyoung’s eyes. he assumes he has some kind of authority over you.

“and hello there. who might you be?”

doyoung is now very aware of donghyuck’s presence, giving him a wide smile but a menacing stare. you don’t get a word out before donghyuck’s giving him a polite smile and nod of his head.

“i was just hired, y/n is showing me the ins and outs. i honestly could not be happier working under leaders like you, sir.”

doyoung hums, obviously enjoying donghyuck’s praise enough to let it blind him from the fact that you hadn’t even been hiring in the first place. “sir, huh? haven’t heard that one before.”

donghyuck holds his breath, wondering if he had overdone it.

“i like it. you seem like a hard working fellow. glad to have you on the team.” your boss gives him a firm pat on the back before walking away, probably to go scare some other employees.

donghyuck sticks his tongue out at him once his back is turned and you simply laugh, smile still present on your face when your first customer arrives.

“i’m here!”

you glance up from the cash register to catch your coworker rushing in, looking frazzled… as always.

“hey mark,” you greet, giving him a welcoming smile. “i’m so glad you’re here. there’s been this crazy demand for frappuccinos all day and you know i suck at those.”

mark chuckles as he ties on his apron. “no offense, but the only order you should be taking are the puppuccinos.”

you shoot him the most non-threatening glare possible which ends up with you bursting into a fit of laughter. “i’m not even gonna argue with that.”

“hypothetically, if i made doyoung’s coffee explode on him but made sure he didn’t know, would you be mad?”

you roll your eyes at donghyuck’s bold entrance yet you still giggle. “at this point, i say go for it. ooh, maybe we could even sneak out while he’s cleaning it up. what do you say, mark?”

where there would usually be a giddy laugh, there’s nothing but silence on your coworkers behalf. you put a pause on counting the money in the register to steal a glance at mark who’s eyes are dead set on donghyuck who also seems to be intensely focused on the blonde.

“demon,” mark mutters.

you feel yourself freeze up; how could he possibly know? despite the panic that settles upon you, you’re sure donghyuck will find a way to handle the situation. you expect a lie, maybe even some magic if the situation called for it. when you see his lips curve upwards sinisterly, you know you’re in for an entirely different outcome.

“angel.” there’s a teasing lilt in donghyuck’s voice; it sends chills up your spine.

mark’s jaw is clenched and you know he’s equally as tense as you are. “we should go, y/n.”

“mark, he’s just—”

“now.”

the sudden desperation yet dominance in mark’s tone is even more alarming than donghyuck’s.

“you know,” donghyuck begins, rounding the counter, dramatically. “i’ve never been a fan of the way guardian angels think they own their person.”

you swear your brain shuts down. there was no way you had come into contact with a demon and now an angel—your guardian angel. and there was definitely no way it was your closest coworker, right?

“it’s our responsibility—she is my responsibility.”

donghyuck folds his arms as he gives mark a once over. “you won’t mind if i take over, right?”

mark chuckles, begrudgingly. “you know i can’t let that happen.”

“i’m not hurting her, i’d never hurt her.” donghyuck takes his place next to you, wrapping an arm around you. he peers down at you, eyes glowing red for the first time since your first encounter. “my angel.”

you know the nickname is to piss mark off and you assume it works as you observe his hands clench into fists. although, you’re more focused on how the pet name effortlessly rolled off donghyuck’s tongue, like temptation itself.

“don’t make this difficult for yourself,” donghyuck continues. “you know feelings are dangerous. that’s what they tell you when you first sign up. just don’t let that get you into trouble, got it?”

the tension is suffocating and you almost wish a customer would enter the currently empty cafe to save you from it. although, donghyuck makes sure that you don’t have to endure it any longer as a second later, you’re both gone, only a cloud of red smoke left behind.

mark stands alone in the cafe.

he had gotten this job for you; to look after you.

perhaps he had caught feelings, as well.

he assumes that was his first mistake.

when donghyuck takes you back to your apartment, it seems the awkward atmosphere from the cafe has followed you home.

“uh, can i ask what that was all about?”

“that guy, mark was it? yeah, he’s your guardian angel. i can’t stand it when those guys act like they’re in charge of the person they’re sent to look after,” he seethes.

you watch donghyuck’s fit of frustration carefully, eyes wide. when he sees how confused you are he can’t help but sigh.

“i’m sorry, i just… didn’t appreciate him acting like you were his. guess i don’t really like the thought of that.”

you would have to be oblivious beyond compare to not realize donghyuck was completely and utterly jealous. you prod him further, asking, “well, then who would you rather i belong to?”

he glances up at you. “whoever you want, baby.”

“you know what? i think i have somebody in mind.”

not even a second later, donghyuck takes you back in the security of your bed, under your piles of fluffy blankets. what feels most comfortable (and strangely familiar) is the feeling of donghyuck’s arm clinging to you, making you sure you’re pressed right into his chest like a puzzle piece.

“the person you had in mind was me, right? ’cause if not, this might be awkward.”

your eyes roll back despite knowing he can’t see it. “no, it was mark.”

“not funny.”

your shoulders shake with laughter. “it’s a little funny.”

“whatever, keep laughing. just let me hold you, alright?”

“that would be heaven.” silence settles upon the both of you as you go into nearly hysterical laughter. “get it? because you’re a demon… from hell… and that’s like, the opposite—”

“yeah, i get it, baby.” he pauses. “how many more lame jokes surrounding me being a demon will i have to endure?”

“i definitely have more where that came from so my guess is... more than you can count.”

he moans in displeasure. “you’re lucky you’re cute… for a mortal.”

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shyficwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Who's Tougher part 2

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Thor

Summary: So the Guardians now know you aren't Terran. That makes things awkward, but things only get more awkward when they find out what you are.

Author’s Note: Part 1 here.

Word Count: 3,337

"Any chance we can just forget that happened?" you ask, nervously chuckling as you wring your hands. "I promise I'll fix that-" you stand up and look again at the ruined metal that was once the arm of a chair, "or uh... replace it?" You grin hopefully, though you were sure it came out more like a grimace.

"No! Of course we're not just gonna forget that happened!" Peter cried, his face a mix of startled amazement and incredulity, like he couldn't quite believe what he had just witnessed from his friend. "Are you crazy!? What are you!?"

You shrank back a bit, his words stung a little, whether he intended them to or not. "Ok, I had a feeling that wouldn't fly..." Your gaze dropped to the table. What were you? You were his friend... right?

"Why did you lie?" Gamora asked, not nearly as harshly as Peter, but it hurt more regardless.

You furrow your brows as you look up to her, insulted. "Hey! I didn't lie!"

"You said you was from Terra." Kraglin interjected. "An' you ain't a Terran. Think that counts as lyin'." He sat back in his chair, eyeing you. Yondu still stood next to him, doing the same.

Drax, still sat in his chair but removing his electrode leads, then threw in a, "Friends shouldn't lie," with Groot nodding in agreement as well as Mantis, but you ignored them.

"I was born there- Pretty sure that counts as 'being from' someplace." You suppressed the urge to call him a jerk and crossed your arms in front of you with a hurt expression. "Not my fault you filled in the blanks yourselves."

Yondu spoke up now. "Ya didn't exactly tell us otherwise, either." He doesn't sound angry or as confused or suspicious like the others, his statement was more matter-of-fact. You had been with the team longer than he had, but in the time that he had known you, you had never given an inclining that you were anything other than a normal Terran like Quill- or well, maybe that's a bad example... but now that Ego is dead that probably makes him a normal Terran, right?

You merely responded to him with, "You didn't ask." You had a feeling that likely wouldn't go over well, but you were too busy being offended for being called a liar to give it much thought before it was out of your mouth.

Peter made noises that couldn't be classified as words as he waved his hands around in exasperation. "Wha- You- HOW- Were we really just supposed to ask, 'Hey, do you have any cool or weird powers you haven't told us about? Like glowing eyes or the ability to crush metal with your bare freaking hands?!'"

You don't respond, just stare off into a corner.

"I think you better start talking. Or, ya know, we can always hook you back up to this thing you hated so much until you spill the goods." Rocket said with a chuckle, holding up what you now mentally dubbed as a torture device. You couldn't quite tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or not, but either way it didn't work.

You blush and instinctively wrap your arms protectively around your middle. "You don't have to be mean about it..." you say, not making eye contact with anyone.

"Ok," says Gamora, trying to calm the situation down, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. "I think what Peter means is why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you feel you could trust us?"

That hurt. You didn't want them to think you thought so little of them. You sigh, "It's not like that. I just- I dunno."

"You don't know?" Gamora repeated, an eyebrow raised.

"Look, I'm sorry. Ok? It's not that I didn't trust you, I trust you guys with my life! I do! I- I just couldn't. I don't have a better answer." You did actually, but it was too complicated. You wanted to melt into the floor.

"Hey, I got a question." Kraglin spoke back up when everyone else seemed to be at a loss for words. "'While back, when Thor was here, he told you he thought ya looked familiar, and you got all nervous-like when you told him he was mistaken. Now, at the time I thought you was just crushin' on him mighty hard, but now you've got me thinking maybe you didn't wanna be recognized."

You cringed. You knew what he was referring to. When Thor had briefly been with the Guardians he came up to you, stating he swore he knew you from somewhere. You had replied that you merely had 'one of those faces' and that he was mistaking you for someone else before scurrying off to talk to Gamora.

You had lied.

Kraglin continued. "Cuz now that I think about it, you're kinda like him... Kinda like a-"

You knew what he was about to say, and you hated it. "Please don't-"

He finished the sentence anyway, "-god."

Something seemed to click for the rest of the team and they now stared at you wide-eyed. Little Groot's mouth dropped open, while Mantis covered hers. Peter and Gamora exchanged stunned glances with Drax. Yondu and Rocket each raised an eyebrow while Kraglin just looked at you expectantly for an answer.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Please don't call me that."

Peter stared at you. "You're a god?!" All this time... All this freaking time one of his friends had been a god and never told him?? Were you a celestial like Ego? Were you another Asgardian like Thor? He had so many questions, but couldn't verbalize any of them in his shock.

You shoot Kraglin a pained look. "Dammit! You've gone and made it all weird!" You turn back to Peter. "No! I'm not a god!" This seemed to relax the others some, but not much. Yeah, you seemed cool, but why hide you could do what you just did to the chair? What else were you hiding?

"But ya are, aren't ya? Like Thor, I mean." Kraglin pressed.

You scrambled for the right words. "I- No- Well, not exactly..." You hated this. Everything was so simple ten minutes ago, couldn't you just go back to that?

"I'm calling him." Rocket says, pulling out his media pad and beginning to dial.

"Wait! No no no no no!" you exclaim, stepping forward with your hands raised. You realized you shouldn't have done that, it looked suspicious as hell, but you panicked.

Rocket looked up at you, smirking, "Why? Is it because he'll recognize you and confirm you're like him? Or... wait..." He thought for a second. "Are you some kind of fugitive?"

"No!" you say, wincing. "I mean-" You brush a hand over your face. "Ok. I did know him," you admitted, making Kraglin laugh out a "Knew it!" You shoot him a look before returning to Rocket. "I'm not a god- or a fugitive- I would just rather he -uh- didn't remember me." Truthfully, it wasn't Thor you were worried about, it was his brother, and if Thor remembered you there was a chance he'd bring it up to Loki. But, that was another story for another day. Or never. Never was good.

The rest of the team gave you a weird look for a moment. Eventually Gamora asked suspiciously, "Why?" You being vague wasn't exactly helping you right now, but you couldn't help it.

"Just... personal reasons." you reply, hoping it would be enough.

Spoiler: it wasn't.

"Yeah, no, I'm calling him." Rocket said, he had already dialed and it was ringing. If there was one thing Rocket liked, it was uncovering other people's secrets, usually to hold them over there heads, and Thor was clearly a lead to figuring out yours.

Your eyes went wide in panic again and you tried to stop him, but before you could do anything Thor's face appeared in the screen and you muttered an, "Aw, fuck."

"Rabbit! Hi! It's been a bit, what brings you to call me?" Thor said cheerfully. "And everyone else is there, too! Hello!"

Mantis waved cutely at the screen and the others verbalized their greetings. Well, aside from Yondu and Kraglin, who just gave a nod to be polite.

"Hey Thor," Rocket started, "I was hoping you could settle something. You remember our friend here, right?" He turned the screen to you and you quickly changed your expression from exasperated pleading as you mouthed the word "No!" over and over with a wave of your hands into to a forced smile as you waved and awkwardly said "Hi, Thor..."

Rocket grinned, taking glee in watching you squirm. Yes, partially because he was a dick, but also because he was actually offended that you, his pranking buddy, had kept something like this from him. It hurt, and this was how he was choosing to deal with that.

"You know, I thought I did, but I was told it was a misunderstanding... although..." Thor said thoughtfully, squinting his eyes.

Your stomach sank.

Thors face lit up. "Oh yes! I knew I recognized you! You were one of mine and Loki's playmates when Mother and Father would visit old friends on Earth!"

You winced but retained your forced smile, but it immediately fell with what he said next.

"You were the lovely Nephilim girl that Loki would get into so much trouble with!" Thor laughed heartily. "My, it's been a long time. I don't really remember why we didn't keep in touch..."

Your eyes grew wide, you didn't expect him to just blurt out what you were right there and then. Part of you had still been naive enough to think it could have been avoided altogether. However, you didn't have much time to dwell on it before the other shoe dropped. Your stomach jumped into your throat when he asked, "Loki's around here somewhere... Would you like me to fetch him?"

"No!" you say, a little too loudly, before trying to cover, "No, that's fine Thor. I- I don't think that's the best idea!"

Thor didn't hear you, he was already too busy calling for Loki.

The others could see you were real nervous about Thor putting Loki on the call. Yondu and Kraglin exchanged a look that was a mix of suspicion and amusement. It was evident now you had been telling the truth about not being a fugitive, but why were you so nervous? Was this Loki fella an ex-boyfriend or something? And what even was a Nephlilim?

The question on Gamora's mind was why were you avoiding what were apparently your childhood friends if they didn't seem to be angry with you?

Rocket just grinned a shit-eating grin, clearly thinking he was about to see something very funny -- meaning completely embarrassing for you-- happen.

He wouldn't get to see that happen, however, because with a quick, "Goodbye, Thor!" you lunged forward to push the button that would end the call just before Rocket could pull away.

"Hey!" Rocket complained, "You know I can just call him back, right?"

"Later, Rat." Yondu said, looking at you inquisitively. "He said ya were a Nephilim, what's that?" He didn't think you were dangerous from what he'd seen of you before today. You were about as damn goofy as Peter was... but what if that had been a cover this whole time? He did just see you destroy that chair arm without even realizing, like it was nothing. Why else would you have hidden who/what you were from the team? He had to be cautious.

Peter spoke up. "I've heard of those. My grandparents made me go to Sunday school. It's like the baby of an angel and a human... and they're like... super powerful... but- but you're not supposed to be real!" he said, amazement in his eyes. "I thought that was all religious bullcrap! Does this mean that God, like thee God is real??" He was asking out of utter disbelief rather than anything, having never actually believed in any of that stuff, especially after being taken by Yondu when he was a boy.

You cringed so hard. "Peter please. You're being so embarrassing right now!" You covered your face before letting your hands fall again. The rest of the team just kind of stared at each other, not really sure what to do with all this information. "Look, if the dude exists, I've never met him, and that Terran religion stuff made things so awkward for people like me. And you wonder why I didn't tell!"

Now Peter looked a little sorry, and to your surprise he actually apologized. "Look, ok, I'm sorry. You're right, but can you blame us?"

Your shoulders fell and you sighed, breaking your gaze from his. "I get it, I do. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but why does it matter what I am? I'm still me. I'm still the same person."

Drax spoke up for the first time in a while, standing up from his chair to stand with you as he patted you on the shoulder. "This small neffle-thing is right. We are family. It shouldn't matter what anyone is."

You awkwardly pat his hand on your shoulder, honestly not expecting the sudden solidarity. "Thanks, buddy."

"I do have a question though." he added, removing his hand.

You dropped your head, muttering, "Dammit."

"Peter said your kind are very powerful, does that mean this whole time you've been holding back on missions?"

The realization of what Drax had asked put strange expressions on half the faces of your team. The kinda look that says, "Hey! You've been holding out on us! What the hell?!" Rocket nearly verbalized this sentiment as such with a, "Hey! He's right! How many jobs could we have just been in and out of with a snap of your fingers?! Rude, is what that is."

"Ok, first off, I can't make anything happen 'with the snap of my fingers,' ok? I just want to make that clear," you scolded. Your cheeks began to grow hot as you continued, "and secondly... um... none."

"None!? Quill just said you were some super powerful being, and you're really gonna tell us that none of your powers could have helped us on any of those missions?" Rocket stood staring at you in disbelief, his hands on his hips in a way that would have been super adorable if you weren't so uncomfortable right now.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly great at... controlling them." you admitted, rubbing your arm.

"You can't control them?" Gamora asked, sounding a bit surprised, and maybe a little sympathetic too.

"No." You admitted again, begrudgingly. You saw they were looking at you like they wanted some sort of explanation, so you sighed before making wildish gestures with your hands at the ruined chair arm, saying sarcastically, "Exhibit A! I broke the damn chair just because the damn trash panda... tickled me too hard with his electrocution-torture- thingy..." your sentence trailed off in a mix of bitterness and embarrassment, your face flushed a decent shade of scarlet as you crossed your arms. "You know, if you ask me this is all his fault. We wouldn't be having this conversation if it weren't for him."

"You can't blame me! It was supposed to hurt! Not my fault you didn't tell us you're some weird-god thing." Rocket then proceeded to mock you. "oH No! NoT AN elEcTRiC SHOCK! IT TiCkLES TOO mUcH! i'm GOnnA bEg ROCkEt FOR MERCY And BreAK A ChAIR BeCAUsE eVEn ThOUgh I'm a GOD i'm StiLL a Big bABy!"

"I hate you," you say flatly, glaring at him before looking up at the ceiling in frustration as you said, "and stop calling me a god, I'm not a god!"

The sound of laughter brought your gaze back to the team. It was Rocket, of course. Yondu and Kraglin were also snickering, mostly due to your pouty expression, but Rocket was definitely the loudest. You frowned. "It's not funny."

"The hell if it ain't," Yondu laughed. Everyone had been so surprised by what you had done to the chair that they actually had forgotten what had made you do it in the first place.

"Aw, don't give us that long face," Kraglin teased, still laughing. "It could've been worse. Getting tickled til ya break a chair is a whole lot less embarrasin' than gettin' tickled til yer pissin' yer pants."

You gave Kraglin a scandalized look as his comment earned snickers from more of the team. He might have been trying to make you feel better, but he had actually only embarrassed you more. The only one not actually laughing was Gamora, and she looked like she was going to tell the others off for you, but she was cut off by Rocket.

"Oh cheer up, or I'll do it again!" Rocket laughed, giving you a mischievous look. "That'll teach you to blame me! If you and Quill hadn't been bickering all the time I wouldn't have made this thing to shut you up!"

You glared at him. "Threaten me with that again and I'm taking it," you warned.

To your surprise, Yondu took that moment and actually snatched the device from Rocket himself. This surprised Rocket too, and he looked up at Yondu with a dejected, "Hey!"

"Sorry there, Rat, but we don't need anymore broken chairs." He chuckled and slipped you a wink as he slipped the device into one of the inside pockets of his duster. He might have been making a joke at your expense as he did it, but you were grateful for the gesture nonetheless. You didn't need Rocket threatening you with it every time he wanted something from you- and you know he would have. As did Yondu, hence why he snatched it. You may have been a goofy little shit like Peter, and you may have hidden powers (and don't get him wrong, he was still going to keep an eye on you), but he still liked ya well enough to save you from a sadistic raccoon, for now.

Rocket pouted, muttering something about "Never let me have any fun!" as he collected Groot and sulked off.

You smiled at Yondu in return, glad the mood had been somewhat lifted, even if it was at your own expense. After a beat you look back to Peter. "Are we good?" you asked, with so much more meaning behind those three words than just asking if you two were good. Peter could see that you were desperately asking not only for forgiveness, but acceptance. There was thinly veiled fear and nervousness in your eyes that he might cast you out for keeping this secret from the team, from him. It made him feel a little guilty.

He looked at you softly. "Yeah. I mean, I still have a lot of questions, but yeah, we're good."

"I guess that's fair," you say, a relieved grin cracking your face. "But another day, ok? It's late and I'm tired." With that you excused yourself for bed, barely waiting for an acknowledgment of what you said before you were walking away, eager to just get away from this conversation for now. You did smirk a little, however, when you heard Drax ask Peter if you being a "Neffleling" meant you were the tougher one, only for Peter to sigh irritably and say, "No, Drax," and Kraglin to laugh in response and say to Peter, "Nah, I think it does," just to rile him up.

Once you were gone Kraglin spoke again, wondering out loud what had happened with Loki that made you so nervous when Rocket called Thor.

This made Peter look back and share a look with the rest of the team. Kraglin was right. You were nervous enough to hang up the phone when Thor called for Loki to join the conversation. Nervous enough to wish Thor didn't remember your face.

What had happened?

#gotg #gotg x reader #guardians of the galaxy #peter quill #gamora #rocket raccoon #drax the destroyer #yondu udonta #fanfic #thor #loki #kraglin obfonteri #gotg fanfiction

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