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miraculouscontent · 3 years ago

Note

After reading that, I think it's safe to say that Miraculous Ladybug is more of a horror/psychological thriller than romance/comedy. And now I want an AU where Marinette takes the earrings off and realizes that they're messing with head

Marinette felt strange, and after getting used to the feeling of being on the Startrain, she knew it wasn't the cause. She felt lighter - less restricted - somehow, and while a part of her had expected that due to handing off the ladybug miraculous, it wasn't in the way she'd expected.

Once she was done sending Alya all the Ladybug tips, Marinette had figured they'd start talking about Adrien or what their next scheme would be once she got back, but she ended up finding the idea tiring. It was odd in the way that finding something in her room just slightly out of place would be (at least before the kwami began living there).

Everything she'd thought she might feel - anxiety over what could go wrong while she was gone, concern over how the kwami were doing in her absence, and longing for who she'd pictured as the love of her life - wasn't there. It felt completely unlike her, just as it felt unlike Alya to not reply to her messages considering how much she liked to be on her phone.

Abandoning the idea of texting Alya for now, she closed their conversation and idly started browsing her phone. Even still, the weird feeling didn't cease and her hero senses were going off.

Something was wrong, or... maybe right? It wasn't as if she was feeling anything bad, but she felt entirely different than when she was in Paris. It was hard to get a gauge on exactly how she should take it.

Marinette glanced at her parents, catching herself frowning before they could glance back. She looked at her phone, acting like nothing was wrong and idly scrolling through her various apps so as to look busy. In the process, she stumbled upon her gallery, finding her mass of Adrien images inside. It took up a majority of her pictures, and she found herself blushing in embarrassment rather than fondness.

Did she really have this many normally? How much time had she taken getting them?

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, thrown off by just how different she felt. The reaction to seeing Adrien that she'd normally have where she'd lose all focus had virtually disappeared, and the only reason she'd missed it at all was because it gave her an absurd amount of mental clarity concerning how she'd be acting otherwise.

Clarity...

The word brought a particular face to her mind: pink lips, blue eyes, and black hair highlighted blue at the tips. Marinette ran her fingers through her own hair, ruffling it as she tried to piece out how she was feeling. All she knew was that - whatever it was - it was significant and she didn't have Tikki to vent to.

Though perhaps she wouldn’t had much to provide anyway.

A mix of trepidation and curiosity filling her. Switching away from her gallery, she went back to her conversations and pulled up her texts with Luka. Despite her confusion over whatever was happening to her at the moment, she managed a smile at Luka's contact image staring fondly at her.

After a moment of consideration, she typed out:

Hey. Sorry if you're busy. Thought we could talk?

That done, she navigated back to her gallery to look at all her Adrien pictures. She shifted in her seat again, as if it would change things or help her mind adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. It wasn't like looking at Adrien didn't make her feel anything at all, but that feeling could only be described as "normal," like the way she saw him before he'd given her that umbrella.

Before she officially became a ladybug holder who agreed to protect the people of Paris...

Her lips twitched in hesitant thought, her thumb brushing against her screen as she skimmed through the assortment of Adrien pictures. Her brain registered a feeling - or rather, lack thereof - and the foreign emotions encouraged her to act.

She tapped the garbage can icon experimentally, a notification popping up accordingly and asking her if she'd like to delete the picture. She brought the phone closer to her chest, like she felt she was doing something wrong, yet there was only a second of pause before she confirmed the decision.

She watched as Adrien disappeared, a message indicating that the picture had been trashed.

Marinette blinked at the message until it had timed out, bringing her back to the gallery. She was frozen in place, her fingers twitching against the side of the phone as she processed what she'd just done.

Then, she did it again. She tapped on another picture of Adrien, a weird mix of eagerness and interest urging her thumb along as she pressed the garbage can icon again, confirming the decision just as quickly.

Just before the image disappeared, a stray thought said aloud in her mind: black hair and blue eyes would've worked better for an outfit like that.

This time, her body finally moved, a shudder going up her spine as she took in a breath. Her eyes darted over to her parents, knowing how strange this must look to them, but they weren't watching her anyway, meaning the moment was kept firmly in her own personal bubble. It was so odd; normally, someone would've seen her acting off, or laughed and made muttering comments about it.

But nothing was happening, and she didn't know whether to question it or not.

Marinette glanced back at her phone, almost challenging herself as she started to run through the assorted Adrien pictures. She could've thrown them in the metaphorical bin all at once, but instead, she went one-by-one. She waited for something to break, either a sense of regret to settle in over the deletion or for her heart to start fawning over the face on screen, but neither happened.

She was in control, and it felt good. Really, really good.

Part of her felt like she was being ridiculous. The idea of getting some kind of emotional high out of deleting a few pictures sounded stupid, and yet she felt powerful. It was like a veil had been lifted and suddenly she had choices.

If her parents saw her visibly vibrating in her seat, she didn't hear them make mention of it.

The only thing that made her snap out of her rapid thumb movements was a text notification at the top of her screen, and only due to the flash of black, blue, and white. Her lips curved into a smile, originally being pressed together in focus, and she clicked to open her text messages with Luka.

Hey, Marinette. I'm not busy at all. What's up?

She felt warm, knowing that the guy who always made her feel comfortable and happy was on the other line. it was such a shame that they hadn't been able to work it out because of Adrien.

Marinette paused just as she went to reply, those thoughts catching up to her as she remembered that day with Luka underneath the bridge. She'd been so sure that she'd had to break up with him because of Adrien, but as she purposefully tried to recall the memory, something registered like a mental fog clearing in her mind.

Hadn't it actually been her responsibilities as Ladybug that had done it? In fact, that added up alongside all of the other memories of his akumatization; she hadn't been ditching him during their dates out of discomfort or her crush on Adrien, but because of akuma and sentimonsters.

How could she have forgotten? Or rather, how could she have remembered otherwise?

Marinette just barely managed to snap herself out of her trance, her phone having dimmed from inactivity and the sight of her furrowed brows and worried frown staring back at her from the blackened screen. She blinked rapidly, then shook her head to clear herself of the unnerving thoughts.

Lighting her phone back up, she hurriedly typed back as she realized she'd left Luka on read, trying to ignore the way her thumbs shook.

Nothing much.

She hesitated, already seeing him typing back. Guilt burrowed around in her stomach, knowing very well that it was not "nothing" but being unable to properly convey what was going on to him when she didn't even understand it herself.

She typed again, his own typing ceasing to let her add to her comment.

Actually, I've been thinking a bit lately. I'm going to be in London for a while and I'm on the train ride there right now. It's given me some time to myself and it's... weird.

I'm sorry, I know that doesn't make sense.

Even though he hadn't replied, she knew he was taking her seriously as he was typing back.

It makes sense. Background music doesn't work for everyone.

Marinette realized that her shoulders had been tense when they relaxed at his message. She pressed her lips together, feeling vaguely like she didn't deserve him and pushing down the thoughts just as quickly. He'd never approve of that kind of talk.

My head's just been a bit of a mess. Or... not a mess? Things were really foggy but I didn't realize that they were? It's like I'm thinking clearer but I don't know if I like everything that came with that.

What was the phrase? Ignorance is bliss? She had no idea where these changes were coming from, but something had indeed changed and she didn't know the significance of it. She was indeed happy that she felt so in control now over her thoughts on Adrien, but why now? What caused it, and what about her memories?

Would it go away?

Marinette shuddered at the idea, but tried to focus on her conversation with Luka. Having a crisis wasn't going to do her any good, and he was there with her, even if only through text.

I can't know what you're going through, but I think I get it.

You do?

Yeah. Do you remember my birthday, when everyone heard about my dad being Jagged Stone?

He already continued typing, so she just nodded even if he couldn't see it. She'd only been with Juleka when the reveal had happened, but she imagined it'd been just as much of a shock for her as it'd been for them. She couldn't even imagine when Luka could've learned about it.

Wait--no, she'd already known, actually, hadn't she? He'd been akumatized and had gone after Jagged, and she'd been there when he forced Jagged to tell him the truth about being his father.

Marinette winced at the filling of a gap in her memory that she hadn't realized had been there. Once again, she'd remembered something that she couldn't fathom having forgotten or misremembered, even with how spotty her memory could be under normal circumstances.

She turned towards the back of her seat and the window, trying to isolate herself so it felt like just her, her phone, and Luka. She desperately needed his texts as a distraction.

I'd wanted to know who my dad was for so long, but learning that it was my favorite musician all this time was a lot. I had to redo all the notes I’ve ever written about him, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it for a while.

He kept typing after that, and she merely stroked the side of the phone with her thumb as some form of support, even knowing that he couldn't know about it.

But I'm glad I knew in the end. He's doing his best to make up for all the lost time, and I don't have to go on never knowing what that song would've sounded like.

Their situations weren't exactly the same, but it was enough to reach her deep down. Whatever her situation was, if it really did mean something, she'd rather know it was there than go on never knowing. She hated the idea of being left in the dark, just as she hated being lied to.

As she took a calming breath, she found it in herself to type back.

I'm glad you know too. You deserve people who make you happy, Luka.

Thank you, Marinette. You do too, and I hope that whatever you're going through goes at least as well as it did for me.

Thanks.

She bit her lower lip at her reply, which felt clipped in tone even though she hadn't meant it that way. She just had too much on her mind and it was hard to think about what emotion was coming across when she was typing to him.

She tapped away at the on-screen keyboard, hopefully before he could think anything in particular about it.

Sorry.

Though she wanted to explain further, she wavered, her legs bending as she curled further in on herself. The conversation had already been so deep and she didn't want to make it worse.

But just as she debated on dismissing her feelings and insisting that he not worry about her, the memories that had been cleared up from before came back to her, reminding her of a warm hug on top of a bridge.

"When you're ready, I'll be here, Marinette."

She inhaled shakily, but steadied herself immediately afterwards, letting the warmth of the words calm her. Luka was there for her and she trusted him.

She was ready.

...I'm scared, Luka. I thought I had my clarity, but I don't. Something's wrong.

Then, almost on cue, the train screeched to a halt, jostling her out of her seat as the lights went off. The simultaneous sound of phones ringing followed soon after.

—————

Marinette held her breath, crouched down in the restroom while she listened closely for the sound of her parents' footsteps. Her throat let out a whine, but she managed to keep it silent enough to where she was sure that no one on the other side of the door would hear it. She'd have to leave eventually or risk being cornered, courtesy of the power being off and the restroom's lock being electronic, but she felt safe enough to pull out her phone.

She also set it on vibrate just in case.

There was a reasonable concern at first that Luka's texts would indicate that he'd fallen victim to the akuma, but what she found when she checked their conversation reassured her.

Marinette!

Is everything okay?

Did the akuma's power reach you? Did they call you too?

Marinette?

The panic in simple letters on a screen made her feel noticed and loved. Keeping enough of her focus on potential footsteps approaching outside the door, she typed out a reply:

Sorry. I had to run from my parents.

I'm okay. What about you?

You're alright. I'm so glad.

I'm okay too. I hid somewhere and I doubt anyone can find me.

That's good. Be careful.

You too.

She took another breath, certain she'd be captured soon if the akuma wasn't taken care of. The train was limited and there weren't many places to go, so unless she could find a blunt object to smash her parents' phones, she was at a loss.

Regardless, Luka was there, her phone vibrating as he added onto his previous text:

I know this isn't the time, and I hate that the akuma cut into the song we were writing, but I'm here for you, Marinette. Whatever's going on, I'll help you figure it out as long as you want me with you.

Her heart fluttered pleasantly, a pink blush even tinting her cheeks. She welcomed it, unlike the fear that'd come with the changed memories. Feeling the way she did for Luka was too natural to be afraid in any way.

Thank you, so much. You're the only one I could trust with something like this.

She meant it. She'd trusted Alya with her identity in a moment of weakness, and even passed the ladybug earrings to her, yet that somehow paled in comparison to the emotions she was choosing to share. Luka would take her seriously, she was sure, even if she came up with the craziest theory in the world for why her feelings and memories were the way they were. He wouldn't doubt her, or laugh, or dismiss her as "Marinette being Marinette."

And as she sat there, completely without a miraculous or any way to get back to Paris without help, she reached up with her free hand and tugged at her earlobe, processing what she could with the information she had as one such theory started to form in her head. The fear from before never quite went away, but the idea of figuring things out with Luka brought her a sense of comfort.

Though perhaps, when she got back to Paris, she would take back her miraculous with a sense of hesitance that she hadn't had before, and there would be some testing that followed after the fact, because there were two things she refused to give up from her experience on the train.

Her sense of freedom and choice, and the feelings for Luka that she can't believe she ever questioned.

Or, if her working theory was correct, that her miraculous had her question.

#MC's Writing #writing: story #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette #category: salt #episode: Hack San #other: ask and answer #((tbh depending on how much Marinette explains it to him))#((poor boi's gonna have one hell of a revelation in ''Wishmaker''))#((suddenly the Adrien crush influence she explained is gonna make sense))#((and he feels bad for ever supporting it even if he had no way of knowing.))

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

Text

Futamono

2x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, sorta cheating? If not i’m walking a fine line

Author’s Note: This episode! It hit different. In particular there are a few scenes that I am very excited for you to read so reactions are greatly GREATLY appreciated because I love love reading them as they come. I really hope you enjoy! not gonna lie its hard to write something that might hurt will so i might just protect him through and through lol

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary : A city councilman's body is found intertwined with a tree, Jack crashes Hannibal's dinner party to investigate Will's suspicions, and a revelation shocks everyone

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95

(not my gif)

The Baltimore State Hospital was colder than usual. You felt it as you walked down the hallway to where Will was. You felt odd. Like your stomach was in knots and you never had that with Will. He never gave you that feeling.

As you stopped in front of the cell he turned around. He sat down, like he would usually when you were there. He kept note that you did not sit down on your white line, nor did you approach the bars. You weren’t scared of him, he knew you weren’t. But you didn’t look exactly happy with him either.

“Hi,” Will said, breaking a crackling loud silence.

“Hannibal Lecter is alive. In case you were wondering.”

“I was not,” he told you. You let out an annoyed sigh and looked down at the ground. You had thought about how to approach this with Will but every rehearsed conversation felt wrong. This didn't feel exactly right either.

“Will,” you whispered and met his eyes. He stared at you and you stared at him. You shared a few words with your eyes.

“Chilton will have a hard time figuring out this conversation,” he muttered and you cracked a small smile.

“You can’t send a man to kill Hannibal even if you think that he is the Ripper.” He raised a betrayed eyebrow.

“I didn’t send anyone to kill Hannibal. And are you saying he isn’t the Ripper? Did his kiss persuade you that much?”

You imagined Chilton hearing that over the speaker. Probably got popcorn to accompany this conversation for the dramatic guy he was.

“I still think he is.”

“And you have no problem with that?”

“Of course I have the problem with murder,” you breathed. You sat down on the white line finally and he was happy to see you at his eye level again. You stared at each other hard and he knew you knew that he sent someone to kill Hannibal. There was no need to say it. “This isn’t going to help you in the eyes of everyone,” you whispered.

“I’m not scared anymore,” he admitted. You mulled that over for a minute.

“I’m glad. I still don’t condone murder on either side.” Will smirked a bit, laughing.

“Actions speak better than words.”

“Jacks gonna come speak to you about this.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Oh I have no doubt. I’m just giving you a girlfriend worthy heads up so you could plan.”

You walked into Hannibal’s house with the spare key he had given you. You put your bag down quietly as you heard the sound of piano through the air. It calmed you immediately. Your emotional turmoil had been something else.

There was much confusion in your brain but really you were mostly worried about both of the men in your life while also being more worried about your dogs. You had to walk them tonight but you decided to stop by Hannibal’s to see how he was doing.

You walked into the main room and Hannibal continued to play. You listened quietly, leaning against the wall. Eventually he stopped to put something else in his composition. You walked up to him and put your hands on his sweater clad shoulders. He smiled, not having to turn around to know it was you.

“That was beautiful,” you whispered. You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind and looked over the composition like you understood it.

“It’s proving to be more difficult than I was hoping,” he said honestly. He grabbed your hand and pulled you down to sit beside him. You did so.

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly. He shrugged, writing in another note before turning to you.

“I feel as though that noose were still around my neck. It’s strange to have nightmares. Never used to,” he whispered. You nodded solemnly. You understood that better than most.

“You’re always welcome to call the house if you need something,” you said quietly and honestly. Your nightmares hadn’t gotten much better but you were trying to pull through at the house by yourself. Still, knowing Hannibal was there had made you feel better.

“Thank you,” he whispered back to you. You looked at the piano and then back at Hannibal. He stared at you. “I can no longer work with Jack. Or Will.” You were surprised to hear that. Then again, you should have expected it. Almost dying can do that to a person.

“What does that mean?” you whispered.

“I won’t be consulting on any cases with Jack. You’re welcome to continue to work for me and be my…” he paused, “friend but I can no longer assume that I can help Will. I can’t trust him. He’s in a dark place where the shadows move. It’s not safe to stand with him anymore.”

You looked away from Hannibal and at the wall in front of you as you processed what you were being told.

“I hope you understand that I care about you Hannibal,” you whispered, turning to him. “But I will continue to see Will.” He nodded.

“I understand.” You weren’t sure where you stood with him then.

“Play it again,” you told him, voice barely audible.

He put his hands on the keys and you imagined those hands taking a life.

It wasn’t much of a stretch.

Alana walked beside you as you walked the dogs. It was nice to be around them. It was almost like Will was with you at the same time. You were walking through the barren land around the house and she accompanied you upon your request.

“My head is full of conspiracies. There are too many versions of events. He said. She said. He said. He said. She said. It’s maddening,” Alana told you, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. “The one thing I have clarity on is, Will tried to kill Hannibal.”

You glanced at her.

“He believes that’s the only way to catch the Ripper.”

“And you think the same thing? I notice how you’ve gotten closer with Hannibal.” You shrugged, still sore from the last conversation you had with the man.

“Jealous?” you teased.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she whispered. “And no.”

“I think that Hannibal is more capable of senseless murder than Will. They’re both capable of murder. Will has never lied to me.” You paused. “He only lies to me when he knows I can see through him.” You turned to Alana and stopped walking. She stared back at you. “And you? Where do you stand?”

“I haven’t given up on Will. Just re-evaluating who I think he’s become.” You glanced at her.

“Will has always been this way. He just didn’t like to show it.”

“I feel like I��ve been watching our friendship on a split screen. The friendship I perceived on one side and the truth on the other,” Hannibal said. Will sat in his cage and stared at his former therapist. They stared at each other with a sense of competitiveness and a mix of entertainment.

“It’s a terrible feeling isn’t it?” Will asked, numbly but with a stab at Hannibal.

“You’ve been lying to me, Will.”

“I don’t have a gauge for reality that works well enough to know if I’ve been lying or not,” Will said simply. Hannibal had a sense Will had him right where he wanted him. It was impressive.

“You understand the reality of Beverly Katz’s death. You understand your role in that.”

“What was my role?”

“Beverly died at your behest. You’re as angry with yourself as you are with whoever murdered her.” Will didn’t show much emotion but spite.

“Actually, I’m not. I’m singularly angry at whoever murdered her.”

“You tried to kill me, Will. It’s hard not to take that personally. However, if I were Beverly’s murderer, I’d applaud your effort,” Hannibal said. They shared a look.

“I’m no more guilty of what you’ve accused me of than you are of what I have accused you of,” he stated simply.

“Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom and Y/N Y/L/N believe you are responsible,” Hannibal stated.

“Or Y/N Graham as the people say,” Will said simply. Hannibal fought his amusing anger. “And where does responsibility begin and end, Dr. Lecter? With a final act or the events that led to it?” Will asked.

“I don’t expect you to feel self-loathing or regret or shame. You knew what you were doing and you made your own decisions. Decisions that were under your control.” Will scoffed.

“You think I’m in control?” Will asked. “Where does Y/N stand with you Dr. Lecter?” Will stared hard. “Are you still actively pursuing her? Are you pursuing me? Or perhaps the fact that she’s still dating the man who allegedly tried to have you murdered is putting a dent in your plans.” Hannibal put his hand on his arm, holding it. The two men stared at each other, not as men competing for a woman's love but as men who were toying with the idea that there was a connection they weren’t going to sever. Hannibal hoped to cut that link despite the fact he knew it wouldn’t work.

“We were friends before I met you and I imagine we’ll be friends after we part ways.” Will smiled in arrogance of the knowledge you would likely do anything for him.

“Well I’ll be curious to see how that works out for you. She’ll tell me at her weekly visits.” Hannibal raised his chin and hardened his look.

“Good-bye Will.”

Will was not amused.

As Hannibal walked to his car he opened his phone. He dialed the top number on his phone.

“Hello,” you said, sounding distracted. “Sorry, feeding the dogs.”

“I’m throwing a dinner party tonight. You’re attending I hope.” You hummed a yes.

“Of course.” Hannibal smiled.

“I’m glad.”

Hannibal put his hand on your hair and fixed a piece that was out of place. You both held champagne glasses in your hands and were talking to some of his colleagues. You had been complimented on your look seven times already, twice by Hannibal.

You had yet to touch the food. You believed Will there.

Jack and Chilton spoke, watching the two of you chat.

“Prosciutto roses. Heart tartare. Beed roulade. Needless to say, I won’t be eating the food,” Chilton said.

“Dr. Chilton,” Jack chastised.

“Hannibal the Cannibal That’s what they’ll call him you know. And look at Mrs. Graham. Curiously enough I have no idea what her angle is.” Jack nodded.

“She’s always been a bit confusing.”

You laughed at something a guest was saying as Hannibal laughed about it. You were barely listening.

“I didn’t know you had a lady friend Hannibal. Are you Mrs. Lecter?” one of the ladies said. You paused which made Hannibal laugh. You hadn’t been prepared for that.

“No, I’m...we aren’t together,” you said simply although your voice didn’t sound very convincing. Jack grabbed your arm and you turned to him, surprised. “Please excuse me.”

He pulled you aside.

“Have you eaten something?” he asked. You shook your head.

“Amazing you think I don’t listen to my own boyfriend.” You stared at Chilton and shook your head. “No, I have not.”

“I’m...I can’t believe I’m telling you this... I’m listening to Will,” he said. Your mouth flew open.

“Wait a second, you can listen? You can listen to people?” you asked sarcastically. Jack gave you a look.

“I’m telling you, just in case.” You nodded and Hannibal walked over.

“Jack, I’m happy you’re here. In many ways, you are the guest of honor. You saved my life, after all,” Hannibal said, putting his hand on the small of your back. You didn’t move it. Jack made note.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay. But I’d like to take some food to go.”

You stared at him and he stared back.

Maybe Jack did listen after all.

You sat at the piano by yourself after the dinner party. You put your fingers on the keys and started to play the only thing you knew by heart.

Chopsticks.

Hannibal walked over and sat beside you.

“The ending to my composition has been alluding me. You may have solved my problem with Chopsticks,” he said laughing. He put his fingers on the keys and played a background to the simple tune you carried.

“If only all our problems could be solved with a simple waltz,” you said honestly. Hannibal didn’t look at you.

“I’ve walked away from Will, but I’m still trailing his accusations that you believe,” he told you.

“Alana has also walked away. You’ve both continued to make eventual fools of yourself,” you said simply, pushing a key down loudly before meeting Hannibal’s eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I believe him. You know that.” Hannibal turned to you and you stared at him. Silence ensued the Lecter household. You broke the quiet.

“Would you like to stay the night?” he asked.

“Hannibal Lecter, I’m not that kind of girl,” you said laughing a bit. “But yes. I would.” You turned to him quietly and stood up, holding your hand to him. He took it and the two of you walked to his bedroom where you tossed a shirt from his dresser at him while taking one for yourself. You got dressed facing away from each other and then got into bed.

You stared at each other, hair pressed against the pillows.

“Goodnight Hannibal,” you whispered.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You nuzzled your head into the pillow and he leaned forward. He kissed you and this time you let him. You brought your hand to his cheek and he leaned over you. His hands caressed your hair.

You pulled away after a moment.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” you whispered back at him again. His lips were still practically touching yours as he spoke.

“I know you aren’t.”

He leaned back into his side of the bed.

“If Alana Bloom had stayed behind, this would be a different story.” Your mouth dropped open and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wow, I’m sorry should I call her?” you asked, laughing. He shook his head.

“I prefer you. You help with nightmares.”

“It’s my magic power.”

Both of you thought about Will.

You moved forward and Hannibal wrapped an arm around your shoulder, your head on his chest. You both fell asleep to even breathing and a peaceful room.

You woke up, your head nuzzled into a pillow. You opened your eyes slowly and met the face of Hannibal Lecter. You had expected to see Will. Despite that disappointment you smiled at the fact that for the first time since the murder, you had a dreamless sleep.

“Peaceful sleep?” you asked. Hannibal opened his eyes, stopping from pretending to sleep.

“Yes. You?”

“No nightmares. Not even a dream,” you said dreamily. “Perhaps you have a superpower too.” The bell rang and you both looked up startled.

“The last person who rang my doorbell this early was you,” he admitted. “And it clearly isn’t you.”

He slid out of bed and put on a robe before walking to the front door. You walked to the bathroom, finding one of the old robes in there. You walked down the hallway, the sound of Hannibal's voice echoing.

“Here. All night,” Hannibal said. You rubbed your eyes.

“Anyone beside you can verify that?” You walked in without thinking, not even registering the voice as Jacks until it was too late.

“She can,” Hannibal said simply. His face flashed surprise but he tamped it quickly.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you said but Jack shook his head.

“All I need to know is if you were here all night.” You glanced between the two and nodded simply.

“He was here all night. We both were.” You glanced at Hannibal. “I’m gonna go,” you said quietly and he nodded solemnly. You turned around but you felt four eyes on you and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

You walked into your home. It still smelled like Will. Maybe Will smelled like the house. You couldn’t quite distinguish it. The dogs pooled around your feet and you pet them, glad you were back early enough to where their food schedule wouldn’t be off at all.

You fed each of them and they walked around the bowls together.

You walked to the made bed and felt guilt rise in your chest. It didn’t feel like you had cheated on Will. He knew Hannibal was pursuing you. You knew Hannibal was almost in a backwards way pursuing Will.

But still as you sat on the bed you grabbed Will’s blanket you got him for Christmas and held it to your chest. He would be back. He would sleep beside you again.

Even if you were mad at him you loved him to pieces.

You imagined you always would.

You wanted to go see him. You got up to do so when the phone rang. You picked it up on the second ring after noticing it was Jack.

“Hello?” You were nervous he was gonna bring up the morning you had had.

“I got the results of a murder that happened a few days ago. And Will didn’t kill any of the people we thought he did.” You wanted to make a sarcastic quip because duh but you just sat back down on the bed. It felt so nice to hear Jack say what you knew in your heart. You grabbed Will’s blanket with your hand without looking at it.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

He was silent as you assumed he prepped to tell you that you were right all along.

“We’ve found four lures that are almost identical to the ones we found at your house, made with materials from the exact human remains. There was no copycat. It was always the Ripper.” He paused again. “Will and you were right.”

You let out a shaky sigh and smiled widely.

“No shit,” you muttered and Jack had the heart to laugh.

“I’ll call you with the details later.” He hung up the phone and you sat on your bed and you let a few laughs of happiness out mixed with some tears of happiness.

The dogs came to you and you pet them each individually. You spoke to them in a happy tone.

“I think dads coming home.”

2x07

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

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drjingujisclinic · 4 years ago

Text

things no one asked for: my personal body headcanons for the hypmic cast

ICHIRO: Ichiro is actually really soft. He’s not particularly overweight, but his midsection is a lot softer than the other boys’. He’s warm and cuddly. Ichiro has broad shoulders as well. Some scarring on his body, but mostly faded.

JIRO: Relatively triangular, in that he’s got broad shoulders and a smaller waist. Generally pretty muscular, especially his legs, because of soccer. And he generally really likes working out and playing sports, so he easily stays that way even outside of the soccer season.

SABURO: looks like a 15 year old i did not think about this one too hard.

SAMATOKI: Mass of lean muscle. He doesn’t particularly LOOK like he has a lot going on, some people in his gang believing they could snap him like a twig. He proves them wrong every time. He’s not always angry, his eyebrows are just angled that way. Several scars and tattoos from Yakuza work.

JYUTO: Similar to Ichiro, not really overweight, but not particularly hard muscle either. He can carry himself well enough, but his sweet tooth has him a bit softer than his other two Division members or the rest of his precinct. His eyes are slightly sunken in and he tends to have marks on his nose where his glasses sit.

RIOU: Just a fucking tank. Broad shoulders, very obvious muscles. He’s got a lot of freckles actually, and tans easily and often due to how often he’s outside in the sun. He has a lot of scars from the military, and a swallow tattoo on his collarbone. Large hands.

RAMUDA: Twink. There seems to be surgical scarring in various places along his body, and it seems to particularly upset him when it’s brought up. Naturally has very clear skin and doesn’t seem to have any beauty marks anywhere on his body. Flexible.

GENTARO: Slightly overweight and has been for most of his life. He’s got a round, soft face, faint freckles over his nose, and naturally just has really nice eyebrows. The way his face naturally falls makes him seem slightly worried. Soft tummy, good for resting your head on after a long day. Freckles over his shoulders as well. Gets sunburns. Calloused on his right ring finger.

DICE: Weirdly muscular, tans easily, but often unevenly due to the fact it’s unlikely he’s wearing the same thing for very long. He’s likely to gamble his clothes, after all. Relatively short fingers compared to the rest of his hand.

JAKURAI: Practically just skin and bones. If he stretches the right way, you can see his ribcage. Eyes slightly sunken in, and while his eyebags and dark circles aren’t as bad as Doppo’s, they’re there. High cheekbones. Claims he used to have lean muscle like Samatoki and used to be relatively flexible, but that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. Long, long fingers on large palms. Runs very cold, he doesn’t seem to get enough circulation. Some people claim to see a strange tattoo along his spine...

HIFUMI: VERY nice body. (Doppo has been seen comparing himself to Hifumi on multiple occasions.) He works out when he can, not that he particularly needs to. Somehow almost has an hourglass shape going on, if just slightly. Scarring on his thighs that he doesn’t seem to want to talk about. Often has a little bit of makeup on to highlight his features.

DOPPO: Also overweight, with a little pot belly. He’s not been able to eat properly since college without Hifumi’s help and has since gained a bit of weight. Freckles across his face and shoulders. Various deep scars along his body. Runs relatively warm compared to Jakurai and Hifumi and is sometimes used as their personal heater. (Also because Doppo needs the love and attention.) Always has back trouble. Is the most likely of all three to have stubble. His tongue is slightly too large for his mouth, it seems, and tends to poke out a little sometimes. Has very squishy cheeks. Chronic nail biter, his nails are always bitten down to the quick and often his cuticles are ripped off.

SASARA: Also kind of bony? His metabolism is incredibly fast so he never seems to gain weight. Even when he was with Samatoki, he never really gained muscle either. He doesn’t mind, and he uses it often for jokes. Never seen not smiling.

ROSHO: Sunken in eyes with slight dark circles. Not muscular, not chubby, not skin and bones. He just...is. He also has red marks where his glasses sit. Longer nose and thin lips. Has often been compared to an owl.

REI: Heavy scarring over his entire body. Chest hair. Broad shoulders and smaller waist...triangle shaped. Favors one leg over the other due to war injuries.

KUKO: Naturally has little fangs, as his canines are particularly sharp. He always seems to be ready to fight. MANY piercings, and likes to hang things from his gauges. He somehow does not have tattoos, though. A little bit of an overbite. Average body.

JYUSHI: Also long, skinny, skin-and-bones type. He’s not opposed to corsets either, even though Hitoya and Kuko worry about it sometimes. Long fingers and well-manicured nails. Tends to hyperextend his knees in particular.

HITOYA: Dad bod with a little chest hair. Has a bump on the bridge of his nose. Various burn scars on his hands from working with motorcycles and having little accidents with them, and they’re both calloused. Beauty marks all over his body.

EDIT: honestly some of these headcanons are from my friends who aren’t around on tumblr (hi if ur reading! <3) but i’ve just absorbed them into my preson and they’re (head)canon now i don’t know what to tell u my friends are space brained

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devilmeows · 3 years ago

Note

14 for the first prompt list and/or 15 for the second?

im a simple person, i see and/or, i disregard the or and i do Both

14. "But I love you!"

15. A and B reminisce about the first time they met.

again not beta read because it's midnight, my beta reader is Busy and my brain is Melting

14. "But I love you!"

Today was the day: Astrid was finally going to see Off the Hook live. Well, she’d see them through a screen, because train tickets to Inkopolis were expensive as hell. She was supposed to watch the concert with Viv, but unfortunately the inkling had caught a nasty cold and Finn had to practically tape them to their bed and bribe them with an astronomical amount of snacks to get them to stay home and rest. Oh well, at least they’d still be able to watch the concert. And there would probably be more concerts for them to attend together. One day.

There was still about half an hour to go before she would be sent the link to the website that would host the concert, but Astrid was already fully ready, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her bottle of juice and a packet of instant noodles she’d prepare once she received that link. Because then she’d have exactly fifteen minutes to do so, and it was just enough for her to cook and immediately inhale her food. And then the concert would start. It would be so cool. Her tentacles, which were tied in a simple ponytail for once, couldn’t stop twitching with excitement.

“Astrid?”

The octoling took her eyes off her computer screen to look at her girlfriend. His head was poking out from behind the wall that separated the living room from the corridor that led to their room. He was smiling one of those smiles that preceded him asking for a favour, because he knew Astrid couldn’t resist it. And he was doing the thing where his freckles flashed just a little bit for even more cute points.

“Yes?”

“Your concert’s starting in half an hour, right?”

“Yeah, about half an hour. Why?”

He stepped into the living room as his smile widened, holding two consoles in his hands.

“Wanna play some Pokémon with me while you wait?”

Astrid blinked. She hadn’t played Pokémon in a while, but Robin had been playing a lot of it since she’d introduced him to it. She figured he would like it, and she was happy that she’d been right. Sometimes, the sounds of Pokémon battles were her background noise as she worked on something else. Whenever she looked up from her work, she’d see Robin looking either very focused or smiling at his 3DS, both of which made her feel warm inside.

“Sure, why not.”

Astrid patted the floor next to her as an invitation for him to sit down. The other octoling happily complied, plopping down beside her and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He handed her her 3DS, the silver one. She checked the cartridge slot at the back, and saw that her copy of Pokémon X was already in it.

“I was thinking of doing battles,” Robin said as she turned on her console. “I have a bunch of Pokémon I need to evolve first, but there’s a few teams I built that I’d like to try out! And also I just want to kick your ass.”

Astrid scoffed. “I’d like to see you try, my dear. My Pokémon are unbeatable.”

Robin smirked and hummed noncommittally. Astrid squinted at him, but he only smirked wider. I’ve been playing this game for longer than he has, she thought, and my pokémon are strong as hell. There’s no way I’ll lose. She was certain she could wipe that grin off his face in less than five minutes. She’d kiss him to make up for utterly defeating him. And then she’d kiss him some more, because he deserved it.

After making an Onix, a Feebas, a Haunter and a Pumpkaboo evolve, as well as accidentally trading the same Pidgey twice, they finally started setting up their battle. A simple 4v4 so that it wouldn’t take too long, any Pokémon, no banned items- Astrid did think that last rule was a little strange, but she didn’t protest. None of her Pokémon held any items anyway. The screen of her 3DS faded to black as she accepted Robin’s battle invitation, and as the Pokémon selection menu and both their teams appeared, she frowned.

“Alomomola, Houndoom, Mienshao, Cinccino, Bronzong and Cryogonal?” She thought out loud. “That’s...a team.”

“That’s my team!” He replied with a smile. He was sitting in front of her now, so that they wouldn’t be able to see each other’s screens. “I like it very much. I named the Mienshao after you!”

“Because I punch people in the face with my long arms?”

“That, and because you’re really pretty.”

Astrid’s lesbian brain froze. “How dare you.”

“Love you!” Robin blew her a kiss.

Finally, the battle started. Astrid led with Blaziken, while Robin led with Alomomola. Hm, a Water-type. That’s not good. That’s fine, I’ll take the risk anyway. She used Slash to gauge how much damage her Pokémon could land, and to her surprise, the move only took a little of the pink fish’s HP. Said pink fish then used Wish. Huh. Well, I’ll try something more powerful then. Before her Blaziken could use Sky Uppercut, Robin switched his Alomomola out for his Mienshao. Astrid almost felt bad as her alter ego took a good amount of damage....only to be immediately healed by Wish. Hm. Well, that was fine. Nothing to worry about. It’d be dead by next round.

...Except it did not die. Strangely, it seemed to take less damage than it had taken the round before. Astrid the Mienshao proceeded to use Swords Dance. Astrid the Octoling smirked. I’ve got you now! One more Sky Uppercut, and the enemy was almost in the red. Could’ve used Flare Blitz and killed it in one go, but oh well.

“Goodbye, me!”

The Mienshao used Aerial Ace. Her Blaziken instantly fainted.

“Yeah,” Robin said with a smile, “goodbye you!”

“How-” she shook her head. “It’s fine, I still have enough Pokémon to whoop your ass.”

Her girlfriend had the audacity to snort, so she sent out her Gengar. With one hit of Psychic, Astrid the Mienshao was gone.

“Aha! Take that.”

“Hm, okay, didn’t think you’d outspeed me, but okay!”

Robin sent out Houndoom. Astrid immediately retrieved her Ghost-type, letting Houndoom use Nasty Plot in the process. She squinted. Time for a quadruped fight I guess, she thought, sending out Luxray.

“What?”

“I am not sorry~” Robin sing-songed as his Houndoom took out her Luxray with a single Flamethrower.

She had no idea how that had just happened. The Dark-type even took some damage for some reason. “Okay, you know what?” Astrid sent out Gengar. “Fuck you!” She made it use Dazzling Gleam, which took half of the opposing Pokémon’s HP. But a second later, it was taken out by Dark Pulse. “How?”

Robin giggled, looking far too happy at Astrid’s distress. She was down to one Pokémon now, while the other octoling still had three. This wasn’t fair!

“It’s all up to you, big bird,” she muttered, sending out Honchkrow.

At the sight of the Flying-type, Robin gasped. He retrieved Houndoom, instead sending out...

“Oh and I was worried that I’d lose,” Astrid snorted as she watched a Cinccino appear on the field, “but you send a pile of fluff at me?”

Robin said nothing. His Normal-type’s HP dropped to the orange after Honchkrow’s Wing Attack, but that didn’t seem to alarm him. Instead, he just smirked as he tapped on the move his Pokémon was going to use. Astrid cracked her knuckles, ready to watch Night Slash obliterate the fluffy chinchilla- except said fluffy chinchilla somehow attacked first. It used Rock Blast. It was super effective, but it was fine, it hadn’t done a significant amount of damage. Maybe the deities of random would smile down on her and let the move only hit twice.

Except the deities of random had nothing to do with this. Rock Blast hit twice. Three times. Four times...

“What the fuck,” Astrid whispered, eyes widening as her pokémon’s HP started getting dangerously low, “What the FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK!”

Robin didn’t say anything, because he simply could not stop his laughter. He only laughed harder as his girlfriend threw him a shocked and outraged glare when her Honchkrow fainted after the fifth Rock Blast hit.

“HOW DID YOU DO THAT WITH A CINCCINO???”

The other octoling was now laughing so hard he was practically crying. Astrid’s tentacles twitched so much they were threatening to snap her scrunchie.

“Skill Link-” he took a deep breath, “Skill Link is a wonderful thing, my dear.”

“You- I- I- What-” Her stammering threw Robin into another laughing fit. Oh, her pride was wounded, injured, deceased on the floor. She must’ve looked hilariously crestfallen, because he laughed harder every time he looked at her. She threw her hands up in the air, then lightly pushed him. “How dare you do this to me! Go away!”

“But I love you!” He protested, wiping his tears dramatically and making his freckles flash at the word love.

“I don’t!” She joked, pointing towards the kitchen. “Go away!”

Robin was still chuckling as he stood up, blowing her one last kiss before he disappeared behind the kitchen wall. Astrid sat there, pouting, staring at her 3DS that still showed the Cinccino’s smug little bastard face. How dare. How dare he be better than her at Pokémon while he’d only started playing the games hardly a month ago. It was impressive though, how he’d managed to do it. The Pokémon he’d used weren’t the most popular and you didn’t usually see them in people’s top 10 favourites. Maybe there was a reason why he had picked those Pokémon in particular? She remembered how Houndoom had taken some damage with every move it had used, and something clicked in her brain. Wait, isn’t there a whole section of players who play strat? Is that what he did? She’d never bothered to go into that, simply because she had no patience for all the grinding it took to get a perfect Pokémon: she was good with spamming Flare Blitz until it knocked something out.

Her computer’s ding made her jump, and suddenly she remembered what she’d been waiting for and all the adrenaline rushed back into her body. There it was: the concert link! Her phone buzzed with a few texts, probably from an equally as excited Viv. Before she read those though, she needed to make her food. She clicked on the link and reached for her noodles as the page loaded...only to be met with thin air.

“Peace offering?” Robin had returned, smiling, with a steaming bowl of instant noodles in one hand and a can of soda and a pack of cookies in the other.

You’re too good to me. Astrid pretended to still be annoyed for a second before she made grabby hands at the food.

“Offering accepted!”

The purple octoling’s tentacles twitched happily, and he once again sat down by his girlfriend’s side, carefully setting down the bowl so that it wouldn’t spill. When he put down the soda and cookies, Astrid shuffled closer to him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the chopsticks lying on top of the cookies, “but you didn’t have to do this, I still have fifteen minutes before the concert.”

“But I wanted to do this for you,” Robin replied with a purr. “Also, sunshine, I love you, but you’re way too excited to be allowed in the kitchen. You’d burn everything down.”

She slurped her noodles very loudly. ...Can’t argue with that.

“Can you explain how you did that, like, after the concert?” Astrid asked, pointing at her 3DS.

Robin smiled, and his freckles glowed happily. “Of course I can.”

He leaned against his girlfriend’s shoulder. Both of them purred.

15. A and B reminisce about the first time they met

Reef's heels clicked against the hard floor as she furiously stomped towards her office. Several octolings hurriedly stepped out of her way as they saw her- as they fucking should. She was in no mood to deal with any of their bullshit today, and if anyone got too close she would not be held responsible for how her tentacles would react. They were already having an absurdly hard time not busting out of her kelp's grasp. When she finally reached her office, she kicked the door open and slammed it shut behind her, effectively making the walls around her tremble. She stood there for a moment, looking around for something to smash against the ground with her entire strength, anything she could tear apart to channel her rage, but there was nothing that could be spared in her office today.

Absolutely fucking peachy.

Instead, she settled for a frustrated roar and went to sit down on top of her desk. She brought her hands up to her hair, and her impatient tentacles almost slapped her arms as she untied the strings of kelp. Once that was done, she buried her face in her hands while her hair writhed wildly.

Reef had received a report on more deserters today. Four of them had died - good fucking riddance -, two of them had been captured - she'd pay them a visit later - and only one of them had made it to the surface alive.

And of course, that had to be fucking Oleander.

Out of all the octolings that had managed to make it out alive, it just had to be her, because the world hated Reef apparently. It had to be her ex, the woman who had had the nerve to break up with her simply because she thought that maybe the inklings weren’t that bad and life on the surface could be nice.

(And also because she didn’t like how Reef treated everyone around her, but Reef didn’t see what the problem with that was, so she’d dismissed that thought entirely.)

She wished she could’ve been there. She wished she could’ve been the one to catch these traitors in the act. She wouldn’t have killed them, no: death was much too kind a fate for the likes of them. There was another place, far deeper underground than the most distant domes, that was perfectly suited for traitorous octolings. A place where the sunlight they chased after would never reach them.

Had she been there, that was where Reef would’ve sent Oleander.

She tried to picture it: her claws gripping the scientist’s shirt, holding her at arm’s length above a gaping, dark hole as she tried to escape her grasp- but she flinched as she tried to have a look at her face.

Reef let out a low growl.

Reef had no friends. Reef didn’t need friends: she had been created for one purpose, and one purpose only, and she was going to make sure she’d be up for it. Friends would only slow her down. The mere concept of friends hardly existed in the domes, anyway: you either had siblings or sparring partners, and that was it. There was no time for friendship when you were fighting a war.

But for some reason, Reef wanted to be friends with that octoling.

Her hair was what first caught her eye: in the midst of all the vivid colours, her lavender really stood out. A pretty colour for a pretty octoling. Reef saw her once on her way to training, and then no sign of her for a solid month. But she sure was on her mind. Moderately tall, dark green eyes, a neutral, almost bored expression...Probably a scientist, judging from the long white coat she’d been wearing.

At first, Reef didn’t exactly like how much she thought about that octoling. It made her feel things. And she wasn’t a fan of feeling things.

She saw her again during training. Reef had just successfully beaten an elite soldier to a pulp, and she’d been so busy gloating about her victory to the other soldiers watching that she almost tripped over the pretty octoling she’d been thinking about nonstop for an entire month as she inspected the defeated soldier’s wounds. Dark green eyes met ice blue, and Reef smirked to hide her embarrassment. Always an excellent go-to reaction to have. Smile, your big fang freaks them out and makes you look scary. And for some reason, the scientist mirrored her smirk.

“Impressive,” she commented. “I am no expert on fighting, but even I can tell that you are quite skilled.”

Reef felt her hearts miss several beats. “Why, thank you,” she replied, having no idea how she managed to keep herself from stuttering. “But that was nothing. You should’ve seen the time I fought three whole soldiers on my own and won.”

She flexed her precious muscles in a way that she hoped looked cool and somewhat natural. And somehow, that worked: the scientist’s gaze flicked to her toned arms, and stayed there for a long moment. Reef felt like she might explode right under the octoling’s eyes as she then glanced at her exposed abs. Ah, yes, she was quite proud of those too.

Someone behind them shouted something that Reef didn’t quite catch. Immediately, she turned around, tentacles flaring and coiling like a snake about to strike as she aimed her octoshot at the crowd.

“What was that?”

Silence. The assembled octolings all looked away, looking either embarrassed or scared. Good.

“Thought so.”

She clipped her gun to her belt, then turned back to the scientist, who was now looking at her with a new, admirative shine in her dark green eyes. The two octolings smiled at each other.

“I’m Reef,” she said, holding one hand out while the other rested on her hip. “Reef Moltentide. DJ Octavio’s future second-in-command, as soon as he gets tired of his current one.”

“Oleander Rivea,” the lavender octoling replied, shaking Reef’s hand. Her skin was so much softer than her own calloused hands. “I am simply a scientist...for now.”

Ambitious. I like that. Her smirk only grew wider.

They saw each other regularly after that event. Sometimes, they simply waved at each other when they had no time to speak, and sometimes they talked and talked and talked, until Reef could practically hear her voice in the silence as well as recall every detail of Oleander’s face once they parted ways. Their feelings quickly evolved into something that went way past simple friendship, but as it turned out, Oleander liked to make it a little difficult for Reef. She could tell by the amused glint in her dark green eyes as she subtly flirted with her in front of Reef’s superior officers, and how she stared at her through lidded eyes just a moment too long as they tested their newest model of googles. Those were moments where it was impossible for the elite soldier to flirt back, or else she would lose her position, or worse. She loved it, though: it always left her wanting more. She wanted so badly to hold Oleander’s waist and pull her closer, so close that she would be able to see every single detail in her irises, so close that she would feel her heartbeats under her skin. Every time she thought about the pretty octoling, Reef realised how much she wanted to kiss Oleander.

And her wish was granted on the night that they were both promoted: Oleander as dome 1’s head scientist, and Reef as Octavio’s second-in-command. After the mandatory celebrations and hours of being congratulated by every meaningless octoling in existence, Oleander had pulled Reef away and into her room, and they’d hardly waited a moment after the door was closed before they kissed. It was just as intense and felt just as amazing as Reef thought it would be. She held her face between her hands, tilting her head whenever she wanted to deepen the kiss, while the lavender octoling slowly ran her hands through the elite’s black and red tentacles. Occasionally, she would pull at them to interrupt their kissing and simply see Reef’s playfully irritated frown. She was the only one who could poke fun at her without consequences, and she knew it.

They didn’t sleep much that night.

That memory was followed by cold, cold dark green eyes, staring at her for one last time before storming out the door. And as her anger and frustration rose once again, another nasty, nasty feeling wormed its way into the mix: sadness.

She still loved Oleander, and she fucking hated it.

“Fuck off!” Reef barked as someone knocked on her door. With Oleander gone, there was only one person who she couldn’t be rude to, and Octavio did not knock: he simply came in uninvited. Therefore, she was perfectly allowed to tell whoever was behind that door to fuck off. Besides, everyone knew that, if they valued their life, they stayed away from her when she told them to.

Apparently, this octopus didn’t particularly care about their life, since they let themself in anyway. Reef’s gaze snapped up to meet the other octoling’s eyes. Of fucking course it’s the Callisto sister. She didn’t know her name, but she didn’t need to know that to remember how much of a pain in the ass that octopus was. She had always defended her worthless sister before they escaped with Ida, and since then she’d been particularly keen on annoying the hell out of Reef whenever she could.

(She remembered with a pang of anger that her other sister had been Oleander’s student.)

“I said,” Reef enunciated in a dangerously low voice, “fuck off, Callisto.”

Callisto said nothing. She simply stared at Reef, her gaze even and pink and blue tentacles staying perfectly still as opposed to her superior’s, which were vibrating with fury. There wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes or posture, and Reef hated that.

“I have orders from DJ Octavio himself,” she eventually said. “He wants to see you in his throne room.”

Just what I needed, the commander snarled to herself, clenching her fists. Out of all the people he could’ve chosen to deliver this damn message, he picked the one I want dead the most. Sometimes she wondered if Octavio was as smart as he pretended to be. She took a deep breath and stood up from her chair.

“You’ve done your job,” Reef growled, “now leave.”

“I have one more thing to do before I leave,” she pulled out a file from the bag that Reef only now noticed that she had. “Oleander Rivea’s personal journal. I thought you might want to...peruse it.”

The insolent octopus had the nerve to smirk.

Before Callisto had the time to react, Reef gripped her face with one hand, placing her sharp claws at the junction between her head and her neck. The octoling’s smug expression vanished instantly, and was finally replaced by fear. With some anger too, because this was Callisto, and she hated Reef as much as Reef hated her.

“You are on thin fucking ice, Callisto,” she hissed. Her writhing tentacles cast a shadow on the shorter octoling, and she pierced her skin as she tried to wriggle out of her grasp. Dark blue blood started trickling along her neck. Reef smiled.

She would’ve stayed and punished Callisto some more, but Octavio was waiting for her, and she wasn’t in the mood to put up with the King lecturing her, so instead she tossed the soldier to the ground like a rag doll. She immediately brought her hands up to her neck, hissing in pain.

“Now get out of my sight.”

#thank you for the prompts!! :]]#mintysquid #soft lesbians followed by violent lesbian......we love to see it #splatoon #kell.txt

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Biting Dust - Ch.2

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again…

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

4.7k ; Content warnings: Mild angst (old west existentialism, mentions of hanging lol)

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

The shock of the sight in front of you has you starin’ at this man with your mouth agape, with just one question running through your head – how? How is he still alive?

He’s clearly swingin’, or no, maybe he isn’t, you realize as you ask Agnes to trot over with urgency. This man, the thief, is precariously balanced on the hide of his horse just so, just so that he must be alleviating some of the pressure around his throat where the noose is wrapped tight. You can’t quit starin’, Agnes coming up beside the great black horse who chuffs and whinnies softly at the strange new presence in front of her.

“Good evening ma’am,” The man uses what little purchase he has to spin himself around on the noose to face you, small grunts of his struggle wrenching out of his chest as he tries not to choke himself any more than he already is, “Could you do a fellow a favor and reach into the knapsack on my horse, use the knife that’s in the left pocket, and cut me down?”

It’s absurd, you think as your eyebrows shoot up, the way that he manages to seem so nonchalant, given his predicament. But the moment he manages to turn and face you fully, any amused notions of his calm vanish, replaced only by the weight of the features which you’re now confronted with.

He’s a collection of pieces that don’t make no sense, shouldn’t go together the way they do. His hair is long and dark as it waves and curls, but his ears stick out beyond the locks. His nose juts out strongly, but it looks like it’s been broken once or twice. A pink tongue darts out to lick plush plump lips, framed by a soft looking goatee, sharp cheeks, but a weak chin. Most of all though, are his eyes. They’re somehow both beady and cunning, calculating and warm, or well…his left eye is.

He’s got a scarred over gash that practically splits his face, something between a burn wound and a cut, halfway in the middle. Whatever it was that gave that to him, took his eye with it, or at least tried to. It’s still there, but it’s milky white, whereas the other one glows a liquid chocolate as the light of the setting sun hits it.

He’s handsome, utterly and completely handsome.

He’s also still hanging by that noose, and you still don’t know how he ain’t dead, so despite all of that, you can’t help but blurt out,

“What the fuck is this?”

The man clearly was not expecting such a question, because he almost loses his footing on the black horse’s hide, and goes sputterin’ for a moment as he tries to right himself.

“Excuse me?” He’s got some sense of humor, you think, because he’s frowning at you, scowlin’, when he steadies himself once more.

“How are you doin’ that?” You clarify, gesturing with one hand to the fact that he’s alive, how he must’ve been hanging here for two whole days, and is still alive.

“Well,” The man sighs, and you can imagine that were his hands not bound behind his back, he might’ve scratched at his chin or his scalp. “I think my old girl Sam here is trying to teach me a lesson. She won’t come close enough to make this easy for me, but I figured if she were really sick and tired of my bullshit, she’d’ve rode off and let me hang. You know how horses get sometimes.”

Who is this person, who is so seemingly confident and sure of himself, and simultaneously must be the most lucky motherfucker to ever live? You can’t tell if you wanted to smack him or kiss him. Maybe both, but that decision can stay safely locked inside your brain. Even after the two minutes that you’ve known this man, something tells you that his ego would go through the roof if you gave him the satisfaction of a kiss.

“Oh do I.” You bite back a raised brow. While his presumptions may be correct, you were taken slightly aback with how freely he was willing to give them.

“Yes ma’am, I can tell by the way your horse is lookin’ up at you. Sam gives me those same looks, well, when she ain’t bein’ so difficult, of course.” He grumbles, and the black horse, Sam, seems to chuff in exasperation.

The sun is setting faster now, and you start to feel anxious. Surely folks would be still eatin’ dinner by now, surely no one would start walkin’ out and about at night, aside from those who take some comfort in the music and beer in the saloon. Surely no one would see you, see you talking to the hanged man, but…but suppose they did.

What would they do then?

What would you do?

You frown, wanting to get this whole interaction over with. You’ve resolved to cut him loose, but first, you’d like the honor at least bein’ introduced to this strange wonder of a man. You’d like to know just whose life you’re saving.

It ain’t often, that you go around saving lives instead of taking them.

“Quit calling me ma’am.” It’s too formal, too proper for the kind of woman that you are, somethin’ about it reminds you of your mother and – you nip that in the bud real fuckin’ quick.

“Yes sir.” The man offers with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and you wonder if he ever smiles. He’s certainly got the humor for it, but as far as his face has moved, those lips are held firmly in a scowl, even as his eyes sparkle.

Without getting off of Agnes, you reach into a knapsack of your own and pull out a knife. It’s nothing too fancy, but the blade is sharp and it should do the trick.

“I have a couple questions.” You begin sawing at the thick rope which binds his hands together, carefully twisting him so that you can have a better angle. You don’t want to accidentally cut his flesh, don’t want to do anything other than get some information and be on your way.

“Please, ask away.” The man is sarcastic, and the thought of stabbing him clean through the chest flits across your mind like a smooth stone over a pond. Although, as you brace yourself against his back with one hand to keep yourself steady when you cut through the rope, you’re not surprised at all to find he’s made of nothin’ but hard muscle.

“What’s your name?” The rope gives way and immediately he wastes no time rubbing at the chafed skin around his wrists, cracking the joints that had gone so stiff.

“I ain’t so sure you’d’ve ever heard of me, but I go by the name of Kylo Ren.” He says quietly, gauging your reaction.

It isn’t one that he expects.

Something inside you lights up like the flickering flare of a candle, and before you know it, you’re reaching for your gun and holding it steady in his direction. Immediately, his newly freed hands go up in a display of surrender, but you don’t dare waver, not one inch. After all you were willin’ to do for him, you’d take it back in a heartbeat – you ain’t got no desire to go helpin’ a lying man.

“Bullshit.” You spit, drawing the word out into two different syllables, scowling at him.

He wasn’t Kylo Ren, he couldn’t be. Kylo Ren was a legend, a myth of epic proportions. They’d be singin’ songs about him and his gang until kingdom come, they’d be tellin’ stories about his escapades and adventures ‘til the cows came home. Kylo Ren was uncatchable, he was elusive, no one had ever met his wrath and walked away -- there was no way that here he was caught in front of you. Just because this man was blind in the same eye didn’t mean nothin’, lots of folks had injuries like that, and it makes you mad to know he’s hidin’ behind someone else’s identity.

“Beg pardon?” He almost sounds offended that you don’t believe him, and that only makes you more angry.

What, did he think you were stupid? Did he think you were so easily swayed by pretty falsehoods? Naw, you might’ve been easy on the eyes but you had a mind sharp as a tack, and he wasn’t going to make a fool out of it.

“There ain’t no way Kylo Ren would get himself strung up and left in a tree to die. So I’m going to ask again, and you’re going to tell me, otherwise I’ll shoot you clean through the gut and then you’ll have wished they hanged you right.” The gun doesn’t move, and instead of growing angry or brash or violent in the way you might expect a man to act while he’s starin’ down a barrel, he flushes a deep red.

“You’re mighty quick with that, I have to admit I’m impressed.” He chews on his lip, eyes crinkling up at the corners while he blushes and mumbles softly, “I like a woman who can handle her steel.”

“I like an honest man.” You counter, cocking the trigger. His reaction to bein’ held at gunpoint was nothin’ like you’d ever seen before, you’d never in your wildest dreams imagined you’d meet someone who thought being threatened like this was a turn-on.

“Kylo Ren’s the most honest answer I can give you.” He shrugs simply. He speaks with a sincerity that you still have a hard time believing, but there ain’t much you can do about it, you’ve done too much already, wasted too much time.

You’ve wasted so much time, here with this man already.

“If you’re Kylo Ren, then I’m Angel Eyes.” You huff, wondering how he might feel about that, if he’d ever heard of you in return.

You’re countin’ on him thinkin’ that you’re bluffing, countin’ on him to throw his head back and laugh, to underestimate you. He doesn’t, instead of all of that, he only blushes a little harder, looking away from your gun and straight into your soul. Whether he’s heard of you or not, his eyes are wide and hopeful, starin’ at you like you put the stars in the sky.

“Won’t you cut me down, Angel?” Kylo asks, voice velvety and deep. The sun gleams off his teeth in a glint that has you realizing most of the ones on the bottom are made of gold, as the last slips of light make one last hurrah over the canyons.

He’s charming, too charming. Even with the noose around his neck, even still balancing like a moron on the back of his horse, he’s charming. A man like that is bound to be nothing but trouble, you think. You don’t know why, but something deep in your bones tells you that he won’t be leaving you alone so easily, once you cut him free.

If you cut him free.

But the sun is setting faster faster faster, and the last of the orangeredyellow is gone from the sky, leaving only the dusky blues and purples of twilight. There’s no more time for games, and you both know it.

“God dammit.” You sigh in aggravation, eventually giving in and holstering your gun once more.

You nudge Agnes to move a little closer, and she obliges warily. The rope around his neck requires a bit of elbow grease to saw through with your knife, but it only takes a couple of minutes before it too gives way, like the rope around his wrists had.

As soon as the tension around his neck disappears, Kylo loses his balance and falls off his horse with a great big thud, and you roll your eyes. Putting the knife back in your own knapsack, you don’t really pay much attention to whatever the hell he’s doing on the floor, trying to get his footing after two whole days of being stretched out. His muscles are probably on fire, burning from the effort to not succumb to strangulation, but that’s ain’t really your problem.

“Alright Ren, you’re free to go. I suggest you find some salve for that nasty burn you’ve got – hold it right the fuck there.” When you do eventually look up, it’s to see Kylo standing too close.

Far too close.

Your gun is back, and you jab it straight in the hollow of his scarred cheekbone. For having such good reflexes that you do, he caught you completely off-guard by popping up the way he just had. How was he so tall? He didn’t look that tall up in the tree, the man must be over six heads high. Once again, his hands are up over his head in surrender, and you’re confused, jumpy. You don’t like strange men gettin’ too close to you, don’t like it one bit.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you! I swear.” He rushes to say with a shake of his head, “You saved my life, I’m in grateful service to you. Wherever you go I’ll follow, and keep you safe from harm, until the day my debt can be repaid.”

Kylo realizes then, that he must’ve messed up, said the wrong thing. You can see it in his eyes, or at least, the one good eye he’s got, the one that ain’t scarred over and milky white. You can tell he didn’t mean to go causin’ no offence by offering you his protection, not at all.

“I don’t need any help, not from you, or from anyone.” Your tone softens just a little when you regard him, lowering the gun that you’d had held firmly against his cheek. You decide that there’s no use in blowin’ his head off, no point in wastin’ a bullet when you could’a just let him hang.

Kylo seems to know this, and when your gun isn’t digging into his cheekbone any longer, he takes a hesitant step towards you, so close, too close.

“Well then,” Kylo’s voice is equally soft, soft and deep in a way that’s almost unnerving, how it can be so soothing. He kicks up some of the reddened earth below his boots, sticks his hands in his pockets and gives you the most honest not-smile you’ve seen in your life as he blushes, “Looks like we’ll be together for a mighty long time.”

The sun is completely down now, darkness creeping in all around. You need to get away from this place, need to put some distance between yourself and the town, between you and Kylo, so you simply urge Agnes forward, and without another thought, you’re galloping into the great unknown.

Agnes is fast, even in the dark.

Maybe especially in the dark, you think. She’s always had a penchant for roaming around at night, in fact, it was at night that you had found her. That was seemingly eons ago, and you don’t have the energy to mull about in your head dwelling on the past more than you already do.

In the moment, there, right there in the desert, it is a clear night. Light from the moon is bright and pale, a silvery wash of deep toned blues and a million stars in constellations you have memorized like the back of your hand illuminate the vast expanse of nothingness ahead of you.

Agnes is fast, but Kylo’s horse has no trouble keeping up, and though you’re not entirely surprised just because of the sheer size of the creature, you’re still impressed. Sam can’t quite match Agnes, her small stature making her all the more quicker, more streamlined that the midnight creature. It’s a slight observation you can’t help but make, their colors. Where Sam is pitch black, Aggie’s coat is glossy white and reflects the moon easily so Kylo can keep up.

When was the last time you rode like this with another person? Not away from someone, but with them? Kylo can’t see you grinning, the dark cloaking your smile as your hair whips around your head, but you are. You are, out there in the dark, flying through the canyons under the moonlight, putting that distance that you need between yourself and the town. No one would find you, no one would even know where to look, should they come try.

You don’t trust him, you don’t trust Kylo one bit, but you have to admit that the fact he hasn’t killed you point blank and stolen all your possessions means a lot. You’re not really in the business to go around trustin’ strangers, you’ve spent nearly your whole adult life alone, on the run. Now wasn’t the time to start…but it felt good, to be with another soul.

Eventually, when you’ve had your fun, when Agnes and Sam have stretched their legs enough, you and Kylo slow them down to a trot. You’ve come to the edge of the canyon here, so neither of you move any closer. Leaning over ever so slightly, you can hear the gentle trickle of water, can see the light sparkle of moonlight glittering off the rippling water of what has to be the Colorado River a thousand feet below in a gorge that you’ll have to descend in the morning. The map had named this place Horseshoe Bend, and you’re looking forward to seeing it in the daylight.

Neither of you are anywhere near Colorado yet, you’re actually closer to Utah than anything else, but you know that if you can just stick close to the river, you’ll be going in the right direction. Kylo notices you noticing the river, and eventually he pulls gently on the reins to get Sam to come to a soft stop.

This is a good place for the night, you think, and you swing your legs off Agnes’ back. Kylo mimics your movements, coming over slowly and carefully so that you hear him.

You don’t know it, but he doesn’t want to scare you again like he had by the tree, he doesn’t want to scare you ever again.

You’re too tired to protest when he begins helping you lift the bags off Aggie’s saddle, his arms are far bigger and stronger than yours, and though you want to tell him to fuck off with his chivalry, you’re undeniably grateful for the help.

Kylo seems to notice, and you’re just glad that he doesn’t make a whole to-do about it. He must be exhausted too, you’re sure.

Not exhausted enough to let you simply throw down a bundle of something for a pillow and sleep though, as he lights a match on the sole of his boots and tosses it onto a small pile of dry brush and sticks that he scrounges up quickly. The fire makes you wary, wary that someone might see, but you’re too close to the gorge for it to be a problem. No one would dare come rushing towards you here, lest they’d be risking falling straight over the edge and cracking their skulls on the rocks below.

Watching as Kylo makes the fire and keeps it steady, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders. Nighttime got chilly out in the desert, and you’re lucky to have such a beautifully made blanket to keep you warm. You had purchased it just earlier this year at a trading post, it to this day it remained your most prized possession.

A woman had had a selection for sale or trade, hand woven wool in the most striking of patterns, and when you saw the black and beige striped one, you had given her all the money in your pocket for it. You wear it with respect, always make sure to keep it clean and mended, folded neatly in your bag, always remembering that human hands had created this, remembering that it is the skill of that woman and her hands which keeps you warm, keeps you alive on the harsher desert nights.

Kylo has no blanket of his own, or if he does, he doesn’t bother to wear it. Instead, he lies down close to the fire and adjusts his arms behind his head so that it can act as a pillow. You wonder how he can be comfortable like that, but you bite your tongue. If he’s doing this in an attempt at manliness, you won’t be so quick to give in to the bait.

You are looking at him though, with enough interest that Kylo feels the need to clear his throat.

“Where are we headed, then?” He asks quietly as he settles down, shuffles a little closer to the fire.

You meet his gaze, but there’s nothing upsetting about the intensity of his eye contact. In fact, lying on opposite sides of the small fire like this, your faces cast warm by the glow of the soft flames, you feel almost as though you’re in a spell, caught in his eyes.

Where were you headed, where were you headed really? What a loaded question, you think.

He’s lookin’ at you, and you’re lookin’ back at him, and unshed tears prick the back of your eyelids just for a moment because if you think about it too hard, you’ll realize that in the end, you’re headed where all the wanderers, drifters, loners and outlaws head; “Nowhere.”

Kylo gives you the ghost of a smile, and shrugs, reaching forward enough to light a hand-rolled cigarette by the embers of the small campfire.

“I’ve always wanted to go there.” He says softly, and you can’t help but let a small chuckle slip through your lips. Kylo offers the cigarette to you, but you shake your head and decline, never havin’ gotten much into smokin’. He nods in understanding and puffs on it once or twice, blowing blue smoke up into the night sky.

“Are you always like this?” Tightening the blanket around your shoulders a little more, you try and get some sort of idea of who this person was. You’d always been a decent judge of character, well, you had to be, all alone like you were. Get betrayed one too many times, you start seein’ the signs of shifty drifters from a mile away.

But with him, with Kylo, you can’t sniff out anything rotten in him, not yet. Maybe it’ll come out in a day or two, hell, maybe it’ll come out in an hour once you’re fast asleep. If you wake up and he’s still there, if you even wake up at all tomorrow, you’ll be more surprised of that than anything in the world.

“That depends.” Kylo finally replies around the huff and puff of his cigarette, giving you more of those vague half truths that you can already tell are going to drive you over the cliff.

“On what?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“On whether you like it or not.” He gives you another one of those not-smiles, where he somehow looks at you, straight through you, with all the warmth of an old friend, though he be but a total stranger. You scrub a hand down your face in exasperation; it ain’t hard to see why Sam wanted him to suffer a little bit, back by the tree, you think.

“Let’s say for argument’s sake that I don’t.” You offer, and Kylo lets out a sharp breath of a laugh through his nose.

“Then yes, I’m always like this.” Kylo smokes pleasantly, and you curl in on yourself, and roll onto your back.

There’s a million stars up there, you’re sure. Maybe a hundred million, a million million. You used to tell the stories of the constellations to your students – no, you think. Don’t go down that memory lane, the one fraught with fire and anguish.

Shaking your head slightly, you open up your eyes as wide as they’ll go, your pupils swallowin’ up all the light they can. There’s purple white blue clouds in a thick cluster above the gorge, and you know that to be a wisp of the Milky Way. The view is impressive, and humbling. After all, you are nothin’ but a small spec in the universe, aren’t you?

“Ain’t it wild?” Kylo starts to ask, smokin’ and turning his head up to the galaxy above you both. “To think that a thousand years ago, someone was lying where we lay, was starin’ up at these stars we see? To think that a thousand years from now, someone else will be in our position, wonderin’ about their place in the cosmos.”

“What is that you’re smokin’?” You tease softly, no real bite to your words. His baritone nestles into your chest and you feel the thrum of it in your bones, your eyes wetting, not daring to look at him as the fire snaps and crackles between you.

“Nothin’ but tobacco, honest.” Smoke pours out of his nose, his mouth. You can feel his eyes on you, can feel him lookin’. “Don’t you ever think about it, about your place in the world?”

“No.” That answer comes easily enough.

“How come?” Kylo’s voice is a deep deep deep whisper in the night, and it weighs heavy on your stomach as your hands twist in the blanket.

“I don’t got one.” You can’t believe you’re admitting something like this to him, to this stranger.

Something about being here with him, lying so close to another human being for the first time in years, makes you spill all your secrets. You’d told him your name, you’ve never told someone your name. Granted, he probably thought you were just jokin’, but still, whether he knew it or not, he knew the truth. Kylo hasn’t laughed at you yet, though.

He hasn’t mocked you or pushed you in any way. He’s answered your questions and the ones he asked in return weren’t nothin’ of too much trouble. In fact, out of all the men you coulda picked to be stuck with, he seemed like one that wasn’t too shabby. Had a good sense of humor, at the very least, and was calm under pressure, if his behavior by the tree was anythin’ to go off of. He seemed sane enough, or maybe just insane enough. You weren’t sure.

Whichever one it was, it had to be why he had declared undying loyalty to you so quickly. Maybe that was the kind of person he was, Kylo was. Maybe that was all you needed to know about him.

Maybe he was just as lonely as you.

Maybe he hadn’t slept beside another human being in just as long.

The sky above you moves, creeps and crawls at a snails pace, but moves. The Milky Way turns, and with it so do the stars. Your eyes are tired, every part of you is tired, and you shudder from the sheer exhaustion in your muscles. Those seven hours at the hotel were more sleep than you’d gotten in the whole week prior, and it was as if your body remembered how badly you needed that sleep, once you’d gotten it.

You sigh a little to yourself, not so sure when another opportunity like that would come again.

“You’re cold.” Kylo speaks up enough so you can hear him even as your eyes slip closed, darkness around your vision lulling you into that in-between state of consciousness and slumber.

“I’m fine, the fire’s enough.” You mumble, your words slurring together as you turn closer towards the fire, let the heat of the flame seep into your body, trapping it under your blanket.

“If you’re comfortable with it, you’re more than welcome to come sleep next to me.” He offers, and if you were awake enough, you’d probably chuckle at how bold he is, how forward. You still had your wits about you, still had your decent judgement, you know nothin’ about this man and you don’t trust him as far as you can throw him.

You don’t know anything about him, nothin’ at all. Not even his name.

Maybe you do know his name. The odds of that are so astronomical though, so outta this world, that…well…you’re inclined to believe them.

“Are you really Kylo Ren? The Kylo Ren?” You have to ask, forcing your eyes open to look at him one last time, before you fall asleep completely and deal with whatever trouble tomorrow might bring you.

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, Angel.” Kylo whispers, giving you one of those sincere not-smiles, and looking right back.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren reader insert #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fanfiction #my writing #biting dust #western au #outlaw!kylo #cowboy!kylo

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maandags · 5 years ago

Text

counting stars (Finn Shelby x reader)

heh . ye

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Summary: In which Finn can’t help but be attracted to you--like a moth to flame.

Word count: 9.4K

Genre: angst

Notes: CW: graphic depiction of injury/violence; unhealthy coping mechanisms; destructive behaviour - masterlist - makin myself sad here we go!

-- -- --

"Tommy's asked me to come to the races."

You barely look up from your work, pen still scritching incessantly at the paper. "That's great." You know you probably sound distracted, maybe even uninterested, but you can't bring yourself to care all that much. You have work to do, and it's already late, and you don't really want to get home any later than absolutely necessary.

Finn puts his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, loitering next to your desk. Then his fingers are tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, then he's running them through his hair, then they're running along the edge of your chair and it's getting so distracting that you can't concentrate on your work anymore.

You firmly set your pen down, straightening your back and cracking your jaw. "What is it?"

He looks down at you, eyes a little wider than usual; his hands drop to his sides and still. "Nothing."

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pen again. "You're a shit liar. It's almost eight, what are you still doing here?"

It sounds a little pathetic, you think. The very reason why you're still busting your ass at eight in the evening is the very same as the one which dictates that Finn Shelby–your boss Tommy Shelby's little brother–can get up and leave whenever he wants.

You decided yourself that you wanted to stay later today. So that maybe, just maybe, you would get a day off soon. Sure, working for Shelby Company Ltd. certainly isn't the worst, and the pay is decent; but you're slaving over your desk from seven A.M. to six P.M. and even then you often work overtime. Because you're practically the youngest. Because you aren't intimidating. Because you keep quiet and do what you're told, your teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

And here is Finn Shelby, staring at the sole lamp illuminating your work and informing you that his brother has finally invited him to a race. Good for him. You didn't know what he expected you to say–so you just didn't say anything.

Then, suddenly, "Why are you still here?"

You snort out a laugh. "Some of us need to actually work to get by, Finn-boy." The nickname sounds weird when you say it, but that might just be your bitter tone.

"I work."

"You sit on your ass in your office on your nice and comfortable leather chair and get whores delivered to you at lunch. You don't work." Around the body of your pen, your knuckles turn white. The tip feels fragile all of a sudden, like it could snap any moment. Carefully, you set it down on its holder. Breathe. "I'm going home."

Finn blinks, lets you pass him, then seems to realise that he wanted to say something. "Wait. Wait, Y/N, hang on.” He takes your wrist, and before your brain can properly process it and gauge an appropriate reaction you’ve ripped it from his grip. Finn’s breath hitches and he purses his lips and you feel a little bad–but only a little.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come too.”

You snort. “To the races?” He nods. “With you?” He nods again. You shake your head. “Finn, I don’t think I can afford a day off work.” It’s not a lie–not really–but it’s not the whole truth, either. It wouldn’t work, you remind yourself. It would never work.

You’ve noticed the way Finn looks at you when he thinks you can’t see him. You’re not blind; and he isn’t subtle about it. But you know it would be a bad idea. It would do nothing good–it would end in tears and sorrow. Inevitably.

And here he is practically asking you out on a date, and you’re trying to let him down as gently as you can.

“Fuck work,” he says, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from growling in frustration. “I can make sure you’ll get paid anyway. It is a certain branch of work, after all.”

You scoff. “A branch of work in which you and your brothers strut around like proud fucking peacocks, intimidating anyone who even thinks about approaching you, wearing your gun holsters like jewellery. In which my job is to look dainty and pretty by your side and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Finn’s cheeks have coloured and you shake your head again. A pang of pity bursts in your chest, and you force yourself to lay a hand on his arm–though your fingers tremble with the effort. “I’m sorry, Finn,” you say, tone gentler now. “But it just isn’t for me.”

You aren’t for me.

With that, you tug your scarf around your neck and step out the door, casting your gaze down to protect your eyes from the shrieking wind.

And it’s not that you don’t want to. Because you know that Finn is a good man, beneath all the cockiness and arrogance he seems to build his personality off of. You know that under it all, Finn is just a kid trying to live up to the legends his older brothers have written out.

It’s not that you don’t want to–because you know you do, oh god you do–but it’s that Finn doesn’t deserve what you would do to him.

He’s still just a kid, and despite being almost the same age, you’re not.

He’s been protected all his life, and you lost all protection you once had from anyone years ago.

He’s always had it all, you have had to fight tooth and nail to get where you are now, and it’s made you into something else. Something rough and calloused and bitter and angry, oh so angry.

And Finn doesn’t deserve that.

You share your flat with two men. They’ve never tried anything with you, and you appreciate it, as long as you don’t have to see their faces for any longer than you strictly have to. The little living room is always too crowded, even when it’s empty save for you; the walls are so thin you can hear everything that goes on in either of their bedrooms. The flat feels stuffy and too small and it’s not unusual for you to spend a night out–whether it be on the streets, on a roof, on the docks. Somewhere outside where you have air to breathe, as polluted and grey as it might be.

Tonight, though, you decide to stop by your flat to grab a change of clothes and quickly wash your face. A freshly made sandwich lies on your pillow and you snatch it up and rip out a bite. When you zip out into the hallway again, you stop by your flatmate’s door and give it a sharp knock–your way of saying thanks without having to say anything.

The only time you ever really feel something resembling peace is when you look up at the vast night sky and can make out stars.

It’s hard in the city, and it gets harder every night, but this time it seems the universe has granted you one night where the sky is so clear that pinpricks of stars are visible against its blackness; and you lie down, munching on the last of your sandwich, feeling grateful for the fact that even if shit’s hard right now–even if you have to bust your ass for 12 hours a day only to get barely enough money for you to live off of–the sky and its stars will always be there for you on particularly hard nights.

You would like to live somewhere in the countryside when all of this is over, you muse. Somewhere you can see the stars every night. You’ve heard that the sky is even more beautiful in the countryside because of the lack of light pollution. It sounds peaceful, and fuck knows that peace is something you desperately need.

The roof you chose this night isn’t that far from your flat, and it’s not particularly high up. There’s nothing special about it, nothing that would justify your choice to camp out in this particular spot. It just felt right. You try to empty your head, focus on nothing but the twinkling above.

You don’t know when exactly you fall asleep, but you wake up early enough to see the sun rise over the rooftops and as you watch, squinting against the brightness of the sunlight after a dark night, your arms curled around your knees and your cheek pressed against the still-warm bricks of a chimney, you repeat the promise you’ve been making to yourself every day for as long as you can remember; Today will be better.

There has yet to be a day where you can say with confidence that you kept it.

– – –

Nobody looks up strange when you walk into work early–again. The office has only just opened, and here you come barreling through the door, plopping down at your desk and immediately bending over the new pile of papers left there overnight. After a while, you frown. The stack is smaller than it usually is–and while that would be a source of good news to anyone else, all it makes you do is worry about not having enough work to pass the time. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tap your pen on the side of your desk, internally debating. Then you give a little growl and scrape your chair back, ignoring the glares you’re getting from your co-workers, and stomp towards your boss’ office.

“You could’ve at least knocked,” says Tommy as you march through the doorway. He’s wearing his glasses, and he patiently plucks them off his nose and places the palms of his hands perfectly against one another. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t know why Tommy has taken such a liking to you. You don’t know why Tommy lets you get away with as much as he does; you don’t know why he only frowns at you over something that would get literally anyone else fired on the spot (along with a nicely formulated threat to stay away from his company or else); you don’t know why he keeps you around at all. You’ve had your fair share of outbursts, both in his office and outside of it. You’ve broken your fair share of fancy teacups, had your fair share of breakdowns in front of him, even told him to his face you quit only to come back into work the next morning like nothing happened.

He’s just always been so patient with you. Like a parent would be patient with their child, or a brother with his younger sibling.

And you don’t know how to feel about it.

“I just want to know why you cut my workload in half?” It comes out snappier than you intended (as most of your words do), and you clamp your mouth shut, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. “I mean–if you don’t think I can handle it or something, that’s not something you should be worried about, because I know I can–”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” he says, waving a hand about and in front of his face. “I just want to make sure you’re done early so you can get ready for tonight.”

You scowl. “What’s tonight?”

Tommy’s eyes twinkle. “Well, Finn might have mentioned I invited him to the races–”

“And he asked me to go with him and I told him no,” you growl. “I told him no. So can I get my normal workload back?”

“No,” says Tommy, voice level as ever, eyes kind and patient as ever. “Because you won’t be going as Finn’s date. You’ll be going as my assistant.”

Ah. Now that’s a little more interesting. You cross your arms, dip your chin onto your chest, but your interest is grudgingly piqued and you know Tommy knows. “And what will that entail?”

He shrugs, sitting back in his chair, able to relax now that he’s got your attention. “Mostly observing, taking notes. I want you to know everything that’s going on at all times, because I might be busy doing… other stuff, and I still want to be able to tell which bastards are where at what moment.”

You nod, slowly. “And will I be involved in this other stuff?”

“If I can help it, you will absolutely not be involved in the other stuff.”

Biting your lip, you consider his words. It doesn’t sound like that much trouble. It certainly sounds less boring than a normal day at work.

Then Tommy says, “You’ll get extra pay, of course,” and you know you’ve practically already accepted.

But there is still a question nagging at the back of your mind. “Why’d you ask me?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean–why me? There are so many other people who would do a fine job, who you know a lot better than you know me, who aren’t as–” –you wave your hands about, trying to find the right word– “–explosive as I can be. I’m a liability, especially in situations as delicate as this.”

You’re not trying to convince him to take back his proposal; you only want to make sure he knows what he’s getting himself into.

But he smiles calmly, in that calculated way of his, and you almost roll your eyes because of course he’s calm and collected and calculated–he’s Tommy fucking Shelby. “Y/N, I’m more than familiar with explosive.”

It’s true, but you’re still hesitant, and you can’t really figure out why. Because there doesn’t really seem to be any reason for you to deny this offer; granted, it’s a little different from your usual work, but you are observant and relaying information to your boss is what you do on a daily basis anyway.

And besides, it’s the races. Everybody likes the races.

“So which tables are ours?”

Tommy already led you around the track, pointing out which horse was his, whispering under his breath what you needed to write down, taking you for what looked like a jolly stroll around the track but what in reality felt more like an intelligence gathering mission. You liked it, though, you had to admit; there was a certain thrill to it all. Knowing that the race is fixed; that the result is inevitable, that you know exactly which horse is set up to win and which to lose.

Tommy discreetly points to a couple of booths. “That one, that one… and also there.” You jot their numbers down, eyeing the surroundings, scanning the crowd at their perimeter for anyone suspicious. A few men immediately stand out to you: the ones that seem stiff, constantly looking around them like predators hunting for prey, stalking around in loose circles around a certain betting table and watching the progress.

"Coppers," Tommy says when you inquire about the men. He frowns. "At least, I think they're coppers. Plain clothed men, by the looks of it; they're just making sure everything runs smoothly. Don't think we don't need to worry much about them." But something about the men rubs you the wrong way, and every time your gaze passes across one the uneasy feeling grows stronger.

But you have a job to do, and so you shake the weird policemen from your thoughts and focus completely on the job–the delicate, sensitive job.

"All right, Y/N," says Tommy when your introductory round draws to a close. "You stay close to the tables, peek over their shoulders, take notes, make them uncomfortable. Make sure you know everything that's going on at all times, yeah? If anything looks suspicious to you, come to me immediately. Hear me? To me. Not John, not Arthur, not fucking Finn. Me."

You cock your head, shifting your weight from one hip to the other. "How do you know I won't tamper with the bets and make off with a nice bit of money for myself?"

"I don't, but I also don't think you're stupid enough to do that."

"You're going to have to trust me, then. That's a bad idea."

"Don't get comfortable. I absolutely do not trust you."

"But you picked me for this job," you press again, because it's still so intriguing to you.

"Indeed I did. Don't make me regret it." He lights a cigarette and marches off, calling his boys to him as he does. You cross your arms again and watch as his brothers sidle up to him. John and Arthur are there, and so is Finn. You knew he was going to be here, of course; he was the one who invited you in the first place, but seeing him walk next to his brothers, able to pinpoint exactly the guns and knives strapped to their chests and hips, you can’t help but compare the four men. It’s easy to tell that Finn doesn’t do this often: there’s a weirdly excited spring in his step.

You have to fight the urge to scoff, and you turn away, shaking your head. Oh, yay, let’s go to the races and shoot everyone who stands in the way of our illegal betting tables. We’ll have a blast!

For the first few hours, you do exactly as Tommy told you. You take notes, hover around the Blinders’ betting tables, keeping an eye on any skimming of money that might be going on; but the Peaky Blinders look like they’ve made their impression on the table boys because they’re doing their jobs perfectly, arranging the money and taking names in a way that’s more organised that you’ve ever seen anything run by the Peaky Blinders being executed.

You get a few questioning (if not outright hostile) looks from bystanders, pick up a few whispers from betters irritated at how you’re cutting in line and no one seems to care, but you ignore them, brandishing your clipboard like a shield and critically examining every single transaction that’s being made. The other tables progress the exact same way, and when the first races start, the crowds only thicken.

But after a moment, you grow bored. You get to watch the races for a while, from a distance, making sure Tommy won’t be able to see you if he were to look around the track, and listening to the commentary that blasts from high-up speakers and makes the air sizzle with tension. The crowds are mostly watching the races now, women speaking closely behind their hats and gloves and pretty dresses; the men more interested in the various betting pools that are scattered around the tracks. Every once in a while, you look back to your own tables, determine everything is going all right, and turn back to the far more interesting horse races unfolding in front of you.

When Tommy’s horse is brought out–its name is Elizabeth, and you roll your eyes–you perk up. Now is the time to keep an eye on the tables. Dragging a chair next to the boy at the first one, you rip the lid off your pen and mumble, “Talk to me.” He gives you the information you need to know: clear, concise, not beating around the bush. You wonder if Tommy warned them about your complete lack of patience and inability to take bullshit.

You’re almost starting to run out of paper, but as you’re making your way to the last table, you notice the coppers again.

Before, you’d thought they were circling Tommy’s betting tables. Now, you realise that they’re not interested in his tables–they’re interested in the man himself.

You can see Tommy standing in his booth, cigarette smoke curling up and around the rim of his cap as he keeps a keen eye on his Elizabeth down on the tracks; around him are stationed a few plain-clothed Peaky boys. You can see the barrels of their pistols glinting in the sunlight. Your gaze shifts upward, to the watchtowers set up around the perimeter, to the roofs; and sure enough, a couple of boys with long-range rifles are scanning the crowd like hawks. Their tell-tale caps hide their faces, but it’s clear enough that they’re some of Tommy’s men. You imagine Finn is probably up there, too: Tommy always gives him a sniper position if he thinks the situation’s about to get messy, to make sure he stays mostly out of the carnage.

And all around them–almost everywhere, you realise with a start, mingling with the audience–there are men watching them. They don’t look any different from the members of the audience they’re trying so hard to imitate, but whereas the real public looks excited and cheers the horses on and look like they’re having the time of their lives, these men are stoic, and again they remind you of predators stalking round their unsuspecting prey in the most discrete way.

It should set you on edge. It should make you uncomfortable, knowing that because you’re here as Tommy’s associate, it’s safe to assume you’ll be in the line of fire if things get messy. But it doesn’t.

It gives you an adrenaline rush. You suddenly feel like you’re on the run again; except this time your life isn’t the only one on the line.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of movement.

It’s barely a flicker, but as you whip your head around and strain your neck you can just make out a tussle: one boy–if it’s one of Tommy’s men, he’s lost his cap, and after a quick search of the ground below him you can make out a small, crumpled grey heap on the stone, and your suspicions are confirmed–wrestling against three men, all bigger, all beefier, all stronger. He doesn’t stand a chance, of course, and after one particularly vicious punch in the gut he crumbles. The two other men hold him up by his arms. The one who punched him spits in his face, then shakes his head and gestures for the others to follow him.

When the battered Peaky boy looks up, chest heaving, your eyebrows shoot up. It’s that familiar mop of brown hair (usually well-kept, like everything else about him–now it’s messy and tousled, as if he’d been dragged head first across a grass field). It’s the freckled face, the thin lips twisted into a pained snarl; the eyes so full of life you’d grown partial to–enough to recognise him from a hundred yards away. Finn.

With a frown, your gaze snaps back up to the sniper posts you spotted just before; and sure enough, a watchtower is empty. Back to Finn, and you give a short, irritated sigh. Of course the men relieved him of his rifle. You don’t know if Finn carries a knife on him, but if he does, it’s safe to assume the men got hold of that too. Which leaves him with nothing to defend himself.

And you know you shouldn’t leave your post. It’s a stupid thing to do, and Tommy told you not to stray from the tables–but maybe that’s part of why you do it anyway. There’s something about being told what to do that just doesn’t sit right with you, even if it is your own boss giving the orders. Call it reckless, call it insane; but you have a space of two seconds to decide what to do before the small group of men is completely out of sight.

So you follow them.

Of course you do.

It’s not easy to admit, especially when you’ve been trying to tell yourself the exact opposite for months, but you like him. More than you want; more than you should. But you’ve learned long ago that feelings don’t like to be told what to be either.

So the most you can do–all you know to do–is ignore them. Try to bury them. Lock them up in a treasure chest that you lob into the depths of the ocean and of which you melt the key.

Because sometimes you have to choose, and sometimes you can’t afford to let those choices be affected by feelings.

It’s a mistake you’ve made before, and a mistake you told yourself you would never make again.

But when the person you experience those feelings towards is kidnapped right in front of you, you can’t just not do anything.

You follow them from as far as physically possible without losing sight of them, but to your surprise they aren’t moving away from the main building–they're moving towards it. Your confusion only grows when one of them pulls a key ring from his pocket and opens a back door. The corridor is too dark to be able to tell where it leads, and you exhale sharply, growing more impatient by the second.

As soon as the door is open, the two men flanking Finn pull him roughly over the threshold. He stumbles, and in response, the man on the left punches him in the gut again; he doubles over, coughing. Your jaw twitches.

You force yourself to wait a full minute before following them. A full minute. You count the seconds–one pink elephant, two pink elephant–and as soon as you get to sixty, you tear across the square. Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, you pray as you try the handle: it doesn’t budge, and you give a frustrated growl.

All right. All right. Think. Lowering your head into your hands, you close your eyes. Your vision turns black, and soon you can hear nothing but your own breathing.

You could try to pick the lock. It looked rusty–it shouldn’t be that hard to get open.

But that would take time, and Finn is in danger now. What if you just blasted the lock through the door? Your gun sits against your hip, grows hot. But that’s loud, and the risk of someone hearing you is too great.

Someone else must have the key, though, right? You perk up immediately, eyes scanning across the tribunes. People are now scrambling for a seat, their legs having grown tired of holding them up in the summer sun that’s still beating down on them. But there are dozens of men here, you remind yourself immediately after. The chance you manage to run into one who just happens to have the key on him is too slim.

Nothing. Nothing else comes to mind. Empty. You slap your forehead, willing for another idea to spark. Of course, it doesn’t work, and in a rage you ball a fist and slam it into the wall behind you. Pain jolts through your entire arm, down your shoulder to your chest. You barely feel it, unable to concentrate in anything past the burning of white-hot fury.

You take a deep, ragged breath. Right. Right. Yanking your gun from its holster, you weigh it in your hand, gaze fixed on the lock–the stupid fucking lock, the only barrier between you and Finn. Slowly, you point the gun to the lock. The distance between the two objects only counts about three inches. Your hands are perfectly still. Again, you take a breath. Steady. One, two–

And then you hear it, and your head snaps up. Your vision clears, immediately focused again.

Footsteps.

Not the slightly disoriented footsteps that would belong to some random person who took a wrong turn; no, these footsteps are deliberate and stealthy–and directed right towards you.

So you press yourself flat against the wall, scooting up to the corner, waiting for him to round it. Closer, closer… and then a foot crosses the line, and your elbow immediately shoots out and connects. The stranger grunts, his hands immediately coming up to cover his nose. Blood trickles out from between his fingers and he stumbles, but you don't give him the chance to recover.

He's on the ground in a matter of seconds, with your knees firmly caging in his arms, despite being almost a full head taller than you–you found out that in a fair fight, size doesn't matter much as long as you have balls and a strong, strong motivation to beat your opponent to a pulp.

And that, you do.

You throw punch after punch–his jaw cracks beneath your knuckles but you can't bring yourself to care–and it's with effort that you finally sit back and take a breath. When you wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, you can taste the blood staining your fingers. The man beneath you whimpers. What is still visible of his purple and swollen eyes is rolled into the back of his head. He takes short, ragged breaths through bloody lips, his nose too swollen and broken to be of any use–cuts and bruises litter his cheeks and forehead. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion.

"KEYS." You make sure there is no debate possible as to what it is you want. A single word, hissed from between cracked lips; a voice hoarse, rougher and harder than the roughest and hardest raw diamond.

The man gives a weak cough and your fingers, slick with blood–both yours and his–grasp his collar, pulling his face up and close to yours. You snarl, animal-like; baring your teeth and growling, "Give me your fucking keys."

A hand, close to your knee, tries to move, and you immediately let his head drop onto the hard pavement–his pained groan sounds like music to your ears–he's responsible for Finn's kidnapping he was in on it he knew about it he is just as responsible as the kidnappers themselves they will pay they will pay they will pay I will make them pay–and, with (to your surprise) trembling fingers, you almost immediately find the ring of keys that you're looking for.

All your churning rage leaves you in one fell swoop when your hand closes around the keys, the cold hard metal somehow snapping you out of your blind fury. It's still there, of course, but it doesn't have the upper hand any more. You're collected, calm even as you haul yourself up and cast the writhing man below you a disgusted look.

You could kill him. It would make no difference.

It would be so easy–you figure one well-placed kick would do the trick.

You state at him for what feels like eons, what are in reality not much more than a couple of seconds, but then you step back and make your way to the door, already thinking about which key to try first. Maybe you're lucky and, if you change your mind, he'll still be there when you get back. Maybe he'll die alone there, bloodied and beat up; you don't know exactly how badly you fucked him up. It would be a death worthy of a dog, and it wouldn't keep you up at night.

A bloody corpse, after all, is a bitch to clean up.

Behind the metal door is a short, dark corridor that leads to a stairway. On the dirty floor, you can just make out the sheen of fresh drops of blood where the outside light reflects in them. Your knuckles turn white around the door handle before you uncurl your fingers from it and let the door fall closed behind you.

It's surprisingly easy to navigate the stairway when your eyes adjust to the darkness. Quickly, quietly, you slip down, one hand resting against the wall for guidance, the other one hovering near your hip, ready to pull out your gun at any sign of trouble.

After a few minutes, the stairs stop and transform into another corridor, this one illuminated by a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Stains litter the plastered walls, and everywhere you look are cracks. At the end of the corridor is a door, and it looks eerily similar to the first one, at the top of the staircase, though you have a feeling that this one isn't locked.

As you tiptoe closer to the door, you start to make out voices. You press your ear against the door, try to form the echoing sounds into words, phrases, but the noise is jumbled and impossible to make sense of.

All right. So you need a game plan. You need to know what you're going to say. There are three armed men in there. Guns, perhaps knives–and you're good, sure, but even you can't win a three-against-one if you don't have a significant advantage.

Something starts to form in your mind, and you set your jaw, rolling your shoulders and preparing for a fight–should it come to that. You hoped not, or at least not until you'd made sure of Finn's safety. Because really, that's all you want from this entire ordeal: you just want Finn to be safe.

You try the handle, slowly, carefully and sure enough it clicks.

With a last deep breath, you push open the door with a flourish and stroll into the room like you own it.

"Fellas, how're you doing? Oh, hi Finn," you add nonchalantly, casting him a cold look. It's harder than you thought, and the sight of him very nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

He's bound–strung up by his wrists like an animal–and looks worse than what you'd imagined the men would inflict upon him in the minutes you lost looking for a way in. His torn shirt hangs off his frame in ragged strips of fabric. Cuts and bruises litter his chest and face, and his trousers hang halfway off his hips, showing the sharp line of his hip bones. He's resting on his knees, but the ropes binding his wrists to the walls seem to do a better job of holding him up than his legs; Finn looks like he's only seconds away from collapsing.

All of this, you take note of in the split second you allow yourself to look at him. You can't see his expression in the dimly lit room; can't see his eyes; but that may be for the best. It's crucial for you to stay in character right now.

One of the men around him looks you up and down, mouth twisted in a snarl. He doesn't look very intimidated–as is your point, it's very important that none of them feel threatened by your presence. Instead, all three men's faces bear an expression that's a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"And who the fuck might you be?" The man who asked the question stands on Finn's right side, and you shift your bored gaze onto him, refusing to even look at Finn, who you're starting to suspect is actually unconscious–calm. Keep calm. Stay focused, keep your head clear.

You open your mouth, but it's that moment that Finn decides to open his eyes–he must have heard the man's incredulous inquiry, and got curious; maybe even hopeful. When his gaze locks onto you, his swollen eyes widen and he gasps, which throws him into a coughing fit. His hands ball to fists, and his arms tremble, and he's not getting any air–

Every heave of his lungs feels like a punch in the gut, and it takes every ounce of strength in your body to keep from running to him. Helping him. Saving him. But you stay planted in your spot, one eyebrow raised disdainfully, and you let him die.

"Y/N," he chokes out between coughs. "Y/N–"

The man who spoke before growls. His fist shoots out, connects with the side of Finn's head with a sickening crack.

And this time, you can't stop yourself from flinching.

"I'm asking you again."

Half a beat passes, and the next split second happens so quickly you barely register your own movements.

As he spoke, the man's hand slipped towards his hip. On reflex, your own did too, and both of you pull your weapons at the same time, pointing them at each other, which prompts surprised yelps from the other two men who yank their own guns out of their holsters and take aim for your head–and you find yourself the target of three separate pistols.

But your gaze is firmly fixated on the first man, as is the muzzle of your gun. He seems to be calling the shots, and you don't think his henchmen will do anything without his explicit permission. He opens his mouth again, and articulates the next words slowly and perfectly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"The informant," you say innocently, steadily, cocking your head. Your gun hand, you're pleased to see, is steady as ever. "Big Boss didn't tell you about me?"

And your guess was right. You fight a triumphant smirk as the man hesitates, eyes flicking from your face to his cronies.

Of course they aren't operating alone. You knew that immediately–the kidnapping was messy, sloppily done, in the public's plain sight. You don't know how they got Finn to leave his post, but knowing him it couldn't have been all that difficult. They probably sent a boy with a note from "Tommy" up and got him to meet them at the place where the abduction took place.

Your guess was that they weren't professionals. Weren't trained. Acted on the orders of someone else–someone higher up.

And judging from this guy's reaction, you were right.

Now it was just a question of keeping the game up for as long as possible.

"What?" you laughed, "you thought it possible to take down Tommy fucking Shelby without a man on the inside? Do you even know who he is?"

The art of bluffing is not to say too much. Don't give away what you don't know. Watch your mouth, say enough to keep them on edge, not a fucking word more.

"We ain't know about no informant," said one of the other men.

"Shut up," you said sharply. "I'm not fucking talking to you." Talk like you own them.

The man scrutinises your face, still looking suspicious. He didn't lower his gun. "Roman sent you?"

And that was his second big mistake; because now you had a name.

"Of course Roman sent me."

He nods, slowly. Gestures for the other two men to put away their guns, but still doesn't lower his own. "How'd you get in?"

You grin, slowly pulling the key ring from your pocket and jiggling it.

The man keeps his gun trained on you for a few more moments–agonising, agonisingly long moments–then finally lowers it, and gestures you forward. "Well, then, informant. Enlighten us."

You pull from your inside pocket a small bundle of paper–your notes. All of them. As you hand them over, you find that you don't feel any guilt.

You had warned Tommy not to trust you, after all.

The man takes them from you, and quickly flips through the sheets of paper, one hand still holding his gun. He casts a quick look at the man farthest away from you, gives a stiff nod. As he studies your notes, you slowly walk to where Finn hangs, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and unbelieving and rimmed with tears.

And the longer you keep your bored expression on, the easier it becomes to maintain. So much so that when you reach him, and he looks up at you from where he sits on his knees–it takes almost no effort for you to mockingly wipe away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and flick the droplet back in his face with a cruel grin. Finn screws his eyes shut, presses his lips into a tight line, grits his teeth.

"You really did not hold back, eh?" You turn back to the man, who looks up from your notes and grins a crooked, gnarled grin. "He looks like shit."

"Fucker wouldn't talk," he shrugged. "Tougher little shit than he looks."

You chuckle. It feels like you're coughing up acid. "Roman figured he wouldn't talk. That's why he hired me."

"Yeah?" He calmly folds the paper back up and stretches his arms, sighing in contentment when his shoulder gives a satisfying crack. "Well, you did a fine job."

"Thanks. I'll leave my business card."

"I don't think that will be necessary." And he grins again–the grin of a coyote, the grin of a shark–and that small gesture immediately makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sense of dread washes over you, tickles your spine, makes your entire body crackle with nervous tension from the tip of your toes to the very top of your cranium.

"You know, Roman has a… procedure. To make sure informants don't go blabbing to the other side."

"You threaten them by pointing your guns at them and yelling 'Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll kill everyone you love'?" you guess hesitantly.

The shark's grin widens. "Nah. Too much work." His hand crawls to the back of his belt.

But this isn't the first sticky situation you've found yourself in, and you have lightning-fast reflexes to show for it.

Before he can fully cock his gun and take aim, you've pulled your own weapon, ducked beneath the ropes holding Finn up, planted a foot between his knees, grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand–he whimpers, and it almost breaks you–and pressed the barrel of your gun to his throat.

There is a puddle of water on the floor in front of you, and in it you can see your reflection. Your face is contorted into a terrifying imitation of a snarl, jaw clenched, teeth grinding, eyes spitting fire.

Nobody moves.

The man tuts, finger curling around his trigger. "So messy. So fucking messy, and we haven't even properly introduced ourselves. I believe our dear Shelby welp here called you Y/N?"

"That would make you Roman," you grit out.

He bows. "It would indeed." He laughs. "I have to say, kid, I admire the balls on you. Strolling in here, acting like you own the fucking place! These lads could learn from you." He jiggles his gun towards his two men. Then he taps his breast pocket with his free hand. “Thanks for this, though. A nice little bonus.”

Despite everything, your grip on Finn's hair tightens, and you pull his head back a little, showing off his exposed throat that much more. His breathing turns ragged, air whistling between clenched teeth.

The man's eyes glint, and his gaze flicks down, casting Finn a semi-sympathetic look. "Poor pup. Stings to be betrayed, don't it?"

Then he sighs, and is all business again. "Listen. There are three guns pointed at your head. Just step away from the welp, and your death will be quick and painless."

You bark a laugh. "Yeah, fuck that. Make me a better offer."

"No bargaining here, I'm afraid. Fuck off and away from the welp, Y/N."

In your head, your thoughts are racing at a thousand miles an hour. "You said he didn't talk. My notes apparently aren't what you were looking for. What do you want to know?"

Interest sparks in Roman's eyes. "How much do you know about Tommy Shelby?"

You shrug, albeit a little awkwardly. "I've worked for him for about eight months. I know enough."

"Even where he stashes his goddamn opium load?"

So that's what he wanted all along.

"Oh, easy. You know of Little Tempton? There's a huge storage facility right next to the scrapyard."

From Finn's throat rises a strangled gurgle–you give his head a little shake. "Shut the fuck up," you hiss.

Roman's eyebrows shoot up. "Little Tempton."

"That's right."

"Well, thank you so much for your fucking cooperation!" he says, in a high-pitched, mocking voice. Then his face grows serious again and he pouts semi-apologetically. "Still gonna kill you, though."

You press the barrel of your gun harder into Finn's throat, fingers tightening around the trigger. He inhales sharply. "Shoot me. I don't care. But I'm taking him with me."

Roman scoffs. "You think I give a fuck? You gave me the information I wanted. The fuckin' welp's not of use anymore."

"Maybe not." You shift, preparing yourself. If it comes down to it, you will do it. You will do it. "But Tommy won't know I did it. All he will find is two bodies, and I fucking swear to you that neither Tommy Shelby, nor Arthur Shelby, nor John Shelby, nor Polly Gray will rest until you and everything you stand for is absolutely burned to the ground."

Your words reverberate in the air and beneath your grip holding him up, Finn's eyes slip closed. He would want this, you tell yourself. If he could talk right now he would tell me to do it.

There is a beat of silence in which nobody moves–then all hell breaks loose.

The door is blasted off its hinges and hits one of the two henchmen, who gets the corner planted right in his throat. He goes down. The other screams bloody murder and launches himself right at the intruders–and John Shelby shoots him straight in the head.

Tommy and Arthur follow, along with Isaiah, and behind them, Johnny Dogs. You’re still standing behind Finn, your gun at his throat, and you process the flurry of incidents just that little fraction of a second too slowly.

You let him go, Finn slumps forward; you drop your gun, you stumble back–but the damage has been done, and Arthur turns to you, spittle flying from his twisted mouth as he screams. You can’t make out every word–the fight between John, Tommy, and Roman is noisy, and gunshots echo through the air, but you can make out a flurry of words–WE FUCKING TRUSTED YOU YOU FUCKING BASTARD WHAT WERE YOU THINKING I TOLD TOMMY YOU WERE NOTHING BUT A WORTHLESS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT–and you, for the first time, don’t know what to do.

So you take the punches. You deserve them, after all; Arthur and Tommy caught you with a gun at Finn’s bloodied and bruised throat, even though what you did was all for Finn. To buy him time. To save him. I hope he realises that–I never wanted him to get hurt.

Between punches and kicks, you can just make out Johnny Dogs cutting Finn loose, Isaiah tapping his cheeks, trying to bring him back to consciousness. You close your eyes after a particularly vicious kick to the stomach, and you think you feel a rib crack.

But then, for just a second, the beating stops. You crack open one eye; blink away the blood; have to concentrate for a couple of seconds before your brain, foggy with pain, processes that Finn is tugging at Arthur’s sleeve. “Stop, Arthur–stop–” You can barely make out the words. Your ears are buzzing; your head is pounding. “It’s not their fault. It’s not their fault. They saved my life–”

“They had a FUCKING GUN at your THROAT–”

“They were never going to–they would never–Arthur–ARTHUR–”

One more foot to your stomach. A breath, kicked from your lungs–and your vision goes black.

– – –

When you wake up, the first thing that surprises you is that you wake up at all.

The second thing that surprises you is that you’re lying in a bed–on a mattress, with a pillow and a blanket and everything–and that you’re hooked up on an infuse, a needle sticking from your left inner elbow. When you try to move your head, a scratchy feeling indicates the presence of a bandage, and when you shift on the mattress you realise your chest is bandaged as well.

Your cuts have been cleaned, you have probably been given medicine–judging from the look of some superficial scrapes and bruises, you would guess you’ve been out for two, maybe three days. Huh.

The third thing that surprises you–and this is when your stomach drops–is Finn’s presence, in the corner of your small bland room, sitting in a comfortable chair. He’s dozing, head lolling forward, chin resting against his chest. He looks, apart from the bruises and cleaned cuts still littering his face and arms, peaceful.

For a moment, you allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him. The man you almost died for. The man you almost killed.

And the coward in you wants nothing more than to run away.

It’s what you would have done a week ago. It’s what you would have done now, were it not for the crushing feeling in your chest the second you laid eyes on him. You owe him an explanation. An apology. Something, anything–

You will wait until he wakes up, you compromise, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your breathing back to normal. You will wait until he wakes up, and you will tell him… you will tell him what he needs to hear.

Even though you don’t quite know what that is yet.

So you wait. You wait for him, counting the seconds as they pass, synchronising your breathing–the strain against your bandages and the flash of pain you feel with every exhale only fuels your suspicions of broken ribs–with his own. And after what feels like hours, days, months, he finally wakes up.

“Y/N.” You hate that the first word out of his mouth is your name, said so softly, so gently, so lovingly–you have to turn away.

“You’re awake.”

And you look at him. His expression is hopeful, relieved even, and you cannot fathom that after everything–after everything–he still thinks of you well enough to be happy about your waking up.

“Yes, I am.” You try to sit up, wince at the white-hot pain flashing through your chest and abdomen, stifling a sob. Finn rushes over–limps over–to help, and you’re too weak to refuse.

“I’m–”

“No. Finn, just–don’t.” There’s a silence as you catch your breath, and Finn’s eyes–you’ve never been so close to him before. You’ve never been able to see his face from so close before. You can see every speck of colour in his eyes (they're brought out by the dark bruising around them), can follow every microscopic movement they make. You could almost count every freckle placed on his cheeks; arranged there so carefully they could be stars.

You open your mouth again, but he cuts you off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

At your incredulous tone, he laughs, and the sound is so startling and beautiful that you replay it over and over in your mind for weeks afterwards. “I mean, I don’t want to hear you tell me whatever it is you’re going to tell me. I don’t–I don’t want anything from you. You don’t need to apologise, you don’t need to explain. You saved my life.”

“No, Finn. I almost ended it. I would have ended it if it had gotten to that point. Finn, I would have killed you. I would have shot you. I would not have hesitated.” You look him in the eye, grab his hand and squeeze it. You want him to understand. You need him to understand. “I am not the hero you think I am.”

But he rolls his eyes, and it’s so frustrating you almost scream. “Don’t give me that shit. I know you would have killed me. You would have killed me so Tommy would go after Roman and kill him. It’s just a game, Y/N. I’ve been playing it all my life.”

“I gave him the location of Tommy’s opium. You literally would have died before telling him, and I did it without hesitation.”

“That was your choice. Tommy knows, he’s preparing an ambush as we speak. Roman was bound to find out anyway; he's been on Tommy’s ass for ages.”

You grit your teeth, look away. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to convince me I’m a better person than I am.”

“You are a better fucking person than you think you are.”

You laugh; a bitter sound, melancholy, opposite in every way to the sound of Finn’s laugh only a minute ago. “Finn–forgive me for being brash–but you don’t know the first thing about me.”

His face falls, and your heart–you blame it on the medicine they hooked you up on–skips a beat. “Hey. Listen. I don’t blame you.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face, reach over (ignoring the painful strain of your ribs), take both of his hands in yours, ever so gently. “But you’ve only known me for less than a year, and even then… you don’t really know me. As in, I don’t let anyone really know me. And I’ve had to live with me my whole fucking life.”

You take a breath, slowly working up the courage to say what you really want to say, knowing that if you do, there’s no turning back. “You talked to them.”

“Who?”

“Tommy. John. Arthur,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Arthur would have killed me if it weren’t for you.”

Finn nods, face reddening. “They took a bit of–uh–convincing.”

“Arthur offered to slice my throat.”

“Shut up.”

“John’s always liked me. He would just shoot me, I think. Quick and painless and all that.”

“Stop.”

“Tommy…” You pause to think, purse your lips. “Would probably beat me to death with his bare fucking hands.”

“Y/N. Can we please not talk about you dying? When I’ve literally just done everything in my power to stop that from happening?” He sighs, shakes his head. “Tommy was actually the easiest to convince out of all of them. Polly wanted to throw you out into the woods and let you rot.”

You smile wryly. “You should have listened to her.”

“Y/N–”

“No, no. You listen.” You pull him close to you, force him to look into your eyes. “Finn. Oi, are you fucking listening to me?”

“Yeah–”

“I am no fucking good for you.” There it is. Out in the open. Immediately, his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t deny it.

His eyes flick down, then back up, still defiant. “I’ll decide that for myself.”

“No. Not on this. Finn–” before you can stop yourself, your hand comes up and cups his jaw, and he stiffens– “I am a fire. And I would burn you from the inside out.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he whispers.

“I fucking do,” you hiss back.

You’re impossibly close now. So close. His breath fans your cheek, and you look into each other’s eyes; two polar opposites, in everything bar your stubbornness. Like a moth to flame; or like a fly to honey.

And when he leans in, your eyes slip closed and you know there is nothing you can do.

Your lips touch. Brush, only slightly, and his fingers come up to stroke your cheek, gentler than you could have dreamed. His touch leaves fire in its wake, and you’re tingling, and you break apart after only a second.

Your eyes lock, and you purse your lips, scowling. “Fine. Fine. Fuck you.” And you wrap your arms around his neck and crash your mouth back on his. The fly is attracted to the honey; but once contact is made, the honey drowns the fly.

“I have to leave,” you mumble against his lips.

Finn hums. “Not yet.”

“No, I mean–” You pull away fully. “This is a warning.”

He frowns.

“Tommy’s doing this for you. He spared me for you. I can’t–I have to go. I can’t stay in Small Heath, I would get killed, you realise that, right?”

“You have to get better first–”

“He won’t give me that long. This is an ultimatum.” You start to grow a little agitated now, shaking your head, running a hand through your hair and fiddling with the IV. “Hey, give me a hand.” Your fingers tremble.

“Wait–calm down, calm down.” He stops your hand, swats it away before gently undoing the straps. You rub the sore spot absent-mindedly. “Do you know where you’ll go?”

Your gaze snaps up. “Sorry?”

Finn smiles, a little wryly, a little fondly. “One of the reasons I love you is that you won’t let anyone tell you what to do. If you really want to go, I’ll help you.”

And slowly, you feel a smile forming too, pulling at the corners of your mouth as you look at this man. This man, who despite everything–despite every fucking thing–just told you he loves you. This man, who slowly wriggled himself a spot into your cold dead heart (it finally feels like it's starting to beat again), and you can feel he’s there to stay.

One day, maybe. If you can bring yourself to come back. If Tommy Shelby will have you in his city.

If Finn Shelby waits for you.

#finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #finn shelby fic #finn shelby fanfic #finn shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders finn shelby #finn shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby imagine

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saladejin · 5 years ago

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Call An Uber? | 09

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader | Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary: Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k

< masterpost >

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

“Uh, no you don’t.”

I gasped when the phone was suddenly plucked from my hands. It had been a struggle to find a close-by Uber service, but one had honestly just popped up!

“Bang PD-nim?”

The older man chuckled and returned the phone to my trembling hands. When had he even appeared next to me? He was dressed so casually that I had to look twice to make sure it was even him.

“I can drop you home for a lot less, trust me (Y/n).” He laughed again, and it was obvious I had no choice but to follow him speechlessly. A week or so ago, this would have appeared as quite strange and inappropriate to many people, but I knew the stout CEO well enough now to place my trust in him.

“T-thank you so much, you really don’t have to…” I spluttered and gawked when his expensive car came into view. The reason why he’d even come along to the concert was still unknown. Up until this point, I’d been under the impression he usually didn't get involved with the showy stage side of things, but even so, he had obviously come of his own accord.

“It’s fine. After everything you’ve done for us tonight, it’s the least I can do.” Bang PD sighed, and I knew he was thinking about Soojin’s brashness from earlier in the day.

“That’s completely okay, I really enjoyed myself tonight,” I said calmly, thinking hard about what I was about to suggest. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind helping out like this more often. If they ever need anyone, that is.”

Bang PD smirked at me, and I knew he was teasing at the underlying feelings I had for the members in particular. The fact that I was already missing them and it hadn’t even been an hour said quite enough. There was no denying that it did play a big role in my offer, but it wasn’t everything of course.

“I can think of a few reasons why, but unfortunately it’s not in your job description.”

I laughed and exhaled in slight disappointment, my shoulders sagging in defeat. “I know, it’s only if they need someone though.”

The car ride was silent for a few minutes, and we would be reaching my house soon after seeing how fast his flashy car zipped around the streets and backroads of Seoul.

“I have something serious to say to you, (Y/n).”

I immediately grew apprehensive at his tone. I mean who wouldn’t after hearing something like that? I picked at the leather seat underneath me and willed my eyes to not drift towards the scenery rocketing past the window. I needed to show him my full attention here.

“I came tonight for one reason only, and that was to monitor you.”

Back at it again with the bluntness it seemed. Classic Bang PD.

“Monitoring me? That sounds kind of sinister.” I pursed my lips and trained my gaze onto the man’s bespectacled face. He wasn’t looking back, but it wasn’t as if I expected him to while he was driving anyway. I was, on the contrary, glad to not be confronted with his piercing eyes, because the anxiety about the direction this conversation had taken would have surely consumed me whole.

“It’s not that bad,” he said while chuckling, “I just wanted to check up and see how you were doing, but you never saw me backstage. Heaven forbid Soojin-ssi actually informed you of anything properly. I had an opening in my schedule, and I hadn’t visited the concerts for a while.”

I shook my head and laughed along with him. He knew exactly of his assistant’s behaviour, and it seemed he definitely wasn’t the only one. This wasn’t the outcome I was expecting, but I felt appreciative of his caring nature, nonetheless.

“What I noticed…” he then drew out, and a sense of uneasiness fell onto us both.

“Was your relationship with Bangtan themselves.”

Now the hammer dropped. Horror lit up like a wildfire inside me, and I suddenly thought about all my interactions with the boys so far. Dazed eyes scanned the disappearing road in front of me as the cogs within my mind started breaking to pieces. A simple touch could be considered crossing the line with them. I was only a mere staff member, therefore I couldn’t expect anything more or less than simply that, but thinking about it now reminded me that I definitely had not been acting like it.

I must have gone too far. Hell, I literally hugged two of them tonight! That’s a recipe for scandal disaster right there, what the fuck (Y/n).

“I can see your brain working, please don’t overthink about what I just said,” Bang PD’s tone became louder as if trying to speak over the flurry of thoughts. I couldn’t help but swallow thickly and sat back into the plush car seat behind me. I rubbed the clamminess off my palms and steeled myself to hear whatever he had to say next.

“Sorry PD-nim, I know I’ve been…closer than I need to be, I guess.”

He suddenly let out a wheeze of a laugh, and I wished to open some kind of window into his mind just to understand what was happening. He took one glance at my furrowed brows and stifled another laugh.

“No way (Y/n), I wasn’t going to say it was a bad thing at all! Well, hear me out please. I want to be serious for a minute.”

I let out a bellowing sigh of relief and managed to let any amusement die down. If he wanted to be this serious, it meant that something extremely important needed to be understood.

“The boys are solely focused on their idol careers, so when it comes to hiring new staff we try to avoid potential ‘risks’, so to speak. It’s a precautionary thing, but – you don’t have to concern yourself with that notion, because you’ve managed to prove yourself again and again. (Y/n), you’ve been working with us for only a few weeks now, but you’ve only solidified my opinions.”

I was smiling now, because the man’s words were so heartfelt and honest. I wondered straight away if he was about to open up to me somehow. This didn’t usually happen, right? Or maybe it did, because he just liked being a boss that staff members could be comfortable and adaptable with.

“You have the best of intentions, I know this for sure, but that isn’t the problem,” he continued while gaining a more solemn tone, “The issue itself, is attachment.”

Another hammer, ah yes. I should have seen this one coming from a mile away.

“Now, I don’t have a problem with you and the boys getting along well. Many of the staff are close with them, and it’s not something out of the ordinary because there are so many faculty members that have been with us from the beginning. It’s only natural.”

When he turned to gauge my response from over the rim of his glasses, I found myself nodding in earnest understanding. I completely agreed with what he was saying, because there was no way you wouldn’t form a substantial bond with the very people who had helped you rise to the top. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the man was trying to get at exactly, though.

“You-”

He stopped and cleared his throat loudly, obviously racking his brain for the right words to use. It left me dumbfounded, because Bang PD had always come right out with whatever was on his mind. Sometimes it was a little too harsh, but most people valued his opinions and appreciated his level of honesty whether it hurt them or not. This industry did teach their employees to deal with no-nonsense attitudes.

“Not including the backstage crew at the venue, you have been one of the youngest staff members we’ve hired in a while.” He finally sighed, and my mind created the imaginary train tracks steering straight to the point.

“I’m not fearing the attachment you may develop if you continue to spend time with them, but I do fear things going awry or their focuses being taken away from their careers. Usually, I would remove you from the situation without question right away, but I saw you with them tonight-”

I flooded with sudden embarrassment when he looked upwards to think again, as that meant he had most likely seen the hugging too. There was a cold dread settling into my stomach at the thought of getting ‘removed’. That would mean the cost of my job and everything I had worked for so far. I would feel empty, because now that the boys were in my life, I didn’t want them to just vanish.

Oh God, why had I let myself get attached already??

“I understand, actually,” I murmured, “and it would probably be for the best if I didn’t see them as much.” I managed to force it out through half gritted teeth. It really did hurt me to say, but I could see that it was the best option. Who knew what hardships would come later if I continued the way I was going?

“That’s not what I’m saying, I said I saw you with them tonight, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Bang PD started to slow down the car, and I knew we had finally reached the entrance to the carpark of my apartment building.

At his statement, I couldn’t help but feel confusion tickling the edges of my mind. The founder of Bighit shifted sideways in his seat to give me his full attention. Now, he could finally focus without having to divert his thoughts to not crashing and killing us both.

“They were nervous wrecks before the concert started. And I know this because I went in there just before you arrived to have a chat with them all. I could tell that Namjoon-ah would be just fine, and they all would’ve been in the end, but seeing the members like that is never comforting.”

I was fully enraptured by the man’s words, because I had never heard him speak with such a deep and sympathetic tone before. I speculated on when he had last talked to somebody like this.

“There wasn’t much I could do. I’ve supported them through the years, and they know they can always confide in me if they ever need to,” he continued while nodding forlornly. “But when it comes down to live events like these, there’s only so much I can say to help them out. And I'm rarely around as it is.”

The sudden silence urged me to convey my thoughts on the matter. “It’s nearly impossible to get rid of the nerves and doubts once they’re there anyway,” I spoke softly, eyes distant as I fiddled with my own hands uneasily. The atmosphere was more disconcerting than ever now that we had managed to find the time to stop and think.

“That’s what I thought too, but then you came in.” Bang PD chuckled and started tapping his fingers on his leather lined steering wheel to an imaginative rhythm.

“I literally watched as you made their tension disappear like it was nothing. Many people envy you when it comes to your ability to read a situation like that, because it was like you knew exactly what to do, and I’m sure they appreciated it more than you know.”

I almost choked at his sincerity. I hadn’t seriously done all that much, just held a small conversation before the show had commenced. It was only because one of the stylists had asked me to help out, otherwise I may not have even made contact at that time.

“Really? Thank you so much for saying that,” I dipped my head lightly, because I also wanted to hide the sudden spell of emotions from showing too much.

“Afterwards as well.” He sighed, and I watched him begin to smile with approval. “They were so happy, but you made them even happier in an instant. Jimin-ah too. Anyone who cared to watch could see it.”

At this point, I couldn’t help but laugh in a bizarre mixture of disbelief and amazement. Maybe I had just felt so ecstatic in their presence that I hadn’t even known their behaviour was changing too.

“This isn’t something they’ll likely admit, but I think I have an idea about how they’re feeling.” Bang PD cleared his throat. “You might just be the consolation they need, (Y/n). They have always had each other and their many supportive staff to help them find their footing, but I think you might be the key to keeping them there. To reassure them, using your viewpoint as a fan of sorts.”

He finally stopped to breathe, and my mind was churning once again at the revelation. He wasn’t even finished, and it seemed he had much left to say.

“You’re basically like a spokesperson. I know they wouldn’t have reason to doubt or disregard anything you have to say about them from their music choices to even their stage images. Min Yoongi came to talk with me the other day, telling me all about how he’d found a way to get over a certain stump in lyric writing.”

“Ah, that boy.” I muffled another chuckle and the softest of smirks made its way onto my features. I was honestly so happy to even think about being a positive influence in their lives, it made me glow from the inside out.

“It’s why I’ve made a decision,” Bang PD spoke again, and I recognised the familiar firmness to his tone that usually meant he was about to drop something big.

“Taking into account what I mentioned before about the attachment, I think it could actually help us out instead. As their presence worldwide grows, so will the pressure, and I want someone they’re comfortable with to be there for them as a support.”

“So, that’s me? What will happen? What am I going to have to do exactly?” I stammered, feeling considerably warmed and buzzed with excitement at the producer’s words. Everything he was declaring sounded like a wistful dream to me right now, but to say I also wasn’t feeling the pressure would be a lie.

“Nothing extravagant just yet.” He held up a hand while stifling a chuckle. “But it’s why I’ve decided to involve you in more activities.”

Okay, now the excitement was ready to detonate.

“And that’s why I’m asking you to go along with them on their next tour.”

tagged: @l4life, @joyful-jimin, @gee-nee, @m0chilattae, @rossemayme, @doilooklikeinoe

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argylemnwrites · 5 years ago

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It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 15

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: R (all the adult language - what can I say, Drake swears)

Summary: A much needed conversation, part two.

Author’s Note: Thought I would have this up yesterday, but my Vikings broke my heart, so I couldn’t bring myself to do final edits. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! This chapter is not even remotely holiday themed, but it contains one of my favorite scenes in this story, so I hope you enjoy it!

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

It was pitch black out when Drake awoke to a faint tapping sound. He checked his phone. It was 3:26. He figured he must have imagined the noise and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but the noise returned. It was a knock on his door - light, but insistent. Drake was tempted to ignore it, but deep down, he knew who it was. So he shuffled over, flipped the lock, and cracked open the door.

“You know it’s 3:30 in the morning, right?”

Liam nodded. “I apologize. I couldn’t sleep and I thought maybe… But you’re right, it was rude of me to come by at this hour. I’ll just-”

Drake cut him off with a groan, swinging the door open fully and gesturing for Liam to enter. “No, come on in.”

But Liam didn’t enter, instead pausing in the doorway for a moment before he spoke, “Actually, I was hoping you might want to go fishing.”

Drake blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his mind. They hadn’t gone out, just the two of them, in a long time. And given their most recent… conversation, it seemed like an odd choice. But Drake had stuck around to support Liam, so if he needed to go out fishing in the middle of the night, well then Drake would be going with him. “Yeah, okay. Just gimme ten minutes.”

So Drake brushed his teeth and got dressed, grabbing the fishing rods, the lawn chairs, and the tackle box before making his way down to the private garage. It was just Liam there when he arrived, so either Bastien had cleared a private outing, or Liam was ducking out without his security team knowing. It didn’t matter much to Drake either way. He just loaded their gear into the back of his car and moved to hop into the driver’s seat, but Liam called out, “Actually, do you mind if I drive?” Drake shrugged and walked around, sliding in on the passenger's side and settling in for the short drive to their usual spot. Except instead of turning right after passing through the palace gates, Liam turned to the left.

“Uh, where are you going?”

Liam glanced over at Drake before returning his eyes to the road ahead of him, “There’s a different lake I want to visit. I hope you can forgive me this break from our typical routine.”

Once again, Drake found himself shrugging. Not knowing how long of a trip they’d be taking, he leaned his head against the side window. It was dark enough out that he couldn’t see much of the scenery, but he knew they were basically heading east. They drove for well over an hour, not talking, just listening to Liam’s classical music playlist, the one he used when he needed to think. Drake didn’t know what was going on, so he let Liam drive on without any questions about where or how or why. They just drove and drove, and eventually, tinges of orange and pink started to appear in the sky. As the sun began to peek above the horizon, Liam turned off the main road onto a smaller frontage road. After about five more minutes, he pulled over to the side and stopped.

“We’re here,” was all he said before he got out of the car and went to grab his half of the gear from the back. Drake followed his lead, carrying his rod, chair, and the tackle box down a gravel path, Liam just a few paces ahead of him. It was a short and easy hike, leading to a large, crystal-clear lake. The area Liam had chosen was basically a meadow, but there were thickly forested patches along the shoreline, giving rise to large hills and mountains just beyond. Across the lake, Drake noted a grand estate.

He had no idea why they were here and not at their usual lake just west of the capital, but Liam had already set up his chair and was threading his line through the guides. So Drake placed his own chair next to Liam’s, opened the tackle box in between them, and started prepping his own line. Soon enough, they were casting out, the sky lightening in color by the second as the sun continued to climb upwards. They were both silent at first, but after several minutes, Liam broke the ice.

“So, Olivia’s aunt is behind the attacks.”

Drake whipped his head over to the left, trying to gauge Liam’s mental state. That must have been why Olivia came to the palace two days ago. It certainly explained the surge of activity triggered by her visit. Liam didn’t make eye contact with Drake, choosing instead to stare out over the water as he continued to fill him in on the situation.

“She wore a wire yesterday, securing recordings of her aunt talking about the whole thing. Lucretia’s initial plan was to kill any degree of public approval I had before I abdicated, leaving Olivia poised to take the throne. Olivia somehow managed to convince her that we were sleeping together and to give her more time so that she could eventually get pregnant and a Nevrakis would become the heir to the throne.”

“Wait, her aunt thought you two were sleeping together?”

“Olivia didn’t disclose how that even became a point of conversation with her aunt, but Lucretia brought it up unprompted very early on in Olivia’s surveillance, so it must have been part of her ploy to get the initial confession out of Lucretia. Regardless, it was effective. While Olivia was informing me of her aunt’s aims, Lucretia was scrambling to strike deals with her co-conspirators since they were no longer a necessary part of her scheme.”

“How’d that work out for her?”

“About as well as you would expect. Turns out people who are willing to destroy and kill to gain power don’t respond kindly to being cut out of a coup. Lucretia started naming them all without Olivia even asking because she was planning on having the two of them take out the other key agents in the attacks, all of whom were looking to kill Lucretia at the first opportunity after she dismissed them from her plan.”

“Ah, classic Nevrakis family bonding.”

“Heh. Olivia made a similar remark. Regardless, the strike teams will deploy today to bring the parties involved into custody. Hopefully, things will be well coordinated enough that no one will be forewarned and able to flee. One other insurgent in particular is someone we absolutely need to arrest. His name is Anton Severus, and he and Lucretia seem to be the ringleaders.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“We hadn’t either. Initial research turned up some… strange connections to Olivia that we’ll need to investigate further. However, this photo was even more interesting.”

At that, Liam grabbed a small piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and passed it over to Drake. He nearly dropped his fishing rod when he saw the face on the paper.

“It’s that Justin prick!”

“Indeed. Seems he was working under an alias.”

“What the fuck, Liam? He was Liu’s press secretary. He spent a shit-ton of time with her one-on-one. He could have-”

“Drake, this whole situation is a disaster. If you have concerns about the vetting that went into hiring this man, I suggest you take it up with Bertrand. There is something else I thought it prudent you know regarding him, though. He arguably stood to gain the most from the initial scheme concocted by him and Lucretia. Understandably, it sounds like he is the most upset by her recent change in strategy.

“From the way Lucretia talks about him, not only is he highly dangerous, but he also has access to key information Lucretia has been collecting. This includes the findings obtained by the PI that was following you in New York. Apparently, the goal there was a titillating piece surrounding you, me, and Riley. Unfortunately, we think it is highly probable that he will have leaked the information obtained thus far to the press given Lucretia’s description of her conversation with him. So I apologize, but it is likely you and Riley will gain some media attention.”

“So will you.”

Liam shrugged at that, “Yes, well, that comes with the job description for me. That’s not exactly the situation for the two of you.”

“Was warning me about this why you brought me out here?”

“No, that was something I obviously needed to do, but that’s not why I wanted us to go fishing.”

“Why, then? Why today?”

“It's all just been... It's been hard to handle all the…” Liam trailed off. Drake couldn't remember the last time he was at a loss for words.

“Yeah, you've had a lot of shit to deal with.”

Liam chuckled. “I think that safely qualifies as an understatement.”

Drake smiled softly, letting the quiet of the surrounding nature keep the moment still and peaceful. When Liam got like this, it was best not to ask a lot of questions. just let him talk when he felt like it. So they sat there, lines dipping below the surface of the water. The fish weren't biting, but that didn't really matter at all. They were both silent for many minutes, but eventually Liam started talking.

“My mind is just so full all the time. As soon as I think I have a handle on one topic or issue, another one just worms its way deep into my brain. Being out here, it's nearly like all those conflicting ideas can just float away from me. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe, that I can decompress even slightly. I know that I can't escape the realities of my life forever, but this is a nice reprieve. So thank you, Drake. Thank you for indulging me, even if I did wake you before 4 o’clock.”

Drake nodded, “Of course, Liam. you know I'd do…”

Liam's eyes drifted over to Drake's as Drake trailed off. He wasn't sure if he had the right to finish that thought. A few months ago, there was literally nothing that Drake wouldn't have done for Liam. He couldn't imagine a single thing. But now, after everything with Riley... Well, saying something like that seemed pretty fucking disingenuous.

But Liam just shook his head sadly, “Even after I said horrible things to you the other day.”

Drake frowned at that, “Liam, I deserved nearly all of it. I should be the one apologizing. You have a shit-ton of crap to handle everyday, and my pissy attitude should not have to be part of it.” He kept his eyes focused on the water, ashamed that he couldn’t even figure out how to be the first one to apologize. But Liam chuckled lightly, seeming to be oblivious to Drake’s pain and guilt.

“Drake, since when are you worried about your attitude around me?”

He let out a sigh before he responded, “Pretty much whenever I can tell you’re stressed.”

“But that shouldn’t be how this works,” said Liam, “We are supposed to be equals, my title be damned. That can’t happen if you are tiptoeing around me when my life becomes stressful.”

“See, I knew you would see it this way. But you’ve gotta understand that the shit you face is so much worse than the shit any of the rest of us face. I gotta be more careful with you than you are with me. Besides, you look out for me, too. You gave me a place to stay, you let me duck out and do my own thing when I get antsy, you find me lots of high quality whiskey.”

“Are you kidding me, Drake?”

He smiled at that, glancing over at Liam, “Just a little. My point is that we both have been there for each other.”

Liam shook his head. “But don’t you see, Drake, that everything you just listed didn’t really impact my life in any major way. Doing those things for you required very little sacrifice. You, on the other hand, just aggressively reminded my brother that you have uprooted your entire life for me. You put long-term plans on hold to be there for me.”

“You were a prince, Liam. Now you’re the fucking king. You made the best accommodations you could for me given the situation. I did the same. It’s no one’s fault that your life doesn’t allow you the flexibility that mine does.”

“Be that as it may, I worry I’ve taken you for granted, that I’ve treated your support as a given. You altered major life plans for me. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

Drake waved his hand through the air, almost as if he could swat away Liam’s concerns, “Trust me, it’s really not a big deal.”

“Your screaming match with Leo would suggest otherwise.”

“Eh, Leo was just being an ass and things got outta hand.”

Drake dropped his eyes to the lake’s surface, watching his line cut through the water. He could feel Liam’s stare on the back of his neck, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Maybe, if he just sat there quietly, Liam would let it go. Accept his statement as the truth.

“So this is what you meant about keeping your attitude from me when you think I’m too stressed to handle it.”

Drake sighed slowly, rolling his head around to look at Liam. He didn’t know what to say, but his silence kind of confirmed Liam’s statement.

“I don’t need you to turn yourself into an emotional martyr for me, Drake. I would never want that for you.”

“That’s not what this is, I just-”

“Drake, I think you do it without even thinking about it. It’s become nearly reflexive for you. Remember at my coronation, after Riley was forcibly removed from the palace?”

Drake nodded. While the overall events of that night were burned into his brain, he honestly didn’t remember the details all that well. He’d been a mess. Chasing after Riley. Thinking he’d fly out to New York. He’d gone from being convinced that she was going to be this gnawing presence in his life, happily engaged to Liam and just out of reach, taunting him as the possibility that was never meant to be, to being terrified she would not even be a small part of his life anymore. It was in that moment that he decided if he ever saw her again, he would be grateful to fill whatever role she wanted for him in her life, even if that meant opening himself up to excruciating pain in the end. “Yeah, that one was pretty hard to forget.”

“As soon as I got visibly upset, you jumped into action, planning and organizing. You even told me you would go to New York, and I just assumed that you were doing that for my sake. But that wasn’t your primary motivation, was it?”

Drake closed his eyes and shook his head, “I needed to make sure she was okay. I just wanted to be there for her.”

“You loved her already, didn’t you?”

Liam’s question gave Drake pause. He’d never really bothered to think about when he’d fallen for Riley. It was just one of those things, where one day it had just hit him out of nowhere that he was completely gone on her. They’d been eating breakfast with Hana and Maxwell at Applewood the day after finding the photographer’s ID badge. She’d been giving him shit in response to some comments he’d made about mimosas and after a few moments of bickering, she’d stuck her tongue out at him, as if that would win her the argument. It had just been so stupidly silly, so damn playful, so completely her that he’d just known. And that had been it. He’d never really bothered to try and figure out when he actually fell in love, at least not until this moment.

“I think so,” he finally spoke, barely getting the words out. It felt so shameful, to admit out loud that he was in love with Riley. That he’d been in love with her for a long time at this point. It was stupid to get hung up on this. He’d moved to a new country for her. Of course Liam knew he loved her. But to explicitly state it felt wrong. Dirty. Cruel.

The silence of the surrounding nature felt unbearable. But after a painful minute or two, Liam finally responded to Drake’s confession.

“I wish you would have told me how you were feeling. I wish both of you would have told me, but I really wish you would have told me.”

“Liam, I-”

“Let me rephrase that. You should have told me. The rejection would have never been pleasant, but I would have handled it. Romantic feelings go unrequited all the time. But you lied to me, if not outright, then certainly by omission. And that Drake, is the aspect of this whole mess that I am struggling with the most. I always trusted you to be the one person in this world who was honest with me, to never have an ulterior motive during our discussions. And I’ve lost that faith, Drake. That is what hurts the most.”

“I know, Liam. I’m so sorry.”

“See, this is why you can’t just decide that you need to hide your actual emotions from me. Regardless of whether or not my royal obligations are intense, there needs to be mutual honesty between us.”

Drake shook his head roughly, “It wasn’t all about protecting you. That was part of it, sure, but it was more complicated than just that. I wasn’t exactly trying to be noble.”

“Why then?”

“I don’t want to make excuses here, Liam. I know I fucked up.”

“I just need to understand, Drake. I need to make sense of all of this. So please, just talk to me openly.”

Drake took a breath, trying to organize his thoughts before he started, “It was self-preservation really, and I know that’s selfish of me, but it’s the truth. It was going to be bad enough in the end when she chose you. That alone was going to hurt like hell. I just couldn’t stand the thought of you knowing about it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was convinced that she was going to choose you once she cleared her name.”

“Is there some reason you thought that, or…”

“Previous experience mostly. It’s not important, though.”

“It kind of is, Drake. You are talking about this like it was some foregone conclusion that she wasn’t as interested in you as she was in me, when all I have is evidence to the contrary.”

Drake let out a huge sigh, his shoulders sagging in the process. He wasn’t sure if this topic was wildly embarrassing or just uncomfortable, but they were here now, and Drake didn’t see a way out of it at this point. “Over the years, there have been quite a few women who’ve tried to use me to get close to you. Some just feigned interest until you guys were introduced. Others seemed to have researched me and my interests pretty extensively, letting things escalate between us for quite a while before they suddenly didn’t have time for me. Usually, that was right after they met you. It didn’t take long for me to learn the drill.”

“And you thought Riley was doing the same thing? Drake, she hadn’t even heard of Cordonia when we wandered into that bar.”

Drake mustered up what was left of his courage before continuing, “I think she would have accepted your proposal that night. We snuck outside for a bit. Talked a little. We kissed. I don’t know. We both made it pretty clear that was it for us. It felt a lot like goodbye.

“Then after you got engaged and she came back, I don’t know. Things were different. She kept bringing up us actually being together. It was a strange shift, and part of me just couldn’t believe that she really wanted to be with me. I kept wondering if she was just looking for comfort after being publicly rejected and I was the best option. So I kept telling her we should wait until she cleared her name to talk about our future. And I braced myself for the day that would happen and she would realize she could have you again. That she could go off and be with who she actually wanted.”

“You told me about your relationship the day after she cleared her name.” Liam’s voice was quiet, but calm. Understanding. Gentle.

“I know it’s not an excuse, Liam. But I just didn’t really think that she had any deep feelings for me until she told me she loved me that night. Some part of me couldn’t shake the thought that whatever the hell was going on between us was about to come to an end.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No. It didn’t.”

They both sat there, still and silent. It was tense, to be sure, but unlike the other day, Drake didn’t sense any anger rolling off Liam. He knew he was much calmer, too. Maybe they had just needed to purge their more toxic thoughts before they could have this conversation. Or maybe it needed to happen outside of the confining, binding walls of the palace. Out away from pressures and obligations, away from nosy servants and nobles. Maybe that was why Liam had wanted to go fishing. Maybe deep down he knew this was the only way either of them would talk. But that didn’t explain his choice of location.

“Why here?”

“What was that?”

“I am just trying to figure out why you wanted to come out here to… wherever the hell we are to have this conversation.”

“Valtoria. That’s where I brought us.”

“Okay, so why Valtoria?”

Liam sighed, looking around and fully taking in the surrounding woods and meadows. He was silent, with only the lapping water and the hum of last of that year’s cicadas filling the air. Eventually after several painfully long moments he answered.

“You know how Valtoria has been vacant for decades? Well, it was going to be hers.”

“What are you talking about, Liam?”

“I was going to offer her the title of Duchess of Valtoria.” He kept looking around, almost as if making eye contact would be unbearable.

Drake's mind raced as he tried to figure out what the hell he was talking about. It only took a few seconds for him to realize the truth behind it all. “You couldn't marry a commoner. You had to make her fucking suitable match.”

Liam winced at that, finally turning his head to face Drake. “I was trying to give her a home. I wanted Cordonia to feel like her country, not my country. But yes, Drake. I was also looking to appease her critics on the council. Titling her was a needed formality.”

Drake let Liam's words wash over him. He knew that Liam himself didn’t really care that Riley came from poverty, had clawed her way to a working class lifestyle. But somehow, the fact that he would have elevated her to noble class before marrying her rubbed him the wrong way just the same. His discomfort at the idea must have shown on his face, because Liam spoke again after a brief moment.

“Come on, Drake. I know it’s your reflex to hate the nobility, but surely that wouldn’t apply to her?”

Drake shook his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it? Why would the mere formality of titling her upset you?”

“That’s not…. It’s just… No one needs to change anything about her.”

A faint smile crept across Liam’s face at Drake’s reply, even as he squinted his eyes in disbelief, “My god, who are you and where have you hidden Drake Walker?”

“What?”

“That was dangerously close to romantic, my friend. Certainly more saccharine and sweet than anything I have ever said.”

“Bullshit, Liam.”

“Fair enough, but you have to admit that was far more sentimental than you usually act.”

“Jesus, Liam. I’m not saying that to be romantic. I just don’t like the fact that you wanted her to change who she is to marry you.”

“It was never about changing her. It was merely adding a formal title.”

Drake squinted at Liam, trying to figure out how he could be so oblivious, but then it dawned on him. Riley hadn’t let Liam see her as she really was. She’d kept things light and polite. She’d never laid into him. Never opened up to him. She had kept playing at being princess the whole way through.

“Tell me, Liam - how many times have you heard Liu swear?”

After a couple of seconds, Liam said, “My answer is that I can’t recall her ever swearing, but I can guess that is not her typical behavior based on that question.”

“She called me a ‘goddamn motherfucking asshole’ within her first few days here,” Drake responded, shaking his head with a smile, “You may not have asked her to change who she was, but…”

“You’re saying she just felt compelled to act differently around me.”

“I think so.”

Liam was quiet for a few moments, likely thinking about everything that had been said. Eventually, he shook his head, “Well, I think there’s some form of irony buried in this whole situation. Apparently, there have been many women out there who acted differently around you to get to know me. The one woman I actually wanted to get to know was acting differently around me as she fell in love with you.”

“Liam, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Drake. At least not for that part. I will certainly accept your apology for hiding your feelings from me and prolonging the uncomfortable situation. But the rest of it is just life. I fell for someone, but she fell for someone else. There’s no reason for her not to be with the person she loves if he loves her in return.

“I’m not blameless in this whole mess. You were right; I just assumed she was interested in me. I could blame the entire dynamic of the social season, but that wouldn’t be proper. I am a grown man, and I should have recognized her waning interest in me.”

“No, you were right. We should have talked to you sooner.”

“And I probably shouldn’t have offered up being my mistress without asking about her feelings surrounding my relationship with Madeleine. There is plenty of blame to go around.”

“Excuse me, you what?”

“It’s not my proudest moment, Drake, but I was desperate and grasping at straws. Looking back, I certainly could have done better there. However, I am guessing you have some moments you wish you could redo in this whole debacle?”

Drake was still trying to process the fact that Liam had apparently asked Riley to be his side piece, but he knew his overall point was valid. They both had made mistakes here. And maybe it was time to leave those mistakes in the past and start moving forward. So Drake just nodded, a gesture Liam returned with a smile before he looked out over the lake again. The silence between them wasn’t entirely comfortable, but it certainly felt closer to normal than it had in a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley poured the couple at the bar two more IPAs, then quickly glanced around the room, trying to see if there were any other customers who needed another round. Not seeing any obviously empty glasses or anyone trying to flag her down, she started loading up a tray with dirty glassware to bring into the back to get cleaned.

After her breakdown her first night back in New York, she’d resolved to not think about Cordonia, and she honestly felt like she’d done a pretty good job. One of the afternoon bartenders had quit unexpectedly, so she volunteered to pick up some extra shifts, which not only kept her busy and distracted, but also helped her earn some much needed cash.

She gotten some texts from Maxwell and Hana, but she’d kept her responses light and casual. She really was doing fine. She just had to convince them of that fact. If they kept asking her how she was doing, she would fixate on everything that had happened, and the would be the opposite of helpful. She needed to keep moving forward, and then she would be able to move on with her life.

Riley carried the heavy tray into the backroom and loaded up the industrial dishwasher. After washing her hands, she went back out front, but the sight in front of her stopped her dead in her tracks. She knew that hair. She knew that face. But that hair and that face were supposed to be in Cordonia, not scanning the room awkwardly, clearly looking for someone.

“Hana?” she finally called out when she found her voice, “What the hell are you doing here?”

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cottonpadenthusiast · 6 years ago

Text

The Cafe Upstairs

This is kind of a second part to my other drarry fic here but it takes place before the events of that story. You don’t have to read the first one for this to make sense.

Remus paused by the door of the cafe, breathing slowly and allowing whatever anger that he had built up when he had pounded up the staircase to dissipate. Screaming at the manager of the new cafe that was upstairs from Remus’ bookshop was not what he planned to do, but the frustration that had built up over the past few weeks burned in his veins.

His anger remained, despite his efforts to reduce it. The images of masses of people entering his shop, each asking for coffee, each being directed outside and to the door on the right played on a loop on his mind. The stupid cafe didn’t even have a proper sign, meaning the peace and quiet of Remus’ bookshop was disrupted every twenty minutes by some hipstery looking guy who wanted a green tea.

The possibility of Remus losing his shit was increasing by the second.

Remus pushed open the wooden door and the likelihood of his losing of shit decreased, just a little. The cafe was busy, but had a strangely calm atmosphere despite the crowd. Large window seats allowed the warm afternoon light to flood into the room and the white walls were covered in beautiful paintings and minimalistic art. Plants hung low from the ceiling and the smell of coffee and pastries filled the room.

Remus wondered why he had never come up here as he moved slowly towards the counter, eyes still wandering around the room. It was perfect.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Remus whipped his head around, quickly putting in place his angry expression. It disappeared as soon as he saw the man before him.

Long dark hair in a bun and chiselled cheekbones filled Remus’ vision and he felt his heart stutter. The man was gorgeous in a way Remus had only ever seen described in books, his slow easy smile reminding Remus of the countless fictional love interests he had pined over.

Losing his shit was firmly in the realm of impossible now.

“I-I was just looking for the manager,” Remus managed to stutter.

The man, whose name was Sirius by the looks of his name tag, smirked. “Luckily enough, you’re looking right at him.”

“Oh. Well, I own the bookshop downstairs and quite a few of your customers have been coming in and asking for coffee, and I’ve had to send them your way. I was hoping you might make your sign a little clearer.”

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry, “ Sirius said a guilty expression on his face. “I’ll get that fixed as soon as possible. And as a peace offering, would you like a coffee? I’m Sirius Black by the way.”

Sirius offered his hand and Remus took it, ignoring how Sirius’ long fingers wrapped around his. The intensity of Sirius’ gaze and his bright smile had Remus’ cheeks flushing a light red.

“That would be lovely. And I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Nice to meet you, Remus. Let me guess; your preferred coffee type is a mocha.”

“What? How did you know that?”

Sirius turned and began to make the coffee, offering Remus a wonderful view of his toned shoulders through his white shirt. Remus tried not to stare, but when Sirius reached up for a mug and exposed his tan back, Remus could do nothing but allow himself to gape.

“I just guessed. One of my many, many talents is guessing people’s coffee order.”

“Is one of your other talents modesty?”

Sirius turned and shot Remus a smirk. All the romance novels and all the love stories and all the hot fictional guys had not prepared him for this, for Sirius Black with gorgeous grey eyes and a gentle voice and a smile that seemed to ruin and make Remus all at once.

“Here you go,” Sirius said, planting the coffee onto the counter.

Remus lifted it to his lips and took a sip. The coffee tasted like heaven in a mug, the taste of chocolate swirling in Remus’ mouth and making him sigh.

Remus hated insta-love, but it was becoming a more and more realistic plot device with every second.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing. Thank you.”

Sirius smiled. “You’re welcome. Now take a seat anywhere. I’ll be here if you need anything else.”

As Remus turned, a cold hard dread settled in his stomach.

It grew as he walked towards his seat, and it grew as he sat and looked at the sinking sun. It grew and grew as he watched Sirius, watched how his confident smile never faded and how he seemed to glow more than the sun outside.

The dread grew because Remus knew that this wasn’t a love story, this wasn’t fiction. This was real life. And in real life, the nerdy boys don’t end up with the hot guys. In real life, the crushes are always unrequited. In real life, the pain is the realisation that you never had a chance.

In real life, Sirius Black would never dream of wanting someone like Remus Lupin.

So, as is real life, Remus quietly begged for his feelings to be fleeting and temporary.

What Remus didn’t realise is that the heart is a very, very stubborn thing.

--------

“Hey, Remus!”

Remus’ head snapped up as he watched Sirius saunter through the door, black leather jacket and ripped jeans completely out of place in Remus’ quiet bookshop.

Remus hadn’t stop thinking about Sirius over the past few weeks and despite his surprise visits becoming a regular thing, Remus’ heart still leapt with joy everytime Sirius sauntered through the door.

Which was stupid, he knew. Sirius was so out of Remus’ league it hurt him to even think about it.

“Hello, Sirius. Oh, thank you.” Remus said as Sirius dropped a drink onto the counter. He lifted to his lips and moaned softly when the taste of hot chocolate and marshmallows hit his tongue.

Sirius stared. Remus presumed he was probably trying to gauge his reaction. “No problem,” he replied, his voice more croaky than before.

“Well, what can I help you with?”

“I just finished Pride and Prejudice.” Sirius took out the book Remus had given him the week before, his hands holding it like it was the most precious thing he owned.

Remus wondered what it would be like to be held like that.

“Did you like it?”

Sirius exclaimed a “yes!” before barging into a long rant about his favourite parts of the story, yet Remus couldn’t seem to hear anything he was saying, the words almost muffled and distant.

All he could think about was Sirius’ hands on that book, Sirius’ excited expression, Sirius’ low voice as it stumbled over his words and how his eyes seemed to glint with something that Remus had never seen before as he spoke.

All Remus could think about was Sirius.

Remus Lupin considered himself to be a man of simple taste. All he needed in life were three things: a good book, a cup of tea, and a bar of chocolate. With these three things, Remus would consider himself to be one of the luckiest men alive and utter happiness was not far away if one owned a bookshop and had a secret stash of chocolate in the third drawer.

Yet, as Remus stared at Sirius and noticed the slow, growing feeling in his chest, he knew that his number of needs had now increased by one.

And that particular need was of the completely and utterly unattainable sort.

“...and Mr Collins was awful but not as bad as Wickham. That man was the devil incarnate. How could he hurt Mr Darcy like that?”

Remus’ drew his focus back to Sirius. “Oh, yeah. I don’t know.”

Sirius’ eyes filled with worry. “You ok, Rem?”

Rem. If Sirius knew what these nicknames and surprise hot chocolates were doing to Remus, then he was one sadistic arsehole because Remus didn’t know if he could survive this any longer.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Anyway, you can take a browse for a new book. It’s on the house since I owe you after all these free drinks.”

“Well, actually...” Sirius started, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “I was sort of hoping that you would help me choose?”

The statement was more of a question and Remus knew that he should say no, he needed to work, needed to anything other than to be in the presence of Sirius Black.

But he didn’t. Instead, he agreed to help because he was stupid and an idiot and Sirius looked like some sort of cover model for a book that Remus’ would secretly adore and Remus could never, ever say no to him.

The only way to survive around Sirius Black was to get caught in the whirlwind and just hope you wouldn’t spiral out of control.

So Remus spent the next forty-five minutes helping Sirius choose a book. They wandered through each section, Remus’ head spinning whenever their hands would brush or when Sirius would whisper a joke into his ear. By the time they arrived at the historical fiction section, Remus wondered how he was still standing.

“What’s your favourite book, Remus?” Sirius asked, hands trailing across book spines and hair falling softly into his face.

Remus studied Sirius as he thought about his answer. Multiple books popped into his mind, but none seemed to top the other.

“I don’t really have one,” he eventually answered. “There are a few books I love, but I don’t have a favourite out of them. I don’t see the point in defining my love for books by one story when each is different in its own way. But my favourite type of books are the ones that teach me something, that make me discover something about myself that I never knew before.”

Sirius hummed in response before casting Remus an intense glance over his shoulder. “And what have you learned about yourself recently?”

“That instead of guarding my heart, I should be guarding my brain. The heart starts the process, but the brain does all the damage.”

Sirius suddenly spun around and grabbed Remus’ hand in both his own. The swiftness of his actions startled Remus, but the sincere expression on Sirius’ face startled him more.

“Can I ask you something?” Sirius asked, words loaded with something Remus couldn’t decipher.

Hope bloomed like a flood in his chest.

“Yes.”

Sirius breathed deeply and with thier close proximity, Remus felt his warm breath fan over his face.

“I was hoping-well, I was wondering if...”

“Yes?” Remus prompted, curiosity and excitement stirring within him.

“I was wondering if you would like to become business partners with me.”

Disappointment flooded Remus’ body. He didn’t know what he had been expecting but it definitely wasn’t that.

“Oh. Right.” Remus slowly retracted his hands from Sirius’ grip and turned to the bookshelf, hoping Sirius wouldn’t see the hurt in his eyes.

“Do you not like the idea?” Sirius’ voice was laced with guilt and worry and it almost hurt Remus more than the disappointment. Almost.

“Oh no. That’s not it. Just explain what you mean by business partners.”

“Well, we could join the cafe and bookshop into one so that customer could buy a book then go upstairs and read it in my cafe. There is a staircase at the back of this place that leads up to mine, so they wouldn’t even have to go outside. I think it would be beneficial for us both.”

Remus agreed. It would probably mean more profits for both him and Sirius and he wouldn’t have to direct customers outside every five minutes. It could work.

But it would also mean working with Sirius more often and Remus really didn’t think his heart could handle that type of torture.

Remus met Sirius’ gaze. “I think it’s a great idea, Sirius. I just need to think about it for a while, if that’s alright with you.”

Sirius smiled. “Take as long as you need.”

Remus turned back to the books, running his fingers along the glossy covers. He wanted nothing more than to become one of the characters in these books, in a totally different time, where long black hair and cheeky smiles weren’t the things haunting Remus’ dreams, where soft hands weren’t the destroyers of Remus’ heart.

Where Sirius Black wasn’t Remus’ living hell and gorgeous nightmare.

“I actually have another question, Remus.”

“Oh?” Remus tried to feign interest but he didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Hazel eyes snapped up to grey. Remus' heart stopped.

“What?” He whispered.

“Do you want to go on a date? With me?” Sirius swallowed, his nerves clear yet he didn’t hide them.

Remus Lupin had known that three out of his four requirements for happiness were simple, attainable things. The fourth, however, was not. It was heaven and hell and everything in between squeezed into a person. It was stories untold and tales to be discovered wrapped and hidden within the most beautiful person Remus had ever seen. It was the one need that was all that Remus needed.

And he had deemed it impossible to ever obtain.

It seemed he had been wrong.

“Yes,” he replied, bewilderment and joy exploding in his chest while he wondered if Sirius only needed Remus to be happy too.

Sirius smiled, a slow gorgeous smile, and Remus saw joy and safety and love within it. He saw the world.

Remus smiled back.

The worlds collided.

#wolfstar #remus x sirius #wolfstar fic #remus lupin #sirius black #bookshop au #coffee shop au #remus being the book nerd that we all adore #and sirius would pretend he takes his coffee black but actually drinks caramel frappacinos #my fic #my writing

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werewolfdays · 5 years ago

Text

Drabble- Picnic Date

sir, those are my emotional support ocs. I write them being cute and gay to cope thx-

“Do you really have to go on patrol today?” I wrapped my arms tightly around Jayde’s waist, unwilling to let her leave my side. All I wanted was to be with her right now.

She looked at me adoringly, “I do.” There was only a little bit of regret in her voice. “Plus, I could really use a run.”

“I know, I don’t walk you enough.” I teased.

Jayde scoffed at me, her hand immediately going to poke the most ticklish spot on my side. I hopped away from her with a yelp and she smiled proudly at herself. “You know what they say about people who talk shit.”

I continued to provoke her, “Since when are you the responsible buzz kill?”

“Since protecting this place means protecting you.”

“Come on, Jay.” I complained.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jayde started, walking over to the desk and pulling out a map of the grounds. She grabbed a pen, searching for a particular spot, “Why don’t you meet me…” the tip of the pen marked an X on an area I haven’t explored yet. The property that the Lodge rested in was massive. You could hike for hours and still be inside the perimeter. That’s why Jayde sometimes had to go out on patrols. To check for breaches along the perimeter’s weak points. “Here.”

I looked at what she had marked and nodded. “Okay, for what?”

“A picnic.” Jayde answered with a crooked grin. “Call it a date.”

A wide grin came across my face, “Are you asking me out?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious.” She replied smugly.

I couldn’t resist teasing her more, “Do you have a crush on me?”

Jayde chuckled, “We’re already together, you dork.”

“You have a crush on me,” I said in a sing-song voice.

She rolled her eyes at me, but the corner of her mouth remained upturned. In one swift motion, Jayde’s hands gripped my waist, and she lifted me up and onto the desk, situating herself between my legs. Boy, did that shut me up. “I have more than a crush on you.” She muttered, leaning in for a heated kiss.

I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her closer to bask in it, thinking if anything could convince her to ditch patrols it would be the way I was kissing her right now. Deepening it with a teasing brush of my tongue against hers, Jayde squeezed my hips, drawing me deeper into her with a sharp inhale. So far, it was working. I smiled briefly into our kisses when her hand went under my shirt to caress my skin, traveling higher and higher. I kissed her harder in encouragement, nipping at her bottom lip.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the thing that snapped her out of it. Jayde broke away, both of us breathing heavily. “That was,” She panted, utterly flustered, “That was a really good try.”

“You started it.” I said, kissing my way down her neck.

Jayde didn’t deny her part. “Meet me.” Her voice was low in her throat against my lips.

My kisses came back up to the corner of her mouth, “I would meet you anywhere.”

She gave me a love-struck smile, kissing me once more before stepping back. “See you later.”

“Be careful out there.” I said, watching her walk away.

“Always.”

“Hardly.”

Jayde’s crooked smile was contagious, and with a wink, she shut the door on her way out.

The hike wasn’t too bad. It helped that we were in the first couple weeks of autumn. A crisp breeze blew through the trees, carrying dead leaves to rest on the forest floor. I always loved being out here. I’m sure there was a part of me that would make a good werewolf for this very reason. Running free through the woods with enough energy to last for hours sounded pretty liberating. But that was the only part about being a werewolf that really appealed to me. It certainly wasn’t enough to ask Jayde to turn me.

Following the map, I eventually made it to the place that Jayde had marked. It was a gorgeous little clearing with a massive tree in the center. Its lowest branches were close enough to reach, but the highest stretched up into the sky where I was sure that I could see a good chunk of the property if I could climb it. A stream must have been close by too, because my ears picked up the calming trickle of flowing water. The base of the trunk seemed a good place to set up, so I started unpacking some of the things I brought.

Unsure of when Jayde was going to arrive, I left the food inside my pack, and pulled out a book to entertain myself until then. Settling into the spot, I leaned my back against the tree. I knew Jayde chose this place just for me. It was perfect. Well, almost perfect. All it was missing was her. I still enjoyed it, though. Let myself be sucked into the story in my hands with the relaxing sounds of nature in the background and the smell of fresh forest air.

I wasn’t aware of how much time passed, but I suddenly heard howling in the distance. I couldn’t explain how, but I was always able to pick out Jayde’s voice among a group of wolves. Her howl always stood out to me. The beautiful song that drifted through the mountains said, I’m coming to you.

I smiled to myself and continued my reading. It was always difficult to gauge the distance with a howl, sound can travel in funny ways in the woods, but I knew that she wasn’t too close. Not too far away, either. I figured that I could get in another chapter before she showed up.

About thirty pages later, I heard rustling in the tree line. It started behind me, slowly circling around to my left. Some of the birds went silent for a moment as they listened for the hidden predator, and as she got closer, a few flew away in a flurried panic. A slow grin appeared across my lips, my eyes searching for the movement I was hearing.

Then, a beautiful white wolf appeared out of the trees like some sort of spirit. Even after all this time, seeing Jayde as a wolf approaching me made my breath falter ever so slightly. She was a wolf, and yet, I always recognized her. It was in the way she looked at me. Her eyes were golden, but it was Jayde in that subtle glow, in how she regarded me with an intelligence that I’ve never seen in any other animal.

“There you are.” I said, putting my book aside while she trotted up to me.

Jayde came to where I was sitting and nuzzled her head against mine in greeting. A giggle escaped my lips when she ruffled some of my hair, nearly knocking my glasses off, so I put them down beside my book and reached up to pull her into an embrace. I loved how soft her fur felt. I could run my hands through her thick coat all day if she let me. Some days she did.

Without much ceremony, Jayde laid down beside me and plopped her head into my lap with a huff. “Too tired to shift back just yet?” I mused, brushing some bits of leaves out of her fur. The wolf grunted in confirmation. “Okay, well, I have clothes in my backpack when you’re ready.”

She made herself more comfortable against me, and I began a soothing motion of my hand through her fur. Starting at her head and brushing all the way down to her back. Or as far down as I could reach. Jayde’s wolf form was huge. I’ve never been around a regular wolf before, but it was hard to imagine that it could be bigger than her. The size and skill she possessed as a wolf was why she was one of the most, if not the most intimidating werewolf around here. I smirked to myself as I realized it also made her the easiest to cuddle.

We relaxed for a little while, enjoying the quiet and each others company, the calmness that the forest gave us. At one point, there was more rustling close by. Jayde’s head perked up for a second, but she didn’t seem too concerned about it. That is until a reddish-brown wolf appeared in the clearing. They clearly stumbled upon us on accident. The way the wolf froze at the sight of us, their head cocked curiously in our direction, confirmed that. I didn’t recognize them, though I was sure Jayde did. She didn’t get up, but her hackles rose, and a low rumbling growl drifted through the air as she flashed her teeth. It was the wolf version of piss off.

The other wolf’s ears flattened, bowing their head and retreating back into the woods to leave us alone. I rolled my eyes at the satisfied grumble Jayde made as she relaxed back into my lap. “Don’t be rude.” I chastised softly.

I think there was something about being in her wolf form that made her instincts more heightened. Jayde was always more protective over me as a wolf. She rarely let another werewolf in their wolf form near me. I knew that she just wanted to keep me safe. Sometimes werewolves could be unpredictable when they turn, so I never really said too much about it, but she didn’t need to be that way all the time.

Her ears twitched in the direction of my voice, and she turned her head enough to side-eye me. I gave her an exasperated smile, shaking my head. In response, Jayde sat up and licked my cheek, which only made me laugh. When I batted her muzzle away, she jumped back playfully. I couldn’t resist how adorable she looked with a wolfish grin and a wagging tail.

“Big scary werewolf.” I quipped, pushing myself up on my feet. Jayde barked and danced away from me, narrowly avoiding my swat. It was always strange to play around with her like this. It felt like I was interacting with a big dog and Jayde all at once. My brain was telling me that I was seeing an animal, but my heart had no issue knowing it was Jayde. Somehow, it was a perfect balance. Though, I will admit that it took a little getting used to in the beginning.

The white wolf bounced around me, too quick for me to react. I switched tactics, running away from her now. Jayde always took it easy on me, her reflexes and strength gave her an unfair advantage, so she leveled the playing field by holding back. Otherwise she would always win, and there’s no fun in a game of tag that last two seconds whenever she’s it. That being said, she never made it too easy.

I managed to avoid her while using the tree as a shield, darting around it to try and keep the trunk between me and her, but then she cut me off on the third pass. Her massive wolf form tackled me to the ground. Not enough to hurt me, but enough to throw me into defeated laughter. Jayde’s snout started nuzzling into my neck and poking me in my ticklish spots, which just threw me into uncontrollable hysterics.

“Okay, Okay, you win!” I laughed, trying to shove Jayde’s head away from me.

At my surrender, Jayde sat back on her haunches, looking far too pleased with herself. I didn’t know how she managed to look so smug in her wolf form, but she did. She shook her coat proudly to bask in her triumph before she started to shift back. The transformation always took a minute or two, so I went to my backpack to pull out the clothes I brought for her. By the time I placed them on the blanket I had laid out earlier, Jayde was walking over to me as a human.

“You’re getting quicker.” She said, bending down to grab her jean shorts and slipping them on. “Nearly got away from me there.”

“We both know that you would’ve caught me no matter what.” I answered, flashing her a smirk. “How was your patrol?”

“Uneventful.” After Jayde pulled her tank top over her head, she ran a hand through her knotted hair. I kind of liked how her hair looked after a turn. It was attractively unkempt. She was one of the few people who could look sexy without even trying, and I certainly wasn’t complaining. “Boring as hell. All I could think about was coming here to meet you.”

I shrugged innocently, “Told you to ditch.”

Jayde gave me an amused smile, sitting beside me under the low hanging branches. “I never would’ve thought you’d be the type to convince me to skip out like I’m ditching class in high school.”

“I can be full of surprises.” I said, rummaging through my bag until I found the food and water I packed. I handed Jayde one of the sandwiches I made, “It’s not as good as the food you make, but it was made with love nonetheless.”

“That’s the important part.” Jayde eagerly accepted the offering and took a generous bite.

“This spot is beautiful, by the way.” I took a bite of my own sandwich, knowing that I would need the energy for the hike back.

Jayde nodded while she finished chewing, “Yeah, I came across it last week. I knew you’d love it.” Turning made her super hungry, and it was always funny to watch her devour something after shifting back like she thought someone would steal it away from her at any second.

“I do. This could be a nice little meeting place for us.” I wanted to have a lot more days like this with Jayde. It felt so good to be out here with her. Like nothing could touch us.

“As long as no more strays come running through.” She grumbled into the remnants of her sandwich.

I gave her a level stare. “Stop being so territorial, Jay. This place is for everyone.”

Jayde took a minute to finish her sandwich, and expertly tossed the crumpled wrappings into my open backpack. “Yes, but I want you all to myself right now.” Her voice was low enough to almost be a growl. Before and after a turn, Jayde’s wolf lingered like an air around her. Her behavior was still half wolf.

On instinct, she pitched forward and kissed me. I wasn’t about to stop her. I blindly set my sandwich down, not really caring where it landed, and kissed her back. Her arms wrapped around my waist, guiding my body to settle in her lap. This close to her turn, I could actually feel the presence of her wolf as she kissed me. Her skin was still hot, her muscles twitched under my wandering hands with residual energy. And she always kissed me a certain way. It was a different kind of hunger that I tasted on her tongue, more intense, but addicting all the same.

I pulled back enough for me to see her eyes. Sure enough, they had the yellow glow. My smile grew and I traced my thumb across Jayde’s bottom lip, just taking a moment to admire her.

“How do you always know?” She asked.

I knew she was talking about the fact that I guessed correctly about her eyes. “I can feel it.”

Jayde smiled at my answer and her eyes started to shift all over my features. Her voice was almost a whisper as she said, “I am so in love with you.”

Every single time she said that made my heart soar unbelievably high. “Well, I’m in love with you too. Funny how things work out that way.”

Her grin grew brighter, and it was a sight to behold. A part of me wanted to take a picture every time she smiled at me like this, but I knew this was a special smile that she reserved only for me. I selfishly wanted to keep it all to myself.

Jayde switched our positions, laying me down on the blanket with care, her familiar weight settling on top of me. I felt that hunger again as her mouth went to my neck. There was a small voice in the back of my head that told me I probably shouldn’t let a werewolf’s teeth so close to my throat, but the amount of trust I had in Jayde only made it thrilling. The gentle pinch I felt when she nipped at me made my nerves spark in the best way. I could always feel when she wanted to bite harder, and loved her for the restraint she showed. Jayde knew exactly how I liked it.

“Let me know when to stop.” Jayde said against my ear.

Her voice made me shiver under her. “What makes you think I want you to?”

Her breath tickled my skin when she let out a small chuckle. “Some activities are best kept behind closed doors where I can do what I want to you without worrying about possible prying eyes.”

“Good point.” I said, bringing her back up to my lips. “Just kiss me.”

It was so easy to let the entire world just fade away when I was kissing her. The gentle cadence of her lips against mine sent me to a completely different realm. It made me feel safe and excited and loved. All at once. I could never get enough of her. I was aware of every movement she made, every inch where her body was pressed against mine. My senses became so alive whenever she was near just so they could drink in every drop of her. I wondered if this is what she felt all the time or if it was even more intense for her.

We were both getting into it. Perhaps more than we intended, because I felt Jayde’s thigh grind into me. The friction caused me to moan into our kisses, and that noise snapped me out of it. Another movement like that, and we would pass the point of no return. I had just enough self restraint pull back, remembering her words. Though I was sure we were close to reaching a point where neither of us would care, I wanted to at least give her the chance to change her mind.

“Okay,” I uttered through uneven breaths, placing my hand to her shoulder to push her back a couple inches. “Do you want to stop?”

The question seemed to bring Jayde back to Earth too. She looked down at me for a few seconds, pondering what she wanted. Then, she looked around us and nodded. “Not really, but I don’t want to do it here.”

I smiled at her, raising a hand to caress her cheek, “That’s fine with me.”

Jayde leaned down to kiss me one more time. Her gratitude present in her soft peck, and she slid off of me, lying on her back beside me. We were quiet for a few minutes, just staring up at the trees reaching into the clouded sky, before Jayde looked around the blanket for something. I watched her curiously as she grabbed the book I had been reading, only looking at it long enough to read the title, and handing it to me.

“Will you read to me?” She asked.

“You don’t even know what the book is about.” I replied with amusement.

“I don’t care, I just want to hear your voice.”

I stared at her, unable to hold back a smile or the noticeable blush that I felt color my cheeks. I flipped over onto my stomach and grabbed my glasses. My fingers flipped through the pages, looking for the place I had left off. Even though I didn’t mark it, it wasn’t hard to find the part I was on. Jayde watched me almost the entire time I read, her gaze only straying to look for whatever creature had disturbed the serene quiet or to shut her eyes for a few moments. I read to her until the sun started to set. Until, even with my glasses on, it became too hard to track the words on the pages. Jayde took the book from me, and as I was about to ask what she was doing, she started to read where I stopped.

I looked at her completely baffled that she could read with such ease. “How can you see?”

She paused and looked up at me, eyes glowing softly in gold. “Werewolf remember?”

“Of course, you have built-in night vision goggles.” I said, throwing my glasses aside dramatically like they were useless, “How could I forget?”

Jayde smirked and continued her reading. I was certain that she could tell how much I was enjoying the book, and loved her for reading it too me when I couldn’t. It was a way to prolong our time together out here, and I would’ve used any excuse. My worries completely vanished in this space with her, dissipating through the trees like morning fog. I folded my arms under my head while I watched her read, letting the sound of her voice wash over me.

She was so beautiful, and the simplicity of her reading to me was utterly entrancing. I was overwhelmed by my love for her in this moment, enthralled with every sentence that left her lips. The way she read it to me made me enjoy the story even more. I could watch her all night, but it was getting late. With the sun being gone, the night was bringing the chill of October. Plus, my eyes were growing heavy.

Sensing this, Jayde only read two chapters. Her slender fingers folded the top corner of the page, shutting the book and setting it aside. When she saw me staring at her with tired focus, she rested her head on her hand, smiling at me and softly asked, “What are you thinking, my love?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I said.

We’ve said I love you to each other more times than I can count. I knew that Jayde loves me more than she’s ever loved anyone, and she knew the same about me. But neither of us has said something quite like this. I realized that when Jayde’s eyes widened slightly. The statement wasn’t much different from everything else we’ve told each other, but it somehow felt like an entirely new confession.

A part of me panicked at the look on Jayde’s face, but then she leaned in to place an incredibly soft kiss to my lips. I kissed her back, and her hand came up to rest on my cheek. “I hope it’s a long life.” She whispered against my lips.

I couldn’t help how giddy her response made me. My grin was too big to continue kissing her, so instead, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer. It was the first time she ever said that she wanted a long life. And she wanted it with me. Words just couldn’t express how that small sentence made me feel. It made everything worth it.

I held her against me for a few long moments, enjoying her presence, but remembering how warm she was and not wanting to give that up just yet. Jayde seemed to have caught on to that, and I heard her release an amused huff.

“You know, if we go home, we can curl up in front of a fire.” She suggested.

“But I want to stay here forever.” I said, unraveling myself from her.

Her eyes studied me again. Even though it was dark, I knew she had no trouble seeing me. With or without glowing eyes. “Me too.”

“We can come back.” I admitted, knowing that we would both benefit from a warm fireplace and some dinner. “Maybe next time we’ll bring camping supplies.”

“That sounds like a great plan.” Jayde gave me a quick kiss before getting up. “Come on, I’ll give you a piggy-back ride home.”

“That sounds like a great plan.” I said excitedly, jumping up to pack our things for the walk back to the Lodge.

#ocs #original characters #original writing #original story #werewolf #wlw #listen writing them being cute like this in incredibly healing #also I need to write more interactions with Jayde in her wolf form #cause Nadya 100% has white fur all over her clothes #werewolves make the best gfs cause you get to be soft w ur girl and also doggie snuggles #my ocs #My writing #Jayde #Nadya #Nadya pov

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thewhiterabbit42 · 7 years ago

Text

An Honorary Winchester

Part 1 of Out of Grace (human Gabriel series)

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word count: 10938… oops

Tags: Smut, fingering, unprotected sex, human Gabriel, short reader

Summary: It would be great to have an archangel in your back pocket. Too bad this one’s human and in as much of a bind as you are when you find yourselves smack dab in the middle of a werewolves’ den.

Author’s note: This was written for @gone-to-fight-the-fairies Supernatural’s Summer of Heroes Challenge (I’m sorry this is late!). My quote was: Scott Lang: “On my Signal, run like hell.”

All tags are at the end. If you find a line through yours, it wouldn’t work :(

Special thanks to my beta @sumara62, first of her blogname, Queen of the Commas, Purveyor of Descriptives, and (likely) Receiver of Headaches thanks to my muse operating in one tense and my story being written in another. Also to @blondecoffeecake for all the encouragement and for answering important science questions. Thanks ever so much for being my sunshine.

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

This was not good.

Your eyes scanned the room through the hidden vantage point within the wall, and they widened as four more figures entered through the main door.

This was more than not good. This wasn’t even bad. This was straight up ugly.

In all your time of hunting, you’d never had the odds stacked so terribly against you. This particular group of monsters was well-organized, and well-funded enough to have their own bunker-like structure. They also appeared to be far more well-numbered than anyone originally anticipated.

If you hadn’t slipped down a hill and crash landed through the smallest window in existence, you might not have been so in need of a well-timed rescue.

At least you weren’t alone. Gabriel had managed to squeeze himself through the frame while Sam and Dean circled back to try and find the main entrance. These days, however, Heaven’s weapon was looking a bit less terrible and far more soft.

Might have had to do with how many bags of skittles the man ate… or how he was, in fact, an actual man now.

Gabriel didn’t like to talk about how he lost his grace. All things considered, it wasn’t hard to figure out it likely had something to do with Lucifer. The last time anyone had seen him as an archangel had been back during the apocalypse, saving the Winchester’s asses. It might have actually been the last time anyone had seen him, period, before you stumbled upon him hitchhiking his way back to the brothers.

You’d never met any of them before that. Now, you couldn’t get rid of them either. Except, it seemed, when you actually needed their help.

“You have a plan?” He murmured.

Well it certainly wasn’t to get screwed. At least not by the pack of werewolves congregating in the room in front of you.

You wracked your brain, trying to come up with a solution, though the way he was practically on top of you was making it awfully hard to think about anything other than the way his dulcet tone caressed your ear or how his breath was ghosting warmly over you.

It wasn’t his fault. He was mostly this close to keep from being heard, though it did mean his lips were as close to your ear as they could be without actually touching. This might have been as close as they’ve been to any part of you other than the back of your hand.

You swallowed, doing your best to also ignore the way his chest was brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“Don’t die?” You finally replied. You practically heard his eye roll through the mounting tension.

“If there’s anyone I’d rather get screwed by the Winchesters’ with, it’s you, but I’d much rather those prepositions be reversed,” he whispered.

“You mean positions?” You questioned absently, doing another head count in hopes the last several had been inaccurately high.

“I meant exactly what I said.” A smirk sang through his words and when you finally got the punchline, your eyes were the ones rolling heavenward.

You knew he was just trying to keep things light, to keep you both calm, and possibly even distract you a little while he came up with a plan. You also knew it was all just bravado. Gabriel had been a regular part of your life for so long enough now that if any part of that statement were true, he would have made a move already, because, unlike you, he was not a coward.

“So… you would rather get screwed with the Winchesters’ by me?” You informed him, tone as dry as your smile. “Because I want you to know upfront, I have a two dick maximum.”

You turned your head to gauge his reaction. His nose grazed your temple as he let out a short, amused, puff of air through it.

“Ok, maybe not quite what I meant, shortcake,” his voice was a pleasant rumble in the back of his throat, though a single note of exasperation rang softly through his tone. “Besides, you should know by now I don’t play well with others and I’m not really a fan of sharing. Candy. Toys. Anything.”

You were about to tease him about that one time he had to share a bed with Dean because you and Sam refused to (and because that particular motel carpet was liable to give you some infectious disease just looking at it) when the door across the room opened again.

The addition of four more guests had the playful remark dying in your throat.

You turned your attention fully back to the two dozen or so monsters milling about, having tea, eating cookies, chatting about the weather and how many bodies they had to hide this summer or whatever it was that werewolves made small talk about.

The breath he let out was the heaviest sound you ever heard him make, and his hands came down on your shoulders. You were wearing your favorite jacket, broken in just right. The leather was old, worn, supple, and well loved, so the fact his fingers were moving over that at the moment didn’t really surprise you. Neither did the anxious drumming that scurried down the side of your arms, halting just above your elbows.

Gabriel liked to touch. Anything soft, smooth, furry. The easiest way to cheer up the ex-trickster was to plop something cute and fuzzy in front of him (and though he’d never admit it, making surprise trips to pet stores and humane societies was one of your more often used pick me ups for him). He was particularly fond of things like silk, satin, and velvet, but textures in general seemed to draw him in.

His touch often came when things were idle, when he was bored and in need of something to occupy his attention, or something to keep him grounded as his mind whirred away. When it didn’t have to do with sensory stimulation, it was tied to his nerves. It was a tossup as to whether or not it was the second or third one of those driving his need to have his hands on you at the moment.

Likely a little of both.

He guided you back along the passageway, moving you far enough away to be out of their earshot. He released you, pacing slightly as he continued to think. His nervous energy was infectious, and you shoved your hands into your pockets, hoping to find something to fiddle with. You forced yourself to at least act like you were calm, however, and you leaned back against the wall, once again trying to think of a way out of this mess.

“We gotta make a move,” he finally said, breaking the silence as his movements stilled. Despite his assertion, his gaze remained uncertain, muddying the waters on just how necessary he felt it was.

“We should to wait for Sam and Dean,” you answered. You were outnumbered twelve to one. If you had found this place a few days ago, you might have had some hope within the dozen people being kept prisoner not far from where you stood. Now, however, the majority of them were weak with hunger and thirst, and you couldn’t risk putting them in harm’s way in the condition they were in.

Gabriel stepped closer, placing his hand above your head on the wall as he leaned in toward you.

“We’ve been waiting” he reminded emphatically, trying to keep his voice at a low hush. “We wait any longer and our backup is going to need backup before coming in after us.”

He was right. He was also so close you could feel his breath across your skin. It smelled like citrus and sweetness, and you’d put money on it if you reached into his pockets you’d find a fresh skittles wrapper in there.

You were about to crack a joke about it when the look on his face shifted and he suddenly pinned you beneath a strange stare. It was packed to the brim in a way you’d never seen before, and there was no way you could hope to untangle all the threads woven through gold within the few short moments you had.

“Alright, the plan is, on my signal, run like hell,” he declared, leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, you could only look at him. Working with and even existing around the former archangel had been a significant learning curve for you. It had taken you some time to pick up on his subtleties, to see past his facades, and to also calibrate your bullshit detector, which was currently giving you all sorts of off the charts readings.

“Gabriel…”

“The door on the other side of the room is the key,” he spoke over you, pushing things right along. “You know which one I’m talking about?”

You pursed your lips, irritated, but you nodded. It was one of several leading into it, but likely the only one that led out considering it was where most of the werewolves came through.

“Good. Head straight for it. Don’t look back,” he finished.

“What are you going to do?” You demanded, suspicious of just how this plan of his was supposed to work.

“The usual. Bring a little pandemonium and chaos to the party. Liven things up. Or unliven them, ideally,” he smirked, though it seemed a little stiff. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, and what he brought up for your inspection had your eyes widening.

“Is that a grenade?”

Where the hell had he gotten that?

He grinned. “Always wanted to play around with one of these bad boys. I’ve been guaranteed this one’s filled with silver. Guess we’ll find out how reputable my man really is.”

He quickly pocketed the weapon before reaching down to his side. He unclipped his gun, handing it to you with that same intent stare as before.

“Take it,” he ordered.

You glanced at the pistol, your stomach sinking as you realized what the real plan was.

Your father always warned you never to find yourself a good man. Good men, in this life, Sport, mean you die a widow. Find yourself one you can trust with most things, but who’s selfish enough not to sacrifice his entire world for yours, unless that’s all that’s left to throw at something.

Gabriel, was not a mediocre man. Now matter how much he liked to drive others insane, or how much of an ass he could be, when it came down to it, he was a good one, and good men could never be trusted not to do something stupid when it came to protecting people they cared about.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” you stated, the finality of that truth clearly intoned.

The thought of making it out without him had you more terrified than not walking out of there at all.

“We don’t know what’s through that door, sweetheart, and you need to clear a path for us pronto if we’re gonna get out of here… but you do whatever it takes to get those two muttonheads in here and get those people out,” he pulled his hand back from the wall, hooking a finger beneath your chin, an unexpected softness overtaking him. “Understood?”

Sometimes you wondered if he knew about the torch you carried for him (and just how big it was). These moments seemed to be happening more and more, popping up in the middle of some impossible or dangerous situation, and always when he needed to convince you to do something that put him at risk.

“I’m not leaving here without you and I mean it,” you reiterated.

“Don’t argue with me, kid. I am millions of years older than you.” There was a wryness to his tone, though the undercurrent of patience suggested he wasn’t entirely joking.

You put your hand on the gun, your fingers brushing over his. You could feel your heart leaping into your throat at the determination in his gaze, and it made your words come out more as a plea than the directive it was intended to be.

“And I’ve never left anyone behind on a hunt before. Don’t ask me to do it to you.”

Your tongue darted out across your bottom lip and his eyes immediately dropped down, drawn to the movement. His head dipped ever so slightly closer, and your heart leapt right back down into your chest, hammering madly. It looked as if he was about to – no, he wouldn’t – but he was so close and –

Something changed. Something had shadows descending swift and harsh across amber and just as quickly as you were convinced he was going to kiss you, he stepped back. He put his hand over yours, pushing the gun back in your direction.

“Take it.”

You swallowed back on your disappointment, but it was too late; your fight had already been extinguished, and you ended up taking the weapon from him. He fished out another magazine from his pocket, wordlessly handing it to you.

His smile was meant to be reassuring, but you could see the weight clinging to the darks of his eyes, making them appear faded. “You ready for this?”

***

The correct answer was no. No you were not prepared for any of this. You’d been put into messed up situations before, but this - this was intense.

First of all, grenades were loud. Really loud. Especially in close quarters. Your ears not only rang the same way they did when you fired your gun, but there was an additional muffled quality, dampening your hearing further.

Second, they packed a punch. You weren’t sure where Gabriel intended to hit, but it almost didn’t matter. The shrapnel had scattered across the entire room, blowing bulbs, shattering glass, taking chunks out of furniture, or spraying them with holes.

Third, when werewolves screamed in agony, they didn’t sound any different than any other person, and when they had pieces taken out of them, they didn’t look any different either.

The entire experience was far more disorienting than you expected and for a moment you could only stare at the terrible scene in front of you.

“Move!”

Gabriel’s voice edged into your awareness, but it was the way he dragged you, stumbling through the chaos, that had your mind sharpening again. You worked on burying the horror, numbing it beneath the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear as members of the pack began to shake free from their own daze.

One of them leapt up, rushing blindly at you, and it took three shots to take him down. Another soon followed, and the way it closed in faster than you’d ever seen, its sights set on Gabriel, put you almost in a full-blown panic. You caught it just above the heart, and your father’s voice swam back into your consciousness: almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades. You miss a shot, Sport, and you potentially miss saving a life.

The monster growled, and for a moment you feared it was going to lunge. At least, that would have been the smart move. It raised its arm high, projecting the wild swing it took at Gabriel, giving the ex-trickster and you plenty of notice to anticipate the attack. He leapt back just as you pulled the trigger, and this time you hit your mark.

The ones that came through the door were just as feral, and you realized it must be the smell driving them mad, an insanity-inducing cocktail comprised of blood, death, fear, anger, grief, and God knew what else. Thankfully, it seemed like the majority were already in that room with you, because not only had you kicked the hornet’s nest, but hitting them this way had apparently stirred them into such a frenzy that nothing short of hitting their heart was going to slow them down.

Unfortunately, most of the ones capable of attacking were almost recovered enough to start fighting back.

“We need to get to the hallway,” you urged. You were way too exposed in the large area and not only did you need cover, but you needed a way to funnel the enemy so you weren’t dealing with all of them at once.

Gabriel continued forward, and you moved with him, your back close to his as you tried to keep them off you. When there wasn’t anything coming, you went on the offensive, taking out the ones closest to pulling themselves to their feet before they could become a direct threat.

“Clear!” He announced and you glanced back to find he had the door cracked. He motioned for you to go through and you leveled a look of disbelief before dragging him alongside you. Unfortunately, there was no way to lock the door behind you, leaving you both vulnerable to far too many wolves still capable of tearing your throat out.

“Let’s just hope this place isn’t a maze,” you muttered before you both sprinted down the hall.

***

You weren’t going to make it. They were everywhere: lurking behind every door you passed, wandering into the hallways you needed to pass through. Most of them had no idea you were coming, but the moment they laid eyes on you, they were primed to kill on sight.

You needed a way to slow them down. None of doors had locks that could be utilized without keys, and as more slowly built on your trail, the more you realized this couldn’t end well for either of you.

If you didn’t find a way to box them in or reach the exit (and the Winchesters), you were going to be in trouble. You made sure to keep Gabe as close to you as possible, especially when any enemies were nearby, anticipating that he would make take matters into his own hands the first chance he got.

You pushed through another doorway, surprised to find yourself in another large, conference room type area. Gabriel immediately shut the door behind you, bracing his weight against it.

“Get that chair,” he ordered, pointing to one against the wall. You grabbed it and, guessing his intent, jammed it beneath the door handle. Both of you worked on putting what else you could in front of it before quickly working on a second door that looked like it connected to some of the side areas you’d passed. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would certainly buy you some time.

A chorus of growls sounded along the hallway you entered from as you rushed into the one you hoped led to the way out. A thunderous rattling and the sound of wood splintering caught your ears. You rounded the corner, the sound fading, only to be met with another identical looking hallway. You finally realized you had no idea just how big this place was or how many more corridors you had to get through before you could even get out.

You needed a new plan, and fast.

Hope flared fierce within your chest as the two of you took another turn, and the door at the end of this hall appeared different from the rest. A large, steel, sliding bar was installed as some sort of deadbolt, which could only mean one thing.

Relief flooded your system, overriding some of the adrenaline as you and Gabriel exchanged a look. He smiled, taking hold of your hand, and for a moment you actually believed that maybe, just maybe, things would turn out alright.

You had always been a sucker for the hope of a happy ending.

The unmistakable echo of footsteps and snarls informed you this end would be bloody and brutal.

Gabriel picked up his pace, practically dragging you and your short legs along as you did your best to keep up with him. You were only slowing him down. If he wasn’t so concerned about you, he could have been through that next door and easily increasing the distance between the monsters and himself.

An idea formed in your head and you winced, because he was going to be so pissed at you. It didn’t matter. You weren’t going to be what dragged down such a complicated and magnificent being who deserved far more than what the world had ever given him.

He had also been the one who handed you all the guns.

You let him break away from you, allowing a little distance to form as you pretended to be winded. He turned slightly, keeping you in his peripheral even as he opened the door and peeked around the edge of it.

“It’s clear! Come on!” He gestured for you to hurry and you waited until he was fully through the threshold before picking up your pace. It was perfect timing. As he he kept watch down the hallway, he was too distracted to notice the way you were working toward an all out sprint until you were almost on top of him, and he had just enough time for his brows to hit his hairline before you dropped your shoulder. You collided with him, sending him sprawling across the floor. You wasted no time, dropping to your knee and removing a small six-shooter strapped to your ankle for oh shit situations just like this one. You prayed it would be enough and slid it in his direction.

“What the hell are you doing?” He wheezed. You grimaced, realizing you had knocked the wind out of him.

“Whatever it takes,” you apologized, guilt bleeding through your words.

His eyes went wider than you’d ever seen, and your mouth went dry as you saw the same fear you felt earlier at the thought of leaving him behind.

“Get them in as fast as you can,” you said, proud of the steadiness in your tone, though the reality of what you were about to do was about to come crashing down upon you.

“Wait,” he gasped, hastily pulling himself to his feet as he tried to reason with you “You don’t need to do anything stupid, short stack. We’re almost there.”

You backed up when you saw the way his body was tensing, as if preparing to throw himself back through that doorway or you over his shoulder. Even knowing how fast he was, you underestimated how much quicker he could move than you, especially given the right motivation. You barely made it back around the door in time, and he was so close when you slammed it you might have literally shut it on his face.

A frustrated growl rose from behind it as you tried to keep him from pushing back through. You fumbled with the deadbolt, struggling to keep your weight braced against it and keep it steady long enough to lock it. The way he kept throwing himself wildly at it made it impossible for you to get the metal to line up properly.

“Father, dammit, open the door!” He shouted, a panicked edge entering his tone. “Don’t do this - don’t you dare do this to me, y/n, please.”

What started as a command, slowly morphed into a plea, and your resolve almost broke beneath his desperation. The pack was close to descending upon you, however, reminding you why you needed to do this. You lowered yourself, pushing your feet against the floor with renewed purpose. Putting everything you had into it, you shoved back, managing to steady the door long enough for you to jam the bar into place.

“Go!” You shouted when he continued pounding. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, rising uncomfortably, your signal you were out of time. Steeling yourself for the oncoming onslaught, you turned, drawing both of your weapons. You had just swapped out the magazines and settled into your stance when the first one rounded the corner.

As the pack began to flood the hall in front of you, Gabriel’s frantic banging faded beneath the loud pop of your firearms, and you poured all your concentration into making each bullet count before you ran out of them or luck.

***

Despite the fact you escaped death’s clutches relatively unharmed and didn’t have to leave anyone behind, you had a feeling you were so, so screwed still.

Gabriel hadn’t spoken a word to you since your sincere attempt at saving his life (and the lives of all the captives that had still been waiting in cages to be rescued). You weren’t sure if he was seething, or just perfectly happy to let Dean have first dibs at a tirade. If you had to guess, he was beyond the emotional capability of a normal human being when it came to whatever sentiment was lurking in his gaze, if that darkness lining gold was as infinite as it seemed.

He wouldn’t even look at or acknowledge you, his stare fixed somewhere out in the darkness as you headed toward the closest twenty-four hour diner Sam could find.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dean demanded.

No, actually, you weren’t.

You knew Dean cared, and the reason he was thundering his disapproval down upon you was that you had scared the shit out of all of them, which was why you were actively ignoring him. You weren’t the type of person that did well receiving lectures, but you also weren’t the type to hold it against them for being furious you gave them an unconventional stress test on their hearts.

“Dean, just take it easy, alright?” Sam interjected.

Dear, sweet, Sammy. He had tried to disarm the nuke his brother had become once all the danger had passed and the people had made it safely out. Not only had he failed, but he had drawn an impressive amount of his brother’s ire for a few minutes and you hadn’t expect him to intervene on your behalf again.

You’d have to remember to pick up his favorite candy or beer when you had a chance.

“Sammy, stay out of this,” Dean warned.

“Look, she gets it. Only you, me, and Gabriel are allowed to engage in risky heroics,” the younger man sassed back.

Correction: you were going to have to take this man on a vacation weekend for the lip he just gave.

The look on Dean’s face was priceless. The mixture of shock and utter betrayal had you sniggering quietly to yourself.

“I can’t believe you,” he shook his head in disappointment. “She could have died –”

“But she didn’t. In fact, her idea likely saved them both and all those people,” Sam tried reasoning. His brother, however, was beyond hearing it at the moment.

“The only reason any of this worked out was because we came along and prevented her from getting ripped to shreds!” He insisted, his eyes swinging back to you in the mirror. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you are getting sloppy, really sloppy, and if you can’t get your head in the game, I’m benching you.”

His words were like throwing gasoline onto a small, flickering flame. Everything exploded in a brief, fiery burst as your patience finally wore thin.

“Listen here, Winchester, you are not my father, and since I don’t have any lingering daddy issues like some people in this car–” and by some, you meant all of them, “– I am not in search of one. My own never got away with telling me I couldn’t hunt, and you sure as hell aren’t going to, so you better check whatever part of your issues are causing you to treat me like I’m some god damn child. We have all taken risks before. We’ve all thrown ourselves to the wolves to save someone else, so don’t lecture me because it was my turn to do it.”

“You didn’t just throw yourselves to the wolves, you locked yourself in there with them! A pack of rabid ones, I might add,” Dean snarkily reminded. “And if we had come in one minute later –”

“But. You. Didn’t,” you snapped, eyes burning as you met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. “I do get it. I almost died, but almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

Surprise cut through the bulk of his fury just before he turned back to the road. White-knuckled fingers gripped the steering wheel and you watched the muscle on the side of his jaw go rigid.

“Not in this family it doesn’t,” he muttered.

“I’m not a Winchester.” The words were out of your mouth before you realized what it was you were saying. A heavy silence fell between you and for the first time, Gabriel’s attention drifted back to what was happening in the vehicle.

You would have thought you had insulted their father… or brought up the uncomfortable fact that their father got yours killed by how thick the tension had become.

“Don’t you pull that, crap,” Dean grumbled, obviously wounded by the remark. “We have been through too much together for you to act like you’re not one of us.”

He shook his head emphatically, as if he couldn’t believe you had the gall to insist you didn’t have a place among them. That wasn’t what you were saying, but there was no point in telling him that now. Dean wasn’t likely to hear much of anything until he’d had some time to calm down (and put something in his stomach).

You were all running on empty, and you hoped stopping for food would help settle most of the discourse on just how stupid you were for wanting to protect your friend.

You rode the rest of the way in silence, which thankfully wasn’t far. Before long, Sam was guiding Dean off the highway to a small building no bigger than a bus. There were more cars than you expected at this hour, and Dean was forced to pull around into the shadows of a small parking area behind the building. Once he found a spot, he shut off the engine, and you honestly couldn’t get out of that car fast enough. Unfortunately, neither could Dean, and the way he strode around the vehicle toward you with renewed purpose suggested he still had yet to finish with you.

No doubt he was coming to browbeat you properly, face to face.

“Dean –” Sam sighed, his tone saying enough as he moved to interrupt his brother. Dean just put his hand up, his eyes fixed intently on you as he approached.

“I get why being one of us might not be the most desirable thing, given our family’s histories,” he began, his voice much calmer than before. “But for the record, you are one of us in every way that matters.”

The earnestness beneath his words caught you off guard. The dark pit of sentiments leftover from this evening began to churn, and a slow-creeping guilt crawled its way up from within it. You pursed your lips, trying to force it, and everything else rushing to the surface, back down where you could keep a tight lid on it.

“People come and go in our line of work, but, for whatever reason, you haven’t. You’ve chosen us as much as we’ve chosen you, and you can’t expect us to be thrilled when we come into a place fully anticipating to find that we’ve lost you, understand?”

The problem wasn’t that you hadn’t understood this from the beginning, it was that you didn’t appreciate feeling like you were being spoken down to for doing what you thought was right.

It didn’t matter now. Everything had worked out. Everyone seemed to be done yelling at you. You would all move past this, and by sunup, everything would go back to normal again.

You nodded up at Dean and he smiled.

“Good,” he said, clapping you so heartily on the shoulder your entire body swayed, “Because I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

He released you, that purpose in his frame now turned elsewhere as he wasted no time heading toward the diner.

Sam saw you hesitate and he lingered, watching you lean against the car, and take a moment to enjoy the crisp, fall air around you.

“You ok?” He asked.

You nodded. “I just need a minute.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing slightly before trailing after his brother.

You shoved your hands into your pockets, looking up at the night sky. You turned, your back resting against the cold metal as your eyes drifting over the twinkling lights scattered across the darkness. You were surprised at how clearly you could see the stars, and as you focused on losing yourself to the infiniteness of the galaxies above you, you felt the guilt and horrors from this evening begin to drift away.

It also helped to have your mind wandering back to the last time you’d stopped to admire the heavens.

It had been a few months ago, right after you and Gabriel had solved a case involving a Wendigo that had wandered into a national forest, preying on campers. The two of you had decided to stay a little longer, and the park rangers had been so grateful for your help that they had allowed you to stay, free of charge. The whole idea had come from a remark Gabe had made about not seeing the allure of “roughing it” in the wilderness.

You were only supposed to stay a few days, but those few turned into a few more and before you knew it, an entire week had passed. It was the best week you’d had since you father had died. Possibly the best week you’d ever had, and you knew it had less to do with the what or where and far more to do with the who.

You caught movement out of the corner of your eye and you found the who in question moving around the side of the car. You hadn’t even realized the former archangel was still out there. You stood up, about to move toward him when you caught the dark look on his face.

“Gabe?”

He pushed you back against the car, his grip tight on your shoulder as he leveled a finger right in your face.

“Don’t you ever do something like that again, do you understand?!”

For a moment you could only blink. You’d heard Gabriel yell before, mostly at Dean, but he had never raised his voice to you. He wasn’t shouting now, either, though you wished he would, because whatever this was was far more intense and unsettling than having him unleash on you the way Dean had.

“If those two idiots want to be big, dumb heroes, let them, but you - you are too important to be pulling stunts like that!” There’s so much beneath his tone, so much swirling within gold, that you haven’t a clue as to what he was talking about, only that he believed it.

“Gabriel, I’m - I’m nobody,” you stammered, so confused as to why he would think you were anything special.

“You are everything!” He insisted, though it wasn’t his anger that hit the tipping point. It was something far more potent as his voice grew strained with the underlying trepidation. A mist formed over amber, and your eyes widened as you realized what was happening.

You’d only seen him tear up once. It was a brief and powerful thing to witness, a mighty archangel on his knees before you, moved beneath the burden of his humanity. Helplessness was not a concept Gabriel did well with, then or now, and you suddenly realize it was one you inadvertently reintroduced by closing that door on him today.

You should have known better. You were the only one who’d been there with any consistency since his transformation, and being left alone (even though you know the Winchesters would continue to look after him) must have been a terrifying prospect for him.

“I’m sorry…” You took the hand still pointing at you into your own, folding your fingers around his until they finally relax within your grip.

His eyes closed a moment and he inhaled slowly. He took his time breathing back out, and when he looked back at you, everything had changed. The chaos settled to an absolute certainty, one you’d only ever seen from beings with lifespans far greater than yours. It was a reminder of how much more he used to be, and the vulnerability and genuine emotion beneath his words also showed you how much more he was now.

“I can’t do this without you,” he confessed, and for a brief moment he looked utterly lost.

You swallowed. It took a lot for him to admit his weaknesses (or as most people called them, feelings), but this was more than that. This was huge for him, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was something more hanging in the balance, something more than just what he had told you.

You took a moment, weighing your words carefully. Gabriel rarely put himself out there like this, and the last thing you wanted was to give the wrong response and discourage him from ever doing so again.

Sometimes the simplest and safest thing you can offer someone is the truth. Your father’s voice sounded in the back of your mind. It was comforting to have his advice so ingrained in you that he was still able to provide it during times like this.

“Why do you think I pushed you through that door?” You asked, your voice timid as you stepped out on that shaky limb beside your friend.

For a moment he just studied you, his gaze hard and appraising. He almost looked like he didn’t trust you, but you had never given him a reason to doubt what you said… had you?

“I’ve always hunted alone,” you explained, a nervous thrum flooding your veins. “As soon as I was old enough to, anyway. My father thought it was for the best. He always told me when you hunt with someone you care about, you make more mistakes, and you take different risks.”

Your teeth worried briefly over your bottom lip. You’d never shared this with anyone before. You’d never had anyone to share something like this with. It had always been about keeping people at arm’s length, especially after your father’s death.

Then along came Gabriel, who had you breaking every rule you and your father had ever laid out.

“He was right. I wouldn’t have barred that door for just anyone… but I’ve also come to realize, he was wrong, about doing this all alone. I can’t do this without you either.” You gave him a shy, nervous smile, hoping that this would settle the storm rumbling within honeyed hues. Everything only grew fiercer, however, and you weren’t certain anything you said had actually helped rather than somehow making a mess of things.

You were about to apologize when the hand at your shoulder slid up to the back of your neck. You went completely still, your mind reeling, and the way he regarded you was as if this were a test. His eyes watched your every movement as his thumb began to trace along the fine hairs at your nape. Goosebumps raced out from beneath his touch, compounded by ripples of excitement as you watched his gaze trail down to your lips.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice was rough with emotion and you blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly. The way he cupped your face with his other hand, however, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone, suggested you were not suffering from any auditory hallucinations.

The look in his eyes grew as the seconds passed, but he continued to wait, and you realized despite his statement, there was a clear question being posed. You tentatively reached up, running your fingers along the beginnings of a beard growing out along his cheeks.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You asked, your fingers daring as they drifted into the mess of curls behind his head. He waited for you to pull him toward you before he did the same to you, and the moment your mouth touched his, a thrilling shock wave erupted straight down the center of you.

There was a hesitance beneath both your lips, as if neither one of you could believe this was really happening. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps you were still back in the werewolf den, bleeding out, and to block out the horror of your final moments, your brain had conjured your greatest desire instead.

If this was how you went, you could live with that… or die with it, as the case might have actually been.

You would likely die either way, with the way your pulse took off when he nudged you back against the car. His fingers weaved through the back of your hair, tilting your head back just as he grew emboldened enough to take your lower lip between teeth, nibbling and drawing out a pleased sigh from somewhere deep inside you. His tongue swept out, stealing a taste of you before his mouth became firmer, ravenous to the point you questioned just how long it had been since he’d done this with anyone.

His hands joined his hungry exploration, slipping beneath your shirt in search of skin. He ghosted along your stomach before doing a wide arc around your side and down your lower back. His fingers dipped beneath the band of your jeans, brushing along the edge of your underwear as he circled back toward the front of you.

You knew exactly where this was headed, and you had a feeling if you didn’t refocus him soon, he was going to take you right there against the side of car.

The thought only had you even dizzier with desire.

You reached beside you, fumbling for the handle. When you finally got a grip on it, you nudged him forward with your hips. He took the hint, but not before he grabbed the loopholes of your pants, jerking you flush against him. You gasped as his erection dug into the front of you, and you managed you guide him sideways enough to swing the door open. You grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him with you into the car. Despite Dean’s voice niggling at the back of your mind (watch the shoes on the upholstery!), you dropped down onto the seat, footwear and all, dragging yourself back by the elbows as Gabe climbed in over you.

He paused long enough to shut the door behind him, and gold glinted in a way you’d never seen before. That was when the the archangel in him emerged, coming out in the sinuous, graceful way he crawled up the length of you. The human in him, however, was what had him pressing his mouth back to yours again in haste, his tongue probing for entrance as he slipped his knee between your thighs.

You opened both lips and legs for him, a rush of heat and electricity enveloping you when he nestled against your mound and his tongue slide over yours. Your moan was echoed from him as he rocked his hips against you. He was already so hard, just as you were certain you were already soaked, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

When his hand glided up to your breast, fixing that transgression, you almost swore he read your mind, human or not.

You shifted out of your jacket, removing one of several hindrances as he continued mapping the curves of your body. You decided it was time to get to know his, your hands diving beneath his shirt before your palms skimmed the soft contour of his stomach. Three years ago, you imagined what you were touching was the rock-hard, washboard example of perfection.

You found this version of him far more attractive.

Your fingers wandered restlessly, trying to explore, but the fire he expertly stoked made you feel as if you couldn’t get enough of him fast enough. Your hands reached down the back of him, cupping that delicious ass you’d spent far too much time admiring, before giving it a firm squeeze. You followed with a sensual roll of your hips, enjoying the currents of desire that sparked upon hearing the way his breath hitched in response.

He broke away from your mouth, lips blazing across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Every lick, every suck, every bite had a purpose, and with every mark he left behind, he was claiming you inch by inch. It drove you wild, feeling the insatiable need beneath his touch, feeling his own want overflowing onto you along with the heat of his body.

It was too much and, yet, not nearly enough. You became acutely aware of just how hot it was, how stifling it felt beneath all your clothing with him pressed against you. It was an issue that needed fixing. Now.

You tugged open the front of your pants, kicking off your shoes, and the moment they hit the floor, he was up on his knees. His fingers curled beneath denim and cotton, and with one swift yank, he had your pants and panties down to your ankles. One more tug had them free, where they went sailing over his shoulder against the window.

His gaze roamed up the length of you, darkening with desire. “I want to see you. All of you.”

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t deny him what he asked, not when he looked at you in a way no other man ever had. It was like you were the only thing that existed, like seeing you laid bare before him was what he needed, more than the air in his lungs, more than for his heart to keep beating. More than anything, he just needed you, and the warmth that rushed into your cheeks was equal parts excitement and shyness.

You nervously pulled your shirt over your head, your eyes dropping away from his uncertainly. It had never mattered before what men thought about your body. Most of them were drunk enough to not care about the scars, scrapes, and bruises that came from hunts, but Gabriel was different. How many bodies had he seen in his lifetime? How many examples of perfection were already seared into his mind?

By the time you were out of your bra, the silence was more deafening than your pulse pounding in your ears.

He wasn’t just quiet. He was too quiet, and when you chanced a glance back up at him, you saw why. Everything was different. The carnal heat had been extinguished, leaving a vacuum of something in its wake. His face was completely unreadable as his eyes moved down the front of you, his throat bobbing once, twice, and when he finally completed his appraisal, he looked almost astonished.

“You are so beautiful,” he rasped, breathless as he reverently ran his hands along the back of your calves. A deep flush cascaded down from your cheeks, flooding your chest and running straight down the length of you. His palms smoothed up around the side of your thighs, and when they rose above the swell of your hips he dropped down onto his elbows, caging your lower body in place. He brought his mouth down to your hipbone, kissing and nipping his way across the sensitive band of skin beneath your stomach as he made his way toward the other side.

Your body squirmed beneath his attention as he diverted his course up towards your navel. You loved not only what he was doing to you, but how he looked as he did it. The way tousled, golden strands fell down across his face. The way amber turned absolutely molten whenever it flicked up to watch your own reactions. The way his lip would curl ever so slightly when he drew a particularly satisfying sound from you. Everything about him was intoxicating, ensnaring your senses and drawing you further beneath dark and decadent waves that lapped persistently at your core.

There was no way you were going to hold out much longer.

It took incredible restraint on your part not to divest him of his remaining clothing; even more to refrain from climbing into his lap to ride him in a way he’d never experienced before.

The inner edge of your resolve crumbled, and you grabbed his hand, cupping it over your breast. He groaned, his mouth stuttering as he brought his other hand up and brushed his thumbs across your aching peaks. The breathy moan that escaped your lips was pure satisfaction, and you arched into his touch, your body begging for more. He languidly circled the taut nubs before his mouth came up and latched onto one, lavishing you until he had you mewling beneath his ministrations.

A sense of urgency built beneath his movements, matching the flames of your desire that were quickly turning into an uncontrollable wildfire. The slightest touch had pleasure singing across your nerve-endings, and you couldn’t recall anyone ever making you feel this way.

The fingers from his free hand lightly dragged along your inner thigh. The sensation suddenly vanished, only to reappear along your folds. Your hips jerked as a solitary fingertip traced lightly down the front of them. You whimpered when he curled the tip inward, drawing it up along your slit until he found your entrance.

“Oh, father,” he groaned, and you were right there with him as he sank his finger into your entrance. “You’re so wet already.”

Your head dropped back, your eyes sliding shut as you focused on the abundance of sensations he was creating. The way he just held his finger there a moment was torturous, and just when you were worried that devious side of him was going to make an appearance, he withdrew, easing a second one inside of you. The ensuing stretch your walls gave has your hips lifting straight off the seat, taking him deeper within you.

You let out a half-groan, half-growl, and you were as gratified by the addition as you were dissatisfied when everything suddenly came to a halt. When you glanced up at him to see what happened, you found him with his eyes shut, looking deep in concentration as the tip of his nose came to rest in the valley between your breasts. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was savoring at that moment. Was it the fact you were already soaked? Was it the heat of your core that captivated him or was it simply the snug way you gripped around his fingers?

“I want to be inside you,” he pleaded and when his eyes reopened, liquid honey had all but been swallowed by pools of wanton lust that had his pupils blown wide. His mouth was hard and hungry as it seared its way back up to your neck where he sucked greedily against your collarbone. You pulled a breath in through your teeth, feeling the a mark form just as he began to scissor in and out of you. Your rocked your hips against his hand, urging him on.

“Please,” he beseeched.

“God, yes,” you sighed. “I need–” you cried out as he curled his fingers upward, hitting that delicious spot inside you just right. “–you now.”

He withdrew both hands from your body, and you whined, aching at the sudden loss of him. His shoes bounced off the door as he frantically kicked them off, but that was the most he removed, unable to wait another second before he was in you. He barely had his pants undone when he reached within his boxers, pulling himself out, aligning the tip, and pushing into you all in one swift movement.

Your groan melded with his, a duet of sinful satisfaction singing through the vehicle. The way you stretched around him was glorious, your entire body tingling with anticipation. He drew back a few inches, easing into you even further and the world began to melt away around the edges at how amazingly full you felt with him inside you.

“Oh… fuck,” he grunted, jaw clenched tight and his fingers dug uncomfortably into your waist.

“Gabriel,” you began when he didn’t move; his head drifted up, eyes locking with yours. “I want you to fuck me.”

There was as much dryness as impatience in your tone. Technically, he had only asked about being inside of you.

“As you wish, sugar,” his voice was low, husky, and filled with the same naked desire that glowed within gold as he flashed you a devastating smile. He pulled back out of you, dragging his tip along your walls, almost withdrawing completely before rolling his hips back into you. He repeated the languid movements as he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the top of your breasts, teasing at your peaks as he gave you some time to adjust to his size. His teeth flashed out, gently scraping along your nipple just before he released it, only to snap himself back against you.

You yelped, caught off guard by the hard, sudden thrust. His eyes were immediately on you, concern breaking through the heated haze of his stare. You pushed his pants down to his knees, digging your fingers into his ass. This was one part of him that seemed to always stay firm, mostly thanks to all the running around he did on cases since he hated staying idle for very long.

“Again,” you urged, nipping hungrily along his jaw, and though the noise you made when he did was sharp, there was no doubt about whether it was pleasure or pain. “Faster.”

His gaze never left yours as he followed your directive, increasing his pace until he was pounding away at you properly.

“Oh fu-uck, Gabe,” you panted, raising your hips to meet every one of his thrusts. He grabbed your knee, settling your thigh up against his waist. You eagerly raised the other, locking your legs behind him.

“Father, you feel amazing, shortcake. So hot. So tight,” he purred. “This is - I’ve never - I want to fuck you in every position imaginable and then when we’re finished, I want to come up with ones that have never been done before.”

The more he talked, the more you unconsciously clenched around him. The throaty quality of his voice as he began to unravel beneath the input his senses were feeding him was hotter than anything you’d ever heard before. The hunger beneath his words only added to the throbbing ache building within your stomach and you were already so close to coming completely undone.

His hands slipped beneath your thighs, reaching up to generously cup your backside before lifting it off the seat. He pushed into you again, testing the new angle and depth. You loved the way his eyes fluttered as he went as far as this position would let him. Wanting more for him, for both of you, you arched your back, lifting further off the seat and settling your hands beneath you to help hold yourself steady. You dug your heels into his thighs, drawing him in as far as you could, relishing the low moan you received as you clenched down around him.

He began to move again, but this position didn’t allow him to snap his hips as far back as he could before. This one kept him closer, forcing him to make shallower thrusts that had him repeatedly dragging across your g-spot before burying deep within you once again. You weren’t sure at what point you lost the ability for language, but the profanity tumbling from your mouth turned to incoherent mewls and you bit down on your lip as he sent you over the edge harder and faster than you ever had before.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, your walls shuddering around him, drawing him so close to his own brink that his pace faltered in an attempt to keep from careening right over it. He slowed everything down, taking time to nibble his way along one side of your neck before turning his attention to the other.

“Sweetheart, I want to come inside you.”

You’d never let anyone do that before. Your life had been a combination of semi-dating attempts with hunters (which never ended well) and one night stands. You’d never trusted anyone enough not to make them wear a condom, let alone do what he was asking.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted anything so badly,” he murmured, finding his way back to your lips where he his kisses turned tender. He brought his hand up to your cheek, and the affection beneath his touch made you realize how much you wanted it, too.

“Then come for me,” you told him, another rule shattering beneath his influence.

It was all he needed to hear. His hips began to move again, thrusting into you faster and faster until they begin to stutter. You felt him thickening, and you tightened around him. A deep growl erupted from deep within him as he began to pulsate, and he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled his seed inside of you.

He slumped forward, his head resting on your chest and you both need a moment to catch your breath. Your hand slipped through soft strands, idly stroking through the soft mess of curls at the back of his neck. He made a satisfied sound, and the vibrations in his chest hummed lightly against your skin.

“This isn’t how I wanted our first time to be,” he apologized.

The fact he’d put thought into your first time had your heart soaring, as does the implication that there were going to be many more times to follow.

His body tensed and his head suddenly popped up as he realized what he’d just admitted. “I mean… that’s if… I didn’t even ask…”

The way he fumbled over his thoughts made you wonder how much the human condition really interfered with the eloquence you knew he had to possess after billions of years of existing.

“Hey,” you interrupted, throwing him a lifeline. “You’re going to fuck me in every known position, remember?”

He let out a breath of a laugh, a bashful smile drawing out the dimples along his cheeks. “If that’s what you want. I’d certainly like the chance to do this again, properly.”

He looked a little sheepish, though it was hard to tell how much of the color in his cheeks was from this conversation and how much was just residual afterglow.

“I believe you did just fine putting what you needed where,” you teased. The truth was, he’d done more than fine. It had probably been one of the best sexual experiences of your life, because you actually had feelings for him. Unfortunately, one of them happened to be you feeling vulnerable and you found it hard to admit just how deep in this you already were.

“Shortcake, if you’re not screaming my name, I’m not doing it right,” the wryness beneath his words became overshadowed by his lingering disappointment in himself.

You let out a silent sigh, and the fingers in his hair unconsciously stroked a little more lovingly. You didn’t know how to convince him he was wrong. Whenever you couldn’t change his mind, you tended to distract him until another opportunity presented itself for you to be heard.

“I don’t think I’ve ever screamed anyone’s name before,” you mused, waving that fact in his face much like a matador would wave a red flag.

His smile stretched into a full, cat-like grin as he took the bait. “Oh, sweetheart, we are going to have to change that.”

Challenge accepted his gaze said, and the wicked promise that gleamed back at you had heat stirring beneath the surface once more. As much as you wanted a taste of what he had in mind, a car door slammed across the lot, reminding you of just where you were and who exactly would be coming for you if you didn’t make an appearance inside soon.

“I look forward to you trying.” You gave him a playful smile, followed by a slow, sweet kiss.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” he mumbled against your lips, stealing a few more kisses before drawing away. He eased out of you before moving back across the seat to give you room to sit up. He took a moment to pull his pants up and secure them before helping you gather your clothing.

You murmured your thanks as he handed you a pile of denim. It took you a minute to find your underwear in it, and the silence that stretched on between you started to turn awkward.

“Guess this makes me an honorary Winchester,” you began, filling it with the first thought that came to your mind.

“Oh?” He asked idly, as he bent over grab his shoes.

“I’ve slept with an archangel in the backseat of Baby right after making terribly heroic and terribly stupid decisions. I’d say that pretty much qualifies me,” you explained dryly, hoping to keep things light.

“Former archangel,” he reminded, a bitter note beneath his words. “But yeah. That about meets the criteria.”

“You’ll always be an archangel, Gabe,” you informed him and his posture went a little more rigid as he tried to jam his foot into his shoe. “It’s not the measure of your strength that determines that, or even the status of your being. You’re not any less of something just because you don’t have your grace. You’re still you, and part of that will always be absolute.”

He looked up at you, and while the heaviness was still there, there was also an appreciation that relieved some of the weight he carried. “That’s some pretty deep insight you just threw at me, kid. You sure you don’t have some infiniteness inside you?”

“I believe I just did,” you quipped with an unabashed grin.

Pride tugged at his lips in a way that brightened his features and breathed an air of confidence into him you’d never seen before. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was who he truly was, minus the burden of humanity. If so, he must have been quite the sight.

It took you a few more minutes to put yourself back to rights. Gabe waited patiently for you to finish, a small smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to tame the mess your hair had become by jamming it back into a ponytail. You managed to win that fight, though only marginally, and his hand was resting on the door handle by the time you slipped back into your jacket.

“You know, I really did enjoy this,” you reassured, placing a kiss on his cheek. “Besides, you know if we took any longer, Dean would have just come along and –”

A sudden, sharp rapping on top of the roof has you both startled and you shoot toward the opposite side of the car and it was like you were sixteen again getting caught in the back of Johnny Moretti’s Hurst Cutlass.

“You both better be fully clothed in there because if I open this door and see something I don’t wanna see, someone’s getting shot,” Dean warned.

Correction, this was exactly like that time your father caught you in the back of that vehicle.

Gabriel’s brows both raise high and he gave you a look that suggested he really is questioning if there wasn’t some divinity in you after all.

“Wait in here,” you whispered before opening your door. Your hand reached up to grab the frame, and you simultaneously hoisted yourself up as you stepped out, your head popping over the top of the vehicle to arch a brow at your friend.

“What is taking you two so long?” Dean demanded, his eyes appraising and suspicious as they undoubtedly took note of your flushed features.

“You’re not the only one who thinks I’m an idiot,” you informed him, latching on to the only explanation you could come up with for your lingering blush and your absence. “Would you rather we hashed it out in there or out here?”

“Neither,” he said after a few moments. “I’d rather you get your asses inside and order so that we can leave sometime before sunup.” He jerked his hand back in the direction of the building impatiently. “You have five minutes to get in there or we’re paying the bill and leaving.”

Dean turned on his heel, striding back back toward the diner without giving you the opportunity to say another word.

You rolled your eyes and shut your door, your stomach, more than Dean’s attitude, urging you to do as you were told. You made your way around the back of the vehicle just as Gabriel was getting out.

“Everything alright?” He asked, moving to your side.

All things considered, you would have to say that things were pretty damn good and the only reason they weren’t excellent was due to the fact you really did need to eat something.

“Next time, you should just bend me over the hood. Especially if Dean’s been an ass about something,” you suggested, and you were rewarded with a smirk.

“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart,” he warned, his hand sliding beneath your jacket to play with the soft material of your shirt as you both made your way toward the building.

ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @the-moose-of-baskerville @summer-binging-spn @blondecoffeecake @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson

Gabe Squad: @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @ludwigs-a-monster @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty @kazosa @cobrakai–1972 @nobodys-baby-now

#Supernatural's Summer of Heroes Challenge #Gabriel x reader #smut #human gabriel #rabbit writes #Alternately titled - Who Needs Sleep: When Rabbit Posts Massive Fics after 11pm

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asoenews · 4 years ago

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athreadofscarlet · 8 years ago

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[Fanfic] A Thread of Scarlet- Chapter 32: Evolution of Flight

Tenten has never been so afraid. She is panicking, arms flailing, lungs burning because she keeps forgetting to breathe. Her eyes widen when she feels her body tip and spin and suddenly, she is hurtling headfirst towards the ground. She bites her lip, preparing for the inevitable impact, praying to Kami above she’ll still retain at least half her brain cells after this. It had been a stupid decision she thinks, to come out here alone without anyone around in order to practice her new jutsu. But she also knows it’s safer for everyone else too, because she has yet to find a way to properly control her rain of steel death.

Her body spins and twists again and now she is parallel to the ground. Good, she thinks, at least she’ll land flat on her back. She closes her eyes, clearing away thoughts of possible paralysis and brain damage and trying not to flail like a fish out of water lest her body tips forward again.

Then comes the sensation of being snatched from the air, like a feather plucked from the wind. An arm wraps around her torso while the other slides behind her knees. She is pulled tightly against a chest and holds her breath until she feels that her savior has landed on solid ground. Her eyes snap open to meet lilac orbs. Neji. She almost screams in surprise at the sight of him, but hurriedly clamps a hand over her mouth.

“It’s our day off,” he reminds her, setting her down carefully.

“I know,” she replies after her lungs start to function again, and she tries to steady her legs while she explains, “I wanted to work on my jutsu.” Tenten feels face heat up, slightly embarrassed that she needs saving from her own stupidity. She and the Hyuuga genius have never spoken much, and Tenten earnestly wishes to make a good impression on the arrogant boy, but all hopes are effectively dashed when Neji’s eyes flash with a foreign emotion and his face contorts into a strange look (she learns a few weeks later, when he asks her to train with him, that the look had meant he was slightly impressed).

“I see. I have been working as well.” He nods his head in what she assumes is the direction of wherever he had been training. She squints and sees small wisps of smoke curling in the wind. She can faintly trace the outline of a small crater. She doesn’t know what to make of it, but she has a hunch it is probably some type of Hyuuga technique. Neji doesn’t say another word as he turns to take his leave, but Tenten freezes him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Neji is still for a moment, muscles visibly contracting underneath his shirt, a sign that he has acknowledged her gratitude, before he shrugs her hand off his shoulder and stuff his hands in his pockets. He merely nods again, still not facing her, and walks off. Tenten watches him go, silently debating whether or not she should risk further humiliation and attempt her jutsu again. In the end, she decides she might as well because after all, if she does perfect it, Neji will be nearby to see.

---

Tenten breathes deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. She squeezes her eyes shut as she exhales, feeling jolts of pain shoot through her body. She spreads her arms and legs out on the grass, stretching to hopefully loosen her sore muscles. Inhale.

It has been two weeks since Neji had caught her, and she has done it, completed her jutsu (well, somewhat: she still needs to work on her landing) and despite how much everything hurts right now, a small smile of satisfaction ghosts her lips. She hears Neji’s footsteps approach her and she opens her eyes when she feels his shadow splay across her form. He is smirking arrogantly and his eyes are lit with barely concealed mirth.

“Congrats on falling about (he pauses to gauge the distance against the treetops) three stories.”

She grins and lets out a laugh. “I didn’t fall, genius, I flew.”

Neji frowns and tells her sternly that humans can’t fly, but she shakes her head, still smiling.

“You’ll learn.”

---

The second time Neji catches her, it is mid-battle. Tenten doesn’t have time to turn red as a tomato or thank him because there are two very scary men haphazardly swinging axes at her. She backs away as the Hyuuga steps in front of her, sliding into a familiar stance (familiar because they have already started training together), and disappears in a whirl of blue spinning chakra.

Tenten takes this time to steal into the shadows of the trees and open another scroll. She bites her thumb and smears her blood over the black ink seal. Then she leaps and she feels her core contract to steady her. She launches one weapon after another in one seemingly endless fluid motion. She hits the ground hard, but she is still standing and her knees tremble a bit from the blunt shock of impact. She has the luck of seeing Neji’s eyes momentarily widen in disbelief.

When the battle is over, Gai-sensei puts a hand on her head as he congratulates their team on successfully completing their first real mission.

An hour later, Tenten finds herself stuffed in a booth, her shoulder pressed against Neji’s as their sensei orders a meal fit enough to feed half the population of Konoha. While Lee and Gai exalt their success and avidly reenact battle scenes with flailing limbs, Neji turns to her. He is thoroughly annoyed at being dragged to eat dinner with them and has been silently sulking ever since they arrived at the restaurant. Tenten expects him to complain to her, but instead, he surprises her with a quiet “congratulations”.

“For what?”

“For finally landing on your feet.”

---

Within the next year, Tenten becomes alarmingly proficient at landing on her feet and as Neji feels primal stirrings in his heart at the sight of her, he begrudgingly admits to himself that part of him had enjoyed catching her and watching her blush.

---

When they are seventeen, Tenten tells him she thinks he looks beautiful when he performs the Kaiten.

“What does it feel like?” she asks. Neji is at a loss for words. The feeling of spinning so fast that the world becomes a blur, but yet at the same time being so acutely aware of the presence of the people he is protecting (so acutely aware of her presence in particular)-that feeling is indescribable.

Instead he takes a step forward and pulls her in with trembling hands. Tenten is stiff at first, but then she rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her arms around his waist.

“It feels like this,” he tells her, arms tightening around her form as he breathes her in.

---

“What does it feel like?” he asks her, later that same year, when the two of them are sitting contently under the warm afternoon sun.

“What?”

“Flying. What does it feel like?”

She turns to him and Neji’s heart constricts with yearning at the sight of her brown eyes and the way her sweaty bands are plastered to her face. There are no words to describe the feeling of flight so instead, she flashes him a mischievous grin.

“It feels like this,” she whispers as she presses her lips to his.

…

A/N: Thank you for reading!

#nejiten #fanfiction #naruto #a thread of scarlet #selected favorites

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anotherworldmessenger · 4 years ago

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Hazarding Another Shot

I spent a good nights rest in that free room and I was one the first carriage to the next town in the morning. The carriage was on its return trip back to the town. The old man driving the carriage happened to speak human common, albeit very poorly. He mostly just complained about how he wasn’t able to sleep for the last few days because of the job he did that brought him to the trade relay I was at for the night. Apparently he owed that dragonkin girl a favor and offered to take me along when he returned to the town to the north-east, Cardinal.

The trip took a few days and the old man didn’t seem to sleep at night, he would just take sips from his waterskin every now and then and grumble to himself, and occasionally shouting throughout the night. It was so unsettling that I didn’t really sleep at night myself, instead I slept during the day when he was focused on directing his beasts of burden.

By the time the town was within sight I felt a strange and powerful sense of pressure in my heart. I initially thought I was just having some anxiety or that I might have just felt fatigued from my new sleep schedule. Once we were inside the town I quickly realized that my body was reacting strongly to specific people. While I was taking in the scenery and my eyes passed by some individuals that pressure would suddenly increase in intensity 10 fold. Sometimes they would whip their head around and make eye contact with me, when they did I found myself incapable of even breathing.

In spite of the horrifying and paralyzing sensation I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at these individuals from time to time. There’s something about these people that kind of resonates in my mind that makes me feel some lingering, almost non-existent kinship with them. However, there was one person in particular that gave me a feeling that was the same but entirely different than those individuals.

I had this feeling of outright fear and paranoia as I looked at a particular woman. She sensed my gaze and made eye contact with me, she didn’t break eye contact with me for what felt like an eternity. The entire experience left my body soaked with cold sweat. When she finally turned away from me I had fallen to my knees as my body succumbed to an exhaustion I never knew I could feel. I tried to remain conscious but the next thing I knew I was waking up under the shade of a tree in a completely different part of town.

Someone had moved me while I was unconscious, for which I am very thankful. I had decided it was probably a good idea to check my status. When I did I found three new skills, all at level 0.

First, Aura Sensitivity, this skill allows me to feel the energy that radiates from other creatures.

Second, Phase Sensitivity, the description for this one doesn’t make much sense to me, something about being able to feel ‘phase’ energy that radiates from other creatures. I’m assuming its just another form of Aura Sensitivity.

Third, Cirrus Sensitivity, this one is similar to the Phase Sensitivity skill with a description saying I can feel ‘cirrus’ energy from other creatures.

My guess is that these three sensitivities are related to some kind of magical polarity of some kind. Phase and Cirrus are probably different ways people harness aura and they have a unique signature based on which side they adhere too.

Moving on, after getting my bearings I kept my eyes glued to the ground as I made my way through the town until I was able to find someone without a heavy presence about them. Thankfully they also happened to speak my language, and according to the kindly old gentleman Human Common is the primary language of the kingdom this town is a part of. When I asked him if there was something like an adventurer’s guild that I could try to join he lead me to a mercenary guild called the ‘Raven’s Claw’.

They apparently accept anyone that can pass the muscle check in an arm wrestling contest against the young man at the reception counter. Luckily enough those two points in strength came in handy. I was able to receive a membership card and I was allowed to accept local kill orders for wild beasts. While I didn’t have much in the way of personal equipment the guild had a very tempting loan offer.

If I signed a magic contract they would let me take a weapon and a shield for up to a week and they would also take half the reward for any request I completed until I returned the gear or made enough to purchase it. Needless to say that I took the deal.

After getting geared up with a short sword that was reminiscent of a basket hilt sword and a notably sized buckler for my shield I decided to try my luck at one of the kill orders. For what its worth, the gear I chose came to a net worth of 800 cubes. I don’t have much of a point of reference for how much that is actually worth, but the young man at the reception counter, Sern, said that I would be able to stay at a decent inn for three months(meal not included) with that much money.

Not knowing how to gauge myself against whatever may be lurking in the wilds Sern told me a good spot to find some of the relatively weaker monsters.

The description he gave of the creatures was reassuring but the tone of his delivery was like he was trying to scare the children to keep them out the forest. He had said something along the lines of “Black Sentient Ooze, its an acidic viscous puddle that moves with purpose, it may lack a physical brain, but its intelligence is the real deal, it is known for catching beginners off guard and dissolving their bodies leaving only their gear behind”. Black Sentient Oozes aren’t able to be killed with cutting or slashing weapons like a sword, and they can only be taken out with either a strong blunt force or magic. Before I left he had also made sure to inform me that black sentient oozes have a one in ten thousand chance of leaving behind an ooze core when slain with physical attacks. Their cores also happen to be an ingredient in high demand for alchemy and can easily fetch 20 cubes a piece.

The thought that they were just slimes stuck in my head the entire walk to the edge of the marsh land that is just a half hour walk south east of the town. While they weren’t really push-overs they didn’t really fill me with a sense of danger. When I located the first target to test the scale of my power I threw a few big rocks at it from a couple meters away which didn’t seem to do much as the slime just open up gaps in itself to let the rocks hit the ground beneath it.

I figured from its reaction and movement speed that it probably would be safe to try shield bashing it. As I am even able to send this message is proof enough that I wasn’t entirely wrong. I managed to take it out in a single decisive shield bash, however the splash back of its fluids on my arm has left a painful blistering wound on my arm. After being splatted the slime left behind a small murky gem.

While I was grasping my arm that was secreting excessive amounts of puss I felt an energy enter into my body that soothed my pain slightly as I felt an internal rush as though I had hit that sweet spot of inebriation that lets you unwind at the end of a hard day of work. Looking at my Status I had acquired two new skills at level 0 and one at level 1, as well as a five attribute points. The level 1 skill even came with additional information.

First skill, Thrown Weapon Mastery, the degree of finesse with which you throw objects.

Second skill, Acid Resistance, bodily resistance to acidic magics and substances.

Final skill, Consume: Level 1, if it is plant material, flesh, or bone, your stomach acid can eat through it, Skill acquired from successful hunt of Black Sentient Ooze.

#another world #isekai #otherworld

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luxeennui · 5 years ago

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Alone With Soma: A Video Essay

Reality of Self: A Dating Sim & A Horror Game Hit It Off...

Introduction

“Who are we to declare the human perspective as the benchmark against which to measure everything universally?” Was the response to a post on the Steam Soma forums by user DiMaggio. I had to google whether or not he’d coped it from a philosopher, but it seems his own. This question, among many others, is raised by the landmark horror game Soma by Friction Labs. The culmination of many years of fear-inducing and awe-inspiring games, Soma stands as a bastion of what good psychological horror can be. It’s immersive, world-shattering, and philosophical, leaving the player to contemplate questions that are usually reserved for graduate theses. As Markiplier put it in his Let’s Play, “Don’t just challenge people in terms of gameplay, challenge them in terms of understanding.” Soma was not the first to bring up these issues, but it presented them in a setting many thought befitting of the subject matter: horror.

Ever since I took my first course in undergrad and learned that there was a word for the way I viewed the world, nihilism, I’ve wrestled with existential dread. I’m haunted by the lack of meaning in the world, how devoid the world is of any semblance of inherent purpose. Sci-fi, in particular, causes this to flare up in me.

In George Zebrowski and Charles Pellegrino’s hard sci-fi book, “The Killing Star” you are met with humanity at its bleakest moment: only two survivors on Earth after being wiped out by an alien force. You must follow their stories and the stories of the few other survivors out in space who are awaiting destruction. The book is an exploration of hopelessness and helplessness. There is an inevitable end, one of death and destruction of the human race. There is no coming back, no pushing through with human determination or any of the bullshit sci-fi writers have sold us in the past. There is only destruction.

When I finished the book I was shook, to say the least. It renewed my sense of existential dread in a way I hadn’t known before. I became listless, depressed, and generally unhappy. It is something that always lies beneath the surface, but some things bring it to the top with a blinding force. I am left feeling empty and alone in the universe. This is a feeling of horror. It is the horror that comes naturally to me and it is the horror that Friction Labs tried to capture within their game. By setting the scene in a desolate wasteland without any real hope of your protagonist actually making it out, you are made to suffer, made to push your way through this world to an inevitable end, to the destruction of the human race, of Earth, of everything you had ever known--even if it had been dead long before you woke up in that chair.

I’d also like to talk about a dating sim. So, listeners, it’s time to buckle in.

It’s time. It’s time to enter the holo-sim. It’s time to go to Phi. It’s time… to talk about consciousness, reality, and what it means to be human.

PART I: The Games

In September of 2017 Benjamin Rivers, Inc., released, “Alone With You,” a sci-fi indie dating simulator. On its surface, it is a cute, story-rich visual novel. Yet, below that surface lurks the same horror found in Soma. Although, in AWY, it is not horror, it is simply existence. In fact, it’s okay with attempting to be human, it’s pushing that boundary without sparking fear. The developer said of it, “Alone with you is meant to provoke real, honest feelings. The goal of the game was to see if the player could feel real things towards very not-real people.” So why does this dating simulator feel so much like a horror game to me? While playing it, I couldn’t help but harken back to the themes Soma presented to me so succinctly. And it begs the question: do these themes have to be fear-inducing? Are the things in Soma, besides the monsters, besides the darkness, besides the emptiness--are they inherently scary?

You start the same in both games, alone, unaware of what’s happening in the outside world, and awaiting some sort of purpose and answers. You know who you are in Soma, you’ve been given a name and a former life. In AWY, you do not know your past, name, or history. Instead, it is you. Your name is the one that the game speaks to you with. It is your identity put into this story. There are two different levels at play in both games. In Soma you are removed from these issues because you are not Simon; in Alone With You, you are removed because you are not the one experiencing them, at least not explicitly.

In Soma, your companion is not an AI, although they are not human. Catherine Chun, a resurrected brain scan of one of the Design Engineers, greets you early on and accompanies you for the journey. She acts as her former self would have, just as you do. She has a plan, a purpose, and a desire to carry it out. She sees you as the missing link for the completion of her grand plan: that of launching the ARK, a simulation that houses all of the brain scans she did at PATHOS-II, the company under the sea you’ve suddenly found yourself in. By launching it into space, she is buying the simulation thousands of years instead of the mere decades it might have underneath the sea. She views this as the heroic continuation of humanity, at least in some form. She is your guiding hand in the game and is fairly reliable as a companion. She does not coddle you, but she is still human. Unlike Simon, Catherine has accepted her fate. She went to the bottom of the Ocean with PATHOS-II, watched the meteor destroy the surface of the Earth, and ultimately watched the AI, the WAU, malfunction and take over the facilities, killing everyone inside. And now, after having conceived and brought to life the ARK, she finds herself resurrected with Simon as her only hope to achieve the end she worked so hard for, the end that she watched so many people kill themselves over. Her motivations are clear and you, as Simon, must follow her, for you really have nothing else you can do. At the start, your only motivation is moving forward, somewhere, and soon she tells you of the ARK, entices you into believing you could be on the ARK too. But it is your own understanding or lack thereof, that coaxes you to follow her.

During the game you’re confronted three separate times with your predicament: first, when you discover that you are not, in fact, human anymore. Second, when you have to transfer your self from one suit to another. And third, when you once again transfer your self into the ARK. But--it is not a transfer. There is no cut and paste in this world, only copy-paste. There are four Simons in this game: Human Simon, Robot Simon, Diving Suit Simon, and ARK Simon. As a player, you jump from Simon to Simon, not having to experience the lack of shift. For you, it is a continuation. For Simon, it feels that way. Each time, the new Simon feels like he merely moved on, not always thinking of the Simon left behind. When you go from Robot Simon to Diving Suit Simon, you have a choice to either let your copy wake up later on or to kill it. Diving Suit Simon rightfully freaks out over this and he and Catherine exchange a metaphor: one of a coin toss. DS Simon believes he “won the coin toss” and ended up in the second body, but--and he never really elaborates on this--something else, perhaps this new copy? ended up in the first one. It is here we see that a lack of thought protects him.

Let’s take a break from the spooky scary stuff and talk about love for a moment. In Alone With You, you have an AI companion, who, really, I think is the one you’re supposed to fall in love with because I certainly did. The AI is very much human: it is concerned for you, wants to know your opinions, has a certain type of affection for you, and almost seems to express jealousy at times. It is very upfront with you: you need to get off the planet ASAP and you can’t do it alone. You’ll need the help of people that used to work on the planet, but they’re dead--so you’ll need to go and look around for some extra parts and at night speak to simulations of the dead people. Got it? Easy. So you set out on your journey, finding your way from site to site, corpses and stories at every turn. From the site-based structure to the littered bodies, to the eerie emptiness of it all, I was reminded of Soma, of this story that oozed horror, that made the loneliness feel so real, even when you weren’t truly alone. But in Alone With You, with its bright colors and beautiful soundtrack, it makes me feel oddly serene, even knowing the clock is ticking in some sense, that I’m the only living thing on that planet. The AI is there for me, each night I’m greeted by vibrant, stable people working to help me. There is so much hope in it all. And it’s not hope for humanity--we know that Earth is done for, that’s the whole reason for the project started by the company that owns the colony you’re on. Hudson-Cartier, the company, spent 16 years on a project that ultimately failed, ultimately led to so many deaths. And yet, when I step into that Holo-chamber, I’m transported to a world with hope, love, and, strangely, joy. I am asking myself the same questions as I did with Soma: are these people… human? Are these simulations… real? What does reality mean in this context? If these simulations feel real and experience is our gauge for reality, does that not mean what they feel is real, is human?

But also, we get to date, which is arguably much more pleasant than running from strange, humanoid-like creatures. And in this, you need not think about I, who you are. Simon contemplates this throughout Soma, pushing you to contemplate it too. In Alone With You, it’s a suggestion: what do you think about these people, these people who are not you. My main thesis is that Soma and Alone With You, although vastly different, express the same core concepts and do so beautifully. By looking at the concepts and how the games approach them, we can see why Soma’s expression of the ideas is terrifying and why AWY’s expression is eerie and unsettling at worst. Ultimately, both games lead us down the same path but with radically differing scenery.

PART 1.5: A Brief Note On Gameplay (because I guess these are video games)

Soma should have been a visual novel, ala Edith Finch or the like -- at least, that’s what I whole-heartedly believe. As Joseph Anderson pointed out in his video, the gameplay is lacking. Because he did such a great job of outlining what it lacks, I won’t spend too much time on it. There are elements in Soma that must be “played” for them to have the same impact, they simply would not hit as hard if they were not in an interactive media. The tone, as we’ve seen with games like Edith Finch, is not solely reliant on combat, or the type of interaction you have with the world. As a player, you can experience just as much horror thinking there is something out there as you would knowing something was out there and it was coming to get you.

There’s a quiet part of Soma, when you’re on your way to Phi, at the bottom of the ocean, alone. At least, you think you’re alone, but in the shadows, in the darkness that lurks on the sides of you, is the figure of Ross, one of the humanoids that has his own desires--that of destroying the rogue AI that has taken over the facilities. He tells you that he will follow you, and as a player, if you are not super observant, if you keep your eyes down and forward on the road lit by blue lights, then you can easily miss him in the dark. But he is there, watching, waiting. There is something truly unsettling about this to me--that you cannot interact with him, that he is always out of reach, but he is there, present and menacing. At this point, you’ve deduced that Ross probably won’t hurt you, but you don’t know his full intentions. He still looks like every other monster you’ve encountered, every monster you’ve hidden and run from at every site. I’m reminded of the fear I have surrounding AIs in games. They’re omnipresent and seemingly omnipotent; the bounds of their power not always revealed. Ross’ power isn’t fully revealed, you know he is plugged into the WAU, the AI, and subsequently can operate many of the systems within the PATHOS-II compound. He never tries to hurt you outright, but the horror comes from possibility. I think that if Soma had relied a lot more heavily on this type of possibility, they would have made a much scarier game. But, I’m just a fucker with a philosophy degree, I can’t say much on game development. (Yet--I will.)

Alone With You, when thinking about developer intentions, hits the mark pretty well. The only thing in the game that really threw me and quite a few others off were the corpses, scattered about like trash, forgotten and degrading. There isn’t much explanation for this, and only a few of the corpses make sense in their current positions. There is one body, of an X-Ray tech, McKenna, who is left in his lab and ultimately dies of malnutrition, that makes sense--he was locked in there after beating a nurse, Darius, to death, presumably following a fight. But, the corpse of Darius remains and we must assume that he died a while before McKenna, long enough for another member of the facility to lock McKenna away and leave a note on the computer about it. So why wasn’t his corpse moved, especially given that the timeline denotes that some deaths were almost a year after the initial Rift Event? In Colony B, one of the sites you can visit and the one that was hit the hardest when they lost contact with the AI, the Director, Pierre tells you in the holo-sim that eventually they had to leave bodies there because it was too much a drain on their resources, but it seems odd that they would choose the psychological burden of seeing the corpses over the burden of moving them. Other than this, the game and its story are very clean and the visual-novel-like gameplay works well with the concept.

On my first playthrough, I did not know what to expect and I certainly did not expect what I got. I was sold a cute dating sim and instead got an existentially-drenched, horror-filled scene of death and longing and loss. This, at least for me, was an okay switch-a-roo pulled by the developers. I don’t think their intent was to fully blindside the player since there isn’t any danger present in the game and it’s not like you’re dodging monsters, you’re more dodging scenes, listening as the AI grows more and more uncomfortable at the destruction. From a story perspective, the AI stands more as your moral voice than your own protagonist, as you’re seeing it through their lense of guilt. The AI feels--and this is important--they feel. And you’re wandering through this world, helping them to process. This structure, one devoid of previous history but always forging new experiences to have opinions and ideas about, fits the tone of the game perfectly and I believe it’s why I was able to connect it to Soma so well. Alone With You is my story, your story, every story you can make and insert into the framework. Unlike many visual novels, you aren’t just discovering the story, you’re making it. It’s a type of collaborative storytelling that I haven’t seen in a visual novel before, as they’ve made the world and protagonist ambivalent enough for me to form my own assumptions and conclusions about the world around me.

This is best expressed in the protagonist themselves. And this is the hill I will die on with this game: I don’t believe the protagonist is in a human body, nor human in a traditional sense. I think they are something created by the AI when it realized that everyone was dead, or at least seemed to be, and that time was running out for it to figure out what happened and appease its own guilt. This explains their bare-bones past, with only vague allusions to their life back on Earth, before they came to the colony. It would explain how they survive the explosion at the Comm tower, their lack of care for the world around them, as they are incomplete and not fully connected to the colony as the holo-sims were. The protagonist is an amalgam, the perfect combination of human traits and memories as to make them believe they are human, feel they are human, and act as though they are human. The holo-sim chamber isn’t for the protagonist, for you, it is instead for the holo-sims. Even if the AI occasionally says it sees how it helps you, its main objective is to get the holograms to work better through interaction, a type of interaction it can’t provide. The only wrench in this is that the AI does not have an option to escape, but it does have an option not to “die” alone, which I believe is the option it obviously wants you to pick, and after having crafted this elaborate story to get you to help it, it banks on you choosing that option. I don’t believe the developer intended this, as I feel it would be too close to a sort of “it was all a dream” ending, but there is enough quiet space in the story that I can happily fill it with these thoughts and not have it disrupt too much. An awfully beautiful hill to die on, isn’t it?

PART II: The Questions

There are three main questions that both games touch on:

Who is I, the self, the ego?

What is Real?

What constitutes “human?”

There are other questions, one in particular that I’ll touch on in my conclusion, but for now, I’ll focus on these, going through what each game says about them in turn, then finding the middle ground that both connects and divides them.

QUESTION I: Who is I, the self, the ego?

In Soma, you are directly confronted with this question as you play Simon, the protagonist. It is your own self you are wrestling with. You come to realize that you are not the same Simon that lived 100 years ago. That was an entirely different self. It was not the same Simon, even if he had the same memories. The two could and do, at some points, exist simultaneously. Yet, those Simons are different entities. Their consciousness, experience, and reality, feel different, and so, in turn, they are different. They are two completely different subjects, two different points of input, no matter if they have the same background. The Self, in this, is completely reliant on experience, there is no self without that experience--as we see when Catherine isn’t “turned on” or put into something in the omnitool, she says she doesn’t experience the lack of time, it is merely an omission of that time. She’s experiencing one moment and then the next without experiencing the time in between, even if it still “happens.” In theory, that lack of experience is death. She is dead to the world in those moments, revived when the power is turned back on. This is getting into “sleep is also death” as an argument so I’ll stop here: we experience things subconsciously while asleep, there isn’t a complete omission of experience. So put that argument back on your bulletin board and simmer down.

So, in Soma, the question of Self is fairly settled: you are you, you experience the things you do, any copies of the Self thereof are not you. Any wrestling with the idea of Self is because Simon does not accept that it is not a coin toss; he wants to believe that there is a chance that his consciousness could still make its way onto the ARK, as he is when he launches it, as he is when he’s made it to the Diving Suit. He wants so desperately to believe that he deludes himself, buys into the metaphor that is so obviously not the case. And it’s not as if Catherine really helps--this is the one part where she isn’t actually helpful. One could, and many have, argue that she intentionally lies to Simon in this aspect. That she does nothing to dissuade his line of reasoning in regards to the coin toss, despite knowing that it only works as copies, not as a “brain transplant” as he says he wants. Simon knows before the Diving Suit what will happen and he definitely knows what will happen before the ARK, but he is so caught up in it, so desperate for hope and the belief that he can find a future that isn’t at the bottom of the goddamn ocean, alone, rotting with an AI that he may or may not have killed that he doesn’t see it.

The Self in Soma is sealed, but what does it say about reality?

Alone With You

In Alone With You, we’re given a self-insert as a protagonist and their role in this is fairly ambivalent, a Miyazaki-like protagonist (go watch Big Joel’s video on this, please!). You float through the world on the command of the AI, but you can make choices--your autonomy is evident in conversation and in who you choose to see more than once in the Holo-Chamber. But the protagonist themself does not have opinions that differ from your own, you are never told what to think about a situation. You are, in effect, the protagonist, not just controlling them. They are you, you are them, so on and so forth. So there isn’t much issue in that--but, you deal with it as it concerns the Simulations. Each night, you visit a simulation of one of the four people whose help you need to rebuild the shuttle to get off the planet. The simulations are built by the AI from information and memories they have--although they do not have all of their memories since the AI lost contact with most of them before they died. They lack the end of their lives, and they have to wrestle with the information you bring to them: their choices made after their current self-knowing point. They outright question and dismiss their own Selves at times, as W does in one of your first interactions with her. She says, “All I have is this little garden. And it isn’t even real. And, I guess, nor am I.” Although I’ll talk more about this exact idea in the next section, she acknowledges a Self within this, but then dismisses it in the same stroke. She is there, present, but she isn’t Real. The Self, who she is, exists but not on terms she knows, understands, or agrees with.

The construction of these holo-sims is fascinating to me, as it circumvents many of the problems presented in Soma. They are made by the AI and stored within the AI’s database, meaning they aren’t bound to any external system and they can run “in the background,” meaning not projected, while the AI is on. This idea is one I can’t really picture or conceive of because our tech doesn’t even come close to existing on a scale as large as this. I guess it’s probably close to the compiling of code, a system running through itself, but the tech needed to even make a brain scan and then run it on only a computer… in both games, it’s beyond my comprehension, as it calls into question a lot about the tech itself and how it works. In order not to get bogged down thinking about, I’ve hand waved it away with, “oh, ya know, future shit.”

But there are still some interesting differences in the tech within Alone With You that, as I said, fixes some of the problems that Soma presents. Instead of being bound to external hardware, the Simulations are one version that persists throughout the game and the AI seems to be able to transfer them from system to system, as it tries to do at the end of the game by offering to send them with you. They cannot circumvent the problem of a second-death, though. These Simulations are not the human versions of themselves transferred into the system. They are, as W describes them, “back-ups.” She says, “The me you see… this is the most recent version.” The AI is able to build them from what it knew and they are functionally consciousnesses. The Self, in this, is made to believe itself is a self and there is only one current self. They know of their past selves, and that makes them question the reality and meaning of their current self, but there is no denying, for them, that they are different than their old versions. There is no possibility for delusion like there was for Simon. They are fundamentally different selves, and that is where their dread lies, in the reality of their selves and the meaning that accompanies it, or their fear that meaning does not accompany it.

QUESTION II: What is Real?

Soma

What is experienced is reality. There are hundreds of years of philosophy wrapped up in that statement: Kant’s revolutionary ideas about how our minds organize, parse, and shape the reality we perceive, Lacan’s ideas about how language shapes our minds and, in turn, our reality, Derrida’s ideas about how language is even shaped, so on and so forth. To even get to such a concrete statement is to stand on the shoulders of giants.

Within Soma, reality is determined by who is experiencing it. Your reality, as the player, shifts with each shift in Simon’s Self. You follow the new Simon, until the end. You perceive the world as Simon, winning that coin toss every time. But that isn’t the largest challenge to your idea of reality. Instead, it is the concept of the ARK. At the end of Soma, when you find yourself on the ARK as the ARK Simon, you take a survey where you are asked: Do you think this new existence will be a life worth living? This entire survey could take up a video on its own, but that one question hits close to home after such a game. Is this new existence, this new reality, worth experiencing? There’s a quiet omission there--is this new existence worth experiencing, even if it isn’t Real? And that question begs my original question: what is Real?

In religious studies, we speak on two distinct terms: real with a little r and real with a Big R. Big R is Real -- the experienced, the emphasized as true; little r is perceived real, the perceived as true. Virtual reality is considered real with a little r, at least right now. But the ARK, that would be REAL, all caps. It’s the experience of a consciousness that is entirely virtual, so the surroundings and reality match that which is experiencing, the virtual self. This is the brain in a vat argument, that we can and will one day create something similar to the ARK. Maybe, says Daddy Musk, we are already living in a simulation. If it is functionally the same, does it matter? And in truth, not really, since the consciousness you and I have is the one that is here, in this simulation, experiencing what we are experiencing. For Simon, though, it matters, because there is a Simon left behind--there always is. There is a Simon still sitting in that chair, in the dark, alone and scared. But for the ARK Simon, reality stays REAL, all caps. It is the shift in self that makes the change in reality difficult.

We also are met with robots who believe they are human. For Simon, he wonders if they are people. In this, he recognizes that the brain scans are functionally consciousnesses. He seems to disregard this when messing with the brain scans in simulations, which, for me, seems to say he doesn’t fully recognize each of those scans, when booted up, as a consciousness. This makes sense since we tend to recognize consciousness as it pertains to body, taking up space. The scans exist in a virtual reality, not in tangible reality, and the realization that they’re just as much a consciousness as he is would probably take a while for him to form if he ever would form it. This implication doesn’t just hang in dead space though, as pointed out by Joseph Anderson--he talks about one of the elements of horror being that Simon’s brain scan was used experimentally, so he was resurrected and killed thousands of times over. This horror is circumvented in Alone With You, as I’ll touch on later, but it is a key point in Soma, but it is not thrust upon the player. You’re meant to sit and stew with this game and its implications. This is a type of horror that creeps up on you, settles in with you in bed at night, keeps you from sleeping because you can’t stop thinking: what did it feel like to experience such short life, but with the memory of a long one? Who, or what experienced it?

I also had an epiphany 45 minutes into a painful hour-long cardio session after staring at the lights on the machine long enough to disassociate and realize that the real terror in Soma is the very fact that both Simon’s brain and Carl’s brain could even convince them that their Reality is different than “reality.” Perhaps it’s terror and comfort all in one. We know the brain does a lot to protect us, as Catherine points out to Simon when he questions why he still feels so human--our brains simply superimpose our previous way of viewing the world onto the new set of inputs. But, what if we don’t want to be deluded? What if I’d rather know I was stuck in a robot body? As an autonomous being, I’d prefer knowing my predicament, especially if it answered previously unanswerable questions. I’d like to know if we were currently living in a simulation because at least I’d know there was a beginning, maybe even some sort of meaning within it. But, asks the 19 year-old-white-boy in a Philosophy 101 course playing “Devil’s Advocate,” how do you know you’d want that? Of course, you say that now, not being in that predicament, living and breathing in your very-human body. How do you know? I don’t, Brian, but that doesn’t mean I can’t yearn for control in the face of its non-existence.

The real horror of Soma is our mind’s ability to shape reality--the fear that our brain can take a reality different from what we know and make it functionally the same, the fact that we can be deluded so fully and thoroughly by the thing we put our trust into, willingly or not. The WAU can try to simulate reality but if our brains don’t buy in our egos won’t either. But when our brains buy-in there’s nothing stopping us from living in “functionally Real” spaces. The scary part is that our brains can do that. My brain can do that. Your brain can do that. And we can’t do anything to stop it. If it pulls us into a functionally real state of being we won’t be able to get out. The fear comes in the unknowing. We can’t control it either way. Our reality is filtered and shaped by this brain of ours whether we like it or not. I doubt he knew it but Kant wrote the greatest horror story ever, telling us that our brains are actually what dictates our reality.

Alone With You

Reality is less shakey in AWY. The Simulations are aware of their state--they have Selves in what they perceive to be a non-Real world. They understand they are simulations of people who have come before, living in a space of their own creation. But, still, they wonder profusely about what that lack of Realness means. This anxiety appears in somewhat off-hand comments from them, things they will hand-wave away a moment after they say them. It doesn’t seem as if they don’t want to talk about it in general, more that they do not want to bother you with it. In the game, you are constantly reminded of how dire and unsettling the situation you are in is. I think this is in part because it’s honestly very easy to forget with the tone set by the expectation of the game. I’m there to date these holosims, everything else is cursory to getting my virtual dick wet, or, ya know, getting to know them on an intimate level intellectually. So these simulations, who are wrestling with some intense existential and metaphysical questions, defer to your disaster as being worse, trying not to stress you. They were resurrected/created by the AI for the sole purpose of getting you off the planet, their reality and existence is dependent on the direness of your situation. Their entire lives as simulations are dedicated to you. Wow, wait, I just realized how kind of fucked up that is? Like I’m forming bonds with these people and their entire existence is about me? Sounds kind of… stockholm syndrome-like? But, but, they seem happy to do it! They tell me constantly how much my visits mean to them, how the AI has them working around the clock, how they… they’re doing all of this for me...

Hold on, I need a moment.

ANYWAY -- their reality, as I said, is less shakey. They’re in a simulation that does not come close to the ARK; as your first date points out when you go to look at the Northern Lights with them, there is no feeling of cold. The simulation is far from perfect, and that, I believe, helps with the feeling of non-reality. And I think, as a player, having seen simulations that were perfect, this may be better, especially for the short term. It was evident that, for some fucking reason, the simulated consciousnesses that were in robots could feel pain in Soma. It makes me glad that the Simulations, big S, did not share the same problem. They did not have to really wrestle with -- is this real? They quickly said no. But that doesn’t mean it was dropped as a problem: now they had a question of “what does it mean?” And Oh Boi does meaning open a whole can of worms. I can’t speak to what it would mean for the Simulations, now that their reality isn’t Real anymore. They seem to find meaning in helping you, which is nice, as they’ve found a place to put all that damned anxiety. But there isn’t really any difference to me between the meaning of existence in a virtual world versus a tangible one. Both are equally devoid of inherent meaning. Sure, a lot of religious scholarship will need to be done when we hit this stage, as consciousness is not akin to a soul for most theologians and the creations of new ones, while probably seeming like an abomination, will raise some important questions (questions that, coincidentally, Simon asked). But as it stands within AWY’s world, there is a tangible reality and a virtual one and the tangible one seems to hold more meaning for the SImulations, as there is a definite sense of loss when they speak about their former selves, even if they recognize that now they are inherently different than those people.

QUESTION III: What constitutes human?

Soma

When you’ve nailed down Self and Reality, you can come back down to the scorched Earth and start asking more concrete questions: what constitutes humanity? And I realize this may not be the best question philosophically, as one might be better off asking, what constitutes aliveness and what are its implications -- but I’m not looking to write another thesis so let’s stick with what makes something human. Simon is confronted with outward humanity first when he meets Carl, who insists he is a human, despite the fact you can clearly see he is a broken-down robot. It is the insistence that he is human that is so unsettling, as you must confront that his Reality of Self is different than the reality you perceive. After trying to convey what he sees in his Reality, Simon finally accepts that Carl does not and will not drop what Simon probably sees as a delusion. But, that is Carl’s Reality--big R--nothing could be done to convince him otherwise, as it would be like convincing you that the computer you’re watching right now is actually me, in your room, talking to you. For Carl, his Reality is that he is human. Whether recognized outwardly or not, it is his Truth, big T.

Now, I, and many others must be careful wading into these dark waters, because relativistic reality is a dangerous game to introduce. The implications of careless theory can be unforetold and nightmare-inducing, at least for an academic. So I will do my best to lay out stipulations here. Reality is, in some part, defined by the observers of a subject. Truth about your own perception cannot be disputed. If you perceive yourself as human I cannot deny you that. But if you perceive yourself as the fastest man alive, then I can dispute that, unless you are, in fact, the fastest man alive. But what makes inward reality different than outward? Well, you cannot test inward reality, for the most part. It’s very difficult to dispute someone when they say they see something one way, even if you see it differently. But outward reality has measures, ways that we define an object. Speaking Platonically~ uwu Plato ~one can talk about the form of a human, a bipedal, hairless, conscious being. Although, one does not become non-human when losing one of these things, except in the case of consciousness. When losing consciousness, or the ability to use it as efficiently or in the same way that you used to, one is often said to have lost their humanity, or a part of it. So, we can deduce that at least one of the major parameters for the label is consciousness. But! These beings, like Carl, are conscious. They have the mind of a human, they merely lack the body. The name for the game, Soma, comes from the Greek word, pronounced the same and spelled, obviously, in Greek, and it means “Mind,” in particular, mind as distinct from body. There is a lot wrapped up in this that I’ll leave to the English majors, but here I see it as a direct allusion to the fact that Simon’s humanity is actually tied to his mind and not his body. Our bodies are, after all, just vessels, even if our mind cannot, at this time, be separated from them. When we do finally figure out how to upload ourselves to the mainframe, how then, will our definition of human change? Has it already, as we wrestle with the concept of AI? With the idea of humans inhabiting bodies made more and more of machine? This is not an arbitrary philosophical discussion--as many of them tend to be--but a question that will continue to haunt us until the day we inevitably hit singularity and transcend philosophy.

And again, we are hit with implications: if we define our humanity by consciousness, do all of the doctors who would start and end simulations become worthy of the title of War Criminal, as they slaughtered countless humans, albeit virtually, in their times of testing? Is the WAU, the AI that I will, for the most part, ignore in this analysis because it’s a weak and poorly executed plot point, suddenly become a savior of humanity, as some in the Soma theory community painted it out to be? I believe the theory-intent of the developers was to leave us questioning. But, I do believe that Simon himself reaches a conclusion: he is no longer human. He is no longer what he used to be, but that does not mean he does not feel the same. For him, the question is not am I human? Instead, it is: what do I do now that I am no longer human? What does this mean for me? More than once Simon tells Catherine that he thinks his brain is protecting him from thinking about it too much, and Catherine, who is arguably more stable than Simon, seems to be of the mind that one should not ask certain questions, for their answers are unknowable and their implications unsettling. Faced with his own lack of humanity and those around him, Simon simply drops the question. It is a moot point for him, and he seems to make a philosophical shift to the more “theoretically sound” question that I posed in the beginning: what constitutes “alive” and what are its implications? But even then, he doesn’t seem to truly contemplate it, Simon, as a person and a protagonist, is not much in a state to think about these things, they are cursory to his quest and are on the sidelines. The lights go off for him at the end, but they do not for us. We are left, wondering, staring at that black screen as it looks back at us, a dark mirror reflecting the questions we can’t seem to answer.

Alone With You

The AI, whose name is just a jumble of letters and numbers, but who I will call “my love,” is one of the most human things in Alone With You. They are so wonderfully caring, patient, kind, honest, and earnest. They want the best for you, urging you forward, always keeping your safety and autonomy at the forefront. In every interaction, you see they truly want you to get off this planet, even if it means they’ll die there alone. And yes, it is in their programming to care about you, to learn as much as they can, but they tell you it’s their birthday, for crying out loud!!! They watched you in the simulation and saw that exchanging information brought you and the Sims closer together and they want that same connection! I made a lot of sobbing noises when the AI talked. At one point they even express that they’re getting overworked as if a computer system can truly feel taxed and then express such a thing! My love for AIs and the fact that I would definitely date one is an entirely different topic, but the AI, my love, stands as a good representation for how Alone With You treats humanity, or rather, humanness.

The creators set out to create virtual loves, loves that are human. Even if these are Simulations, they are still very much human. Their humanity, even when they lack a body (the body you just passed in that corridor or found in that room, oh wow), isn’t questioned. They question their reality, their meaning, and their purpose, but they don’t question whether or not they are still Human, per se. It doesn’t even seem to be a question on their mind. As with Soma, it seems that they are human because they feel human. And having that as a frame of reference probably helps a lot. The AI does not know what it feels like to be human, and it expresses its shortcomings a number of times even if it’s perfectly fine and did the best it could and shouldn’t be so hard on itself. You, never having lost your human body except in my wild conspiracy theory, are viewing all of these things through the lens of H U M A N. You are the quintessential human, that against which all other creations measures themselves since you’re the only one left on the planet.

As with Soma, some implications come up with the Simulations: is the AI cruel for making these simulations, who will ultimately die, just to help you? Does this show an inherent value in both Simulations and You, being that you are of greater value, to which all other creations bow to preserve? This checks out, as the AI is designed to help Humanity survive, and it’s this command that usually gets an AI developer into trouble, as it can be interpreted in so many different ways. Ultimately, the AI is so human I would say they are more akin to Catherine in Soma than the actual AI, the WAU, as the WAU is remarkably un-human, unfeeling, uncaring. That’s why it strikes such fear in the player, but both Catherine and the AWY AI, my love, seem to care about you and the mission. They’re doing their best, even if it’s flawed; they’re very much human. And the same goes for the Simulations, they are so very human, having made, in some cases, very rash decisions that ultimately led to their deaths. The people you find dead around the colony had their own lives, tangled and wrapped up in one another, living and working together for 16 years to build this grand place. And you can hear this loss, longing, and regret in the Simulations, in the AI, in the way the buildings creak when you find your way around them. The loss of humanity, of humanness, is ever-present in the world, and it’s only because it left such a great mark when it was there, trying always to bend the world to make it more habitable for humanity, a task that, in the end, failed, and killed dozens of good people.

Comparison

What is the main difference? Expectation. As Joseph said in his video, there is an expectation in Soma that it will be scary, it is billed as a horror game. The atmosphere, the story, and the very nature of it is grounded in the horror genre, even if it doesn’t always execute it perfectly. I plug in Soma and I expect to be uneasy, if not scared. In Alone With You, I do not expect to feel that way, in fact, I first played the game on one of my few days off, expecting it to be light-hearted and easy-going and I was, instead, met with a game where I was literally dodging corpses to go and find the remains of people I was expected to go on dates with. That was unsettling, to say the least. And yet, even with the atmosphere, in some ways, being very similar--the oppressive loneliness during the day, the sounds of dripping, creaking equipment, malfunctioning systems, the quiet, anticipatory moments when you think something will be just around the corner--I still felt very different when I was in AWY’s world, contemplating these questions. It was almost as if they were being asked by a professor I liked instead of pointedly directed at me in an undergraduate philosophy course by a guy named Greg who was really into Nietsche and logic. In reality, I’ve made an hour-long video parsing what tone does for a story. But I’ve done it because I find it fascinating. This, to me, is truly incredible: that the same questions can be asked in two entirely different contexts and produce radically similar answers and feelings within the player. No matter how hard AWY tries, you will still be confronted, in part, by questions that merit some sort of dread, whether about your own predicament or the predicament of the simulations. This dread, of the existential sort, is the same that runs through Soma. As I’ve said before, these games are meant to be sat with, thought about, parsed, and measured. They’re meant to provoke, and they’ve done a great job--they’ve provoked hours upon hours of thought and work within myself, I can’t imagine the amount of brainpower that has gone into thinking about and talking about these two games the world over.

In reality, Soma tries too hard to be scary, when it’s dealing with a subject that inherently scares most of us and AWY, in some ways, misses the point of its own story, dodging the meat and potatoes of the existential crisis it’s bound to induce. They’re far from masterpieces, but they incite within me a love for exploration, not just of their worlds, but of the things that scare me the most, confronting it alone and with friends, from a perspective of fear and of curiosity, and I haven’t found any answers, I don’t think I ever will, but the journey, the road I took to launch each of those ships, will sit with me more than what came after, more than knowing I’d die on that planet in a simulation, more than knowing I’d live on in space in a simulation. For a little while, I was so profoundly happy to be human and to know what that meant for me that I forgot my existential dread, even when it stared me in the face.

Conclusion

My desire for making this is to express a few things:

#1: Existential dread is shit, and it’s very present in these games

#2: Both Soma and Alone With You are incredible games that are innovative and more than worth at least one playthrough.

#3: Games don’t have to be scary to explore scary concepts! Sometimes things are just inherently scary, and they don’t need any dressing up to make that more apparent. In fact, you could probably stand to dress it down.

You, as a player, do not have to think about any of the things I’ve mentioned. You can do as one of my old favorite Youtubers, Anklespankin did and just play it, not minding the story, not minding the philosophical questions, t-bagging the last human on Earth as she takes her dying breath. There is a beautiful agency in this, an agency I feel we have in life: you can ignore the existential terror that accompanies humanity. It does not have to be a part of your suffering. But, if you do choose to explore it, you can do so in a context that suits you. Maybe you want to confront it in a world that you think complements it, one of fear and dread-filled ambiance; or maybe you want to confront it in a friendlier, more care-focused world, with friends who are also wrestling with it. That agency is what makes games and life great. Our choices matter and part of those choices are our thoughts, what we choose to contemplate and what we choose to toss aside. If you made it this far then I’m happy you chose to spend some time thinking about these questions and I hope you’ll do as the games and I have intended: to sit with it, find out what it means to you, even if it seems meaningless, even if it feels like you’re alone in it, you’re not. It’s always time to explore our reality and the implications. And right now, truly, it’s time.

#alone with you #soma #alone with you game

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