#but it means you owe them a conversation.. if they are willing to participate in good faith.

[seancosy]

Leftist Americans, you actually need to be patient and try to win people over to your side. Labeling potential allies as racist, sexist, uneducated, entitled, deplorable, etc is unhelpful. (Even if these labels are true, as we know they often are.)

People who lean towards the right have several traits in common. They are proud. They have a strong sense of independence. They like to feel they are correct. They like to feel they are defeating an enemy, even an imagined one. They will blindly overlook some of their values if you can make them feel more strongly about some of their other values. It is important to keep these facts in mind when debating with them.

I worked in a vaccination clinic during the pandemic. It was hell. I had to deal with anti vaxxers who came in specifically to antagonize me and waste my time. Do you know what they left with, more often than not? A vaccination in their arm, and a booking to come back for a booster dose.

No, I didn't ninja dart a vaccine into their deltoid when they weren't looking. I argued with them, politely. I didn't win any arguments using logic, though. I always used emotional arguments, tailored to the person's values: Does this person value personal liberty? Do they value tradition? Do they want to feel like they are besting an enemy? Is their antagonism based on a fear of the unknown?

Some arguments I used for covid vaccinations:

"Don't you wish this could all be over, so you could go on holiday again? Most countries won't let you cross their border without a vaccine. Yeah, I know. It sucks. But imagine chilling on a beach just a few months from now."

"Let's look at the vaccine ingredients together. Most of them are sourced from nature. That way it works well for your body and reduces the risk of side effects."

"I heard that our country managed to import the best vaccines. Way better than the vaccines being made in China, where this all started." (Note that while alluding to race, this statement itself isn't actually racist. It helps to make people feel like they're on your side, even if you aren't.)

"Getting a vaccine was an important personal choice for me, because I want to protect my family and my patients. I had a colleague die from covid, and I don't want that to happen to anyone else I care about." (Making things personal can be helpful.)

"Our clinic was allocated some of the smallest needles in the district. We were really happy when we found that out. If you know anyone else who doesn't like needles, you should recommend they come get their vaccines here." (This wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't entirely true. Every clinic had the same sized needles.)

In an American context, you might use the following arguments.

"I just want to make sure that guns stay in the hands of the right people." (when talking about gun control)

"I was always taught to respect my mother, and all women. Don't you feel the same?" (when talking about women's rights/bodily autonomy)

"I don't think the government should have a say in what people get up on their own property." (when talking about queer issues)

My point is, you actually need to make an effort to understand people. Especially people you don't like, or whose values don't align with yours. We as leftists need to be welcoming and appreciative when people do take the time to engage in conversations with us.

Being antagonistic actually isn't helpful. If it helped, it would have worked by now.

[rametarin]

Angry about something

Please, please, please, let movements be horrible on their own without saying, "The're the [previous thing] of [subject]"

We don't say the Nazis were the modern Napoleonic Imperialists. We don't say the Napoleonic Imperialists were their day's Golden Horde of Genghis Khan. We don't say Muslim pirates and abductors from Tripoli cruising Europe for slaves and conquests were "totally Trans Atlantic Slave Trading it." Muslims were abducting Europeans for slave applications for centuries before Europeans did it for

And when people talk about modern day Intersectional Feminists, capital P Progressives and oldschool TERF-flavor feminists get nasty in accordance with their values all over a pasttime, a hobby, or a group of people that enjoys something and tells them they're doing it wrong thanks to a VERY unreliably narrated assessment of what they are and why they are, they tend to treat their behavior as if it's the same stock mindset of previous experience related to Christian puritainism and religious evangelism.

Don't fucking do this. Their values are not the same. They come from a different place, and you doing this helps them do something they SPECIFICALLY like to do. First, muck around acting like assholes in self-righteous quests to control how people interpret reality and see things, and when called out for it, have their own controlled mea culpa where they apologize because, "that's just the old Christian White Supremacist in me, the feminism part of me isn't like that and can't be like that because feminism is just good and can't be bad. I'm sowwy. :C"

No. Fucking no. Do NOT fucking allow that to happen. Feminism is not a simple act of seeing women as equal, it's an entire dogmatic baggage that necessitates Class Struggle Theory, the willful adoption of the idea the only thing that matters in sexual politics is that "Women Are Oppressed (TM)" even when circumstances and culture are entirely equal and even handed with them, and that society owes them something to compensate for this inherent oppression- at the expense of men. And that Society is the third wheel in their relationship, automatically there to redistribute from the man.

Feminism bills itself as simply a phenomenon of 'equality'... for women.. but it is no more this than Christianity is synonymous with The Good(tm). It certainly is a shitty way to see the world, but it is not the definition of seeing the world. It boils down to making some very very intensely specific logical leaps and shortcuts out of convenience and then dogmatically insisting these values are immutable and unquestionable.

From that position, we come to the other little black box in the equation. The idea that something that exists in culture that represents an icon or concept, oppresses and exploits that icon, object or group, and that it is specifically wrong to objectify that, but only if it's a woman, a group that is "oppressed." (it's however perfectly justifiable to objectify an 'oppressor.' See how that works.) Right before they say some apologetics like, "It's not MY fault cisheterosexual Judeo-Christian Patriarchy is sexually binary! Maybe if you agreed in more options we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

And it's because of this shitty point of view, they argue that even having big booby fictional characters that are female, boobily boobing down the stairs for the appreciation of the audience, they jump to the next facet of their belief system. Male Gaze Theory.

Built off their idea that Classes Struggle (tm) and Women Are the Obligate Oppressed Class(tm), and that any reference or participation by women is inherently an act of an oppressed political group in bondage to and beholden to their oppressive captors, AND that works of fiction and literature are part of culture, these facets of culture give groups their marching orders, programming and ideas on what they are, mean and even their existence. They believe, uncompromisingly, that your very perception and understanding of reality is built solely upon what books written by the state have to say about what is real and what isn't. That if society writes books about a murderer and don't go out of their way to omnipotently, omnipresently dictate with no ambiguity that, "Murder is bad, ackshully," that you endorse a society where murder happens. And, no joke, this is how they imagine murder, theft and antisocial behavior happening. Because it exists in that cultural bubble like evil waves of energy, just going unneutralized to warp the minds of unprepared people who haven't been told what is right and wrong by society, making them rapists, murderers and exploiters of those weaker than them (and they only care when the person exploits someone weaker than them.)

So they see sexy drawn women as depictions of an oppressed minority being reveled over by a slavemaster class, exploiting their image and the idea of that group for profit (which they also despise) and believe the women should also be profitting off their "exploitation" in fiction, and some sort of state council should exist that oversees the expression or interpretation of women in fiction, or else abolish the work from existing for not fitting their moral and social view of how literature and culture are "allowed" to see women. Seeing this very dour, extreme interpretation about how all men depicting women is exploitation, and by default society is meant for a male, oppressor perspective, is called, "Male Gaze Theory."

At no point in this equation did their greviance or conceptual principles cross over with Puritainism or Christians. They are their own totalitarian beasts, and like the Nazis are not Napoleonics are not The Mongol Horde, FUCKING TELL IT LIKE IT IS AND ACCEPT RADICAL FEMINISM IS JUST LIKE THIS.

You can somehow see one radical conservative and condemn the entire conservative or right-wing party as inherently racist, white supremacist and homophobic, but you can't acknowledge that radical feminism has more Ls to its name and more bad ideas and more bad values than rejecting the idea that trans men and women aren't men and women. All their ideological supremacism, all their logical leaps, all of their antagonistic marching into any fandom and demanding the fandom most conform to their ideas of what is mentally, emotionally an socially healthy, are their own. They are not Puritans, they're fucking radical feminists. Do not use the bad behavior of past groups as an ablative shield when you fucking mean what you mean.

"Well complaining about feminism makes me sound like some kind of CHUD..."

That's a you problem. In the past, complaining about the Church when it was synonymous with power would've made you a "pagan" or an "unbeliever." And before the T in LGBT got traction, it was just "anti-feminist" for a biological man to argue with a woman, giving them infinite instant Ls, even if they did identify as a woman. It starts somewhere.

Call it like it is and just realize radical feminism is rotten from the top windows of the attic to the foundations.

[eevvvaa]

Don’t Mess With Witches

Summary : On a witch hunt, Dean is willing to be bait. What could go wrong ?

Pairing : Dean x reader

Words : 9 991

Warnings : Fluff, a bit of angst, a hint of language (I think that's it, but let me know if I forgot something)

A/N : This is my very shamefully late participation for @avanatural‘s 300 followers celebration. Congratulations again my friend ! I'm sure you have much more now and you clearly deserve them but here it is. Thank you so so much for being so patient with me, reassuring me when I was worried because I had missed the deadline and being so kind when I explained to you my writing block. I hope you won’t be disappointed. My prompt was �� With great hotness comes great responsibility”

A/N 2 : I want to thank @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior too for being a very nice, helpful and patient beta reader. You really helped me, it was nice to have someone pointing at my mistakes and correcting them. Working with you helped me get back on track. You’re a great English teacher ahah, thank you for aggreing to this.

Text divider by the talented @talesmaniac89​ 

Masterlist

“Why does it always have to be witches? I hate freaking witches! Give me the creeps.” Dean said, excessively shaking his body as if a huge shiver had run down his spine from his spiky hair to the tips of his toenails.

Not everyone liked witches.

They were the kind of magical beings you either hated or adored. Their magic and strength coming from the moonlight, the rays of the sun, or the soft and damp dirt of the woods could be fascinating. But the whole sacrificing Thumper and showering with lambs’ blood, could be an ugly and disturbing part.

Some people saw witches as devotee defenders of nature, protecting and worshiping the miracle that is Life, wanting to keep the balance intact. Others only saw them as mean women hidden in cabins, surrounded by skeletons of animals, drawing with blood and dirt, chanting in Latin, naked in the middle of the night, calling Satan as their one and only ruler.

Those representations of witches were just clichés. And truth was, both of those clichés did exist, but they weren’t all witches. Not all witches were psychopaths or lovers of nature. Some were just living their life peacefully without doing any harm to anyone - or any animals.

Unfortunately, Dean had only met the killer ones.

“You do know that not all of them sacrifice humans or think that Beelzebub is their true lover, right?” I told the older brother, rolling my eyes.

He turned to me, eyebrows slightly raised and arms crossed. We’d had this discussion before and I had proved him wrong multiple times, but Dean was a man full of pride and he didn’t like to be wrong. So it was the same argument over and over.

“You only say that because you owe them.” He said, standing in the middle of the motel room.

I crossed my legs on the bed I was sitting on, not needing to stand up to win this fight. And sometimes remaining calm had more power than yelling. I rested my back against the headboard behind me and took a breath, already bored with this discussion.

“You know that’s not true. Yes, some of them helped me in the past but I don’t owe them anything. I just learned that not all ‘monsters’ do monstrous things. The ones you hunt usually do but it doesn’t apply to every one of them. But you know that, your best friend is an angel, you’re friends with a werewolf, and you literally helped a vampire return to Earth. Not all monsters are killers, just like not all hunters are idiot brutes who don’t know anything besides killing ghouls.” I declared, tying back my hair to allow the very light air conditioner to blow on my hot neck.

“Dean, you guys have already talked about this. Can we move on and just focus on the case?” Sam interrupted the conversation, probably bored of this never-ending argument.

“You think hunters are dumbasses?” The older man asked, his voice a bit higher than usual, emphasizing his fake offended face.

I shook my head, a soft smile spreading across my lips because even though this discussion was always the same, it was also always funny to see how Dean could act like if he was genuinely outraged by my words. I let a soft chuckle out and pushed myself off of the bed, standing in front of him.

“No. Not all hunters are dumbasses. You are the exception.” I told him, patting his chest. I winked before walking to the bathroom, the heat of the season making me sweaty and smelly.

All I wanted was to take a shower.

Before I closed the door, I heard Sam frankly laugh and I could perfectly see in my mind the bitch face Dean was giving him.

In the bathroom, I sighed as the heat of the summer invaded the room. It couldn’t be normal to have such a warm day, even if it was the middle of July. Taking my shirt off, I already felt lighter and cooler but I desperately needed a cold shower to get rid of this sticky feeling. Getting rid of my pants, I could still hear the brothers talking in the room.

Motels walls were always awfully thin.

“She always wins, I don’t understand why you persist arguing with her.” He declared to his brother who growled in response.

“It’s just witches, man. I never liked them and never will. There’s nothing more to say.” Dean complained, and deep down I understood where he was coming from.

As hunters they were taught to hate everything related to the supernatural, trained to fight those creatures with weapons or their own fists. So witches and their spells could be very frustrating to them. They could never be sure of their next move or trick, so they could very easily feel powerless against them.

I understood that but Dean had a real obsession with them and I had asked him plenty of times if something had ever happened with one of them but the answer was always no. He just hated them.

“You have a deep-rooted hate against them, yet you never had trouble liking Y/N.” Sam told his brother with his teasing voice and the corner of my lips unconsciously lifted.

The tall man always loved teasing his brother and I about being friends, claiming there was something more than friendship between the two of us. And he never believed us when we answered that we were nothing more. Truth was, in my mind I always added a ‘yet’ at the end of my answer, hoping that one day I was gonna have the courage to reveal my feelings to the older brother.

“Y/N is not a witch.” Dean answered back, something protective in his voice.

He was right, I wasn’t a witch.

But witches had helped me through the hardest time of my life. When my parents died, killed by a demon, it wasn’t hunters who saved me. It was witches.

They had searched for this demon for a while, trying to stop it from committing more massacres, until they found it in my house, slitting my parents’ throats. I was sixteen and never screamed so loudly in my whole life. They killed the demon and kindly took care of me for a few years, showing me how they lived and what they did, explaining to me that they were neither good or bad, just bits of both, as we all are. But they also taught me that some witches could be real monsters, working with demons like the one who had killed my family.

Those were the ones hunters killed.

They were the reason I decided to become a hunter. I wanted to protect people from living through the same thing I had.

On a hunt I met Sam and Dean and we decided we were a good team; we’ve worked together ever since. We shared our pasts and I explained where I came from. At first they froze, wondering about my relationship with witches. But after some explanation and more information, they agreed to continue working with me, understanding that I wasn’t the enemy.

Thinking back on the words of the older brother, I smiled again, appreciating the defensive tone he had used while talking about me, but I couldn’t help but tease him, it was too funny.

So, in a tank top and panties I half opened the door, not completely revealing myself to the brothers.

“Well, I know the basics of being a witch.” I interrupted and they both turned towards me.

A grin illuminated Sam’s face; he was happy to watch me annoying his brother. Dean on the other hand scanned me from head to toe as much as he could, making me hide a little more behind the door. When he caught my eye, he acted like he hadn’t been ogling me, and cleared his throat.

“You want me to consider you as one or what? You know it’s not a compliment coming from me, Sweetheart.” He said, crossing his arms again.

“Maybe it’s time for you to accept that deep down you like them.” I said quickly before closing the door behind me, resting my back against it.

“I swear, that woman is stubborn as hell.” Dean declared, a smile in his deep voice.

“Dude, you’re the stubborn one because she’s definitely right.” His brother told him and I let a little laugh out as the older one scoffed.

“Yeah, of course you’re always on her side.”

I could see Dean’s pout and eye-roll even in another room, I knew him too well.

“I’m just always on the right side.” Sam explained and I heard Dean mimicking and mocking him.

I shook my head at their bickering and striped off my clothes before getting into the shower, enjoying the cool water easing my body. 

Once I felt cleaner and lighter, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed the first towel nearby, knowing that even if I had chosen one only for me, the brothers were going to mix them up and we’ll always end up using the same one.

Boys…

Wrapped in the dark blue towel, I looked around searching for my clean clothes. But the only piece of fabric I could find were the dirty ones on the floor. I sighed when I realized I had forgotten to take my other clothes with me before stepping into the bathroom. So, I tightened the towel around my body, making sure it wasn’t going to fall off when I walked out, and slowly opened the door.

I stuck my head out of the door and quickly looked at the front door, not hearing anything, nor seeing the brothers sitting at the table. On my tiptoes I got out of the bathroom and headed to my bag next to the table. But halfway there I heard someone clear their throat.

I jumped, letting a small scream out and putting my hands on my chest, both to keep the towel in place and to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. When I turned around, I saw Dean sitting on his bed against the wall, his phone in hand and his eyebrows raised in curiosity, the smirk never leaving his lips.

“God, Dean!” I yelled, cursing under my breath when I lifted my head in annoyance.

“Are you putting on a show for me or something?” He asked, a dirty grin plastered on his stupid, pretty face.

I both hated and loved that grin, because as much as I appreciated the warm feeling it awakened in my stomach, he always sent it my way when he was messing with me, sometimes confusing me as to whether the flirting was real, or just simple teasing.

Trying not to not let him get to me, I shook my head, hiding the blush on my cheeks and the effect he had on me.

“You wish. I wouldn’t have come out like this if knew you were here. Why are you all silent, anyway? And where is Sam?” I asked him, crossing my arms to hide my chest.

Dean stared at me for a second and I raised my eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer. He shook his head slightly as if he was trying to erase his thoughts. I let a small smile reach my lips.

“Well, I was alone. You want me to talk to myself? And Sammy went looking for some ice, he’ll be back in a few.” He explained and I nodded, we definitely needed ice to cool our drinks down or we were going to melt under the warmth of this day.

“Good, we’ll definitely need some.” I answered and walked closer to my bag.

When I was ready to pick it up from the floor, I glanced at the hunter and realized he was still looking at me. I sighed and stared at him.

“Would you mind turning around or closing your eyes?” I told him off, but he just turned his body towards me instead, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands crossed between his knees.

I growled and he chuckled, proud of annoying me. I glared at him and squinted, hoping he would get the message. I might have been trying to intimidate him, but Dean isn’t intimidated by much, so, not surprisingly, it didn’t work.

“Why don’t you cast a spell to make me forget what I see? You said you knew the basics, right? So why worry about me possibly seeing anything?” The hunter said with confidence, assured that I was going to back down from the subject of witches.

But I wasn’t planning on letting him win so easily. I hummed and nodded.

“You’re right, I’ll make a few calls and find a spell that works. Thanks for the idea, Dean.” I told him, quickly but carefully grabbing my clean clothes and my phone on the table, wiggling it so he could see it.

“I think I know one whose specialty is amnesia; shouldn’t be too complicated.” I added before rapidly heading to the bathroom again, locking the door behind me. The hunter’s face fell quickly, realizing that I could indeed call a few witches to ask for help with these kinds of things.

If he had truly thought about it, he would have known that I would never use any kind of spell on him, let alone a spell to erase his thoughts. It could be really dangerous. But Dean definitely wasn’t using his brain as he hurried to the bathroom and grabbed the handle of the door, desperately trying to open it.

“Y/N, open the door! Give me the phone!” He yelled behind the locked door and I chuckled, amused by how desperate he sounded.

He banged on the door with strength and I laughed a little louder, just to annoy him. He growled as an answer.

“Come on!” He shouted and there was the sound of a door opening and slamming in the background. Dean stopped hitting the door when a voice spoke.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Sam asked, confusion clear in his voice.

“She’s gonna erase my memory!” The hunter said urgently and I shook my head, amazed by Dean’s naivete sometimes.

“Well, do you deserve it?” Sam asked and his brother rapidly answered.

“No! I barely saw anything!” He argued, the worry of me actually erasing his thoughts making his voice shake a little.

Chuckling, I got dressed, shaking my head over and over as the brothers continued to argue about whether Dean deserved to have his memory erased or not. Then, tying my hair in up a ponytail, I put my phone in my back pocket and came closer to the door.

“Right, thank you Becca, I knew you were the one to call for this. Take care, bye.” I said loudly so they could hear me clearly behind the plank of wood.

“Seems like you’re screwed, man.” Sam told his brother who grumbled in annoyance and defeat.

Sitting at the table in our motel room, I had to bite my cheek a few times to keep myself from laughing right in Dean’s face every time I felt his eyes on me.

Once I’d left the bathroom, I acted like nothing happened at all, completely ignoring Dean and winking at Sam for backing me up on this little prank. After some time, Dean understood it was just a little joke and that nothing was going to happen to him. And even if he was now aware he was safe, he was still eyeing me, making sure I wasn’t going to put a spell on him every time his back was turned.

I couldn’t help but shake my head and smile a little at the idea.

Sam began laying out our next case. “So, according to the witnesses I interrogated, all the men disappeared after hitting on a redheaded woman in the Outback Bar. The bartender said he saw the woman multiple times but never with the same man, despite them being good-looking and quote, ‘confident enough to think they could spend a night with such a woman’. Wait,” Sam shuffled some papers around, “I’m gonna show you some pictures.”

He browsed through the files and put the pictures of the victims on the table in front of them.

All of the men were indeed very good-looking, from the blond one with the shiny brown eyes to a couple dark-haired men with intense blue eyes, their body types and faces were different, but no one could argue with their attractiveness.

After observing all of them, I looked back at Sam who was reading through one of the files again, probably making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

“So, what do we do?” I asked as Dean picked up one of the photographs to look closer at it.

The younger man raised his head, his long hair brushing against the sides of his face. He cleared his throat a little, thinking about it for a second, but I knew him well enough to know he already had an idea.

Running his hand through his hair, he let a sigh escape and looked at his brother and I.

“Well, the easiest option and the one most likely to work, is to use bait. One of us should go to the bar, find this woman, hit on her, and get her to lead us to her place – the one she uses for her victims.” Sam explained.

I wasn’t very fond of this idea.

Using someone as a bait for a hunt was never safe. We could easily lose track of the person being bait, mistake an innocent person for the monster, or something even worse. Sam was obviously feeling the same way because he looked like he wasn’t very happy about his own proposition. I opened my mouth, ready to try for another solution, but Dean cut me off before I could get a word out.

“Alright then, I think this one is for me. Sorry Sammy.” He declared and I turned towards him, brows raised at his quick and easy willingness to be bait. Sam scoffed at his brother and straightened in his seat.

“And why are you the one who has to be bait?” Sam asked. “I think we should talk about this a little more. You don’t have to do this; I’m sure we can find another way, right y/n?”

I nodded, in agreement. But Dean did not agree.

“What is the other option? Wait for another guy to disappear?” Dean asked. Sam and I didn’t have an answer.

“Come on, it won’t be the first time one of us has had to be bait. And you two will be in the bar, making sure I don’t get stabbed through the heart by this bitch.” Dean declared, leaving me silent.

To say I didn’t like the idea of Dean being bait was an understatement. I didn’t want either of them to be used to trick a monster, especially unpredictable ones like witches.

“But why does it have to be you?” Sam asked again. “I could be the one to do it.” The younger brother tried to argue but Dean shook his head at him, putting the picture down on the table.

“Well, no offense, Sammy, but I think this one is for me. With great hotness comes great responsibility.” He proudly declared and Sam and I rolled our eyes in sync.

“You did not just say that.” I sighed, throwing my head back in annoyance.

“You’re an idiot.” Sam said simply, his best bitch-face taking over his features.

Dean chuckled proudly and shrugged at our reactions. He was indeed an idiot and I was convinced he knew it because the smile he gave us at this exact moment, showed just how happy he was with his turn of phrase.

“What? You disagree, Sweetheart?” He asked me, cocking an eyebrow.

I crossed my arms. “Let him be bait.” I told Sam, not really agreeing with the idea, but with the fact that his brother was an idiot. Sam sighed and closed the file, shaking his head a little as his brother proudly smiled next to me.

The bar was crowded and it was a bit difficult to keep an eye on Dean. The pop songs blaring through the speakers at were making the customers dance, crowding the floor. If you wanted to go to the bathroom, you had to try and find a path between the girls jumping up and down and swinging their hair around, and the couples making out.

In the forty-five minutes we’d been there, we still hadn’t spotted the witch. Only a few girls had come to talk to Dean, awakening a feeling in my stomach.

Probably jealousy…

I didn’t want to be jealous of them because I knew he wasn’t really interested in them. Even if he wasn’t just there to catch a witch, even if he wanted to take them home for real, he’d probably show interest for a night and then move on, and if I was honest with myself, that wasn’t what I wanted.

I didn’t want a night with Dean, I wanted a life with him. It didn’t matter that as a hunter that life could end in five years. I just wanted to share things with him that those girls couldn’t. I wanted his tears and his laughter, the side of his personality those girls would never know – the caring and funny dork and the strong and determined hunter.

But none of that changed the fact that I hated the look he was giving them and the way they ran their hands up and down his arm.

“You think she’s gonna show?” Sam asked next to me, pulling me from my thoughts.

I looked at him quickly and I could see he was a bit worried and deeply focused. He wanted the witch to show up, but didn’t want his brother to get hurt. I felt the same.

“Well, I hope so but I also hope she’ll hurry up so we can get it over with before anyone else gets killed.” I told him, before looking back at Dean, who’d turned to look for us.

He searched through the crowd a bit before spotting us sitting in a booth at the end of the bar. When our eyes locked, Dean quickly winked at me and I allowed myself to give him a smile in return. He grinned a little before going back to his drink, scanning the people around him to find our target.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Sam confessed and I stopped looking at his brother to focus on the worried man on my left.

His eyes were fixed on Dean and his brows slightly furrowed. He looked truly tense and he hadn’t taken a single sip of his drink the whole time we’d been here. I lowered my eyes for a second and saw him wringing his hands in his lap, evidence of just how concerned he was. So, I gently put a reassuring hand on his forearm and he looked at me.

“Hey, it’s not the first time we’ve done something like this, right? Once she shows up, we’re gonna follow them outside and get rid of her. Everything’s gonna be fine. And Dean isn’t some random guy; he’s a hunter. He knows how to defend himself.” I told him, offering him a comforting smile that he accepted.

Sighing, he lowered his head and looked at his hands, probably thinking about my words. I wondered what else I could say to reassure him as he pushed a hand through his hair. He was worried and I understood that worry all too well, I was worried too. But before I could add anything, he nodded and straightened up, seemingly getting some of his confidence back.

“You’re right. It’s not our first time on a case like this. We just have to keep an eye on Dean and everything’s gonna be f-” Sam abruptly stopped speaking when he turned his head towards the counter.

The hunter immediately stood up and I quickly followed his movements, trying to understand what was going on. But when I turned around and saw the empty spot where Dean was supposed to be sitting, my eyes widened and my heart squeezed.

I quickly climbed out of the booth and scanned the crowd for Dean, pushing some people out of my way, cursing at them for not paying attention to the people around them. Once I finally reached his seat, I noticed a half-drunk martini with some red lipstick on the rim of the glass, and another glass half full of whiskey.  There were some bills laying on the counter.

I turned around, hoping to see the hunter somewhere in the bar but unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen. When a waitress walked pass me, I stopped her by carefully grabbing her elbow.

“Did you see the guy who was sitting here earlier?” I asked her quickly and she let a smile spread on her lips.

“Oh yeah, I saw him alright, he just left. He probably won’t spend the night alone. Lucky girl.” She said dreamily and I growled before hurrying to the door. I was hoping I wasn’t too late and that I’d find them both outside.

But the moment I stepped outside, I was only met with the darkness of the night. The warm and humid air crashed on my face and the only things I could see clearly were the constellations in the sky and a street lamp a few feet away from me, illuminating the parking lot. I quickly walked towards it, trying to locate the hunter. I let a small sigh of relief when I spotted the black Impala still parked there.

But there was still no sign of Dean.

I looked around for signs of a struggle near his beloved car but couldn’t see anything. But when I reached the black vehicle, I glimpsed something shining on the ground. I kneeled down and grabbed the shiny objects on the ground. When my fingers touched the cold keys, I sighed in defeat. Dean would never have abandoned his Baby, and he was always so careful with her keys, so if I found them on the ground, it could only mean that he’d left them here for us to find. I cursed myself for letting him be bait. It was never a good idea.

In one last attempt to see if he was still here, I cupped my hands around my mouth and screamed.  “Dean !”

It was a few seconds before I saw a familiar silhouette coming around from the back of the bar and jogging towards me. My breath stuck in my throat when the light illuminated Sam’s face. A bit out of breath, the tall hunter shook his head at me and my heart squeezed.

We’d lost him.

“Sam, calm down, please. I know what I’m doing.” I said to the nervous man in the driver’s seat next to me.

“But you said it yourself, it’s been a long time since you used this.” Sam replied, worry in his voice.

After making sure Dean wasn’t anywhere inside or outside of the bar, we tried to locate his phone, but unfortunately, it must have been broken or dead because we couldn’t find any signal coming from it.

So we needed another way to find the hunter. We considered interrogating the customers outside, but we both agreed that it would probably just be a waste of time rather than a real option. So, I decided to take the pendulum I always kept in my bag and use it as a homemade compass to guide us to Dean.

It was true that I hadn’t used such a magical object in a long time but I was truly convinced it would lead us to the missing Winchester. It was our only hope anyway. So, I raised the pendulum a little higher in front of me, observing its movements going from right to left then back and front.

Watching the object swing in all directions, a part of me worried that it was just swaying along with the movement of the car and that this weird gadget was going to be of no use. But another part of me, a stronger and more confident part, truly believed it would work. So, I concentrated harder on the enchanted, green pendant and murmured the words Lady Salina had taught me during my time with her.

“Amisi quod amo. Redi ad me quod amo.”

I felt Sam’s eyes on me, probably starting to translate the words, but I ignored him. The more I stared at the pendant the more I felt the magic Lady Salina had put into it, awakening.

I remembered the day she’d put a spell on it. It was a warm and sunny day like today and I was looking for a book my mom had given me. When I accepted the fact that I had lost it forever, the brown-haired witch had come to me and offered me this pendulum. She told me she’d enchanted this pendulum so it would lead me to where my heart truly was, and that if I properly repeated her words, it would guide me to my lost things or the ones that were stolen from me. But I had never used it to find a human before.

I chanted the words over and over again until the pendulum stopped moving and was drawn tight. I waited a second, looking at the pendant starting to glow until it suddenly pointed to the right.

“Turn to the right, Sam.” I said quickly, and the hunter drove the car where the pendulum was pointing.

Once we were on the right road, the pendulum clearly showed us the way, moving to the right or left, indicating to Sam the path he had to take. After about fifteen minutes, the magical object slowed down when we reached a dirt road.

We continued to drive for a few miles until we reached an old farm. The building looked completely abandoned but we both knew it wasn’t. Sam parked the Impala behind some trees and I let go of the pendulum; it had been pointing at the farm. Putting it back in my bag, I pulled my gun out and looked at Sam.

Taking a breath, he nodded at me and quietly got out of the car. I followed him to the trunk and he opened it, searching for the Witch Killing Bullets. I took some and loaded my gun with them. Sam did the same and carefully closed the trunk.

“I take the front, you take the back?” Sam whispered to me and I nodded.

“Be careful.” I told him and he nodded back before putting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Watching Sam walking carefully to the front door, I took a deep breath and squeezed the weapon in my hand, before heading to the back of the barn. Everything was too quiet to be safe, not a bird was singing, no sounds of the forest were echoing far away. The only sound was // my boots crushing the gravel under my weight.

When I reached the back door, I stayed quiet, trying to hear if anyone was inside but unfortunately, I was only met with silence. So, I cautiously put a hand on the big wooden door and half opened it, aiming my gun in case of an attack.

But once again, nothing moved or made a sound.

When I entered the barn, my boots flattened some dry hay on my way, making it crunching sound. My weapon still raised, I carefully looked around. The rays of the moon slightly illuminating the area, not requiring my flashlight to be turned on. With a few more steps, I saw some chairs around a wooden table and noticed some vials, herbs of all kinds and an old grimoire. Everything needed for a good sacrifice.

But still no sign of life.

I continued my journey through the shed and the more I walked the more the smell of death filled my nostrils. I frowned at the scent and looked around, searching for this odor and hoping with all my heart that I wasn’t going to find any human body, but especially not Dean’s.

I distinguished a shape on a smaller table and walked to it, taking my flashlight out of my jacket.

I turned it on and immediately illuminated the table, cursing when it revealed a burst opened rabbit sitting on top. Bringing a hand to cover my mouth and my nose, I shook my head in disgust at the organs of the poor animal spread on the furniture.

“Ugh! So it’s a Sacrificing-Thumper kind of witch.” I whispered before continuing to inspect the place.

Once I made sure no one was there, I spotted another door with some warm light coming from under it. I walked to it, turning my flashlight off so I wouldn’t get caught, and carefully turned the knob. This time, the room was illuminated with candles, warming the place. But when I opened the door wider, the lights showed a long dark shadow on the wall opposite of me.

My heart beat faster while I entered the room, ready to shoot anything that moved. But when I took another step, I noticed the shadow wasn’t moving and was hanging by a thread – or maybe a rope.

My blood ran cold at the idea of finding Dean. No, it wasn’t an option. I wasn’t going to find his dead body and certainly not this way.

In a swift movement I turned to the left and found myself in front of the hanged body but instead of the horror I was preparing myself to see, I only met Dean’s broad shape hanging upside down and suspended by his feet. The rope tied his boots together and snaked down his body, holding his arms against his sides, preventing him from moving at all.

“Dean!” I yelled out recklessly before hurrying to the immobile man.

When I reached his side and the candles lit up my face, Dean turned his head, allowing me to see his red grumpy face. As simple as it was, this expression on his face brought me immense relief, because it meant that he wasn’t hurt or under a spell. He was just, understandably, upset.

Witches definitely had a thing for him.

“Muuuumuuum !” Dean tried to talk around the gag but the strip of cloth prevented him from making any sense.

I quickly grabbed the end of the fabric covering his mouth and undid the knot behind his head. Once he was free of it, Dean let a breath out and my heart finally slowed down.

“Son of a bitch! I told you!” He growled and I quickly covered his mouth with my hand, smiling at his grumpy face and he frowned at me.

He was definitely himself.

“I know, I know. You were right and it is definitely the kind of witch you don’t like but she’s still out there so stop making noise.” I told him and he nodded as much as he could.

I moved my hand away and scanned the area to try and find a way to bring him down without hurting him or making too much noise.

“Where is Sam?” Dean asked me, obviously worried about his brother.

I looked back at him and saw the concern on his features. Even when he was the one kidnapped, Dean was still always worried about his little brother.

“He took the front door; he’s probably taking care of the witch right now.” I explained, offering a reassuring smile.

Then I walked to a table and cleared off every object and paper on it, planning to use it to help Dean.

“I swear, I hate witches. I hate magic. Next time we have a case like this we give it to someone else. Maybe Garth, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” The elder hunter said as I tried to quietly pull the table towards him. The legs of the table creaked against the wooden floor and I cursed under my breath.

It wasn’t the time to draw attention.

“You know, magic saved your unsuperpower-y ass, ‘super-handsome’.” I sarcastically stated. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so close-minded about it; it can actually come in handy.”

He scoffed, probably thinking I was joking. But when I stopped and turned to glare at him, he understood I was serious.

“Really?” He asked slowly, a bit unsure, and I nodded, a little smile on my lips.

“Yep.” I answered, starting to pull the table again.

“So, you did put a spell on me after all.” He joked and I rolled my eyes, still tugging at the furniture, creating some high-pitched sounds every now and then.

“You’re an idiot.” I told him simply as I finally managed to get the table under his head.

Now that the furniture was under him, I would be able to untie him without making him fall to the ground from five feet in the air.

So, I climbed up on the table, testing the sturdiness of it before putting my feet on it too. I came closer to the tied-up hunter and kneeled under him. I grabbed the knife from my boot, and cut the ropes caging him. Carefully, I started to slice the rope next to his arm and before I could prevent myself, I let my thoughts out.

“Everything happened so fast, you disappeared so quickly. One second you were sitting at the counter and the next you were gone. But we were sure we’d lost you when we found Baby’s keys.” I explained, getting at the middle of the rope.

“Were you worried?” Dean asked and I bit my lip to prevent me from answering anything, acting like I was deeply focused on cutting the ropes without hurting him, which was true.

Dean must have sensed my reluctance to answer because he didn’t push, letting me work on the rope. Once one rope broke I started working on the one under it. The only sound heard was the blade against the fabric.

Until the hunter spoke up.

“You know… maybe I was a bit judgmental. With witches, I mean…” He started and I slowed down, lowering my head a little to see him better.

Dean wasn’t looking at me, his eyes glancing around the room for a second, trying to avoid my gaze.

“Oh yeah?” I answered and his eyes locked with mine sending a spark to my heart.

Still staring at me, the hunter licked his lips and slightly nodded at me.

“Yeah.” He said simply and the ropes around his torso broke, freeing his arms.

He let a grunt out when they fell and growled when he still couldn’t touch the table with his hands, his fingers inches from it. It was a bit funny to see him desperately try to reach it and I let out a little chuckle at the sight.

But I quickly stopped when his hands grabbed my waist, steadying himself and sending a shiver down my body. He let out a frustrated sigh , blowing some of my hair with his hot breath and I sat on the table to stabilize myself. When I raised my head, the older hunter was looking at me and hardly swallowed as his eyes met mine.

The green orbs stared at me and the flames reflecting in them made him look more beautiful than ever, even if his face was upside down and was starting to redden. The silence surrounding us created a new tension between us and I looked around, straightening up a little, trying to avoid this new feeling in my stomach.

But Dean cleared his throat, catching my attention again and when I looked at him again, he bit his lower lip.

“I have a confession to make.” He declared, licking his lips in a nervous way.

I rarely saw Dean, being shy and nervous, so I bit the inside of my cheeks to prevent myself from letting out a nervous laugh and possibly stopping him from opening up to me. I lowered myself as much as I could, so I could see him better, and I nodded to let him know I was listening. My heart beat a bit faster, my mind wondering, hopeful about what kind of confession he wanted to make.

Dean stared at me for a second before letting a little smile spread his full lips.

“You’ve got a funny face upside down like this.” He laughed and I rolled my eyes, annoyed at the fake revelation; a feeling of disappointment in my chest that I quickly tried to erase.

“You’re an idiot.” I said simply and naturally pushed his chest like every time he was being stupid. But this time, his hands lost their grip on my waist and he swung away from me.

“Crap.” I breathed out and jumped off the table to catch him but when he swung my way, his forehead hit mine and we both cursed. But at least I was able to stop him.

When he stopped swinging, I touched my forehead, closing my eyes, trying to ease the pain. I slowly rubbed the sensitive skin, hoping it wouldn't get too red. When the pain started to fade, I felt something warm touching my cheek and I suddenly opened my eyes, meeting Dean’s. A breath got stuck in my throat for a second when I noticed the sweet little smile tracing his lips.

“You didn’t hurt yourself too much, did you?” He softly asked and I smiled back at him, shaking my head. His thumb brushed my cheekbone in a gentle gesture.

“Nah, I have a hard skull.” I joked and he let out a little snort.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you have a little spell to ease your pain if needed.” He declared, an annoying smirk at the corner of his lips.

Letting a sigh escape, I rolled my eyes. Even when he was tied up, upside down and a bit hurt, Dean didn’t let go of the subject. And, to be honest, I’d had enough of this battle for the day.

“Listen. I know you despise and hate witches, that they clearly have a thing for you considering all the troubles you get into because of them, but can we let the topic go for today? I know your opinion on them but I just want to get you out of here, find Sam, get rid of her and go home.” I declared, willing to let him win for once if it meant he would shut up about it for a while.

Even if I didn’t consider myself a witch and knew he didn’t see me like one either, I was tired of fighting with him over the same thing for a whole day. I liked our bickering, it kept us entertained, but sometimes I just wanted a truce and stop arguing about such a silly thing. But maybe it was actually because I was a bit afraid that he truly, deeply hated them and everyone who had any kind of friendly behavior towards them.

I stepped back a little, my back hitting the table and Dean’s hand fell from my face.

“Hey, are you mad at me?” He asked, confusion clear in his voice.

I let a breath out and shook my head, looking back at him. I smiled slightly at his still upside-down face.

“No, of course not. I’ve just had enough of your hate for witches for today, if you wouldn’t mind.” I explained and Dean stared at me for a second, licking his bottom lip.

I ignored his eyes on me and sat back on the table, ready to take care of the others ropes. Dean shouldn’t stay upside-down for too long. So I grabbed my knife again and started to cut the ties around his torso, still not paying attention to the hunter’s gaze.

“You know… maybe witches don’t have a thing for me. Maybe I have a thing for them.” Dean broke the silence and I raised my eyebrows in confusion.

“What?”

“Well, only for one of them, really.” He continued and I slowed down my movements a little, wondering where he was going with this.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, confusion and wonder all over my face.

Dean clenched his jaw, looking away for a second, and I frowned. He’d had the same facial expression a few minutes ago just to mess with me. So, this time I stayed on my guard a little, not wanting to misunderstand his words again.

The hunter cleared his throat and bit his lip for moment before looking back at me. His eyes met mine and something in the way he looked at me seemed sincere. I furrowed my eyebrows again, waiting for Dean to explain what he meant by that. He pursed his lips like he was hesitating.

But then, as if he had a sudden burst of courage, Dean took a deep breath and properly locked eyes with me.

“Actually, she’s not a really a witch. But she knows the basics.” He simply said and something in my stomach made it tighten.

I froze, letting his words, words that echoed mine, sink in. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to burst in laughter, to make another joking comment. But nothing happened. Dean simply looked at me, his eyes quickly going from my right one to the other. Without my consent, my heart beat faster, quivering at the idea of the hunter saying he had a thing for me.

It was no secret that we were close but none of us had actually said something about it. He was the full hunter and I was the half witch, the two of us killing the same monsters but always finding ourselves in conflict over the same thing.

But at this moment, with the heavy silence he was letting linger over us and the lack of laughter, I couldn’t help but truly hope he was serious. Because if he was planning on showing me his cocky smile and giving me a stupid joke, it wouldn’t only be my hint of hope that he was breaking.

“Are you messing with me again?” I asked, not wanting disillusionment to hit me right in the face if all of this was just another prank.

But Dean answered my question with just a shake of his head and a sweet smile. I felt myself blush at the realization and my hands got a bit sweaty. Every ounce of worry and denial was gone the second he gave me this simple, gentle grin and like a school girl I pushed a few strands of my hair behind my ear.

“Really?” I whispered, needing a vocal confirmation from him.

“Yeah, really. I think I’ve had a thing for her for a while now.” He answered, his voice no louder than mine.

I slowly got off the table to be at the same height as him and this time a huge smile wreathed my face.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I asked him, getting a bit closer to him and he quickly nodded, eager to know.

“She may like a hunter too, and it’s not Sasquatch.” I told him and he let out a little laugh, a sigh of relief escaping him.

I smirked at the idea of Dean worrying a bit about whether I liked him or not. Even if it was truly stupid to think I didn’t. Even Sam was aware of the tension between us, not that either of us had confirmed that of course. But now we were actually declaring the attraction we had for each other. No jokes. No misunderstanding. Only truth and shyness in our confessions.

The hand of the hunter interrupted my thoughts, a warm palm landing on my shoulder and a finger caressing my chin. I raised my head and the light of the candles illuminated the freckles on his soft skin, the flames reflecting in his green iris and creating some golden rings around his pupils. My breath got jammed in my throat at the sight.

Dean Winchester was truly handsome, no matter the lighting or his position.

Without adding another word, Dean gently pulled on my shoulder to bring me closer to him and my feet gladly lead me towards the hunter. For a second we looked at each other, hesitation and want clear in our eyes. The older brother and I had never looked at each other this way and a thrill// ran down my spine.

Still silent and without even thinking about my action, I raised my hands to his face and gently cupped it. Dean didn’t move at all, his green orbs staring at me and I started to lean towards him. When I didn’t sense any disagreement in his eyes, I smiled and he copied me, smiling wide.

In an instant, my face was inches away from his and I felt his hot breath landing on my lips, tickling them. I let my fingers brush his cheeks, caressing the freckles on them and Dean’s hands slide down my body, stopping on my waist as much as he could. Then, as if a mystical force had pushed me forward, my lips crashed onto Dean’s.

My nose bumped against his chin and his brushed the top of my throat. My hands flat against his cheeks, I slowly opened my mouth, catching his upper lip between mine. The moment I felt his calloused palms roaming on my body and the tip of his tongue asking for permission, a bright warmth invaded my body, sending an electrical wave from my belly to the hair on the back of my neck.

Our lips molded against each other, the kiss slow but deepening with every movement of our heads. I could have gotten lost in his kisses forever.

We had never crossed that line before. Sure, we’d had some lingering touches from time to time but now that I knew how his lips felt against mine, I was afraid I could never stop doing it. I could never stop feeling them brush mine, his tongue battling against mine for dominance even though I would gladly let him win if it meant he would kiss me all day and night from now on. I was afraid that I could never let him go now that I had been that close to him.

Dean let a small groan out as I unconsciously sucked at his bottom lip and I smiled against the plump pillows that were his lips. The hunter tried to kiss me harder but I was still holding his head between my palms, controlling his movements. I felt him complain when he tightened his grip on my t-shirt.

I couldn’t lie and say that I wasn’t enjoying the sense of power I had over him at the moment.

I let my fingers spread through his spiky hair at the base of his neck, enjoying every lock brushing my soft skin and, surprisingly, I felt him relax against my touch. Dean could easily get on my nerves because of a stupid grin, but he could also melt my heart with a simple sigh of relaxation. The hunter spent so much time on edge, worried and focused on everyone’s safety, that feeling him let his guard down under my hands was a blessing.

My thoughts were abruptly stopped when I heard two gunshots far away.

Immediately pulling away – panting – Dean and I stared at each other, eyes wide opened. The only emotion passing through the hunter’s eyes was fear, complete and dreadful fear. My heart beat faster but not thanks to the man in front of me this time.

“Sammy.” We called out at the same time, panic clear in our voices.

Without wasting a second, Dean grabbed the ropes around his body and pulled at them, desperately trying to break them. With the strength he always got when Sam was in danger, I thought for moment that he was actually going to break them with his bare hands. But unfortunately, he didn’t succeed and shouted in frustration, making me flinch.

“Get them the fuck off of me!” He yelled, frenetically moving, his body swinging a little from one side to the other.

I immediately got on the table and quickly used the knife against the ropes around his body, some dust of the fabric falling in his eyes but the hunter couldn’t care less at this moment. I hurried to free him of those links but my hands couldn’t move fast enough, making Dean growl and wriggle against the ropes.

Then finally, they broke.

The ropes fell from his torso, landing on the ground and without waiting a second, the hunter curled up to reach his feet, in order to undo the knots at his ankles. A sharp breath got stuck in my throat when I realized the strength Dean needed – and clearly had – to be able to contract his abs this way and touch his feet.

Watching Dean almost shaking in his panic, I tried to rationalize the situation, thinking that witches used spells to kill, not guns. So, it was more likely that the sound we heard was Sam shooting the witch and not the other way around. Yeah, it was the only solution.

I was about to say this to the man in front of me to try and call him down a little, to reassure him on his brother’s condition when we heard someone outside.

“Dean? Y/N?” The younger brother yelled from the other side of the barn and I let a loud sigh of relief escape. Dean let go of his ankles and quickly let himself fall back, closing his eyes; he looked reassured by the sound of his brother’s voice.

I turned towards the door and yelled back to Sam.

“We’re in the barn!”

Then some running sounds were heard, indicating that the hunter had heard me and was now heading to the barn.

“Thank God.” Dean whispered next to me and I looked back at him.

His eyes were still closed, probably too afraid that if he opened them now I would see how worried he had been for a second. But truth was, I had been scared too. So I simply let my index finger graze his cheek, and then get lost in his hair in a comforting gesture, letting him know that I’d felt the same way. The hunter opened his eyes and I immediately knew he had understood me.

He offered me a small smile that I immediately gave back.

“Come on, Peter Parker let’s get you down, shall we?” I told him in a mocking tone and the hunter mumbled under his breath, making a face.

I let out a chuckle and stepped back up on the table, straightening to grasp the knots around his boots. The hunter tried to touch the table but once again, he was too high to do so. Undoing the first knot, I heard the door slam open and someone panting behind me. I quickly turned around and spotted the younger Winchester, his chest raising and falling rapidly, out of breath, his gun in his large hand. I smiled in relief and he nodded at me.

We were all very glad that everyone was alive.

Then Sam noticed his brother behind me and burst into laughter, his voice higher while he was slightly bent, laughing. When he didn’t stop, I couldn’t help but join him, my cheeks hurting as I smiled widely. Of course, the suspended man didn’t find this funny at all and grumbled in annoyance, trying to undo the rope himself again as I had stopped, too busy making fun of him.

“Ugh, will you stop and help me?” He asked, clearly not happy.

“Ahah! So much for the great responsibility, man. Still wanna be bait next time?” Sam asked his brother, who finally let go of his feet, letting out a frustrated breath.

“Screw you.” Dean said and I shook my head, amused by the brothers.

Then I decided to finally put him out of his misery and found the last knot holding him.

“Watch out for your head.” I said quickly and before Dean could finish the ‘what’ escaping his lips, I undid the last ropes and he let out a small scream when he felt himself fall.

In an instinctive reaction, my hands reached for the falling hunter and in a reflex gesture he grabbed me back, dragging me down with him. I let a yelp escape me and suddenly felt myself hit a firm surface.

When I opened the eyes I hadn’t even realized I’d closed in the first place, I met some green orbs. I let a shy smile spread across my lips when I realized I was laying on top of the strong hunter. Dean’s arms were securely wrapped around my body, his hands holding me against him. Even if he had brought me along in his fall, Dean’s back had taken all the pain, preventing me from getting hurt.

I slowly moved to have a better look at him and he furrowed his eyebrows, showing that he had definitely hurt himself in the process. My face softened at this and I gently rubbed his shoulder with my thumb, giving him some comfort.

“Still alive?” Sam asked on the other side of the table and I realized that Dean hadn’t just hit the floor but also the table on his way down. I chuckled, raising my head towards Sam.

“Yeah, I had a shock absorber.” I answered and looked back at Dean who was trying to get up. But when he moved, the pain in his back must have woken up as he frowned, slightly grunting.

He managed to sit up, his hands leaving my body and pressing to the ground to steady himself. I was now sitting on his lap and I felt a warmth invading my stomach and spreading to my cheeks. Dean hissed when he completely straightened and his face lost the redness of all the blood that had rushed into his head while he was upside down. Then he brought one of his hands behind him, rubbing the ache in his back.

Gently, my palm landed on his torso and he immediately stared at me. I smiled at him.

“Don’t worry, I have a spell for back pain.” I told him with a wink.

The hunter blessed me with a huge grin, making the wrinkles around his eyes appear and I blushed at how cute he was in this moment. Dean put his hands back on my hips and drew some circles with his thumbs.

“I’m saved then, lovely Witch.” He answered simply.

The look in his eyes was different this time. There was still the usual mischief, of course, but something was hidden behind it. Something like peace of mind and trust. And all of this was for the girl who loved to be right and get on his nerves. For the half witch he always loved to annoy and pretend to dislike. For the one who always helped him on hunt and made sure he was alright after a rough one. For the girl who shared her fries with him but ate his pie. For the one who teamed up with Sammy to upset him but loved to go on drive in his Baby.

It was all for me.

Maybe I was going to have what those one nightstands couldn’t have after all.

All of him.

Taglist : @emilielbls @avanatural @awkward-and-indecisive @waynes-multiverse @roonyxx @akshi8278 @snowlovespie @thoughts-and-funnies @siospins2​ 

[notnctu]

backseat chronicles - n.jm | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, fluff, lil angst  wordcount ➠ 8.5k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jaemin, badboy!jaemin, college!au ━ where Jaemin brings you to his club races as his arm candy. warnings ➠ explicit language, overstimulation, flirty banter, pet names, softdom!jaemin, car sex, praise kink, hittin it raw (y/n on the pill), oral, daddy kink, slight corruption kink, fingering synopsis ➠ There is no reasonable explanation as to why or how you always end up in the backseat of Na Jaemin’s beloved car. Almost routinely, he picks you up around ten in the evening with the stereo blasting the raunchiest lyrics for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. The entire night remains purely friendly, a dabble of flirtatious comments because well, it’s Jaemin for fuck sakes. But all it takes is one suggestive gaze from his dark, lustful eyes and a drop in his voice that rumbles your core to have you climbing over the seats to get to the back. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi​​​ ; @darkneogotmyback​​​ ; @im-lame-irl​​​ ; @p-mini​​​ ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck​​​ ; @saniahmichael​​ ; @jaehy9ngs​​​ ; @danyxthirstae01​​​ ; @jaehyunoos​​​ ; @pikijaemin​​​ ; @suhweo​​​ ; @yunoyeol​​​ ; @lanadreamie​​​ ; @ta3ilmoon​​​ ; 

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! thank you for over 1k notes on this series, im beyond impressed by the amount of attention this got! it really blew up and its so crazy!! i wrote this one with more of a romantic plotline i realized its too hard to keep it pwp with all the story building and characterization i have :)) it’s almost over yall! pls pls leave me feedback im sorry it took so long to write ):

While college lecture rooms are too big to interact with other students, discussion classes are there to ease the difficulty. A classroom for about twenty students from a three hundred person lecture. It’s administered by a clueless TA, who barely began his second term in graduate school.

Unlike lecture, attendance is mandatory for participation points. You show up every time without a fail, so it came as a shock to you when a certain blue haired student finally appeared from the list of absent students.

Na Jaemin. The notorious playboy with looks that kill and partakes in some illegal racing club. It’s as if every person in the room fawns over his aura, Jaemin drips with an inexplicable alluring confidence. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he never shows up for class and rumors about how he’s slept with the entire cheer squad.

But he’s drawn to you like a magnet: always sitting in the available spot next to you, asking about your day before the TA arrives, developing an odd staring problem. You don’t feed much into his attention, minding your own business when he starts with his notably flirtatious greeting.

“You just take my breath away, (Y/N).” Jaemin cocks back in his seat with legs stretched wide in an overly comfortable manner. The smug smirk on his face cannot be ignored, he’s doing the absolute most to get you to pay the smallest attention to him.

“I didn’t do anything in particular to do that, Jaemin.” You respond bitterly, pulling out your notes for today’s discussion class. The TA enjoys wasting the first twenty minutes going over the past lecture slides and running through the most obvious topics.

You pay no mind to Jaemin peering over at you with the single handedly most dreamy eyes and smile --- stars shining in his dark orbs and a dazzling twinkle in his wide toothy grin.

“That’s why you’re so amazing. You do nothing and it still leaves me breathless.” His sneaky eyes examine your clothing choice for the long day. On this warm afternoon, the short tank top does nothing to hide much of your skin and the denim shorts that ride up a little too well drive Jaemin insane. And when you cross your legs together, he swallows the spit that pools in the back of his throat.

Your ears catch onto the murmurs of the rest of the class, the midterm is next week. The wretched midterm that is half of your grade dooms you, it is going to take an endless amount of completely undistracted dedicated hours of study--- “On a more serious note, can you help me with this class?”

His voice shatters your inner panic, if anything, adds to the stress that already beats down on your shoulders. You look up to glare at him, but you’re entirely taken aback by the new styling of his hair and the exposure of his tattoos.

The sweet blue cotton candied strands are ruffled lazily above his brows, messy from him constantly running his hand through them. Jaemin sits relaxed in gray sweatpants that are extremely baggy on his slender figure, hands are shoved casually into the pockets.

But what has you staring for longer is the long sleeve of tattoos that wrap around his left arm. Not that you’re surprised that Jaemin has tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve, but this is your first time seeing it as this is the first time he’s come to class without his leather jacket on. Something about the intricate lines and shadowing make Jaemin seem much cooler, almost more attractive.

When you meet his eyes, his lips curl slowly into a sly side smile and he’s practically eating you up under his gaze. He definitely knew that you were staring and what comes next out of his mouth will haunt you for it. “Like what you see, beautiful?”

“I don’t have the time to help you.” The best way out of this situation is to simply ignore it. Jaemin is overly adored and admired by many, he’ll find someone else to help him.

“Jaemin, do you want to study together?” There you go, folks. The random girl snickers with her small huddle of friends in the upper corner of the room, like a crowd of crows, they’re all waiting around for Jaemin to accept her offer so he can be easily integrated into their little group.

However, you watch how his glances bounce between you and her. The most sickly sweet, kind smile is almost too fake to consider it to be genuine. His final choice surprises you, “thank you for offering, but I only want (Y/N)...”

Your breath hitches and gets caught in your throat as you hope for him to finish his sentence, the drumming of your heart distracting you even more. Jaemin wants you? While the thought is flattering, it puzzles you greatly.

“... to help me with my studies.” Jaemin finishes his sentence after a rather long pause, his eyes finally resting upon your figure shying away and finding any way to seem uninterested in the conversation. “Is that going to be okay, (Y/N)?”

“What do I get out of it?” You can’t believe that you are actually considering it. But this is a man that only wants you to help him. Jaemin is an impossible, yet charming man and whatever comfortable attire he is wearing today is really aiding in his request.

He lights up, ears perked up and eyes attentive. His hands fold together on the empty desk, leaning forward towards you. “Dates with me.”

Rolling your eyes, you groan slightly at the arrogant answer. “I don’t care about that. I want something that benefits me.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” There is a tiny plea in his tone, a remarkable shift from his cool aura. “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”

“I guess I can’t turn down free food…” there is a hang in your sentence as you contemplate what chaos you’re about to dive into and what life changes are about to be explored with Jaemin.

“Before you agree,” Jaemin chuckles, “there’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”

You’re quick to shoot a daggering glare at the overly enthusiastic boy, “why do I suddenly owe you favors?”

“Because I say so.” He deadpans, a chill running down your spine at the deep dip in his octave. The playfulness that was present all this time suddenly vanished, a serious look that intimidates you, but sexy enough to where it erupts something in your core. He blinks at you with dark clouded eyes and you nervously anticipate what he is going to ask next of you.

“Accompany me to my races.” He speaks lowly as if he’s afraid of someone else eavesdropping in the conversation.

Here’s your issue with that request: you’ve never really been part of that scene. You’ve lived pretty mundanely, even in college. It’s simple, you like to stay within the boundaries of what you enjoy to do and what you have to do. But you’re always open minded and willing to try something to determine whether or not you’re fond of it.

Partying and drinking copious amounts of alcohol weren’t your favorite things to do, especially to the point of forgetting your nights. You wanted to remember your nights as much as you do your days. The youth isn’t here for long, why waste them by blacking out in the middle of a large party? Also, whoever said that alcohol goes down smooth is a blatant liar.

Illegal racing could possibly be an extension of people who participate in those things, which is fine, but does place a crippling fear of coming off too boring or unrelatable inside your nervous system. But just because you don’t do those things doesn’t mean that you’re not as cool, right?

Since when was your status based nonsensically on how often you spend your nights in socializing crowds full of sweaty bodies and how much cheap booze you can drink? It had to be all in your head --- you’re just dreading any awkward socializing with people who race cars when it’s absolutely illegal.

“Why me?” It’s a genuine answer, possibly stemming from your insecurities of not being on the same level of charm as Jaemin exudes. You’re not a fool, you’re well aware of the many different people he comes across on campus so, why you?

Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to answer, “why not you? You’re just my type. Hot and smart. Cute and a little shy. The greatest duality, if you ask me.” His words seem so genuine that it has you believing these things about yourself as well.

Nonetheless, you’re taken aback by his observations and his choice of descriptions. “We’ve barely ever talked. How can you say these things so confidently about me?”

Jaemin slightly pulls your chair closer to his own and you yelp in response to the sudden movement and lack of space that separates the two of you. He leans into you, breath hot on your skin and obvious eyes darting between your shocked ones and pretty lips.

“So let’s get to know each other. I can already tell that it’ll just make me fall for you even more.” His finger lightly traces your jaw, stopping at your chin to give it a small lift to meet his focus. Jaemin loves how you squirm underneath his intensity, you’re too cute to let go. “Plus, my boys will love you. I’m sure of it.”

The TA rushes in quickly and is utterly distressed from the traffic that had pushed back his schedule. “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He rummages through his things to find his notes, but groans to see that the monitor of the computer is off. It’s going to take him another ten minutes to input all his credentials.

But your attention doesn’t stray from Jaemin, especially with his delicate touch at the bottom of your chin. His gentle smile enacts nothing but a soft love, and a peak of interest. Na Jaemin, the one and only. He’s like an adventure waiting to be explored, an open bottle of fun for you to take a sip.

“What would I have to do?” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just be there as your pretty self.” Jaemin comes off as the type to always have women around him, “you’ll be my lucky charm. For some reason, I always feel better around you.”

The escalation of this conversation is possibly more action you’ve had to handle in the last two years. Jaemin drops your chin and falls back into his own seat with his arms crossed. He is about to turn your life upside down and whether that be a good or bad thing, you don’t mind. You’re excited for the new thrills that come with being by Na Jaemin’s side.

Jaemin’s hot hands lift your shirt quickly, throwing it towards the front seat of his car. His lips return to your soft neck, nibbling at your skin tenderly and with love bites that will remind you of his gentle touches. The streetlamps outside flicker impatiently as you feel the eagerness soaking your panties and he lifts you up to take them off.

“My sweet girl,” his voice is light and airy that it becomes almost lost in the heat of the car. “You’re excited tonight. Did you miss me?” The devilish smirk can be felt upon your collarbones.

“Yes, I haven’t seen you for almost five days.” A peculiar whine settles in your pout and Jaemin’s low growl sends shivers down your spine. The only barrier are his own tight jeans and your hands are fast at unbuckling his belt. Jaemin relaxes back, forearms resting on your soft thighs and watching the neediness in your expression and the speed of your hands. He smiles to himself seeing you this way, wanting him so badly that you can’t wait to get him out of his jeans.

Throughout the two months that you and Jaemin finally became well acquainted, he’s fallen inexplicably into your trance. His friends made it very clear to you that he doesn’t keep the same girl around for more than a few weeks. But he’s brought you to almost every race so far and despite the initial shock of your appearance after the third time, you didn’t let the passing comments phase you.

Why he hasn’t replaced you is unknown and truthfully, there is no reasonable explanation how you always wind up in the backseat of his car by the end of the night. It’s become part of your routine. Jaemin picks you up around ten in the evening with raunchy lyrics blasting out of his personalized car for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. More often than not, Jaemin has food ready for you to devour and a cozy blanket for your exposed legs.

You’ve learned a bit more about him through your backseat chronicles. Jaemin is possibly one of the only people in your life with a heart bigger than his own body, while also being as carefree as he can. Oddly enough, he cares about you as his friend and as his companion. Not to mention the ridiculous, yet endearing nickname, “Lucky Charm”, that he has coined upon you.

Jaemin has been the best adventure you’ve had in ages. While he takes you on intoxicating thrill rides on the leather of his back seats, every street race has been more than unforgettable. He shares one of the same values as you --- wanting to remember the present. You both know that you’ll remember each other enough for it to transcend into your next lives.

You have him to thank for your youthful experiences, to learn and dive into this new found world of mischief under his care. Jaemin treats you extraordinarily well, he’d never hurt a soul. He showers you in appraisal and carefulness, he’s attentive to your behavior and remembers your favorite things. And he reminds you almost every time you see him that he’s so grateful to have you in his life.

“Have you been touching yourself?” Jaemin’s bold question catches you off guard as it causes your hands to shyly hover over his unzipped jeans. When you glance up at him with soft innocent eyes, as if you’re guilty of a crime and wish to beg for forgiveness, his facial expression is serious and intimidating. 

“Continue, baby. You can be honest with me. Daddy isn’t going to punish you if you did.” His tone is sweet and light, but his eyes are dark and piercing. His lips are drawn tightly into a thin line, no curve in sight.

His finger grazes down your cheek gently as he admires your slightly parted lips and the way your eyelashes dance every time you blink. However, his other hand urges you to continue your previous action of getting him out of his restrictive jeans.

You nod, while rubbing his erection through his gray briefs that hug him so tightly. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you pull the waistband of his underwear down and his cock stands against his lower abdomen. “Do you think of me when you do?” His voice gets caught in his throat when you take him in your warm hand.

“Always.” You kiss his jawline and fix your position above his dick. Your slick pussy presses down against his shaft, coating it in your juices and rubbing his tip to your clit for a delicious sensation. Jaemin groans, his gaze dipping between your lower bodies and back to your face.

“My sweet (Y/N) thinks about her daddy fucking her senseless while she touches herself.” Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding his hips harder against you. There is a shift in the atmosphere as he grips your hips and slowly enters your dripping hole. “That’s cute, baby.”

You hold onto his shoulders as his raw dick fills you to the brim, stretching you out like past nights. Gasps leave your body when he starts pulling all the way out to only have you sink back down. “Daddy, please just fuck me.”

Jaemin picks up his speed, knowing that you have a quiz due at midnight that you scolded him for forgetting earlier. The grip on his shoulders tighten as this man navigates your body all too well. He knows you like the back of his hand, fucking the spot that causes your body to lose control.

One of his favorite sights in the world is the view of your lips parted open with loud whimpers falling effortlessly. Your eyes roll back into your skull as his hips roll deeper into your walls, the tip hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You’re always the best girl for me, aren’t you?” His hand wraps around your neck when you throw your head back, choking you lightly and your walls grip around his shaft. “I know you’re close. Cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl.”

Jaemin’s tattoos shine under the moonlight when you peer down at him. His hooded eyes are intoxicated by the pure image of your fucked out body and he’s truly in love. “My good girl, come on baby.” He continues to encourage, his other hand giving you a smack on your ass when he drills mercilessly into you.

The familiar bubbling occupy your lower half and the feeling of release unravels all so suddenly. You fall forward, Jaemin lets go of your neck to hold your limp body close to him, your head on his shoulder as your orgasm overtakes you. He grinds his hips into you to prolong your shaking climax, cooing sweet nothings in your ear as his other hand takes a whole handful of ass to squeeze.

He bottoms out, filling you up to the rim to cum deep inside of you. Jaemin moans loudly, his cum spilling all over your walls. You two sit like that until he grows soft, pampering your temples with gentle kisses. Jaemin remembers to take care of you, no matter what.

While you’re in his arms, he reaches for sanitary wipes in the side compartments. He lifts your hips slowly to pull out and you sigh at the emptiness. Gently, he swipes at the dripping cum from your pussy and makes sure that you’re all cleaned up before getting dressed.

“So, you want to tell me why you’ve been MIA for the past five days?” Rolling your eyes, you pull up your panties and fix the last decency of your hair.

“Car meets that are too far for me to take you.” His thumb rubs your chin lovingly and Jaemin’s eyes are so bright and mesmerizing, you find that it’s hard to look him in the eye at times.

“Not because you’ve been hooking up with other girls?” There is a tinge of sarcasm that laces your rhetorical question and though you don’t expect him to give you an actual answer, you take note of his reaction. Jaemin raises an eyebrow, clearing his throat and looking out the window away from you.

“And if I was?” Truthfully, that question hurt you more than your’s hurt him. His hand rests underneath his chin as he patiently waits for your answer. He admires the clear night sky and the rundown abandoned liquor store that stands all by itself.

“What do you want me to say?” Question after question, a stiff tension replaces the sex of the car.

“I’ll take you back now.” Jaemin crawls back to the driver’s seat, completely ignoring your confused figure. He has always been quite like this: going aloof whenever he wants to dodge something. However, it’s been happening more frequently the past times you two have been seeing each other.

The truth is simple, yet entirely complex at the same time. You and Jaemin aren’t dating, despite always going out together and him posessively introducing you to other men. You and Jaemin aren’t dating.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop you from growing feelings for him and you can tell that this happens too often for the attractive boy. He can’t have a fuckbuddy that won’t fall head over heels for him. But who could really blame you? Even if all this time Jaemin was pretending that he cared about you, he still pampers you like a princess; he still tells you he does.

But when it comes to discussion about advancing into something more, he hides and grows silent. This has you wondering, maybe this entire thing to him is all sex? And he can’t love you back the way you do.

No one knows his heart, not even himself. He’s never wanted to complicate his life, it’s always been about two things: racing and having fun. There is no easy way to explain it all, the thoughts that flood his mind and heart, so he chooses every way to ignore it. Overall, he’s genuinely lost. You are one source of stability in his life that he isn’t willing to let go, ever. But just because he won’t let you go, doesn’t mean that you won’t take the chance to leave when you’re fed up with him.

This has him wondering, how far can he push before he pushes you too far?

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” Tonight is unsettling, it usually doesn’t end like this. Jaemin locks the car doors and turns around to reach for your hand. “Jaemin, open the door.”

“I want you to say that you hate when I sleep with other people.” Jaemin confesses all too wildly as his hand lightly squeezes around your wrist. “And I want you to mean it.” He’s only speaking words of truth that haven’t had the time to process in his own thoughts.

“I hate when you sleep with other people.” And you do mean it. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said to this man. Jaemin just sighs, bringing your wrist to his lips for a lasting kiss.

“Can I drive you home?” Jaemin asks softly, eyes dipping down to the leather seats and avoiding all need for eye contact.

“Yes, Jaemin.” He pulls you back into the passenger seat and drapes the soft blanket over your exposed legs. “Hopefully, I still have time to take my quiz.”

“Can I come inside?” Jaemin coolly turns his marble wheel to reverse out of the parking space, a hand resting on the shoulder of your seat as he does a double take behind him for any pedestrians, even if you two are far out in the middle of nowhere and there isn’t anyone around; Jaemin knows you have the hots for him when he does that specific move.

“What do you mean? You’ve already cum inside.”

It’s the sound of disappointment as his tongue tsks at you and he flicks lightly at your forehead. He steps on the acceleration, revving the annoying engine that roars throughout the peaceful night. The multicolored lights illuminate around his stereo and at your feet, creating the Rainbow Road right out of Mario Kart. 

Jaemin isn’t like the others who pay close attention to the details of his car. His motto goes, “if I like it, I’m going to have it.” Whether or not anything matches goes beyond his worries.

In some ways, his car is a mirror of his own personality --- wild and free, colorful and welcoming. And his skills as a driver? Safe, no matter how far the speedometer goes, Jaemin always makes you feel safe.

“I mean come inside your room for aftercare. You know how much I hate leaving you without a proper cuddle.” He pouts and almost immediately his cute baby tone comes out with his beg. Almost subconsciously, Jaemin lays his right palm open facing up to invite yours in. Almost routinely, you lace your hands to complete his hold. Getting Jaemin to smile has never been easier as his hold grows tighter.

“You can’t stay over tonight though. My housemates are doing some Single Girls Only house event tomorrow and it starts immediately when we wake up.” You laugh as the ridiculous words fill the air.

“And you’re participating in that?” Jaemin mindlessly asks and you’re unable to differentiate his implications from the question. Is he asking because the idea is horrendously nothing you’d like to do or he’s implying that you’re not single?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sounding rather harsher than intended, Jaemin finally realizes how poorly he had worded his previous question. Yet, a part of him feels disappointment whirling in his chest and a desire to feel wanted by you.

“Doesn’t seem like something you’d like: wallowing in your singleness.” He chuckles, remaining lighthearted and playful.

“I really don’t.” Jaemin brings your knuckles up to his lips for a lingering kiss, his eyes darting quickly on the road ahead now that you’ve entered the metropolitan areas and his speed drops significantly to avoid getting ticketed.

“I’ll come pick you up. Instead of being single tomorrow, you’ll be on a date.” When you turn to examine his facial expression, the serious tension in his jawline and focused eyes alarm you. Your stomach twists into knots and if he couldn't already tell, your palms grow sweaty at his offer.

“That’s such a slap in the face to them.” Pulling your hand away from his, you cross your arms and lean your head against the cold window. “I don’t think I can do that to them.”

“I have a race tomorrow.” He starts, his head tilting over at you with his round gorgeous begging eyes, “at least, come to that with me.”

“Okay, but only because I want to see Haechan.” As if it wasn’t moments ago, Jaemin was the one balls deep in you and now you’re spewing enthusiasm for another man. It’s all a joke, a way for you to conceal your undying attraction for Jaemin.

You still remember the first time you met the sunshine that is Haechan and the jealousy that seeped from Jaemin’s words when he noticed the exchange of flirtation. Haechan is someone you’d knowingly gravitate towards: a man with a loud personality that just knows how to conduct every personality in the room. And at that moment, Jaemin couldn’t tell if being more observant was a good or bad thing.

Jaemin never saw himself as outgoing as his other friends, staying more kept in his own circle, but he had the confidence to fake it. He’s bold, rather impulsive and slightly narcissistic, Jaemin knows how to use his strengths very well. 

However, when he saw the soft smirk on Haechan’s face and your shy mannerisms, a small tinge in his chest ignited a died out flame. He didn’t realize it before, but that was the very start of his long tumble of feelings for you.

“Do you say those things to purposefully get me jealous?” Jaemin rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze. His eyes never leave the road and his tone reverts back to his dominant tone.

“Well, are you jealous?” It’s like you two dance in circles, answer questions with a question does not stop.

And as bratty as your tone is, you don’t expect the quick “yes” that answers back and the smoldering look he gives you briefly before focusing back on the drive.

“Then good.” You huff, ready to hop out of the car after the odd, yet sensual tension. Jaemin pulls up to your house and double parks the car to lean in for a nightly goodbye kiss.

“You’re not coming in?” You try to read his facial expressions, but he hides his emotions too perfectly.

His lips curl into a smile before saying, “I think it’s better I cool off tonight.” And you mindlessly give him a peck, but he holds your face to deepen it. Through the kiss, you can feel the neediness by the way Jaemin shoves his tongue into your mouth. The taste of lust against your palette is difficult to ignore, but your academically responsible mind screams at you about your forgotten quiz.

Your hand lightly taps at his chest and he pulls away, his eyes drinking up your swollen lips. “I have a quiz, Jaemin.”

“I know, sorry. It’s just so easy to get lost in you.” Jaemin kisses your cheek once more before you exit. You smile back at him as his words have grown a strong effect on you lately. Bidding him goodbye, he wishes you sweet dreams as he patiently makes sure you’re fully inside your house.

“Is the music too loud?” Jaemin checks over at your hunched figure in the passenger seat. You’re diligently flipping through your thick textbook, a yellow highlighter in one hand and the other comfortably holding Jaemin’s.

The worst part of college is the never ending midterms that are given at any time. Studying in his car isn’t a rare sight, if anything it is more expected than you not doing anything related to your academics. But Jaemin genuinely doesn’t mind, even being mindful about his own actions to ensure an optimal studying space for you.

He really is an ideal guy. Like his first promise, he keeps you well fed and never once asks you for any monetary pay back. Jaemin adjusts the car temperature before you even step into the vehicle, knowing that you prefer wearing less clothes rather than more. Though he isn’t academically responsible, he still makes the effort to try and understand enough information to pass his classes.

The sole flaw would be the lack of open communication. It’s genuinely difficult for you to read his emotions or intentions. Jaemin always has a dazed look in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it’s an internal fight about whether or not you’re being delusional.

“Music is fine, honey.” The mindless use of a pet name slips from your lips, but your concentration on neoliberalism and globalization doesn’t allow for you to notice.

Nevertheless, Jaemin catches on immediately to the usage. While he showers you in ridiculous nicknames, you’re not one to do so. “Honey?”

“Yes?” You answer back carelessly, not entirely actively listening to him as you highlight an important concept in your book.

“No, you called me honey.”

Looking up from your page, you blink at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “I did?”

Jaemin chuckles and finally pulls into the overly crowded parking lot, a whole mass of fanboys cheering at the arrival of his flashy vehicle. Everyone just loves Jaemin.

This familiar scene plays like a reel --- several high beams cast light under the dark sky due to the lack of functioning street lamps, dizzy multicolored cars that blaze the tracks, and the all too distinct smell of musky cologne in the chilly air. Oh, and the wide eye admirable stares when you get out of the car.

“Hi, you’re stunning.” A bold new recruit blinks at you in complete awe and awkwardly clears his throat once he realizes his rash comment.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him, then at how you plan on handling the situation. You’re flattered, nonetheless, but know that Jaemin didn’t bring you here to flirt with other men. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your membership in the Ridin’ Club.”

The gracefulness in your delicate voice has the youthful recruit swooning and subtly giddy as he runs off to join a group of others that have been eying you across the parking lot. Jaemin casually drapes his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders, knowing the temperature change is going to result in you most likely catching a cold and because you never bring a jacket despite his plea.

“The power you hold.” Jaemin winks at you before pulling you into a larger crowd to socialize with more impressionable recruits.

“Ah, so you’re (Y/N)!” The stranger is unrecognizable, but you giggle to acknowledge his confident statement. “We haven’t met before, but Jaemin was talking about you the other night at our motorcycle meet.”

Your eyes light up, as if you’ve unlocked a new fun fact of Na Jaemin. “You drive a motorcycle too?” You’re truly shocked at the talent of this man.

Jaemin snakes his arm around your lower waist to draw you closer to his side. “Yeah, but I can’t fuck you in a motorcycle, can I?”

Before the other men can comment on the obvious sexual tension that Jaemin created, he leans in to whisper into your ear. “Actually, I can, but we’ll save our decency from unwanted exposure.” His hot breath grazes against the shell of your ear and you just know where you two are going to end up tonight.

“Bro, you guys probably fuck in the backseat of his car.” One of them chimes recklessly, punching at each others’ chest playfully as if he made a decent joke.

“Why don’t you stay to find out?” Jaemin retorts and the grip on your hip becomes tighter. You’re too flustered to add much into this odd form of competitive banter, distracted by none other than the way Jaemin keeps glancing over at you with a delicious gleam in his eyes.

“So what? You don’t care about us now?” You’d know that bratty tone from anywhere as Lee Haechan pushes past everyone else to rush over to the both of you.

“Aw, are your feelings hurt?” Jaemin sticks his tongue out at his friend before cordially sharing a handshake with him.

“Just slightly.” Haechan looks over at you with a wide grin and playful eyes, “hello, my pretty girl.”

“Drop the possessives, Haechan.” Jaemin rolls his eyes with an irritable twitch on his lips.

He hates how obviously jealous he gets. It’s something too difficult for himself to control, he’s exhausted his efforts to bite his tongue whenever it comes to other people’s flirtations. The thought of someone else calling you theirs doesn’t sit well with him.

“I understand your jealousy, Jaem. If someone was flirting with (Y/N), I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.” Haechan fixes the falling jacket on your shoulders. “But she can handle herself, I know those pretty lips have a mind of their own.” His gaze drops momentarily, yet obvious enough for you to grow shy at how strong Haechan is coming off tonight.

“Stop trying to corrupt her, that’s my job.” Jaemin playfully pushes at Haechan’s chest and they both break out laughing.

“I haven’t said one thing and you’re both talking about me as if I’m not here.” Your small pout is literally the cutest thing to Jaemin. He physically has to stop himself from planting the sweetest kiss on it.

It’s blatantly clear that you’re hot stuff. You’re the perfect example of a head turner, your captivating aura has its ability to suffocate those around you. However, Jaemin has seen all sides of you, but overall finding you so entirely cute. And oddly enough, Jaemin has a knack for cute things.

“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” Huang Renjun engulfs you in a hug, showing clear affection and doesn’t mind doing so. “How did your project go?”

“It went well. You accomplish a lot when you don’t procrastinate.” Renjun gleams at your statement and if Jaemin is delusional enough, he’d probably mistaken the twinkle in his eyes for infatuation instead of admiration.

“You’re so responsible, why are you messing with Jaemin?” Renjun sighs and though his question is more of a joke, there is some truth behind his words.

Your friendship with his friends differ immensely compared to other girls who have come around. Like Jaemin had said before, his boys were going to like you and they do, a lot. Sometimes making it obvious that you’re too good for him.

Jeno comes up from the side, an unidentifiable bruise on his neck and a new cut on his brow. Lee Jeno being such a rough character, his appearance speaks well about how his day has been.

But when he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all his pain is replaced with joy and security. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in so long!” The enthusiastic boy rushes over to greet you with a warm smile.

“I’m pretty sure I was here a week ago.” You laugh, but welcome him in your arms for a tender friendly hug and pat his head out of habit.

“It’s been a week?! That’s so long.” Jeno narrows his eyes at Jaemin and flicks his forehead.

“Ow!” Jaemin exclaims while rubbing the pain away. “You act like she doesn’t go to the same school as us and therefore, can see her any time you want to.” The tone in Jaemin’s voice raises some eyebrows as they all exchange glances to each other before bursting into laughter.

“Like your jealous ass would allow for that?” Haechan remarks and Jaemin doesn’t outwardly react. However, Jaemin’s hand is squeezing you so tight that you’re more than certain he’s bothered by the comment.

“Oh, stop it. You all know I’m Team Jaemin. He does have the most wins this past month.” You only know that through Jaemin’s proud boasting, anything else in the racing world is unknown to you.

Jaemin situates you in between his legs as he slightly sits on the hood of his car. His arms wrap around your middle and chin rests on your shoulder. Public display of affection isn’t a problem for him, and you learned much earlier that Jaemin can’t keep his hands off of you.

Renjun scoffs at your whimsical fact, in absolute disbelief. “It hurts more hearing you say it. I’m getting my car upgraded, but once it’s done, I’m going to blaze his ass on the tracks.”

“Are you racing today?” Jeno asks the blue haired fellow that clings onto you like a koala.

“Yeah, against a newbie. Apparently he’s really good, so I’m not too sure I’ll win.” Jaemin mumbles into your hair.

“You say that every time, yet you win!” Renjun crosses his arms, weight shifting to his left leg as he pops his hip out. There is always a sense of competition between anyone with Renjun.

Jaemin perks up behind you and when you turn around in his arms, you’re face to face with a beaming smile. “That’s because I have you.” Eyes lock with yours, he isn’t saying that directed to Renjun. Na Jaemin has you wrapped around his pinky, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach are too hard to ignore.

“Alright, lovebirds. Get in your car and let’s start this shit.” Haechan groans and claps his hands to draw the crowd’s attention. Cupping them around his mouth, he roars into the starry night, “let’s roll!”

During the race, Jaemin’s number one priority is to keep you safe. While you’ve sat in his car for a number of times now, it’s different once the loud bang goes off and he’s hitting 100 mph. Tonight’s track is much more dangerous, with twists and turns that can have the vehicle flying weightlessly if he’s not careful.

“You trust me, right?” Jaemin has both hands on the wheel and the engine rumbling as you both anticipate the start of the race.

Spectators watch on the sidelines as if it’s the ultimate battle, but Jaemin doesn’t pay them much mind. He’s more concerned about you instead. “Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’ve proven yourself that you’re an excellent driver, so let’s win this.”

Jaemin smirks at your encouraging words, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “I’ll tap out any time you want me to, okay?”

You nod and the initial whip of the car is so intense that you didn’t even register the sound off. It’s not your first race, but it’s been awhile since the last one. When you adjust to the pressure, the lanes in front of you cause a slight queasiness in your stomach.

It’s a two lane windy road that wraps around the mountain side and Jaemin happens to be in the outer lane. All it takes is a second of lost control and you two will hit the metal railings that guard the cliff below. Despite your inner panic, Jaemin guides you through the pooling anxiety that leaves you restless.

“(Y/N), look up and out the window. We’re coming up on the cliff side view, I’ve always wanted to bring you here.” Your eyes land on the dazzling glitter that dances on the ripples of the lake. It’s so vast, the moon high up in the sky is reflected on the water below. It’s a romantic scene of melancholy and bliss. Suddenly, you feel at peace in the middle of this high speed race.

“It’s beautiful, Jaem.” You whisper calmly and he’d reach for your hand to hold, but races take too much wheel control. And he’d turn to look at you, but races take too much concentration on the road ahead.

But throughout every obstacle, he hears the gentleness and the solidarity in your cadence in the midst of all the high stress. He, too, feels peace. He feels calm knowing that you’re simply by his side, even in the face of danger. So, he can finally admit to himself… he genuinely developed feelings for you.

Before you know it, you’re thrusted side to side from the sharp turns and the adrenaline kicks in when the other racer catches up right next to Jaemin. “Fuck,” Jaemin curses underneath his breath and steps harshly on the acceleration. “Baby, I’m going to go a bit faster so hold onto something.” He warns and your hand finds the grab handle. It’s neck and neck at this point.

Usually, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid becoming too overwhelmed by the sights in front of you. Tonight is different, not entirely knowing why, you’re observing every element that circles around the perimeter.

The finish line is up ahead, but there is no sign that the other racer is slowing down. Then, you see it: the fatal mistake that can cost you both of your lives if you didn’t catch it. “Jaemin, watch out!” You yelp when the other car inches dangerously close, your warning allows Jaemin to make a controlled swerve away from a possible hit.

Jaemin shakes his head and tsks at the recklessness. “Now I know why he’s good. It’s foul play.” He blows his bang out of his eyes and casually says, “thank you for warning me. This is why I need you by my side.”

He makes it to the finish line barely before the other, winning the race by half a second. Jaemin brakes smoothly, tire marks scrapping the concrete below, and you both exit the car to celebrate with everyone else.

But before the mass of eager shouting men make their way over to you two, Jaemin hurries to your side to pull you into a steamy, rewarding kiss. The scene is just like the movies; his hand on your lower back and yours on his chest lightly. His lips taste like triumph, like he had won more than just a simple race against a random stranger. He’s won the best person he could ever have.

You two fled the scene after cussing out the other racer. It was a rare sight to see: Jaemin being all bothered and angry, practically fuming after scrambling back into the driver’s seat. However, your mind had mischievous plans of its own and all it took was one look from his hooded eyes for you to announce that you wanted him --- badly.

Back in your usual abandoned parking lot, Jaemin pauses before following you to the back seats. With the engine off and the dead of the night being absolute silent, the tension remains thick around you two. “(Y/N),” Jaemin is about to confess something he never thought he’d admit. He turns to you sitting in the middle seat with just your panties on and a curious look on your face.

His heart burns and despite being so incredibly aroused, he controls his urges enough to be able to say, “I’m into you.”

“I know you’re into me, that’s how we ended up like this in the first place.” You giggle cluelessly to his words, still not understanding the odd shift in mood and intentions. It’s always his unclear, messy intentions.

Though he can’t entirely figure out his puzzle pieces, he has plenty to connect the dots. “I like you. I want to be in a relationship with you and call you my girlfriend.”

You’re stunned. Did Jaemin just confess to you as you sit in your panties ready to fuck? This softness is different from the sides you’ve seen of him. It’s similar to a lost bunny, wandering grasslands to find a purpose. He looks so fragile, one intense stare and he’d crumble. This softness is vulnerability.

“So do it.” The boldness catches him off guard, but switches on the dominance in him. “If you want me, come show it.”

He climbs over the middle console to push you into the leather seats. “Not acting shy anymore, are you?” Practically ripping your shirt off of you, he cups your breast lightly and flicks at your nipples. Your immediate reaction results in a rush of wetness down your core.

“Before I forget,” sitting up, you share a passionate kiss that you’ve held back long enough. You give it every ounce of feeling you have for him. “If it isn’t obvious enough, I like you too.”

“It’s obvious, baby.” Kissing your nose, he wraps a hand around your throat to lightly push you back down. “But hearing you say it out loud makes me happy.” Jaemin smirks, hand still choking you gently and pampering your jawline with soft kisses.

His free hand reaches down into your dripping panties, circling your clit with your wetness. The sensation causes you to whimper for more. “Daddy, give it to me.” You wiggle in his palm, knowing that the nickname is more than effective.

“My sweet (Y/N) wants to get fucked?” Jaemin rolls your underwear off and rids himself of his own bottoms.

“Yes, please.” Through the darkness, his hard dick stands proudly. Jaemin lines himself up as he thrusts into you without another second of hesitation. He waits for you to adjust to his size, his tip barely grazing your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You take me so well, my pretty baby.” Jaemin starts moving his hips, slowly at first to build a rhythm. Taking your legs, he presses them into your chest to fuck you at a deeper angle. And you feel him practically in your guts, his cock pumping against your walls deliciously and bumping into your g-spot. “Do you want more of me?”

Your train of thought is in utter shambles and whatever Jaemin is saying to you barely processes. You’re overwhelmed by a pleasure that fills every system, every part of your body. To answer him, you let out an incoherent noise of approval.

Jaemin pulls your hips down while thrusting forward into you, maximizing every inch of his strokes. This single action causes you to scream and grip onto the headrest. “Who knew my sweet girl could be so fucking dirty?” Jaemin chuckles darkly, his cadence dropping several decibels. “When I first met you, I wanted to ruin you.”

All of his filthy words edge you closer to your release as he continues to repeat his previous motion. He holds your hips in place to grind into you, the feeling of his tip rubbing your walls has your eyes rolling back. “Do you want to cum, (Y/N)?”

“Yes!” You yell, the tight ball in your lower abdomen is bound to break any minute. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You beg and moan, the arch in your back lifts you from the seat of the car. Jaemin snaps his hips into you, drilling you quickly to reach your high. And you break. An euphoric cry fills the air as your walls clench around his length. You hear the extra wetness create a slick noise, but Jaemin isn’t done with you yet.

“You wanted to cum so fucking badly. I’ll reward you with one more for being such a good girl for me.” His thumb flicks at your clit and you convulse into spasms from the sensitivity. Your violently shaking legs can’t hold themselves up anymore and Jaemin rests them on his shoulders. He lines kisses along your ankle as the pleasure overtakes you.

“I don’t think I can do it.” You whine, your fingers twisting and toes curling.

“You are going to try, okay baby?” He coos, but it’s most definitely a demand. He sits back on his knees to pick up more speed, fucking endlessly into your swollen pussy and thumb rubbing fast strips against your bud.

“I’m going to snap, Jaem.” You cry, tears rimming your eyes and before you know it, a second wave hits you. Your second orgasm is ruinous and has you squirming around to regain some sense of control.

“Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jaemin slows down as your walls grip around him again, tighter this time. “I’m going to fill you up with cum,--- watch it drip out of you.” He grunts while releasing into you, his dick twitching and spraying your insides with white.

He pulls out as hot, white cum spills from your pussy. You take this moment to catch your breath and relax your legs. However, Jaemin coats his two fingers and shoves the cum back into you. “Jaemin!” You exclaim at the sudden intrusion.

He curls them into your plushy walls and finger fucks you into another oblivion. “Wait, again?” Your hands wrap around his wrist, but Jaemin moves too fast for you to catch it.

You’re a moaning mess again, louder than before. Jaemin leans down and flicks his tongue against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Your back arches automatically and a low animalistic scream rises from your throat.

He observes your body lines underneath the moonlight and the last remaining light the broken street lamps have to offer. Your face contours and you’re so far out into ecstasy that you don’t notice how intensely Jaemin watches you lose yourself.

“It feels too good!” With one last thrilling orgasm, you almost pass out and you see small stars of dizziness. He soaks up every last bit of your cathartic reaction and festers a small sense of pride that he can make you feel all this pleasure.

“Such a good girl. You’re beyond impressive, baby.” Jaemin pulls his fingers out to lick them clean and finds some wipes to help you out of your sticky situation.  

“Now that you’re my girlfriend, can we cuddle at any time now? Not just as after care.” He peers up at you and the one word enacts a burning warmth to spread across your chest. That is the best nickname he can call you by.

“I think the Singles Girls Only house event is still going on, but after that, yes a million times.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him into a big loving hug.

Jaemin feels right at home. All the long years of living carelessly and wild, he’s finally found someone worth the extra mile. While Jaemin was a thriving adventure to be explored, you were his comfort to run back to.

It is through the intimacy of your backseat chronicles that Jaemin was able to fall deeper for you. You’re his lucky charm, for some reason, he always feels better around you. 

[stevenbasic]

“Hi Dr J, I’m glad we finally get to chat…”

Holy shit.

——

Earlier that day, I’d been told at the front desk that there was a lady from Evolution Pharmaceuticals on the line, and that she’d like to speak with me. Aubrey had always been good about screening out the sales pitches, the irate patients, the people with whom I really never needed to actually talk. So that she was pulling me aside for this call told me that this one might be something I should probably take...

But - ugh. No. I didn’t want to. This had been a long day, a long week so far - and it was only Tuesday! God, the past few months had been more and more exhausting, humiliating and emasculating with each passing hour. And the more I learned, the more it seemed that this company was at the heart of my troubles. Yes, it offered the opportunities of great financial rewards for the practice with this clinical study trial in which we were going to be participating. Since Jeanette, my previous Office Manager, had left, the mismanagement of the business had us in dire straits. Without the money from Evolution’s study and the “Lean In” grant from the women’s advancement group, I’m not sure we’d still be afloat. So, yeah, maybe I should have taken the call.

“I’ll call them later,” I told Aubrey, and grabbed the films I needed for my next patient.

That had been three hours ago, before my little hallway meeting with Melissa. Since then Gianna - some woman who’d wanted to speak to me about the trial - had called two more times. Left messages. Really wanted just fifteen minutes of my afternoon. Needed to speak with me. I refused each call.

Finally done with patients, sitting in my office at the end of the day as darkness crept in from outside, I sighed as Brittni from the desk buzzed me. She said that Gianna was on the line again. “Can I transfer her?”

“No,” I replied on the intercom, noticing that a little green light had blinked to life on the camera I had clipped to my monitor. I hadn’t seen it before, this light. In fact...when did I get a camera on this computer?

“Tell her I'll call tomorrow...” I finished.

I had set back to finishing some patient notes on my desktop when, suddenly, my screen flashed to black. For a quick moment I thought - oh no, a crash - but then a new, unfamiliar window appeared, and my mouse pointer began moving on its own accord. What the…? The window went full screen and next thing I knew I was in a video chat with-

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were avoiding my calls…” the woman onscreen spoke, laughing casually as she tossed her hair...

“oh, uh…” I was immediately agape. This was who’d been trying to call me all day??

“Anyway...Hi Dr J, I’m glad we finally get to chat…”

Holy shit. This girl was gorgeous. Look at those tits.

As I stared, still shell-shocked and speechless from having my computer hijacked out from under me by a bosomy corporate careerist, she went on to introduce herself as Gianna Albertini, from the clinical trials department at Evolution Pharmaceuticals. She explained how excited she and her team was to get the study off the ground at the practice. Things had been fast tracked at the FDA, they were just waiting for some rubber stamps, and everything looked very promising for their product. She apologized for not being able to meet in person, at least for a while. “I’m on some new retroviral treatment, and they have me quarantined at home,” she explained with surprising nonchalance, “yadda yadda yadda…”

Finally, after a good several minutes of watching her talk - and she held my attention easily, her rack possibly rivaling Melissa’s - she let me get a word in edgewise. I was still confused by how in one moment I was working on my patient charts, and then in the next I was in a video chat. “H-how did you…?”

“Sorry,” Gianna laughed, casually waving away any privacy concerns I was currently about to voice, “I had to remote in, take over your desktop. I really needed to speak with you.” Beyond the blatant intrusions tactics she was obviously willing to employ, there was something in this woman’s eyes, her demeanor, that was making me more and more concerned as the conversation - such as it was - continued. She may have been acting relaxed and friendly, decidedly informal, but there was a seriousness just below the surface that even I could see, even through the screen, and even in the face of those enormous tits. “Plus, maybe it’s actually better we do it this way, rather than on the phone,” she said, as she sat up nice and straight, “So we can see one another’s...smiling faces.”

Gahh...

As she got down to brass tacks, this young woman went on to describe to me some of the details of the new wings in our building into which the office would be expanding, how much more space we and Evolution be acquiring to fulfill the needs of the trial, and when it would all be ready. “Construction is ultra-fast tracked,” she said, “should be done within a few weeks.”

Weeks?? I marveled, silently incredulous. I’d seen the plans; it was a huge project. I’d figured months, if it ever really got done at all. But, the teams did seem motivated, and there were a lot of them, working day-in and day-out, all through the night. Maybe, perhaps? Could they pull it off in weeks?

We also talked about the structure of the trial, what it would involve day-to-day, and the long-term forecast. Evolution seemed ready to set up permanent shop with a clinic in the building, by taking over much of the lease of the new space, with the study just the first step in the door.

“You’ll be listed as the lead investigator,” Gianna explained, continuing on to detail the ins-and-outs of the trial, “but don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of people in place. You really won’t have to do too much, or deal with anyone at the main office. You’ll be reporting just to me...”

“r-reporting to you?” I asked, trying to ignore the impressive bosom which filled the screen, cowed me. That had taken me back a bit...'reporting to her'? I had noticed something in this young woman’s tone, through our chat, that led me to believe that she and I possibly had different views as to the, uh, hierarchy of this whole thing. I was the doctor around this place, and had gotten used to expecting a little respect, being top of the food chain. She, on the other hand, maybe had other ideas.

“That's right,” she said, “we’ll do these chats once a week, more if I feel like we need it. I’ll expect a report from you every day, but again don’t worry. It’s basically something you just have to sign, the girls will do it all. Our other providers will be handling most of the work with the patients in the study, entering data, keeping the FDA happy, blah blah blah. Maybe we’ll ask you to go in and talk to, examine a few of the subjects, just to keep things interesting for you.”

If I hadn’t felt totally emasculated and marginalized, my authority crippled by the horde of women who’d apparently taken over my practice recently, this was the clincher. It would appear that for this study I was going to be not much more than a coddled figurehead, a token man of straw, expected to satisfy the whims of some half-rate pharm company and this woman, at her beck and call. No way!

“I’m going to have to insist on directing care for, uh, the trial subjects,” I asserted, finally getting a moment to exert my will, “they will, technically, be my patients.”

“Oh, of course!” Gianna replied, smiling and throwing her hair over her shoulder, “Allowing for some oversight from the other providers we’ll have in place, you’ll have lots of medical-decision-making to keep yourself busy!”

What did she mean, ‘oversight’?

“They’ll be different than your usual patients, the subjects that we’ll be bringing in for the study, but I think you’ll like them,” she continued, trying to reassure me, “maybe a younger crowd, and of course all female. But in general all you’ll have to do is sit back and watch the money coming in.” She sat, looked into the screen for a moment, in thought. “Though I guess we have some people there handling that for you, too, hm?”

That gave me pause, made me rethink the litany of arguments that were beginning to boil up in my throat. I’d seen some of the paperwork, quickly, as it had moved past my desk for my signatures. It involved a lot of money for the practice. Like, a lot of money. I thought of my bills, my expenses, what I still somehow owed on my student loans. If Sheryl wasn’t going to be there to provide for me, help me pay these things…

If any of it remained, there was obviously some pride I was going to need to swallow.

“S-speaking of money,” I began, “what's my compensation going to look like?“

Something about my question, something about how I was holding myself, made Gianna smile again and then sigh, a sigh that told me she knew something I didn’t, I couldn’t help but think. With that she leaned in, her eyes locked on mine through the camera, and a shiver went up my spine. “Oh don’t worry, Dr. J,” she spoke, “you’ll be well taken care of...“

===================================

Muchos Gracias to long-time friend, supporter of the story and behind-the-scenes ninja Antares for helping me assemble these clips.

Newer posts and other goodies at my Patreon

[poutyyybangtan]

ready or not - j.jk

genre: friends to lovers, enemy to lovers, (almost a slow burn?), a mix of everything lol  character pairing: jeon jungkook 9bts) x female oc warnings: not really any lol just angsty fluff kinda stuff word count: 5.4k (it’s alot) authors note: i wrote this months ago and it’s not finished but i can finish it if yall want? let me know :)

______

(prompts from @im-here-to-help-you-all-write​)

“i think the longer you look at it, the worse it gets.” “yeah, kinda like your face.”

“i need your help.” “holy shit, i never thought i’d hear you say that.’ “please don’t rub it in right now.”

“i don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet” “you’re going to have to be, because we’re out of time.”

you can’t believe you actually had to do this. the last person you ever wanted to look at was your only shot at getting out of the situation you brought upon yourself. you had originally counted on one of your other friends to help you out, but of course, life never seemed to work out the way you wanted it to. 

“jin, please. can’t you just cancel and come with me?” you begged, watching as your older companion continued to chop away at some vegetables. 

“you know i would love to help bamboozle your family with my impeccable acting skills, but unfortunately, i do have a business to run. this weekend is a big deal for the restaurant and joon would kill me if i left him alone to handle such a thing. and besides, we all know joon can’t toast bread without having to call the fire department first,” jin laughs. you laugh softly, knowing jin had a point. poor namjoon had amazing business skills, but unfortunately that means he lacks in the cooking department. 

“i guess you’re right,” you mumble begrudgingly. 

“why not ask jimin if he can go?” jin asks, sliding the chopped vegetables into a pot.

“my mom knows him, she’ll know something isn’t right. and besides, he and hobi are going to a dance camp for school,” you shrug.

“and tae? yoongi?” jin asks.

“he’s got that test retake for his photography class and yoongs has an audition for an entertainment company in gangnam,” you sigh. you’re really proud of all your friends and the successes they have, but you really wished they could’ve helped you in your time of need. but you couldn’t be that selfish, so maybe you had to admit defeat. 

“you know, you could just ask jungkook,” jin asks nonchalantly. 

“you know i can’t do that,” you answer bluntly, refusing to even entertain the idea.

“i mean, you could,” jin laughs, putting the lid on the pot and onto the stove top, turning to you afterwards.

“jin, you know i can’t. he is the last person on earth i would ask to help me. i would rather die of embarrassment than to ask him for his help,” you dramatically claim.

“you just might if you don’t ask. besides, what's the big deal? it’s only for a weekend,” jin shrugs.

“yeah, a whole weekend of him pretending to be my boyfriend. jin, we can barely tolerate each other as is, having us cooped up together and pretending like we actually like each other is a whole other ball game,” you said.

“well, here’s the way i look at it. either you tell your mother that you don’t have a boyfriend and face embarrassment at your mother's wedding, or you can suck it up, ask jungkook nicely to do you this one favor, and have fun this weekend. you never know, jungkook might actually be up for it,” jin says, an underlying suggestive tone in his voice; one that you never caught.

you had to admit, jin was right. as painful as it was, jungkook was your only chance at escaping this nightmarish weekend. 

-

you found jungkook in his usual zone of comfort: with his lips attached to some random girl he probably barely knew. you found yourself scrunching your face in distaste. such a vulgar display in a library no less. you huffed off your second doubts and approached the table with confidence. you noticed that neither party acknowledged your presence, so you knocked on the table to gain their attention. reluctantly, the girl pulled away first to throw you a bitter look.

“jeon, can we talk?” you say softly, not trying to cause a disturbance.

“i’m kind of busy, can’t it wait?” jungkook asks, a smug look on his face, the girl sat next to him donned a complacent smile on hers.

“please, i saw you making out with some bimbo blonde yesterday, i’m sure you can find some other toy to play with when we’re done,” you smirk, watching the look on the girls face fall with every passing word that escaped your lips. she glanced over at jungkook with disgust before grabbing her belongings and walking away in a fit.

“great, well there goes my whole afternoon,” jungkook scoffs. he leans into his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

“you’ll deal. look, i need your help,” you admit, much to your dismay.

“holy shit, i never thought i’d hear you say that,” jungkook laughs ironically.

“please don’t rub it in right now,” you groan.

“how can i offer my service to you?” jungkook smirks, looking up at your obviously irritated figure.

“i need... i can’t believe i’m saying this. i need you to be my boyfriend for the weekend,” you spit out.

“you what?” jungkook asks incredulously. you don’t blame him for his confusion. what you were asking was heinous, add to the fact that you two barely tolerated each other? it was the biggest taboo situation you could’ve put yourself in. but you were desperate.

your mother, as loving as she was, was relentless. she just wanted the best for you. you were about to graduate college soon, about to get a real career and be a real adult. and to her, that meant start a family as soon as possible. and that couldn’t happen without being in a relationship first. and what better way than to hook your daughter up at a gathering for family friends? cause nothing says love like a wedding, right?

“what’s in it for me?” jungkook asks. you looked at him in disbelief.

“wait, you’re actually considering it?” you asked.

“well, you gave me a proposition, so why not?” jungkook asks. 

“uh, because we’re not necessarily friends? it’s not like you owe me anything to even consider the idea,” you chuckle.

“you might not be my friend, but that doesn’t mean i’m not yours,” jungkook shrugs, finally standing up and collecting his scattered books. you hadn’t actually noticed them before, you just thought that the library was a good place for jungkook to hook up, not an actual study zone. 

“well, uh, what do you have in mind?” you asked, answering his question finally. 

“i need a date for this work thing, and my usual hookups aren't going to cut it. they’re not exactly what you would say… modest?” jungkook jokes, causing you to laugh a little bit. 

“sound like a deal?” jungkook asks after a moment of silence passes. you pretend to consider his proposition, as if you actually had a choice. you look up at him and you can see that he saw that too.

“what kind of work thing?”

=

“where are you going?” jimin asks, watching you step out of your bedroom clad in a cocktail dress. you really would’ve rather been at your shared apartment, cuddled up next to jimin and tae watching some horror film eating greasy food, but alas, you had to uphold your end of the bargain.

“remember i told you that in order for jungkook to uphold his end, i have to uphold mine? apparently, he works at some magazine company and they’re having a company gathering to celebrate the issue's 90th anniversary and he needed me to come with,” you groan, strapping on your heels. 

“you’re going all out for this,” taehyung comments, a teasing tone hidden in his words. you looked up and glared at him, knowing what he meant.

“if i put forth 100%, maybe he will too,” you say. 

“oh, he most definitely will be putting in 100% effort,” jimin says, low enough for only taehyung to hear which makes him giggle. you look up and see jimin smirking at you which makes you groan internally. 

suddenly, the doorbell rings and you thank whatever being there is that saves you from the conversation that was happening, with or without your participation. you pull the door open and the first thing you see is jungkook, properly dressed head to toe. you notice the bow tie pressed snuggly against his neck, not a wrinkle in his suit jacket or his dress shirt. his long hair was parted down the middle, brushed out out of his eye. you hated to admit it, but he looked breathtakingly beautiful. 

“wow,” jungkook finally says, eyeing you in a way that made the blood pool in your cheeks. 

“uh, yeah. let’s- let’s go,” you murmur, noticing the boys in the living room giggling at your guys’ interaction. you shove him in his chest. he grabs your hands and laughs, pulling you out the door.

“what did i miss?” jungkook asks. you roll your eyes, noticing the way jungkook held onto your hand, even after you got further and further away from your apartment, but not minding the warmth his hand provided against your cold one. 

“trust me, nothing you want to hear, and nothing i’m willing to repeat,” you scoff.

=

jungkook was right. he had warned you beforehand that everyone at his job was stuck up and snobbish and would continuously point out that fact that you were no model. and like he had forewarned, all you heard all night was “you’re too pretty not to be a model” or “jungkook ended up with you?” you were appalled, sure, but you didn’t take their words to heart. you don’t know these people, and after tonight, you’re never going to see them again. 

but jungkook flinched every time someone opened their mouth. he felt bad for you, but when he saw you delicately handle the situation, he knew you would be fine. still, it didn’t make him feel any less bad. 

“we can leave whenever you want, you know?” jungkook whispers into your ear. you look up at him and smile.

“sounds like you’re using me as an excuse to ditch this snooze fest,” you giggle. jungkook smiles back down at you and laughs with you.

“busted,” he finally says.

“thank god, let’s ditch these runway wannabes and get some pizza. i’m starved,” you groan, looking away, missing the endearing glance he tosses your way. you both ditch the stuffy building, and headed to a late night pizza shop down the corner. you sigh in relief once you step into the restaurant, inhaling the smell of cheese and dough. you both decide to seat yourselves in a booth in the corner of the dining area.  once you both place your orders, you settle into a comfortable silence. 

“so, what caused you to conjure up this boyfriend lie?” jungkook asked after awhile. 

“my mom thinks that i need to be in a relationship to be happy since i’m getting ready to enter the real world,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and leaning into your elbows that rested on the table.

“thats stupid,” jungkook scoffs, leaning into the booth. you were caught off guard by this, expecting jungkook to somewhat agree with your mother.

“you look surprised,” he says, gauging your reaction.

“i kind of am. not gonna lie, i was expecting you to agree with her,” you say, shrugging. the waiter brings your slices and leaves you two alone, settling back into the conversation.

“no way. if you want to be single, you should. i’m sure you’re single by choice anyways,” jungkook says, picking up his pizza and taking a huge bite of it.

“what do you mean?” you ask him, slightly confused behind the intentions of his sentence. 

“i just mean that you’re insanely smart, funny and talented. and you’re extremely beautiful. if you wanted any guy, you could have him,” jungkook shrugs, munching on his pizza in peace. meanwhile, his statement sent you into a frenzy. who knew jeon jungkook thought so highly of you. you were under the impression that he dispised your entire being. he never really complimented you before, so his statement shocked you. 

“never knew you thought so highly of me,” you said, smiling to yourself. you can’t really explain it and you don’t know why, but knowing how jungkook truly felt about you made you extremely happy. 

“there’s a lot you don’t now about me,” he winks, causing you to roll your eyes and eat your pizza. and yet again, you missed the way jungkook smiled at you, enjoying your presence more than he would care to admit to. 

=

“i don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet,” you murmur, feeling your hands start to shake as you stood outside the venue. 

“you’re going to have to be, because we’re out of time,” jungkook smiles, taking hold of your hand and waltzing you two into the building. your mom had asked you to come early for a surprise so you decided to give her a surprise of your own.

“jungkook, maybe we should say you caught food poisoning and we had to leave,” you murmured as jungkook continued to drag you further and further into the building. jungkook smiled at your child-like nature and shook his head.

“we’ve come too far to give up now. let’s just rock this and get home,” he says, smiling at you. you felt a sudden urge of confidence that surges through you and gives you enough momentum to swing open the doors of the chapel hall. you were taken aback by the way the chairs are decorated with white pieces, hanging off the backs. you take notice of the pale yellow and white combo that you didn’t think would match so well. you felt happy for your mom and that she met someone who loved her so much that they were willing to do this for her to cherish the day.

“it’s beautiful,” you gape, admiring all the minute details your mother probably agonized over. jungkook admired the astonished look on your face as you practically ignored his presence to take in your surroundings. he always found you beautiful, but watching you be you while nobody was looking was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. jungkook had the biggest crush on you for as long as he could remember. and he refused to even fathom the thought of confessing to you when he knew how you felt. he knew you couldn’t stand his lifestyle, his choices that he’s made regrettably. but how else was he supposed to cope with the fact with the one person he’s allowed to steal his heart hates him. 

“ah, there you are,” a voice says from behind you two. you both turn around and you see your mom, hair curlers and full glam. 

“hi mama,” you smile, running up to her and giving her a big hug. 

“hi sweet pea,” your mama coos, swaying you both back and forth. you pull back and look behind you to see jeon smiling at the interaction. this made your heart jump for a split second before you returned back to your surroundings.

“ma, this is my boyfriend, jeon jungkook,” you smile. 

“oh my, you’re so handsome,” your mother gushes, rushing up to him and pulling him into a hug.

“thank you,” jungkook smiles, blushing slightly. you’ve never seen jeon blush before and to see him in a such a fragile state made you happy. and you couldn’t seem to figure out why. your mom finally released jeon from her clutches and she turned back to you. 

“hun, i’ve got a surprise for you. follow me,” she says, grabbing yours and jeon’s hands dragging you to what you assumed was the dressing room. there were two dresses that were covered hanging off of a clothing rack. your mom shoves you guys onto a couch and rushes over to the dresses.

“one of these beauties will be yours to wear for the wedding because… hon, will you be my maid of honor?” your mother asks, eyes full of stars that made your heart swell. you felt the air leave your lungs and your heart begin to race. you remember watching your mom struggle with love all her life, her face in a frown always. you’ve never seen your mom so happy now, and you would do anything just to see her happy. 

“ma, are you serious?” you ask, wanting to be sure this is what she really wanted. 

“of course baby,” she smiles. you jump up and hug her tightly, muttering a yes into her hair. you both squeal with delight, jumping in place like teenage girls. suddenly, another pair of arms are wrapped around you, chest pressed against your back. you managed to look up and see jungkook bouncing with you and your mom. 

“i wanted to join too,” jungkook says, his voice high pitched and filled with excitement which in response, made you giggle. you all finally stop bouncing and jungkook pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, catching you off guard. you felt your heart race and you swore his heartbeat matched yours. you brushed it off as it being the sudden activity you all had just endured.

“i’ll leave you two alone so you can try the dresses,” your mother says after she catches her breath, winking at you. 

“you’re just gonna let your daughter get undressed in front of her boyfriend alone?” you ask incredulously. 

“hon, he’s your boyfriend. i’m sure he’s seen more,” she giggles, exiting the room, leaving you with your jaw wide open. 

“can you believe this?” you ask, shocked at your mothers bold statement.

“i’ve always wondered where you get your vulgarity from,” jungkook teases, his chest causing a vibration that you felt in your back, reminding you of your close, read as nonexistent, proximity. you push yourself away and whip around to face him, catching a glimpse of him trying to fight the smile that tried its best to take place on his delicate features.

“i’m not vulgar and you’re not watching me change. however, i do need an opinion on the dresses, so i guess you can stay,” you say, walking past him to try on the dresses. you snatch both of them of the rack and head into the bathroom, changing into dress number one. 

at first you thought it was a joke, the frills and exotic colors making your eyes hurt from how loud it was. you tried it on anyway, and you couldn’t believe how ridiculous you looked. no way your mother was being serious when she picked this dress out. you unlocked the bathroom door and stopped your way to where jungkook was sitting on the couch, playing on his phone. you clear your throat to capture his attention and you nearly explode with the laughter with the way his eyes widen and face drops.

“what do you think?” you ask him, twirling around in the godforsaken dress you know your mother probably bought as a joke. 

“i think the longer you look at it, the worse it gets,” jungkook says, a dumbfounded look on his face. you withhold your laughter and stare at him in distaste.

“yeah like your face,” you scoff, playing with the dress as if you actually admired it. 

“are you gonna wear that?” he asks, secretly hoping you’d say no so he could release a breathe he didn’t know he was holding. 

“well, i like it, don’t you?” you say, continuing to pretend like you actually were considering wearing this deafening dress. 

“uh.. if you like it then… sure,” jungkook says, shifting in his seat. you admired the fact that he was trying to cater to your feelings and for some reason it made your heart race at the thought. you don’t know whats been going on with you lately but every kind gesture has made your heart race with excitement. you didn’t know when it happened, but you started looking at jungkook as more and it scared you. you couldn’t be with him. you knew that. jungkook had a reputation, and he was proud of it. he was proud of the amount of women he could pull in one night. hell, in one hour. he was used to the idea that feelings were a concept he wasn’t willing to understand or try out. and you had to accept that.

“i’m messing with you gukkie. my mom probably bought this as a gag, the real dress is still in its cover,” you say laughing at jungkooks face that was contorted into one of discomfort. you leave him to relish in your teasing as you retreat back to the bathroom to change into the actual dress. you could still hear jungkook laugh to himself as you unzipped the dress to change into the other one. little did you know, he was laughing to himself about the nickname you gave him. he’s never had a nickname he actually enjoyed before. he was still lost in the thought of you calling him gukkie forever when you finally exited the bathroom.

he always thought those scenes in cheesy rom-com teen films where the guy is staring at the girl like she’s the only one that matters was cliche. but he was wrong. so very wrong. watching you in the tight floor length pale yellow dress that just made you glow knocked all the air out of his lungs. you’re hair that was in a messy ponytail allowed some pieces of hair to frame your face as you continued to fumble with the dress.

“it’s a little longer than i thought, but it fits well, yeah?” you say, still looking down at the gown. you honestly felt ridiculous. you rarely dress up like this. you hid your body underneath baggy clothing so to have something so tightly pressed against your body made you severely insecure. the silence coming from jungkook made everything worse. you looked up to see jungkook leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands holding his head up. there was a look in his eye you had never seen before and it made your stomach churn with excitement.

“that bad huh?” you joke, hoping to ease some of the tension that was building in the room. jungkook stands to his feet and approaches you, his body so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off of his body. 

“you look beautiful,” jungkook says, smiling down at you. you feel yourself blush and begin to fumble with your fingers, a nervous tic jungkook found absolutely adorable. jungkook was helplessly in love with you, this much he knew. from the way you laughed, to the way you rolled your eyes in his presence. he loved the way you gave yourself wholly to the ones you cared about, willing and able to do any and everything for the people you love. he loved the way you strived to work hard and how incredibly intelligent you were. and suddenly, his heart was full with all the love he was dying to give you, but know he never could. because you deserved much more than some player who was willing to sleep with anything with legs. but if he could at least pretend like the love between you two was real, even if for a short while, he’ll take it. as desperate as he was, he wanted to know what it felt like to have you love him back. even if he knew it was all pretend. 

“jungkook, i can’t thank you enough for doing this. i know you would rather be in some girls bed trying to figure out a way to sneak out without her noticing, but i’m glad you’re here… with me,” you smile, hands gripping his bicep’s to keep him close. his cologne was hypnotizing, causing you to pull him closer and closer.

“there’s no place i would rather be,” jungkook said honestly, placing his hands onto your waist, allowing you to lean in. 

“you don’t mean that,” you scoff, smiling and rolling your eyes, getting ready to pull yourself back from a dangerous territory. jungkook stops this from happening, wrapping his arm around you til your pressed flush against his body. 

“you have no idea how bad i want you. all of you. mind, body and soul. but for right now, for the sake of our friendship and the momentum its growing, i will take you in whatever way you will allow me to have,” jungkooks says, forehead pressed against yours as he wills himself to hold back from pressing his lips against yours and taking you on the small couch in the dressing room. the words jungkook spoke so honestly made you shake from it’s intensity. 

“jungkook i--” 

“how’d the dress fit?” you mother asks, barging into the room. you and jungkook scramble apart from one another, him taking seat on the couch and you standing in front of him. you mother misses the way you two seemed highly unfocused and nervous as she coos over how adorable you look in the right dress. 

“you need to finish getting your hair and makeup done, so scooch along so me and your beautiful boyfriend can get to know each other,” your mother says shoving you out of the room and directing you to where the other bridesmaids were getting their hair and makeup done. it wasn’t until you were sat in the chair that you realized.. your mother and jungkook were alone. oh boy. 

=

you never felt so girly in your life. your hair was curled and put up in a half up half down situation, your makeup light and barely noticeable, but enough to tell you were wearing it. this wasn’t you, you didn’t like wearing makeup mainly because at the end of the day you forget to take it off and causes acne. you were working part time and went to school full time so you always left your hair in a ponytail or a bun. this look was new for you and you were kind of excited yet nervous for jungkook’s reaction. 

you surprised yourself with the thought, not really caring about jungkook’s opinions before, but now it was all you could think of, and that scared you. you knew this was just a favor he was owing to you, but he was really going above and beyond and it warmed your heart. but you had to remind yourself that you were just friends, nothing more. hell, you were barely friends. had it not been for you incessant need to prove yourself to your mom, you two would’ve never even became cordial with one another. 

you brush these thoughts aside, trying to manifest positive vibes for such a joyous occasion. you leave the dressing room, filled with chatter, in search of jungkook who may be suffering your mother’s constant conversation. you return back to the room you first were in when you arrived, catching your mother exiting the room. 

“you didn’t scare him off, did you?” you tease, hugging your mom. 

“honey, you look beautiful!,” your mom gushes, taking in the sight of her daughter. you smile and thank her, happy that she was happy.

“is he still in there?” you ask, nodding towards the door she came out of. she giggled and placed her hands on your shoulder. 

“he is, and he is absolutely in love with you,” she smiles, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

“what do you mean?” you ask, your heart starting to race. 

“the way he talks about you, the way his eyes gleam with love with the mere thought of you. hunny, this man is undoubtedly in love with you,” she smiles. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, there was no way that jeon jungkook, the university playboy, is in love with you. you two barely conversed without an argument taking place. you doubt he knew anything about you, despite you two running in the same circles. sure, you knew a lot about him, just because your friends talked about him a lot and it was hard not to listen to sometimes. 

“you’re crazy ma. you need to finish getting ready, the weddings going to start soon,” you laugh, trying to brush off the conversation. 

“jungkook is in there getting ready, one of robert’s groomsmen caught food poisoning so he’s gonna walk down the aisle with your cousin, sam,” she said, rushing off to get ready, leaving you no room to reply. this wasn’t what he signed up for and you felt bad, so you went into the room to check on him. you caught him standing in front of the vanity, trying to finish off his tie. you had seen jungkook dressed up before, but there was something different about this time. you felt something more for him, and honestly, you always have. but his reputation…

“looking sharp,” you smile, looking up at him. his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he smiles, and this time you see it. the love your mother was talking about.

“you look beautiful, as usual,” he says, his charm peeking through. you scoff at his comment, walking up to him. you seemed small compared to him, and it was kind of an odd sight for you. you leaned your head against his shoulder, just staring at him staring at you through the mirror. 

“something on your mind?” he asks, noticing how lost in thought you were. you focus in on him and the surroundings around you.

“my ma said something interesting earlier that’s got me thinking is all,” you say, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue much further. you didn’t want to make the air awkward or uncomfortable by trying to involve feelings, but a big part of you want to know how he feels from his own lips. 

“what did she say?” he asked, his nerves jumping. he didn’t say anything wrong did he? he tried to be as cordial and respectful as possible, wanting your mother to like him. if things were to happen in the future, he didn’t want to be on bad terms with your mother. 

“she said… she said that you love me?” you murmur, you heart caught in your throat now that the truth was out there and you can’t take it back. jungkook froze, caught off guard by your confession. he wanted to play it off like it wasn’t true, that your mother was delusional. but he knew the truth. and he knew that you also knew it too. he wanted you. he’s always wanted you. and now, he’s presented with the opportunity to have you in any way he wants and he can’t make the move to move forward.

“is it true?” you ask, trying to get a clear and concise answer. you’re not sure what’s going to happen, regardless of what his answer is, but the anxiety of not knowing is starting to kill you. you shouldn’t be forcing him to confess, but now that it was out there in the air, you couldn’t take it back. maybe you should tell him?

“if you’re not comfortable talking about it it’s o--”

“i love you,” he blurts, interrupting you. you pick your head up off of his shoulder and now you’re standing side by side, staring at him through the vanity mirror. you’re frozen, unsure of what to do now. you didn’t actually think he was going to say it. you thought your mother was pulling your leg. but she didn’t know that you two weren’t actually a couple and maybe that’s why you had hoped what she said was true. 

“did you hear me?” he asks, voice laced with nerves. he couldn’t even begin to explain the amount of fear and vulnerability he was feeling at the moment. he meant it. he loved you. but why should you believe him. he was a playboy, and though you may never understand his reasons as to why he tried so hard to escape you by sleeping with other people, he wanted nothing more for you to believe him now. 

“i did,” you whisper, afraid that the sound of your beating heart was louder than the words you spoke. you wanted him, god you wanted him, but you were scared that his words were from false bravado. a heat of the moment feeling that was fleeting. 

“i know you might not believe me, and you have every right not to. but i love you with my entire being and.. it’s scary,” he chuckles, trying to explain his emotions to the only person he’s ever been vulnerable with. 

“and like i told you earlier, for the sake of us finally gaining friendship, i will play it to your pace and whenever you’re ready, let me know. because i’ll be here,” he smiles. he turns to you, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss to your cheek before walking out of the room, leaving you confused as to what the hell just happened.

_______

an: part two? let me know :)

[saintprivateer]

I understand the ideas behind the zemenipearls post but can we not just have a nice fictional world? It’s not like the Kerch are made out to be a great nation of saintly people, it’s all fantasy for a reason. I won’t get started on their posts about my girl Nina and my dude Nikolai 😒

Okay... there’s a lot of ground to cover here so boot up cowhand I wrote a LOT

No matter how unlike-this-world a fantasy universe seems, it was still crafted by a real human who IS a part of this world. And humans put their own beliefs and experiences into their stories as the foundation for how ideal/ not-ideal they want the au to be. We use the environment around us as a stepping stone for our stories, and this DOUBLES if the author is saying “This World Is Not Like Ours At All”. The question authors answer of “What exactly is this au not like?” Rounds back to the place we are trying to distance ourselves from, because that is what this au is “not like.” And most often, authors craft these fantasy universes and bring the reader into a whole new world only to go back to a REAL theme of “This World Is Actually More Like Yours Than You Think.” Because that’s usually the entire point. We like fantasy because we want to see our nature mirrored in worlds unlike ours. We love that people can fly and cast spells, but we REALLY love when they’re as human as us in behavior/interests/ actions.

All that’s to say: you can’t actually write a racism-free world if you’ve never experienced a racism-free world. The ideals we want to portray will still be flawed and not 100% ideal, because the notion we have OF this ideal is fundamentally flawed. ESPECIALLY if we are still unlearning our own fallacies to these ideals. Grishaverse has anti-blackness threaded in the pages because there is anti-blackness on Earth and anti-black fallacies in the ideals Leigh Bardugo has internalized (like any other white person). If we can acknowledge the argument that meanings can be found in stories/art whether it was intended or not, then we have to acknowledge Leigh Bardugo wrote in her own prejudice or anti-black ideals into the grishaverse, whether intended or not. She wanted to write a story removed from the racism we know, and that in of itself isn’t a bad thing to imagine. But she still wrote tropes actively harmful to the minorities they represent.

“Why do you have to look for patterns that aren’t there and nitpick on characters? Why does everything have to be about race? Isn’t it enough that our heroes are TRYING to be good?”

When people say this, they usually mean “Why are you putting this in my face? We (the group not affected) were all doing fine until you decided to be grumpy about something, and I don’t want my ideals soiled by your criticisms.”

Imagine seeing the person who’s supposed to represent you and your identity be repeatedly trashed, ignored, dumbed down, dismissed, killed off, etc etc in canon and in the fandom, and when you finally get the courage to bring it up, the entirety of people not affected silence and threaten you for rocking their boat. You really can’t imagine how that actually feels unless you’ve felt it. When you write off the consistently abusive treatment of a community of people in a book as an inconvenient—and thus invalid— topic that “ruins” the characters or plots you want to root for, you’re acknowledging the privilege you have in being able to look the other way when these patterns have been brought to your attention.

There’s a lot you might not catch when you aren’t a part of the communities affected. If someone is gracious enough to extend their emotional and intellectual labor to point it out to you despite the all the gaslighting and harassment they face, the LEAST you can do is have an open mind and release the defenses and previous ideals you’ve cultivated for the characters you love. Black fans don’t owe it to you to spell it out, but they sometimes do! Despite how white fans treat them in return.

You said “it’s not like the Kerch are made out to be a nation of great saintly people.” Great! So we agree everyone should be praised and criticized accordingly? And when it’s pointed out that a character exhibits bigotry we can acknowledge that as a part of the environment they’ve lived in and thus a trait of themselves?

You can enjoy any universe or the characters that come with it in full capacity, and no one is asking you to discard stories entirely because of the mistakes. Nikolai meant and means a lot to me because of the ideals that I crafted in my head from 16 up. He’s a comfort character! He was my vision of a masc-presenting adventurer who got by with wit and charm and aesthetics. The people who love him see something of themselves in him, or someone they love. But he’s still a product of his environment. Just because I don’t want that to be true doesn’t make it untrue. Ravka is fantasy Russia but .*•*~more idealistic*.~*. This doesn’t take away the fact that the foundation is...still Russia. He’s still a privileged white king thats actively oppressing minorities in the story by upholding the kingship as it is, and if he continues the path he’s on, he’s not much better than his heritage. I love Nina to death but she’s still the jarhead kid in your algebra class ready to fight anyone who says her country merits basic criticism. The kingdom of Ravka would need to be entirely dismantled and recreated. Nikolai might seem more progressive than the kings before him, but he’s got a lot to be reprimanded for, and rebuilding can’t even start until he acknowledges and unlearns that. Which...he hasn’t, not fully, and there’s no written proof of him doing so as of now.

Before I made myself research more I got just as defensive of him and others. I’m sure I’ll get defensive over another story and have to relearn everything all over again. It’s a process and you have to check yourself all the time. But it’s a step towards the ideals we want to actually live in. If I want to imagine Nikolai a better man, I have to start from the scraps I’m given.

So yes!! You’re allowed to draw up your own themes and ideals from the stories and reimagine the characters to fit a narrative that makes your heart happy. But it won’t change the reality of the canon universe. Zemenipearls enjoyed the grishaverse so much she made a fan account for it, participates in fan-led events that celebrate the characters (and sometimes leads those events herself), commissions artists to make fanart, and has ongoing works that delve into the expansive universe that better represents her and what she wants for black characters in fantasy. And she STILL gets shit for imploring a conversation about what we all want to ignore away. Why would she put so much energy into this if she didn’t care or believe in this story too? If you also care about grishaverse that much, shouldn’t we be willing to uplift and reimagine by starting where the work needs it most?

Okay I’ve said a LOT SORRY HHHHH BUT TO WRAP UP: Ignoring a fictional character’s faults or repercussions is one thing, and I’m not about to waste energy on making people hold characters in a book accountable. We all see how people treat the Darkling.

But when you participate in or ignore the bullying and threatening that happens to REAL people, when people JUSTIFY that shit as if it merits denying a person their humanity, THATS the actual harm being done. (Not saying you’ve done that, but the mindset I’m seeing here is what feeds into that compliance.)

If we have the energy to protect and coddle our fictional white boys and let them burn the sandbox down, I KNOW we have energy to respect and protect black fans who have just as much say in how they see the story or how they reimagine it. If you have the energy to accept/tolerate the stuff alarkling fans promote, I KNOW you have the energy to put your pride away and acknowledge fallacies in your own ideals for characters. And regardless!!! of whether you “agree” with the criticisms or not, does that mean the person who spoke up about the issue deserves to be harassed?

I’m gonna ask the white ya majority reading this to be humble and open your hearts up to change the way you do for fictional edgy white dudes. Y’all have the SPIRIT but then it funnels into the WRONG IDEAS!!! PLEASE use your heads you’d be unstoppable if you used your privilege to amplify the ones who need amplifying. I promise Cardan BlackBerry and Alesksxxander Marigold aren’t gonna be disappointed in you 😔🙏

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 5

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Content warnings: Food mention, fantasy religion mention, body horror mention

Morgan had slipped away from the crowd still thronging around the waypoint in Harrogath. They had swept Blaise up in their enthusiasm, cheering her prowess with the bow. Not wanting any part of the festivities, Morgan had quickly eyed up the thinnest part of the crowd and woven his way through the gaps until he was on the outside of it. It forced him to take the long way around the city to reach the barracks, but that was fine. Better that than the alternative.

His route took him past a tent where Cain was bent over a parchment, writing in his careful, unhurried way. An air of serenity surrounded him, as it so often did. Morgan stopped without consciously deciding to. Perhaps he, too, could find some peace here. Just for a moment.

He approached hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt. It could be enough just to observe, to watch an expert in his element. But Cain glanced up as he dipped his quill into the ink pot, a smile spreading over his face as he noticed Morgan.

"Ah, Morgan. I didn't see you there, friend. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hello." The familiar cadence of the scholar's voice was even more soothing than just his presence. Morgan wanted more of that. Cain had always been willing to speak; surely this wouldn't be too much to ask. "What are you working on?"

"As it happens, I've been recording some of the history of the barbarians here. Most of their stories are passed down orally, but I find them quite worthy of preserving in a more lasting fashion."

"Could you please tell me more about that?"

Cain shuffled in his seat, setting his quill aside and folding his hands on the tabletop. "Nothing would please me more."

Morgan lost track of time as he listened to Cain retell tales of the brave and wondrous exploits of the ancient Bul-Kathos, who Cain suspected may have actually been a real person, one of a few original nephalem from the early days of the world. He was feeling a little more like himself by the time Blaise poked her head in.

"Thought I might find you here, Morgan. Chief elder Nihlathak is asking for you." She wrinkled her nose. "Pushy guy, wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He's waiting in the great hall. You can come with me, but we don't have to hurry. He can wait. You should at least get changed first."

Cain regarded Morgan as he stood. "Did you get what you came for?"

"Yes," Morgan replied. "Thank you."

"Always a pleasure, my friend," Cain smiled serenely before returning to his quill and ink pot.

"So," Blaise said as they walked, "learn any new information about Baal?"

"No." He let a few steps pass in silence. "I just wanted to hear a story," he added.

"Well, Deckard has a million of them. Did..." Blaise's step faltered for a second. "Did you tell him? About... last night?"

"No." Just like that, the heaviness was back in the pit of his stomach, as though it had never lifted.

"Did you want me to do it?" The question was meant in kindness, he was certain.

"You can do what you like," were the words that came out of his mouth in response, uninflected and low. Blaise winced.

"I just - I mean, I thought it might - shit," she said. An icy trickle of fear slithered in to curl around the weight in Morgan's core. You keep making her upset like this, it observed. She's going to get rid of you too, if you keep it up. She knows how easy it is now. He bumped up against her gently, looking for the right words to use.

"I trust your decisions," he tried. "I don't want to think about it right now."

"Yeah," she said, "okay." She brought her arm up to rest across his shoulders for a moment, and the fear thawed a little. She waited outside the barracks as he changed out of his armour and pulled on a warm wool sweater over top of a lighter shirt, to keep the rough material off of his skin while still taking advantage of its warmth. Then it didn't take long before they were at the great hall.

"What does Nihlathak look like?"

"Big guy, you won't be able to miss him."

"Everyone here is big," Morgan pointed out. Blaise laughed.

"Yeah, they make 'em large in these parts. I haven't felt this small since I was a kid. Don't worry, I'll point him out."

She didn't need to. He called out from the head of the long table when he saw them enter. It was the large man whose leg he had mended, who had identified his... origin. Blaise returned to a seat near the other end of the table.

"Morgan! My people have been telling tales of warriors risen from the earth itself. Come, sit by me and talk and eat." Morgan wanted to do none of those things. He approached anyway.

"Chief elder," he said with a polite bow of his head. "How is your leg?"

"Good as new." He gave it a hearty slap to illustrate. "Malah finished what you started. Of course, if she'd been there in the first place, I could have seen the battle firsthand! Still, I am warmed to see so many I thought lost to us returned. Sit, eat, celebrate with us. Maybe you can tell me the secret of how our uphill battle turned in our favour."

Morgan sat at the table, which was laden with food and drink. The crowd was boisterous, shouting joyfully and slamming their tankards together. It was at odds with the cold, hollow feeling he'd been trying to shake.

"There's no secret," he said, "it was just a good day. You knew it would happen."

"I what?" Nihlathak leaned in close. "What are you saying?"

"Yesterday," Morgan elaborated, "after I bandaged your leg, you said the tide of battle would soon turn. You were right."

"Hah! I was!" Nihlathak leaned back to drain his tankard. "I still want to hear of these earthen warriors you raise. What are they?"

"Golems. I put magic into the ground and it does what I ask."

"You make it sound so simple, but I've never seen such a thing before."

"I can demonstrate any time you wish, chief elder."

"Perhaps later, eh? Right now I am in the mood for tales!"

"I'm no storyteller," Morgan warned him. He didn't like it here, with the noise and the smells and the happy groups of people who belonged together. It was all too much. He wanted to leave.

"Oh, go on, you must have some stories in you. How did you get that scar?" He gestured to the most visible one, the thick line marking Morgan's throat nearly from ear to ear. "Scars always come with a story."

"Demon slit my throat."

"Oho! See, that's a tale! How did you survive that?"

"Healing potion."

"You're right," Nihlathak grunted. "You're no storyteller."

"Is that why you asked for me?"

"No! No, I just wanted to see that everyone got their place at the feast table."

That was good, Morgan thought dully. Equitable, fair. It was no longer his place to judge those things. Hard to break a lifetime of habit.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said, forcing himself to stay seated. Instead of standing, he took a small bite of food. He couldn't be bothered to taste it. Instead of leaving, he took a drink of ale. That was tasteless too. He waited until he saw another person leaving the hall. That meant it was finally acceptable to go, which he did. Nihlathak had moved down the table and was occupied with Blaise and some of the other warriors, undoubtedly getting the stories he wanted. It saved Morgan the trouble of excusing himself.

Once he was out in the cold, quiet air again, it occurred to him that he didn't have a goal in mind. He wandered a little, thinking about nothing, letting his feet carry him where they would. They took him up to a corner near the smithy. The blacksmith, Larzuk, was there, along with Cain. They were leaned over a workbench with their backs to him. It looked like they were examining something. Larzuk was making expansive gestures and Cain was nodding thoughtfully. Morgan turned around. He had already interrupted him once today. It wouldn't do to take up any more of his attention.

Morgan went to the bathhouse instead. It was quiet there, with so many at the feast. He had what should have been a reasonably pleasant bath, scrubbing the grime of the day's efforts from his skin with hot water and a rough cloth. The world was going blunt around the edges again, though, so he couldn't say for sure. He was half dressed afterwards, squeezing the last of the water out of his hair, when his solitude was interrupted. The bathhouse door opened behind him, and a conversation became audible as its participants entered the building.

"- that level of control. Certainly not so many at once." That was Icharion. He was clearly speaking to someone else, though. Morgan could probably still slip by without comment.

"What a pity. Strong steel will always win out over magic, but I am beginning to see its use." That was Nihlathak. The bath must have taken longer than he'd thought. "Ah, so this is where you slipped off to, Morgan! So quiet, like a ghost."

So he wouldn't escape cleanly after all. Morgan turned to give the men a cursory bow of acknowledgement.

"I'll take that demonstration you offered," Nihlathak continued. "Tomorrow, when the light is good, eh?" Morgan nodded, and Nihlathak grinned. "Good. What, you never seen scars before, boy?" He nudged Icharion with his elbow. "You see a warrior with no scars, you know he hasn't seen real battle. That's how you get stronger. Gonna see plenty the longer you stay here. Get used to it."

Icharion was staring openly, looking faintly horrified. But his eyes weren't on any of Morgan's scars. "Your arm - is that a golem?"

"It is," Morgan confirmed. Its smooth surface did rather stand out in comparison to the bare skin of his torso. He had never bothered smoothing down the snarl of tissue at the place where it joined the original limb, either, where he'd had to improvise the connection. It was ugly, but it served its purpose. Icharion's lip curled.

"How could you claim devotion with that monstrosity attached to you? Those arts are forbidden. You know the laws better than anyone." The accusation lit a brief flare of indignation inside Morgan, but it died quickly. His dedication had been pointless in the end, after all.

"I have broken no laws in this," he said.

"You shall not forge a construct in taking the flesh of the dead," Icharion recited in retort, "neither the flesh of the living."

"Neither the flesh of others living," Morgan corrected flatly, pulling his shirt on over his head.

Icharion opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, frowning. "Surely that's not the way it was intended," he said after a moment, sounding a little uncertain. Morgan shrugged.

"Some laws are explicit with regards to one's own self. That one is not."

"Hah! Clever. I like you more and more, Morgan." Nihlathak was watching their exchange approvingly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Icharion took a halting step forward, as though he was struggling between being intrigued and repulsed. "But why? What made you take such an extreme measure as that?"

Morgan slipped his sweater on over his shirt, tugging at the neckline until the rough wool stopped dragging on his skin. "Irreparable damage."

Icharion's eyebrows rose. "Noted."

Morgan waited a beat, but there seemed to be no more questions for him. He left without another word, heading for the barracks. There was no point in trying to find further distractions. The relief they offered was too fleeting. The fighting earlier had been tolerable, though. Perhaps the barbarian battle party would be able to move faster now, to catch up with Baal before he reached... whatever his goal was. It would probably be easier to defeat him with so many strong warriors on the attack at once. And then what? He wasn't ready to think about that yet. Instead, he closed his eyes and slipped into the familiar meditative space that held nothing, and waited for the morning.

[currentfandomkick]

Marinette did not sign up for this pt 3

  Part 3 time. part 1 here part two here, ao3 link here     

             Cass had long since taken to eating at Yan Toh Heen when she was in Hong Kong, where head chef Cheng Wang served her favorite soup, Marinette Soup. Given that Cass often came at odd times and remained a regular whenever she was in town, she had come to know of Shifu Cheng’s inspiration, his niece’s daughter. A girl who reminded Cass of Bruce’s usual adoptees when she first saw her picture, and mentioned it was a good ting her father hadn’t begun adopting until the girl was already a toddler. Shifu Cheng had laughed at the time, and mentioned that Cass might be a good influence on her, if she could keep her father from trying to steal his great-niece away that is.

             Now Cass was looking at the girl’s picture a bit more critically, and with Bruce and his parents in mind, she wouldn’t be surprised if this Marinette—a young designer who had managed to have two major figures in the industry recognize her by 16 with an apparent knack for helping her local heroes—was Bruce’s daughter. Her eyes reminded Cass of Thomas Wayne’s from the portraits, and her smile was a lot like Bruce’s when he wasn’t hiding anything.

             With all this in mind, Cass was already on a plane to find the girl and test out her theory—to see if Marinette of the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie was also Ladybug—Batman and Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

             She did smile when she saw the group chat for “Middle Kids Only—No D’s Allowed” exploded with Jason, Tim and Steph arguing over who would find her first and what the prize would be. It looked like Cass would win at this rate. She was fine with that—and having a no-questions asked favor from each of the three in the future would be the icing on the cake to meeting their new sister first.

---             

             Marinette has to explain to Adrien a bit of her blow up while they were civilians and out of sight in her room. Tikki and Plagg were napping.

             “So, you’re uh…” she couldn’t blame him for the lack of words. She tended to forget (re: ignore) the fact herself most of the time.

             “Yeah,” Marinette shrugged. “Maman and Papa got me in a closed adoption case, the mother was young.”

             “… I’m now picturing a young Batman and can’t wrap my brain around it.”

             Marinette snorted at that. “It was before Batman existed.”

             Adrien frowned at that, thinking it over as… “So did you ever…”

             Marinette shook her head. “My mother warned against it, the note she left for me said it was dangerous to even attempt contacting him.” She ran a hand through her hair as she remembered Maman and Papa letting her read the note not long after her Guardian training began. It was another life entirely. “She said he was an unfit father, and that she never wanted kids so I was better off not looking for them when I grew up. I never planned to—Maman and Papa were all I ever needed or wanted.”

             Adrien smiled at that, grabbing a cookie for himself. “So what happened?”

             Marinette winced. “I, I don’t want to talk about it. Long story short, a wild Murder Robin appeared and told me not to contact his family or else, and I promised to steer clear of affiliates so he wouldn’t try anything.”

             Adrien twitched at that. He knew Marinette and Alya made a few comments about it once upon a time but…

             “Is he the one dropping off the weapons and flower threats?”

             Marinette looked away, keeping her eyes low.

             Adrien tightened his fists. “I see. If he or that family get near you, they’ll have to take on Chat Noir first.”

             Marinette huffed at that. “They’re the normies that took down the world ending metas, I doubt there’s much we could do against them chatton.”

             Adrien shook his head and jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Black Cat wielder, destruction incarnate, and the idiot you share a soul with.” He gave her his Chat Noir smile. “There’s nothing I can’t take on.”

             Marinette snorted at that. “Chemistry.”

             Adrien’s face fell at that. “You cannot tell me chemical reactions are that easy!”

             Marinette smiled at him then. “I can and will say it—Chemistry is easier and superior to physics. Kitchen Chemistry is how we get food.”

             “And physics keeps us from floating off into space.”

             “Not studying it. Studying chemistry I get food, physcics is just a headache of formulas on formulas on formulas.”

             “But the theories!”

             With that, the pair fell into their familiar rhythm of banter for the rest for the night.

             Tim was crossing French designers in Paris aged 14-20 that own or work at a boutique, online or physical, and turned up a large number of candidates for who Ladybug/the missing Wayne could be.

             Babs rolled in on this particular search, and gave him a look. “You know the Justice League wants us to not to contact her, right?”

             Tim made a vague sound of acknowledgement.

             “And that Bruce probably didn’t have a kid at 15, right?”

             “Just covering my bases.”

             Babs looked over his search margins. “Did you check Damian’s search history?”

             Tim scowled at her. “Of course I did, he’s been doing more through wipes, I couldn’t get more than a few scarps of useless code.”

             Babs began to grin then. “So that means I do have a leg-up on you then.”

             He didn’t even want to know how she knew about the competition. But she wasn’t officially in it either (all of the placed their bets down negotiated rules (re: no asking for help from Damian) and agreed the only participants were the four of them). What did Barbra Gordon want out of this?

             Tim paused at that. “What.”

             Babs grinned at him. Tim remembered why Oracle is the queen of hackers everywhere—nothing is safe from her reach.

             “He was particularly taken with a few designers, and one of them happens to be in the range you’re looking for.”

             Tim scowled at her. “What do you want?”

             “You know that picture of me you took a few years back?”

             Tim blinked as that was what she wanted. His ‘Don’t tell The Family’ insurance.

             “Yes.”

             “I want your copies of burned, and any you may have floating around returned to me.”

             Tim weighed the pros and cons to this. The girl should be in his current data pool. And he does know to use Damian’s search again (tracking Bab’s hacks was child’s play now) but she probably deleted most—if not all of—her trail. Decisions, Decisions…

             He could just wait to meet the baby bat. But then he would owe Jason a no-questions asked favor if he found her first… and he didn’t want to know what Jason would use it for. Owing Cass a favor meant family nights with the worst board games or tea parties when he was elbow deep in a mission. A no question favor for Steph was always interesting and usually resulted in Bruce giving them both looks.

             Did he want to lose his leverage on Babs, or did he want to avoid the consequences of the bet more?

--

             Chat and Carapace exchanged a quick look when the pair arrived. A nod from Carapace as he trailed after their paling Ladybug was all Chat needed to begin operation Distract the Justice Leaguer Members.

             He and Rena Rouge were having the time of their lives. Both were genuine in their admiration of the pair and the work they had done. And they were both eager to learn from them—both as individuals and what their people knew of the Miraculous—something Chat and Rena knew there were large gaps in the history of still. And if they could help out Ladybug with gathering information and ensuring she was given space, well, the pair were down for it.

             Chat was asking a confused and mildly frightened Aquaman for combat tips in aquatic situations for future Syren-eqsue akumas.

             “So how do you keep an eye on attacks from all directions? Is it a ‘feel the water movements’ thing? Or is it just something you know how to do from growing up underwater? Could you teach me a few things on it—it’s a weak point that I need to work on.”

             Aquaman was quick to agree to help, eager to avoid angering the Black Cat and given Ladybug’s (apparently continued) evasion of Justice League Members, this may be the best way to both prevent the possible apocalypse and ensure Atlantis’ future safety.

             Wonder Woman was having an interesting conversation with Miss Sting about the uses for her spinning top and potential ways to work on her use of Venom while Rena asked about the Amazons and was there really an amazon who wielded the Ladybug miraculous? There were no confirmations from Ladybug and the Guardian was impossible to find to ask. Was there a Fox and did they have anything on the Miraculous’ history?

             Wonder Woman was quick to supply answers while scanning the area for Ladybug, and noted that the Turtle was missing too.

             “Is Ladybug well?”

             Rena and Miss Sting exchanged a look.

             Miss Sting stepped forward. “Ladybug just needs some space. She isn’t willing to risk breaking her promise since certain people do know where she lives.”

             Rena tensed at that, a scowl quick to her face as she remembered why Ladybug was absent. “She can’t talk to either of you until Murder Robin,”--Wonder Woman winced at the reminder of the current Robin’s past--“makes it clear he won’t keep threatening her if she does.”

             Chat caught enough of the conversation to join in. “Its also not good to stress her out, especially since its going to be open season soon.”

             Miss Sting sighed at the reminder. “Application and testing season.”

             Rena rubbed her forehead. “Don’t remind me. Last time Ladybug was so stressed over her workload that the cure was off for a week.”

             Wonder Woman and Aquaman exchanged a look.

             “Are you stating that stress on Ladybug alters how the Miraculous Cure works?” Aquaman asked cafefully, hoping it wasn’t the case.

             “Yeah,” Chat rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured it always did.”

             Wonder Woman shook her head, mind racing as, “No. Not during Mother’s time—it must be a side effect of something. May I speak to one of the Guardians?”

             Chat didn’t even have time to respond. Both adults noted the way his pupils shrunk and body tensed at the question. He knew something the others didn’t.

             “Uh, there’s only one, and the guy has been radio silent for months now,” Rena explained. “And not to be rude, but given the security breaches in the past, I don’t think it’s the best thing for our Guardian to be in contact, just in case.”

             “I see…”

             Aquaman was the quick to defuse the situation. “Perhaps one of your sisters could reach out to Ladybug? They are not affiliated with the League so that should lessen her stress.”

             Chat nodded along at that. Good. It was better to keep the Destroyer content.

             “I can see who Mother would like to send of the historians given the interest in past miraculous wielders,” Diana conceded. “Could you ask Ladybug if that is acceptable?”

             The teens grabbed their respective weapons and messaged Ladybug. A moment later the trio stated that Ladybug would agree to those terms.

             In the meantime, Chat, Rena and Miss Sting caught the adults up on the Hawkmoth situation and their limitations on investigation. Rena was particularly annoyed by the lack of progress as “Our best suspect was akumatized before Mayura showed up, so he can’t be Hawkmoth. But he lives in the target area, has the funds for a butterfly garden and the ability to keep it underground if LB’s theory about artificial sunlight to keep it secret is right.”

            “But we know he can’t be, so we should drop it and look for other suspects,” Chat added a bit nervously.

             Miss Sting nodded in agreement.

             Rena sighed. “I know, its just, too much adds up on him being Hawkmoth, but then again, that would mean he’d put his own kid in danger just to get the Miraculous. I mean, he’s bad and all but…” Rena shook her head. “LB is right about him making sense but it’s too obvious. I mean, who hides in plain sight, right?”

             Wonder Woman made a mental note to find out who this suspect was and maybe—MAYBE—let the bats do a deep search on this suspect if Rena would name them. He could very well be their villain, but she didn’t know enough on this investigation yet to make a call, nor did she have much knowledge on the Butterfly or Peacock miraculous. She only paid attention to the Ladybug and Black Cat legends—a soul spilt in two, destined to always find one another and willing to do whatever it took to protect the other from self-destructing once they grew close as allies.

--

             In Gotham Jason Todd is on a Mission. That mission happens to be meeting the Baby Bat before Timmers or the Waffle Queen herself beat him to it. Cass hadn’t responded to any of their texts, so he figured she was knee-deep in Black Bat and forfeited for once. He hoped.

             Either way, Red Hood would be tracking a certain Little Lady when he touched down in Paris once his plane took off, and take out whoever this “Hawkmoth” was. Magic terrorism is one thing. Targeting kids? Well, that puts you Hood’s list and high on his priorities real quick. Add threatening his family (estranged, feuding or 'well they're a Bat') to that? Gotham would live without him for a bit.

--

             Ladybug is currently holed up with Carapace in one of their hide-y holes on patrol. She has borrowed (re: snagged and is not returning any time soon) Carapace’s headphones. The music helps her breath. No immediate danger, she didn’t (further) break the rules of engagement, and she didn’t see any sign of Murder Robin in Paris from news reports.

             “So, uh, Murder Robin?”

             Ladybug wanted to groan. She knew this conversation was coming. “Can you send the others the cliff notes?”

             She did not want to do this with each one of them. there are a lot of miraculous users. Besides Chat and Carapace, there was Rena, Miss Sting, Pegasus, Ryuuko, King Monkey, Viperion, and Bunnix. She did not want to have this conversation seven more times.

             “Sure thing Ladybug.”

             Ladybug took a deep breath.

             “Remember Incinerater and Goo-Boy?”

             Carapace paused, face a bit slack as he nodded his head. “The first time Mr. Bug appeared, and the day Rena, Sting and me got our miraculous.”

             Ladybug nodded. “Well, it lasted so long because my transformation timed out. I couldn’t figure out what my lucky charm meant—I didn’t know what the kwami box looked like, and a bigger version of the jewelry box I got Tikki in meant nothing to me.” Ladybug sighed, as once again, she realized how much easier it would have been if Fu contacted her and Chat Noir after the first attack, or even during one on their built-in communicators. Just. Something.

             “So you timed out.”

             Ladybug nodded. “And I got caught in the building that went down.”

             Carapace froze. “Most people were still injured.”

             Ladybug winced. “I was. Still. Chat somehow knew to look for my civilian identity and found out I was Ladybug. I thought…” Marinette shook her head, pushing old fears of losing Tikki away. She’s the Guardian now. Tikki and her are together as long as Marinette remains so. “Nevermind. The point is, even after he cast the cure and helped me get home, Goo-boy showed up and Mr. Bug was needed again.”

             Carapace put the pieces together. “You were still hurt. And he left you alone.”

             Ladybug ran a hand through her pigtails. “He had to. I told him to, I figured I could make it the rest of the way.”

             Carapace frowned at that. “LB…” He put a hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

             Ladybug swallowed a lump. “Tiny Murder Robin.” She stiffened a bit, fiddling with her yoyo then. “He uh, grabbed me, pulled me into a car and held me a sword-point. Not gun point, sword point.” Marinette bleed through then. “Who does that? What kid goes around and says they’ll kill you with a sword at your neck?”

             Carapace rubbed her back, keeping her grounded. “I managed to get him to leave since I was ‘unworthy of the Bat legacy’ and all, discarded and useless.” Marinette shook her head, reminding herself she’s moved past those feelings, the one that tried to well up in her moments. She was bigger than those thoughts. “He let me go since I wasn’t worth the effort if I didn’t know I was Batman’s daughter.” Marinette kept her eyes on her lap, a nervous hands running through one pigtail vigorously. “I kind of sicced him on the current Robin to save my skin.”

             Carapace pulled her in for a hug. She clung back a bit. she didn’t have to look at him as he explained the deal. “I promised to not contact Batman or the JL and he agreed to leave me alone. And he did.”

             Carapace pulled back. “That’s not all of it, is it?”

             “He uh, started leaving flowers and some weapon for winter holidays, Easter and my birthday in my room….”

             Carapace paled at that. “He’s threatening you.”

             “y, yeah…”

             “So that’s why….”

             Ladybug nodded.

             Carapace hugged her tight. “One sec, I’ll text the team. Then we’re doing that plan of action you made the rest of us do for when we can’t show up.”

             Ladybug nodded.

             She noticed a text from the others, asking if she’d be willing to talk to an Amazonian historian on the history of the Miraculous and learn from her. That… wouldn’t violate the terms of the agreement, in spirit or wording. She sent her agreement on the terms that none of the sent historians were Wonder Woman or the Queen herself. As cool as meeting Hippolyta would be, Marinette does not want to risk the violation in spirit (family members probably counted to Murder Robin.)

             “Done.”

             Ladybug blinked as Carapace turned to her.

             “Now what can we do to help?”

             Ladybug opened and closed her mouth, running over her options. “Just keep non-miraculous heroes from contacting me, especially in battle. I just...” Ladybug struggled for words. “He knows where I live. My family.”

             Carapace nodded, keeping a steady hand on her shoulder. “Can’t risk it, I got you—we got you.”

             After a moment of silence, Carapace spoke. “Keep the team on speeddial—if you don’t want everyone on, then at least me, Pegasus and Rena. Rena can distract without getting hurt, I can protect all of us and Pegasus can send him and anyone he works with packing. Monkey probably would want in on this too—he is the Distraction King after all.”

             Ladybug laughed a little at that. It came out weak. “Sure. Chat, he’s…”

             “Busy.” Carapace shrugged. “We all know his dad has him running through hoops to make it to patrol half the time.”

             “Yeah…”

             (Marinette agreeing to intern with M. Agreste and work on her accessories brand under the Gabriel umbrella did give Adrien more lee-way than he had before, but not by much at first. Ever since her line of scarves based on the miraculous heroes took off last winter, he was given more free reign if it involved Marinette as a designer, not Marinette as his friend and classmate. Adrien was allowed at her house at all hours now without no questions asked on the basis of ‘Marinette’s muses have spoken’. As far as Gabriel was concerned, Adrien was learning more about the designing process and crafting of individual garment and accessories from her, and offering critiques as a model on wear-ability and helping her develop her style as a designer while keeping her ‘on-brand’. The fact they mostly goofed off or worked on miraculous-related things together was another matter for another time.)

             Ladybug and Carapace stayed like that for a while, until after the JL left. She may have trolled the Monkey tab on the Ladyblog and snorted at someone’s short of ‘era 1’ Chat running at an akuma while screaming “this is how I will get Ladybug will love me!” with an ‘era 2’ Chat cringing. “That. That is how I got Ladybug to baby brother me.”

--  

           Dick was wondering where the rest of the bats were during patrol. The night before, it was only him. Something about needing to look into something for the JL on Bruce’s end, and Damian was working on something again—trying to make up for a past wrong was the most Dick ever got out of him. It was the third year in a row this happened, and around the same time. Apparently needles are part of this apology.

             Dick really hopes Damian manages to meet the person face to face this time. He has a feeling the person Damian’s apologizing to might be a civilian by Bat standards, and is probably missing Damian’s message completely. Maybe Dick would check up on him tomorrow—Gotham wait for no one and apparently Nightwing is the only responsible Bat at the moment. Thank god for Oracle’s Birds of Prey and the other vigilantes Gotham’s collected over the years. Dick doesn’t want to think about what would happen if this happened without them all.

--

PART FOUR HERE

Thanks for waiting on the update. Working with burned hand so it will take longer for the next installments. Mostly planned for the next chapter but character will do what they want and highjack my writing constantly. Things are moving forward (somewhat) on the Bats and JL end, while Miraculous Team stands with their leader, Ladybug, and aren’t ready to let Anyone threaten her.

this makes for a set-up for much to go Wrong. Feel free to add to the upcoming chaos or put in things youd like to see happen in the comments or by messaging me. 

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06

[blarrghe]

“Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast” Dorian x Anders, because I imagine Dorian has NEVER had a lover make him breakfast before (and Anders probably as a cat-shaped waffle iron)

Ok, as much as I love “his boyfriend makes him breakfast and it breaks Dorian” I also like, JUST did that over in my pavellan fic. It was very sweet and all, but consider: neither of these men are functional adults so who the hell is making breakfast? Still, got Anders his waffles. Anyway this directly sequels the last one again, because I’m using prompts to generate this story now I guess, and I’m really invested in this slow burn friends-to-lovers angsty mess now, so this got super long. I’m gonna start posting this as a series on AO3 I think -- also taking title suggestions XD. Thanks for dragging me into this hell :’) Here’s Breakfast:

He told himself that he was just coming along to keep an eye on him. A designated driver of sorts, just one without a car, or driver’s license, for that matter. He showed Dorian to the bar across the street and ordered himself a glass of water while Dorian asked for “the worst swill you have", with a rather large tip slapped on the bartop. He was handed something astringent smelling in a foggy glass, downed it in one quick backwards toss of his head — arching his neck, snapping back again with a shudder — and then he asked to have the bottle. 

Dorian took two more shots before he spoke. “Did you know that there was an author, horror novelist, whose mother disapproved so wholly of her marriage that after she died, she and her husband took their revenge by having sex right on her grave?” 

So. This was going to be an interesting evening. “I did know that, actually.” Anders said. 

“I’m rather a fan of hers, of her work, I mean.” he took another shot, “and of her misbehaviours. Only, do you think it would be too gouache, seeing as it’s already been done?”

Anders coughed. “Because if it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t be?” 

Dorian shrugged, and took a fourth shot. Maker, he’d finish the bottle within half an hour, at this rate. 

“I’m a fan of hers too,” Anders attempted to steer the conversation into something somewhat more...appropriate, “of her work.” He was also a fan of the story, but maybe not at this particular moment. 

“Oh?” 

Anders took a sip of his water, and signalled to the bartender to put a water glass in front of Dorian, too. “I tend to enjoy stories about misunderstood monsters,” he shrugged. 

“Me too.” Dorian ignored the water glass in favour of shot number five. “Of course, she was married to a like-minded soul, I’d have to find myself a willing participant.” 

“Strange thing to put into your dating app profile,” Anders agreed. Dark humour came easy — though he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.  

“Mm. Man seeking man to fuck on father’s grave, must be willing to break cemetary locks and city bylaws. Risk of haunting, serious inquiries only.” 

Anders tried to stifle his laugh. Man seeking man, though. No. Nope. Very terrible idea. 

“I don’t suppose you’d be game?” 

Anders coughed again, his cheeks flaring up, and shook his head. “I — uh — I think that must be against...one of my oaths.” he stuttered, still flushing. 

Dorian took yet another shot, which made six. What in the world was he made of? "Yes I suppose it must be. Or should be, at any rate." His cheeks were a bit flushed too, even in the dim light, but just from the alcohol; evidently the man had no concept of shame, because next he said, "well, it was worth a shot." 

Speaking of shots. "Water," Anders instructed, moving the water glass closer to Dorian, "you should drink some water." 

"Yes doctor." Dorian obliged, taking the glass to his mouth but raking his eyes up and down Anders as he drank down the entire thing. Anders just kept on blushing. 

"I take it you and your father didn't get along?" It probably wasn't the right question to ask the recently bereaved, but he'd nearly failed that psych 101 course he'd taken in first year, and it was a step away from morbid propositions. Void, where was Merrill when he needed her? 

"You met him, didn't you?" Dorian raised an eyebrow, and with quickly failing coordination, poured himself one more shot, while spilling enough to fill another over the bartop. Anders grabbed a napkin, while Dorian threw his shot back without seeming to notice. "My father hated me." He said, once he'd swallowed. 

Tear soaked apologies and an alcohol soaked "celebration" of his death. Anders felt something in the pit of his stomach plummet that was quite removed from the growing pangs of hunger his measly lunch — a granola bar five hours ago — had left him with. 

"I'm sure he didn't —" Dorian stopped him with an ice cold look, intimidating even as he swayed in his seat. Anders frowned, there had been something in that psych course about not sharing your own traumatic experiences with a patient, even if they were relatable. Muddies the waters of who's caretaking who, or gives them ideas, or makes you look crazy too, so they lose confidence, but — "mine did, too." He gave Dorian's arm a tentative pat, and waved the bartender down for a refill of water. Dorian drank it without prompting this time, but his eyes watched Anders again, waiting for more. "Or he must've, got rid of me quick enough." 

"Ah," Dorian leaned back, a little too far, Anders tensed to catch him in case he started to fall, "then I'm an ass. Sorry." 

"No, you're —" Dorian swayed back forward with a bit of a jolt, like he'd forgotten how to stop and needed to grip the bartop to keep level. He reached for the bottle again, and Anders shot a hand out to grab it first. Their hands met, Dorian's falling on top of his over the bottle, and then in an instant Dorian's flew away again. "You're drunk." Anders said. 

"Yes," Dorian agreed, "marvelous." He went back to the water, then cast Anders' hand, still on the bottle, a hopeful look. "Though not to the point where I won't remember any of this miserable day, yet." 

Anders raised an eyebrow, and kept his hand on the bottle. 

"Not that I'm saying I wish to forget you," Dorian's eyes were pleading with him, glossy as they were, "you've been rather kind, really, it's just…" when Anders still didn't release the bottle, he groaned. Then he straightened out his face again, a mask of sensibility that was barely holding: "I'm afraid you aren't seeing me at my best, doctor Anders." 

"Just Anders." Maker, but the sadness behind it all was killing him. You're heart's too soft, Anders, he scolded himself. 

"Anders, then. Quite the name." 

"More a point of origin." Anders explained with a shrug. 

"Yes, the hair rather gives you away. And the complexion." He reached out and slipped two of his long fingers through a strand of Anders' strawberry hair, which was falling in a straggled mess about his temples. Anders flinched, pulling his head back, and Dorian frowned apologetically. "Pretty. You're very pretty." He said. Anders shook his head and rolled his eyes — the man was drunk — but blushed again. 

"It's what the circle gave me," Anders explained the name with another shrug. He wasnt entirely sure why he was volunteering so much personal information to this perfect stranger. Perhaps he felt it was owed, after witnessing the death of the man's father, and all he'd overheard. Or maybe it was those eyes...

"Oh." Another apologetic frown, "and you ran away to Tevinter? Well, you wouldn't be the first." Anders nodded. "Where from?" 

Anders chuckled dryly, "Kirkwall, most recently." 

"Oof." Dorian grunted a drunken sound of disgust, and Anders chuckled again, "how in the world do you manage not to drink?" 

Anders’ laugh grew stronger, he shook his head and took another sip of his water, while Dorian redirected his attention once more to the bottle still protected by his hand, as though just now remembering his plight. "One more, I promise I'll be good." He begged. 

"Speaking as a doctor, I think you've had enough." 

"I thought you were off duty." 

"You're going to make yourself sick." 

"Then it's lucky I'm with a doctor." 

Anders sighed, and poured him one more slightly scant shot. Dorian frowned at the way the alcohol didn't reach the rim of the glass, but threw it back with a grateful sigh. 

“Can I call you a cab, Dorian?” Anders offered, watching worriedly as Dorian gave his head a dramatic shake and swayed a little more back and forth. The bar was emptying out, and last call was coming upon them. He cast a glance at the old watch ticking away on his wrist, mentally calculating how long it would be until he could be at home, in his bed. Not that he minded keeping the miserable man company, quite the opposite, despite everything. He had a pull to him Anders couldn’t quite explain; the eyes again, probably. But the bus came once an hour at this time of night, and didn’t stop at the closer stop, just the well-lit main hub that lay several blocks from his apartment — another fifteen minutes of walking after he got off, so a good hour or more to get home, altogether, if he left now. 

“Is it that time already?” Dorian sounded disappointed, spinning the empty shot glass around on the bar, then with a sudden spark of concern in his eyes he turned his face to Anders, “I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I? How dreadfully selfish of me, I —” he was sputtering a rather pitiful apology, and Anders’ stomach fell again at the sight of it. 

“It’s alright,” he said gently, muscle memory finding the soft smile he used for giving bad news to patients, “your father died today, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Yes, father died…” Dorian got a far-off look in those cold eyes of his, and then directed them back at his empty glass, “and you — you had to, I mean, here I am wasting your time when you must be — selfish —”  all at once, his face crumpled, and the guilty muttering gave way to tears. Shit. 

Anders patted his back once, carefully, and Dorian seemed to utterly collapse under his touch, sobbing into the sticky countertop. Anders took a deep breath, and dragged him up again. He tossed a tip of his own onto the bar as the bartender shot them an aggravated look, and hauled Dorian away, draping his arms over his shoulders. Dorian slumped into him, heavy, hunched over, still crying, as Anders pushed through the door of the bar and into the balmy night air, awash with the putrid stench of dumpsters in the alley and the sick coughed up by the bar’s less restrained patrons. It all made him a little homesick. Dorian, hanging halfway off of him, lurched forward like he was about to add his own mess to the stink in the alley, but then he righted himself again, and propped himself up using Anders’ shoulder. Anders took the opportunity to pull out his phone. 

“Where am I sending you?” he asked helpfully. Dorian made another face that seemed to threaten that he was about to be sick. 

“I’m not going back there,” he muttered, less to Anders than to the ground. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Just help me find my car?” 

“You can’t drive.” 

“I’ll sleep in it — I left it in the lot.” 

“No.” 

Dorian pushed himself off of Anders, propelling himself away from his shoulder, and staggered forward a step. Then he seemed to change his mind, or realise he was in no state to walk on his own, and reached an arm out to fall back against the wall of the alley.

“No?” He asked, incredulous as Anders took his arm and draped it back over himself, walking them out of the alley and the stink. 

“I’m not letting you sleep in your car,” Anders shook his head as he dragged the man forward. He was heavier than he looked. Strong, too, if the grip on his shoulder was any indication. “Besides, I can’t risk leaving you in a vehicle, if you did something stupid that would be on me.” 

Dorian snorted, “do you think I’m stupid?” 

“I don’t know you well enough to judge.” Anders answered honestly, which seemed to amuse Dorian. 

“I’m not stupid.” he said, “very, very smart, actually.” he insisted. Anders nodded appreciatively. 

“Alright then, so you see why I can’t just leave you in the hospital parking lot, in your condition.” 

“Mm. Kind of you, but I can think of worse places.” So could Anders, but he shuddered to think what could happen to Dorian if he left him alone like this, drunk and stumbling and wearing the most expensive looking suit he’d ever seen; he’d already flashed his overstuffed wallet far too openly when ordering his drinks inside. “Is there a hotel? I could buy a hotel.” Dorian slurred. 

Anders was fairly certain he’d forgotten a word in his suggestion, but given the suit and the wallet, maybe not. Before Anders could answer, he lurched forward and away from him again, back towards the alley, and into a spasming sort of crouch, retching. 

Anders took an instinctive step back as Dorian gagged and sputtered out a vomit of mostly liquid and bile onto the broken stone of the alleyway, then remembered his physician’s training, and rushed forward to steady him. Between coughs, Dorian swore, and when he finished (miraculously, his suit and shoes were still unharmed), he began to cry again. Anders sighed, and once more feeling a little bit homesick, he breathed out an all too familiar refrain: “well, shit.” he said. 

“Not —” Dorian was stuttering apologetically at him now, “not my best.” He wiped at his tears, swore again, then got up from his crouch and began to stumble forward once more, heading the wrong way down the alley. Anders took him by the shoulders and led him out again. 

“Hotel?” The word smushed out of him with so much drunken misery that Anders felt almost like crying for him, and he sighed again, pulling out his phone. 

“I’m taking you home,” he dialed the number and gave the taxi company their location, then propped Dorian up against the wall of the bar that faced the street, rather than the alley, keeping an eye on his paling face and shaky breathing. 

“What, your home?"  

Anders nodded, “if you choke on your vomit and die in your hotel room, I’ll feel responsible,” he explained as Dorian looked up at him with a perplexed, and dare he say it, even eager look. 

“Very kind of you, doctor Anders.” he said, but before Anders could correct him on the honorific again, he stooped and threw up, so doctor Anders it was. 

——

Dorian all but fell asleep in the taxi, head drooping down into his chest, swaying this way and that as the car rounded the corners, but thankfully he kept from throwing up any more. The luck didn’t hold once they were inside Anders’ apartment though, and soon Anders had him steadied in a kneel over his toilet bowl, getting out the rest of it. Dorian flung most of his clothes off before throwing up this time, wrestling himself out of the suit jacket and tight shirt beneath it, while Anders tried not to be impressed. He had a really remarkable physique, but he was also lurching and coughing miserably into Anders’ toilet, so it was definitely not something to admire. Then he got him onto the couch, set a large bowl on the floor by his head, and coaxed him into one more glass of water before letting him lie down. Dorian offered him another tearful apology, and then tearful thanks, and then he passed out. Anders sat back in a chair across from him for a while, watching as his breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall, ensuring that his head was turned to the side, mouth facing the bowl, in case he was to vomit any more in his sleep, and then he finally, finally, stumbled his own way to bed. 

He woke to the sound of his cupboards banging shut and the kettle screeching to a whistle.

Anders stumbled out into his kitchen to find Dorian standing there with a distraught look on his face, pouring water into two large mugs. He was dressed again, and looking remarkably perfect, actually. Hair all in place and posture all upright once more. The bowl was gone from the floor, too, and nothing smelled off — just a little like tea. 

"How are you feeling?" He asked, suddenly aware of his own shabby pajamas. 

Dorian turned, still looking distraught. "You don't have any food." He complained, "I fed your cat —" Anders looked down to the corner of the kitchen where Ser Pounce's food bowl was, and found Ser Pounce there happily nibbling from a bowl filled to slightly too full, "I hope that's alright. I woke up with him on my chest and he wouldn't stop pawing at that cabinet so I figured…" 

Anders smiled softly, and not in a practiced way, he'd entirely forgotten to check the food bowl when they came in the night before, occupied as he'd been. 

"And then I saw you had a coffee pot, so I was going to make coffee, as a thank you — well, actually, I was going to have some delivered, but I don't rightly know where I am —" Dorian ran a hand through his hair, and he was talking quite speedily, cheeks going just slightly pink "but you don't have coffee. Or anything." 

Now Anders blushed, embarrassed for the nakedness of his cupboards. 

"Anyway, thank you. Tea?" 

Anders nodded, and took the few remaining steps to the counter to grab one of the mugs of still steeping tea; he liked to keep the bag in. He moved from the counter to the couch, cupping the mug with both hands, and sat down. 

"117 Orseck Ave.," he said, "that's where you are. How are you feeling… how much of last night do you remember?" 

"I remember making a fool of myself, if that's what you're asking. And you being uncommonly kind." He paused, "it is Anders, right?" Anders nodded, "is there anything else I should remember, Anders?" 

Anders shook his head, "that about sums it up." 

Dorian chuckled. When he wasn't drunk or crying, it was a nice sound. He leaned against Anders' counter — stunning, how was he stunning after a night like the one he'd just had? "Well, you've certainly wasted enough of your time looking after me, and I can get out of your hair now, but —"  

"— I wouldn't call it a waste of time," Anders interrupted, because something in him always seemed to speak up whenever Dorian went about making statements like that. It kind of had been a waste of his time, Anders tried to protest against that something, he'd lost a great deal of sleep to it, anyway. But somehow the look that his interruption gained him from Dorian was impossible to remain grumpy with. 

"Have you been to Marc's?" Dorian asked suddenly, brightening with a hopeful smile, "since I know where we are now, and its nearby, and you have no food," he went on, "and personally, I'm starving —" 

"I imagine you would be," Anders said, though at the mention of hunger his own stomach took the opportunity to awaken too, noisily. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the sound. 

"Might I buy you breakfast? I feel I owe you that much." 

Anders hadn't been to Marc's. He'd been by it many times, a busy little brunch place, always smelling of bacon and pancakes and with a line out the door. It was a bad idea to say yes to this, he thought, a bad idea to say yes to anything involving absurdly handsome men who just lost their fathers, who were obviously walking disasters waiting to happen (you always had a thing for disasters waiting to happen) — shush. His stomach grumbled again. 

"I haven't been," Anders answered, "there's always a line — and I am on call, I might not have time to —" 

"Oh, we can skip all that." Dorian brushed the protest aside, "so? Don't try to tell me you aren't hungry." 

Anders kicked at a bit of cat hair fluff adorning the edge of his couch, "alright, sure."

Dorian was certainly good at getting him to say yes to things he should know better than to say yes to. If he kept going on like this, the next thing he knew he'd be having sex on his father's grave. 

---- 

They arrived at the restaurant, just a short walk from Anders' building, and yet in a considerably nicer part of town — the new money was creeping in towards his end of things, but where he lived at least was still very much no money — and Dorian walked straight up to the front of the line. Anders hung back, watching skeptically as Dorian performed a series of intricate maneuvers: some charm, a smile, a handshake Anders recognized from Varric — the kind with a bill snuck inside — and then he turned, waving Anders over. 

"We can wait ten minutes for a table, or have our food prepared now and take it outside. Your choice." He smiled. Maker, such a good smile; straight teeth and a brilliantly white gleam. "But you're on call, right? And to be honest with you, the fresh air is making me feel considerably less queasy. Park across the street?" Anders nodded and shrugged at the same time, a gesture that seemed to satisfy Dorian into continuing to take charge of the situation. "Alright then, to go. And fast, if you can. We're both very busy and important." He winked at the young hostess as he was handed two paper menus, and Anders could have sworn she blushed brighter than the checkerboard red on the apron she wore. "What do you fancy?" Dorian asked him, handing over one of the papers. 

It was diner food, but not really. Poached eggs with house-smoked bacon over an heirloom tomato coulis, waffles with Orlesian creme sauce and glazed berries, rare wheat pancakes with apple cinnamon compote and vanilla syrup  — just a few options, all of them coming with a detailed list of decadent flavours. In addition to those few confounding main courses was a fresh juice list filled with exotic fruits Anders had never even heard of, and approximately twenty different kinds of coffee. 

"Uh, waffles?" He said, squinting at the menu, "waffles and coffee?" 

Dorian beamed some more, and took back his menu to point out the waffle dish, as well as several other things, confidently ordering far more food than could possibly be necessary as well as coffee and one of the strange fruit juices while insisting that Anders simply had to try it. The patient employee nodded and hurried away, and not ten minutes later came back with two plastic bags stuffed near splitting with cardboard containers, and a tray of drinks. Dorian thanked her with another winning smile and secretly-funded handshake, and then they were off. 

The park across the street had benches, so they sat on one — finding one in the shade of a great, leafy tree, as even the morning sun was warm. Then, Dorian began a conversation, and the whole thing was far less awkward than Anders had expected. Dorian asked about his work, so Anders described some of it, though he avoided anything too close to topics of death and dying, and Dorian held his gaze while he talked and asked compelling questions. He seemed to be, as claimed, very smart, and the food was practically otherworldly. Then Anders asked Dorian about his work in turn, and Dorian sighed. 

"Well, you're new here, aren't you? How much do you know about Tevinter politics? The intricacies of it all can take a lifetime to wrap one's head around. That's by design; keeps things all tied up with the upper classes who have it in their blood to be intollerable bureaucrats." His air was flippant, but altogether disapproving, which Anders appreciated. 

"I've been here a while now, actually. A couple of years, anyway, I understand it a bit. Political science was always my…'' downfall? "Second passion." He washed down a heaping forkful of creme covered waffles made of pure fairy dust and clouds with whatever exciting fruit drink Dorian had handed him — it tasted like bright green, with a hint of citrus. "I feel people should be informed — active. Healthcare is as political as it is practical." And mage freedom, that was political too, but they didn't have to get into that. Mages were already free in Tevinter. Other kinds of people, however — something bitter bit at the back of his mind. But it was too sunny, and the food too good, for that sort of conversation. 

Dorian nodded approvingly, his eyes lighting up. "Alright then, I'm an Altus. I argue things in circles in the house a lot, these days I've been losing all sorts of friends arguing this Sopperati electorate reformation bill," Anders' eyes widened, impressed. He'd been following the progress of it, a huge step for increased class equality, if it passed. So maybe it was just sunny enough for such a conversation. "but of course it can only go so far without approval from the Magisterium," Dorian went on, a slight growl of frustration colouring his tone, which was appealing in a different way, "and for that we need to convince those with seats in the — in the —'' he stopped, and some of the light fell from his eyes. "I just remembered that my father is dead." He said. Shit. Not a sunny conversation, after all. "His seat passes to me, you see, because nepotism still runs stronger than good sense and he's written my name into all these continuations of his legacy and…" he sighed, and stabbed hard at a piece of brilliantly poached egg, which honestly didn't deserve it, "sorry. It's going to be a very hectic and difficult few weeks, with all the ceremony and paperwork and the whole ordeal of burying him…" he scooped up some of his bleeding egg yolk with a wedge of toast, and went silent in favour of eating, while Anders took an uncomfortable sip of juice that seemed to have lost some of its vividness. "You've been here for years, you said?" Dorian changed the subject, refocusing on Anders. Anders nodded, still awkwardly sucking up juice through the straw of his cup. "I would have sworn you were an escapee fresh from the harbour." 

"Why?" Anders bristled a little. 

"Your apartment. You have no food or furniture," Anders bristled a little more, "and you've never been to Marc's", Anders frowned, furrowing his brow at the impossibly good, impossibly expensive waffles, "and you're too nice." Dorian finished. Anders looked up in surprise, catching Dorian's eye. They were still a bit lost for light, but soft on him. 

"I'm just very busy," Anders shrugged. And very poor, but, well, Dorian probably thought anyone with fewer than a thousand acres of family land was poor, given his status. He didn't need to know the extent of it. 

"Hm," Dorian's eyes were still on him, soft and thoughtful, "what else haven't you done?" Anders shrugged, and Dorian began listing things. Tourist attractions and famed galleries, but also other, lesser-known offerings of the city that Anders had never even heard of. 

"Ferry through the archipelegos?" 

"No." 

"The volcanic sand beaches?"

"No." 

"Dinner at the top of Tidarion Tower?" 

"No." 

And on like that, until he finally said yes to something — taking in a show at the infamous burlesque playhouse in the city's red light district, which elicited an eyebrow raise.

"Priorities, I see." Dorian chuckled, "at least you have good taste." He reached an arm up over Anders' side of the bench, as he finished with his food and slid the box away, very smooth. "I'd have offered to take you. Maybe one of the others sometime, then, if you've a mind." He suggested. Anders could feel his cheeks beginning to run hot again. Still a bad idea, he reminded himself. Apparently sensing his unease, Dorian removed his arm from its perch near Anders' shoulders. "May I say something painfully honest?" he asked. 

Anders swallowed, but he managed a smirk as he replied. "I think we're well past that," he said. 

Dorian shook his head with a dry chuckle, "yes, well. I'm all out of sorts, as you may have noticed." 

Anders chuckled too, but with him, not at. 

"And normally, if I'm to get drunk and go home with a stranger, it all goes a certain way," then he actually winked, which on him was somehow charming and not over the top at all. Anders swallowed again, "and, not that I'm opposed, but, well, as I said: you've been uncommonly kind. I could — I've been losing friends left and right lately, it seems, with this bill, and…" 

"I'm a fan of the bill," Anders said, "in fact I'm not sure it goes far enough." 

The interruption seemed to lend Dorian some more confidence, as though he needed it, "so, pretty as you may be, I could use a, uh —" 

Anders blushed again, but finished for him, "a friend?" He could use one too, if he was being honest. Near everything seemed to be making him homesick, lately. 

Dorian nodded. "If that's not too forward." He said. 

"You fed my cat," Anders replied, "as far as I'm concerned, we're already friends." 

At that, Dorian smiled. He asked Anders his cat's name, and chuckled at the answer, and then they exchanged phone numbers and Anders stuck a little cat next to his own name as he entered it into Dorian's contact screen, which had him laughing even more. Anders offered to put the puking emoji next to Dorian's in return, but he insisted on a snake, because he “had a reputation to uphold”. Then Anders’ pager went off, and he groaned inwardly, wishing he could spend the day in the sun for once. 

“Duty calls?” 

Anders grimaced, and stood up. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, meaning it. Dorian stood too. 

“You should take the rest — actually, this may be awkard, but I think we’re going the same way.” His car. Of course. 

“You’re going to have a small fortune to pay in parking tickets,” Anders realised, frowning. 

“Oh that’s fine. I have one of those — big, actually.” he winked again, “very big.” Sweet Maker, he just never stopped. 

Dorian insisted on a cab, and then he insisted on paying for it, and then he insisted on Anders taking the rest of their uneaten brunch items to store in the breakroom for his lunch, and then finally he was ready to let him go, with a promise to be in touch. He extended his hand for Anders to shake. Anders took it, holding fast with a sure grip, and then, drawn in yet again by those cool, sad eyes, he pulled Dorian’s arm towards him, and wrapped him up in a tight hug. 

Dorian stumbled back afterwards, cheeks flush, eyes glinting with surprise. “What was that for?” 

“Just seemed like you needed it,” Anders said. 

Dorian was still blushing, and his smile warmed Anders’ own cheeks. “Suppose I did,” he agreed. 

“Take care, Dorian.”

“As you say, doctor.”

[scriptaed]

his side, her side | 7:00 P.M.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; (bold = genre for this particular drabble)

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 2.9k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: this is not a chronological series; more so, his side her side is a collection of drabbles in which each drabble helps paint the overall picture. each drabble can be read separately without having read the others. // alternatively: his side, her side pt. 4;

her side; 

Even if it pains you to admit, you knew that this—whatever it is between you and Jungkook—was more than just something… or at least to you, that is; because to part ways after an ephemeral five minute small talk right outside the company’s doors only to long for next week when your opportunity to relive what most would consider an insignificant five minutes of your seven days has to mean something. 

That unequivocal something, however, would forever be a crush mislabeled as boredom. 

“So how far do you live from work?”

Oh, shoot. Does that question seem too invasive? Peeping around at your chattering colleagues of whom gradually fade into the distance behind you two, you figure the coast is clear. The last thing you would want is to assume the new subject of your coworkers’ morning gossip rumors. You can just imagine it. Your stalkerish tendencies and your supposed obsession with the partner of your most recent project, Jungkook… they would call you a lonesome girl with fleeting emotions, willing to fall for any boy who gives her the slightest of attention.

That image, in itself, has been a nightmare you’ve grudgingly albeit successfully steered clear of.

It seems that your coworkers should not be the subject of your concerns, however, because even the shadow that befalls his profile that blocks the lamp post’s white-blue glow is not enough to blind you from Jungkook’s sneer. Your partner peers down at you and speaks his seldom words of the night, “wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“Wh—” you’re at a loss for words, not exactly because of his remark but rather over his rare choice to speak in exchange for an opportunity to tease you… something he hasn’t done in the past month of your blossoming relations “—what? I was just wondering how far you lived because you mentioned driving to work before.”

“Yeah,” he simply answers without further elaboration over his sudden tease. “I live with my brother. About five minutes away. Not too far.”

“You have a brother?” 

“Yeah,” he pauses, “you have any siblings?”

“What do you think? Do I look like I have any?” 

You lean back, as if to allow him to have a gander over your appearance that supposedly dictates your compatibility for a sibling. To your surprise, the boy who’s usually much less easily entertained turns his head as an acceptance to your challenge. The thought of his absolute attention focused on you, eyes scanning you up and down, is enough to have you slightly regretting your question. You’ve never been the type to feel self conscious; but moments like these, when you fidget with your hands and hastily tuck a lock of your hair behind the ears, you’re left wondering why he, of all people, is an exception. 

The spur of the moment skews your balance and you rock back and forth, subtly albeit unsuccessfully avoiding further attention from the boy before you; because as your right foot slips back only to counter the sway by pushing forward, your dumb self unintentionally pushes your left arm firmly against him. 

Your arm doesn’t just touch—no, it wasn’t a graze and it surely wouldn’t seem like a mere accident by the standards of people with a normal sense of balance, but it’s more of an assertive lean to the point that you’re sharing his warmth and molding into his well-toned biceps that you’ve covertly ogled at for the past weeks until his firm stature becomes the reason you’re not stumbling forward like a goofball.

Even the most dense of them all would have picked up on it; but Jungkook isn’t just any boy, because whether for the better or worse, he chooses not to mention the small mishap. 

“You seem like the older sister type,” he mentions, averting his attention ahead to the dimly lit sidewalk. 

“Oh,” you can only mumble as your arm dwells over the wake of his touch.

Wait, what does he mean by that? Do you seem reliable? Or does he see you as a know-it-all? Does he think you’re the girly type? The responsible type? And was it supposed to be a compliment?

One too many seconds had passed by for you to inquire for further elaboration. Instead, the occasional silence between you two has you scrambling for a new topic after the death of its promising albeit lackluster precedent.

“What about you? You live near here?” 

Alas, you can internally sigh in relief because at least the struggle to rekindle the conversation is a mutual one. Maybe he doesn’t think you’re too boring, after all.

“I live across the bridge and a few blocks down, so I just walk to work.” 

“Across the bridge?” he articulates with much more vigor than you’re used to. Ultimately, your surprise is short-lived when a cocked grin replaces his temporary gawk. “Try not to get mugged.”

“Wooow. Considering the sun sets before we’re out of work and crossing that bridge when it’s dark is a legitimate fear I have,” you give him the worst stank eye possible, “thank you for your concern.”

The damn boy only grins, “no problem.” 

As oddly comforting your usual, silence-filled conversations with Jungkook have been in the past, you don’t think you would be too disinclined to fiddle with your partner’s snarky attitude once in a while. Maybe you’re overanalyzing or maybe you’re excessively shrewd, but the organic flow between the two of you is starting to awfully resemble that of two close friends. 

But are you friends or are you merely colleagues coerced into working overtime? 

“Boy, I swear I will—”

“—oh shit,” Jungkook beats you to the curses, like usual, “I forgot to bring my card.” 

“So?” you quirk a brow at the distraught boy. “Just go home and make some food. Our cafeteria sucks anyways.” 

The boy turns to look at you, profusely serious and not a glint of shame present in his eyes. Then, he deadpans, “but I’m hungry.”

“So... you want me to spot you.”

“Hey,” he finally chortles with a slightly embarrassed grin akin to that of a child caught red-handed, “I skipped dinner after gym so that I could make it to work on time!”

“No one told you to skip dinner!”

His already ear-to-ear grin widens, if that was even possible, “I did it so you wouldn’t be alone!” 

Spotting your friends has never been a predicament for you; this, however, you’re not too keen on lending money to a boy whose relations are only based upon work, mutual friends, and endless inevitable crossovers between his path and yours—in fact, too many to be under the hands of mere happenstance. 

Surely, the two of you have grown much more acquainted than ever in the last month, but it’s not like you two never interacted before. On the rare occasion that Jungkook actually greeted you, a plea for help regarding work would always follow shortly after. To you, he only saw you as a reliable source. He never saw you as a friend and you never saw him more than a mere colleague. Even now, after all the sparks between you two, it’s difficult for you not to suspect his ulterior motives. 

You will not be taken advantage of. Just because he’s slightly—okay, maybe profusely—above average in looks, you will not make a fool of yourself. What happens next, however, takes you and your adamant determination by surprise.

“Okay, fine...” you grumble. “But you owe me boba!” 

“Boba?” his eyes pop as he chuckles. “Alright, sure.”

“Yeah, in fact, you owe me three boba,” you add. “I like roasted oolong milk tea with egg pudding. Write it down.”

“Three?” he gawks. “Wait, roasted oolong and what…?” 

He had asked a question, yet you can’t help but simply smile at him from ear to ear. Was this really happening? Was he serious or was this another one of your playful bickers?

Shrugging and stifling the laugh that threatens to slip from your lips, you decide to let fate override your usual level-headed reasoning, “take me and I’ll let you know.”

In that fleeting moment, the flutters in your stomach and the adrenaline that coursed through your veins were worth it all; and it wouldn’t be until months later that you discover your last leap of faith was not one worth taking. 

-

his side;

“So how far do you live from work?”

Her question finally ceases the dreadful standstill. The internal sigh after a prolonged bated breath and the realization of the unknown implications of such relief strikes Jungkook as an oddity. Clearly a quiet, standoffish man who strays from the center of attention, Jungkook had always preferred to observe rather than participate. To him, the state of nothing is where he belongs and silence is his safe haven—and yet, around Y/N, he can’t help but chant words of panic: shit, what do I say next? 

As thankful as Jungkook was for his partner’s break of silence, he, himself, isn’t aware enough of his once stone cold pond of a state, now disturbed by ripples of which its origins are unknown. Instead, the moment of anomaly is mistranslated into the only expression he’s developed a knack for. A sneer. 

Well, that wasn’t exactly what he wanted… but he figured he was close enough with Y/N to joke around with her by now, right?

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“Wh—” Jungkook peers down at her baffled response “—what? I was just wondering how far you lived because you mentioned driving to work before.”

It would be a lie to deny how the look of bewilderment that plasters her face doesn’t egg him and his teasing streak onwards. Despite being a man of few words and little thoughts, the rare sense of amusement brought upon by her short-lived distraught catalyzed by himself, truly, has Jungkook scratching his head. The tinge of guilt intermixed with worry that perhaps he had gone too far only furthers the confusion. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook returns to his usual collected albeit monotonous composure, “I live with my brother. About five minutes away. Not too far.”

“You have a brother?” 

“Yeah—” what should he say now “—you have any siblings?”

“What do you think? Do I look like I have any?” 

Oh? He’s a bit hesitant to hurl a curse at his partner, but how the hell is he supposed to know?

When she leans back to open her profile to the boy, something Jungkook has realized is a rarity for the usually closed-off, shifty girl, the boy has no choice but to play along with her antics… either that or he lacks the energy to deny her politely. The boy turns, scanning his partner up and down with little haste and no specific game-plan. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s supposed to be looking for, but what he finds is much more than what he was expecting. 

For someone who speaks with such wisdom, who performs so well in every criteria, who seems to know the answer to all his questions, the way she fidgets with her hands and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear at this very moment as he watches her conflicted with the confident impression he once only knew. He had taken note of her occasional avoidance of his eyes—something which he had amusedly combated with an even more intense, to which she never challenged—but her wavering gaze that flickers on whatever was on the ground is especially prevalent today. 

Funny. 

Then she begins to lose her balance. How? Jungkook had no fucking clue; but before he knew it, she was swaying back and forth until her left arm finally stabilizes the rather skittish gal… through the use of his right arm.  

The sudden contact catches Jungkook off guard. No, it isn’t enough of a surprise to have him jolting back—although nothing really could elicit such a reaction from a boy like Jungkook—but he does notice the firm, close contact between her and him. The closest he’s ever been to her was visually through the eyes and the closest he’s ever touched her was tactually through the occasional graze of his fingertips against the back of her hand. Sure, his bare skin could only feel the cotton of her sweater and the moment of contact lasted for an ephemeral two seconds, but even that is enough to leave an imprint on that night. 

There’s no doubt in Jungkook’s mind that it was all accidental. Y/N isn’t the type to mess around with boys like him… but did she notice? 

Turning his head to the sidewalk brightly illuminated by white and gulping whatever was in his throat, he decides to fill the awkward silence, “you seem like the older sister type.”

“Oh.”

Shit, why does she sound so disappointed? She doesn’t think it’s an insult, does she? Well, it really isn’t his fault if he struck a nerve, Jungkook internally shrugs, he was just answering a question. He had to admit, though, her unpredictable sway of emotions was entertaining to say the least. If she really wanted an elaboration, she could always ask and he could easily clear up his intentions. 

But what’s the fun in a conversation without speculation? 

And so, Jungkook figures he’d leave her at that. 

“What about you? You live near here?” 

“I live across the bridge and a few blocks down, so I just walk to work.” 

“Across the bridge?” Jungkook gapes, although he’s unsure of why his expression is much more of an exaggerated version of how he really feels. Something about the drama of it all fueled the conversation further. Grinning, he remarks, “try not to get mugged.”

“Wooow. Considering the sun sets before we’re out of work and crossing that bridge when it’s dark is a legitimate fear I have—” damn, that was a long sentence and her stank eye doesn’t help any bit “—thank you for your concern.”

Her anger only spurs him and his unexplained satisfaction forward, “no problem.” 

Jungkook had always kept his circle of friends close and tight. It isn’t like he preferred it that way, but the world of simplicity and permanency gravitated toward him. Unlike the other countless guys who liked to spend their nights surrounded by girls whose names they didn’t know nor cared to know, his closed lifestyle kept him grounded. If someone were to tell him years ago at orientation that this girl would eventually be holding a conversation closely resembling that of two close friends, he never would have believed them; but now that he’s here, he could definitely see it. 

“Boy, I swear I will—”

“—oh shit,” a wave of terror overtakes the boy as he rummages through the pockets of his shorts “—I forgot to bring my card.” 

“So?” his partner quirks a brow at him and he almost narrows his eyes at her preposterous advice that follows. “Just go home and make some food. Our cafeteria sucks anyways.” 

A ravenous growl rumbles across his abdomen. The regret for having skipped his usual granola bar in exchange for making it to work on time after gym returns with vengeance. The two things Jungkook had no shame in taking seriously were: one, gym, and two, food. As cautious as he has been around his seemingly delicate partner, he had no shame in turning to look straight at her. Next, he deadpans, “but I’m hungry.”

“So…” the girl mulls, each second egging on the emptiness of his stomach. “You want me to spot you.”

“Hey—” well, that isn’t exactly what he wanted and now he just seems like a leech but prolonging the swift conversation that had developed as well as filling the hole in his stomach doesn’t sound too bad “—I skipped dinner after gym so that I could make it to work on time!”

“No one told you to skip dinner!”

He can’t help it when his grin widens, “I did it so you wouldn’t be alone!” 

Truthfully, her advice would have been much less of a bother to Jungkook. One, he wouldn’t have to spend all this time and effort convincing her. Two, he probably would’ve been home by now and enjoying his masterfully cooked instant noodles. Most importantly, he wouldn’t seem like he was trying to take advantage of his partner because severing their professional relationship and borderline friendship was not in his plans. 

As little of a crap he gave about the impression he gave others, he wasn’t that shitty of a person to willingly be the bad guy… and certainly not to Y/N. 

“Okay, fine...” she finally grumbles to his relief. “But you owe me boba!” 

“Boba?” he can’t help but chuckle in disbelief. “Alright, sure.”

“Yeah, in fact, you owe me three boba,” she asserts. “I like roasted oolong milk tea with egg pudding. Write it down.”

“Three?” Jungkook gasps; and this time, he really means it. “Wait, roasted oolong and what…?” 

How the hell is he supposed to remember that? And does she want it delivered to her house or work or what? 

Her next remark, however, answers his question. “Take me and I’ll let you know.”

Food might be all that he sees at the moment, but if obliging to her request could induce further conversations and get him to the light at the end of the tunnel? Then to Jungkook, that’s a win-win. Someday, he’ll take her when they’re truly friends and not mere coworkers with coerced interactions. 

Maybe not now, not later, but certainly in the near future. 

[mehrauli]

The shortcomings of secular leftism become obvious every single time Charlie Hebdo published another fucking piece of hate speech and they refuse to acknowledge it as hate speech even though it’s basically just a nazi-era antisemitic caricature with “PROPHET MUHAMMAD” written underneath it.

And maybe some “anti-racists” or something will pipe in to “defend” us with “oh, it iz against zeir religion to draw ze mahomet” which also makes us look ridiculous because 1. that’s only kind of true, there is a wider discussion of that and 2. people are basically not wrong to say that enforcing that is a police state measure that shouldn’t be acceptable. So all they’re doing is making a straw-man to represent the weakest, most hyperconservative possible take that could come out of a Muslim and is actually genuinely irreconcilable with a lot of the left’s values, values which I, and most Muslims, and most leftists, honestly hold. What’s more is that the position they present is genuinely violent and bad; the reason they shouldn’t draw the Prophet isn’t because it’s “against my religion” but because in the political climate we live in it’s inherently an act of hate speech to do so..

Westerners don’t consider it offensive to make fun of their respected political and religious figures, and this is a genuine cultural difference between them and a lot of Muslims particularly from south asia. I don’t think they should, I think the westerners should be free to “practice their culture” or whatever when they’re not killing my family about it. So when the liberals make this purely an issue of “oh ze iZlAm SaYs zat it iz, ‘ow you say, ‘ArAaAaAaM to draw zeir prophet!” they’re making us look like people who want to violently enforce something based solely on our (real or alleged) cultural values, which still agrees that we’re trying to ~eNfOrCe sHaRiA LaW~ in europe. If all they want to do is draw him, whatever. We can talk about that but it’s a different conversation.

Because when they draw Jesus they’re not drawing him as a hook-nosed banker jew with a suicide vest and a child bride, they’re drawing him in a way that is basically respectful and possibly with maybe a thumbs up if they want to be edgy, like it’s fucking different and if you can’t see that you’re just not engaging in good faith.

Aside from the cartoon itself, which nobody will even see by comparison, the publication of it in the first place, surrounded by a bunch of media fanfare and liberal anticipation, is, itself, a massive piece of performance art with the message that it’s good to #trigger all the angry barbarian peoples from out yonder in order to civilise us to French sophistication and defend freeze peach in contrast to the eastern despotism from which we all eagerly await western liberalism to free us, when we’re not busy migrating to the west in hordes to impose it on them from our positions of extreme political and social influence as refugees of ongoing global conflicts and genocides.

This recent publication comes weeks after Macron outlined new repressive police measures which had the explicit, stated purpose of stopping Muslims in France from developing an independent culture from the mainstream in a country where there’s literally a fucking burka ban that “even” liberals defend as “french culture”.

The basic message is secular fascist newspapers can do whatever it is they want and any voiced objection will be met immediately with a harsh punitive action from both the state and polite society. Again the secular left refuses to acknowledge that this is the situation and that this is a measure meant to humiliate a thoroughly subjugated people. They consider that they should be “respectful” of “our beliefs” but they do not actually criticise the power play against us and even participate in it by proclaiming themselves mediator instead of deferring to Muslims on this issue.

These basic normal foundational cornerstones of French culture, and global liberalism more broadly, tangibly and obviously lead to unthinkable violence against us on a global scale, and it’s good to be radicalised against that. The issue isn’t that it “leads to extremism” as if each of us has an inner terrorist just waiting for us to hulk out when we experience one too many microaggressions, but that Charlie Hebdo is actually a fascist publication and a huge part of the justifying apparatus for the past 20 years of western re-colonisation of the middle east, and, again, everyone should be radicalised against that because it is bad, if we’re radicalised against it and you’re not that’s a you problem and reflects a shortcoming in your analysis or organisation or both.

But even the liberals who think (for whatever reason) that they’re radicals will talk about “preventing radicalisation” among Muslim youth as if radicalism is some brand that belongs to them and them exclusively and we can’t be allowed to get our little terrorist mitts on it. They’re allowed to be radical and we’re not. And that right there is how you can tell they aren’t serious about the whole revolution thing, because revolution as they understand it demands a broad-based coalition of people willing to take direct action and who have a common analysis (that it’s their job to at least inform with their theoretical knowledge) about which actions should be taken and against what. They make no effort whatsoever to reach out to our obviously highly motivated and marginalised community with any of their talk of class solidarity because they’re a part of the same apparatus which keeps us marginalised and cooperate fully with it as far as we are concerned.

And the secular left agrees that the cartoons are racist and agrees that that’s bad and agrees that french liberalism sucks ass and is violent, racist, and nakedly imperialistic, but there has never been an instance of a left organisation to my knowledge that’s gone so far as to actually stand in solidarity with Muslims protesting against liberal Islamophobia. While the secular left may condemn islamophobia on its own terms, it never stands with Muslims and accepts Muslim leadership even when we’re protesting obvious violence and hate speech directed at us. Secular leftism and secular antifa agree that it’s good to be radical against a violent society in which hate speech is a normal accepted and even expected value and in which global leaders openly call for repressive police state measures against Muslims specifically on a good day, they even agree that it’s good and proper to use violence in such situations to prevent authoritarian overreach against persecuted minorities, but the moment we do it, it’s an act of terrorism that all radicals liberals have to Condemn Condemn Condemn or else.

And if we defend ourselves as Muslims, as Hannah Arendt called for when she said that if one is attacked as a Jew one must defend oneself as a Jew, not as a world-citizen or a defender of the rights of man, or some shit, global radliberal leftism will never have a word in support of us.

It claims to be better, and it might actually even be genuinely preferable, but it still lacks any interaction or understanding of Muslim analyses of the violence against us and don’t even think to try to theorise it themselves outside of some shallow acknowledgement of a purely economic “imperialism” or racism, which is only a part of it. And so as a result the global left inevitably ends up with a far-right analysis of one kind or the other on this; either censorship is good if it hurts people (”of colour”)s feelings or it’s bad to protest hate speech by unapproved means.

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Full Moon Dance

Word Count: 2700+ (chapter 1) (chapter 2) [AO3 link]

Genre: Humor/Romance

Characters: Raven Branwen, Summer Rose, Qrow Branwen, Taiyang Xiao Long, Kite Branwen (OC, mentioned)

Pairing: Raven Branwen/Summer Rose

Summary: Misunderstanding what "taking a partner" is supposed to entail, Raven asks Summer to the Vytal Festival Dance.She did not expect that to become a gateway to facing her changing feelings for her teammates and her place at Beacon.

(I meant to have this posted for the free day of @rose-bird-week but missed the mark by a few days)

~0~

“Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone’s hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours.”

Vera Nazarian

~0~

Culture shock was a phrase that Raven had grown to truly detest by the end of her first year at Beacon. Navigating the obstacle course that was non-tribe society seemed to trip her and Qrow up at every turn, even as constantly helpful as Summer tried to be. 

(Considering how funny Tai found them sometimes, she would hesitate to fully include him in the “helpful” category.) 

When they’d gone back home to the tribe for their break, Kite had insisted on several nights where the three of them took dinner and drinks alone in her tent, so she could squeeze her twins for every last detail of their new school lives. Which Raven supposed she understood, coming from their leader who they’d never been apart from for so long, but she could have done without quite that much raucous laughter at their missteps. 

But by the time they got into the swing of second year, Raven thought that they had fully gotten the hang of this whole “living in the real world” thing, as Qrow was given to calling it. So when on the way back from class she started to hear the strains of an animated conversation, she didn’t think she would need to ask about exactly what was being discussed.

“...what everyone does,” Tai was saying. “Just don’t think so hard about it!”

Their backs were to her as they walked in the direction of their dorm room, so she couldn’t see Qrow’s face. But she could see him slowly nodding, and could picture the look of deep contemplation that probably accompanied it. This must be serious business.

“But I’ve got no idea what to do! We don’t have these things in Anima!”

“...No offense, but you guys don’t really have that much in Anima, do you?”

“You’re just catching on to that? And, I mean, I guess we do, but it’s not like it’s a fun party. What’s even the point of this dance thing?”

Recognition sparked in Raven’s head. Of course it was that.

Her primary interest in the Vytal Festival was combat, of course. The two of them hadn’t effortlessly crushed all competition Beacon had to offer, all the time, the way she’d expected coming in. But it was close enough that they were hungering for new opponents to test their strength, as were their teammates, so the influx of new students coming in for the tournament had her very excited. 

(Bloodthirsty, Qrow called the gleam in her eye, but she thought that was a bit too strong a word.)

She was determined not to make any more accidental friends — two was quite enough! — so the idea of wasting so much time fraternizing had not caught her interest at all. It was nothing like the occasional, informal bonfires of the Mistrali and Animan bandit tribes, where in the dark hours of uneasy peace, agreements and alliances could be brokered, and the future heirs of the kingdom’s underworld could get a feel for each other.

In any case, Qrow had not participated in one since he was thirteen and a large tree branch had fallen on Eiric Athdara while they’d been trying awkwardly to dance together. He’d blamed his Semblance and spent the next four years’ worth of bonfires sulking in the shadows, much to the confusion of everyone who had found him appealing and the exasperation of Kite. With all their positions here only temporary, Raven still wasn’t clear about the purpose of this event, and was interested in Tai’s explanation.

“Well, it’s fun!”

She resisted the urge to groan.

But she could hear the smile in Tai’s voice as he rambled on. “Remember that birthday party we threw you two? It’s even better than that, because nobody’s expecting anything of you, because you’re not the center of attention. You can do whatever you like—”

Oh, yeah? thought Raven with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Oh, yeah?” leered Qrow, wagging his, and earning himself a punch in the shoulder from his partner. 

“You know what I mean, Qrow, good gods. Anyway, it’s just about having fun. You don’t even have to know how to dance, or wear anything super fancy. The important part is the people you’re with.”

“Well, sure. But I don’t know if there’s anybody else I’d want to take with me. Though everyone else gets so upset when I say no, I oughta just say yes to the next one who asks. Let them tag along.”

Raven didn’t know why he sounded so despondent about it. Warning would-be suitors away with her ever-improving sword was something she’d been doing since her first weeks here without a second thought. She still wasn’t sure why their numbers had increased the closer this dance got, but it made no difference to her.

“Oh, come on, you don’t need to do that!” Tai threw his arm around Qrow’s shoulders, grinning. “You’re going to have a great partner to get you through it!”

Raven blinked. This was news to her. You were supposed to go with your partner? Making arrangements with someone else was some sort of exception? Well, this was just getting more confusing by the day, but she could work with it. 

“That’ll be fine, then,” she said out loud, making the boys jump and whip around so fast they knocked their heads together doing it.

“Ow! Raven, what the hell?!” Qrow shouted, as if she personally had whacked him upside the head. 

Tai looked only mildly surprised. “You should have said something if you wanted to join in.”

“No need,” Raven replied, with a small toss of her head. “I’ve already figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” 

The three of them looked up towards a nearby staircase to see Summer trotting down it, looking interested in whatever fragments of conversation she’d heard. 

Raven looked back at her curiously: if this was the custom around here, why hadn’t Summer said anything to her about it? She gathered that Summer too had been raised outside the kingdoms, from what little she was willing to say about her background, but she’d lived in Vale long enough to know about things like this. Well, no matter, she was making up for it now.

“Hey, Summer!” she called up. “You’re going to the dance with me, aren’t you?”

She hadn’t expected a simple question to make the hallway go silent, but it did. Summer blinked, staring open-mouthed at her for a long moment. Then her face lit up, and she let out an almost exhilarated laugh.

“Sure, of course I will!” 

The delight in her voice startled Raven somewhat, but she recovered quickly. “All right, then.”

By now, she was used to being carried away on Summer’s zest for life. But Raven found the way she nearly flew down the rest of the stairs to grab both of Raven’s hands in hers, smiling so brightly, to be unusual even for her. Shouldn’t she have seen this coming? Or was Raven supposed to be the one to make the first move all along, for some reason, and Summer was just excited that she was finally getting with the program? 

Being landed with her partner in the first place had been so damned convoluted that this might as well happen (and she hoped this wouldn’t also involve Summer falling on top of her head from an ungodly high place). Still, she wondered whether it really called for Summer nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’d just been told Solstice had come early. 

“I’m so glad you told me when you did! I was going to just rent one of the basic white dresses, but now I know for sure we’re both going I’ll look for nicer ones — and I can do your hair! I’ll pick something out, just give me a little bit!”

With that, Summer disappeared back up the stairs in a flash of white cloak. Raven had a brief and blissful moment of thinking she had successfully navigated the situation, until she turned to see Tai and Qrow’s jaws both nearly on the floor. 

“What?”

“W-Well...” Tai was the first to find his voice again. “We just...didn’t expect you to ask her out, out of the blue, is all.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Aren’t you supposed to go to this thing with your partner?”

Both boys’ mouths became perfect O’s of realization. They looked at each other, and then back at her. 

“Oh,” said Qrow. “Uh, Raven, we should probably talk about something...”

~0~

There was no way she could let Kite hear about this.

Raven didn’t think her cheeks would ever stop burning. Not even the cooling late afternoon air helped. At least nobody could easily spot her here. 

Usually, when she screwed up some Valerian social norm or another, she was able to either brush it off or bluff well enough that it didn’t look like a screwup at all. And even if neither of those worked, she was much better at intimidating people into silence about it than her brother. Absolutely none of those methods would work here. 

Logically, she knew that Summer wasn’t the petty or easily embarrassed type. Still, the thought of finding her and admitting to her mistake...gods, how could she have been so dumb? She didn’t want to imagine the disappointment on Summer’s face the next time she—

“Raven! Hey, Raven? Could, uh...could I come up there with you?”

Raven startled, and glanced down to see Summer hanging out over the windowsill, peering up at her. Perhaps the tree directly outside their dorm room hadn’t been the best place to flee to if she wanted to remain undiscovered. 

“...Sure. If you can climb.”

Uncannily squirrel-like, Summer hopped out the window onto the trunk, and scurried up several feet of tree to reach the branch that Raven had taken up residence on. Scooting over slightly to give her room to sit, Raven noticed that she wasn’t just eager to help: she looked a little abashed as well, a look that only became more pronounced in the short silence that followed.

“So...” Summer rubbed the back of her head, mussing her braids. “I talked to Tai and Qrow and I...think I owe you an apology.”

“You do? Why?”

“Well, I misunderstood. I made a bunch of assumptions and...” Summer gestured to the branches around them. “Scared you up a tree.”

“Hmph. Scared is a bit of a strong word, don’t you think?”

“I guess. But still: I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

Raven sighed. “I was the one who acted without thinking. You don’t have to worry about it.”

To her relief, Summer didn’t look to be worried anymore...but she did look thoughtful. “So...what would you have done if you’d asked and I didn’t want to go with you? Hypothetically, I mean?”

It did not take Raven long to hit upon the answer. “Hid somewhere better than this and avoided you until it was all over.”

Summer laughed, but Raven wondered if that was concern in her eyes. “You know that’s not a very good way to handle your feelings, right?”

“Well, it’s best to go with your gut on these things,” Raven huffed. “Honestly, I’d rather just skip all this dance nonsense and get to the part where we thrash everyone else in the arena. No messing around, just winning.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be great!”

She had expected Summer to agree with her: she wasn’t fiercely competitive like her or Tai, but everybody liked to win. However, by now she knew her partner well enough to tell that, though her smile was impeccable, her response was just a bit too enthusiastic to be honest.

Determined not to miss anything this time, Raven spent a long moment studying the other girl’s face, replaying their conversation in her head to — hey, wait a minute. 

Summer blinked. “Raven? Why are you looking at me all suspicious?”

“...Before, when you said ‘hypothetically,’ how did you mean it? As in, hypothetically, what would I have done...or if you hypothetically didn’t want to go?”

“I...well...the second one,” she murmured.

Ah. She’d been so worried about her own stung pride that she had forgotten all about how excited Summer had been. So that was that.

“I mean, of course you can still go. I’m not going to stop you.”

“I was always planning on it. I’ve never been to anything like this before, either. But...” Raven very nearly jumped when she felt Summer’s hand slide on top of hers, her palm so soft it always surprised her. “I was really hoping we could go together.”

“Like as a team, or...?”

Summer didn’t laugh, just gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “With you.”

Oh. 

All of a sudden the shapes of the clouds in the distance were very, very interesting. 

“You...you like to dance, then?”

“My parents used to. My dad, especially.” The smile in Summer’s voice was wholly genuine this time, if wistful with nostalgia. “He’d always coax my father into it, outside when the moon was full. My father would grumble about it, pretend he wasn’t sappy enough to love it. But he was, every time. I could tell.”

Raven wasn’t sure what was making the hair on the back of her neck stand up: Summer’s thumb idly rubbing against her hand, the strangely melodic tone of her voice, or the vague and discomfiting sense, that hit every time Summer let them hear something about her life before Beacon, that she was close to a secret. 

All any of them really knew about it was that Summer had once had fathers, and now did not. Raven of all people didn’t want to instigate any digging into their team’s secrets. Kite wasn’t her mother, but for these purposes...

“My mom didn’t do any of that stuff. I don’t know how to dance, either.”

“We can learn together, then.”

Wow, those clouds. Definitely more deserving of attention than her rapidly pounding heart. 

“Raven? Would you like that?”

For a good few moments, Raven wasn’t sure she would be able to answer. When she finally did, it was in a voice much lower and quieter than she had expected. At least it was steady.

“...Yes. Yeah, I think I would.”

“Then we will. I promise.”

She nearly fell backwards off the tree branch, when she felt the feather-light touch of Summer’s lips on her cheek. They were only there for the most fleeting of seconds, making her almost wonder if she’d been wrong...but no,  she couldn’t possibly mistake it for anything else, and finally turned to stare at her partner.

Color. When Raven looked back on this moment years, even decades later, it would be all of its colors that lingered the most in her memory. The faint pink that painted Summer’s cheeks, the softer shade of her lips. The perfectly clear blue sky behind her head, that made the deep red ends of her hair stand out like fire against it. And the silver moonlight of her eyes — it occurred to Raven for the first time that she had never seen anything quite like them — that shone just as brightly as her smile.

Something twisted in her chest, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. She felt sure that Kite would smirk at it, though. 

Remember what you’re here for, Raven, she would remind her. She’s not really your partner. She’s your victim. 

Normally, she submitted to the voice of her leader, like any loyal Branwen. Today...she did not push it aside, exactly. But she could wait a little while to heed it, and push her luck just a bit more today.

“On second thought...I’d be honored to escort you, Summer,” she said, lifting her head a little higher and affecting the tone that Kite took with other tribe leaders. “So long as you can promise you won’t let me make such a fool of myself again.”

Summer giggled, clearly relieved. “I promise that too! I’ll make sure of it.”

“You know, with Tai and Qrow there to soak up all the attention, that’ll probably be easier than you think.”

“Well, maybe. Let’s give them some credit. And I can’t promise that you won’t get any attention. I still get to take you dress shopping and do your hair, don’t I?”

“...You keep saying that,” Raven said dubiously, “but when you say do...what exactly are you picturing?”

“One day...” Summer reached out again and ran her fingers through the back of Raven’s hair, where they promptly got stuck around the middle of her neck. “One day this won’t happen.”

She tugged a little to emphasize the point, but not hard enough to hurt. Raven was certainly in no hurry to have her remove her hand. 

“Actually, if you want, we could climb down and start trying stuff out now. See what styles you like?”

“Sure. Just...not right now.” The breeze was blowing gently in their faces, and Raven couldn’t quite place the scent that it carried to them, only that it was clean and sweet and she liked it. “Mind if we hang out up here for a while? It’s nice out.”

In answer, Summer leaned over and rested her head on Raven’s shoulder. “Yeah. It is.”

The birds had flown off, and the clouds thinned out, leaving only the perfect sky behind. Raven couldn’t seem to remember the last time she’d felt so very relaxed. Had she really been so furious with herself just a few minutes ago?

This really was good. She found herself wanting more. Perhaps this dance was something to look forward to after all.

[agentrouka-blog]

I didn't read books but you have mentioned that Sam and Gilly have dubcon vibes while they have sex unlike show. I'm curious when did that happen? I mean in show she give him BJ but it seems consensual. Do you think Sam and Gilly will not end up together like in show?

Hi anon,

they might end up together, but the way they get together is... wonky. It’s not born out of desire, but out of grief and desperation on Gilly’s part. And while it is MILES and CONTINENTS away from Ygritte trapping Jon, it contains some the same elements. Premeditation by her, surprise for him, a false understanding of mutual committment, being trapped.

It’s much more problematic for Gilly than for Ygritte, and less so for Samwell than for Jon. From the first, Gilly offers to trade her body for help. To Jon, to Sam... “I’ll be your wife”. It’s the only currency she feels she has.

Then they’re on the Cinnamon Wind and have been drinking the rum that was in the cask where they store Maester Aemon’s body, and Sam is pretty drunk.

“Where is the boy?” Sam thought to ask. Between rum and sorrow, it had taken him that long to realize that Gilly did not have the babe with her.

“Kojja has him. I asked her to take him for a while.” (...)

They drink even more.

Gilly said that the drink was making the ship spin round, so Sam helped her down the ladder to the women’s quarters in the bow of the ship.

There was a lantern hanging just inside the cabin, and he managed to bang his head on it going in. “Ow,” he said, and Gilly said, “Are you hurt? Let me see.” She leaned close …

… and kissed his mouth.

Sam found himself kissing her back. I said the words, he thought, but her hands were tugging at his blacks, pulling at the laces of his breeches. He broke off the kiss long enough to say, “We can’t,” but Gilly said, “We can,” and covered his mouth with her own again. (...)

“I am your wife now,” she whispered, sliding up and down on him. And Sam groaned and thought, No, no, you can’t be, I said the words, I said the words, but the only word he said was, “Yes.”

She planned this and she is overriding his objections, but much less forcefully than Ygritte, and Sam is a much more enthusiastic and willing participant. But Gilly’s motivation is much more vulnerable. “I’m your wife now” is a plea for protection and stability, not a declaration of confident love.

Kojja fully understands the dynamics, even if her values mean she approves of Gilly and berates Sam, while I, as a reader, cringe.

“She knows the words you said. She is a child in some ways, but she is not blind. She knows why you wear the black, why you go to Oldtown. She knows she cannot keep you. She wants you for a little while, is all. She lost her father and her husband, her mother and her sisters, her home, her world. All she has is you, and the babe. So you go to her, or swim.”

Sam looked despairingly at the haze that marked the distant shoreline. He could never swim so far, he knew.

He went to Gilly. “What we did … if I could take a wife, I would sooner have you than any princess or highborn maiden, but I can’t. I am still a crow. I said the words, Gilly. I went with Jon into the woods and said the words before a heart tree.” “The trees watch over us,” Gilly whispered, brushing the tears from his cheeks. “In the forest, they see all … but there are no trees here. Only water, Sam. Only water.”

This is not a mutually abusive dynamic because we witness Samwell giving consent and his internal thoughts are very different in key aspects from Jon, who was much more distressed and vulnerable. Sam doesn’t need to create a memory edit, he can openly talk to Gilly but the tone of the conversation is mournful and not exactly romantic. He speaks of affection and impossibility, she speaks of... lack of witnesses.

Still, being able to communicate is going to be extremely important as a basis for forming an actual relationship, but at this point it’s really... a problematic thing between them that made Sam feel guilty and didn’t buy Gilly what she thought she would get.   

[itersobriiestote]

I feel weird.

I feel really alone right now. No purpose. I feel a void. I wonder if this is how Janet feels being an anthropomorphized vessel of knowledge (yeah I looked up what a Janet really is).

It’s a true blah feeling.

I’m working on being responsible for my feelings and not dumping on others as a form of therapy. It’s not working.

I’m guessing this is a normal human state of being. I am pretty certain I used to get so irritated feeling this way that I would drink to specifically not feel this way.

I think I mentioned that my best friend is not speaking to me until I am ready to discuss how my drinking affected her. I let her know that time would come but it would come after I worked the appropriate steps and received therapy so I can better handle, you know, emotions and feeling things. This is going on 4 months now. She said she felt like when I came home I just operated like nothing happened that I wasn’t “being accountable in my healing” (that statement came during the second month of sobriety). My response was that, life continued while I was gone, I’ve acknowledged many times my actions hurt her as she was the only person who kinda knew how much I was drinking and at this point I don’t know what more I can do outside of letting her dump the things I did to her on me in this newly sober state- and right then, I was not ready for that conversation. To me, our relationship hadn’t changed, so it is hard for me to understand the switch, especially since this was the first time in my seven years of drinking she ever brought up how it made her feel.

She most recently let me know that she did not have the emotional space to participate in my recovery.

As time has moved on and not speaking with her, the more irritated about the situation I get.

So, does this mean we aren’t friends now? I honestly don’t have the energy to figure out what that really means as I’m working on myself.

We share a phone bill and I just saw her payment for July come through and I’m considering just going ahead and getting separate accounts. This phone bill is the only thing connecting us. She did speak about adding her girlfriend to the account earlier in the year. It’s probably best that all three of us are not on the same account at this point.

Then another friend, we used to date, he’s 45. He picked me up from rehab and we started hanging out more, especially during my first weekends alone home. Well, things started to get physical and then I began to feel confused about what was going on. I admit I actively participated in this, it felt nice to feel wanted and to have physical touch. Like I said, I started to feel confused. I started feeling like it was a friends with benefits situation and things were going to float in this weird grey space until someone caught feelings. A classic situationship.

Thing is- he and I have been in that space before and, in the past, when I bring up being something more I am brushed off, I am met with things that he isn’t ready for that and he isn’t sure what he wants. We never discuss feelings. It’s always me talking about my feelings with no input from him. Knowing this, and feeling confused, I went ahead and let him know, “hey lets just be friends, we have this way of floating in this grey area until someone’s feelings get hurt and I’m not willing to do that. It makes me feel confused and it makes me feel unhappy and stressed out, what were your plans or thoughts for where this was heading?” And he replied he was “open to whatever”. He was “fine with being just friends and also open to seeing where things went if it could be something more”.

Chile. I’m tired.

I feel bad for setting boundaries with this guy after he has done so much for me in being present with me these first three months home. but did I not hear what he just told me?!?! He completely answered the question for me. Most importantly, I SET BOUNDARIES FOR MY NEEDS.

I don’t know why I allow people to treat me any kind of way JUST BECAUSE I feel like I owe them something for being there for me in my hard times.

I’m working on building my self esteem.

Needless to say this guy has not called me or text me since I said we need to be just friends.

This week has been an entire emotional hangover.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #32)

(cw: discussion of addiction) ----------

01/20/88  4:05 PM

Hey.

You keeping up with me so far?

‘Cause I sure felt out of the loop that day, being walked into my game by the Surge Protector, relatively sober with no handcuffs. Needless to say, it was never a scenario I thought I’d find myself in, and not one I was particularly enjoying. But even as we rode the train into my game with Fix-it, I felt like my skull was full of tumbling rocks. What little strength that was still left in my body felt so hard to access. I needed to be practically lifted from the train when we left it, and by the time we walked to the bridge over the river, I could not support my own weight anymore. There was a brief, half-spirited spat as I argued against being fully carried, after which I was allowed to just lie down in the grass on the other side of the bridge for a minute. Fix-it sat beside me, and Surge awkwardly sat as well.

Looking up at them both from very unflattering angles, I figured it was as good a time as any to start asking questions.

“So,” I began, my voice as dry as it’s ever been, “just how long was I out?”

Surge answered plainly. “Two weeks.”

I squinted. There was no way. Even though it had seemed like a mere few hours, I knew that I must have lost at least a bit of time. But two weeks? I had never heard of any sprite sitting at the edge of corruption for that long. I glanced at Fix-it, who confirmed with a grave nod. 

I didn’t know what to say. Here’s what I went with: “Well, that bodes ill for the ol’ noggin, don’t it?”

“You’re going to need another two weeks of rest at least,” Surge informed me. “As well as detox from the buffs in your system. I’ll be confining you to this game until you’re completely clean and recovered.”

I felt my heart pound just a bit at the mention of being locked up. I had not forgotten the conversation I witnessed while I was motionless outside. 

“Just for that long?” I asked him, trying to find a voice that demanded no BS. “And not a minute longer?”

Surge glanced at Fix-it, who answered reluctantly.

“Well… no. Not exactly. But it-- it’s really up to you, Mavy.”

“What do you mean, it’s up to me? You’re tellin’ me I actually get a say in the matter?”

“Your cousin fought for you pretty relentlessly,” Surge said with a note of exasperation for said cousin. “Given that you’re clearly suffering from addiction and were not acting in your right mind, I’m willing to give you some options.”

The word ‘addiction’ put a sick feeling in my stomach, but I had no grounds to deny it any longer. I had made the decision to quit before. More than a decision, really -- it had felt like a mental breakthrough when I had made up my mind to quit. Like I had made it over the biggest hump, never to turn back. But that wasn’t enough. Even my deepest resolve crumbled. No measure of self-preservation mattered. I remembered the feeling of marching across Game Central Station against my will, driven by some deeply-coded force that I could not reason with. I was, as horrifying as the thought was, helpless to resist GC on my own any longer. Not when one slip up could kill me and, most likely, some sprites who wouldn’t deserve it. 

I was really, truly, inescapably addicted. I wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.

So I let Surge go on.

“...Okay.”

“Your first option is this,” Surge explained calmly. “After you detox and recover, you can attend and complete the arcade’s new anonymous addiction group counselling program--”

My reaction was entirely by reflex. “No.”

I heard Fix-it whine under his breath.

“Which,” Surge continued firmly, “would be two sessions a week until you’ve completed the twelve steps. This usually takes at least six weeks, but you can go at your own pace. Outside of sessions, you will be confined to your game until you’ve completed the program. But this program has seen very promising results, and I would highly recommend considering it as an option.”

I’d heard of the program before, of course. It’s not like addictions didn’t exist before you died. But I never looked into it. I barely paid it any mind at all. I was certain I would never need it.

“Yeah, okay,” I rubbed my forehead. “What’s the other option?” “Two years’ cabinet arrest.”

The idea of that put an even sicker feeling in my stomach. Honestly, I had been expecting worse, after the heated exchange I had witnessed between Surge and Fix-it. But two years was still an awfully long time to be locked up. Which begged the question that had been the most burning, but most terrifying to me.

“What’s my crime?” 

Surge answered factually, with no hesitation. “Arson.”

Now, I’m no stranger to blacking out and committing crimes or general misdeeds. I’ve had that talk several times before, the one where I’m told a story about myself that I don’t remember. But most I’d heard had been relatively harmless -- some minor property damage, maybe a few swings thrown, the odd public obscenity. And as a lover of fireworks and a sort of pyromaniac, I’ve had a couple close calls with fire-related crime. But it was never anything so serious as arson. That one word uttered by Surge hit me like a dart in the chest, and I went cold with the poison it carried with it.

I betrayed Tapper. I bought buffs with the money he gave me. I got high, and I attacked his game. Tapper. The sprite that I have trusted for my entire life. The sprite I owe so many happy memories to. I set fire to his game. I did that. I did.

All the regret I should have felt for my actions against Tapper since the beginning of this escapade finally caught up with me. And, let me tell you, I had never felt so small and slimy before. I felt like my own skin was a blanket of muck wrapped around my bones, and my disgust urged me to unzip and crawl out of it, but I couldn’t. Of course I couldn’t.

It took me a minute to realize that Fix-it had been trying to explain things to me. His words just did not register. I gave him a blank look, and that was enough to get him to start over patiently.

“Now, Mavy, you must know, Tapper is fine. His game is safe. Devs be praised, no one was hurt. And I fixed all the damage that’d been done, so don’t worry. Tapper and his game are both safe.”

I felt myself starting to shake from the inside. “What did I do… exactly? How-- How did I even get into Tapper’s? I was high, I was blacked out--” I looked at Surge, suddenly full of spite, “--why the cuss didn’t you stop me?”

Surge frowned. I’d even say he looked ashamed. “You were off my radar. It was a busy night, with lots of disputes to settle.”

I snapped reflexively, “Was it? Was it a busy night? Is that really your excuse?”

“Mavy,” Fix-it hushed me sadly, and it actually worked. I didn’t have the energy to keep grilling Surge. Besides, as mad as I was at him, I could not redirect the blame this time. I was the one who took the buffs, and that fact sat like a rock in my stomach. I went miserably limp and just listened, not looking at either of them.

Surge continued slowly, “Please trust me when I say that I regret the situation deeply. I may have been able to prevent this if I hadn’t fallen short on my duties. Regardless, it happened. You made it into Root Beer Tapper, reportedly made a beeline for the bathrooms, and threw a lit explosive into the ladies’ room.”

“And it was empty,” Fix-it reminded him to say.

“It was. No one was injured except yourself, and even then, mildly. You were hit by some debris -- cuts and bruises, mostly, another stroke of luck on your part. But your… episode escalated briefly, before you lost consciousness.”

“What’s that mean?” I muttered.

“Um,” Fix-it took the wheel, “well, folks who saw it happen said that after the bomb went off, you… really got in a tizzy. Or a-- a fit, maybe. I don’t much care for how they said it, but they called it ‘hysteria’, like you were screamin’ and fightin’ without a clue as to where you were.”

“Several witnesses reported that you were behaving as if you were on fire,” Surge added.

Even though I didn’t remember doing any of what those two were describing, I… could remember fire. In a sense. Memories of that last buff trip started to return to me, specifically towards the end, with the sea of gasoline going up in flames. From what they were saying, it seemed like that fire wasn’t just in my head after all. That must have been the moment I did it. The moment the bomb went off.

It was true, then. It was all true.

From that point on, I did not speak. I couldn’t find the voice to do so. A heavy blanket of shame, unlike any I’d ever felt before, slowly began to smother me. I heard the men talking to me, finishing their story about how I’d fallen unconscious and been brought out to that couch I’d spend two weeks comatose upon. Fix-it told me about all the times he’d visited, clueless to the fact that I had seen them all. He told me how touched he was that so many gifts had been left for me, even if he had supplied most of them himself. I couldn’t bring myself to even try to appreciate the gesture. It felt wrong. What had I done to deserve gifts?

After the conversation had gone on long enough to be sufficiently awkward without me participating, Surge said his goodbyes. He reminded me that I had a decision to make, and I could wait until the buffs had left my system if I wanted to. Fix-it could relay my answer to him when I was ready.

I was ready right then and there, lying on the cold grass. My decision was decidedly out of character, but after what I’d done to Tapper, I felt like that might have been a good thing. Tapper had urged me to get help before, and I ignored him. And then... I did that. I owed it to him to try, even if I thought I was a lost cause.

I would do the counselling. I just had to. Otherwise, I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

I had to make a change.

I said none of that, at the time. I was too exhausted to even stay conscious much longer. But I held onto my decision as I fell asleep on the grass, hearing no objection from Fix-it next to me, and thankfully, no words from the babbling river nearby.