#and so the spite turned into love and and care and that in turn elevated it beyond anything ANYONE EVER expected

[heechwe]

one more night | 𝐦𝐣𝐡

୨୧ pairing: myung jaehyun x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 2.1k ୨୧ genre: smut ୨୧ tags: forbidden romance, friends(?) with benefits, ceo!jaehyun, ceo!reader, spanking, degradation, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie. ୨୧ synopsis: You tell yourself it will be the last time you commisserate with the enemy every time you leave him. But, like magnets, you always come back to each other in spite of every instinct telling you to walk away. ➸ Request from spider anon via this ask! I hope you love it like I do! Shoutout also to my friends @lovetaroandtaemin and @loserlvrss for beta-reading and dealing with my ass writing this story ilysm 🤍

Any excuse to run across Jaehyun reminds you why you’re such a good liar. Both in life and in business, it’s a good skill to have in order to hold a lot of things together. Jaehyun isn't one to conceal much of anything, though. Maybe that’s why you both can’t stand each other sixty percent of the time, your rigidness the perfect clash with his care-free nature. The guy holds a title you worked for forever while he seemed to earn it with the flick of his wrist. 

Your families didn’t share fuzzy feelings either. Your parents and his on paper seemed to be a match made in heaven, your hotel monopoly the counterpart to a chain of popular restaurants in the city. But it was anything but, unfortunately. The lack of similar business interests and practices as well as their disproportionate dispositions made it a pain to get together every time there was a dinner party or business convention with both of your companies on the ticket.

Like tonight, the expo for the new release of stocks for many companies is another standoff between your respective parties. You have to hold yourself back from sharing any words of encouragement or conversation that paints Jaehyun and his company in a good light without being rude. In truth, you could care less about the hotels right now, flitting your gaze to the ballroom doors to see the one person who drives you insane.

You refuse to admit the red dress you’re wearing is meant to show off your neckline just for him. You did not put on an extra spritz of perfume that he likes to make his head spin. You don’t wish the executives you’re talking with right now would walk away so you could find the man himself.

Of course he saunters in the room when he lingers on your mind, walking past the many gray suits without much care for his late entrance. His three-piece suit exaggerates the lines of his body in a way that irritates you and turns you on in the same breath. He shakes the hands of the stakeholders with a shit-eating grin and glides near you with a hand on the small of your back, determined to shake your resolve without saying a word.

It’s his nature to get under your skin with something as simple as the light graze of his fingertips. He loves to see you flustered until you’re begging and pleading, the actions completely against your normal character. You’ll never bow down to any man or woman in the world to get what you want, but for Jaehyun, he seems to be the only exception to the rule.

Of course, you’ll never admit that, playing it off as simple carnal desire and nothing more. You deny the heat pressing into your body the longer his hand lingers on the back of your dress, his thumb and forefinger playing with the zipper.

He says your name as he toys with your emotions further, the rest of the company around you going back to their casual conversations about trips abroad and business deals. “We need to discuss the merger. We can excuse ourselves for fifteen minutes, don’t you think?”

Sanctimonious prick.

He can barely hold himself together by the time you make it off the elevator together and walk in the direction of the room. He strings you up against the hallway wall, his hand immediately hiking up your skirt and his lips clinging to your neck.

“You love this. You love messing with my head,” he grunts, taking your underwear in his fingers and dragging them down your legs. He could give a shit less if anyone were to leave their room to find the scene playing out in front of them. In his mind, three days has been torture. Any more and he would’ve exploded.

He has to make it known how much pain he has been in, and he has every intention of returning his torment with the same vigor.

“Hyunie,” you whisper, the words about to leave your mouth as hollow as his preservation for your dignity. “Not here.”

“You don’t care,” he responds. The pad of his thumb easily finds your clit under your dress, rubbing circles into the center of your legs without stumbling on his words. “Everyone downstairs could see me fucking you and all that would matter to you is if you got off. And you know it.”

You moan into his mouth when he licks the roof of yours with his tongue. His fingers still dance in the pool at your center, your underwear clenched in his other hand pressed against the wall.

“Please fuck me, Jaehyun,” you beg, tugging on his pants as he continues with his thumb and forefinger bordering the walls of your cunt. The strain of his cock in the fabric is obvious, the outline of it making your mouth water.

He smirks, holding his bottom lip between his teeth. “Not before I feel that beautiful mouth on me, baby.”

By the time Jaehyun slides the keycard against the door mechanism and lets you both inside, you have him pressed to the other side of the door in record time. It takes only another second for the underside of your tongue to meet the tip of his cock. He barely had time to pull his pants down before you were taking him in your mouth, but he loves to see you like this, lust-drunk and impatient.

Just because you’re a good liar doesn’t mean you’re good at practicing delayed gratification.

Sure, you may not like him a good portion of the time. But now, with his hand violently wrapped in your hair, ruining the curls you spent an hour working on so he can fuck your face, you think you may die if you don’t feel him inside of you soon.

You gag around him when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Tears pool in your eyes, but the sound of his moans and the way he slides between your lips is indescribable.

“Fuck, this mouth was made for me, you know that?” He groans, lovingly holding your cheek with the palm that isn’t wrapped in your hair. “My perfect little whore.”

You hum and continue letting him abuse your throat. His body trembles at the endorphins rushing through it, and he hasn’t even come yet.

Jaehyun pulls his cock out of your mouth abruptly, making you whine in confusion. He pulls you up by the hands, a knowing smile plastered across his face. Your knees burn from the friction against the carpet, but the force of his kiss makes you forget any feeling that isn’t pleasurable. The rest doesn’t seem to matter much at the moment; only him and his effects on your being take precedence in your mind.

“Y’know I love coming in your mouth, but I want your pussy more.” He takes you to the bed and motions for you to get on all fours once your dress and high heels are discarded in a corner of the room.

He lands a hard smack against your ass, rubbing the skin as you whimper into the pillows underneath you. “You’re such a bad girl. Acting like you don’t want me, yet you’re hungry to have my cock filling you up every time you see me.” He takes his other hand to press his fingers inside of you. “My little brat, too proud to admit she loves being my little fucktoy, huh?”

You shake your head and stuff your face further into the pillow. You arch your back only for Jaehyun to spank you a second, third, and fourth time. He doesn’t take his fingers out of your heat even as he hits you, but each bout of contact with your ass and his palm is harder than the last.

“Don’t lie to me, baby. You know I hate it when you do that.” A fifth smack meets your ass, and you almost press your whole body flat onto the bed, the pain and pleasure too much to absorb at once.

“I love it, Jaehyun, I do. I love being yours,” you gasp, legs shaking. Your body stretches the coil inside of you tighter, unsure when will be the exact moment you fall apart.

Jaehyun doesn’t make you wonder for too long. “Prove it. Come on my fingers, baby. Let go.”

He presses a kiss to your reddened skin as you come undone, the orgasm ripping through your energy without mercy. Your legs are limp and unable to hold you up any longer when you come back to reality.

That doesn’t mean the devilish man who’s caused you so much satisfaction is done.

“On your back, baby. It’ll make it easier.”

He hooks one leg across his waist, holding it tenderly as he slips inside of you. He groans at the feeling of finally entering you, your walls still drenched from your previous arousal. He doesn’t push you further than necessary though, his pace languid but purposeful.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he moans, his sounds reverberating through the room. Your body is completely at his will, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving you spent to an unfathomable degree. All that’s left for you to give are weak whimpers of ecstasy. “So fucked out because of me,” he continues, suddenly picking up the pace.

“Are you gonna make me come again, Hyunie?” You ask, eyes half-lidded. Your body is on a slow crawl to a second release. But if Jaehyun has anything to say about it, he’ll make you orgasm before he does, like usual.

He may be full of himself, but he’s a giver.

He runs his thumb into your slick again, drawing swirls into your clit. You cry out at the feeling, him penetrating the deepest parts of you while touching the motherboard to your nerves so effortlessly. Why did he know how to get under your skin and also burn it alive?

With all of your strength, you lift your hips up to meet Jaehyun’s. He grunts as your skin meets his, his thrusts more powerful with your added effort.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” Jaehyun warns, slamming harder into you as his release comes closer to fruition.

“Me too, Hyunie,” you respond to him, the words becoming lilts of air as he pounds into you mercilessly. This orgasm is different from the first one, your body in silent surrender as the pleasure overtakes you. The only physical response you have is your slackened jaw.

“Fucking shit,” Jaehyun curses, your cunt tightening around him beautifully from your release. It pushes him into his own, his seed filling you with mind-blowing warmth.

Some of it spills out of you when you separate, but he plunges it back in with his fingers slowly. He kisses your stomach as you buck up from the sensitivity. “Easy, baby. Don’t want any of it going to waste, do we?”

Like clockwork, your satiated thoughts from pleasure become ones of humor at his ridiculous ways of claiming you for his own.

Your legs are intertwined with Jaehyun’s on the bed, the fuzzy robe you stole from the bathroom covering your body. Jaehyun is sitting up against the headboard, wearing nothing but his briefs. He says nothing but stares intently as he strokes your thigh, your focus on stuffing your face with ice-cream.

Jaehyun went downstairs shortly after he crawled off of you, even apologizing personally for you and giving an excuse of not feeling well enough to stay at the conference. Normally, you would be fine going back downstairs without a second thought. Tonight, however, seems to be different in a way you can’t pin down. Something inside of your heart has shifted, more than you thought possible.

It doesn’t help that he came back upstairs with your favorite desserts. He walked in with a bashful grin, candy and ice-cream littered across the metal tray. “Extra cherries for your sundae, right?”

Now, looking at him, the weight of all the lies you told yourself before seems unnecessary to carry any longer. Would it be so bad to admit he was annoying but also endearing?

You turn from your vanilla ice cream to look at him for the first time in forever. His mouth opens for a spoonful of your dessert, his eyes lit with glee at the prospect of you sharing with him. And you do, your heart too swollen with affection to say no.

This may be uncharted territory, but maybe it’ll be easier if you’re honest. And the truth is simple: the bane of your existence may very well be your perfect match.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[vxsellie]

KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo @kasqnxx @xlovla @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @shawangel

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[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice—both Sid and Jude worked for their families, which really meant that they got paid to occasionally show up at the shareholders’ meetings on behalf of their parents. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And some nights in London, depending on our flight time,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation.  “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

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[martialartslover7]

Headcanon time: Am I the only one who feels like, Jiraiya should have left this little compensation gift for Tsunade, before heading off to fight Pain? Dying in the process, while still leaving a remainder of his legacy behind? Making up for lost time, and allowing the two to heal together, after years of fearful denial and trauma?

I get that the Naruto series is practically infamous for how poorly the female characters were handled, but honestly, this one time, where one woman in the series would end up pregnant, where I would wholeheartedly SUPPORT it, would be Tsunade. Think about it, after the war, after fighting Madara, she practically returned to the same solitude lifestyle she had, before encountering Naruto. She didn't change for the better, in fact, she regressed completely. She returned to living without any purpose, going back to gambling and getting senselessly drunk, practically every day.

Look, I get it, by the time Kakashi becomes Hokage, she might have just retired and wanted to be left alone, but is this really all there is to it? Just regressing back to negative habits, because, screw you? I dunno, man, this is that one time where, if she DID end up having a child to take care of, it might have elevated her character, instead of "putting her down", because it would mean: She has a purpose for living. And it would mean, her love for Jiraiya wasn't a "curse", like how it was with her previous lover, Dan. Jiraiya's love for her, saved her life, in the end. He turned out to be that one guy, that, even post-mortum, still managed to have a positive influence on her. And the child is a daily reminder, of how closely intertwined the two were, in spite of the trauma. That just sounds so beautiful, and far more conclusive to Tsunade as a character, than what happened in the actual story. Plus, she and Kurenai could have become besties and connect over the difficulties with pregnancy.

And yeah, I hear you calling: BuT tSuNaDe Is ToO oLd To GeT pReGgErS! Listen, the Strength of a Hundred Seal kept her entire appearance and body about twenty years younger, if that also applies to her organs and her uterus, that isn't a dead topic. Plus, we all know how much of a horny perv Jiraiya is, he couldn't have just left it at just one time, and then never again. Especially since, this is Tsunade we are talking about here, the one woman, he had always held so dear. And I can only imagine, the moment the dam breaks between the two, it would get... SPICY.

It wouldn't even come close to all these sex worker ladies that Jiraiya had probably slept with, while thinking about Tsunade, since he would always go for those, who KIND OF resemble her. But I will bet, in spite of his attitude, I doubt he would have even minded to see Tsunade all wrinkly and old. His love for her was genuine and deep-rooted, I doubt he would have had any problems with her getting "saggy". She would have been THE golden exception, to most of his "rules" on what he finds attractive, because to him, everything about her, is attractive, not just the looks.

But another point to consider, just imagine, IMAGINE, the look on Naruto's face, the moment he learns that part of his father figure will continue to live on, inside Tsunade. That all his sacrifices were never in vain, and he finally got over himself to tell her the truth, resulting in the birth of their child, the one to carry on both of their legacies. Naruto would have cherished this baby, just imagine him tearfully cradling it in his arms, swearing to protect it, the same way his mom swore to him, when he was still a newborn. Oh god, my heart...

...it would also be a nice callback to how Kushina held Naruto, right after birth.

Plus, it would have given Naruto, much like when Shikamaru revealed to him, how Kurenai bore the child of her and Asuma before he died, a much bigger motivation to fight Madara, Obito, and later, Sasuke. The stakes would have become way higher then, if that were the case, since, this isn't anyone's child, it's Jiraiya's and Tsunade's child. Two people, who have played major roles in Naruto's life, being his foster parents, if you will. And he would have fought way harder to defend the past, the present and the future, while facing Sasuke. I mean, sure, it's doubtful if Sasuke would have ever had the guts to truly go through with this, since he couldn't even bring himself to kill either Naruto or Sakura, no matter how hard he tried, so, if he couldn't do that, then everything would be out of the question. But you get the point.

And for NaruHina and SasuSaku fans: Yup. Both Naruto and Sakura would have probably had to take care of Tsunade's baby, since they were the closest to her, and it could have been an ideal training method for either of them, to grasp all about the stressful nature of raising a child, while still working as shinobi and in their respective fields of work. It would have mentally prepared either of them, for when Hinata and Sasuke finally decide to tie the knot with them, and build their own families. And to add another layer of pure sweetness: Kakashi and Anko would have gotten announced as the child's godparents, should something happen to Tsunade. Nuff' said.

I am sorry, despite Kakashi and Anko not looking like it, I think, both of them would be AWESOME godparents, or hell, even uncle and aunt. Both saw the worst of what life had to offer. Raising a child would be... child's play, by contrast. Just imagine Anko adorably doting on the baby in her crazy, unhinged, but very endearing way.

There you go, another headcanon of mine, spilled. What do you guys think? Lemme know. Peace.

[televised-eyes]

It really saddens me to see Aziraphale get the full force of everyone’s contempt over his reaction to the kiss & here's why:

What do we know about Aziraphale's true character? What they we been shown? Well, he’s a silly angel, who cares too much, loves his partner Crowley and truly wants to do what he believes is the right thing!

Don't get me wrong, I can see why a lot of people side and identify with Crowley after the final fifteen, given his trauma and the fact that he was the one making himself vulnerable by initiating the kiss.

But here the thing: it’s not like Aziraphale acted out of character after hearing Crowley’s proposal. We, as the audience, have been shown multiple times when Crowley has begged for them to run away together and every time we’ve seen it, it has been in a situation where Crowley wants to abandon all responsibility. It’s a trauma response and I don’t blame Crowley for being traumatized by Heaven and Hell. Just like I don’t blame him for not wanting to go back to either.

But Aziraphale has never responded positively to this proposition before. The only difference this time was the kiss. A beautiful, desperate, awkward kiss!

Aziraphale has always been wired to take responsibility and direct action even when he shouldn’t. For him, Azi’s personal code is to always do what he believes is the right thing to do, even if it might not end well. He gives the flaming sword to humanity, he saves Job’s children, he discorporates himself to stop the apocalypse, he does the thing with the halo.

I just don’t buy the narrative that he chose Heaven over Crowley. I think Aziraphale chose Heaven *because* of Crowley. He knew as long as he was in charge, he could keep Crowley safe.

Azi clearly loves Crowley despite his cognitive dissonance at all times. He can talk all the livelong day about how they "aren’t friends," but his actions speak the opposite. He cares deeply for Crowley. Azi trusts Crowley, he lets him get “plenty of use” out of the bookshop, he turns a neighborhood association meeting into a cotillion ball so that he can dance with him, he risked an eternity in Hell by wearing Crowley’s face.

He also knows that Crowley always comes back especially his angel needs him. Unless Crowley does a 180 and returns to Hell to actively thwart Heaven out of spite (which ngl that would great television & a theory I’d like to dwell deeper into elsewhere) this was just another disagreement and they will work it out somehow by working together. And hopefully learn how to communicate clearly!

The very root of the argument was misunderstanding and failure of communication on both sides.

The more I think about the “I forgive you” line, the more I think it may have just been Azi’s gut reaction to read the kiss as one of Crowley’s “temptations.” It’s a loaded word, but I think most people read the kiss as a last act of desperation to convince him to run away. In the past, we have seen Azi’s automatic response to what he feels like is a temptation from Crowley has always been to “forgive” him.

Is it irritating? Yes. Is it good communication? No. Is it a trauma response? I think yes.

I think that’s why the ending of season 2 didn’t upset me as much as it has upset others. I feel like I understand both sides—both how and why Crowley and Aziraphale make their decisions—because the writing is so damn good.

*Aziraphale did not reject or abandon Crowley.*

That last look at Crowley before stepping into the elevator was not a “good bye” or a “fuck you.” I truly believe he looked back to remind himself why he’s doing what he’s doing in the first place!!!

Aziraphale is protecting Crowley because he loves Crowley and believes their relationship is not only worth making sacrifices for, but also strong enough to withstand them!

[gilbirda]

Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 19

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

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Bruce watched them giggle, her face red, as both probably remembered something that happened between them. He didn’t know what they were talking about — there was so much he didn’t know about them, or about Jason — but it was grounding how easy she talked about… about Red Hood, with the same love in her eyes that she reserved for Jason.

He felt so stupid for thinking that Jasmine wanted to harm his son. He would still observe, of course, just in case; but he knew acting and he knew that Jasmine was not putting up an act when she smiled back at Jason’s grin.

“How did you two meet?”

Jazz didn’t acknowledge when the others got quiet and looked at him. “I think a few weeks after I moved in. We ran into each other in the elevator.”

“Ah yes. I remember thinking you were weird.”

“Hey.”

“I mean— an outsider moving so close to Crime Alley? I was half convinced you’d be killed in a week.”

Jasmine huffed, playfully slapping her boyfriend’s arm. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that now, but when you told me you worked at Arkham I—”

“You said, and I quote, ‘And you are still alive?’”

“You work at Arkham?” Bernard jumped where he was sitting next to Tim on the other sofa. “Wha— How?”

Jason made a gesture like “see? I’m not the only one”, the smirk not leaving his lips. Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he saw him smile so much.

“I came to Gotham because I saw they had an opening. Well, it doesn’t surprise me now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Everyone ends up dead or quits their job in that place.” She shook her head in, a slight frown on her face.

“Then why haven’t you? Quit, I mean.”

She thought about her answer for a moment. Bruce leaned in, interested in what she was going to say. He remembered her application explaining her interest in Gotham’s rogues and how they came to be.

“Many things? I always wanted to work in the mental health field,” she looked down, sighing, “not necessarily criminal psychology, but since this job was close to what I do back in the Infinite Realms I thought I could learn something new.”

Close to what she did? What was her role in this Team Phantom she mentioned?

“Also,” she continued, “Gotham’s rogues kind of grow on you? Some of them just need a healthier outlet, or to be dedicated an amount of time that nobody is willing to do in Arkham. Because of course they don’t,” she rolled her eyes, making a vague gesture with her hand, “since high management is more focused on embezzling donations and trying to get their foot into the Mob business.”

The others, who had heard her mention that when Bruce went to Jason’s apartment the previous day, leaned in at the new information.

“She has powerpoints.” Jason crossed his arms. “And a hit list.”

“Is not a hit list.” Jasmine quickly clarified. “I don’t have proof, yet, but I will. At this point I just want to see Dylan’s career ruined out of spite.”

“He hates you with passion.” Bruce observed, remembering the disdain and thinly veiled hatred Dylan had towards Jasmine. He had been obviously trying to convince him she was a maladapted naïve young girl that was going to get herself killed. “I think he actually wants you dead.”

Jasmine scoffed. “If he wants me dead that much he has to do it himself.”

It was like a mirage — the way she crossed her arms, the raised eyebrow, the daring smile. Was she so much like Jason or was it something she unconsciously copied from him?

Either way, it was actually very cute.

“And the rogues haven't tried to kill you?”

She turned to look at Duke, shrugging. “No yet? I know some of them dislike me, but in general they tolerate me just fine. I think they are waiting to see me snap, or at least Edward said so.”

“Riddler?”

“Yeah. He has this interesting —” she made a face, indicating that wasn’t exactly the word she was thinking “ — way of displaying affection. Last Friday, when the breakout happened, he was the one who told me to be prepared with a ‘I’d hate to see your brains splattered on the wall, doc’.”

“So he knew beforehand and told you? And you didn’t stop him?”

Several looked at him, a warning in their eyes. Bruce backpedaled quickly, relaxing his shoulders on purpose.

“Part of my job in Arkham is gaining their trust. Treating them like people helps, some lower their guard once they see I’m not afraid of them, others are all about their secrets. Secrets are expensive in Arkham,” Jasmine’s eyes were cold and her body language collected, “Ed risked a lot just by telling me. If it was known that Riddler is a snitch then he would be out of the market. Is a delicate game.”

Duke was nodding along in agreement. Jason was still glaring at Bruce.

“And what if any of them turn on you? You can’t trust them.”

He knew he sounded paranoid, but he had tried to help them before. He had tried to invest that time and that effort Jasmine was talking about into helping them instead of just tossing them back to Arkham, but it was the same story over and over again — they could change and be better, but circumstances always brought them back in an endless cycle not unlike his own.

“I can take care of myself.”

Before anybody could stop him, Damian threw something at Jasmine. It was fast, and when they heard her loud gasp Bruce was completely ready to rush for the first aid kit in the nearby bathroom.

“That was not nice, kid.”

Damian huffed. “Not a kid.”

Bruce watched, mesmerized, how Jasmine yanked a pocket knife from the back of the sofa right where her head would have been if she didn’t somehow dodge it in time.

“Oh hey, it’s Jason’s knife! I thought I had lost it.”

She held the pocket knife like it was the most precious thing in the world, closing it with care. She said it was Jason’s?

“Tt, how careless about your weapons can you be? Took it as evidence after you threw it at me.”

“Ohhh, right. Sorry about that. I was kinda running on adrenaline back then.”

“How did you move so fast?”

Jasmine shrugged at Bernard. “At the house where I grew up, the first thing you learn is how to dodge fast.” She put the knife in her pants pocket. “And the second is how to kill before you are killed.”

To his credit, Damian looked impressed for a second. It was refreshing next to the worried glances of everyone else.

“What do you mean?” He had to ask, concerned.

No one missed how she took Jason’s hand in hers.

“I assume everyone heard us? Last Tuesday.”

Bruce remembered feeling righteous hot rage as he took her to the Diner. Her panicked face when she saw the documents. Her voice shaking as she begged Jason to believe her.

“Yes.” He swallowed the discomfort.

If Jasmine was hurt by what happened, she didn’t show. “My parents were… neglectful. There is no way around the sobbing backstory,” she chuckled, “but even if their lack of lab security has made us what we are today, my brother and I were raised in a hostile environment.

“They mixed samples with food, storing them in the same fridge. They worked on dangerous machinery in the kitchen and living room. They left children unsupervised in a lab full of chemicals and sharp objects.”

She was glaring at her own hands as she kept talking. “As you know, ectoplasm can bring things back to life. Even food.”

“Food?” Tim didn’t look convinced.

“I learned how to fight by re-killing the Thanksgiving turkey every year. And dinner.” She added after considering. “So many dinners.”

Stephanie was the first one to start laughing. Tim and Bernard followed, and soon everyone was chuckling at the absurd picture her words painted.

Bruce wasn’t laughing, though. It wasn’t as bad as the insanity they were used to, no murder cults or sadistics fathers, but still not something that sat well in Bruce’s mind. What kind of childhood did she and her brother have when they weren’t safe in their own house?

“Of course after the portal and with how things escalated it was less about survival and more about fighting to subdue and capture ghosts.”

“Not killing them?” Cass asked.

Jazz was shaking her head. “Back then all that came through the portal were troublemakers and supervillain wannabes. Later on we learned that a lot of them were testing Danny and more like training him in his new powers. We only captured and threw them back into the portal.” She sighed. “It wasn’t until we got more involved in the Realms and saw that there was so much more going on, that it was a whole dimension with complex societies and power structures, that we understood that to have actual peace the task wasn’t as simple as it looked like.”

Cass blinked, not wasting a second to ask. “Can ghosts be killed?”

Jasmine’s posture became tense. “Yes. Liminals, ghosts and— and other beings in the Realms. Is less about death and more about… ceasing to exist.”

They knew there was more going on with that statement. Was Jasmine some kind of executioner? Was that why she was so tense?

Bruce wasn’t sure how to feel about that. There was so much he didn’t know about her, about her life, about the Infinite Realms. There was a whole dimension with people, and some of those wished to cross over and do harm. Others had committed their life to protect a balance he didn’t know existed, probably paying some kind of price.

He wanted to ask so many things — what was her role in the Team? Who was she? Any event the Justice League should know about? How did their society work? What does the Underworld look like?

But he couldn’t ask that.

Not yet.

“What is your hometown like?”

Jasmine looked at him with relief in her teal eyes. He had said the right thing for once.

“Amity Park, the most haunted town in America. Or ‘a nice place to live’, as the sign says,” she smiled. “Is very different from Gotham. It’s sunny, for starters,” there were a few chuckles, “and it has always been a weird town. The Veil is thinner there, more than Gotham, and it has never been out of place to have ghostly encounters there.”

“So what? The dead walk among the living?”

She nodded at Dick. “Pretty much, yeah. ‘Dead but not gone’, we always say. After the portal ripped a door between dimensions there is so much ectoplasm around that almost everything that dies comes back soon after.”

“And Gotham? You said the Veil is thin here too.”

“Gotham is, uh, weird? The Veil is thin here, but there is so little ambient ectoplasm. Ghosts here are not as strong as they are in Amity Park, but there are so many ghosts everywhere anyway. As stubborn in death as they are in life, I guess.”

There was certain pride blooming in Bruce’s chest at her words, even as his mind latched on to the fact that the dead in Gotham tended to come back to life. Made him wonder how many people he knew had become ghosts.

Were his parents still around? Were they watching him, the man he had become? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they would say to him if he met them now.

If he asked Jasmine would she help him? He had messed up things with her, he knew, but she was an easy and close way to answer those questions.

No. Not yet.

“You said the Manor is haunted?”

Jasmine chuckled. “Very! I was unsure if I would need to set up wards here but I think your ancestors have it covered. Nothing will enter here if they don’t wish to.”

Bruce didn’t miss how she could enter the house. His family accepted her, approved of her. Or maybe it was because she was influential?

“So if you could enter it means they like you?” Dick voiced his thoughts.

“Or has it something to do with you being a supernatural influencer?” Steph leaned in.

“What are you, by the way?” Tim had a certain glint in his eyes, like he did when he had a new mystery to solve.

Jasmine blinked at the quick questions, overwhelmed, opening her mouth.

“I remember certain agreement that tonight was not supposed to derive into an interrogation.” Alfred interrupted her from the door. She smiled at him. “Also, dinner is ready.”

Bruce watched as all his kids stood up and walked out of the room, his eyes stuck on how casually Jason entwined his hand with Jazz’s after he helped her stand up, how his eyes were soft on the edges when he looked at her.

She was talking with Steph about something, Bruce caught a few words but he wasn’t big on social media and it sounded like some kind of Twitter scandal. Jazz laughed at something Steph said. Jason smiled a little too, adding his own opinion.

“It's amazing, right?”

Bruce turned towards his eldest. “I didn’t know he could make that expression.”

“There is something about her,” Dick shook his head, “I don’t know how to describe it.”

Yeah. Bruce knew what he meant — there was a certain edge about her, something clearly made different. Even if he didn’t know what he knew about her now, he understood that she would not pass as a normal civilian like Bernard did, for example.

Jasmine was someone that could understand their world, and yet, she was not a hardened warrior. She showed softness and kindness even when thrown a knife to her face. She loved Jason and wasn’t afraid to show it. She still smiled even after all the things she went through.

It took a certain amount of bravery to be like that. To still care after… after everything.

Jason needed someone like her in his life.

Bruce cared about him, he loved him so much, but he didn't get the same results when they interacted — Bruce was so unsure about every word, every move, and in the end he made it worse in every interaction. He had stopped trying, but maybe that had been a bad call on his part.

He would observe them and try to understand how they made it look so easy.

***

“I actually don’t mind an interrogation.” Jazz was the first to speak as they all sat down.

“Don’t.” Jason frowned at her. “They don’t know how to stop.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have my own questions.”

They grinned at each other, remembering a conversation a long time ago, where she said she wanted to study the bats like a bug.

“Have a little bit of faith, Little Wing,” Dick said from where he was sitting next to Bruce.

“Faith? In you?” Jason glared at his brother.

Jazz gently put a hand on his, turning to look at Dick. “About your question, and the following ones— Yes, permission to enter is a big thing for ghosts. Especially a haunt. Gotham is… hm,” she looked up to thank Alfred when he passed by with her food, “thanks. Anyway, a haunt is a territory that belongs to a ghost. The more powerful the ghost, the bigger the haunt. They can share the haunt with weaker ghosts that cannot maintain a haunt, for mutual protection, but at the end of the day the more powerful one calls the shots.

“Gotham, the city, is a giant haunt that belongs to one Spirit. Without her approval nothing goes in. Or out.”

There were raised eyebrows at her words, but Jazz kept talking, making wide gestures with her hands.

“There are highly charged places, like this Manor, where a bunch of ghosts would congregate and have a mini-haunt inside Gotham, if the Spirit allows it. Arkham is another, for example. That one is a bit more cursed, though.”

Figures.

“And this… Spirit,” the word was pronounced slowly, like Bruce was trying to get used to it, “controls the city?”

“Gotham, the Spirit, is… old.” She made a face. “She may have been powerful, very powerful, once upon a time; but with all the magic cults and the pollution and the, well, situation of the city, she’s not what she was. She won’t die, yet, but Danny still wishes to help her despite our differences.” She sighed. “It’s in the list of stuff to do, which grows by the day.”

There was a beat of silence as they processed her words. Jazz looked around nervously, distracting herself by pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

Cass, who was sitting on Jazz’s other side, didn’t miss how her ear was slightly pointed.

“Eat.”

Alfred manifested besides Bruce, glaring at him until he picked up a fork and shoved potato salad in his mouth. Then he nodded and left. Bruce swallowed and cleared his throat.

“So the city is dying because of us?”

Several of his children glanced at him, expecting the usual spiral about the sins of the father, yadda yadda.

“Hmmm, is it more like a feedback loop at this point? Gotham cannot deal with the stuff sapping her energy, not anymore, and those bad influences on the citizens create a constant stream of crime and evil that tire her out.”

“So if the Spirit is cured then all crime will disappear?” Tim frowned, disbelieving.

Jazz was already shaking her head before he ended his question. “No. People’s choices cannot be controlled, just influenced. Gotham’s ghosts are not powerful enough for possession, just nudging minds here and there. Whispers here and there. If Gotham were at full power and she could catch all of the troublemakers, it wouldn’t completely erase humans’ ability to do good or bad. Is still their choice.”

She paused for a moment to try the potato salad, chewed and swallowed.

“She’s very fond of you guys. Protective.” This raised a few eyebrows and a big smile from Cass and Dick. “She actually threatened us to not even think of touching any of you or she would throw hands.”

“I mean—” Whatever Tim was going to say with a big smirk and raised eyebrows was lost when Bernard elbowed him so hard he doubled over. “Betrayal.” He wheezed.

“Could you win against her in a fight?” Steph’s eyes were shiny at the prospect of Jazz fist fighting the freaking city to gain Jason’s hand in marriage.

“I don’t think so,” Jazz tilted her head. “I’m very rusty and she is an old city. She may not be what she once was, but she wins just by experience alone.”

“Bummer.”

Jazz shrugged. “Believe it or not, I had no intention of fighting anybody when I moved here.”

“Could have fooled me,” Jason deadpanned, chewing. When he swallowed, he added. “I’ve never seen anybody choose violence as fast as you do.”

Jazz blushed, pointing her fork at him like she was going to stab him with it. “I take that personally, mister ‘this is my territory and I’ll kill you if you trespass’.” She imitated his voice, mocking even the modulated effect.

“You are the one to talk!” It was his time to blush. “You were going to kick me out! In front of Timmy!”

“He was hurt, I couldn’t let you start a pointless fight in my apartment.”

“Oh I remember this one.” Bernard chuckled. “Tim ripped two of the stitches because he insisted he was good enough to continue.”

“Of course,” Jazz scoffed at the crimefighter. “How long did it take? Ten minutes?”

“Fifteen.”

“Yeah, figures.” She shook her head in disapproval, which Bernard imitated. “Resting is a big part of the healing process.”

“THANK YOU!” Bernard’s face illuminated, leaning over the table to take Jazz’s hand. “Finally! Someone with common sense!”

“I guess you have had to do the same speech—”

“Plenty of times, yeah,” he chuckled. “I’m actually an EMT. Decided to go that career after dumb dumb over here came bleeding to my apartment one too many times.”

Jazz nodded in understanding. Bernard nodded in understanding.

Tim and Jason looked at each other, realizing at the same time that letting these two meet had been a bad idea.

Dick chuckled nervously, his mind going to a recent time Jason had been bleeding to death in Jazz’s apartment. He decided to change topics, and fast.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “you said you figured out Jay’s identity, how did that happen?”

Jazz hummed, cutting a bit of her steak and chewing it as she thought her answer. “I mean,” she started when she swallowed, “there was the obvious, but circumstantial, stuff. Unexplained income. Odd hours. Too many coincidences. Jason not knowing how to properly hide his stuff—”

“I am not—”

“ — but what was solid proof was his blood.”

Jason, who wanted to protest her obvious jab at his person, froze mid sentence.

Duke choked on his salad. Bruce almost choked with his water.

Jazz froze too, slowly looking up from her hands cutting another piece of steak. She looked at Jason with a nervous smile.

“Forgot to tell you about the blood thing, huh?”

---

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[jeanie-g]

https://www.tumblr.com/jeanie-g/763146452735229952/its-autumn-send-me-a-prompt-and-pairing-and

Yess!!

Okay I had a hard time picking (the prompt not the pairing 🤭😉) because there were multiple that made me go 😍. But I’ll take 21 because well me 🤝🏼 outdoors.

Sooo 21 for Nicojack please 🩵

currently riding through nature as i type this, which is appropriate! on the shorter side, but i hope you like it 🫶

[#21] hiking

The Orangutan Trail is, in spite of its name or—now that he thinks about it, maybe as a credit to it—fucking grueling.

They're only three miles in, but it's 90% uphill, and the waterfall Nico promises is "just up a little further" every twenty minutes is nowhere in sight.

Jack loves the outdoors, loves running, but hiking through the woods of New Jersey with his boyfriend in 50°F weather is really testing his limits.

"Why couldn't we have picked the Bobcat or Penguin trails?" Jack asks now, hands pinching the space below his ribs. Stupid cramp.

"Because those are boring," Nico replies, voice even, like he's just starting a work out rather than being in the middle of one. He's already at the top of the next steep incline. "Do you think we'll see a bear?"

Jack, slowly but steadily, joins him atop. "We're too close to the turnpike, Neeks. The only bear in these woods is you."

Nico turns to him with an unimpressed look. Jack snorts anyways. Nico facewashes him and continues ahead.

Jack wanted to spend their one day off that week vegging out on the couch, eating food not on their meal plans and making out until their lips fell off. But of course Nico had other plans.

"The weather is perfect, and I've been wanting to hike this trail since the heat wave broke last month," Nico'd said in bed that morning, Jack brushing his hair from his forehead and playing with it aimlessly.

"It's our only off-day until we leave for the Pacific road trip," Jack replied. "Don't you wanna stay in, just the two of us..."

Jack even trailed his free hand down Nico's flank for emphasis. Nico just chortled and rolled off and out of bed. So much for that.

Four hours later and Jack has sweat through his thermal and his overshirt. He doesn't know why this kind of workout is taking a toll on him. Well, that's not entirely true. Unlike ice or a stretch of road, it's an ever-changing terrain with fluctuating elevation, and there's no set pace like every other cardio workout he does. It's an endurance test, but not fast-paced and adrenaline-fueled like hockey is.

In short, it's slow, burning torture.

Nico's in his element though, pointing out the trees and identifying them, remarking on the leaves changing color and all the little bugs and critters they come across. He's having fun, and it's good for Jack to get out of his comfort zone, so he goes with it.

He trails Nico by several meters and tries to keep up the conversation through pants until finally, Nico stops.

"Here it is," he says, and if Jack strains his ears, he hears what sounds to be water.

It takes almost a minute for Jack to meet him. But when he does, he has to catch his breath for another reason entirely.

There, before them, is a clearing in the trees, revealing a decently-sized pond with reeds and stones speckling the shallow, green water. More large rocks are carved into the rising hillside, all leading to waterfall, maybe five feet high, made of the stream water cascading off the run-off above.

"Wow."

Nico turns to him and grins, hands going to his hips. "Right?"

Jack steps forward until the dirt gives way to rock slab, and he crouches down. He skims his finger along the pond surface. It's freezing, but it's nice. He spots a frog on a nearby lily pad. It sticks its tongue out to catch a gnat before jumping into the water.

"Care for a swim?" Nico asks behind him.

Jack turns to scoff. "In your dreams, Hisch."

Nico laughs, the sound of it swallowed by the rush of water. Jack pulls out his phone to capture the scene. His mom would love to know he's actually taking advantage of living in the northeast in autumn.

When he's done, he stands back up and rejoins Nico, who bumps his hip.

"Worth it?" He's got this cute little smirk on that Jack can't resist.

Jack rolls his eyes, but he smiles small. "I guess."

"There's my stubborn American," Nico says fondly, putting his arm around Jack's shoulder.

"Don't get too smug, we still need to hike back down, and I get bitchy when my feet hurt."

Nico just laughs, craning to kiss the top of Jack's head.

"I've handled it pretty well the past five years already. What's thirty more minutes?"

Jack swats his arm for that. "It's a good thing you're cute, Hischier, or I woulda broken up with you ages ago."

Nico laughs again, this time loud enough to combat the water—and damn, Jack really loves that sound.

Naturally, he has to pulls Nico in by his thermal and kiss him about it.

[reg-arcturus-black]

The Room is on Fire, Invisible Smoke

Soft!Billy Russo x Female reader

Part 2/2

Warnings: (kinda major) sexual hints, lots of drinking

Words: it's a lot longer than I was expecting... 3.3 k

Part 1 here

gif not mine

You sat with your head in your hands, wondering how to get Billy back. He was never really yours to begin with so then why did it feel like you had lost him? So he was too mad to even talk to you but not enough to come save you from a baseless panic attack? What was he even mad about? You were honestly afraid to know the answer. You were sure that you had lost the only good thing in your life, no thanks to your stubborn self. If only you would have fessed up instead of waiting around for him.

You leaned against the door, hearing Bill walk away from the house he had spent countless nights in. In separate beds, of course, except for that one night... Shaking your head of the thoughts of that night, you decided to go for a shower instead and get ready for work. You had a long day ahead of you filled with torturous colleagues and a boss who loved to micromanage.

You had sworn that all you needed from the company was the work experience of three years and then you would fly off to London for a better position and salary. With the three years almost done, you were closer to your dreams than ever. Especially now that you had destroyed the only thing keeping you back in New York.

You could feel yourself physically filling up with dread as you drove closer and closer to your office. It had been a long time now but the feeling never seemed to go away. Bracing yourself to endure another never-ending day, you entered the office building and scanned your ID card. The swivel gate let you walk in to what you thought hell looked and felt like.

'Just till 5...' you muttered to yourself and managed to get in the elevator before it closed. It was so crowded, you barely had any place to breathe, let alone stand.

'Cutting it awfully close, again, I see,' you heard someone say from the back.

Jim. You would have recognised that voice anywhere. Not because you loved him. But because you hated him - and that was an understatement. He had done everything possible to make your professional life miserable. He would steal credit, talk shit about you to your boss and the others and would constantly look down on you. He would take every chance he could to humiliate you publicly.

'I clocked in 18 minutes early, you dickhead,' you whispered the last part without turning back. You walked off the elevator before the doors had even opened up completely and practically threw your bag on the desk. Jim had the capacity to ruin your entire day with just one single sentence. And the worst part was that he knew he had this effect on you so he would do it even more, just of out of spite.

You threw yourself into work to distract yourself from the thoughts of Billy and Jim and your stupid office. It was a pretty uneventful day until your boss came up to the desk right behind you and congratulated Jim for submitting all his work perfectly within the deadline. It would have been fine if that would have been it. But no, your misogynist boss just had to come to you and praise his work and ask you to 'take inspiration from him'.

That day, you didn't even wait till 5 to clock out and left storming out the big glass door at 4 pm. Rushing home, you changed into your comfiest pajamas and grabbed a big tub of ice cream. You were on your fifth episode of The Vampire Diaries when you took a deep breath and turned off Netflix.

You were tired of being stuck in this loop. With your professional life terrible and your love life being uncertain, no thanks to Billy's unwillingness to confess or agree to anything, you wanted to just run away. You grabbed your phone and were about to call him to sort everything out before realising that you didn't care. Well, you did but it was emotionally exhausting. Choosing to put that aside, you put on your best, little-est, black dress and left the house.

It was usually Billy who took you out to all these fancy bars but you were sick and tired of being dependent on him. Or on anyone else for that matter. You wanted to go out tonight, drink till the early hours of the morning and be a woman who needed no one. A strong, powerful woman with red lips and revealing little black dresses. Confidently, you grabbed a seat at one of the shadiest bars of New York.

While ordering 3 tequila shots, you saw the bartender clearly staring at your chest before looking away awkwardly and getting you your drinks. You had gulped down all three one after the other in a single minute when you heard a bar stool being pulled closer to yours.

'Please get the lady's next drink on me,' a handsome man in a black shirt said, looking straight at you, not breaking you eye contact.

'In that case' you addressed the bartender. 'I'll have your most expensive drink please.' You winked at the beautiful stranger. 'All thanks to the gracious gentleman,' you smirked, rubbing your hand lightly on his chiseled arm.

See? This was fun. This was easy. Flirting with men, knowing exactly what you wanted and getting that because the man would reciprocate as well. Reciprocate? Hell, he initiated the whole thing so who were you to back down and deny yourself a handsome man with a sharp jawline, hair of a God and the voice of a rockstar.

You touched him as much as you could, shamelessly flirting- it was your guilty pleasure. And why wouldn't it be? It was not like Billy was waiting for you. And you weren't waiting for him either. Not anymore.

You were on your third glass of scotch when your senses started going numb and you could feel your inhibitions lowering. It was all fun and games and you intended to keep it that way. His hand was on your thigh now and it kept moving upwards every once in a while. You didn't plan to stop it either. Besides, the night was still young.

Being with this name-less stranger was so much better than being with Billy. At least that way, you could just have fun and then forget all about it the next morning. Unlike with Billy. Every word, every moment spent with him seemed to cling on to you. You couldn't get rid of it no matter how much you tried. Even his darkness, his shadows seemed alluring to you. As if it was inviting you in. And the truth was, you did not mind being swallowed up whole by his darkness. He, however, did not want that.

'Lost in thoughts, beautiful?' the stranger asked. His raspy voice sent a chill up your spine. 'I have a few ways to bring you back to earth,' he said, moving his hands even farther up your thighs, dangerously close to the hem of your dress.

Your hand moved from his back to the back of his collar, gripping it tightly as your eyes closed in anticipation.

'It might look because of the alcohol but I do have quite an effect on you,' he said as your answer was let out by a shaky moan.

If this is what destruction felt like, you were ready to embrace it and let it consume you. It was only when you wanted to look at his beautiful face that you opened your eyes and your sight fell on your drink. And you were pretty sure it had changed it's color.

You were drunk anyway, you thought. What's a roofied drink more? You gulped the drink in one go and before you knew it, you were kissing the stranger, your hands all over his face and neck. It was only when you were kissing him that you realised how good it felt. How good it was to kiss someone wantonly and having someone kiss you back.

"Give me a minute, will you? And clear the tab while I am gone." You said, breaking the kiss and walking away without waiting for his answer.

You found a relatively quiet corner of the bar and pulled out your phone. This was a victory moment for you and Billy needed to know. He needed to know how there are others who want you and you are willing to give yourself to them completely.

It had rang barely thrice before he received your call.

"You know what, Bills?" Your words slurred. "I am kissing the most handsome man on the planet and it's not you... And it feels soooo good, you have no idea...."

"Y/N, are you drunk? Where are -"

"His hands are working magic, Billy... I am pretty sure he put something in my drink but I don't care!" You practically screamed. "At least someone wants me... And I am gonna take him back to my place and let him do things to me, Bills... You're welcome to watch if you want but just know..." At this point, you had lost all train of thought. "You had me and lost me and I am gonna have so much fun with him tonight, Bills..."

You hung up abruptly and stumbled your way back to the bar.

"Let's go," you said and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the door of the club.

"Where?" He asked.

"My place," you said, pushing him against the wall outside the bar and grazing your fingers gently over his neck. "My turn to bring you back to earth..."

He was about to lean in closer and kiss you but you moved away and called for a cab. The entire cab ride home, for some inexplicable reason, you sat as far away from him as possible. All of a sudden, you weren't liking his touch anymore or the way he was looking at you. It seemed almost... Animalistic. The hunger in his eyes, the impatience in his hands, they all seemed very obvious.

You were fine in the dim lights of the bar and the mood that had been set. You were on your way to a night you were sure you would never forget and yet, every part of you felt uncomfortable. Maybe if it would have been Billy -

You did not want to think about him. At all. So choosing to focus on the handsome man next to you, you moved in closer to him, practically on his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Oh, the things I am going to do you," you whispered in his ear and felt his hand removing the strap of your dress as he kissed your shoulder. "Patience, baby," you practically moaned into his ear and felt his grip tighten on your back.

You wasted no time in getting down from the cab and pulling him towards your building. He had started kissing you in the elevator before you were even at the house, trying to unlock the door. Something about it felt wrong. As if your mind wasn't completely in it and his touch didn't feel right anymore. However, you had made up your mind and were going to take this stranger home, no matter what.

It was only when you were too busy kissing him to unlock your door that you heard someone clear their throat.

"Busy much?"

You would have recognised that voice out of a lineup. Billy.

"Go away man," your lover said, paying no heed to him and continued to kiss you.

Your eyes, however, were now on Billy. His face had seemed to go red and he was clenching his jaw.

Before you knew it, Billy was separating the two of you forcibly.

"Why don't you go away?" He asked angrily. "Given the fact that I am Y/N's boyfriend and you should leave before I beat you to a pulp for putting something in her drink."

"Geez, whatever fucked up agreement you two have, I am out," he said and turned around to leave, buttoning up his shirt's top buttons again.

"No, wait, don't go, he's not my boyfriend!" you cried, trying to follow after him but drunk you on heels was a bad idea and you would have fallen if you had run after him. "Stranger!" You cried, trying to stop him. "Handsome man! Loveerrrrrr!!! Hey, black shirt!! Come back, I'll show you a good time," you giggled, almost falling down.

You allowed yourself to lean against the wall and turned around, only to find yourself face to face with Billy.

Rolling your eyes at him, you made your way back to the door and unlocking it, went inside, slamming the door on his face. He, however, had other plans and followed you inside. "You're NOT my boyfriend, Billy. What do you even want? Why did you send him away? I was having fun!"

"Are you crazy?" He practically screamed but lowered his volume and went to get you a glass of water.

"What were you about to do, Y/N?" He asked worriedly. "Are you really that determined to get yourself into trouble?"

"It wasn't trouble, Bills," you answered. "I just wanted to feel wanted for one freaking night."

"You brought a strange man home, Y/N! You were drunk and practically all over him. What if -"

"It is better than waiting around for you, Bills! I did everything I could for you! Hell, I was even ready to sleep with you! But what did that lead to? Nothing!"

"You pushed me away, Y/N. I didn't want to sleep with you because I didn't want to ruin what we have so you responded by pushing me away..." He replied, seeming tired now.

He knew it was the most cliche excuse but he cherished the bond he shared with you. And a meaningless one night stand would have ruined it. He couldn't risk that.

"Y/N, I-" He started but you weren't in the living room anymore. He found you instead in the kitchen, drinking directly from the vodka bottle.

"Whoa, okay, you need to stop," he said, gently taking away the bottle from your hand.

"You need to stop," you repeated, words barely making sense at this point. "You need to take inspiration from him... You're late... You're crazy... This is what my life has come to, Bills!" You screamed. "My work life is a big joke but I have to do it because I want to be independent! You on the other hand .. I don't have to keep going in circles with you because I am done, Bills! If you don't want me, I will find someone who does! What don't you get about it?"

"So you will intentionally put yourself in danger Y/N? Knowing that you will regret it for the rest of you life?"

"I don't fucking care, Billy! I don't care!"

This was the point when you finally allowed yourself to sit down and cry. "I got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you, Bills.... But what even is the point? It's better to just be alone than to hurt and be hurt... Enough is enough... I - I have loved you with all my heart, Bills... But there's no point because - because you don't... And I just, I can't give you my heart... It's like, each night I sleep, I know I will wake up in a burning room and be surrounded by an invisible smoke but that smoke is YOU... You make me so helpless, Billy. I - I don't know what to do. Every part of me screams out that you might feel the same way but nothing ever shows it... I am a mess! Look at me... This uncomfortable dress, the make up I don't even like... Each day, all day, I keep asking myself, who could ever leave but then who could stay? And you know what happens whenever I look at you? I feel like you could stay... But you never do, Billy... You never do..." You were sobbing by this point.

"There are times, you know," you continue, wiping your eyes. "What if I don't need you? What if I am alright right here? By myself. It's better than acting like a child who never grew up and will do anything to get your attention but I am sick and tired of it, Bills... Each night, I go to sleep begging you to help me hold on to you... But you just don't care... And I am better off... I really am..."

Billy was not expecting this. He had come prepared to scare away the random guy you were bringing home and then putting you to bed. He did not come prepared for you sobbing on your kitchen floor, drunk beyond words and spilling out your secrets.

He gently helped you up and took you to your bedroom. "I am gonna wait outside," he said, talking your face in his hands and gently wiping away your tears. "Why don't you take all the make up that you don't like off and freshen up and I'll be right on the other side of the door?"

Too exhausted to say or even think anything, you worked like a robot, getting in the shower and changing into comfier clothes.

The moment Billy heard your door lock click, he knocked and entered with a jug of water and Advil. "Come here," he said, leading you to your own bed and sat down with you. "I am so sorry, Y/N," he said, caressing your cheeks with his thumb. "That I ever made you feel like I didn't love you... Because that's all I have ever done and that's all I am ever going to do... And I will probably die doing it... I am sorry that I let you keep building up walls against me... I am sorry that I hurt you over and over and over again... I am sorry I got mad at you for meeting other men when I should have put in efforts to be a man who deserves you... I am sorry that you kept suffering every single day and I only watched from afar instead of holding you through it... I don't know how much of it will you remember tomorrow but I promise you Y/N, this moment onwards, you are never going through anything alone ever again. Not shitty bosses or shitty colleagues, not shitty days and especially not shitty men. I promise I will be there to love you through them all, no matter what... Because I really do love you, Y/N... More than I imagined was humanly possible... My heart fills up to the brim whenever I look at you, Y/N... Every time you laugh, the world seems a lot better and it feels like nothing can ever go wrong... And I am so sorry that I never told you how precious you are to me... You are the light of life, Y/N... I love you so freaking much..."

He placed a small kiss on you head and felt you melt into his arms.

"I wanna sleep, Bills..." You sighed.

He was afraid how much of it were you going to remember but your health was what mattered to him at the moment. He turned off the lights and gently tucked you in.

"I know you're an independent woman, Y/N and you don't need anyone. But I promise that if I cannot be the light that guides you, then I promise to sit with you in the dark... And I hope you always remember that..." He kissed your hand before walking towards the door.

"Stay," you whispered sleepily, your eyes barely open. "Please..."

And stay he did.

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

Taglist: @dreamyjcel @doriangray-lover @el-de-phi

[scoundrels-in-love]

We could love (illumination), we could love you (elevation) (2/3)

Meryl does not often drink to the point of hangovers and for good reason. She prides herself in knowing her limits and abiding by them. But somewhere after leaving her work party with Milly timely because they had decided they deserved to celebrate their promotion proper instead of playing polite with work seniors, her sensibilities (and a shoe) seems to have gotten lost while drinking and dancing. Which makes for a mortifying, surprising conversation next morning between her and Wolfwood, for whom she definitely doesn't have feelings for that could leak out in her inebriated state. | Mashwood | Pining (it's requited, they're just idiots) | AU: Modern/Roommates | AO3 |

As the herd of Meryl's hangover retreats, so does her bravado, and she's left laying trampled in the dust (her bed) by mortification, staring at the ceiling and wondering where she went wrong with her life.

It would be easiest to say that it was the day she wrote an article for the university newspaper, defending Vash against the accusation of "inciting violence" when all he had done was defend someone from a bunch of drunk jocks without throwing a single punch. He'd been kicked off campus, but thankfully not the university, for it and she'd found it unfair.

The reaction from other students had been louder and more mixed than she'd expected and if not for her professor de Niro and his total disregard for university authority and scheming, she'd have lost her position at the newspaper for it. Instead, she was also asked to leave the campus and proceeded to dig more into the biased ways the university picked sides in conflicts until her graduation.

In a moment of foolish spite (and desperation, when realization of rent prices sunk in), she'd asked Vash if he'd like to be her roommate until they figure something else out, as if university would care if they're breaking their same gender cohabitation rules now that they are off campus. He'd agreed eagerly, transforming from a miserable little puppy into the embodiment of sunshine within a split second. Maybe that's when things took the wrong turn.

And still, she doesn't want to think of it as The mistake. Her friendship with Vash had grown unexpectedly quickly and it's something that has course-corrected her life and made it better, lighter, kinder. She doesn't know how she'd have gotten through the exam seasons if not for him and, later, Wolfwood sometimes borderline wrestling her away from the books to get some food and sleep.

Clearly, she'd fucked up when she fell for the blond. But it's not like she'd chosen to do that. And worst of all, it hadn't even been him that she kissed last night. No, it'd been his boyfriend. One of the worst crimes that a friend could commit. Betrayal of highest order. 

Meryl groans and slaps hands over her face, trying to recall more of the previous night and make sense of it. Maybe she'd done it overflowing with affection in an acceptable, friendly way. After all, she'd hugged both men before, even given cheek kisses when they exchanged gifts on Christmas and the like. But who would believe that, seeing the marks on Wolfwood's throat. Vash could be silly, but he is far from stupid.

And Wolfwood - Wolfwood could be a menace and a tease, but she has a hard time believing (she can't at all, in fact) that he would ever do anything to hurt Vash so deeply and irrevocably as cheating. Which makes this morning all the more bizarre and she can't make sense of the part where he implied… implied what, really? That he wants her, that they want her?

For a split second, an image flashes across her mind: her spread across Wolfwood's lap, fingers treading through his thick hair as he holds her by the hips, while Vash is settled behind her, his hands and mouth exploring her body. Meryl sucks in a sharp breath and shuts the window to that vision so hard and fast the glass shakes behind the shutter.

She turns to her side and burrows face in the pillow. Does she want that? And since when, if yes? Sure, she has known she has these sparks of attraction toward Wolfwood, has had them for a while, but that's what people do, right? Have a stray thought about beautiful people. And no one would deny that he is easy on the eyes.

(Nevermind that when her classmates first started falling for celebrities and random boys spotted across school grounds, she'd failed to follow. Nevermind that every brief lived relationship she's had before or after meeting Vash has happened because she convinced herself that it's what people do - say yes to being asked out and see if feelings come along. Nevermind that the first time she imagined holding hands with Vash, pressing a chaste kiss to his wonderfully shaped mouth and her heart had sped up, flush heating her face, she'd felt relief - not broken after all. Nevermind that she'd spent a year being jealous and gradually accepting that Wolfwood is an odd, but wonderful person and good fit for Vash before his great looks started to intrude her thoughts, instead of being a mere observation.)

Acting on it is a different matter. Feeling this all-consuming fear that she's on the verge of losing Vash and Wolfwood both is something else. She can, but does not want to imagine a life where they're gone, where no one welcomes her home, where there are no pet names said in gruff voice and no hand ruffles her hair that she bats away, where there are no movie nights with three of them piled on the couch, making stupid jokes to point they have to rewind the important parts a couple times, where there aren't the warm, sincere smiles she loves to lure out of both men, where -

Fuck. Fuck. 

She's fallen for Wolfwood, too, hasn't she? Despite his constant smoking, despite his other addiction being annoying her and picking arguments for the sake of arguing, despite the shadows that press his shoulders down when he thinks she can't see, despite the way he rebukes care and concern like it would burn him, despite the way he knows just what to cook when she's having a bad day, despite the way his eyes crinkle at corners when he laughs and the depth of the sound reverberates in her heart pleasantly. 

God. She's down bad and she has somehow managed to completely ignore it. Not that she can blame herself for it - acknowledging it means… means she's moved on from Vash? But when Meryl thinks of him, sitting across from her and humming happily as he eats his way through a donut box, taking her hand and dragging her toward next ride at amusement park because she can't keep up with how fast his attention swivels, of him getting dogpiled by a group of excited kids at the park or the quiet, wistful way they sit together on fire escape ladders and stare at the stars, sharing a set of earbuds, her heart overflows with the same tenderness and affection that burns so brightly and deeply it sears an unique shape in her soul, like a brand.

That heat presses behind her eyelids, too, and she stifles a sob.

What a fucking mess she's made of things. 

How is she supposed to navigate being in love with both of them, explain her drunken actions, in a way that won't implode in her face and leave them drifting apart? She isn't that good a liar, not to them, so if either of the men confront her, she won't reveal her greedy, overwhelmed heart.

But crying won't solve anything, Meryl tells herself, even if she wants to give in to the tears. This is, essentially, her second heartbreak (funny that it's half a repeat of her first one), even if it's a little preemptive one, isn't she entitled to some good old sobbing and ice cream? But it'd mean she has to brave going outside, chance bumping into Wolfwood who would surely notice her red rimmed eyes.

So she tosses and turns a few times until she finds a good thinking position and starts compiling the facts. Her feelings. Vash's and Wolfwood's relationship and their friendship with her. The bizarre conversation earlier. It's this point that continuously trips her up. The insinuations are there and she doesn't know if she's to get hopeful or find a step stool and wind her arm up for smacking them both in the face.

Meryl's never seen them bring a third person of any gender home, but perhaps they've caught her looking a little too closely and considered a chance to try a friends-with-benefits type of thing or even just a one and done go at a filthy fantasy. And she knows, knows it'd set fire to this little something they've built, spectacularly. 

She would, because she isn't good at stopping, at being reasonable about her expectations. Even a taste test of proper togetherness would flood the locked room where her feelings and wants smolder away, feed into it until it becomes an inferno. It'd be glorious and raze everything down to the foundations, until even those would melt. 

If Wolfwood meant anything less than the unlikely shift between the three of them into a new, deeply entwined space, she has to be stern and shut it down, if she plans to keep this aching, but important connection. And she does, goddamnit. Even if it hurts more now, when she knows how deep her want for them both runs. Her appreciation of their friendship runs deeper still.

She's basically got her Master's in pining, anyway. Maybe this will speedrun her to getting the certificate.

It feels easier to breathe, now that she's decided all that, even if Meryl's still not sure how to handle the whole drunk smooches thing. It'd be best to come up with a lie and practice it diligently, she figures. After some more rolling around her bed and considering all the facts (such as she can't remember if she called Wolfwood by his name, so it might quickly dismantle her 'thought it was someone else' defense), she settles on an overzealous, friendly flood of affection.

She wallows in her bed and feelings for a while more, before daring to venture out for her hard earned ice cream. On the kitchen table, she finds a plate of pasta carbonara with a plastic cover over it and her heart swells like a creek in early spring. Wolfwood must have made it for her, knowing she's unlikely to bother cooking today. 

It's delicious, as his cooking always is, and it isn't until she's started eating that Meryl realizes how hungry she is. Starving, really. She finishes the portion in record time, all the while listening for any noises in the apartment, but unless Wolfwood is napping, she assumes he's gone outside. Though he has always been able to be exceptionally quiet if he wants to be. He and Vash both. It has earned them quite a few punches in the shoulder, from sneaking up on her.

Meryl has half a mind to go and knock on Vash's door (theirs, rather, because she'd given up on making Wolfwood a blanket nest on the couch after couple months, when he rarely was in it come morning during his ‘sleepovers’), say thank you for the meal and maybe have a conversation, but her courage is still taking a vacation, hopefully somewhere sunny. 

So instead she busies herself by doing chores around the apartment - they're good at maintaining it nice and tidy overall, but there's always something to do when two (three) adults mill about the place daily. 

Even if it's something as pointless as reorganizing the living room bookshelf by alphabetical order. 

Okay, maybe she's a little restless and doing things for the sake of doing them.

It's a short while after this internal admission that the apartment door opens and Meryl only has time to straighten up when a flurry of red rushes towards her, consuming her and lifting her into a spin at the same time.

“Meryllllll!” Vash singsongs as he spins her around for good measure and oh, she's dizzy, dizzy from the sudden motion and even more from his brilliant smile. “Congratulations on your promotion!”

Her arms have wrapped around his shoulders instinctively for some support and she briefly buries her face in his shoulder and crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of fresh wind and something sweet that always clings to Vash's clothes. It grounds her and helps Meryl escape the blue tinted flame of his gaze for a moment. 

Yeah, she definitely hasn't fallen out of love with Vash.

And, clearly, Wolfwood has mentioned at least some of last night - and this morning’s conversation -, but the blond is still holding her, instead of demanding why she's propositioning his partner, so there's that.

Meryl inhales deeply and lifts her head, smiling as genuinely she can with anxiety doing scout lessons in knots with her insides. “Thanks, Vash.”

“We gotta celebrate, I know just the perfect spot.” 

She hopes the internal wince was not too external. It's not that she doesn't want to spend time with him or Wolfwood, but until she knows if they are ignoring the incident or how that conversation goes, she finds it hard to feel singularly happy about it either.

“That sounds concerning,” Meryl teases and Vash gasps in mock affront, dramatically. “No alcohol, though,” she forces a laugh, “I've barely recovered from my hangover.”

“Did you eat?” A voice comes from behind her and Vash spins them so they both can look at Wolfwood, leaning against the door jamb. Though his arms are crossed across his chest (leather jacket making the gesture look an additional layer of good, illogically), his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair and he looks at them with this open… fondness almost. If she let her heart run off into the hills, it would claim his smile is soft.

Instead, she stiffens in Vash's hold and then pats his shoulder. “You can let me down now,” Meryl reminds him.

“Oh right,” the man says sheepishly and lowers her back to the ground. 

“Thank you for the food, it was great,” she tells Wolfwood when she can duck her face down and pretend to focus on the last books that need to be put away. He says something like no problem, though it is mostly lost beneath Vash listing off when she's got to be ready for their evening plans. Seems like it's not going to be just a pizza night at home, this time.

Maybe it's better that way, being in public and away from that damn couch. So she tells him, yes, she'll be ready at seven o’clock tomorrow and manages to suppress her sigh of relief when Wolfwood drags the blond away all the way until the door to their room falls shut.

[swallowtail-ageha]

Malenia for the ask meme!

Responding to this ask late because i have just come home fjvididksk but its here!!

Favourite thing about them i am so insane about the whole bodily autonomy rights surrounding her. You never had a choice in what you were born as you want to desperately run away from it but your body never belonged to you from day one and in the end you fall to your origins and hurt yourself badly. I also like the whole kindred of rot thing bcs its deeply sad like. They are both victims of it malenia who never wanted to host the rot and to whom the kindreds represent her falling to her worst impulses while the kindreds actively do something that malenia hates not out of malice but because they were born from that. *chefs kiss*

Least favorite thing about them uuuugh i feel like the promised consort battle of aeonia stuff has really cheapened her and the whole conflict and i think her whisper being "miquella awaits thee o promised consort" just sucks

Favorite line My flesh was dull gold...and my blood, rotted.Corpse after corpse, left in my wake...As I awaited... his return.

Its just so *froths at the mouth* it embodies perfectly her feelings about the scarlet rot and the shame that came from actually blooming for the sake of miquella and grappling with the fact that because of it she killed several hundreds of people and i am *aaaagh*

brOTP while i have started to headcanon their dynamic as being incestuous in the last few months, i think her and miquella's story also really works well as just a normal if tragic sibling relationship. I also see well a malenia and godwyn dynamic where well. Ok he wasnt the number one mother and father figure at once but i think he did rly care about her and in my headcanons he did a lot of legwork to include her in activities that she normally wouldn't be able to do by making them more accessible to her disability

OTP Malmiq lol. Its funny because i at first didn't even ship them, but dlc enabled me to ship it out of spite. I just. Really love the whole we are incestuous children of an incestous god angle of it and the fact that they influenced each other's lives and goals and personalities so much

Aside from that, finlenia. Like holy shit i am not normal about it. Imagine just being so loyal to/in love with your military leader you not only accept part of her curse but are also willing to drag her unconsious body for the whole continent in the middle of a civil war just to save her life. Fucking cinematic. Fucking beautiful

nOTP i dont even have anything against the ship per se because i find it really interesting dynamics wise but malenia/radahn has been ruined for me thanks to all the fucking violent rape porn revenge fanart of it

Random headcanon i think that she developed a very marked gallows humour. Like... since her childhood she expected to either die or turn fully into a vessel of rot so after a while she's like "oh well until i fix it i will just Joke About My Missing Limbs" which was very jarring to people who were personally meeting her for the first time

Unpopular opinion idk how unpopular it is but i think her devotion to miquella was. Unhealthy. I do think he loved her wholeheartedly (and didnt charm her opposed to what some people on some website say), and i don't even blame her for being so codependent with him (girl was neglected BADLY), tho

Song i associate with them least a song and more of an ost, but Divine Service from the Lies of P soundtrack! Its very melancholic and full of longing and nostalgy, which just

Favorite picture of them the one in the shaded castle! It is a pretty basic portrait, but the area building up to it is fantastic and elevates it in my mind

[chaosandcrimson]

no way is that ROXANNE ‘ROXY’ FLOCKTON.. they’re a 25-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being MANIPULATIVE & VINDICTIVE but there are some people who have seen them being ALLURING & METHODICAL. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of specks of body glitter falling down onto a computer keyboard, purple bruises covered up with cheap concealer, and using your body to get men to do your bidding, but that could just be because they’re considered the FEMME FATALE around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

I never trust a narcissist but they love me So I play 'em like a violin and I make it look oh so easy 'Cause for every lie I tell them they tell me three This is how the world works, now all he thinks about is me

OVERVIEW

Name: Roxanne Satine Flockton

FKA: Nicole Lisa Shaw

Nickname(s): Roxy, Daydream (D4YDR34M)

DOB: July 22, 2099

Age: 25

FC: Kaylee Kaneshiro

Height: 5'8"

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Demiromantic Pansexual

Occupation: Dancer at The Kit Kat Club / Hacker

Relationship Status: Single (Closed)

[+] alluring, methodical, street smart [–] manipulative, vindictive, unscrupulous

BIOGRAPHY

tw: parental neglect, abuse, implied csa

Roxy was raised by a single mother who was always very blunt about her origins. She was the result of an affair with a married man who had paid them a laughably small fraction of his net worth to go away and pretend like they didn’t exist.

It was a fact that was thrown in her face whenever she had something to say about how her mom refused to parent her, or how her rotating cast of deadbeat boyfriends treated her—that she should be grateful that they were even willing to acknowledge her. Feeding and clothing her was more than her dad had done.

Eventually, one of her mom's regular boyfriends got elevated to permanent man of the house, and things only got worse from there. Altercations between her and her new stepdad were frequent and often resulted in violence, a fact which her mom refused to even entertain, always choosing to side with her husband.

They frequently had friends over, causing Roxy to spend a lot of time barricaded in her room with her computer, learning all about hacking while they were busy getting drunk and high. On a good night, they forgot that she was there and left her alone. On a bad night, either her stepdad would get angry and find a way to make it her problem, or one of his friends would decide to sleep in her room.

In her teen years, she tried to run away from home several times and was brought back each time—sometimes by police, sometimes by her parents' shady friends. She didn't understand why they insisted on keeping her when they made it clear that they didn't care about her. It wasn't until she overheard them talking to their friend, who was their drug dealer, that she learned his late-night visits to her room were how they paid for their drugs when they couldn't afford them.

As soon as she turned 18, she hitched a ride out of town with two goals in mind—first to get the fuck out of dodge, and then to track down her biological father and give him a piece of her mind. Unfortunately, she didn't have a lot to go on.

She bounced around from place to place for a few months before arriving in the Metroplex. Settling in the lower district, she took a job as a dancer at The Kit Kat Club. Her time there has made her quite adept at manipulating men and she uses that ability liberally. She has never stolen anything, but if a patron willingly gives her their expensive watch, she isn't exactly going to give it back to them.

She is mean, vindictive, and spiteful, but she genuinely cares about the other dancers at the club. She is very protective of them and has several times taken matters into her own hands when a customer was getting too friendly.

She has continued to hone her hacking skills and has been a part of R4P7UR3 for the past few years. Their leader, Draven Thorne, has become something of a hacking mentor to her; although unbeknownst to both of them, they actually share more than a love of ones and zeros. They also share a father.

MISC

She has a tattoo on her left wrist that is a series of zeros and ones in an 8x8 grid. Each row actually represents one character and reads "FUCK YOU" in binary.

[ineffable-kelpie]

Emergency Hug

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1,374

Prompt: A reunion hug

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale

A sort-of sequel to Privacy, but also works as a standalone.

-

Aziraphale was by the duck pond when Crowley stepped out of the Bentley. Of course he was. Crowley had arrived five minutes late, just to prove he didn’t care about wasting the Supreme Archangel’s time. And maybe, a bit, out of spite for the way Aziraphale had only broken his four-year silence to ask for Crowley’s help, and the emphatic silence in his letter on the subject of any previous friendship between them. Crowley wouldn’t have shown up at all, except for the fact that he had a stake in Earth’s survival, too.

Crowley stepped up beside Aziraphale. Aziraphale turned just enough to see Crowley out of the corner of his eye before his eyes flitted back to the duck pond. “Oh, hello,” he said, his tone unbearably polite. “I trust you’ve been well.”

He trusted Crowley had been well. His best friend had abandoned him and fucked off for four years, of course Crowley hadn’t been well. That should be obvious from the shadows under his eyes. Or it would be, if Aziraphale would actually look at him. “Just as well as yourself, I’m sure,” Crowley said sarcastically, and added, “Supreme Archangel,” in a mocking tone.

“That’s lovely,” said Aziraphale, as if he hadn’t been listening. “As I said in my letter, I would appreciate your assistance with…”

Crowley grimaced as Aziraphale repeated the letter that Crowley had already read. It was like someone had replaced Aziraphale with an automaton. Crowley had hoped for at least some hint of an emotional reaction when Aziraphale saw him again. But he still wouldn’t look at Crowley, so Crowley supposed he still didn’t know what Aziraphale’s reaction to seeing him would be.

“…So that’s the current plan, at a high level,” Aziraphale was saying. “I’m sure you can see the most obvious points of failure: . Unfortunately, so did Michael, so she added a few failsafes…”

Crowley wanted to interrupt, to say, look at me, Aziraphale, look me in the eyes right now like you did before you stepped on that elevator and left me here alone. Except he didn’t think Aziraphale would do it. Not when he was standing there, rigid as a lightpost, staring fixedly at the slate-gray pond, his hands locked in a white-knuckled grip in front of him, his face placid as if he’d had his emotions surgically removed—

Oh. Well, of course he wasn’t acting like himself. He’d spent the last four years in Heaven.

Now that Crowley recognized the signs, he wondered how he could have interpreted them as coldness. He knew what meetings in Heaven did to Aziraphale. He’d seen the state the angel was in afterwards. And he knew that, the more dire the situation, the more tightly Aziraphale locked his feelings up.

He wasn’t looking at Crowley because he couldn’t look at Crowley. Because he knew that would make him fall apart.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted.

Aziraphale paused in his monologue about schedules and failure points and distractions. “Ye-es?” he asked, stumbling over the word. It probably hadn’t occurred in any of his rehearsals.

Crowley didn’t know how to ask. “Are you okay” was a pointless question, when Aziraphale so clearly wasn’t. He wouldn’t admit to anything being amiss, anyway. But Crowley couldn’t just stand there and watch Aziraphale suffer, not when he knew what always helped Aziraphale after a visit to Heaven. What could ground him. He reached up and touched Aziraphale’s arm with two fingers.

Aziraphale stopped breathing. His eyes widened, and then he squeezed them shut. He didn’t speak.

“Oh, Aziraphale.” Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then carefully slid it around his back to pull him in for—

“Stop,” Aziraphale gasped, jumping away from him. He tripped backwards a few steps, both hands held in front of him like a ward. “Stopstopstop, I can’t—” His voice cracked. He shut his eyes again and drew several deep breaths in what was clearly a desperate attempt to compose himself. “That is—This—This is a purely professional meeting,” he said, in a far less convincing attempt at his dry, polite tone from earlier. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear.”

Crowley let his arms fall. He didn’t move from where he was standing, or reach for Aziraphale. Did Aziraphale think he couldn’t show weakness in front of Crowley? That Crowley would think less of him? Crowley had a lot of reasons to think less of Aziraphale after he left, but not his need for touch. Never that. “So, you’re not dying for someone to touch you?” Crowley meant it to sound offhand, teasing. It didn’t.

“I…” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself and pressed trembling lips together. He stared at the ground, still unable to look at Crowley. “I-I…” Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed hard, and nodded.

Crowley snapped his fingers to put up a veil of privacy around them, took two steps forward, and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. Aziraphale drew a sharp breath, but didn’t pull away again. He was shaking worse than Crowley had ever seen him. He leaned into Crowley, like Crowley was the only thing keeping him upright. “Crowley,” he said in a broken voice. He hadn’t actually said Crowley’s name until now.

Crowley held Aziraphale tight. He hadn’t thought they’d ever touch again like this. It probably didn’t mean anything, like a kiss given while administering CPR didn’t mean anything, but it still made his heart ache in his chest to hold Aziraphale close to him. “This doesn’t mean we’re good,” he said, in case Aziraphale interpreted this as some kind of forgiveness or acceptance, when he hadn’t even apologized yet. “I’m still pissed at you.”

Aziraphale nodded into his shirt and clung to him, so tightly that, had Crowley been human, he would have suffocated. How could Aziraphale have gone back, when he knew the effect Heaven had on him? How could he subject himself to that, so far away from anyone who cared about him? Why hadn’t he come to Crowley sooner?

“You’re an idiot,” was how these thoughts chose to articulate themselves.

Aziraphale shuddered under a wave of what sounded like sobs. “I rather am,” he choked.

It must be even worse than Crowley thought, if Aziraphale agreed with that. Crowley squeezed him tighter, in case that would help, and rubbed one hand up and down Aziraphale’s back. Everything he did only seemed to make Aziraphale cry harder. Although maybe that was a good thing, if all that emotion had been pent-up for as long as he’d been in Heaven.

“I’ve—m-missed you,” Aziraphale said, in between huge heaving sobs. “So terribly.”

“Nghh.” Crowley couldn’t think of anything to say. Obviously, he’d missed Aziraphale too. Obviously. He was dangerously close to tears himself. But this wasn’t the time or the place for this conversation, for the same reason that they shouldn’t have serious conversations while drunk. Maybe once Aziraphale was a little more stable, and neither of their heads was clouded by the hug, they could talk. “Let’s, er, not talk about this now. Later.”

Aziraphale nodded, sniffling. Neither of them spoke for a long, long time. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be getting any better, which was worrying. He was shaking even more now than at the start of the hug. How long would Crowley have to hold him, for it to be long enough? Months? Years? How long could they risk before someone came looking for their Supreme Archangel?

“We don’t have time,” Aziraphale said suddenly, his body tensing in Crowley’s arms. “Our meeting—we were supposed to plan—”

“We’ll reschedule,” said Crowley. “There was an emergency, it couldn’t be helped.”

“I-I only blocked my calendar to the end of the hour.”

Crowley held up his arm to look at his watch over Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was more relieved than he cared to admit to see that they still had time. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to bring Aziraphale back to his old self, but it was at least something to get Aziraphale from now until their next meeting. “We’ve got till the end of the hour, then,” he said, settling his hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale’s grip tightened. Softly, so softly that Crowley almost didn’t hear it, he whispered, “Thank you.”

[draconicsparkle]

Lighthouse au!!! Let’s gooooo!!!

Man oh man do I love this au. It’s so much fun. Don’t you all agree?

Also, there’s fanart for the last SCP I did. Here it is!

Hajime sometimes had a really hard time believing that the people he worked for were intelligent. Why? Because they had such reckless ideas and orders that they expected to be carried out. In spite of previous experiences suggesting that it wasn’t a smart idea.

Such as the instructions he had just been given.

“Hinata. You are to bring Izuru Kamukura down to Lab 15. He is to undergo a physical exam in front of us. You will assist by staying in the room with him as damage control. Understand?”

Outside, he simply nodded and replied, “Yes, sir.” But internally, he chastised them for their poor decision making skills. Had they not learned to not test the limits of what the Ultimate Hope could accomplish? Fools, all of them.

Nevertheless, he left the office to do as asked. He entered the elevator and ascended to Izuru’s floor. And he swiftly swiped his card and went in.

Izuru was actually asleep when he walked in. And Hajime really did not want to wake him. But past times had made it clear that the doctors didn’t care what state he was in when they requested him. He was to appear in front of them, and refusal to do so was not an option.

So with a heavy heart, he carefully approached the sleeping experiment. “Sir? We need to go down for something. So you will have to get up.”

Izuru’s eyes slowly opened, clearly not happy with having been disturbed. “The timing of this is… inconvenient, to say the least.”

Hajime gave him a sad smile. “I know. I don’t like it either. And I apologize for disturbing you. I strongly wish that I didn’t have to.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. But if you are so insistent on repenting, then you may carry me down while I’m still waking up.”

The brunette’s cheeks flushed. “Uh… y-yeah. I can carry you. How… do you want me to…”

But Izuru didn’t answer, only smirked. It seemed to send a message. One that made him blush even harder. “If… you want it, sir, then okay.”

He approached the bed, trying to calm his heart again. Once he was close enough, he slid his arms under the other man’s thin legs and around his waist. He lifted him up and off the bed with practically no effort. And Izuru wound his own arms around the caretaker’s neck, sighing contently. “Now take me to the lab. But take your time. I’m still waking up.”

Hajime could only nod. He had carried Izuru bridal style before, but not usually for very long. This would be the longest he would carry the experiment in this way.

But he would do his job and he would do it well. So he began walking out of the room. He made sure to keep Izuru’s long hair off the ground, not wanting to dirty it.

Something the experiment definitely noticed as they entered the elevator. “So considerate. So aware. So… faithful,” he whispered into Hajime’s ear, sending all sorts of shivers down his spine.

“I’m… glad you think so, sir,” he replied, managing to keep the stutter out of his voice. But that’s all he said, keeping quiet to let Izuru have some time to focus on the elevator ride down. He did love them a lot.

Sadly, it could not last forever. The elevator arrived at the fourth floor. Their destination.

Izuru turned his head to stare straight ahead, observing their journey. Hajime tightened his grip on the man’s body and stepped out. He knew where he was going. He knew where all the labs on this floor were located. He found the door to the lab already open, so he didn’t have to put Izuru down. Something he was thankful for.

But he did have to do so moments later as they reached the center of the room. There were all sorts of objects on a table in the room. What they were for, Hajime was sure they would find out soon.

Their focus was mainly on the large pane of glass that separated the lab they were in from an observation room next to it. Hajime knew that the glass was supposed to be bulletproof and extra thick. But he was not sure that would be enough if they ticked off the Ultimate Hope. But he guessed they would see what happened.

The speaker up on the ceiling crackled to life, the voice of a doctor coming through. “Hinata, you are to stay in the room with Izuru Kamukura. Shut the door and stand by it. Kamukura, you are going to perform all the instructions given to you.”

Hajime didn’t want to put him down. His greatest desire in this moment was to walk out with him in his arms and never return. But sadly, it was not feasible. The white haired man was still slightly sedated and Hajime was no superhuman. So he set him down on his feet in the center of the lab before backing away.

The speaker spoke again. “Kamukura. Demonstrate how much you can carry. Start by picking up the smallest weight on the floor under the table.”

Izuru stood there, smiling vacantly. He made no move to follow the instructions.

“Kamukura. Pick up the five pound weight. Now.”

Nothing. Izuru remained still where he was, staring right into the eyes of the one speaking.

“Obey your creators!” the doctor shouted, sounding both annoyed and on edge.

But still, Izuru didn’t move.

That’s about when Hajime decided to intervene. “Sir? Do you wish for me to retrieve the weights for you?”

Izuru turned to look at him, expression now a hint softer. He nodded, so Hajime walked up to him and handed him the smallest weight. He held it with no difficulty.

Hajime stepped back again, leaving Izuru with the small weight in his hand.

“Now that you have seen what needs to be done, pick up the ten pound weight,” the doctor commanded.

But Izuru again refused to move. He just kept staring in Hajime’s direction.

The caretaker chanced a look over to the window, seeing the veins practically popping out of the doctors’ heads. This was clearly getting on their nerves. And he wouldn’t deny it was amusing to see.

But alas, it wasn’t possible to continue for very long. Hajime was sure that if he kept it up, he would have more restrictions placed on him. Something Hajime wouldn’t allow. So he approached again. “Here, sir. Let me get you the next weight.”

He exchanged the tiny weight with another slightly bigger one. Izuru took the ten pound weight and held it like the previous ones.

The doctors, while not usually making good decisions, actually recognized that Izuru would listen to instructions given by Hajime. So they made use of that.

“Hinata. You are to relay any and all instructions to Kamukura.”

Yeah, he saw this coming. But that was fine, he supposed. So long as he didn’t have to request something dangerous.

And so it began. The doctors would bark out orders, which Izuru ignored. And in turn, Hajime would repeat the instructions with respect and carefulness. Which Izuru would perform the tasks, each successfully and with little effort.

Once they were satisfied with his physical capabilities, they tested his luck. One example being his ability to toss a puzzle cube up in the air and have it land completely solved. Hajime was astounded. And he praised Izuru for everything.

After some time, everything on the table had been used. So Hajime assumed that it was nearing the end of the test. He was relieved by this. He didn’t like how strenuous some of the tasks were. He was still slightly sedated. It can’t have been easy. So he was most eager to return the Ultimate Hope to his room.

“We need one more bit of pictorial data before we conclude. Hinata, remove Kamukura’s robe so that his body is visible.”

Hajime’s heart plummeted at the idea. And he felt a sort of rage. How dare they ask such a thing. Izuru was wearing undergarments, so it wasn’t like he would be fully exposed. But the idea of others seeing him without his robe infuriated him.

Izuru, the world’s best analyst, clearly saw this in his expression. He raised his hands and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head to make eye contact.

“Fret not, my dear caretaker. For I do not care if they see me.” He leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Though I will say your anger is flattering. And rest assured that only you may touch me.”

The words comforted Hajime. So he felt better about doing this task, even as the doctors behind him were exclaiming their disbelief over hearing Izuru speak.

Gently, Hajime pulled the robe off, revealing more and more pale skin. And… the large scar on his chest.

Hajime had seen it before. Many times. But still, the sight made him feel strange. Upset that he had gone through pain to acquire that scar. But also fascinated.

The sight also made his own ache. The scars he kept hidden. The residual effect of him surviving thus far. He rubbed one on his wrist, frowning at the phantom pain.

The red eyes noticed this, glancing down at his wrist before returning to his working eye. What that meant, he wasn’t sure.

But he didn’t have time to think much about it. The speaker came on again. “Hinata. Exit the lab and come to the observation room. Leave Kamukura in the lab.”

Again, it was a task he didn’t want to do. But he had to. So after a final look at Izuru, trying to express his apologies via eye contact, he exited the room and reported to the one the doctors were in.

“What did you need from me, sir?” he asked. “Were the test results unsatisfactory?”

He joined the older man in watching Izuru put his robe back on. “While this isn’t… ideal, this is still a good result.”

Hajime was confused. “How so, sir?”

The doctor grinned. “He’s controllable. He listens to you. Anything you told him to do, he did. So that bodes well for us.” The grin changed to a stern expression. “Don’t disappoint us. Make sure this monster is tame.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hajime walked out the door, returning to the lab. Those doctors didn’t know how incorrect they were. He was not loyal to them. He didn’t care about them. Especially not their approval. He was loyal to one and one only. And that was the Ultimate Hope.

“They are done with the tests. We can return you to bed,” he told Izuru, adjusting the shoulder of the robe to better cover the skin.

“Yes. Carry me back to my room, my dear caretaker,” Izuru replied, winding his arms loosely around the brunette’s neck.

Hajime nodded, picking him back up the same way he brought him down. This time with less embarrassment. For he had an important task.

But as they exited the lab and began walking, Izuru spoke up. “One thing before we return.”

Izuru reached over to the door where the scientists were currently. He tapped on the doorknob, smiling wide when it fell to the ground. “How unfortunate. Seems like their day will be inconvenienced by this. Similar to how they were inconveniencing us.”

Hajime grinned as he started heading to the elevator, ignoring the pounding on the door behind him. “Karma. It’s what they deserve. Now let’s get you back to your room.”

Masterpost

[official-zerg-fangirl]

how do you feel about kerrigan going super Saiyan in Legacy of the Void? what about the Amon plot in general?

(idk if you get notifications when a question is answered publicly, so @fall-warning hi, also THANKS FOR SENDING THIS. I LOVE ATTENTION I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY GIRL)

Oh, That Jean Grey ass Kerrigan transformation is half the reason my bio says "Starcraft 2 never happened, Metzen can suck my dick." *

*the other half is the Kerrinor Kiss, because on Official-zerg-fangirl, the running gag is I have an irrational hate for Raynor bcs I was one of Those middle school girls who would legit be jealous of a fictional character (I just didn't realize what i felt was jealousy bcs i didnt know i was gay)

I hate it! I HATE IT. IT SUCKS.

I am normally an extremely big fan of fire, and red, and phoenixes, and literal deities, and women being any or all of the above. But none of that should have been Kerrigan, and definitely not in the way it was handled. Fuck you, Blizzard. Fuck you for the insane bullshit happening behind the scenes, but also fuck you for what LotV did to my girl!

I refuse to play any part of LotV to this day! I don't fucking care! Sorry to the protoss stans, it's great that you got so much extra lore with Alarak or whatever, but absolutely FUCK what they did to my girl!

oh but I loved the amon plotline tho.

"m'am, why the fuck" it was validating it was powerful it is everything the character arc of the entire Zerg species was building up to and it turned Kerrigan into the antihero she was always meant to be, and LotV is probably great but that epilogue ruined it with a pointless second transformation.

[more deranged rambling below]

Look, Kerrigan's character arc in Brood War was top notch it was S tier it was great I wrote a literal essay about how I do sincerely believe Kerrigan in SC1 + Brood War had a heroic character arc, and I am of course correct, and the canon agrees, BUT WE WILL GET TO THAT,

now initially ofc i was like naw SC2 never happened. Obviously I've softened on that opinion (but saying it never happened is funny. so is acting like everyone is missing the point of Kerrigan except for me. this blog is the space where i get to play up an extremely cocky persona ok)

SC2's general insistence (at least that's my first impression) on treating her zergness like a boring corruption and "ooh Kerrigan was good before but she's evil now" bothers me. like they do this to her instead of, oh I don't know, she was abused and exploited as a child fucking soldier, she latched onto the guy who 'saved' her and was too wrapped up in the exhilaration of having someone who 'cared' about her that she couldn't recognize she was being used as literal fucking bait, and then he LEFT HER TO FUCKING GET EATEN BY ALIENS, and by the grace of fucking god, those aliens saw her value and potential in a way no one else ever could, they elevated her, made her stronger, gave her the means to break off the shackles implanted in her skull (remember the Amerigo mission???), and from that point on, all the anger she'd been harboring from all those years of abuse could run freely, so of fucking course she became impatient and vengeful!

Yes, Kerrigan was extremely destructive, spiteful, cruel,even! But you think someone who's only ever known violence and death and cruelty could ever be anything else? are we so naiive as to imagine a perfectly human Sarah Kerrigan would not become the Queen of Blades Her fatal flaw is wrath, you see how quick she is to anger when she fights Tassadar. To quote the man himself,

"So long as you continue to be so predictable, O Queen, I need not face you at all. You are your own worst enemy."

she is predictable because of her wrath. In her beginning as the Queen of Blades, she's too consumed by all her fury, by her newfound power that she can and will use to demolish everyone who's wronged her, and she hasn't yet learned the wisdom required to use said power. this is a flaw she overcomes in Brood War, wherein she delays her fury and rage to arrange a temporary alliance, to wait for just the right moment to have her vengeance and crush her enemies.

aaaaaand here's the Wings of Liberty campaign going like "Zerg turned her evil. yeah she's killing and infecting terrans bcs that's what zerg do. we need to redeem her by removing her zergyness."

like - no acknowledgement to the fact that the terrans are currently being commanded by the dude who used her and then fucking left her to die???? bro like of all people you'd think Raynor would understand why she's waging war on the Dominion HE'S LITERALLY DOING THE SAME THING, but Blizzard gonna Blizzard and the final boss is Kerrigan bcs Raynor's gotta work with the Dominion to neutralize the greater threat - which is somehow Kerrigan. Okay.

It just really rubbed me the wrong way. Can you tell that it rubbed me the wrong way?

but then it redeemed itself. Bcs the Amon plotline.

NO I AM NOT JOKING. FUCK YOU THE AMON PLOTLINE WAS GOOD.

"oh but it derails everything and now my simple slapfight between humans and two aliens has transformed into some sort of cosmic battle between good and evil" fuck no it doesn't it was foreshadowed back in Brood War did you forget Duran? the fuck you think that man was doing if NOT foreshadowing that some fucking hidden power beyond every race's leaders was controlling the situation specifically through the Zerg? Even BEFORE Brood War, the lore that the Zerg and Protoss were both created by the xel'naga and that the Zerg were specifically created with a mandate to assimilate the Protoss was right the fuck there. you know who said that shit? THE OVERMIND. Pay attention bro, Amon was there all along!

Could he have maybe been introduced in a less jarring way okay sure but he didn't derail shit, this WAS the rails, you just got too caught up in the surface level fighting to recognize what was happening!

also, the Amon plotline was (before that FUCKING EPILOGUE) so extremely validating to me, let me tell you a story about when i was playing HotS - no, even before HotS, whcih did a lot of good stuff, in fucking Wings of Liberty, a campaign I just spent a few paragraphs shitting on, it did one super good thing. it did the Zeratul missions. It did this shit:

oh I imagine a lot of Starcraft fans hated this cutscene bcs it was an out of nowhere messiah plotline delivered via literal exposition ghost, but, see, I'm smarter than your average Starcraft fan, I am a genius and I'm sexy, and I know my wife Kerrigan better than anyone, even the fucking Starcraft writers (suck my dick Metzen) and I see this cutscene at 7:33PM, April 29, 2021, and I ran into my friend's DMs and said "I FUCKING CALLED IT"

BECAUSE I WROTE A FANFIC (unfinished, novel-length, self-indulgent, OCxKerrigan, highly nsfw, no I haven't posted it anywhere I wanna finish it first I wanna perfect it).

AND IN THAT FANFIC I WROTE SOMETHING SO ABSOLUTELY DERANGED I FIGURED IT WAS JUST SELF INDULGENT ABSOLUTE SKEWERING OF THE CANON JUST TO RUN SHAMELESS ZERG APOLOGIA:

I wrote that the Overmind, before capturing Kerrigan at New Gettysburg, telepathically communicated with her, and very specifically said that her human psionic mind would resist control until the bitter end, that it would kill itself rather than accept forced subjugation into the zerg, and THUS he had to ask Kerrigan PERMISSION, that he couldn't and didn't want to strip her of her free will, and he specifically promised to her power, and purpose, and the potential to usurp his place as the leader of the Zerg, and he specifically welcomed that possibility-

and like that's stupid that's so fucking stupid, why would the zerg ever value free will why would the Overmind pursue to the ends of the earth a servant that he couldn't control, that he knew could and would one day usurp him? there's no way this is canon-compliant-

IT IS

AND NOT JUST CANON-COMPLIANT, IT'S FUCKING CANON. ACTUALLY LITERALLY CANON.

STRAIGHT FROM TASSADAR'S MOUTH, THE OVERMIND DID THAT SHIT. THE GODDAMN EYEMONSTER HAD PLANNED ALL ALONG FOR KERRIGAN TO HAVE FREE WILL AND THAT HE SPECIFICALLY VALUED HER FREEDOM.

The only reason I can't say I predicted the future is because I started writing this fic after WoL released, but I clearly had some sort of precognition I fucking knew I was on the wavelength my deranged apologia was canon I was right.

OH AND THIS AMON SHIT GIVES ME FULL JUSTIFICATION TO BE A GREATER APOLOGIST THAN I EVER COULD BEFORE. BEFORE IT WAS LIKE "c'mon the zerg aren't people, they're mindless demons of destruction" OHHH NO YOU DON'T MOTHERFUCKER! THEY ARE PEOPLE, THEY HAVE MINDS AND FEELINGS AND WILL AND THEY'RE BEING CONTROLLED BY THEIR CREATOR - NO, THEIR CORRUPTER, AGAINST THEIR BEST INTERESTS,

AND THE PRIMAL ZERG, THE PRIMAL ZERG! THEIR GLORIOUS PAST! ZERUS, THE GARDEN OF EDEN BEFORE AMON'S MEDDLING, WHERE THERE IS NO CONTROL AND NO DESOLATION, ONLY THE RULE OF THE HUNT! HERE, WE SHALL FORGE A VISION OF THE LIBERATED SWARM, REUNITE WITH OUR PAST TO FORGE A BETTER FUTURE, AND OH LET'S NOT EVEN TALK ABOUT THE PARALLELS BETWEEN WHAT AMON DID TO THE ZERG AND WHAT THE GHOST PROGRAM DID TO KERRIGAN,

BECAUSE THAT'S JUST IT, KERRIGAN IS THE SWARM, WHICH IS WHY SHE BELONGS IN THE SWARM.

SHE AND THE ZERG BOTH EXIST AS BEINGS OF INCREDIBLE POTENTIAL WHOSE FUTURES WERE STOLEN AND CORRUPTED FOR THE SAKE OF A HIGHER POWER'S TWISTED WAR GAME, TURNED INTO A LIVING WEAPON AND SET TOWARDS A CAUSE THEY DON'T BELIEVE IN, THEY ARE CHAINED AND THEY WILL ONLY ACHIEVE THEIR GREATEST SELVES ONCE THOSE CHAINS ARE BROKEN,

and this entire fucking theme of subjugation and of being transformed into a living weapon was in Brood War, too! That was what the UED did to the Zerg! This is why Kerrigan is the hero of Brood War, an entire species was enslaved and her, with her human mind, was the only hope anyone had of not submitting to Earth's slave army! Amon is simply the greater master who enslaves the zerg more subtly, with chains that are harder to break because they permeate across the hive mind link itself,

And by the fucking WAY, the revelations of that xel'naga relic, Zeratul's visions, the insight given by Zurvan of the primal Zerg, all bring such a delicious context to the entire wings of liberty campaign, and they make that campaign good and make everything I complained about earlier just an extra spicy flavoring and a dash of gray to our terran heroes, THEY MADE ME ACTUALLY LIKE RAYNOR???

bcs you know what, fine, perhaps Raynor does see the Queen of Blades as nothing but pure evil, perhaps he does choose to ally with the Dominion to destroy her, that is his human perspective, as someone who loved Kerrigan but knew her so briefly, all he can truly see is the Zerg as he understands them, the mindless living weapon, the infested terrans that beg for death as they seek to tear you limb from limb. We are imperfect, we aren't omniscient, perhaps I should forgive Raynor for his short-sightedness. He cannot concieve of harmony with the zerg because of what he has seen, so of course his dear friend is corrupted, infested, controlled, and he has to free her, and maybe he can make this deal with the devil. From his eyes, this is the best route he can take. He even knows he should not kill her, he knows what she's meant to be, and he has no idea how she'll go from the monster he sees now to the savior of Zeratul's prophecy, so he does what he thinks is best.

and as we see in HotS (and i think also LotV a bit?), Raynor's choice to use the relic was a mistake, it robs the zerg of their salvation and feeds so much energy into Amon's greedy maw... but also, it wasn't a mistake.

See, Kerrigan's temporary severance from the swarm frees her of the influence of Amon on her mind (though I am adamant that her actions have been PRIMARILY motivated by rage and vengeance and spite!), and when she sheds her humanity once more and properly returns to the Swarm, it is in the sacred birthplace of all Zerg, on the planet that obeys the law of nature, where hardship and violence are tools to produce an ever-greater self, and all that she has suffered will become her strength,

AND KERRIGAN ASCENDS - NO, EVOLVES - INTO HER PRIMAL SELF IN ORDER TO FULLY REALIZE THE OVERMIND'S PLOT OF LIBERATION. I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG AND SHE WAS A HERO, THANK YOU HEART OF THE FUCKING SWARM YOU REDEEMED SC2.

which just makes the fucking fire lady 'oh shes not zerg anymore she's xel'naga heehee' feel all the more bullshit???? Like, i thought it was bullshit before I knew anything abt HotS but now its SUPER bullshit, bcs primal kerrigan WAS her perfected self. She didn't NEED to become xel'naga. SHE IS ZERG! SHE IS THE QUEEN OF BLADES!

It's just so pointless. Nothing you could do to Kerrigan in this literal final hour of the entire Starcraft franchise could possibly be as thematically powerful as the Zerus arc, and you should've just continued those themes. leave Kerrigan's character arc concluded. Stop fucking with it. You had something amazing and you fumbled the bag at the literal last second. seriously, what the fuck? THAT'S how you end the series? What happened in the writers' room- other than the creepy misogynist bullshit we already know was happening, of course?

anyways yeah I hope that satisfied your curiosity. :D i don't wanna know how many words this was, I just know it took me like 2h to write. maybe more. I don't have a good sense of time. it's the autism.

[hellcab]

Pricking Thumbs - God of Teeth Start.

He dreams but doesn’t sleep.

Roth stirred and groaned, knowing the time. Half-asleep, Roth rose like some limp puppet hoisted by strings. He sat up, allowing his senses to catch up. Shower then breakfast.

Cold water sputtered then came in full. Roth tested the waters, then joined. The shower water washed over his weary frame. Soap in hand, he scrubbed his bluish skin. His mind longs for the warmth of his bed. Little by little, he convinced himself the day could be his. That he can do this.

That kind of thinking pushed him out the door. Kept him behind the wheel for about four decades. It came with self-loathing and bitter spite.

Cereal was all he could afford. He reused old coffee grind for another cup of joe. He forgot about getting groceries again. The mind was bothered by escapism. After work, he drinks and smokes. He gambles and finds love for the night. He finds his escape on the tip of every needle. Roth has yet to find his true escape from everything. That eludes him. So now, he must numb the pain of being.

Headphones blasted music into his ears. Elton John was his morning pick. The cassette was weathered but the music played. He finishes and gathers his clothes. Out of date fashion and weathered black boots was his uniform. Other clothes from another time were in the gloomy closet. Memories from another time when he could accept things. He could find joy, even in this place. That was long ago, far behind.

Unwilling, Roth exited and locked up his place. The hallways and stairs were dead silent. Nobody around, everyone was fast asleep or stranded. He preferred the morning quiet as he walked. The horrible, geometric carpet hurts his eyes. The elevator awaited him. Closing the lift doors, Roth pressed {“ground floor”} and started descending. The elevator rattled and moaned, as weathered, rusty steel grinds.

He dreams and is awake.

Roth thought about quitting for the umpteenth time. Then again, where will he go? What will he do? He wasn’t good at much. Not much at all.

He waited out of sight. He gripped his truncheon with nervous energy.  

Roth reaches the ground floor. The doors have trouble sliding open, but Roth frees himself. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone. Before Roth could turn, he’s struck across the head. A police truncheon smites his head, sending him back. Roth falls back, feeling pain and blood. He tries his best to get up. To fight to do anything. He yelps and screams, as the figure attacks again and again. Fear overcame Roth.

He could see the other’s face. The face was his. The other was him. He was grinning. He was grinning as he attacked him.

Again and again, the truncheon came down upon Roth. Other Roth strikes Roth again and again and again. Until Roth couldn’t move. He was knocked out cold, with blood on his crown. Once finished, Other Roth entered and pressed {“basement”}.

Roth arrived thirty minutes before his shift started. A strange sight, but nobody questioned why. He tackled the work and ferried passengers. He ate lunch with his coworkers and laughed and cackled. He worked. He laughed. He smiles. Roth consorts with the usual crowds he frequents and says every line. Yet, beyond the actions, there was something underneath. A kind of strange mimicry. Nobody could see. A soulless impression. Nobody could care. He had them all fooled.

They all shall dream.

[dorksidefiker]

I'm giving Simon R. Green's Forrest Kingdom series a re-read

Generally speaking, I love these books, but goddamn are the politics in the first one surrounding Rupert fucking stupid.

Why is everyone so fucking certain that having Rupert still alive by the time his father dies means it's going to be a civil war with Rupert and Harold fighting over the throne?

Harold hasn't even secured his own succession! He's got no children, the woman he's meant to marry is not only actively against it but will likely actually be able to gut him if he tries to rape her (Green does love his Action Girls). Until that time, Rupert is is heir. And everything we see if Rupert shows him to be a good, honorable man who wouldn't dream of making a move against his brother in SPITE of the fact that his brother is, in fact, a major asshole to him. He'd be the first one to turn on anyone who might try to elevate him to the throne.

And don't get me started on Harold and his arranged marriage to Julia. NOTHING about the set up makes sense, from no one bothering to tell Julia who she's been betrothed to since she was four years old to how LONG they waited till she was going to be sent off to marry him -- both she and Harold are LONG past the age where Julia should have been sent off to consummate the marriage and start with the making of heirs.

Plus, there's that whole "demons rampaging through the kingdom" thing that really should have people being MUCH more careful with BOTH heirs, seeing as there's a very real possibility that everyone is going to die.