#honestly i think standing is almost less awkward because everyone gets separated anyway

[yousaytomato]

just booked Frank Turner tickets for next year !

[because-of-a-friend]

Seventeen Reaction: You Suddenly Being Shy

MASTERLIST

Thanks for the request anon! Hope you like it!!!!

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

He thinks is the cutest thing in the world and he also cannot believe he has that kind of sway over you. He's like????? They're shy around me?????? He'll do a lot of cute little things to try and get you to relax around him and be more comfortable being yourself around him. When you're not super close, he'll do random things to make himself look ridiculous so if he's intimidating to you at all, he seems less so. Then as you grow more comfortable with each other, anytime he notices you becoming quiet he'll do something like plucking your chin or some other cute gesture that he knows you'll have some sort of witty comeback for. He appreciates and adores both sides of you, but always wants to make sure you feel comfortable around him.

YOON JEONGHAN

Jeonghan will likely match your energy depending on how you're feeling. But he does have a habit of challenging your more sarcastic side because he tends to talk quite bluntly, so he thinks those conversations are more fun. He honestly has a lot of fun figuring out how to push your buttons until you two are ceaselessly teasing each other. He'll leave you be if it really seems like you're not up to it and respects when you're more quiet. He can always easily go with the flow depending on your mood.

JOSHUA HONG

Josh tends to also get shy around new people or one on one with people he doesn't know that well or in other moments he's not prepared for. So if you suddenly get shy, it'll probably trigger his shyness as well. He'll suddenly be unsure of what to say or where to look or how to act. Moments between you and Joshua tend to be very sweet and lighthearted since both of you are very careful towards each other. Any sort of friendship/relationship with each other with each other will progress slowly because it takes you two awhile to fully open up to each other. But it means that you two also eventually feel very comfortable around each other since you spent so much time building up trust.

WEN JUNHUI

He probably hates this lol. Not because of you but because he just can't stand awkward silence and puts all the pressure on himself to fix it. He also doesn't really get it????? Like you were fine around him when you were hanging out with other members or friends????? He watched you roast Wonwoo with no hesitation earlier???? But now that it's just you and him you're so shy?????? Get ready for chaotic Jun because he's going to be pulling all of the punches to get you to laugh again. Honestly when there's an awkward silence he can't really help but keep talking to fill it in, so you might learn a lot more about Jun in five minutes than you thought you would in years lol.

KWON SOONYOUNG

(Sorry for using such a big gif but he really is the prettiest man on earth omfg)

Might also be a little awkward when you suddenly get shy. He worries that he said something to offend you or that maybe you don't like him. So he tends to approach you carefully when he notices that you're shy around him to make sure that you two are on good terms. He'll actually make an effort to talk more quietly around you and try to sit really still and not make any sudden big movements so he doesn't catch you off guard or upset you. He tries to be as polite as possible and will make a real effort to start enjoyable conversations. Probably asks other people stuff like what movies you like or what songs you listen to so he has something to talk to you about when he sees you.

JEON WONWOO

Pls this is his worst nightmare. He's not confident in handling social situations so when you suddenly get quiet around him, he has no idea what to do. He'll awkwardly blurt out some random questions and cringe inwardly every time it doesn't lead to an actual conversation. He'll wonder what's up since you seemed so confident around other people. Like Soonyoung, he'll worry over you not liking him for some reason. He'll probably actually end up pulling back and letting you approach him in the future so any contact between you two can be on your terms so he knows you're comfortable.

LEE JIHOON

May not fully notice. Jihoon tends to be off in his own world anyways so your mood change around him may fly right over his head. He's not always conscious of people's behaviors and changes in them because of his tendency to zone out. Honestly it's sort of a relief. If you're feeling a little more nervous as you spend one on one time with him, it's almost nice that he seems to continue on with business as usual. It's nice that he won't really point it out or make a big deal of it. He's usually pretty gentle during conversation anyways so it's not like there's anything he's doing to be intimidating. If he notices you being shy, he might get a little shy as well, but he'll do anything he can to make you comfortable and get on your good side.

LEE SEOKMIN

Seokmin is such a people pleaser so you suddenly going quiet is going to be a problem for him. He needs you to like him so much. He's going to figure out what makes you feel the most comfortable around him. Do you want him to take the lead in conversations? Would you prefer he back off a little? Do you like it when he's joking? More serious? He'll test the waters and feel out what brings back your more confident side so he can tell what makes you more comfortable around him. He'll navigate every conversation with care so you'll enjoy talking with him.

KIM MINGYU

Also the type to kind of slip up when this happens. He doesn't know how to continue when you suddenly get shy around him. It highkey gives him butterflies, he thinks it's so cute. So then he's shy around you, leading to him doing awkward things, all while he's trying to help you feel less shy around him. He's a giggling/blushing mess around you 24/7, which definitely helps him seem less intimidating. But he very much genuinely wants you to feel comfortable around him so he'll always be as kind and friendly as possible.

[A/N: So Tumblr has suddenly decided I can only add ten imagines to each post even tho up until now, I was able to add gifs for all thirteen members. Soooo I was wondering if you guys preferred for me to either separate maknae line and hyung line for reactions, or if you want me to leave gifs out and have all members in one post for reactions, or if y'all want to do it by request??? Until I get a good read on what y'all want I'm just gonna cut the gifs are where I have to lol. Please let me know what y'all want me to do!!!!]

XU MYUNGHO

Myungho takes this in a silent stride. When he notices you suddenly get shy around him, he'll just sort of quietly take note of it. He'll try to encourage your usual sarcastic side to make sure you know he's comfortable with it. If it doesn't seem like it's working, he'll back off and try to take things slow and gentle with you until you feel more comfortable around him one on one. He'd never admit it but he is ecstatic when your sarcastic side starts to show. Any biting remark you have for him is met with a smirk and an equally biting remark. He's fine when you're more shy but he'll feel uneasy himself until you're comfortable around him.

BOO SEUNGKWAN

Seungkwan will have an "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no" moment when he realizes you're suddenly shy around him. He also wants everyone to like him and be happy around him. He will also wonder if he did something to offend you and be incredibly nervous and unhappy until you're comfortable around him again. He's constantly hesitant when approaching you and then as conversation progresses, he'll pull out the big guns with his humor to get you laughing and hopefully back to your normal self.

VERNON CHWE

This may also go over his head. Vernon isn't always super in tune with the people around him just depending on what's going in his head. He also usually lets the people around him lead conversations anyways, so he'll just follow your vibes conversation to conversation. When you're shy he'll just speak to you casually and keep it light. When your more sarcastic side shows, he'll vamp it up and match your energy (although with him, he'll use sarcasm as a way to casually flirt for sure lol). But overall it's hardly even noticeable to him.

LEE CHAN

Dino probably also gets shy when you get shy. He may not notice your change at first but as soon as he does he just goes "oooooooooh" and then backs way off. He's the type to awkwardly laugh every other sentence when speaking to you, desperate to make sure the conversation feels light and happy. He's not really the best at navigating meeting new people and learning how to connect with them specifically. He's happy to try anything and everything to help you feel more at ease around him, though.

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter one: how odd

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

notes: you guys have been so amazing with your feedback on “guarded” and it warms my heart that you loved hoseok and ms. kim -- so it’s time to show mr. kim some love, too.  this series will not be long (probably three parts) but i had to break it into chapters because of the POV shifts. please let me know what you think about this chapter and as usual thank you so much to all the tiger wives and my amazing betas @ladyartemesia​ and @hobi-gif​.

this series is dedicated to the amazing @sahmfanficbts​ who is an incredible writer, an awesome woman, and kim namjoon’s number one fan.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

“You fired me?”

Namjoon turns at the sound of the quiet accusation that comes from over his shoulder.  

There is color in your cheeks as you cross the length of his office.  Your jaw is tight, one lock of hair falling free from the loose knot at the base of your neck. One perfectly-arched brow is raised high.

You look hurt.

Beautiful -- but hurt.

Guilt hits Namjoon like a freight train.

“Of course not,” he deflects, taking a seat.  He picks up one of the papers scattered across his desktop and pretends to read it carefully.  “I reassigned you to a position I believe will be a better fit.”

There’s no way he could miss the irritated breath you suck between your teeth but Namjoon keeps his eyes glued to that paper in his hand.  He realizes, absently, that it’s a takeout menu.

He hopes you haven’t noticed the same thing.

“Well, was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Namjoon winces at the dejection in your tone.  He finally forces himself to meet your gaze and finds your eyes brimming with frustration.  

He certainly can’t blame you on that account -- you have every right to be frustrated.  You shouldn’t be made to feel somehow lacking when it’s him who is lacking in every way that counts.

“Quite the opposite,” he says carefully.  “I think it’s a waste of your skills to have you keeping my schedule and taking calls.  Seokjin can make better use of your talents on the business side.”

A strained silence settles over the room and Namjoon clears his throat before looking back down to his papers.

“Well, the new girl is terrible at this,” you say flatly.  “I certainly wouldn’t have let me walk in here unannounced.  She’s too busy looking at her phone to look after you.”

Namjoon knows you’re right about that.

In the few short months you’ve worked for him, you’ve proven yourself to be unnaturally attuned to his needs. You knew without asking which calls he was trying to avoid and when, when to clear his schedule the day after a rough night on the streets. You’ve kept his office stocked with every comfort he’d ever wanted and some he hadn’t even realized he wanted.  

You are the single best assistant he’s ever had and he couldn’t stand to keep you around for one minute longer.

You don’t wait for Namjoon to formulate some kind of response to your damning and accurate observation.  By the time he looks back up from his papers, you’ve already turned on your heels to leave.  

He watches you walk away with regret weighing heavy in his gut.

**************************

Namjoon’s keys clang loudly when he drops them on the table in his foyer.

This penthouse is the best apartment in one of the best buildings in Seoul.  It’s filled with lavish furnishings and expensive paintings and boasts a stunning view of the Han River.  It’s one of the finest residences in the city.

And Namjoon hates it.

The vacant rooms and the echoing walls seem to mock him, making him all the more aware of how empty it is.  How completely devoid it is of any life. Most nights he stays at the office until he’s delirious with exhaustion just so he can collapse straight into bed once he gets here. 

Tonight though, for once, this place seemed like a better option. 

Namjoon pulls off his tie and releases the first few buttons of his shirt before pouring a scotch.  

He’s drinking too much these days -- he knows it -- but the drinks help slow the constant movement of his mind.  They help dull the anxiety that seems to take over when he’s too still for too long.

He walks to the window to look out over the night sky.  

This is his favorite way to see the city -- high up enough that everything looks pristine.  Get closer and you’ll be assaulted by the noise and the crowds and the pollution.  Get closer and the flaws are too hard to ignore.

“Was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Your words echo as clearly in Namjoon’s mind as if you’d spoken them out loud in this cavernous apartment. He takes a seat in his plush chair and sips his drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch.

He thinks back to when you both were kids.  

Your father -- one of the few decent men in his own father’s inner circle -- didn’t bring you around much.  He can only recall a few social functions you’d attended before taking off to university.  News of your father’s death came shortly after that and it had been years since Namjoon had even spared a thought for you.

Then you came walking through his office door.

You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, that much was clear.  

What was much less clear was why you -- a college graduate -- turned up one day, desperate for a job.  He hadn’t questioned your need for fast work and fast money and you hadn’t questioned the long hours and strange requests.

You repaid him with a flawless work ethic.

And he repaid you by fantasizing about fucking you blind over his desk basically every chance he got.

So yeah, there was a problem, all right.   

The problem was Kim Namjoon.

*********************

“There you are.”

The voice on the other end of the line practically slithers into Namjoon’s ear when he answers the late call. 

“Mina,” he sighs, infusing the name with a displeasure that comes through loud and clear across the connection.  “This line is for business only, you know that.”

Mina makes an exasperated sound.

“I wouldn’t have to call your cell if you’d return my messages from the office.  I’ve been trying to reach you for more than two weeks now. I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Namjoon pulls the phone away to allow himself a long exhale before putting it back to his ear.

“How did you get this number?”

“You’re hung up on that?” Mina groans. “Honestly, Namjoon.  I reached out to your new assistant who was more than happy to pass it along.”

Fuck. He’s going to have to fire the new girl, isn’t he?

“She’s a nice girl,” Mina muses.  “Far more competent than that last assistant of yours.  Excellent decision on replacing that woman if she fails to complete a task as simple as delivering a message. Three messages, actually.”

Namjoon mulls that information over in silence.

“Where is your mind these days, Mr. Kim?” Mina tries to cover her displeasure with a laugh but he hears it anyway.  “You’ve been so distant lately.  It’s been too long since we had the chance to enjoy one another’s company.”

Namjoon can envision the pout she is wearing on the other end of the line and it aggravates him beyond belief.  Pouting ranks near the very top of his least favorite female manipulation tactics. 

Pouting makes him want to put his fist through a wall.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he mutters.  “I’m here.”

“Are you drunk?”

Namjoon grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his glass.

“No, Mina,” he grinds out. “Not drunk. Just not in the mood.  Not anymore.”

She sputters on the other end of the line as Namjoon ends the call.

Maybe he should feel bad about being so blunt, but he doesn’t.  It’ll be a week before she’s onto the next wealthy, connected man.  Women like Mina make sport of locating and latching on to power. 

She’ll survive.

Namjoon stares out into the night sky and sips his scotch, letting his mind wander back to the one piece of the conversation that did capture his interest.

What are the chances that you -- a woman with seemingly unerring attention to detail -- forgot to deliver three separate messages from the same caller? 

He contemplates that in the dark.

How odd.

***********************

YOU

Kim Namjoon was the most serious boy you’d ever seen. 

Even as a young man, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You can still close your eyes and remember exactly how he looked back then -- standing solemn at his father’s side, lanky body swimming in a suit he’d not yet grown into.  His hair just a touch too long and falling into his eyes.  

You thought he was the most handsome boy in all of Korea.

Namjoon kept mostly to himself -- no easy task given that his status alone made him the most celebrated catch amongst the children of the Gajog.  

Everyone fought for the attention of the boy who would be king.  

It would have been so easy for him to abuse the power he had over his peers, to treat them with disrespect, but Namjoon never did.  You noticed how kind he was to the children who idolized him.  You noticed how well he managed the volatile moods of his alcoholic father.  You noticed how he hovered protectively over his sister.  

He never noticed you, of course.

Your own father was careful to limit your exposure to the Gajog and as such, you lived on the outskirts of the social circle.  By the time you were a teenager, you’d only spoken to Namjoon directly a handful of times.  The few times you did see him face-to-face, you’d had to suffer through that awkward moment before his eyes lit with recognition.  

It always took a minute for him to remember who you were, but when he finally did -- every time he finally did -- your heart would stop just a bit at his shy smile.  

That was the image you held on to when you held your breath and walked into his office a few months ago.  You’d taken a deep breath and prayed that the quiet, kind kid you’d known so long ago hadn’t changed too much over the years.  And then you stepped into his posh office.

Kim Namjoon definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.

The Namjoon who stood up from behind his desk to bow a greeting was nothing short of devastating.

Standing in place of the slender boy from your childhood was a man with deep, dark eyes and a striking, angular face.  His suit -- cut to fit every line of his body to an exacting standard -- did nothing to conceal his powerful frame.  He had grown into the full lips that once seemed a bit too large for his face. 

Without a doubt, he’d become the most handsome man in all of Korea.

The shy smile remained, though -- dimples prominent when Namjoon extended a hand to shake yours and you woodenly accepted, blinking back.  You’d realized, absently, that you were gawking.

You hoped he hadn’t noticed the same thing.

If Namjoon had picked up on your mortifying reaction to seeing him after all these years, he was far too much of a gentleman to let on.  He’d offered you a seat and then listened patiently as you explained that you were in need of a job -- any job -- so long as you could start right away.

You left out the painful details, of course.  

Namjoon nodded quietly as you outlined your education and qualifications and emphasized your willingness to serve the Gajog in any role he saw fit.  His eyes were warm and reassuring as you spoke, but you still braced yourself for the possibility that he’d send you away empty handed.

He didn’t.

At the end of your impassioned speech, Kim Namjoon made you an offer you could not refuse.  

Reporting directly to him and starting right away.

***************************

The serious boy you’d known so many years ago had grown into an even more serious man.

It didn’t take long on the job to notice the bone-deep melancholy that seemed to emanate from Kim Namjoon.  He was good at concealing it in front of others but you saw it clearly.  The way he would stand at his window at night, drink in hand, brooding.  The way the shadows behind his eyes would surface when he thought no one was looking.

But you were always looking.

You wanted so badly to help.  

You wanted to do something to help ease the burden he seemed to carry around at all times.  So you threw yourself into the work, memorizing his routines and taking note of the things he needed.  You organized his files.  You streamlined his schedule.  You ran interference on Yoongi and Hoseok and Seokjin on the nights when his moods turned dark and ominous.

Tiny gestures, in the grand scheme of things -- but there were days when you could convince yourself the gestures made a difference.

Days when Namjoon would look at you with a quiet appreciation that made you feel heat down to your toes.  Days when his eyes would soften as you’d instinctually met some need he hadn’t voiced out loud. Days when the darkness inside of him seemed to recede and one of those heart-stopping shy smiles would emerge.

You convinced yourself over time that this was enough --  that taking care of him like this would be enough for you.

It had to be enough. 

To allow yourself to imagine otherwise was nothing short of delusion.  

**********************

“Eomma?” 

You call out into the quiet as you lock the door behind you.  You can barely make out the sound of your mother’s soft reply from her bedroom.

This is where she spends most of her days now, shuffling between her bed and her chair, too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.  Pill bottles litter the nightstand, obscuring the yellowing photograph of your parents as newlyweds.  

“My sweet Ttal,” she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse, “You’re home.”

“I am,” you sigh, sweeping into the room and pulling off your coat.  You bend down to drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat at her side.  Your mother’s once-luminous skin is now spotted with age, eyes cloudy and dull, but she is still one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.   

She flinches when you take one of her hands into your much colder ones.

“Sorry,” you murmur, massaging over the paper-thin skin.  “It’s freezing outside.  I should have warmed them first.”

She gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Home early again,” she croaks.  “Is everything okay at work?”

Her innocent question brings the sadness simmering just under the surface of your thoughts back to a full boil.  You still can’t understand why Namjoon chose to reassign you -- and you still can’t forget the sting of getting the news secondhand from your replacement.

Your face falls at the memory and you hope your mother doesn’t notice.  

The last thing you’d want to do is add worry to her already long list of concerns.

“Yes, Eomma,” you soothe, smoothing back her hair.  She leans into your touch with a tired smile.  “Everything is fine.  My new boss doesn’t keep me as late as the old one did.  But that’s a good thing, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, closing her eyes.  “Mrs. Sim left just a short while ago.  She brought some Japchae for dinner.  Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”  

You laugh at the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile at her jest.  

People like Mrs. Sim are in large part why you’ve fought so hard to keep your mother here in your childhood home.  The financial strain has been tough -- particularly when paired with the medical bills -- but you need the help.  With no siblings to share your burden, you’ve had to lean on the goodwill of longtime neighbors.

“Leave Mrs. Sim and her Japchae alone mother,” you tease, standing to stretch.  “I’m going to get a shower before bed.”

Your mother makes a noise that sounds like approval, but you can tell she’s already drifting off again.  

She’s on so many pills these days; a blessing and a curse.  More pills means less pain and better rest -- something she desperately needs.  But more pills also means far fewer moments of lucidity -- much shorter windows of time for you to enjoy your mother’s quick wit and dry humor.

She’s back in a sleep state before you even make to stand.  You stroke your fingertips across her face just as your phone pings in your pocket.  You pull it out and very nearly dismiss the routine banking alert altogether -- but something catches your eye.

You swipe into the app to confirm you’re seeing the numbers correctly -- that your tired eyes and tired mind aren’t playing games with you.  

They aren’t.

The direct deposit of your paycheck is coming on the date it should, at the time it should.  But the number glaring back at you from the screen is higher -- much higher -- than it should be.

A demotion and a raise in the span of one week?

How odd.

******************************

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

tag list: @barbikatherine​

[xhisokas-harleyx]

okay but imagine hisoka and fem!reader going for an undercover mission, in a ball (well this gives me an excuse for hisoka in a suit with his hair down looking kinda normal yk aaaaa) and he and reader are waltzing across the ballroom, with the mutual pining, the flirting back and forth, constantly one upping each other without making it too crudely sexual while maintaining eye contact no matter what (bonus points if reader doesnt get flustered outwardly) <333

I’m sorry this took so long! Vacation and a few other things happened. I took a little creative liberty with this one I think... Hope you enjoy! 😊

Part 2 is out, link at the bottom :)

I’m getting to the other requests soon!

Song Inspiration: Fire on Fire; Sam Smith

Word Count: 2700

Hisoka x Fem Reader: Fire x Fire

You sigh as you look up at the clock that acts as a guardian for the entry hall you are sitting in. As of now, you’ve been waiting for Hisoka to enter the room for about 45 minutes. You have finished your hair, your makeup, and dressed accordingly, which took a decent amount of time- however, your male counterpart for the evening is still not ready.

“Hisoka… how much longer?!” You call to the upstairs bathroom, and you sigh melodramatically. You’d have thought he was ditching you if it wasn’t in fact a mission that HE himself had invited you to. “We’re going to be late, and that will attract attention!” You groan.

“Speaking of attracting attention…” A smooth, low voice coos from behind you, and you jolt up from your seat on the bottom of the stairs and wheel around. “…You call that undercover?” He says, as his tongue flashes across his bottom lip, a sinful gaze in his golden irises.

~Because I, for one, can’t keep my eyes off of you.~ He refrains from saying that last part.

There Hisoka stands, with a raised eyebrow, admiring you with a smirk as he plays with one of his cufflinks. His pink hair is down, covering his eyes only slightly, but not enough that you can’t see the hungry look in his golden irises. He doesn’t have any makeup on, and he is wearing a clean white suit with a tie and napkin that matches the color of your dress.

Quickly, you close your mouth, fighting to regain your composure and not allow him to see your reaction to his appearance. This mission was going to be hard enough without him distracting you throughout…

Little do you know, Hisoka is currently appraising your appearance as he strolls slowly down the stairs. Your sleek (f/c) dress hugs your curves perfectly, covered in sequins that catch the light of the chandelier at random intervals. Both of your outfits are a bit flamboyant- but honestly, could you expect any less from this efficient duo?

“It’s all about catching them off guard, hiding in plain sight.” You say to him, tipping your chin upward and placing a hand confidently on your hip. “The more attention we attract, the better chance we have of fooling those around us and identifying our target early.” You smirk as you meet his witty remark with your own explanation.

Hisoka lets out a small chuckle before he opens the door for you. “You know as well as I that that logic makes no sense.” He points out with a coy smile.

“Sounds good though, doesn’t it?” You retort, walking past him without so much as a glance.

“As does everything that comes from your lips.” He says it in a deep and yearning tone that catches you by surprise, even for Hisoka.

You fight the urge to tense up- this party hasn’t even begun yet, and Hisoka is already trying to get under your skin as you’d suspected he might. Luckily, you know exactly how to bat him off.

“Hurry up.” You order, completely ignoring him; it was phase one of your plan. Much to your chagrin, this pursuit only excites Hisoka, his eyes twinkling as he watches you get into the limo that will take you to the party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On your way to the ball, Hisoka watches you silently as you look out the window, the stars flying by as you speed to the event. You don’t even notice, until you feel that familiar bloodlust rising from his direction.

“You’re going to have to control- that – if we are going to stay undercover. We don’t know how many Nen users are going to be here.” You say nonchalantly, looking to him.

In the low light, Hisoka doesn’t speak at first, almost as if you’ve caught him looking when you weren’t supposed to. He notices how well your makeup is done- and how much care you have taken in styling your hair tonight. He loves those golden earrings you are wearing and makes a note to steal them from you later.

You notice his silence. “Hey, Hisok-“

“We are almost there, madam.” The driver tells you, interrupting your snapping to bring the pink haired man’s attention back to you… even though it hasn’t left you he saw you sitting on those stairs.

You thank the man, and you take this opportunity to affix your knife under your dress, rolling the long fabric up to your thigh and strapping it around your leg. You know exactly what this will do to Hisoka; and yet, you do it anyway, deciding to fight fire with fire.

Hisoka’s eyes widen under his bangs, and he stifles a soft moan. He does his best to look away, knowing that, despite this game you two play… he must control himself around you. Because, somewhere deep inside, he is amazed that you even agreed to come with him tonight, and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

Luckily, you are very determined to stay unabashed.

Still, his bloodlust peaks at the sight, and you use this as an opportunity to order him again.

“Nen off. Now.” You demand, dropping your skirt back to its normal position and flashing him a side glance as the limo stops.

“Oh, is that an order?” He questions, kicking an eyebrow and biting the inside of his lip, fully expecting to trip you up. He just can’t help himself. He can’t resist the urge to play this game with you, and is so impressed with the fact that you willingly (and expertly) play it too.

“Absolutely.” You reply without missing a beat. His eyes focus on you, unsure how to take your hot and cold attitude, and your apparent disinterest in his flirtation. Still, he obeys, and clears his throat, exiting the limo and moving to your side to open the door for you.

You get out gracefully, refusing the hand he is holding out to you, which both infuriates and encourages him.

“The target is an older Nen user with blue hair. Rich guy. Tons of ladies. Right?” You whisper to Hisoka, trying to confirm the details so you can begin to scout for your victim. “Conjurer?”

Hisoka doesn’t answer you for a moment, and instead, seems distracted before coming back to his senses.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Conjurer. Those women he hangs with are replicas of the prostitutes he’s said to have murdered. Perhaps talking to them could be our key to finding him.” You weren’t questioning how he knew all of this, but glance at him.

“So you’re going to use this as a speed dating service.” You state, rolling your eyes, though your comment is meant to be more funny than mean. Hisoka, however, looks to you with a confused expression.

“You wound me!” He chuckles in response, dramatically clutching his chest, but taking great care not to reveal the actual hurt underneath. Is that what you saw him as?

There is an awkward silence between the two of you, but as you walk into the entryway of the mansion, you put on your acting expressions and begin to scout out the crowd. There are hundreds of people, live music, drinks, and conversations happening all over the large abode, and in an instant, you feel a bit overwhelmed.

“We should split up.” You suggest. Not that you wanted to leave his side, but wouldn’t it be easier to find the target this way?

Unbeknownst to you, your suggestion slightly upsets Hisoka. He had hoped you would stay together, but he doesn’t protest; he nods, and you two go your separate ways. However, you find yourself glancing in his direction as he slips through the crowd, a pang of guilt stabbing your heart.

~~~~~~~~~

An hour or so later, you have still had no luck locating this bastard, and have decided to stop at the bar for a drink. You know that you’re supposed to be working, but how can you relax at all without a break? You order a drink from the bartender, and promptly begin to down it, leaning on the bar and analyzing the crowd. You can’t help but think of Hisoka, and how handsome he looked in his proper outfit which was so different than what you normally saw him in.

Often, you wondered if his flirtation was just that and nothing else; or whether there could be a chance that he feels morefor you. There were times when he could be so caring toward you… but he did have the tendency to be fickle and dishonest with his emotions.

As much as you hated to admit it… you felt morefor him. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, you liked that about him. You had the ability to see through his apathetic exterior to the human underneath. You didn’t know whether that made you a hopeless romantic, or just plain crazy.

Suddenly, you see a flash of pink hair in the far distance, breaking your fantasy. It is Hisoka, shining like a diamond just next to the dance floor. A wave of relief washes over you briefly, and you set down your drink to make your way toward him, quicker than you’d imagined.

However, the sight you see there before you made your stomach flip, and you question the flirtation you’d just fantasized about. Through the crowd of people, you can see Hisoka talking to a bunch of nicely dressed ladies, a drink perched in his hand like he was some aristocrat. They seem to be laughing at just about everything he said, and one of them has the audacity to playfully touch his lapel, which set you off.

Now you were disobeying your own advice as your bloodlust piqued. Your fists clench and you begin to trudge toward the large magician, who doesn’t seem to notice your presence. That could not be more false, however, and he smirks to himself as he feels your approach, parting the crowd and traversing the ballroom dance floor.

Your high heels, however, have another idea: to ruin your night.

Your heel twists, and you trip over your own feet, a few people gasping as your body flies toward the floor. However, your momentum is stopped by the stern body of your audacious savior.

Hisoka pulls your arm past his neck, his strong arm wrapping around your waist and holding you flush against his body. A few of the people clap at the display, the women especially noting how dashing this charismatic man is, and how lucky the woman in his arms must be.

Obviously, they didn’t know the real Hisoka…

“If you wanted to dance, you could have just asked.” Hisoka notes softly, with a hubristic undertone. The way he holds you, however, is soft and careful, his fingers spread along your waist as he pulls you to your feet. You scoff, and look away, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away from his pleasing embrace. Still, you’re mad at him, and you don’t show your flustered expression outwardly.

Without your permission, Hisoka begins to move your body in tandem with his, guiding your hips to the beat of the new song playing in the ballroom.

“You look angry, (Y/N).” He notices your expression and rigidity but doesn’t stop moving his feet. It’s a rather timid tune at first, however, at the bridge of the song the tempo began to pick up, and you easily accommodated. You two begin to tango across the floor, much to the delight of the people watching your display in awe.

“We’re supposed to be working, and you’re over there flirting.” You scold yourself inwardly as you realize he’s going to have a heyday roasting your obvious jealousy.

“Ah, and you were working at the bar when you were sipping your cocktail?” He retorts fluently, surprising you. He has been watching you this whole time and was perfectly willing to never let you know it!

Hisoka whips his hair out of his eyes, his bangs parting just long enough to reveal to you a flash of his enchanted yellow eyes. Somehow, that hungry, almost pleading look behind his irises melts away your fear that he doesn’t feel anything for you. And from that moment on, you can’t break eye contact with him, as if he’s holding you under some sort of spell.

~God, that was hot.~ You think, but you are determined to keep your cool and not show all your cards, so you shoot him an equally suggestive look that makes his blood boil. Your eyes make him go crazy. He can’t take that look in your eyes, the way you encapsulate your emotions within them makes Hisoka lose his breath and feel a little weak in the knees (not something he’s used to). Both of you are too caught up in each other to realize how much you are both leaking bloodlust.

“Jealousy looks good on you.” He smirks, twirling your body around him, and catching you in his arms.

“Hm.” You smile, beginning to have fun with this performance. “I look good on you, wouldn’t you say?” You retort boldly, not expecting Hisoka to take it quite so seriously. His smile fades, and as you twirl back to him, the song dies down, and Hisoka bends you over his knee, hanging your body in his balance.

His gilded eyes have never looked more intense and sincere. Your comment seems to have uprooted his act, and his forehead presses to yours as it seems he is devouring your soul with his eyes.

“I couldn’t agree more, y/n.” He breathes against your lips at the closing note of the ballad, hoping that you’ll confirm his hopes and take the leap of faith he needs you to in that moment.

Your heart begins to skip beats, and you can’t hold your act any longer. Your cheeks are painted with a deep red shade, and your neck begins to crane. Somehow, on the fly, you are unsure. What would all of this lead to?

Your thoughts of leaving Hisoka hanging are interrupted by the annoying screech of one of the women from before, spewing a slurred, “Way to go, Mr. Horatio!”

Horrible fake name aside, this makes your jealousy skyrocket as you realize she’s talking about your white knight.

You turn back to him with the fire of Hell in your eyes, and meld your lips with Hisoka’s with such ferocity that it takes him off guard, and for a moment he is completely star struck. The taste of your lips ignites such a passion within him that his hand moves to your hair, tilting your head back with a gentle tug to allow him better access to your sensitive parts. His obsession for you is on full display, and he doesn’t care who sees it.

As you break for air, his lips move excitably to your neck, the both of you completely forgetting that you are in the middle of a mission and a whole crowd of people. Neither of you seem to care, and if Hisoka has his way you’ll end this party with a bang.

The guards have a different plan.

“The Magician! I’d recognize that Bloodlust anywhere!” Someone shouts, sending a force of guards your way. Hisoka can’t help but smirk in that general direction, and without a thought, he unleashes the full weight of his bloodlust, and scoops you into his arms protectively. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, darling. Let’s head out.” He purrs. Somehow, even being chased by a force of guards, which he could easily annihilate, he is as enticing with his voice as ever. You have not the power nor will to disobey that honey-like, nuanced voice that turns your resolve to ash. Instead, you are content with the view of his hair flying in the wind as he gracefully bursts out of the mansion, running with you in his arms.

You’re completely enthralled with him, and he knows it; he feels the same about you. But as the house vanishes from your sight, your eyes widen as you remember one key detail.

“Hisoka… WE DIDN’T KILL THE TARGET!” You panic, as he slows; you’re far enough away to be safe now.

Hisoka chuckles warmly, which confuses you.

“Not to worry, y/n. I killed him days ago.” He says matter-of-factly, anticipating your reaction at hearing that the party was completely unnecessary. “My place?” He skips past it like it’s a minor detail.

Your body tenses.

“Hold on…YOU WHAT?!”

~FIN~

…I could see a very NSFW Part Two for this... -///-

Part two is here!!

https://xhisokas-harleyx.tumblr.com/post/660568203654774784/in-x-this-x-moment-hisoka-x-reader-pt2-to-fire

I loved this prompt. So cute. Hope you all liked it! <3

[aquamoonchaii]

•• genre: fluff, angst

•• warning: mentions of alcohol

•• pairing: xiaojun x fem! reader

•• wc: 1.4k

•• collab: Resonance Beach by @amorajae

•• charlie's notes: enjoy this cheesy piece <3

•• summary: you two choose the worst time to argue and separate each other for a while so xiaojun is now a party pooper and he is a sappy drunk asshole. did he even understand what you said that night?

“He is the luckiest asshole in the whole resort.”

“Not as lucky as me, remember I won the tickets to get here in the first place.” YangYang brags and a couple of mocking “thank you sir” echo the room.

“But really, who the fuck brings this alcoholic to his room?” Hendery questions and the man in question scoffs, sitting up just to find all the idiots gathered around him.

"Are you really talking about me….around me?" SiCheng, without a word, grabs his face like searching for something then proceeds to grab his hands and puts them up as he is shirtless. "He is complete, no organs removed or bruises. This guy right here is indeed lucky." Xiaojun furrows his eyebrows as SiCheng gives him a slap on the back, stands up and leaves as everyone follows him talking about what they should have for breakfast but the only rational one stays.

Kun rolls his eyes at his hungover friend when handing him a glass of water with pills he got there. "You know this resort masters at wild parties and strong liquor so why are you drinking so much? The blackout thing and being lightheaded are not sexy nor a good combination."

"I'm a grown man, it's fine."

" I know, that's why no one follows you."

"Don't lie, I heard the bartender calling you."

"...maybe. But that's not the point, how do you even get here?" XiaoJun groans because it's too early for this and he is hungry, thinking how he wants to go home and be at peace. "Whatever, just don't die DeJun. Do you have any news?"

He lowers his head and shakes it, no one really mentions it as they promised to shut up about it hoping he shuts up and enjoy.

Xiaojun indeed has been quiet but drinks one beer and he is sobbing about Y/N once again. Goddamnit. It's been a week of him drowning in his tears and three days of him drowning in alcohol, his friend is really heartbroken and he secretly wonders if this type of codependency is actually good for him.

Kun bites his hand to not call you and ask what happened because XiaoJun won't talk about the whole stuff. You two were basically glued to each other since you started dating and it was a bit awkward but XiaoJun looked happier and you were really nice to everyone.

He wonders if his probably now single friend is going to be alright. For now, he just listens to him talk for a bit and forces him to swallow a lot of healthy snacks so his liver doesn't collapse.

……….

It's been two long days at the resort and everyone is having fun except XiaoJun. He has been basically brought here as another suitcase anyways, one night he has been slurring words about Y/N and how the guys would have to kill him to make him accept the invitation to the resort and the next day he woke up at lunch time with a huge hangover at a king sized bed... at the Resort.

Fuck them all.

Until Kun made some sense because well, they didn't do it to mess with him. Actually, yes but also because XiaoJun was one of the most excited when Yangyang played a stupid lottery and won tickets to a luxury resort for a week. He helped Kun to organize everything for the other chaotic asshats, it was gonna be an unforgettable summer vacation.

Yangyang and the guys approved Y/N so they invited her but no one asked anything, maybe it was because he arrived late at the dorms looking like garbage after meeting you. He remembers reaching them and opening his hand to show them both of your rings, how embarrassing but at least that stopped the questions.

After Kun leaves, he slurs a thank you because he knows he is making this trip a nightmare for him. But a question keeps running through his head, does he actually reach his own dorm by himself?

DeJun can't even stand on his feet when frick an he acts wild almost screaming what he feels because the alcohol softs his vocal chords and makes him rant about his feelings he prefers no to talk about sober.

He doesn't stand up but leans to the little table at his left to search for his wallet and grab a lot of cash, he'll search the person and tip him extra because it's probably one of the service people that looks the worst side of him.

Let's give us some time. It would be good for both of us, DeJun.

Honestly, fuck you.

How is this good?

It was a silly argument that turned into something big as stress and miscommunication clashed, you both hurt each other with harsh words and stormed out in opposite directions. The next day he met you to talk things out and you forgave each other but it had turned awfully when you returned the promise ring to him.

You are not coming back, he can feel it.

Honestly, he wants to run to you and do something for you to get him back. But what if you end things right away? You said something about giving him a week to enjoy himself as the most repetitive thing of him at the argument was you being everywhere and he couldn't breathe.

He sighs, how stupid of him.

Basically, DeJun is the clingy one so that didn't make sense. He was the one expecting for you to come and cuddle him as you bicker with Yangyang as he tried to roast him, you caressing his hair as he played the guitar and sing for you, the little kisses on his cheek when he felts sad, how you didn't leave his hand even when you were paying for the snacks. He loved it, he was the one to search for your hand so you can hold him a bit more.

If you are taking your revenge now, it's working and he wishes once again being at the dorm so the wondering and the waiting eats him alive.

You are not coming back but he is hoping you do somehow.

…….

"DeJun! Are you drunk?" He shakes his head as he arrives at the fun stuff to do, maybe doing something would make him stop thinking about you for a bit. Everyone pats their back as he probably looks like crap and make him go to beach and learn surf.

...it doesn't work but he feels less miserable at least.

No headaches are cool too as night arrives and they are invited to a party. SiCheng bet him 100 dollars he couldn't pass the night without a single shot and he raises an eyebrow.

"I'll be the one who takes you to the dorm, I won't clean anything tho."

"Deal."

The variety of cocktails makes everyone drunk as hell and XiaoJun actually has fun watching Kun dancing on the table as everyone cheers for him. Hendery breaks empty glasses as he tries to do a house of cards with them, he is the one in charge of apologies tonight. SiCheng literally passes out on his lap and he can't move.

Luckily, the staff helps him and takes each asshat to their room and he gets the chance to ask who is the person who takes him to his own room.

"No staff was needed, sir. A lady came the first night and handed me her number so I could call her when you were passed out."

"Uh, what?"

"We allowed it as he addressed herself as your girlfriend. The friend who slept over you confirmed to us she made you arrive safely."

WHAT.

"Can you call her please?"

And there you are coming hurriedly from another side of the resort, waving at the bartender. "Where is he?"

He lifts his hand and nervously waves, you approach him awkwardly and waved too. "So you caught me."

"Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

"Well, you weren't in conditions for it."

"And what's the best condition?" He doesn't know how to feel, but being embarrassed is the first thing that gets the best of him as you saw it all.

"Maybe sober?" You shrugged your shoulders and sat down in front of him, his cheeks heated because he remembers talking to someone about how sorry he feels for the woman he loves. "You really don't know how to listen to me, huh?" He looks at you utterly confused but his heart flutters when you extend your hand to him. DeJun carefully grabs yours and lets out a shaky sigh like he has been holding his breath since you left.

"Y/N…"

"There's no need to explain further, I heard it all with hiccups and everything." You chuckle and caress his hand. "It was too extreme for me to return the ring, I'm so sorry for that. But I really thought a week alone would make us think if this relationship was going well and… I felt awful. I literally made you cookies twice and kept forgetting we were on a break. I am not sure how to ask this but, how did your week go?"

"I literally can't see because of how swollen my eyes are. Never do this again please I'm so annoyed I'm going to cry again."

"I won't I promise, I also can't see." You laugh and he looks at you, your sweet eyes lighten up as he stands up and kisses them both over the table as he mutters apologies again.

"Can you keep it as a secret what I did hen drunk?"

"You screamed my name but I loved it." XiaoJun groans and covers his ears as you laugh, he searches his pocket and give shou the ring.

He is never going to drink again but he makes you write on a napkin a promise to wear the ring everywhere.

[i-simp-for-gintoki]

Sanji and Ace meeting fem!s/o’s parents for the first time

I accidentally deleted the request like the idiot i am, so basically it was “Ace and Sanji meeting their fem!s/o’s parents for the first time, but the s/o gets upset at an embarrasing/mean thing the parents said towards her boyfriend(s)”

Sorry for the long wait! Time flew by way faster than i thought it would and i really struggled with this lmao. Hope this is to your liking! If not just let me know and i’ll do my best to fix it!

I didn’t rlly know how to end these im sorry, um i made sanji’s more angsty than needed because i just did but oh well

Warnings: like one swear word, your dad is kinda a dick and disapproving of your relationship in sanji’s

Portgas D. Ace

He would not dress up, instead simply putting on an unbuttoned shirt instead of remaining shirtless

He might- might take off the hat but thats only if you REALLY want him too

I think he would be pretty relaxed about meeting your parents

You on the other hand was not

I mean dont get me wrong Ace is a sweetheart and all, but he also can be pretty gross without meaning too

You two were planning on heading to your parent’s house so Ace could finally meet them, so in the meantime you told him to keep a few promises

“No using anyones clothing as napkins, finish chewing before talking, and if they say something that annoys you please don’t fight them.”

He’d give you a thumbs up and a smile as he said he’d keep the promise

So here you guys are, in front of where your parents lived

Knocking on the door, it only took a few seconds for them to show up

As Ace introduced himself he bowed and had a bright smile

Your parents smiled back and let you two in

So far so good

All of you were just relaxing in the living room, your parents sat across from where you and Ace sat

Your parents listened as Ace told a bunch of stories about his life, it mainly consisted of the trouble he’d get in with his brothers or how he met and fell in love with you but he was having fun sharing them

Your parents seemed to be enjoying his company and that made you happy

After talking for a while your mother decided to make a quick meal for everyone in which Ace asked if he could help a bit

Your dad decided to put him in charge of setting the table

He had almost dropped a plate in the process but he got it done and wore a proud smile

It wasn’t long until you guys began to ate and you could tell Ace was definitely holding back from how he usually acted

“Whats the point of forks when i can grab it so much faster using my hands?” he mumbled to no one in particular

What really surprised you was that he made sure to properly chew his food before speaking

You were really happy that he was keeping his word but sadly all good things come to an end

“Wow! Mrs.L/n your food is really--”

THUNK

He passed out.

He passed out face first into his plate and your parents could only stare

You could only sigh as you tilted his face so he doesn’t manage to suffocate

“Oh my, is he okay?” your mom asked in a worried tone and you nodded your head

“Ah yeah he’s fine. Hes a narcoleptic thats all. He’ll wake up any moment”

And not even a few seconds later, Ace straightened up and continued eating like nothing even happened

Your mother laughed

“Oh wow! He reminds me of a baby!”

“Mom!”

He rose a brow at the two of you, unaware of what you were talking about, food still smeared onto his face

You clicked your tongue and grabbed a napkin before wiping his face

“See he is like a little kid” she repeated and you rolled your eyes in response

Ace’s eyes widened a bit as he finally understood what happened

“Did I pass out again?”

“You passed out again.”

He rubbed the back of his head and gave an apology to your mom who in return laughed loudly

“Oh no worries dear, when y/n was younger she would pull countless all nighters and end up doing the same thing”

“Mooom stop it”

“Oh shush this is all light hearted fun”

As your dad started a separate conversation, Ace grabbed your hand under the table and smiled

He was having fun, even if you guys were being teased

Vinsmoke Sanji

Idk how i feel about this one rip

He was a bit nervous yet excited

He couldn't wait to meet the people who raised you, but he was worried if they wouldn’t like him

He chose to wear one of his best suits and cologne despite your protests

“Sanji its just my parents, you don’t need to be any more fancy than usual” “Nonsense, i should take it seriously so your parents can see im serious about you.”

He’d insist on making dinner for them

Once your parents arrive he puts on a charming smile and introduces himself

Skip to dinner, Sanji made sure to sit everyone down and serve them

Some nice small talk was made when suddenly one of your parents asks him if Sanji truly loves you

An instant “of course!” was heard from Sanji before he started listing hundreds of things he loves about you

Honestly he said a bit much since he strayed off from personality and perks to more your physical appearance and more

You had to kick his leg under the table to get him to stop

Your dad put his fork down and looked at you

“I don’t want you dating him”

“Can i ask why?” you ask

“Sounds to me your boyfriend is simply a pervert. He’s probably just after your body”

Now this Sanji got upset at but you acted first

“Seriously?? Did you listen to anything he said just now? Yeah he appreciates my looks but he clearly loves me for who i am, do you only hear things that make you upset or something?”

You were hoping it would stop right there but no, of course your dad had to say some more huh

“Isn’t he just some chef anyways? Its not like they make a bunch of money, he’s probably mooching off of you”

You stood up so fast your chair was knocked down

“How dare you say that about Sanji? Hes not just some chef, he’s one of the best out there. That doesn’t even matter actually, good chef, bad chef, he would NEVER mooch off of someone. Using people, especially women is completely against his character! Sanji has been nothing but nice to you tonight, and here you are completely shitting on him!”

You huff and wave your hand, mumbling how you wanted some fresh air before heading outside

It was only a few seconds before Sanji joined you

“How are you doing love?” He’d ask and you’d whirl around and face him in surprise

“How am I doing? Sanji they were saying bad things about you! Im SO sorry about that, my dads usually not that much of an asshole and-anyways, How are you doing??”

He’d chuckle and assure you he’s fine

“I’m not gonna lie, i was pretty upset when he said i was using you for my own gain. But seeing you stand up for me, getting upset for me really warmed my heart.”

He’d give you a hug while slowly rubbing your back

“But what do i do about him not approving? What if he says to break up??” you ask and sanji tilts your chin up towards him

“Who cares? We are all adults here, its not like his disapproval will suddenly stop the love we have for each other.”

You slowly nod at his words and he smiles before giving you a quick kiss

“Now lets head back in and finish dinner” “Oh but its going to be so awkward now”  you complain but you still walk with him back inside

When you guys return to the table, your mother shoves your dads shoulder which made him stand and walk up to Sanji

Before the blond can open his mouth, your dad is already apologizing

“Look, Im sorry about what I said. It was harsh and based on my daughters reaction, clearly untrue. I just dont like to see my kid grow up, much less dating someone. Just promise me one thing, Sanji. Promise me you wont break her heart” he says putting a hand out

Sanji gave him a nod and a firm handshake.

“I promise. I would never be able to live with myself if I did”

[extravaguk]

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m 

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin’ too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones. 

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks? 

But apparently, you did. 

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone. 

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve. 

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. 

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin)  falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now.  Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence. 

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question.  Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips. 

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall. 

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby." 

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes. 

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you. 

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck. 

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace.  It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week. 

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away. 

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right. 

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be. 

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes. 

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony. 

"N-no!" 

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out. 

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed. 

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful. 

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one. 

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance. 

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible. 

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth. 

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future. 

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you. 

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

[astromechs]

keep whatever it is (that's compelling you on)

HERE IT IS, my matrix resurrections spec fic, completed and in under the wire before the trailer! i think i'm ready to quit fussing over this, and i'm really excited to get it out into the world!

also here on ao3!

01.

Every single morning, Thomas A. Anderson is jolted awake at approximately 8:15 AM by the shrill of the same alarm, shovels in the same shitty cereal before stumbling into one of the same five shitty suits that he has to remember to get dry-cleaned, takes the same seat on the subway on the way to work — where he sits in the same chair for eight hours straight with minimal breaks, staring at his computer screen (or, more often, out into nothing) until it’s time to take the same subway back to his shitty apartment, order from the same rotation of shitty takeout, and find some mindless, banal distraction while he ignores texts that don’t even matter anyway before he falls asleep to eventually wake up and do it all over again.

It’s nothing special — just the average life of an average mid-grade programmer at the average tech conglomerate. Comfortable, sure, and a dream many would kill to achieve; he knows this, knows this every time he passes the poor old woman who’s feeding pigeons in her ratty coat from the battered metal bench on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He slips her whatever spare change he has on him — a $20 bill, on the days he’s lucky, but often less than that — and, without fail, she always accepts, with a warm smile and kind eyes that seem to stare right into his soul, seeing the deepest parts of it.

Like she knows him. And that’s what’s weird.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, because, honestly, he tries not to put too much thought into anything at all; he’s found that to be the most effective way to navigate the machine that systematically runs his rhythmic, mundane life.

But even so, there are things that he knows he can’t shake.

One afternoon in late February, when the cut of the wind had not remotely suggested that spring would just be a month away, he’d passed the woman on the bench as always, but he could’ve sworn that the whole flock of pigeons scattered on the sidewalk at her feet had frozen for a split second. Like they’d been… glitching. In a blink, everything had returned to normal, and he’d spent about three days (and three sleepless nights) trying to convince himself he’d been seeing things, that he’d just been spending too much time actually working on his assigned program for once and that maybe he should take some of his accumulated vacation days? And the following week, he had, but….

No time off to try to clear his head would ever change the fact that this hadn’t been an isolated incident.

Because sometimes — he swears he sees pieces of code fall through his field of vision; a blink and then they’re gone, but it happens too often not to be a pattern, and no matter how much he might want to for the sake of his own sanity, he can’t just brush that aside. Sometimes, flashes come to his mind like barely-remembered dreams, in idle moments and just on the edge of the line that separates sleep from waking consciousness, so real that he knows they’re memories. Dark tunnels that haven’t seen the sun for centuries. Cold, so cold that no amount of warmth, human or otherwise, can really combat. Running, desperately bounding up the fire escape to the third floor of a rundown motel, three men in sunglasses and perfectly-tailored suits in close pursuit, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he can barely hear the phone ring from Room 303, the place he has to get to, because everything depends on it. A barrage of bullets in his chest, one right after the other, back slumping against the wall as his heart gives out, vision fading to grey and then to black, but a voice, reaching through it all to call him, tether him….

Neo.

There are things that he knows he can’t shake, and sometimes, he thinks he had another life. Another name.

Another purpose.

He’s haunted by the ghost of it.

It’s the second of April — at least, that’s what the screen of his phone tells him, because otherwise he wouldn’t know, or care to know. A Friday, and all the faceless commuters are packed like sardines into this subway car, headed home for weekends that are sure to be as inconsequential as his own. Today, he has to stand holding the rail for the ride home; a woman trying to juggle both a baby and two bags of groceries had just barely managed to stumble onto the train before the doors had closed, and he’d sprung up, more than glad to give up his seat to someone in greater need.

She tries to thank him, profusely and repeatedly, but with where he’s standing, he would have to twist to keep facing her, so, with a nod and the barest hint of a smile, he turns away to spend the trip the way he always does: in solitude.

The route back to the station just down the block from his apartment building is never smooth, by any stretch of the imagination, but today, it’s bumpier than usual; the train car jerks and jostles, until, eventually, it sends him colliding into back of the passenger standing next to him.

He’s just about to stammer out some automatic, awkward apology, but then —

Blue eyes meet his, clear, crisp blue, and a jolt strikes him right to the core.

He thinks — no, he knows, he knows — he’s seen these eyes.

Neo. In the darkest corners of his mind, the voice whispers again.

Time freezes, glitches, around him, around him and this stranger with familiar blue eyes. He sees the light leave them, and then come right back. He sees warmth, what something is telling him had once been the only thing able to keep the cold of the real away; that warmth spreads through now, to the tips of him, and he has a sense, one he doesn’t entirely understand, that something has just clicked into place.

Behind sunglasses, another pair of eyes watches them from across the car.

“You all right?” Neo.

He sees brows knit in concern, and for the first time, he pays attention to the face that the eyes belong to. Probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in… more than one life, he’d have to guess, is now in front of him; he isn’t so detached and disconnected that he doesn’t notice that. Her short dark hair is cut into a severe bob, and she’s dressed in black from head to toe — from her coat and gloves, to her boots. It suits her, somehow.

After a beat, he finally remembers to speak. “Yeah. I — sorry.” The subway jerks to a halt; he glances up, and adds quickly, after clearing his throat, “This is… my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.”

Pushing past her, pushing past everyone in his way, he disembarks to the station, and when his feet touch solid pavement, he takes off at a sprint. Up the stairs (third floor… Room 303….), down the sidewalk (agents, just behind… he can beat them, if he just runs faster than he ever has…), not stopping until the mundane certainty of his shitty apartment building is within his sights.

Just before he makes it safely inside, he catches a glimpse of the old woman on the bench watching him, her smile wider than he’s ever seen it. Maybe, even, almost inhumanly wide.

10.

Her name is Natalie.

That’s what he learns about a week later, when he bumps into her again in front of the grocery store on the corner down from the subway station, the one he always chooses out of convenience. Quite literally; he’s distracted, disconnected, and before he even knows what’s happening, he’s collided with another body, contents of the two bags under his arms spilling out onto the sidewalk. His apologies are hurried and stammered, but her hands are gentle as she moves to help, brushing his more than once. Her smile is soft when their eyes meet.

Over the next several months, he learns a lot of other things, too.

He learns that she takes her coffee with cream and no sugar, and that she always leaves the barista a generous tip. He learns that she’s a genius with tech, better than him and his two computer science degrees and half-cushy corporate job could ever hope to be, and has his whole apartment practically rewired in an hour one day. He learns that if he’s quiet and still, her black cat has no qualms with being his friend. He learns that her lips curve up in just a certain way and her eyes crinkle when she’s just about to laugh.

And he learns that kissing her feels like coming home, as familiar and peaceful as it is new and strange. He learns that with her, coming together, becoming one with another person, is like nothing else.

For the first time in what he can remember, he knows what it feels like to be alive.

(Only it isn’t… is it? The first time. Somehow, just like he knows that he sees the same person walk past him twice, like he knows that those glitches start happening on a near-daily basis, like he knows that the old woman on the bench is smiling at him more broadly than ever….

Their lives have collided, and given each other meaning, purpose, before.)

11.

In his dreams, he sees a city entirely built from light. Spires touch the sky like fireworks, blindingly bright, and with every step, flames ripple out from his feet, making the next one all too clear.

Inevitable.

This is where his path had always led.

In his dreams, he can’t see her face. He can only hear struggling gasps for breath, and a voice that only grows shakier. He can only feel the metal that pierces her stomach, the blood that pools on her shirt. The faint heartbeat he can do nothing to restart.

Inevitable.

(You were right, Smith. You are always right.)

He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat (as cold as their last kiss), gasping for breath. Next to him on the bed, Natalie stirs and shifts closer; when he reaches out a tentative hand, lets his fingers graze over her stomach, she’s warm.

His eyes scrunch tightly shut. Code falls behind his lids like the rain that patters against the windows outside.

100.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on this day in early fall. A breeze rustles the trees as they walk hand in hand through the park, and provides the first hint that cooler weather is on the way. Children’s laughter from the nearby playground fills the air. Dogs chase each other on the grass. Natalie sips her coffee, cream with no sugar; they enjoy the contented silence that falls between them, only punctuated by her soft smile.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary — except for everything that is.

They meet each other’s eyes, her blue to his brown, and in an instant, everything changes.

It’s hard to tell who sees it first, but — the flash of recognition envelops both of them. Vague memories, the ones that have floated over him like a constant cloud, just out of reach, are in his hands, in his brain, in his heart. He’d had another life once, another name. And it’d been —

“Neo.”

She whispers it on an awed breath, tears forming in her eyes. The coffee cup slips from her grasp, long since forgotten; she lifts that hand to his face, fingers tracing the rise of his cheekbone.

Tears swim in his vision, too, tears and strands of code, falling. Falling. Nothing makes sense and yet everything makes sense, no more so than when the name falls out of his mouth, the last piece of a particularly jumbled puzzle: “Trinity.”

But a thousand words he doesn’t know how to say don’t even begin to get a chance to form. He feels the eyes watching them more than he sees them; both hands drop to his sides, and he tenses, ready to fight.

He’s barely aware that the old woman who’s usually on the bench near his apartment building approaches on the sidewalk. She looks between them, nods, and:

“They’re coming, kiddo,” she tells him, voice severe, with none of her usual warmth, as she grips his arm. “You need to run.”

101.

At sunset, a man in a white suit, tall and imposing, joins the old woman on a park bench near the playground, but says nothing; from all appearances, it looks as though he barely acknowledges her at all. They remain, just like this, as people filter out one by one under the steadily darkening sky, returning to their lives.

They always remain through every iteration, the Mother and Father of the Matrix.

Preoccupied with purpose and the inefficiency of wasting time, as is his programming, the Father is the first to break the silence.

"I informed you it was a dangerous game.”

The Oracle says nothing in response.

She merely smiles.

[kaqeyamas]

♡ —  folklore plots.

okay so, i just wanted to take a moment to make sure it’s known that these plots aren’t direct interpretations of the songs on taylor’s new album. they’re just ideas that i came up with based on little pieces of each song, or while listening to it!

The 1

give me a plot where muse a & muse b are exes. their relationship was actually pretty decent, despite muse b never showing enough attention or affection, hence why even after a year or two of being separated, muse a is still hung up on the other, and kind of searching for them in every new relationship and behind every corner. they were convinced they were the one, and seeing them again certainly hasn’t made that feeling go away at all??

Cardigan 

“but i know you, dancing in your levi’s, drunk under a streetlight” and i’m just picturing this pair of friends who have always kind of gotten into trouble, who were absolutely the type in high school to sneak out to get drunk and wander around town together, whether it lead to drunkenly adventuring the sidewalks of random streets in town, drinking and dancing along the way, or finding themselves at the local lake with half a bottle as they talk about everything and anything under the moon. they were literally like... night owls and that’s when their friendship really existed?? and maybe as adults, they haven’t seen each other in ages and when they do all of these old memories come back like “wow i was never that happy with anyone else??”

The Last Great American Dynasty 

toxic toxic toxic. these two bring out the absolute worst in one another, but one thing is certain -- the only way they were ever going to escape was if one of them died. muse a comes from money, and lives as such. expensive drinks, and infidelity. muse b is made into a monster in the town’s eyes, because they know of their partner’s cheating and they’re rightfully angry and upset, but they stick it out, because the money is too good to pass up on. it’s messy, and they’re constantly fighting, but when things are good? they’re so good. almost good enough to forget the bad. 

Exile 

muse a was growing restless in a relationship that felt like it was going nowhere, and muse b was oblivious to it, until it was too late. now muse a has a new partner, and muse b can’t stand it. but neither of them can truly shake the idea that they’re meant to be together -- muse b just needs to do something about it.

My Tears Ricochet 

i’m just not writing this one out because i honestly can’t think of anything that’s not super toxic, and that’s not my cup of tea. (TLGAD already is pushing it; sorry y’all!)

Mirrorball 

muse a has never truly felt like they fit in anywhere, until muse b shows up. they aren’t exactly sure what it is about them, but just being around them makes muse a want to be somebody completely new. whoever muse b would be interested in. making jokes to get noticed. wearing flashy outfits to keep their attention. but, at the end of the day, muse b thinks they’re perfect just as they are. this has super soft vibes and i’ll accept nothing less. 

Seven 

picture this -- they’re seven years old, and next door neighbors. fighting off monsters and building forts in their living rooms. their parents think they’re going to end up getting married when they’re older, and that probably would have been true, if muse b hadn’t switched schools senior year. fast forward ten years, and they run into muse a in their home town and every good memory comes flooding back because best friend love never dies.

August 

this is nothing more than a summer fling. (or is it??) muse a and muse b get to spend three months together, wrapped in the sheets and enjoying the sunshine together. making memories and ignoring the reality that they couldn’t last once the season ended (maybe one of them had to go back home in august) but they made those three months count in every moment. smiles and love songs and fall came in and stole it all away. (make it angstier by saying this fling only happened because muse b had broken up with their significant other before the fling started but by august, they want them back, leaving muse a heartbroken)

This is Me Trying 

muse a and muse b were head over heels. madly in love, and destined for it all. the big house, the happy family, wedding bells and all. until one drunken night, muse b makes the mistake of cheating on their partner. but they know they fucked up, and they’re not about to let the worst mistake they’ve ever made ruin the best thing in their life. they won’t go down without a fight, and if it takes apologizing for the rest of their life, they’d do it, just to get muse a back. lots of angst, and super sad. honestly?? i want this to make me cry.

Illicit Affairs 

make my whole life and give me a cheating plot. but not the kind of cheating plot that’s built on toxicity and mindless decisions!!! muse a is married and unhappy with somebody that doesn’t treat them right. maybe it’s abusive, maybe it’s just empty and the passion isn’t there? cue muse b, who lives down the street and has always made a point to wave and smile when they spot muse a outside, and their friendship builds to the point of sleeping together on accident. but it’s not a one time thing, or meaningless. they fall into bed because when they’re together, it’s the first time muse a has felt alive in ages, and suddenly they’re in a whirlwind romance, sneaking around to hook up and share little moments together. muse a feels guilty and shameful, muse b hates putting them in this position but is too attached to stop, and they both know that muse a’s marriage is going to implode if they get caught. -- but that’s not enough for them to give up. (make it interesting -- let them get caught?? END THE MARRIAGE!! give me angst.)

Invisible String 

you guessed it. this is a soul mates plot, and i’m not even sorry. muse a and muse b have never truly met, but their lives have always overlapped. whether it’s crossing one another in the grocery store, or sitting in a resturant at the tables that face one another. sitting in the same movie theater on opposite ends, or accidentally getting one another’s coffee at the local starbucks. after too many run ins, it’s impossible to ignore the similarities and the coincidences, and they decide to spend an evening together, getting to know one another -- and to nobody’s surprise -- they’re a perfect fit. muse a gets all of muse b’s jokes, and muse b likes all of muse a’s “flaws” and they’re just as dopey and gross as you’re probably imagining. 

Mad Woman

i’m not writing this one either.

Epiphany 

this one could go either way, and it’s entirely up to you and what fits your characters/what you feel most comfortable writing! muse a is either a soldier, or a healthcare worker. either way, they’ve both been through a lot, and seen more loss than any person should. but in a seemingly bleak world, muse b exists. the reason muse a works so hard. whether it’s somebody to come home from, after being overseas (if muse a is in the army!) or squeezing in time between doubles after a four car pile up came into the hospital (if muse a is a healthcare worker!), muse b is there to hold them, and remind them that there are good things left in the world and they’re just so healthy. 

Betty 

i’m just here to hurt myself at this point, but !!! give me a couple that everyone thought would make it. years together, and completely wrapped up in one another. they’ve been dating since high school, and now they’re about to enter their last year of college. muse a went back home for the summer, while muse b stayed at their apartment near campus. they stayed in touch, but as the summer progressed, muse b heard from muse a less and less, only to find out that muse a had spent the summer with somebody back home. when muse a finds out, they end things, but immediately regret it -- even if they won’t admit it. they’re just praying that muse b will come to their senses and come back. meanwhile, muse b is just trying to find the courage to face them, knowing that they only made this mistake because they were young, and thought they were bored of the “same old thing” even though it turns out nothing could ever compare to muse a. suddenly they’re at muse a’s front door in the middle of the night, knowing and hoping that they’ll get the love of their life back. (will muse b actually accept, despite how much they miss them? or will they slam the door?? will it be awkward if they get back together? will the trust ever come back??)

Peace 

muse a has always struggled with money, but when they fell in love with muse b, they swore they’d do whatever they could to provide the best life for them. but words don’t pay the bills. no matter how hard they work, it feels like they’re always struggling to keep their heads above the water. while the late fees build up, however, there’s no denying that their relationship is based on the purest love. the kind of love that leaves a person speechless. muse a would do anything for muse b, and vice versa. muse a constantly feels as though the other deserves better, because they want to give them more. give them everything, and they just can’t. but they don’t realize that for muse b, their love is enough. 

Hoax 

alright, so... this one’s not healthy. but, i’m writing it anyways because i’m in love with this idea?? SO muse a and muse b have been on and off for years. they’re always finding ways to hurt each other, whether it’s flashing their newest fling in the other’s face during the breaks, or picking fights for fun when they’re still together. when it’s bad, it’s so bad. but when it’s good, it’s so good, in ways that only make sense to one another, because no matter how many people they sleep with or relationships they break, they always find their way back to one another, convinced that there’s not a single person that understands them the way they do. they’d rather be angry and fight than be without one another. no matter how many times they call it quits, their hearts belong to each other and nobody can even begin to compare. make this more interesting by developing growth!! make them realize it’s not healthy! make them realize what they want, and that they have to work to have it! sacrifices and affection! real love! not just passionate sex and pillow talk secrets. not just years of history, but the effort to make it work because wasting times on their silly game just isn’t working anymore!

[wtf-yoongi]

“You talk too much.”

pairing | seokjin x reader

summary | jin just talks too much sometimes and he’s worried he’s annoying you

genre/warnings | omg yes fluff + heavy touch of humor

words | 1,538

note | friend of mine mentioned she wanted to shut jin up with a kiss and honestly who doesn’t (also: listen to talk too much by a band called COIN because that’s gold)

Jin knows something’s up. You’re acting different. There’s just something weird in the air and he doesn’t know what it is and now it’s driving him mad. 

So he just keeps on talking like nothing is going on.

And he can’t help but think how stupid is that? Just ask what the hell is wrong, but deep down he knows he can’t do that. It’s too soon, he barely knows you. You barely know him. You might think he’s a little creepy and he doesn’t want that. God, no.

This is, after all, only your second date. It isn’t supposed to be a big deal because you’re not the big deal date kind of girl and Jin is making the greatest of efforts to make himself look cool and chill and like it’s no big deal when, of course, it is. The biggest.

How can it not be when he waited a little bit over two months to even talk to you after he unwillingly introduced himself in an awkward team gathering the HR people forced everyone into? You work at the same company, yes, but it is quite gigantic, taking almost ten floors in the same building and you just had to work three floors from him.

Three 13 feet floors away. Honestly, it could be worse, but Jin also thinks it could be better. Do you know how hard it is to find ways to cross paths with someone who works in a totally different department, with absolutely no work in common, no coffee break room to share, no printer ran out of paper again small talk?

Add three 13 feet floors to that.

He had to wait patiently and think deeply for two whole months to figure something out without raising suspicion. Let’s be real – two months is way too long for Seokjin, you know? Things were usually up and running after all this time, if you know what I mean.

But you just had to never arrive or leave the place at the same time as Jin. You are not a creature of habit and took your lunch break at the most absurd hours, sometimes at 11 a.m., sometimes at freaking 2:57 p.m. in the middle of the afternoon. 

Jin was making an effort, seeing if he could figure out the time your co-workers left for their Friday Coffee (because, apparently, that is a thing) so there was a higher chance to see you and he almost did, but no – you ditched them on that exact day because you subconsciously wanted to make Jin suffer. Or that’s what he thought. 

So, yeah, it is a big deal. A huge deal. Jin is just very good at hiding this sort of thing behind his enormous ego.

So he keeps on talking to fill in every possible conversational space, scared to stop for a second and it be enough to create a void that grows exponentially.

That’s until the food arrives.

Jin stares at it while his brain starts calculating. How long does it take to eat a dumpling? How many seconds until he can chew, swallow it and speak again? Is that too long? Is that going to create a weird silence he won’t be able to break anymore?

Honestly, he doesn’t know, but as soon as the plate hits the table you’re putting together your chopsticks, picking a dumpling and taking a huge bite. Meanwhile, Jin is overthinking again – is that because you’re too hungry? Or because you’re bored and want to eat as fast as possible to run away?

Jin’s knees are jumping up and down. He’s starving and the dumplings smell so good he decides to take his chances. Even if this thing doesn’t end well, at least he won’t be leaving with an empty stomach, right? And the night will be worth it anyway because we’re talking about one of the best underground dumpling places in town. Right?

To Jin’s relief, the silence that follows isn’t the weirdest. There’s a generic, easy-going song playing in the background and the house is full – that is, thankfully, enough to keep things under control.

His nerves aren’t completely under control, though. As he takes a second dumpling with his chopsticks, he just has to ask you something.

“Good, isn’t it?” Jin starts, nodding to the plate in front of both of you. “I love this place so much, I try to introduce it to as many people as possible.”

You nod with a little bit of enthusiasm, mouth full and unable to answer properly. Jin notices it and obviously wants to slap himself in the face for choosing the wrong time to ask, but the left side of his brain holds his hand down. 

The right side has different ideas, though, and tries to make it up for the lack of embarrassing Jin in the last two minutes by making him stick a whole lot of rice in his mouth – so much the side-dish has now a dent the size of a golf ball. 

And now you’re looking at him as if you’re asking are you okay?

Jin can’t believe his own luck. Really.

He does his best to chew well before swallowing, moving quickly, but patiently enough so he doesn’t choke to death. He gives you the thumbs up to let you know he’s alright, but maybe it’s a little too early to speak again without rice grains getting in the way.

Things don’t go any smoother after this. The plan was to go get some drinks afterwards, but he’s now thinking of ways he can convince you to end things early with the most graceful words known to humankind – it’s for the best, really. The less time you spend together today, the less Jin is going to feel like he’s making a fool of himself.

As you both stand up from your seats to leave, Jin is still trying to figure out how to bring it up. You hold on tightly to your coat when you’re outside as the wind is a little stronger than before, looking at your feet and waiting for Jin, who’s a few steps behind when he speaks.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to… I mean, if you want to go home now,” he starts slowly and doubtfully, putting his hands inside his pockets. Well, there’s no turning back now.

“No, I’m ok. We can go,” you reassure him, moving your hands for him to follow you. “It’s not far from here, is it? Are we going to walk there?”

Jin shakes his head then and you look at him, not understanding why he is doing that. “You’re too polite, you know?” He asks rhetorically as he gets closer. “It’s ok if you don’t want to go, I’m not going to feel hurt or anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I, uh, wasn’t going to mention it, but… You’ve been really quiet today,” Jin speaks carefully, inspecting your face after every word. “And being quiet is ok, but I’ve been meaning to ask you if there’s something wrong, if it’s about me or…”

“No, no, it’s not about you!” 

“You answered too quickly,” he says, staring at your desperate expression with a raised eyebrow. He’s being playful about it, but you can tell he’s a little bit hurt – he just puts on a good act. “It’s totally ok if you don’t want to go, I mean, I can walk you to the subway station and you can text me when you get home. Actually, you don’t have to. Please don’t feel like you have to text me, there’s nothing…”

Jin only stops talking when your lips are on his. It takes a moment for him to understand what’s going on, but he’s soon closing his eyes tightly and pressing his lips firmly as well, raising a hand to hold the curve of your waist protectively. He doesn’t know how he went from I blew it, it’s fine, I accept my defeat to holy shit, we’re kissing, but he’s not complaining.

When you separate, you’re the one playfully smiling now. “You talk too much. Did you know you talk too much?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” he admits and feels like his ears are burning. “Many times.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting weird, it’s nothing to do with you. Hearing you talk all night actually helped,” you confess, raising a hand to fix a stubborn hair strand on his forehead. “Maybe I should’ve cancelled our plans, but I felt like I needed some air, you know? I’m sorry I made you feel like it was your fault.”

“It’s ok.” Jin shakes his head again and that hair strand is back to being out of place. “You still want to get some drinks?”

“Sure.” You nod and take his hand, his fingers immediately intertwining with yours. “Only if you agree to keep talking to distract me.”

“We can talk about it if you want.”

“Maybe some other time,” you say and beg him to drop the subject with your eyes. “I’m still digesting it, I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret.”

“Ok then, I’ll keep talking for as long as you want me to.”

Read more ›› masterlist

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 4 - Rain

I can barely believe that it’s Day 4 already. Also that I’m on time for this one, because I didn’t think I was going to be. It’s a welcome surprise! This particular piece is much more of an angst/whump piece, but there’s still a bit of sweetness attached to it. 2020 is just the year of angsty Makoto, I guess! Anyway, I hope you like it! Feel free to let me know what you think.

Oh, and please keep in mind that this does contain some rather graphic depictions of death and violence. Be sure to play on the safe side if that’s not your thing. Thank you so much for your time and attention!

______________________________________

Makoto was about to shower for the first time in four years.

 Of course, that wasn’t to say that the man never bathed – quite the opposite, really. He tended to bathe rather frequently; it was just way he did it that changed the conversation. After all, taking baths was still apart of good hygiene. It was just widely regarded as less convenient to bathe that way. What was a man to do? There was something about standing under the showerhead, watching the water bead onto the tile and slowly roll away… Something about it just made his skin crawl.

 Well, perhaps it was wrong to say “something” when he was well aware of the cause. Four years since the School Life of Mutual Killing, and the image of her never left his mind. Sweet, beautiful Sayaka with a fractured wrist and a knife plunged into her stomach, blood pooling all over her belly and lap. Her eyes shut in a way that could not possibly have looked peaceful even if he wanted it to. Her last message to him written across the wall in disjoined letters – a final plea for him to try and survive. She’d signed her death warrant, yet she refused to sign off on his as well. Kyoko told him that he should take some comfort in that, but it was a comfort he could only half-hold. In truth, try as she might, there was nothing that Kyoko could tell him to take away that pain.

 That was why he was where he was, actually. Kyoko’s inability to remedy his pain. He’d been trying for ages now to counteract the thoughts and feelings associated with the shower, but none of his attempts bore fruit. Even Kyoko’s strategies, helpful as they usually were, did little to assist him. At this point, she could only hope to support him through his struggle. So, when he came to the decision to finally step foot in the shower once more, she did as she always did – supported him as best she could.

 Some would find it weird that a couple who had only recently started having sex would so readily strip down to nothingness and jump into the shower together, but neither he nor his wife found this to be a situation way out of their comfort zone. It wasn’t like the situation would be overtly sexual in any way, shape, or form. They would just be two people like any other, showering in each other’s presence. That was it.

 Still, Makoto wondered if perhaps it was pent-up awkwardness that made his hands tremble as he moved to lift his shirt off over his head, or if shower nerves were getting the best of him. He would always feel flustered at the sight of his wife completely undressed, but this felt like so much more. Within seconds he his throat started to dry up, and his heart picked up its pace. God, he wondered if this was a good idea. It had seemed like one at the time, but now he knew he had second thoughts.

 “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 It was like Kyoko sensed his anxiety without him having to lend his voice to it. It was almost funny that even after all that time together, he still found himself surprised by her ability to read him. She did still insist on referring to him as “Mr. Open Book”; she’d just also begun to refer to herself as “Mrs. Open Book”. Not that that was true, but he appreciated her joke about their marriage nonetheless. Her playfulness brought him respite.

 “Honestly… no,” he answered, pushing a hand through his hair, “I don’t know what’s going to happen if I do, but I don’t want to keep avoiding it like this.”

 Kyoko frowned. “What’s the problem with not showering? There’s nothing wrong with you only taking baths. Regardless, you still emerge cleaner than you were when you entered.”

 His shoulders rose and fell lazily; his eyes drifting towards the shower. The thing looked so innocent just sitting there, the glass pane cracked open ever so slightly to reveal the silver mechanisms inside. They looked so pristine and nice in there, glittering with a shine that proved how recently Kyoko cleaned the faucets and spout. The whole structure appeared so unintimidating; he felt foolish for even being frightened of it.

 “It’s a personal thing, I guess.”

 His wife’s arms crossed her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 Makoto gripped his arm tightly, his nails digging into the skin. He knew better than to grab at himself like that, but confessing to his pain was next to unbearable. Even talking about it threatened to send him spiralling. “Just that I think this is something I need to lay to rest. Not just for me, but for Maizono-san, too. I want her to be able to sleep peacefully…”

 Her expression softened like well-loved leather. “Always thinking of others, Makoto. You really are the kindest person I’ve ever met,” She murmured, reaching over to cup his cheek with her hand, “Still. Are you sure that this is how you can help her? Maizono-san wouldn’t want you to do anything that might cause you to hurt yourself.”

 “If there’s some other way to help her, I don’t know of it.” Makoto mumbled awkwardly, leaning his face into Kyoko’s hand. It was sort of strange feeling her hand on his face; without her gloves her hands seemed so much rougher than he was used to. Not that he minded any. In a way, he almost liked that Kyoko’s hands were like that. It made her touch easy to distinguish from everyone else’s, and made him a lot more comfortable knowing that she was right there at his side. The only situation in which he’d ever want her hands to change was if that was what she wanted. “I think this is the only way I can really go about it.”

 Kyoko nodded thoughtfully, a half-smile playing at her face. “If you’re certain. Still, I ask that you let me know if we need to put an end to it. You know I’ll be swift in putting an end to the exercise.”

 “Of course.”

 With that, the two separated once more, both of them moving to continue to do away with their clothing. It didn’t take them long to strip down to nothingness, feeling the cool autumn air hitting their bare skin. For both of their sakes, Makoto tried to make not too much unnecessary eye contact. Kyoko seemed to care much less about it.  When they were done, Kyoko took his hand, and guided him towards the shower. Sweat coated Makoto’s palms immediately as they made the venture forth to the silver beast; his body suddenly feeling much too cold for his liking. Part of him wanted to run over and snag his clothes, put them all back on, and tell her that he didn’t want to do this after all. It would certainly be a lot easier than confronting his fears. Still, could he really convince himself to give up on his task when he was this close? He should award himself more faith than that, after all. Like trying a new food, there was no sense in giving up before the flavour hit. As frightened as he was, he wanted to at least try to bear it.

 Unfortunately, his desire to soldier through didn’t stop his body from reacting to the stressors. He practically jumped out of his skin the moment Kyoko turned the faucet; he’d always hated the low rumbling the shower made when it roared to life. It had been a while since he was close enough to hear it, but now that he was… he was suddenly reminded of how awful it was.

 “Are you okay, Makoto?” Kyoko asked, turning her head back to look at him. Her face looked so innocent as she blinked at him, her brows knitting themselves together ever so slightly. Her obvious worry made his stomach twist. How could he be so determined to overcome his fear if it concerned the woman he loved so greatly?

 Attempting to swallow around the lump in his throat, Makoto nodded. “Just got a little surprised by the sound, that’s all… We’ve got to wait for it to warm up, right?”

 She bit her lip, taking one long look at his expression. Without even having to use her words or much expression, he could tell she didn’t believe him. “Yes. It should warm up fairly quickly, though. We’ll be able to step in soon.”

 “Good, good…”

 It was not good. Not that he was going to tell Kyoko that.

 Anxiety spun his head like a vinyl record; he fought to keep his belly from churning. God, he just wanted to get this over with. Be a hero, conquer his fears, and then curl up in bed with his wife and snuggle her until his limbs stopped shaking. Every passing second was agonizing. He honestly felt as if he could cry when she told him that the water was finally warm enough.

 “Do you want me to go in first?”

 “It would probably make me feel a bit better if you did… Just like… take me by the hand and guide me in, please.”

 She smiled at him as genuinely as she could manage, her worry still seeping through ever so slightly. “I can do that.”

 He breathed a silent prayer as Kyoko’s hand found his own, slowly guiding him towards the shower. He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing his eyes shut, letting himself be lured into the trap by his lover. The moment the water hit him, he let out a gasp. Desperate to stay grounded, he found himself squeezing Kyoko’s hand for dear life. She took such care to ensure that the shower rain wouldn’t be too hot, yet it scalded his skin as he tried to adjust to the feeling. He almost cried out the moment it collided with him. The sensation could be compared to freshly boiled water being poured down his spine.

 “Just breathe,” she spoke so softly he almost missed it, her hand rubbing against his back to try and comfort him, “It’ll be okay.”

 It’ll be okay, he repeated to himself. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

 Adrenaline hit him in a crashing wave. It was as if a bubble had burst in his brain, soaking his entire being in paralyzing fear. Every part of his body suddenly seemed full of… something. What it was, he didn’t know. He only knew that he could feel it somewhere within himself, accompanied by a shooting pain somewhere in his chest. If he hadn’t known what the symptoms were like, he would have assumed that he was going to faint. This definitely wasn’t fainting, though. It was… something else entirely.

 All he could see was red. Red streaked on cold grey tile; the liquid having lost its warmth after spillage. A knife plunged into the depths of Sayaka’s belly, diving past her uniform and the protective layer of skin and muscle. How far did it pierce her stomach, one couldn’t help but wonder? How long was she in pain? Did she lay there bleeding out, praying that someone would come and rescue her? There were tear tracks on her face when they found her. She’d cried in pain. She’d sat there writhing in it, bleeding out – five minutes of bleeding out, Kyoko told him – with nobody to soothe her.

 He left her behind to die like that. He’d left her to die like that because he was too stupid to think about what she intended to do. If he’d stopped her, she’d still be alive. If he’d been smarter, or braver, or nicer, everything would have worked out for her. She’d have stood on Kyoko’s side at their wedding, hair curled and adorned in purple flowers. She would be positioned next to Aoi, looking absolutely beautiful in the soft material of her lavender dress. The gown would hug her curves in a way that would surely have made Leon talk, but she still wouldn’t be the most radiant woman in the room. He could picture the smile she’d give from where she was standing, silently wishing him a lifetime of happiness with the love of his life. She’d have been there. She’d have protected him from the harm of the shower’s rain, slicing through his skin like a blistering razor.

 “Makoto!”

 The image persisted behind his eyes, but the sound proved he could make out his own world. Sayaka’s death played on continuous loop like a movie; none of what was happening was real anymore. Water droplets having completed their race were not the same as Sayaka’s blood; there was no reason to see it as such. The grey tile had not been scrubbed white; it was the tile of his own home. The voice calling out to him was not his own frozen in a hellish scream; it was Kyoko’s. Shame seeped into his bones. Go away, he pleaded, I’m begging you to go away.

 Without any choice, his legs gave out, sending him falling to the floor. His knees would surely be bruised the next day.

 Kyoko didn’t kneel down to his level, not at first. Her hand instead went darting for the faucet, twisting it off as soon as she could. Only a twinge of relief washed over him as the pitiful rain dribbled to a stop, leaving him and Kyoko to bask in the new found silence. It made Makoto acutely aware of how sharp his breaths had become, with his body struggling to gather some sort of relief. He squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, how he prayed the darkness would swallow him whole to make this pain stop.

 He barely noticed when Kyoko knelt down on the floor, placing a gentle hand on his back. It wasn’t until her rough hand made contact against his skin… It wasn’t until that moment that he found himself anywhere close to okay. Oh god, he hoped she knew how much that meant. Even with his mind persisting at that image of Sayaka, the contact healed him like an EpiPen.

 “You’re experiencing a flashback, Makoto,” she murmured softly, tracing loops on his back. How could she sound so steady at a time like this? Jealousy at her coolness pricked him. What he wouldn’t give to experience it anywhere but between images of Sayaka, blood leaking from the side of her mouth.

 “Sayaka’s dead,” was all he could utter. No “help me”, no “hold me”, no “I need you to do this for me” … Just an admission that his dear friend was very much dead.

 “She died, but she didn’t die here. It was years ago, Makoto.” The circles she drew between his shoulder blades slowed down. She hoped for him to focus on the sense of touch. “You remember that, don’t you? And you remember that you didn’t have any control over what happened to her. She didn’t blame you for what happened.”

 He didn’t answer. Just kept staring aimlessly at the tile, wishing it would be the way he remembered it. The way it looked when Kyoko had just finished taking a shower. God, he’d have done anything to be able to breathe in the scent of her cherry blossom shampoo, rather than the vague stench of copper.

 “Do you feel my hand on your back, Makoto?”

 He licked his lips, blinking slowly. “I do.”

 “It’s rough, isn’t it?”

 “Very.” He muttered.

 “Just try to focus on that roughness as my finger moves. You can feel me there, can’t you?”

 “Yeah, I can.”

 “Good,” she outstretched her other hand so he could see it, her golden wedding band flickering at him, “Now look at the other. It’s kind of funny-looking, isn’t it?”

 “Like hamburger meat.” He murmured, not thinking about how that might insult her. His mind was too far into its loop to consider it. His body trembled as he tried to ground himself there on the tile; nausea prodding at him to have its way.

 To his surprise, Kyoko laughed. Not a full, hearty laugh like he could usually stir from her – but a laugh nonetheless. “I suppose it does sort of look like that. What I want you to focus on, though, is the colours. How many different colours can you pick out when you look at my hands? Remember, undertones count too.”

 His eyes wandered across her hand, observing it carefully. Naturally, red was the first colour that came to his mind. Red like blood, red like fire, red like a poisonous animal. The red on Kyoko’s hand was an inky layer sandwiched between lighter and darker hues, skirting about midway along her palm, it danced so close to her knuckles. From there, the colours faded into a deeper crimson, then to a brown, until finally they reached a blackened shade at the tips of her fingers. It was only below the streak of red that he could see pink, like apple snail eggs. So close to being warm and rosy, but a sign of damage nevertheless.

 “There’s… red, and brown, and pink… black, crimson…”

 “Crimson? It sounds like you’re getting a little excited with your colour comparisons there. Good for you. Just keep listing the ones that come to mind.”

 “Um… I guess there’s a bit of umber in there… maybe some charcoal?”

 She nodded. “Good. Now, do you know what day it is?”

 Makoto blinked once. Twice. Three times. His breaths still felt much too laborious, but in a way, he felt like things were almost getting clearer. Like he’d been freed from suffocation in ash. “It’s… the tenth of September, right? Autumn?”

 The circles continued as she cracked a small smile. “Good, good. Now can you rub your hands together for me? I want to get you a towel to dry off with. It will keep you warm while I do.”

 Once again, he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her, just nodded and started rubbing his hands together for friction. He couldn’t bring his eyes to follow her as she pushed herself to her feet and strode out of the shower, tugging his fluffy white towel off the rack. Focus rested on the heat generating between his hands, he almost didn’t notice when she returned and draped it over his shoulders. His movement screeched to a halt the moment it connected with his body; god was it a soft towel. Taking hold of both corners, he pulled it over himself as much as he could manage. They definitely needed to keep buying whatever fabric softener they were currently using.

 Kyoko slowly lowered herself to sit at his side once more, returning her hand to the same position it had been on his back. It was true to say that he could no longer enjoy her rough skin against his own, but the pressure of her presence still made him a bit renewed.

 “Are you okay, Makoto?” Though he couldn’t find the energy to meet her face, the concern coated her voice. It wasn’t difficult to picture her lowered brows; her mouth curved into a hesitant grin in hopes of offering solace.

 His shoulders quirked, and he leaned himself into her. By now she must have known how badly he needed her; he figured she wouldn’t mind if he cuddled up. Touch always rejuvenated him when he grew melancholic or distressed. Hers, especially, brought him a comfort unlike any other. “Honestly… no. I’m not.”

 Kyoko scooted closer to him, and pushed his head so that it would rest on his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

 “No,” the answer came much faster than expected, “Not right now, anyway.”

 “That’s fine. I don’t expect you to be okay. We can talk whenever you would like,” she paused for but a moment, carefully scrutinizing his face, “Is there anything I can do?”

 “I don’t think so.”

 He could tell she was frowning now. “That’s a shame.”

 Makoto quirked his shoulders once more. “It’s okay. You’re already doing everything you can, and I appreciate that. All I really need right now is your company.”

 Cautiously turning her head towards his, she pressed a kiss against his head. Her hand rested on the top of it, stroking his hair ever so gently. A miniscule happiness swelled within him at the sensation. He was a lucky man, who had a woman who cared about him so much. “I think I can manage that.”

 Though it was hard, he did everything he could to push a smile. It must have been awfully weak, but he hoped she could appreciate it nonetheless. “Thank you, Kyoko… I love you.”

 “I love you, too. And I’m here for you anytime.”

 “Shower or no shower?” He joked, chuckling half-heartedly.

 “Shower or no shower. I’ll love you, always.”

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Resentment Ch. 1 (Ethan x MC)

Summary: After 2 months of not seeing each other, Ethan and Naomi do not have a pleasant reunion.

A/N: So...I’ve been writing this for the past 2 weeks. Open Heart 2 is ripe with angst and untapped drama. Tbh, this is my 5th draft, and I kept deleting and writing, and deleting and re-writing this, and I had to step away multiple times, as this was probably be one of my more draining fics to write. But anyway, if you’re still reading this long winded ass note, thank you lol. And enjoy, as always!

Tags: @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @doroshi-desu @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @dr-nancy-house @adrian-motherfucking-raines

~v~

Seeing Ethan Ramsey again nearly knocked the wind out of her. It feels like she saw a ghost. But here’s here, at Donahue’s, strolling through the garden as if this is any other night. As if he didn’t disappear off of the face of the earth for 2 months.

Naomi didn’t plan on having such a visceral reaction to seeing him, but she has little to no control over her body these days. Her heart speeds up, beating twice as fast, a cold sweat breaks out, starting at her forehead, and there’s the flip of her stomach and unmistakable taste of bile rising in her throat.

‘Do not throw up,’ she silently begs herself. ‘Do not throw up. Please, keep it together, Valentine.’

The chant doesn’t work, the nausea hitting her hard, like a wave crashing against the shore. She jumps out of her seat, ignoring the looks of confusion from her friends, and makes a beeline to the restroom, pushing past the other patrons at the bar. She barely makes it into a stall before she’s on her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach into a dirty public toilet.

Naomi isn’t sure how long she’s like this, embarrassingly clutching the toilet, but a knock at the stall door breaks her out of her trance. “It’s occupied!”

“It’s Sienna,” the voice on the other side says softly. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.”

The door swings open slowly and Sienna attempts to squeeze into the small space. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages to make it work.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Naomi mumbles weakly. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

“Yes I did,” Sienna argues. She helps Naomi to her feet and pulls at the roll of cheap toilet paper. She bunches it up and wipes the corner of Naomi’s mouth. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

“I feel like I’ve just seen one,” Naomi quips back. “Let’s just say I did not expect to see Dr. Ramsey here tonight.”

“You didn’t know he was coming back?” Sienna asks. “I thought you two were close.”

Naomi thought they were close too. But she got ghosted. It was jarring, going from sleeping with Ethan and openly flirting with him, to him being her boss again, to him disappearing and cutting off all communication within a span of 3 days. “I thought we were too.”

“How do you think it’ll be, working with him tomorrow?”

“I have no idea what to expect,” Naomi replies honestly. “Hopefully the rest of the team is nice.”

Sienna lifts Naomi up, helping her stand on her feet again. They exit the stall and Naomi washes her hands furiously like she’s about to perform surgery.

They walk out of the bathroom, Sienna with a protective arm around her friend’s waist. The rest of their friends are now inside, at their usual booth.

They all stare at Naomi, and she hates it. Now they’re probably going to think of her as the weirdo who threw up upon seeing her boss (an ex-lover, though not everyone is privy to that information).

“You just missed the wildest shit,” Bryce says, almost breathless. “Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Thorne nearly got into a fight!”

That was the last thing Naomi expected to hear. “What?”

“Thorne was being a real creep, and he tried to feel up some young girl. He touched her and she broke his hand!” Elijah exclaims. “He got loud and rowdy, he pushed her down, and Ethan came out of nowhere, swooping in like freaking Batman. I thought he was going to snap Thorne’s neck at one point.”

“Where is the girl?” Naomi asks. 

“She ran out of here as soon as she could.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Naomi murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Are you okay?” Bryce asks. “I’ve never seen you get sick before.”

“Whatever virus is fermenting in your body, please keep it away from me,” Jackie says, not even giving Naomi the chance to respond.

“Jackie!” Sienna tsks in annoyance. “Have some compassion.”

“She’s either drunk or it’s the stomach flu,” Jackie says with a shrug. “She’ll survive a little teasing.”

“It’s okay, Sienna,” Naomi insists. She loves her friend’s protective nature, but it really isn’t necessary. “You don’t have to go into mother hen mode.”

“Fine. But I’m making you soup after work tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Reggie announces last call, and the gang starts talking about their post-bar plans. Be it getting food, going downtown, or just going home. Naomi drowns out the conversation as her eyes settle onto Ethan. His back is turned to her and Naomi notices that he’s the only one left at the bar while Reggie is cleaning up.

“Does last call not apply to you?” Naomi asks, getting his attention.

“Reggie and I go way back. We have an arrangement,” Ethan says simply.

“An arrangement.” Naomi rolls her eyes as she repeats the words. “Is that what you call a friendship?”

“I don’t have friends. But...I wouldn’t mind you joining me if you were so inclined.”

Naomi weighs her options. She can go home and put this night behind her, or she can stay out with Ethan. And actually talk to him.

She turns back to her friends. “You guys go on ahead. I want to check in about tomorrow with Dr. Ramsey.”

She doesn’t believe that excuse for one second. And if her friends don’t believe it either, they don’t say anything. Sienna just tells her to not stay out too late, before they all leave, going their separate ways.

Once they’re gone, Naomi joins Ethan at the bar. She looks at, really looks at him. He’s still the same handsome guy, just more...rugged. He’s much more tan than she remembers, it looks like he’s gained weight—muscle, not fat—and he’s sporting an entirely new look.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey,” she muses.

Ethan looks down at his green jacket, a vast departure from the sweaters and button ups he usually wears.

“This jacket’s been through a lot with me,” he explains, toying with the sleeve.

“I like it.”

She doesn’t miss the way he perks up at the compliment, almost as if he was hoping she’d say something. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Duly noted. And the beard?”

Ethan doesn’t know why he needs her stamp of approval so badly, but the validation she gives him feels nice. He likes to know that she thinks he looks good.

“It looks good on you,” Naomi answers honestly. Ethan scratches the beard, his fingers flying towards it unconsciously at her words. He nods, soaking in her praise.

“I’ve gotten used to it.”

Naomi looks around as an almost awkward silence settles between the two of them. She’s now actively aware of the fact that it’s just the two of them, alone.

“Why don’t we move this outside?” Ethan suggests, some of the tension dissipating. “It’ll be winter before we know it. Might as well enjoy the weather while we can. You want something to drink?”

Naomi’s stomach flips at the mention of alcohol. “You know what I want? A cup of ice water.”

Ethan’s eyebrow quirks up at the answer. They’re in a bar and she wants...water? He shrugs but heads behind the bar, nonetheless. Grabbing a Pilsner glass, he fills it to the top with ice and he also finds a bottle of water. He hands them off to Naomi. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” They make their way outside. It’s so quiet now that everyone is gone. It feels peaceful. Ethan drops down in a chair near the fire pit and Naomi joins.

“I can see why you like it here.”

“Because nobody’s annoying me?” Ethan jokes.

“More or less,” Naomi concedes. “It’s peaceful.” Ethan nods in agreement. “So...how was it, being in the Amazon?”

“It was quite the experience. It kept me on my toes.”

“Fighting an epidemic in a different country sounds...thrilling. And scary. You’re brave for doing it.”

Ethan snorts. Naomi always manages to see the best in him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. “That wasn’t bravery.”

Naomi looks down at her lap. “You didn’t keep in touch. Two whole months without any form of communication seems extreme, don’t you think? Especially after everything that’s happened with us?”

“Everything that happened between us is exactly why I didn’t contact you.”

“192,” Naomi says. 

“Huh?”

“192. That’s how many times I’ve called you in the past 2 months. I also sent 75 texts and 30 emails. You could have responded to at least one of those.”

Hearing the numbers out loud makes Naomi feel ridiculous, like a stalker. And Ethan just feels...awful. He remembers his chest going tight every time he saw her name flash across his screen. He remembers the restraint it took him to not call her back, or reach out in any way. He needed to stay away. It was for the best, for both of them.

“Naomi, if we’re going to work together on the diagnostics team, we need a fresh start. Your professional development is too important to jeopardize it with whatever...what is was that we had.”

Ethan probably would’ve been better off taking this glass of ice water and throwing it in her face. The callousness in his voice chilled her to the core. “That’s how you’d describe it? As ‘whatever’?”

Ethan sighs heavily. Of course his relationship with the younger woman meant something to him, but if he was going to be her boss, they needed boundaries. There had to be a line.

“Pouring my heart out to you on multiple occasions and vice versa, secretly saving our boss’s life, you bringing Mrs. Martinez’s son to my ethics hearing, the sex, it all just culminates to a...whatever. What? Is what we went through just a casual experience in the life of Ethan Ramsey?”

“Of course not, but Naomi, I can’t go down this road with you again. We need to have a reset if things are going to work.”

She doesn’t know why the word ‘reset’ makes her laugh, but it does. She laughs, hard, almost maniacally, until her sides hurt and she can barely breathe. Ethan says nothing, staring at her in confusion.

“You know what, Ethan? Fuck you.”

That catches him off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear. Fuck. You. You’re a coward. And a runner. You run at the slightest hint of something being hard, or if you have to face your own emotions and vulnerabilities. You run off, drinking yourself silly and keeping your head in the sand, and then you come waltzing back as if nothing happened, but guess what? Life still happens. There is no reset, no do-overs, no pauses. Time still moves forward.”

Tears prick the corners of her eyes and she wills herself to not cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve any more of her vulnerability. She doesn’t know why it hurts so much, but it does. The idea of him moving through life as if what they shared was minuscule and insignificant burns. It causes a sharp ache in her chest she didn’t realize she had the capacity to feel.

“While you were in South America, ignoring the almost 400 pieces of correspondence I sent, I was still here, still dealing with shit, still caring about you, worrying about you and your safety every fucking day. I don’t have the luxury of turning my feelings on and off whenever I see fit, and I don’t get to delude myself into thinking I can turn back time.”

How many times are they going to play this game before she realizes she’s always going to be the loser? She and Ethan get close, he rejects her but leaves just enough space and opportunity to keep her hanging on.

Naomi wraps her arms around her midsection and slightly curls into herself. Not even her own embrace is soothing at this point. The rejection stings, and she feels...stupid. Why does she keep holding out hope for Ethan, hoping he’ll want her the same way she wants him? Why does she keep coming back, waiting diligently like a little puppy, nipping at his ankles for the slightest bit of attention? Maybe she’s just a glutton for pain.

“If you want to hit the reset button, you can do it by yourself. I’m not playing that game with you.” Naomi abruptly stands up, clutching onto the back of her chair for stability. “Goodnight.”

Panic settles in his chest. He doesn’t want things with her to end like this, with her hating him. He wants her to stay. He wants to take back everything he just said. “Naomi, I–”

“Save it!” Whatever he’s about to say, whatever line it is that’ll feed her just enough false hope to keep hanging on, she doesn’t want to hear it.

After gathering her belongings, she turns on her heel, looking for the exit. Her entire body is rigid, defensive and ready to strike at any given moment, and she feels like she’s going to throw up again, which is something she truly does not have time for.

She’s fully prepared to walk away from him with whatever shred of dignity she still has, but she stops herself. She turns around, facing Ethan again.

“I called you a lot while you were gone. I left countless voicemails until your mailbox was completely full. Did you listen to any of them?”

“I haven’t listened.” Ethan feels ashamed by the answer, and he refuses to meet her big doe eyes, opting to look at the ground.

Naomi doesn’t dwell on the answer. She shakes off the hurt, and powers through.

“Last Wednesday, at 5:21 am, I called. You obviously didn’t answer, and I left a message. I’ll set the scene for you because I’ll never forget the moment. I was sitting in my bathtub, crying, almost hysterically. It was the type of crying that gets Meryl Streep and Viola Davis Oscar nominations, the kind that makes you feel sick to your stomach. But I live with 3 other people, so I had to sob into a face towel until the worst of it passed. And then I called you. Logically, I knew you probably weren’t going to answer, but I figured one last Hail Mary couldn’t hurt so I did it anyway. 

In the voicemail, I practically begged you to talk to me. To answer at least one of my calls. It was so...desperate. And pitiful. The old Naomi would rather get buried alive than to ever be so emotionally available and needy, but I didn’t care. In that moment, I needed you, I needed solace that I thought only you could give me, but I know now that it won’t happen. You’re way too emotionally stunted and unavailable.”

She inhales, something shaky and full of vulnerability, and every bone in her body is screaming out to just shut the fuck up and turn away.

“But you didn’t answer, you didn’t acknowledge it, and I was just absolutely gutted,” Naomi continues. “Because had you answered that call, or called me back some time that day, I would’ve told you that I’m pregnant.”

With that confession, Naomi visibly deflates. It feels like a crushing weight has been lifted off of her chest.

But Ethan feels the exact opposite. Unable to move, he gapes at Naomi. “You-you’re what?”

“Pregnant. 9 weeks, 5 days. It’s the size of an olive at this point, and before you ask, yes, it’s yours.”

Paternity hadn’t even crossed his mind at this point. He’s still stuck on the fact that she’s pregnant. 

“So while it hurts to know what you want a reset, and to pretend we didn’t share anything, it is also literally impossible to do so,” Naomi says with a humorless chuckle. “But don’t worry, I’ve received the message loud and clear. See you at work tomorrow, Doctor. Oh, and congratulations.”

Ethan watches as she leaves, even though he calls her name, asking her to stay. His chest feels tight like someone is squeezing him from the inside, and he struggles to inhale. The revelation stifles him, and he can’t get his bearings.

Unable to do much else, Ethan falls back into his chair. Despite trying his damnedest to get things back on track, it feels as if he’s made everything so much worse.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Instead — Jason Todd x Reader (x Ex!Dick)

  SUMMARY: She talks about Dick Grayson like he is the sun, and she is the moon, starred-crossed lovers; her eyes light up whenever he is brought in a conversation, and she talks fondly of him (“Why? He broke your heart, dumbass” he asks one night, a little bit drunk on his couch. She is dancing all on her own, gorgeous like never before bathed by the moon. “Because I treasure him”, you answer, simplistic and yet raw, full of feeling). And if someone dares bad mouth him? She is the first one to stand up for him, say he is not like that, not like everyone thinks he is; she knows him better than anyone, and that no one can fight her about. They have history, and someone should make a study on them, because there’s chemistry whenever they go.     

   WORD COUNT: 3661.

  TW: Angsty with smut. I’m sorry ¿?¿?

  A/N: I tried writing something else, but this week has been particularly hard due to personal circumstances and this is all that came out. It started out as angst, and I was planning to take it to someplace even darker, but then the smut came along and-I’m a sucker for coming to love baby Jason. I don’t know if it should have a second part or not (maybe angst bc she goes back to dick or a fluffy and smutty one where they spend christmas together, idk). ENJOY!

 “You can come still.” Dick timidly almost adds, amidst the reigning silence of the living room.

           Everything has stopped moving. Jason was playfully sparring with Damian, Tim and you trying to help separate them in the chaos that was now the sofa. It was normal, familiar, a habit. But the moment the Thanksgiving lunch was mentioned, everyone stopped moving since it is the first year Dick and you are not together for the festivity. Everyone lowkey knew about it, but they tried to avoid it as much as possible. Specially the little birds, who you knew were fonder of you than they would ever admit. Not long before Dick and you had started going out, Jason and you became close (you were the two cynics, dark-humored and quick on the feet), so it was given that you were friends. The problem was now how to deal with your second favorite holiday of the year with the Wayne’s. The first always being Christmas, of course.

           “Oh, are you-are you sure?”. You are very confident, but this is something that you are very unsure about. Your voice trembles a bit at its end, but you cough like it’s because of the weather. It had always been special, since your family lived far from Gotham; you weren’t planning on visiting them, since they live across the ocean and the holiday wasn’t as popular in Europe.

           “You are part of this family, (Y/N); of course you can come.”

           “Good, because otherwise we were planning on moving lunch to hers.”  Jason interrupts, smirking almost, making Damian scoff, almost.

           “But she’s a mess in the kitchen!”

           “Well that’s what the catering service is for, you big-!“

           Everything goes back to how it was before, like nothing has happened; except that it totally doesn’t. Dick smiles, like everything is fine and that hurts you more than ever, because you know why he is okay with it, maybe as much as Jason. You getting back in the Manor had been a complicated task, but neither Jason nor Damian had given up, with simple excuses, white lies and “mandatory Netflix and chill sessions” (Jason, Tim and you had been laughing all evening when Damian had proposed so without actually knowing the meaning behind of it. He was so adorable with little things like that).  It’s not like you were still hurt because of the breakup, after all, it was quite mutual (even when it had terribly hurt once more, you were kind of hoping it anyways. This was the fourth time, after all). The thing was that there were one too many memories in the walls of Manor, as well as its rooms and dark corners. Sometimes, when you went alone to the guest bathroom, you could still feel his sneaky and cold hands in your waist, making you shriek – and his quick hand to your mouth, to shut you up, closing the door of the place as he trapped you against it.

           But what were you expecting really? This was the fourth time you had broken up. You had been at it since he confessed his real identity (the cause of your first breakup when he had not confided in you. With time, understanding came, and you tried again), and at this point, Jason, Tim and Damian just hoped it wouldn’t bring more “awkward” scenes like those whenever you saw each other at the Manor after the breakup. Dick tended to take refuge in Blüdhaven the first week, but then he always came back.

           And that always bothered Jason. It was like he wanted to see her, he needed to encounter her and still talk to her, as awkward as it could be. There was always probably there will always be, some kind of love in their eyes whenever they talked. And that he envied. (Y/N) had never looked at him like that, except with lust and with too many shots on.

           But this time it seemed different. (Y/N) seemed too uncomfortable and she could never quite look at him, which Jason didn’t understand. She had been so bold, so daring with him always; it as like he transformed into an entirely new person when he was with him. He hated it. Except this time, as well, he quickly understood why she was so sheepish: Barbara had entered the frame. He discovered it almost by accident, when you both were going for some drinks: you liked getting wasted in a famous bar in Gotham, maybe being hit up by different men, just as he was by different women. People used to think they were together until one of them started giving back attention to said person. Those were nights of whoring out, unless previously accorded that no one would leave the bar with someone else. Sometimes they liked having small chats in less frequented bars (Jason definitively did) and-and you had left the phone unlocked, staggering almost to the toilet. When he saw Dick’s last text, two weeks after you had broken up, he couldn’t resist: and yes, they had keep in contact, with shorter texts… Of course, to the exception of one. One fucking long one from Golden Boy himself explaining to her that he and Babs had given each other a go after some time… Followed by a sweet “I’m just giving her a chance. I still think of you at nights. Wanna call like yesterday?”.

           So of course, she feared the day, because that meant he was bringing Babs on. Between you and her honestly, he’d rather have you a thousand time more than her. She followed the rules too much and had little to no confidence in her own missions and action plans. She was too much of a follower and Jason resented her because of it: it was something personal, seeing as Timbers seemed to like her a bit more, given her ability to execute whatever actions were needed. But it wasn’t after all something he could decide on his own, and thus they were now both stuck with that knowledge.

           Dick had some girl problems of his own, but he had managed to keep them down for long enough. It was the first time, actually (that he knew of) that these both were going to encounter each other. And it was something Jason, personally, wasn’t looking forward to. He treasured his only ally in the house; since Roy and him had parted ways, (Y/N) had been the only one for him. And he had been trying really hard, seeing as he thought feelings would get in the way: but he has kind of come to accept that it’s never going to be that way with him.

           She talks about Dick Grayson like he is the sun, and she is the moon, starred-crossed lovers; her lights light up whenever he is brought in a conversation, and she talks fondly of him (“Why? He broke your heart, dumbass” he asks one night, a little bit drunk in his couch. She is dancing all on her own, gorgeous like never before bathed by the moon. “Because I treasure him”, you answer, simplistic and yet raw, full of feeling). And if someone dares bad mouth him? She is the first one to stand up for him, say he is not like that, not like everyone thinks he is; she knows him better than anyone, and that no one can fight her about. They have history, and someone should make a study on them, because there’s chemistry whenever they go. Everyone always thinks they are flirting, and they are just as surprised to find out that they are no longer together (Such a pity! They look so good, Jason once heard Kane murmur under her breath).

           But this time is different, she is left behind.

***

           “I mean, the worst is over.”

           “I know, just take me far, Jay. I want to go.” And nothing else needs to be said once lunch is done and everyone is settling down on the sofa. They are not staying, and they made so apparent by taking a red helmet; not for him, of course.

           Dick presses his lips into a fine line.

***

           “No, what I’m saying is…! What-What if I never find anyone like him, Jay? What if he IS the One?”

           “You know the concept of “The one” is just made up so that girls-“

           “Yes, Jason Peter Todd, I know very well the patriarchal concept of it, it’s just-! They look so good together. And Dick was so calm, they were so chill. They were not bothered, like it had been happening so long… I know Dick would never cheat, but we’ve never had that.”

           “Babs has always been really close to the family. Their breakup was horrible, that’s why you two never cross paths but before she used to spend Thanksgiving with us as well. Then she met someone else and-you know” He makes a simple motion with his hands, like all is said and done, but it’s not enough for her it seems. “I’m just saying that she was a wreck as well her first year, but we are family. Vigilante stuff and everything.”

           Yeah, the one thing she has always been kind of resentful about. Not because she wanted to be one, but because she never belonged to that interior and private group. Even Jason, as close as they were, kept her at an arms distance from details. He was not fully incorporated into the troupe, but he had been patrolling on their side for some time now. It made her really happy.

           “Yeah, yeah. It’s just that, and I know that you don’t believe in it, but what if Dick is the one for me but I’m not the one for him? You’ve seen me, I was… Wrecked the first time we broke up. And the second and third, hell. This last one I… I knew it was going to happen, eventually. I just didn’t know it would still hurt as much.” She clicks her tongue, both hands up quite quickly, like in a peace sign. “Okay, yeah, maybe not as much, but it definitively stung. And I know he hasn’t been with Barbara since before me but…”

           “Well-“

           There’s a silence, a beat. Jason’s heart drops. What is he doing? It’s like a babble, and he feels mean. He wants to hurt, he wants her to know. What good will it do now? Still, the words come out before she can mutter a thing, too in shock or maybe waiting for him to talk.

           “I mean, there was just THIS ONE time where I saw her early at dawn. I think it was your second time, I-“

           “Oh, fuck, I KNEW IT!”.

***

           “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” She mutters, drunk, maybe too drunk. Who gets drunk on Thanksgiving? They are both splayed on the floor of his apartment, instead of the carpet, mere inches from their bodies. But moving takes too much movement, and they are not going to do that. “I’m always talking about him, I must sound like a broken record, it’s just that it helps.”

           “What helps?”. He asks, sluggish.

           “You. You always help.”

           She turns around, lazy and with difficulty like a seal, until her cheeks are against the coldness of the apartment. He imitates her, looking at her closely, both faces separated just by centimeters.

           “You help me without hesitation. I know you, I see you, Jason Todd.” She confidently says, even when he can swear some of her words are gibberish after that. He thinks she might be listing the times he has helped. “… And most importantly, I love you. I love you a lot.”

           There’s silence in the apartment. They are not particularly fond of hugs or cute things; (Y/N) has had a childhood where she was not given much affection, and Jason as much as he loved her mother, can understand that. They are not used to caring, sweet or strong words like that. But he surprises himself as he says it back like it’s natural, and he repeats it. Again and again, like it’s a prayer, something that must be said. And she corresponds.

           They lock lips and he knows it’s over.

           Whatever thing they might have it’s over, because the only way this is ending is with a broken heart. He is not the one with good things, beautiful things that stay; he is not the golden boy or the understanding one (like Dick, with whom (Y/N) had a dream a couple of days ago. They were still together, happy). He is not the calm and logical, collected (like Tim, who he came to slowly understand, admire, as much resent as he had once for him. (Y/N) always goes for him for “practical” solutions). He is not like Damian in the least, particular and much more mature than he was at his age. So why would she choose him, if not by pity, being the closest one?

           Jason is twenty, and she is twenty-two. It is thrilling in a way, while he takes off her clothes with a regained force, almost desperation in her movements (what if she is sober again and stops moaning like that, offering him her neck like a female to mate?). He loves to unravel her, discover the timid place in her thighs which he almost has to open by force; he never quite imagined her shy, not in his wildest fantasies, but red is an adorable shade in her cheeks, and he only gets turned on by the slight resistance of her thighs, the way she is on her back, legs opened and trying to cover herself, her core. Her fingers are small, like everything else in her body, but they manage to hide his precious Eden from him, which he doesn’t appreciate.

           If it’s going to be a night followed by an awkward distancing, he is going to fucking get it.

           Pushing her legs back to her chest almost, slightly, trying to see resistance, her core gets discovered by the surprise, and he launches onto it like a hungry man: he laps, tongues it inside and discovering it. It is tight, drenched and slightly salty: he discovers to his own surprise that the more he seems to eat, the wetter it gets, until it’s absurd almost. She is covered in her own lubricant, and he is amazed by the taste, the wiggling, the moans and the pulsing of his own cock, strained in his pants.

           She is completely naked, and almost mewls for him to do the same, to which he teasingly obeys. He makes a slow striptease, and her hands are all over him, clearly making him know that he wants it as badly – he could cum alone from the sound she makes as his fingers open her, on fours on the floor with her legs as far as they can go so he has space to discover, touch.

           “Jay, Jason!”. She pants, almost too gone from that alone, his fingers rediscovering places he thinks she might not have reached before. Or even Dick. He is quite proud of that, seeing her state against the floor, moving her hips towards him and struggling almost to breathe. “Jason please! I’m so horny, I want you so bad!”

           Her forehead sticks to the ground, moaning against the floor: he thinks his neighbors will forgive him in due time. It’s been long since he brought someone else home, and thus, he can’t be as dedicated as he would like to. More so when her own lubricant is dripping from her thighs and her back arches perfectly against him. They fit, like a perfect puzzle, as he on his knees grabs her by the hips and presses his own hardness to her wet entrance. It almost slips inside at times, almost making her completely bent over. She needs something to grip onto, and after a couple of times giving up on the air and floor, Jason takes her by the neck, not leaving an inch between their bodies as he slides inside. And then she feels it and her arms, like flowers to the sun, wrap themselves around his neck.

           They kiss like they have been doing it for ten years, but they fuck with the desperation of a one-night stand, swearing and sweating together, body against body, and moaning each other names from time to time. Profanities, skin slapping sounds, wet drips – all that’s heard until one of them comes. They change positions and again they go, until one of them crumbles to the floor just so that they don’t have to force their own knees as much. She gets dragged onto his mattress, and they keep at it until they can’t anymore. There’s a blue glow in the city outside, and they are both panting, still slowly rutting against each other: he is inside her, too sensitive to move, almost keeping it warm. His hand slowly grabs her thigh, the fat on it, caressing it like it’s art. She kisses him slowly, tensing up as he gets out and lets it all spill onto the bed. They fall asleep like that, looking at each other’s eyes, like they are in love. But the night is done, and the first warm ray enters the room. It’s time to wake up.

***

           It doesn’t stop there. There are no rules, no limits. They are having breakfast and she is taken again against the cold marble counter, nipples hard and leaving her own underwear wet, uncomfortable. He fingers her until they can’t anymore, and they forget to eat, too much of a secondary task. She takes him in the shower, entering and against the wall, water covering both of them (It gets risky, but they are both very much into it, gasping and clenching on each other like they are the last people on Earth, they will vanish. She thinks she might as she cums with him inside, relentless and making her squirt. He has never been more turned on.)

           They say goodbye with a sweet kiss, like they are finishing it – but three days later, at the Manor, they silently fuck in the sofa, which is in direct view with the entrance if one is to open the door. They don’t close it at all and she cums three times (once laid on the floor as he drinks her, and another on top of him, completely nude and bracing him, looking the door directly, too nervous and too excited at the same time. The third is brutal, and is when they think they hear keys, too involved in their pleasure, too far gone from rationality. Like they want to be caught.) They promise each other that is it in public spaces, but then they fall right into it as they are having an improv dinner on the roof one of Gotham’s highest buildings. It’s exhilarating, and it’s been a guilty habit of hers since she discovered their identities. She loved tall buildings, looking down and feeling the adrenaline in the tips of her toes as she leans over the border (Jason has always been the one to let her go as far as she pleased. Dick always grabbed her by the waist). They fuck against one of the corners, lights underneath them alive, bright, just as his eyes as he looks at her. She feels safe in his arms. Nothing will happen.

           Until they do get caught by none other than Tim Drake himself.

           It really isn’t something big or scandalous, as naked as they feel they are (her in a satin pajama, him in some grey cotton sweatpants); they are just making out in another sofa, almost near the entrance, too lazy to go up the stairs; the angle is different, and instead of the entrance, it goes directly to the kitchen. The only thing on is the fire, and it’s almost romantic if not because of his hard-on and your obscene moans – that is until two blue eyes catch her. She has to cover her own mouth to stop herself from screaming.

           “F-!”. It’s the only thing that leaves her, his body instantly acting as a blanket from the world, pinning her against the sofa. If they were naked, that would have do it. “Fuck, fuck fuck!”. She repeats herself over and over in a low voice, as Jason looks over the sofa and locks eyes. You will never know what look Jason gives Drake, but it seems to scare him off.

           “I’m not going to say anything to anyone!”. She is too embarrassed to look over the sofa, but the way his voice trembles doesn’t escape her. “But fuck, you should tell Grayson. He’s not-oh, fuck, he’s not going to be happy. And please, please tell me you haven’t-haven’t-you know, the sofa-“

           “Just go, voyeur!”

           ***

           You should, you know you should but not talking about it with Jason and just murmuring into each other lips “I love you” works; it makes you happy, less anxious and relaxed like never before. You fuck, you have small dates and everything is simple with him. You laugh into his neck, and his big arms make you feel protected at night when he stays (he isn’t going on patrol as much, and that makes you incredibly happy). He is sweet and caring; you spent nights with your legs intertwined under the duvet reading different books, but reading out loud your favorite quotes, or something you find funny. You are drugged on the feeling of happiness he gives you, but are you really giving it back to him? Do you love him like he does? Because you know he does, when he looks at you with his gorgeous eyes, when he grows anxious in big crowds and immediately grips your hand like it’s home.

           You turn around in bed.

           “Hey Jaybird?”

           “Hm, what?”

           “I have to tell you something.”

[whatapunk]

Holy butts I wrote a second chapter!! I am soooo thankful for everyone who liked or reblogged the first chapter because truly, truly, truly you gave me more motivation than you could possibly realize! 

A couple things: 

I’ve included dialogue from the s02e01 scene where Kanan and Hera have a very Han/Leia hallway argument and I definitely don’t want to take credit for such things (I only wanted to add it to help me with my flow a bit)

Right now I’m firmly trying so very hard to fit it perfectly into canon (it’s just something I like doing, idk) but eventually it might go a lil more AU, I just haven’t decided yet

This shit had me on wookieepedia searching the most random stuff, but rest assured, there is garlic in the Star Wars universe

Enjoy!

Title: Endings

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla; Kanan Jarrus/female OC

Rating: t for now, m in future chapters (I'm guessing) for language and some non-explicit intimacy

Word Count: 2446

Previous Chapters: Ch. 1

Chapter 2

Kanan sat on the step ladder leading up to the Liberator’s control panels. His presence was a silent mark of informality in the middle of the crew’s debriefing meeting with Commander Sato. The rest of the crew, plus Ahsoka, stood around the holo-console in the middle of the floor. Sato was saying something about the Ghost crew- his crew- but Kanan was barely half listening. For one, every other word that came out of Sato’s mouth was some military formality and, thus, not something that interested him in the slightest. But the main reason he wasn’t listening was that Rhia Denley’s image was still burned into his thoughts.

Seven years. When you hadn’t seen someone in this galaxy for seven years, you started to assume you never would again. At least, that’s how Kanan had felt. 

However, suddenly she was here again- she existed again, something Kanan had tried hard to convince himself wasn’t even true. It was easier to convince himself she was something he’d imagined than for him to remember her and the way she’d crushed his young heart years ago. Besides, thinking about that heartache had always made him feel guilty once Hera was in his life. Now, however, he was feeling so many things he didn’t even have room for guilt.

What he did have room for was a hefty amount of bitterness, and for more than one reason. First of all, he was already bitter before Rhia showed up; he’d hardly hidden his feelings and had become almost spiteful about how they had been sucked into a military operation. But even that wasn’t totally separate from his thoughts about Rhia.

Rhia and Kanan had become a “thing” on Gorse, very soon after Kanan had set up what passed as a life there. Their meeting was by chance, but they had run into each other briefly when he was even younger and worked with a smuggler named Janus Kasmir. It was actually Rhia who told him about low-profile jobs on Gorse then, so he wasn’t altogether surprised that she ended up there eventually too. While he wasn’t much more than a kid when they first met, when they reconnected on Gorse, he was older and far more interesting to Rhia. They quickly became infatuated with one another for the better part of four months, which was practically a lifelong commitment to Kanan. Before Hera, Rhia was the longest relationship he’d ever been in. 

Rhia, however, had bigger goals than being a bartender’s girlfriend and working as a miner on Cynda. Rhia, much like Hera, was interested in the Rebellion. She’d made this clear early on, but she didn’t try to preach to Kanan, and he’d liked that about her. However, once she’d found a connection to a group of Rebels on the Holonet, she had tried- more than once- to get him to come with her. That’s what made running into her here, of all places, all the more exasperating and awkward. He’d ended up here anyway, despite his countless protestations- and he didn’t even want to be.

Seeing Rhia again reminded him, among other things, of all of the reasons he told her he didn’t want to join the Rebellion. And that reminded him that they were all still true.

Kanan heard Sato say something about the Spectres being “invaluable,” and then suddenly Chopper burst into the meeting, much to Commander Sato and Hera’s dismay. He was going on about an emergency incoming transmission, and, frankly, Kanan welcomed the change. His bitterness with this situation, this Rebellion- this meeting had reached its peak.

***

Less than ten minutes later, Kanan’s bitterness had already gotten him into trouble, and with Hera, no less. 

After telling Chopper to play his transmission during a “secret debriefing,” Hera had scowled at him for the rest of the meeting. He’d tried to rush out and get out of her line of fire once they were dismissed, but she’d caught him in the hallway and firmly let him know he wasn’t authorized to do that.

“Authorization! Procedure! That’s what’s bothering me!” he’d raised his voice, uncaring of the people that were attempting to walk past them as they argued. 

Hera put her hands up gently, sighing at having finally gotten him to drop the passive aggressive quips about their work lately. It wasn’t hard to guess what had been bothering him, but he was a grown adult who should be able to talk to her, of all people.

“All right. Talk to me,” she said, lowering her voice. Kanan sighed and did the same.

“After this mission, I want us to go back on our own,” he said firmly. “Fighting alongside soldiers isn’t what I signed up for.” At that, Hera frowned at him and shoved him into an open doorway, pointing a gloved finger in his face.

“You seem to be forgetting these soldiers helped save your life,” she said, looking at him with those big eyes that could be both demanding and softening at the same time. After that remark, he couldn’t meet them.

“And I’m grateful,” he started, “but that doesn’t mean I want to join their little army. When you and I started together, it was ‘Rob from the Empire, give to the needy,’ a noble cause. Now we’re getting drawn into some kind of military thing! I don’t like it.” 

Somehow Hera’s voice became more serious and more earnest.

“We are fighting a bigger fight, but it’s still the right fight,” she said, all but pleading with him to understand that they’d been fighting in the name of the Rebellion all along. Kanan wasn’t having it.

“I survived one war. I’m not ready for another one,” he said, turning away from her. She grabbed his arm. “I saw what it did.”

“To the Jedi?” she asked, almost whispering. He looked back at her.

“To everyone.” He left the doorway and continued walking down the hall, hearing Hera’s exasperated sigh behind him. 

Kanan loved virtually everything about Hera, even her flaws. She was incredibly stubborn, but since he was so go-with-the-flow, it never really got in their way. In fact, it practically complimented his own personality. She would get adamant and obsessed over something, and he would follow her anywhere and do anything she asked of him. At least, that’s how things had gone for them for the past seven years, right up until the formal Rebellion had rescued him from the Grand Inquisitor. Now it was suddenly a reality of Kanan’s world that he was part of a military operation and that could only lead to one thing: war. 

Hera had been familiar with war her whole life, but not in the same way Kanan had. He’d fought in battles as a young teen alongside his master, Depa Billaba and seen the realities of it all over the galaxy. Hera’s own world was war-torn, for sure, but her role in that war was far different than Kanan’s. For the first time since he’d met her, he felt like she was incapable of understanding him.

Kanan headed to the only place he really wanted to be right now: his quarters on Ghost. He felt like meditating, if only for the quiet. He lost himself in his thoughts there for maybe an hour, and eventually his sour attitude had at least subsided. He remembered his harsh tone with Hera and his obvious instigation of Chopper in the meeting. He still didn’t care about what Sato thought, but he felt bad for making Hera look bad. Now, it felt like such a childish thing to have done.

He left his quarters and, once seeing the Ghost was still empty, he went back out into the bay. It was less busy now, as most of the cargo that littered the area earlier had been taken elsewhere by now. His eyes scanned for Hera; he knew he should apologize to her. When he didn’t see her, or any of the Spectres, he set off down one of the hallways that he believed led to the commissary. He hadn’t taken the time to get to know his way around this ship (by design) so he honestly had no clue where to start looking for her. He’d gone pretty far without seeing anything resembling a commissary and was about to turn around when an amazing aroma hit him and made his stomach growl: garlic. 

Something told him to follow the smell, which led him down a corridor that opened up to a large galley. Standing in front of a pan sizzling on the stove, as Kanan had expected, was Rhia. She looked up at him, surprised, but then smiled.

“I should have known this would attract you,” she said with a smirk, then turned her attention back to the sizzling pan, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me here,” Kanan added, grabbing a seat at an empty table near the stove. “You know how I feel about your cooking.” She looked up and grinned at him.

“The same way everyone does,” she said, confidently. She left the pan and attended to a cutting board with what looked like an onion and some kind of pepper on it. 

Kanan’s stomach growled again. Rhia was an amazing cook and loved every piece of food he’d ever seen her hold. She only ever ate ration bars or drank nutritive milk when she absolutely had to. Otherwise, she kept her own stock of spices and quality ingredients and went well out of her way (and budget) to get fresh produce. Kanan’s mind drifted back to memories of watching Rhia cooking in her kitchen on Gorse. He remembered breakfast with eggs and some sort of mushroom, watching her move her hands skillfully around knives and pans and the ingredients, often wearing nothing but-

“So,” Rhia started, pulling Kanan out of his memory. “You finally joined the Rebellion.” Kanan’s brow wrinkled.

“What do you mean by finally?” he asked, already feeling himself becoming defensive. Rhia rolled her eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, slicing into her pepper, grinning.

“And no, I did not join anything,” Kanan said, putting extra emphasis on “I” and jabbing his thumb to his chest. She looked back up at him as she scraped ingredients from her cutting board to the pan. 

“That was Hera Syndulla, wasn’t it? Captain of the Ghost? You’re part of Ghost crew, right?” she pressed, confused. Kanan was more than a little surprised.

“You’ve heard of us?” Kanan asked, his vanity getting the better of him and nearly allowing a smile to creep onto his face. Rhia rolled her eyes again and laughed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kanan. I’ve heard of Captain Syndulla, not her first mate,” she joked, laughing more at the fall of Kanan’s expression. Then realization struck her. “Wait, are you the one we just blew up a star destroyer for?” Kanan grimaced.

“Yes, but that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell them to- and it was Chopper who-” Rhia held her hand up, seeing him getting defensive.

“Kanan, I don’t really know anything about what happened. I wasn’t here for it, I just heard about it. I was on a freighter headed to a rendezvous. I don’t even know who Chopper is,” she said, going back to her pan.

“He’s our droid,” Kanan said flatly. “Anyway, my crew performed the rescue. I was aboard Tarkin’s destroyer.” Rhia looked up at him again, this time a little more serious.

“What was that like?” she asked.

“Not fun.”

Rhia didn’t push the topic further. She grabbed a pan of noodles that had been sitting over to her right and mixed them into the skillet with some oil. Kanan was suddenly fascinated by the chipped edge of the table in front of him. 

Satisfied with the meal in front of her, Rhia reached into a cabinet behind her and pulled out two plates and then matched them with two forks. She set them out on the table Kanan was sitting at and then divided the noodles in half. Before she sat down, however, she went back to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses. When she set them down the table Kanan looked up at her, arching his eyebrow. She went to a backpack that sat on the floor behind the counter and pulled out a glass bottle with no markings and a familiar light brown liquid sloshing inside. She poured herself a drink, placed the mouth of the bottle over his glass and paused, looking at him, silently offering the drink. 

“I can’t think of what goes better with your dinners,” he said, and she poured. 

As soon as Kanan took a bite, his memories were triggered all over again. He was pretty sure he’d never even eaten this specific dish before, given her access to such a wide variety of ingredients. But it didn’t matter. Rhia’s meals were memorable for some sort of shared quality that bound them all together, even when they were drastically different. Not only that, but he realized how long it had been since he’d eaten, and how much longer it had been since he’d eaten something of this quality. For a few minutes they ate in silence, Kanan unavailable for any and all conversation. Eventually, Rhia spoke.

“So explain to me how you haven’t joined the Rebellion?” Kanan sighed, but the food had made him quite amenable to discussing just about anything. He did, however, take a drink before he replied.

“I didn’t know we were a cell. I didn’t know there were cells. Hera was the only one who spoke to Fulcrum and knew of the larger operation. I found out when I was… rescued,” Kanan ended quietly. Rhia could tell that being rescued and needing so much from so many, made him uncomfortable. 

“That had to be quite a shock,” she said, sensing the need for a new subject. “So you and Hera, when did you two meet?” she asked. Kanan looked at her, surprised. He could tell by the way she asked, she knew that they were together. Rhia gave him a “give me a break” look.

“Kanan, really- my ‘pilot’? Shit, I’ve seen explosions that were more subtle.” She chuckled and took another drink, emptying the glass. Kanan did the same. Rhia offered up the bottle again.

“Another?”

Kanan looked at it, hesitating. He hardly drank at all anymore, let alone like he did when they were living on Gorse. However, depending on where this conversation was going to go, Kanan felt like he would need something more than blood in his veins. 

“One more.”

[douwatahima]

Turns out I have some more feelings about the manga I finished yesterday. Not naming it so this doesn’t end up in the tags. Please don’t read this, lol. The fourteen year old version of me jumped out.

I think the thing that bugged me most about this last stretch of DN Angel is how much it felt like Yukiru Sugisaki was just...done with the whole thing. Like everything felt very rushed towards a specific, easy conclusion that didn't address a lot of the interesting pieces she had previously laid down.

Like, I remember reading those last few chapters before the eight year long hiatus and HOLY SHIT there was so much! The Dark/Risa relationship all of a sudden becomes an actual threat, not just to Daisuke/Riku, but to Daisuke himself! Satoshi completely lets his guard down around Daisuke, trusting that the person he loves will make this huge sacrifice for him, and when Daisuke refuses he POINTS A GUN TO HIS OWN HEAD. AND THEN WHEN HE GETS CAUGHT HE GOES OFF INTO THE FOREST WITH. THE. GUN!!! AND THEN!!!! RIKU FINDS OUT DAISUKE IS DARK!!!!!!!! IT'S WILD AS FUCK!!!!!!!!

And then we come back and a lot of this is immediately dealt with in a comedic fashion and we just move on. Dark and Daisuke don't talk about that Risa interaction. No one goes after Satoshi. Daisuke comes up with some excuse and Riku is satiated for now.

Then we got the whole dream circus arc. Which was honestly alright. I enjoyed Daisuke coming to terms with the fact that he cannot separate himself from Dark. They are one and the same, for better or worse. And honestly, at first I thought this arc was going to lead us somewhere interesting. Because if Daisuke and Dark now understand that they are a package deal, how do they deal with the whole Riku and Risa thing???? (The answer is they basically don't but I'll get there). I was 100% ready to love this arc and then they did...the thing and I...

Okay, look. Full disclosure, I've been a DN Angel fan since I was like, fourteen. It is linked to me in a way that can only happen when you're obsessed with something at the height of your awkward teen years. And the thing that continues to be my favourite part of the whole story is the relationship between Satoshi and Daisuke. They were my number one ship, not just at fourteen, but...honestly probably through all of my teen years. Like, remember when people used to make jokes on this website about someone asking about your otp and you pull out your binder of reasons? I literally made a Satodai binder. That's not a joke. They were it for me.

And, don't get me wrong, there was never a point where I honestly thought the manga was gonna have Daisuke leave Riku and end up with Satoshi. I dreamed about it, but didn't honestly expect it. BUT I loved the way the manga addressed Satoshi's feelings for Daisuke. This is someone who Satoshi treasures above all others. The person who makes him believe the world can be better. The person he would do ANYTHING for. Like, Satoshi LOVES him.

Which is why it's so frustrating to me that Yukiru Sugisaki decided it would be better for Satoshi to have a two second dream about Risa that changes all of his feelings instantaneously. Like, I'm not here to shit on Satoshi/Risa fans, and I'm happy y'all got your ship. Honestly. But, the two of them have barely spoken before this and then Satoshi has a dream and literally says, "oh I guess my feelings have changed now" like...two volumes before the end! AND THEN THEY DON'T EVEN TALK UNTIL THE VERY END OF THE SERIES. FOR WHAT????

It honestly just read to me as, the mangaka wanted to end the series and Satoshi continuing to be into Daisuke was too emotionally complicated to quickly wrap up so he loves Risa now. And hey, that clears up the whole Dark/Risa thing, right? I'll get to that.

ANYWAY, so then we jump into an elongated story about some past Niwa/Hikari drama which would've been fun if I hadn't been growing more and more confused as I noticed how few chapters were left and we were STILL ON THIS. Like, I love when DN Angel gives us fun new characters to talk about. Hell, the Freedert arc and the Argentine arc are two of my favourites. But, when you only have a limited amount of time...It just felt like this was something Yukiru Sugisaki was maybe sitting on for awhile so she didn't want to skip it, but she also wanted to finish the story as soon as possible so the ending comes IMMEDIATELY after which makes this whole arc feel...weird. Like...we could've spent our last few chapters on the characters we know and love but...instead...

Then we get to the endgame. So, quick poll, do we think the mangaka already had this ending in mind before the anime came out or do we think she decided to do the anime ending because she had no idea how to finish the story. I'm really not sure, but either way it felt soooo anticlimactic given that we've had the anime ending for almost 20 years. Like...what was I waiting around for if you were just gonna do the same thing????? And look, I honestly never finished the anime because I couldn't stand the way they chose to characterize some of my favourite characters (most notably Satoshi and Risa) and I'd read what the ending was and hated it lol. But I digress.

The thing about the ending that gets me most is that it all comes on so fast. Like, you wanna do the anime ending? Okay. Don't love the idea, but okay. BUT it all happens in like... 2-3 chapters. Like, all of a sudden the Black Wings is sucking up power from the artwork and, oh no, here comes Krad ready wreck shop. And then we, randomly at THE END OF THE MANGA find out Satoshi's adopted Dad is actually his real Dad and also he's a piece of artwork which makes Satoshi half a piece of artwork???? Why are you telling us this now???? Then Satoshi and Daisuke seal Dark and Krad into the Black Wings the end. Like...????? That's it?????

OH ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THE HARADA TWINS ARE MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY. HONESTLY PROBABLY BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE YUKIRU SUGISAKI FORGOT TOO SINCE THERE'S NO CLOSURE ON THAT?????? (Honestly, I'm laughing because I literally forgot about this fact until just now. AGAIN WHAT WAS THE REASON LMAO!!!)

Okay, so the story's done but where does it leave our favourite characters???

Daisuke and Riku have figured their shit out and are...presumably going to do long distance??? Idk, they never really address whether they're staying together or not as far as I can remember???? Like, this is the relationship I thought we would get the most closure on but ?????????

Risa just gets to be sad for awhile I guess. It's honestly so infuriating to me that we got this awesome moment before the hiatus where Dark asked Risa if she would love him no matter what and she says yes with her WHOLE CHEST and that's enough for Dark to almost, like, take over Daisuke's body permanently. Like, her love for Dark is as real as Riku's love for Daisuke but she's not allowed to have a happy ending like her sister. She gets to see Dark one last time where he kisses her and hopes she'll always be his best girl and then he flies off into the night while she begs him not to leave. Then, she gets to cry in the street, trying to remember him while everyone else is forgetting. Well, at least she has Satoshi, right????

But like, we don't even know if she likes Satoshi that way. There's been...no indication that she does as far as I know. And as he's hugging her, Satoshi is having these thoughts hoping she'll be able to remember Dark because he knows how meaningful he is to her. So their ending is LITERALLY Risa gets to be horribly heartbroken and Satoshi gets to pine for someone else who, at this point, doesn't love him back.

Like, once again not to shit on Satoshi/Risa fans but...is this the ending y'all wanted????? Because as someone who stans them both this just felt horrible. It reads as a feeble attempt to "pair the spares" (since in the story the mangaka wanted to tell, neither of them could be with who they originally loved) but, like, even then this is the saddest way to do that. OH! And once again, if Risa is moving, ARE THEY EVEN GOING TO BE TOGETHER????? Like, what are we supposed to get from this what is the REASON??????

And then there's Dark and Krad being stuck in the Black Wings for eternity. The biggest reason I didn't like this ending in the anime. Like, look. I get that you have to end your manga somehow. BUT if your plan was to reunite Dark and Krad in this way I don't understand why you would write a whole interaction, mere chapters before, having Dark say that that's the LAST thing he wants to do. HE SAYS THAT THEY AREN'T THE SAME ANYMORE AND THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO RETURN TO HIM. AND THEN HE'S FORCED TO DO JUST THAT. FOR. WHAT?????

Like, Dark isn't a villain. He's one of our main protagonists and has been this whole time. I get that in stories sometimes characters have sad endings. (I've already argued that I think both Satoshi and Risa's endings were bittersweet at best). But to have Dark say mere chapters before it happens that he categorically DOES NOT want to rejoin Krad and then force him to do just that feels like such a needlessly cruel thing to do to this character we're meant to love.

Once again, it just felt so much like Yukiru Sugisaki wanted to end the series as quickly as possible. I get her wanting to come back to it; she's kinda notorious for not finishing things so I get the impulse to just drive through and get at least one story done. But, it felt like so many things were skipped over or changed just because it made getting to the end goal easier and less complicated. Not addressing some of the cool shit she laid down before the hiatus, completely morphing Satoshi's feelings in a dream, writing off Risa's feelings for Dark, telling us all of the Satoshi backstory stuff at the last goddamn minute, giving Dark his worst nightmare as an ending, so many of these things done just to move things along towards a specific end goal as fast as possible.

Honestly, there's a part of me that wishes she hadn't come back and finished it at all. I was happy enough with the ending I had written in my head and would've preferred it to what we ended up getting ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway, to anyone who actually read this (and a part of me hopes no one does lmao) thanks for listening to me ramble. And if you're a Satoshi/Risa fan, uh, sorry I hated on your ship lol. You're cool.

[vr2]

haha anyways genshin must be on some wild fucking shit if they think theyre gonna try and drag out their main story for like 2 years. on god having like half a year between main chapters of its already weak spindly little story is like mindboggling decision i do not trust your storytelling skills at all to make any of the hype worth it but i also think thanks to the general playerbases inability to read they will continually feel disappointment at how poor genshins main story content is and how it is purveyed to the reader especially in comparison to the lore which is completely jarring in quality of delivery.

in the archon quest at the end of liyue chapter you get a lore dump from zhongli where he just stands there and gives you like 3 quest prompts about shit that exists for no reason other than idk “they needed to put the plot threads in there asap and they forgot they had an entire world to do it in” and then that mf disappears. forever. literally exiled from the overworld unless you pay like ninety quid to summon him on his banner. not to mention every single other npc you meet will never appear again outside of their instanced quests. it’s such a weird jarring end point that you’re left stranded in and its not only a frustratingly awkward delivery, it honestly just seems pointless. why couldn’t there have been an extended epilogue that involves talking to the npc character FROM inazuma, talking to beidou who is a pirate with an electro vision about idk ... travel and her ELECTRO vision being granted which is a feat she in known for in the lore of liyue folk. it could even be someone from the qixing like ningguang who surely would know about the status of foreign nations or keqing who has an electro vision and would absolutely have something to say about baal’s stance on things and her condescension towards humans. god it could still even be zhongli just space it out, let him invite us to dinner and chat over liyue cuisine and let inazuma come up naturally thgouh paimons huge appetite to eat new things. not only would the pacing be better, the plot threads be put in a way where you dont immediately forget them because they’re being rapidfire talked at you, but it would be a great way to make the character seem like theyre people with lives and not just trying to move the plot along and be on their way.

conversely, the story of arundolyn and rostam, the legends of mondstadt and the ordo favonius, the lion and the wolf, the building hints towards the cataclysm of khaenri’ah and what kind of nation earned the scorn of the gods -- its all slowly fed to you piece by piece linked through artifacts, world lore, in-game books, weapons and sometimes the world itself. you uncover things as you explore and the more thoroughly you explore - the more you discover! it’s rewarding, it feels natural and its some of the most fun you have piecing together stories and building out this strange world like some kinda anime historian and it encourages theorycrafting rather than a concrete set of events and characters being straightforward. its genuinely interesting that theres a whole society and cast of characters from the days of yore who are intimately connected with our current cast and the world we live in but also very much their own interesting characters who hold their own legacies and wills, carving them into the stars for ill or good.

its almost as if the main quest writers and the lore writers are completely separate, work on different floors and they dont ever meet because why ... why on earth would you deliver critical parts of the main story in such a blatantly poor way and make it have none of the nuance and intrigue as the worldbuilding? in a game that is designed for the express purpose of making people sympathetic and invested with characters to spend silly money on them? you think your paper thin story is going to let you do that? no gacha game is allowed to have storytelling subpar to the most average middle of the pack lightnovel and get away with being a gacha game. your story has to have at least a few moments where i am dazzled, daresay fucking delighted, at least a second where i have to stop and say ‘this is cool as hell’ or ‘FUCK ITS HAPPENING’ or else it is well and truly expendably worthless non-product! you have to be a little more ambitious than making some normie shit and try and make the story have a little heart! i dont doubt that they can do it, im sure there are talented writers there since i like a lot of the characterisations but man, let em free you need them no more than ever

the only thing i can think of that explains how watered down the story feels in comparison to lore, is a fear of making people ‘read too much’ in the main quests which honestly doesnt seem to be much of an issue to them. lanternrite wasnt that long but the sheer amount of npc dialogue feels staggering because its all ultimately ... inconsequential. we have no investment into these npcs and theres like 15 odd quests of it, it goes from cool world flavour text to genuinely feels like its taking up space all because they are trying to endear you to the lives of these generic npcs when you’d rather know like even one thing about chongyuns life and daily routine or xinyans performances. being able to see kaeya for one second even was the most fun and even then i was still disappointed cause its like bro? you didnt even let him do anything and it was JUST him? in the world there are so many characters explicitly referenced but never utilised and it makes their complete absence even more noticeable and frankly fucking baffling? not even fate episodes for all of our 12 SRs? actually nevermind, even the character stories are somehow unforgivably generic!

honestly i feel like the best event so far was the unreconciled stars event but by my standards it definitely felt like ‘solid gacha game event story’ with a touch of something more interesting with the inclusion of scaramouche’s lore insight. i was hoping this his how events would be in genshin, i really thought that this was the ‘standard’ but for some reason, its beginning to seem like that event was a bit of an outlier? i would gladly take less events and have them be more like the unreconciled stars event, with character interactions and slowly improving and hashing out who these characters are over never-ending carousel of random events that are mostly fetch-quests or fluff.

idk man its just a strange mess of me enjoying genshins world and theorycrafting, loving playing the game and exploring but feeling like the ball is not bein dropped but violently slammed into the ground by the sheer lack of character content whilst being praised by everyone under the sun for ‘story’ and ‘characters’. m*hoyo do better bitch! you already made such a good roster of characters now fuckin do something with them! stop releasing new characters without bothering with any of the existing ones! i beg of you!