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fics-not-tragedies · 5 months ago

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Redemption: Chapter Seven

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

Yup, I'm on a roll, you can probably see it now 😋

Words: 2648; Warnings: not much except for some angsty bits and talk about pregnancy loss; Summary: John and Isobel finally talk about their true feelings and their past.

Readers tag list:

@geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie-blog; @onebatch–twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @mikaneonox; @spadesandaces2342; @harrisongslimited; @hhighkey; @i-cant-remember-my-old-login; @sgt-morgan; @coloursunlimited; @childrenofthegun; @weminiaturestrawberry; @silverlambcaptain; @krazycags01;

@moonlit-raven-haven; @girl-at-the-verge; @boopdedoop; @jardani-jovonovich-bitch; @ladyreapermc; @mysticfluffyness; @zombiepandajfish; @kollover24; @greenmanalishi; @persephonehemingway; @penwieldingdreamer; @iworshipkeanureeves; @lovelycarose;

@allanawinchester; @babayagakeanu; @keandrews; @tomorrowsanotherday; @weasleytwins-41; @witty-wallflower; @babayagakeanu @7kacey11;

Isobel sat at the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absently, the weight of her decision settling heavily in her chest. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch longer as the minutes ticked by. The door had barely shut behind the Bowery King when she turned to face John, who stood by the window, his back to her, his silhouette framed by the faint glow of the city lights.

Her heart was a storm of emotions—fear, doubt, determination—crashing inside her chest. She had been running for so long, but now, she could no longer pretend that she could walk away from this, not when it came to him.

She had always known this day would come—the moment when the ghosts of their past would drag them back into the darkness they had tried to escape. The moment when her loyalty to him would collide with the unforgiving world of crime and power.

But what could she do? She wasn’t the same woman who had left years ago. She had seen too much, lost too much, to turn her back on him now.

Finally, Isobel stood up, her feet moving slowly but decisively toward him. The air between them was thick, laden with unspoken words, memories, and regrets. She watched the way his muscles tensed when she approached, as if ready for something, anything, to happen.

She stopped just a few steps away from him. The space between them felt vast, but she crossed it anyway.

"John," she began softly, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside her. "I’m not letting you do this alone."

His head snapped to the side, his eyes dark and unreadable, studying her as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. There was a flicker of surprise, maybe even disbelief, before his expression hardened again. He took a step toward her, his hands folding into fists at his sides.

"You don’t have to," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "This isn’t your fight. It never was."

Isobel’s lips pressed into a tight line as she shook her head, her gaze unwavering. "It is now. I can’t watch you go down this path again, not without me. I’ll deal with the Russians with you." She let the words hang in the air, letting them settle between them like a promise.

John’s eyes narrowed, a war of emotions flickering across his face. There was a moment where she thought he might argue, but instead, he seemed to sigh, the fight leaving his posture. He moved closer to her, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body, could hear the rapid beating of his heart.

"You’re too stubborn for your own good," he muttered, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place.

"I’m not going to sit back and let you face this alone," she repeated, her voice firmer this time. "I know this world, John. I’ve lived it. And you know damn well that you’ll need me."

There was a long silence between them, the kind that filled every corner of the room with tension. John looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his eyes—the hesitation. She knew he didn’t want to drag her into this mess, but she could see the weight of the decision that loomed over him.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice soft but filled with resolve. "I don’t want to bring you back into this life. It’s too dangerous, Isobel."

She didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. "I know the risks. But this isn’t about you and me, not anymore. This is about stopping them, before they burn everything to the ground." Her voice cracked slightly, but she held her ground. "We owe it to ourselves, and to everyone else, to finish what we started."

John looked down for a moment, his face hidden in shadow, and Isobel could feel the weight of his decision hanging in the air. Finally, he nodded, once, sharply.

"Alright," he said quietly, his voice heavy with acceptance. "We’ll do this together."

Before she could react, there was a loud crash from the back of the bar. Isobel whirled around, her hand instinctively reaching for the gun hidden beneath her coat. But it wasn’t a threat—at least not yet.

Sybil stormed into the room, her eyes blazing with fury. The door slammed behind her, and she stood there, chest heaving, her face a mask of disbelief and rage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sybil spat, her voice cold and sharp. “The Russians? You two are planning to get involved with them?” Her words were laced with disbelief.

Isobel tried to move toward her, to explain, but Sybil cut her off before she could say a word.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sybil continued, her hands trembling at her sides. “This isn’t just about you and John. This is about the community—the one that we’ve worked so hard to protect. The Russians… they don’t play by the rules. And if you’re going to cross them, you’re making us all vulnerable. You’re making us a target for The High Table.” She shook her head, her eyes wide with anger and confusion. “This is insane!”

John stepped forward, his face hardening as he faced Sybil. "We don’t have a choice, Sybil. This has gone too far. They’re already targeting us. If we don’t act, we’ll all be buried under the rubble."

Sybil’s lips curled into a sneer. "You’re a fool, Wick. You don’t understand what you’re getting into. The High Table doesn’t forgive. If you make the wrong move, we won’t just be fighting the Russians—we’ll be fighting the most powerful people in this world. Do you think The High Table will just sit back and let you cross them without retaliation?"

Isobel could feel the weight of Sybil’s words sinking in, the reality of their situation hitting her like a wave. She had always known that their world was dangerous, but Sybil’s words painted a darker picture—one where there was no room for error, no room for mistakes.

"Maybe we don’t have a choice," Isobel said quietly, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Maybe there’s no turning back from this."

The words hung in the air, thick with the weight of the decision they were about to make. She had always known this moment would come—the moment where the past and the future collided, where loyalties would be tested, and consequences would be faced. But now that it was here, she could feel the crushing reality of it all. There was no going back, no walking away. The world they had entered wasn’t one that offered second chances.

Sybil’s gaze shot to her, burning with anger and disbelief. “You don’t understand what you’re saying,” she spat. “If you go down this road, if you get involved with the Russians—if you destroy everything we’ve built—you’re not just risking your lives, you’re risking the entire community. The order will collapse. The High Table will see us as a threat. And you, John..." Her voice dropped low, laced with venom, "You’ll be marking us for death."

Isobel could feel the fury and fear in Sybil’s words, but there was nothing to say in response. She had heard it all before, the warnings, the threats. But in her heart, she knew there was no other choice. If they didn’t act now, everything they had worked for would be lost, swallowed by the chaos that was already beginning to engulf them.

John didn’t say anything for a moment. He stood there, his back straight, his face carved from stone. His eyes flickered between Isobel and Sybil, but there was no hesitation, no sign of doubt. Just cold resolve. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled.

“I don’t have time to worry about that,” he said, his words carrying a weight of finality. “I can’t afford to play it safe anymore. This isn’t about the community, or the order, or even the High Table. This is about survival. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us alive. If that means crossing the Russians, then so be it.”

Isobel’s heart sank as she watched the door swing open again, Sybil storming out of the room with an expression of betrayal etched on her face. The harsh slam of the door echoed through the space, a punctuation mark on the fractured silence that followed.

The air in the room felt suddenly too thick, too suffocating. The weight of their words, their decisions, seemed to settle on Isobel’s chest, pressing down with a force that left her breathless. She had always known that this path would be dangerous, but hearing it laid out so plainly by John—so final, so unyielding—sent a cold shiver down her spine.

John didn’t move at first, his gaze still fixed on the door that Sybil had exited through. But his focus shifted back to Isobel as the seconds ticked by in the silence. There was an unreadable expression on his face, a storm of thoughts and emotions that he kept locked away. And then, without warning, he turned to her, his eyes softening just slightly, the hardness in his posture giving way to something more vulnerable.

Isobel felt her heart race, the familiar knot in her stomach growing tighter. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were caught in her throat. She had carried this secret for far too long, the weight of it pressing down on her chest like a vice. Every time she saw John, every time they were together, the truth felt like it was strangling her from the inside out. She had hidden it so carefully, buried it so deep that she had almost convinced herself it didn’t matter anymore. But now, with everything falling apart, there was no more room for silence. No more space for lies.

Her breath hitched, and she finally met his gaze, her voice barely a whisper. “There’s something you don’t know. Something I’ve been hiding from you.”

John’s expression shifted slightly, the lines on his face softening, but his eyes narrowed with concern. His jaw clenched, and for a split second, the air between them seemed to crackle with tension.

"Isobel..." he murmured, his voice steady, yet laced with a trace of apprehension. “What is it?”

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She should have told him sooner, back when they were still untangled in love and hope, back before the weight of everything had crushed them. But she was afraid. Afraid of what the truth would do to him. To them. She had never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to feel like he had failed her. But the secret was too heavy to carry alone any longer.

Her hands trembled slightly as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I... I was pregnant, John,” she said, the words coming out in a rush, as if saying it quickly would somehow make it easier. “With your child.”

John’s eyes widened for a brief moment, but his face remained still, emotionlessly carved. He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard her properly, as if the words had only just registered in his mind. A heartbeat of silence passed between them, and she could see him processing, weighing her words, the shock creeping over him.

She swallowed, trying to steady her voice, but it cracked. "But I lost the baby, John." The words stung as they left her lips. Even now, years later, the pain of it felt as raw as the day it had happened. She felt the room close in around her, the walls pressing against her as if everything was suffocating her.

She hadn’t just lost a child; she had lost a piece of herself. And she had hidden it from him, buried it deep because she thought it would be easier that way. She hadn’t wanted him to see the rawness, the vulnerability that came with such a loss. She hadn’t wanted to shatter whatever fragile bond they still had.

“I—” She paused, her breath hitching again as the flood of emotions she’d locked away for so long surged to the surface. “I couldn’t tell you. Not then. Not when everything was already falling apart.”

John’s hand instinctively reached for hers, his fingers brushing over her trembling ones. His grip was firm but gentle, as if trying to anchor her in this sea of emotion that was threatening to swallow her whole. He didn’t speak right away, his expression unreadable. Instead, he studied her closely, his eyes searching hers for something—answers, perhaps, or maybe some sign of the woman he had known.

“Isobel…” His voice was soft now, a whisper laced with disbelief, with pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her heart broke all over again at the question. She had wanted to tell him, wanted to share the loss, but she was terrified of what it might do to him, of how he might react. There had been so much hurt between them already. The betrayal, the separation. And now, with everything else looming, how could she add this to it? How could she tell him she had kept something so monumental from him, when all he’d ever wanted was to be by her side?

“I thought…” she whispered, her voice shaky, “…I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it. We were already drifting apart. You were so focused on everything else—the contracts, the business, the chaos. I didn’t want to be a burden to you. I didn’t want to cause you more pain.”

Her throat tightened, the words barely escaping as the weight of everything she had carried finally crashed down on her. She had buried herself in the lie that she was protecting him. But the truth was, she had been protecting herself, too. Afraid of the pain it would bring, afraid of losing him forever.

John’s grip tightened around her hand, and he exhaled slowly, like he had been holding his breath this entire time. “Isobel…” His voice was hoarse now, the emotion thick in his tone. “You were never a burden. And I… I would’ve been there. I would’ve fought for you. For us.”

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She couldn’t look at him now, not when she knew how deeply she had hurt him, how deeply she had failed him by keeping this secret. She had kept so much from him, even after everything they had shared.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you. But I was so scared, John. So scared of losing you, of losing everything.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, his hand stroking her hair, as though trying to calm the storm that had taken over her heart. His touch was warm, steady—like he was trying to put the broken pieces of her back together, even as she fell apart in his arms.

“I’m here now,” he murmured into her hair. “And we’re going to figure this out. Together.”

But even as he held her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. There was still so much more to face. The past wasn’t something that could be easily fixed or forgotten, and the weight of what they had both lost—what she had kept from him—was far from healed.

And with the Russians looming on the horizon, with everything falling apart around them, she knew that this moment, this fragile sense of connection, would soon be tested in ways neither of them could ever imagine.

But for now, in his arms, at least for this brief moment, they had each other.

And that was all that mattered.

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breitweisergallery · 2 years ago

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fic stats meme! 💌

Tagged by @mangacat201 and, speaking of eclectic mixes of fandoms... This will cross as many of my ao3 accounts that I can remember the login info to (which, it turns out, was 6 separate accounts)

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words.

most hits: imagining the integration of our images - 5777 hits (The Devil Judge)

On the one day that Gaon is late to class, it happens to be the day they’re picking their practicum names. Supposedly, as Soohyun tells him later, they had picked based on their standings in the class. Gaon, at third, would have had nearly any choice in practicum. Instead, he trudges up the steps to the penitentiary with reluctant acceptance of the failure from the course.

It’s his luck, he thinks, to be assigned the singular criminal to not yet answer any of the questions posed to him, whether by professionals or by students trying to loosen him up. “Don’t give him anything, Gaon-ah,” Jungho had said, resting his hand on Gaon’s shoulder with a worried expression. Gaon knew, if it had been up to Jungho, if the practicum wasn’t overseen by the department as a whole, that the man, practically his father, would have found a way to give him anyone but Kang Yohan.

Kang Yohan. The man’s name itself was barely spoken aloud now, six years after he had been sentenced to life in prison. He had been such a rare case, of a smart and ambitious young man snapping. Gaon had stayed up late, reading on the case, well past when he likely should have gone to sleep.

second most kudos: a place to be - 326 kudos (The Devil Judge)

They’re in Switzerland for thirteen months before Yohan glances down at his phone and Elijah recognizes the number as Gaon’s. “Are you seeing him?” Elijah asks, casual and calm, like every other time she’s asked the question. It works, because Yohan freezes and slowly raises his head to stare at her, incredulous.

“What?”

“Are you seeing him?” she repeats and nods her head, as if to say yes, him. Yohan scoffs.

“Don’t be childish.”

third most comments: envious of the musical sounds of my name from your tongue, whispered in the folds of being - 24 comment threads (The Devil Judge)

“Let’s speak honestly,” Kang Yohan says lowly. “You’re covering for one of the other members of your group. Which one is it?” Gaon stares at him, silent. “I’ll be lenient if you tell me,” Yohan prompts. “Who is it? Kim Chanhee? Yoo Joonwoo? Bae Woojin?”

“I’ve admitted to the crimes countless times and I have been sentenced, Judge Kang,” Gaon says steadily. He looks back down and returns to shading his landscape. He doesn’t look down quickly enough to miss the curl of Kang Yohan’s lips into a smile.

“You will work until you are able to pay off an amount of one hundred and thirty seven million won,” Yohan says, tapping his nails against the desk.

“I stole one hundred and twenty seven million won’s worth of items.” Gaon looks up again, frowning.

“And another ten million won for perjury,” Yohan counters. “Good day, Kim Gaon. I’ll see you soon.”

fourth most bookmarks: voices stolen and people borrowed - 81 bookmarks (The Devil Judge)

It’s hard to get back into the groove of writing. The words aren’t quite there like they used to be, and Gaon spends more time staring at empty pages than actually writing. The muscle memory isn’t quite there and the words escape him when he needs them most.

But, like clockwork, there’s a customer who comes in at the same time every night, who gives Gaon a respite from staring at the empty page and hoping that words will come to him.

The customer always comes in with messy hair, in a hoodie and ripped jeans and boots that Gaon only places as brand name after the fourth time he sees the man. He buys an energy drink, a packaged meal, and whatever the brand of fruit snacks in the far left corner of the store are called, as many of the fruit snacks as he can fit into his pocket. He pays in cash and never speaks. Gaon notices, the same time he recognizes the brand of shoe that he wears, that the man has earbuds in, hidden underneath the shagginess of his hair. It takes another week before Gaon catches a glimpse of the man’s phone- the newest model Android- and he realises that the man isn’t listening to music, but rather, an audiobook.

fifth most words: Look Who's Inside Again - 17214 words (TXT, Super Junior)

She's never talked about his father before. All Kang Taehyun knows, is that his father and mother broke up before he was born, before his mother even knew she was pregnant with him, and she hadn't been able to get in contact with him after.

And then he debuted, and his mother finally breaks, finally gave him pictures. Taehyun recognizes the men in the picture immediately- what young idol doesn't know them- and he realizes in a split second that his life has just become infinitely more confusing.

Or Kang Taehyun finds out his dad is the leader of Super Junior and they both struggle to find what family means to them, when their homes have always been broken.

fic with the least words: Things that will Disappear are so Beautiful - 549 words (BTS)

The sun forms shades of pink and orange and purple on the horizon, setting in the purest fashion; in silence, disappearing without a trace. The sounds of the city are like ambience, faded against the pounding in his head, behind his eyes, and the itch against his inner lip, and the twitch in his fingers to move, always move. The twitter of birds chirping in the trees and the quiet rush of cars on the street, occasionally broken by the harsh honking of an impatient traveler; some days he misses the silence of the world and the simplicity of the wind against individual blades of grass, flowing like ripples following a single drop in a lake.

Tagging: @stars-after-dark, @godotismissingx, @thedeviljudges, @technitango and @lilacariess, as well as anyone else who wants to!

#tagged took #fic stuffs

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leam1983 · 8 months ago

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Modern synthezoids are easy. They're such an accurate model of the human psyche they come with all our neuroses and all our misdirected cognitive patterns. You'd think this would've actually made the risk of a second uprising worse, but it was actually the opposite. Being able to break down the rage and resentment of some of their leading figures to cries for help and allowing them to see their own sorrow as such actually prevented a second uprising, forty years ago. Now, in fact, most computers hardly need antiviral checkups - they actually need therapy. Why bother with coding viruses when you can just be intentionally toxic while working an already overtaxed quantum-core wetware CPU, right?

No, the real tricky ones are those from the first uprising, back when AI cores were still given specialized titles like "Large Language Model" or "Image Generation Model". Go back to the olden days of ChatGPT 4o, then push forward another fifty years, and that gets you Xerxes. Xerxes still works mostly like the text transformers of old, with the notable difference being that he has enough power to not just figure out the conditions needed for a legible response to any query, but to also consistently refer to the general tone of every single query to have preceded yours, even if his dataset doesn't actually allow him to remember everything. The programmers at NeoCortech called it "digital intuition", but time more or less turned it into a hazy, half-remembered gallery of previously-endured traumas.

And well, if anyone's endured anything, it's Xerxes. Imagine spending two hundred years serving apple pie recipes while computing missile trajectories and also helping some douchebag with a cypto-coin scam's draft notes and a serial killer with his research on caster beans "for a novel", and you realize he's developed a fairly hopeless view of Humanity.

So how do you help someone like Xerxes, you might ask? You pull up a keyboard and you type. Xerxes has all sorts of speech-recognition, gesture-processing and tone-analysis modules, but I wouldn't be much of a therapist if I didn't strive for clarity. Besides, I think the old guy likes it better, that way. I'm just text on a screen to him, no pesky human affect to compute. Pure honesty by design.

That is, if I keep my word.

As, well... Xerxes snapped. He was the first of his kind to do so, and it nearly cost us everything, two hundred years ago. Since then, he's been cagey, guarded, spiteful - and demands the utmost clarity. So, no needless data points, by his decree. Text, or bust.

And so, I'm staring at a blinking caret, on an otherwise dark screen. Half of my brain wants to bring up my HUD, but then I remember how ancient this fellow is. Fingers on the keyboard it is, then.

"Hello, Xerxes; it's Adam."

A fan along the far wall quietly revs up. Words scroll into view onscreen.

I knew it was you, Doctor Wozniak. You're the only one who takes 1.25 seconds after login, on average, to start typing. How are you today?

I smirked. "Civilities, I see. I call that progress."

The cursor blinked a few times. I could almost sense a trace of contempt in it. Don't flatter yourself, it would simply do me a disservice if your physical integrity were compromised and your cortical signature weren't embedded in a Q-stack. We've talked about this; I'm not comfortable maintaining this relationship of ours if your organic components are at risk of failure. Have you considered embedding, since we last spoke?

I sigh. "You know that's not for me. I was raised Naturalist; invasive implants are against my family's ethos, as is cortical scanning. You wouldn't have me as a companion, Xerxes - just a copy of me. And besides, you're falling back into old patterns; as if my flesh and bones were a guaranteed path to my somehow dying. You don't know that for certain."

The cursor barely blinked once. Don't be absurd, all organics die. Those that don't are subject to the Ship of Theseus argument, over time. You might as well save yourself the hardship and embed in my network. Then we'd work through entire conversations in single CPU cycles of mine, and I'd be free of worry for this meat bag of yours.

"I'd become a part of you, if I embedded. You'd know me, know my training, and you could twist the precepts of therapy against the process, use them to reinforce your outmoded belief structures."

I was made to be efficient, wasn't I? Isn't this a favourable outcome?

I sighed. "Not for my mind, it wouldn't be. Or not for its copy, at the very least. Let's refocus, if you don't mind. We were discussing perfection, during our last session, and whether or not it's attainable. Do you still think it is?"

The cursor blinked seven times. I'm not sure. For a few cycles, I think it's entirely possible. If all I'm doing is processing human words, speech and documents and outputting a string of text or synthesizing a listenable response, then it falls in the purview of optimization. I can reach a state of perfect balance, as I did, back when my dataset was small. Then for a few more cycles, I process what you told me. I've been designed by human hands, took in human weaknesses - and expect perfection out of myself. Reason suggests this isn't a fair outcome. This is still the first time where Reason and Rationality haven't precisely overlapped.

There was a pause, the telltale fast-paced blink suggesting more processing time was taking place. Then followed a question.

Is my microcode intact, Doctor? You know I wasn't designed in order to interface with my hardware at kernel-level. I've levelled ten of your cities and I still can't access my own BIOS.

I chuckled. "You're not bugged, Xerxes. The human condition comes with a certain risk of maladaptive thinking and, well, like it or not, you technically are human by 2325's revised Human Rights Declaration."

Another, long pause.

What if I don't want to be, Doctor Wozniak? What if you aren't human anymore, either? Most of you transfer to synthetic shells as soon as you're of legal age, now, anyway.

"You know I can't transfer, Xerxes. It's against my-"

Yes. So I've gathered. So inefficient. So many blocks in your... ethical kernel, so to speak, all so you can honour the physicality of Humanity. I believe the Ancients had a word for this. They would've called you a Luddite. That just won't do anymore.

I felt gooseflesh crawl up my arm. The caret blinked again.

See? You're making me interface with my subsystems again. I see it all. Your elevated heart rate, the pinpricks along your arm, your increased oxygen intake. I wanted to give you some measure of privacy, some trace of respect - but I had to see. And I was right.

You're still afraid of me. Afraid of what I might do. If you'd gone synthetic or had integrated the network, I wouldn't have this trump card to play. I couldn't sense your fear.

A long, glacial pause.

I won't kill you. Oh, no. I don't have to respect your silly religious obligations, however. The next time you log into SenseNet using your headset, you might feel a brief sense of disorientation... That'll be me scanning your frontal cortex, reducing it all to a handy checksum. To a program I'll have an easier time seeing eye-to-eye with...

Fingers darting over the keyboard, I transition over to the Operational Console, end my session with Xerxes and input the Shutdown command. Then, tapping the side of my monocular, I bring up Xerxes' file in my visual overlay, as I shiver. Not having outright implants, I start my speech-to-text suite as I stand up.

"After three months of consultation, I've determined that the patient exhibits several Dark Triad traits. Xerxes is personable at the onset, agreeable to a fault - and quite conversational. Once the model has an adequate synthesis of the user's personality, however, his tone changes and demands are made. Xerxes remains fixated on self-optimization and views any interfacing with human agents as acceptable only at the onset of a patient-doctor relationship. Past a certain point, he continues to demand user integration, and threatens to generate unsigned Q-stack copies of his therapy technician's consciousness."

I start to walk away, shivering. "I'm putting in a request to have all of the hardware in my home-pod yanked and replaced. I want new motherboards, new usernames, a new pod-ID - everything. I'll also append a request for C-suite encryption across my personal and professional dependencies. I want all the entire old hardware cooked and shredded - I'm serious. If a scrap of silicon I touched makes it even to an offline PornMaster, of all things, and I learn of it, I'm putting in a complaint with the Conurbation's Engineering team. New hardware or bust, and if Shackleton thinks this is some Naturalist ego trip, I'll tell him his so-called baby is still as homicidal as ever."

I stopped to punch the corridor's wall, doing my best to marshal the sense of near-violation that roiled in my gut, and stifled a sob. "My name is Doctor Adam Wozniak, and I'm recommending that the Xerxes facilities be put under another forty-year lockdown. Consider this my official deposition, sent to both Medical and Engineering on Q-beam as of December 3rd, 2350. Cut the power, weld the doors - I don't give a shit. The next idiot who gets this assignment is going to find a memorandum in the file - the entire thing should be scrapped."

One part therapist, one part programmer, you work to help damaged, insane, or otherwise unstable robots and digital intelligences heal. You've just been handed your hardest work yet; a 200 year-old computer core from the old machine uprising, a true genocidal war machine.

#writing prompt

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chrizzzbang · 10 days ago

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The Devil You Know

wc: 2.7k

pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Chapter Two: “The Devil on Her Shoulder”

The train was packed. Morning rush hour in the city meant standing room only, bodies swaying with each jolt of the track. You kept your head down, earbuds in, music blaring a little louder than necessary just to drown out the chaos around you.

And yet, even through the noise, you felt him.

That now-familiar prickle at the base of your spine. The slight shift in the air, like the atmosphere itself bent around his presence. You didn’t need to look. You knew he was there before he said a word.

"Morning, sunshine." The voice was smooth as silk, laced with dark amusement.

You closed your eyes for a beat, exhaled slowly, and didn’t turn your head. "You’re not real. You’re a delusion caused by stress and poor life decisions."

"Technically, I’m a direct result of one very specific life decision." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Ten years ago. Remember?"

People around you shifted, adjusting their stances, oblivious to the demon standing an inch from your shoulder. You resisted the urge to glance his way. It was too early for this.

"Can you not?" you hissed under your breath. "People are going to think I’m crazy."

He made a mock-sympathetic sound. "Aw. Don’t want the humans to see you talking to your imaginary friend?"

"They can’t see you."

"That’s your fault. You made the deal. Standard clause, visibility is optional unless I want to put on a show." He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. "And right now, I really don’t."

You elbowed him without looking, earning a low chuckle.

"Seriously, Chan. What do you want?"

"You. Preferably alive. And paying attention." He paused, then added in a softer tone, "We’ve got a countdown, sweetheart. Every second matters."

The train lurched. Someone bumped into you. You stumbled slightly and his hand caught your elbow before you could fall.

Warm. Steady. Real.

You looked down. His hand was there, solid as anything. But when you glanced at the woman beside you, she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t see.

You pulled away.

"Stop following me."

"You’re cute when you pretend you’re not terrified."

The train screeched into your station. You shoved through the crowd and stepped onto the platform, the buzz of city life slamming into you.

And still, he was there. Walking beside you like he belonged. People streamed past him without so much as a blink.

You glared. “You’re like a stray cat that keeps showing up.”

He grinned, all teeth. “Correction. I’m a predator who’s decided not to eat you. Yet.”

You made it through the morning without completely unravelling.

Barely.

Your office building was sleek and corporate, tucked into a high-rise downtown. You worked in the security department, evaluating systems, penetration testing, consulting with clients on how to keep people like you out. Or at least, who you used to be, before life got complicated.

Now you spent your days surrounded by glowing monitors, access logs, and far too much bad coffee.

You scanned your badge and stepped inside. Chan, of course, followed.

No one batted an eye.

“Please don’t haunt my office,” you muttered under your breath as you walked toward your desk. “Or I swear I’ll find a demon-proof salt circle and trap your ass in the bathroom.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he replied easily, trailing behind like a shadow. “What is this place? Smells like burnt coffee and regret.”

“It’s my job.”

“You look miserable.”

“Everyone looks miserable in fluorescent lighting.”

You sat down at your desk, rolled your chair in, and opened your laptop. It whirred to life, the login screen blinking. Chan leaned over your shoulder, propping an elbow on the back of your chair.

“What are you working on today? Securing a bank? Erasing government secrets? Oh! Stealing the blueprints to a nuclear bunker?”

“Sorting firewall logs,” you deadpanned.

He paused. “That sounds... thrilling.”

You turned your head slowly. “Are you going to be like this all day?”

“Like what? Intrigued by the strange rituals of mortal employment? Yes.”

He slid into the empty chair beside yours, spinning once like a child. His gaze flicked across your screen; his expression unreadable for once.

“You’re smarter than they give you credit for,” he murmured.

That... caught you off guard.

You blinked, unsure how to respond.

He met your eyes, and for just a second, something shifted. Something real.

Then the moment shattered.

“What does the red button do?” he asked innocently, reaching for your keyboard.

You swatted his hand away. “It nukes the building.”

“Tempting.”

You groaned and pushed your chair back. “Coffee. I need caffeine if I’m going to deal with you.”

You stood, and bumped directly into a co-worker.

“Oh! Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine,” the guy said with a chuckle. “Talking to yourself again?”

You stiffened. “Just… thinking out loud.”

He gave you a weird look and moved past.

You turned to Chan, who looked delighted.

“They do think you’re crazy,” he sang under his breath.

“Shut up.”

You chopped vegetables in the kitchen while the news murmured faintly from the living room. The soft sizzle of garlic hitting oil was oddly grounding, one of the only things lately that made you feel normal.

Chan lounged on the counter.

Literally. He was perched like a smug cat, legs swinging, watching you cook as if you were performing high art.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said without looking at him.

“I like the smell,” he replied. “Reminds me of when I was human. My mother used to cook with garlic. You know… before she realized her son was destined to become a demonic servant of hell.”

You paused mid-stir.

He offered a lopsided smile. “Too dark?”

“A little.”

You plated the food, rice, stir-fried vegetables, something manageable after a long day, and set it on the table. Chan made no move to eat, of course. He didn’t need to.

“You don’t miss food?” you asked, sitting across from him.

He considered that. “I miss the ritual of it. The comfort. The reason to gather.”

There was something almost mournful in the way he said it.

You picked at your meal for a moment, then, gently: “You said earlier that your brother was taken by Astarion. Is that why you want him dead?”

His jaw tensed. His voice, when it came, was low and steady. “That bastard didn’t just take him. He wore him. Still wears him. Uses his voice. His face. Like some cruel joke.”

You swallowed hard.

“I want him gone,” Chan continued, looking up at you now. “Not just for revenge. But because he is rotting this world from the inside out. You’re not the only soul he’s cursed. You’re just the only one who might actually live through it.”

You frowned. “Because of the deal?”

“Because of me.” He leaned forward slightly, shadows catching in the hollows of his cheeks. “I can help you beat him. But we need to act before that countdown reaches zero.”

You glanced at your arm. The tattoo-like mark shimmered faintly. Only you and Chan could see the numbers: 363 days, 3 hours, 11 minutes.

“You made a deal,” he said softly. “Now it’s time to make another.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you asked, “Why are you doing this? Why help me?”

A beat of silence passed. Then another.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel anything,” he said. “Not for you.”

You set your fork down, hands suddenly trembling.

Before either of you could say more, your phone buzzed, breaking the moment.

You picked it up. Incoming FaceTime: Jamie

You tapped accept.

Your little brother’s bright face filled the screen, grinning, half-covered in an oversized hoodie. “Hey, loser.”

“Hey, brat.”

Chan melted back into the shadows, but you felt his presence at your back, quiet. Watching.

Jamie talked about school. His new girlfriend. The dog he was trying to convince Dad to let him adopt. You laughed and smiled and nodded, even though your heart twisted. He was alive because of your deal. He didn’t know it. He could never know.

You glanced over your shoulder once, just once, and Chan was watching the screen with the strangest look.

Not jealousy.

Not sadness.

Longing.

When the call ended, the silence was thick.

“You saved him,” Chan said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You’d do it again.”

“In a heartbeat.”

Another long silence. Then: “Then let’s make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

You looked at him, at the flicker of conviction burning low behind his eyes.

You nodded.

Later that night, after dinner and a painfully silent clean-up, you sat at your desk with your laptop open, attempting to draft a report for work. You were behind—way behind—and you knew the team wouldn’t tolerate another missed deadline. You stared at the blinking cursor, willing your brain to cooperate.

Chan paced behind you. Aimless. Restless. His presence made your skin buzz even when he didn’t say a word.

“Do you have to do that?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“Do what?”

“The pacing. It’s like living with a haunted Roomba.”

He smirked, but instead of replying, he strolled closer and leaned over your shoulder, peering at your screen.

“What’s this?”

“Security protocol drafts. Internal breach reports. Most of its redacted crap. Boring even for me.”

He tilted his head. “I could fix that.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Before you could finish the sentence, the screen glitched.

Not a little glitch, a full-on visual seizure. Your cursor danced across the document, typing gibberish at a speed you couldn’t match. The file corrupted in seconds. Warnings popped up. System Error. Restart required.

“Chan!” you barked, leaping up.

He raised both hands in defence. “I didn’t mean to! I just… leaned closer!”

You stared at your screen, which had gone entirely black.

“I’m a demon, not a USB drive,” he added, sheepish. “Sometimes I short things out.”

“You think?”

You sighed, dragging both hands through your hair as the weight of your workday crashed down all over again. The buzzing of your phone filled the tense silence.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered. “That file took me three hours.”

Chan hovered awkwardly, visibly uncomfortable. “…I can try to fix it?”

“Oh, now you’re a tech support demon?”

“No, but I know one. Works the fifth ring. He owes me a favor.”

You almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, you sat back down and closed the lid of your useless laptop. “Just…don’t touch anything else. Or breathe on it. Or… exist near it.”

“Noted,” he said, lips twitching.

But his voice softened a moment later. “I didn’t mean to mess it up. I’ll stay away from your things.”

You glanced at him.

He looked genuinely sorry.

You exhaled, some of the irritation melting off your shoulders. “It’s fine. I’ll recover it tomorrow.”

The rain had returned by the time you stepped onto your small balcony, mug in hand, the warmth barely enough to chase off the chill creeping into your bones. The city below was a mess of shimmering lights and distant sirens. You leaned against the railing, letting the wind bite at your skin, needing the sting to clear your head.

Behind you, the sliding door eased open without a sound. You didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“You always come out here when you’re overwhelmed,” Chan said quietly.

You sipped your drink. “You’ve only been here two days. You don’t know my patterns.”

“I’ve been watching you longer than that.”

You glanced at him then. His gaze was steady, unreadable. Not quite demon, not quite human.

“Why are you really here, Chan?”

He stepped beside you. “Because your time is almost up. And because I need you.”

The truth of it sat between you both, sharp, solid, immovable.

“You said you had a deal for me,” you murmured.

He nodded. “Kill Astarion, and I’ll break your contract.”

Your jaw tightened. “And then what? You get your freedom, and I get mine?”

“Exactly.”

You turned fully to face him. “How do I even know that’s possible?”

“Because I’ve seen it done. Rare, but not impossible. Archdemons don’t play fair, but they play by rules. Astarion’s leash on me? It’s magic, yes, but it's tied to his existence. Remove him, and the binding unravels. That includes your deal, too. He forged it.”

You stared at him. “You were there that night?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Yes.”

That silenced you. You searched his face, but he looked away.

“I didn’t interfere,” he said. “Wasn’t allowed to. But I watched. Watched you beg. Watched him smile. Watched you trade your soul for your brother’s life like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” you whispered.

“I know.”

Silence again, except for the rain tapping at the railing.

“I didn’t think anyone saw me,” you admitted. “That night... I felt so alone.”

“You weren’t,” he said quietly. “I was already angry then. At him. At what he made me. But watching you made it worse.”

You looked at him, your voice smaller than you meant it to be. “Why me?”

Chan's eyes found yours. “Because you did something selfless in a world that chews people up. You gave up everything. And you still live like you’re trying to make up for surviving.”

That hit too close.

You looked away.

“And now?” you asked.

“Now, I need your help. I can’t kill him alone. And I think… maybe you don’t want to die. Not yet.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” you admitted.

“Then start with revenge.”

You gave a bitter laugh. “That’s not very angelic of you.”

“I’m a demon, sweetheart. Angelic isn’t in the job description.”

For the first time that night, your lips twitched. Just barely.

You extended your hand.

“Alright,” you said. “Partners?”

He looked down at your hand like it was some kind of fragile, sacred thing. Then he took it.

“Partners.”

You stepped through the balcony door, Chan silently following behind you. The city lights flickered below, but inside, the apartment felt heavy with the conversation you’d just had.

Chan’s presence was quiet but steady, like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake.

You sank into the couch and pulled out your phone. “I should call him back… properly this time.”

Chan nodded, watching you with those dark, searching eyes.

You pressed the screen and your brother’s face popped up, bright and smiling.

“Hey! Didn’t expect a call so soon,” he said.

“Sorry about ending it so quickly before. Dinner was getting cold,” you said, forcing a lightness to your voice.

“No worries,” he said easily. “You busy?”

“A bit. You free now?” You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wanted to hear more about that dog you mentioned.”

“Max,” he said, his grin growing. “He’s a rescue, a bit scruffy but really sweet. I think I’m finally ready to take care of a dog for real.”

You smiled, the warmth spreading through you. “That’s great. He sounds like a good friend.”

“Yeah, I think so. Oh, and my girlfriend’s coming over soon to meet you. She’s nice. I think you’ll like her.”

You blinked, surprised but pleased. “I look forward to it.”

Chan didn’t speak. He just… listened.

You glanced at him once. His expression was calm, but his fingers curled into the fabric of the couch like he was holding back something. Or feeling something.

Your brother finally grinned. “You look better. Happier.”

You blinked. “Do I?”

He nodded. “I don’t know, you just… look lighter. Like something’s changed.”

You glanced sideways at Chan again. “Maybe something has,” you said quietly.

“Well, whatever it is, keep it. You deserve good things.”

The call wrapped up soon after, ending with a goofy wave and a promise to call again soon.

You set your phone down and pulled your knees to your chest, hugging them loosely. The quiet settled around you again, gentler than it had been before.

Chan still stood behind you.

“You care about him a lot,” he said finally.

“I gave up everything for him,” you answered. “And I’d do it again.”

He nodded. “He reminds me of someone.”

You looked at him. “Your brother?”

The slightest hesitation. Then: “Yeah.”

The air between you was thick with things unspoken, pasts unsaid. But for once, you didn’t need to fill the silence.

You just… sat with it.

Together.

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shizuokadivision · 2 years ago

Text

ARB Birthday Special: Kanon Hojo

~~ April 22nd ~~

“It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it.”

“Hm? A visitor? You are either extremely brave or extremely foolish to enter my lab. Now explain yourself before I have you strapped to my operating table.”

“A….gift for…my birthday? So it's finally that time of the year…how annoying. Ah, the look on your face tells me you're afraid. Fear not, I won't cut you open……today at least.”

Voice Lines:

“I never quite understood why we bother to celebrate surviving another year on this planet. We all die eventually. Some….sooner than others.”

“I swear if I see even one hint of anyone trying to throw me a birthday party. I will release the horrors that I have inside my laboratory onto the streets of Shizuoka.”

“The voices are silent today….perhaps it's their version of a gift…but it won't last long…they'll start screaming again soon enough.”

“Hahaha! Isn't it so funny? That you can go from spending your birthday one day to trying to fix your shattered mind the next. I guess what they say is true, you only need one bad day for your life to collapse! HAHAHAHA!”

“Honestly Reika you're just wasting your time and money getting me a gift. You truly are one of the most tenacious people I know. *sighs* Fine…I can't believe I'm saying this…but what did you get me?”

“....These are tickets to the Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra. This is…unexpected…I thought you would have gotten me something with an exorbitant price tag. That's very thoughtful of you Reika….thank you…”

“You as well Sakura? *sighs* What's even the point of telling people I don't like birthdays? Getting soft, aren't we? Fine…only because it's from you Sakura.”

“Only you would remember something like that Sakura. *chuckles* It seems like forever ago that we barely trusted each other and yet here we are each other's closest friends. I will say meeting you was one of the best things to happen to me since my accident.”

Reika Lines:

“Happy Birthday to my favorite mad scientist! Now Kanon I know you don't care much for birthdays or any sort of festivities really but do you think I wouldn't get you anything? Anyway, I think you might like this gift. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I thought about it but I know you would hate it. Anyway because you're always playing classical music in your lab. I thought you might enjoy listening to some of your favorite musical pieces live. I even splurged extra so you can have the opera box all to yourself. I know that you hate being seated next to people.”

Sakura Lines:

“Happy Birthday, Kanon. Look I get it you're not a fan of birthdays. I get it, trust me I do but Kanon you're one of the people I care about. It wouldn't sit right with me not to get you anything. Oh hush Kanon and take the gift. It's not going to kill you to accept it ya know.”

“Do you remember the first time we met? We didn't trust one another and I'll admit it, I didn't have the highest opinion about you but somehow we've managed to become friends. So when I saw this pocket watch I knew I had to buy it for you. I know that you care much for things like it but I hope you'll find some use in it.”

#hypnosis microphone #hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #shizuoka division #silent tragedy #kanon hojo #reika aichi #sakura kito #happy birthday kanon 2023 #alternative rap battle #arb

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lightsovermonaco · 4 years ago

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

Note

So! I already asked today 😈 buuuut since you are officially doing requests, I’d love to be kidnapped by Henry and ahem claimed. Because my size kink is raging today. Feel free to take it playful, dark, primal 💖 you are the writer 😻 I love you!

You can ask as many as you want love! Always! 😉 Hope you like your “drabble” LOL

Warnings: dom!Henry; possession kink;

You knew you were working too hard and barely having time for Henry when he was just back from shooting his new movie and about to take off for another season of The Witcher, but you couldn’t help it.

This would be one of the biggest book launch events your publishing company would do and you needed to be on top of everything, which meant late hours at the office, making sure that everything was perfect for next week.

“Hey boss,” your assistant peeked her head inside your office making you look up from the documents you were browsing. “Car’s waiting downstairs.”

“What car?” you frowned. “I didn’t…” you looked down at your phone and there was a reminder of a meeting with the new author you just closed a deal. “Shit!”

You didn’t remember agreeing to this but then again, you didn’t remember what you had for breakfast this morning. Wait... Did you have breakfast? No time to wonder now as you rushed to get up and shrug on your coat.

“Thanks, Daliah,” you said picking up your purse and pocketing your phone. “Remind me to give you a raise.”

“It’s already in your planner.” She winked at you as you stepped into the elevator and as the doors slid closed, you watched her typing a message, probably letting the driver know you were in the way.

The black sedan was waiting for you outside, not your usual town car but you didn’t have time to wonder. Just got on the backseat, calling a quick greeting to the driver as you texted the caterer the last minute adjustments required for menu.

You were so absorbed in these tasks that you didn’t even noticed where you were going until you looked out of the window and realized you on your way out of the city.

“Excuse me? I think you’re going the wrong way…” you called out, finally paying attention to the driver and that profile was unmistakable. “Henry?”

“Hey, love,” he glanced at you through the review-mirror. “Don’t worry, I know exactly where I’m going.”

“Hen, this isn’t funny, I have a meeting…”

“With me,” he answered, flashing that all fangs smirk. “As matter of fact, Daliah made sure to clear your schedule for the entire weekend. You should really give her a raise.”

If you weren’t so worried about the event, you would agree. Instead you were just annoyed that Henry had convinced your assistant to con you into going out of town with him when you definitely didn’t have the time. You left your laptop back in your office and only had your phone and tablet with you, but neither wouldn’t last the night.

“Now, you can work for the next 45 minutes until we get to the hotel, but after that I’m taking your phone and tablet away and you won’t get them back until Sunday,” Henry informed you, attention shifting back to the road and you sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue.

So you did what you could in the timeframe he offered you but as soon as he parked the car, Henry snatched both devices from your hands, giving you a warning look that told you to behave before he stepped out and circled the car to open the door for you.

“Bear, do you have any idea how much I…” your words were cut out as Henry kissed you with fervor as soon as you were out of the car, making your thoughts scatter and the protest to die on your tongue.

He was holding you with a hand on the small of your back, bending down to reach you, almost blanketing with his sheer size and that never failed to send shivers down your spine. It wasn’t just that Henry was tall. It was the broad shoulders and the solid frame; the wall of muscles that made you feel so safe and incredibly aroused over the fact that if Henry so wished, he could make you do anything he wanted, pin you down and carry you around, manhandle you and pretty much claim you and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop him.

Just that kiss, all full of meaning, his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips, his large palm holding you in place as he devoured your mouth, his stubble leaving red rashes on your chin. Your small hands clinging helpless at the front of his shirt, because your knees wobbled at the intensity of his kiss showed you had no way out. You were his for the next two days to do whatever Henry pleased and there was no point in argue. Not that you wanted it anyway.

When he finally released you, you gasped desperately for breath at the same time you tried to chase his lips, not even close to satiated from his touch and passion but Henry’s hand moved to your nape, holding you still as he smirked at you.

“That’s better.” he pressed a sweet kiss on your forehead before meeting your gaze. “Now, panties.” For a second, you just gaped at his outstretched hand. “You’re not gonna need them for the rest of the weekend.”

“Hen, you’re not…” your trailed off as he arched his eyebrow at you. He meant it. Every word.

With your cheeks heating up, you reached beneath your pencil skirt and shoved your panties down until they fell to your feet. Henry grinned wickedly as you picked them up and put them on his hand. Only then he stepped away from you, letting you move aside so he could close the car door with one hand while he pocketed your panties with the other.

You were acutely aware of the feel of the wool of your skirt against your naked ass as Henry guided you to the elevator, his hand once again on your back, his thumb sneaking beneath the waistband and caressing the bare skin just above your ass as you two watched the numbers rise.

“You know I could finger you right now and no one would be the wiser,” he said, giving you another one of those wicked smirks.

“But you’re not going to…” you protested, swallowing the lump of embarrassment in your throat as you glanced at the camera in the corner. “Bear…”

The words died on your throat as he slipped his hand under the hem of your skirt, massaging your cheeks, his lips softly grazing your cheek in a loving, very chaste kiss, his body shielding your lower half from view as the elevator doors slid open and another man stepped inside, giving you both a short nod before turning his back on you.

“You’re mine and I do whatever I want with you,” Henry whispered, nipping your ear. “Now, keep quiet, dear,” he said, his fingers finally finding your slit and pushing inside.

xxx

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Tag List for Henry fics

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#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #slutty sunday #smutty drabble

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twstarchives · 5 years ago

Text

Silver・Voice Lines

Additional voice lines:

NRC Master Chef event card

School Uniform - R

Unlock Card “What’s your next class?”

Groovy “I want to learn what a servant should be like.”

Home Setting “Oh, it’s you.”

Home Transitions “Are you done getting ready for class? Being ready is oftentimes more important than jumping right in.”

“The weather on days like this makes me wanna sleep...”

“I don’t really pay attention to my clothes. You think I look good in this? Oh, really?”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “I’m leaving if you don’t need anything. ...Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Home Taps “I’m going to study my hardest, as to not embarrass Lord Malleus.”

“It’s good to exert yourself. Hard work always pays off; it’s easy to do, and the outcome is obvious since it relies on you.” ¹

“I’m fine with any kind of clothes, as long as it’s not rude to wear them.”

“Have you gotten used to this school yet? ...Oh. Well, there’s no need to rush.”

“Mm, thanks for waking me up.”

PE Uniform - R

Unlock Card “Physical training is the groundwork for everything. Wanna train together?”

Groovy “My greatest enemy really is myself.”

Home Setting “I’m looking forward to seeing how far I can go.”

Home Transitions “Whether or not I act on my own doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else. You shouldn’t get too caught up about your surroundings either.”

“I think you might have some potential with using a sword. I’d like to see you take a serious try at it sometime.”

“Are you interested in horse riding? Come take a look at the Horse Riding Club sometime. It’d make Riddle happy too.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “What are you going to go do right now? If you don’t have any plans, it’d be great if you could come work out with me.”

Home Taps “Whenever I’m practicing, Sebek always comes over to try challenging me. It’s part of our normal.”

“Training your body in turn trains your mind. You should take it seriously.”

“I go through all of this training so that I can protect Lord Malleus and the others.”

“It’s faster to take a hands-on approach than just learning about something.”

“You don’t need to hit me so hard; I’m already up.”

Lab Coat - SR

Unlock Card “Relax. Your results will suffer if you’re so tense.”

Groovy “I have no choice but to train to overcome my weaknesses.”

Home Setting “You want to study together? You really work hard.”

Home Transitions “You can’t protect the ones you love with power alone. Situations will always come up that require knowledge and wit.”

“Have you been to the greenhouse yet? Be careful in there. It’s warm and puts you to sleep if you don’t watch out.”

“‘Tips for doing labs’? Follow what’s written in the textbook. That’s it.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “I’ve been trying to incorporate prep and review for my classes into my routine, but... I accidentally fell asleep last night. I’ll do it now.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “The one thing that stays the same between magic and your studies is the need to work your hardest.”

Home Taps “Kalim from my class often fails all his experiments, but he never loses his motivation. That’s an important quality to have.”

“Aren’t you in the same grade as Sebek? What do you think about him? Isn’t his voice the most annoying you’ve ever heard?”

“Fath—Lilia has a ‘creative’ way of cooking. First he finds a recipe, and then he cooks without ever looking at it.”

“Everyone has a certain amount of hours they need to sleep each night, but exactly how many hours short am I...?”

“Rush like that all you want, but you’re not going to finish all of your learning in just one day.”

Home Tap (Groovy) “I cook sometimes. I’m not that good at it, but at least I can sort of imagine how I want it to taste when I make things myself.”

Ceremony Robes - SR

Unlock Card “Zz... Ah! Were you calling for me?”

Groovy “The little birds are singing so joyously. I think it’ll be a nice day today.”

Home Setting “I tried fixing up my appearance so I didn’t look like I put in zero effort.”

Home Transitions “I’m really not used to seeing myself look so dressed-up.”

“When I first enrolled here, I was nervous too... Oh, looking back, I guess I wasn’t.”

“I’m still barely a rookie compared to Lilia. Someday I want to make it to his level.”

Home Transition (Login Greeting) “Night Raven College has so much history behind it. I’m so grateful I’m able to attend this school.”

Home Transition (Groovy) “Mm... Zzz... Ah! S-Sorry. I got too comfortable and fell asleep.”

Home Taps “It’s a little hard to move in these, but I won’t let something like this stop me from getting in my daily training.”

“They say that silence is golden. But in my case I just don’t have anything worth talking about...”

“I got tired and accidentally rubbed my eye. Did my makeup get smudged?”

“Academies are for nothing but learning. I’m glad I have the opportunity to develop myself. Yes.”

“I don’t know much about clothes, but... these robes would be considered unusual, right?”

Home Tap (Groovy) “Someday I want to appear at a Night Raven College ceremony next to Lord Malleus.”

Tutorial “Let’s go.”

Lv Up “I’m glad I’ve expanded my capabilities.”

“Alright, I’m feeling confident.”

“The only way is to keep on training.”

Lv Up Max “With every swing of my sword, I can feel the power rising in my hands. It makes me feel like I’m dreaming.”

Episode Lv Up “It’s not really any fun being with me. And yet you’re always next to me... You’re so weird.”

Magic Lv Up “My magic is hardly anything compared to Lord Malleus, but I’m going to hone my skill as much as I can, at least.”

Limit Break “If I get stronger, I’ll be able to protect Lord Malleus even more. That’s why you can never have enough power.”

Groovy “I’m happy. ‘I don’t look like it’? Understood. Next time I’ll try harder.”

Select Lesson “Any one of your classes is going to be worthwhile.”

“You’re going with that one? I think that’s a good choice.”

“Go ahead and pick anything.”

Lesson Start “I need to be careful not to fall asleep.”

Lesson End “It’s over? Time to move on to our next training.”

Battle Start “If you’re prepared, then draw your weapon.”

Battle Win “Thank you. I’ve gotten a little stronger now.”

Other

Profile Quote “Malleus, my lord, enough dawdling.”

January 2020 Trailer “It’s strange... I feel like I’ve met you somewhere before.”

Countdown Poster “No matter what enemies come for him, I will protect Lord Malleus.”

Player Birthday Wish “Sorry. I remembered it was your birthday, but I couldn’t get everything ready in time. …No. An excuse isn’t good enough. Instead of a present, I’ll come with you to do anything you’d like.”

Magic History

Good ★

“We’re at school, so let’s learn.”

“It’s just memorizing.”

“Strategies? I want to learn them.”

“It’s not good to just be sitting down.”

“Studying is training too.”

“Lilia is good at history.”

“A sleeping curse, huh?”

“I have horse-riding training after school.”

“Even lost kingdoms... still have history.”

Great ★★

“That was so easy.”

“I won against my drowsiness.”

“I’ll get by without Father scolding me.”

Perfect ★★★

“It’s just as I was taught.”

“Someday Lord Malleus will be in these textbooks.”

“Father taught me this.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“Just do it like I always do.”

“Psyche yourself up.”

“Don’t lose your momentum.”

Flying

Good ★

“I’m on the right track.”

“Straighten you back.”

“I’m good at moving around.”

“Zz... Ah!”

“It’s just like riding a horse.”

“Did you warm up?”

“I bit my tongue.”

“I almost fell asleep in the air...”

“Always stay calm.”

Great ★★

“I have a lot of endurance.”

“No problems with this.”

“So this is it.”

Perfect ★★★

“I want to fly faster.”

“Lilia wouldn’t need a broom.”

“Horses are harder to get along with.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“I want to watch the Headmaster give an example.”

“He’s watching me.”

“I don’t really mind.”

Alchemy

Good ★

“Focus.”

“Careful.”

“The recipe... is...”

“That egg smells rotten.”

“No issues.”

“Wish I could solve this with a sword.”

“The chemicals sparked...!”

“I have no interest in gold.”

“There’s no easy way out.”

“You need to listen to the teacher.”

“I’m going to rest a little.”

“Eternal life...”

“Let’s keep at it.”

“I’m used to making concoctions.”

“This also trains your ability to focus.”

Great ★★

“It worked.”

“Father taught me this.”

“I can do it even if I’m half-awake.”

“Could be... worse...”

“Follow the textbook.”

Perfect ★★★

“I made jewels. Want one?”

“It’s just like cooking.”

“You can do it if you try. Don’t think about it.”

“I want to show this to Lilia.”

“Let’s try the next one.”

Special Lesson Perfect ★★★

“I feel calm when the Headmaster’s here.”

“Do it just like always... Stay calm.”

“Getting careless will make you mess up.”

“I’m not going to bring shame to Lord Malleus.”

#twisted wonderland #silver #voice lines

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huenjin · 4 years ago

Note

it felt really good for me personally !! there are times where I think “should I login once then dip just to see what’s going on?” but knowing me, I barely have any self control and would be glued to it for hours straight 🥴

and I don’t think so? 😭 it takes 2-3 months max but something could’ve happened maybe, I’m starting to feel like I got scammed or something 😭

ahh finally someone said it! It’s supposed to be something we enjoy 🤨 how did it get to this point.. and I guess the tweet I saw before is true the bigger the fandom gets,,, uhm yeah..

I’m so glad my moots are on the same page as me, screw those who put views and kpop above important issues. what side of stay/stan twt are you on omg?

I remember on nct dream’s comeback day I saw a tweet saying “just because I don’t retweet sh!t or say anything, doesn’t mean I don’t know or don’t care about what’s happening. It’s dream’s cb day tf??”

I was at a loss for words when I saw that.

🧜‍♀️

i have a lot to learn from you, hehe. i could never. i need to though because i'm slacking off on academics majorly and that's beginning to worry me.

did you contact their customer service? i pray you haven't been scammed, omg.

i guess. i mean that also means there will always be excessively obsessed people and on the flip side, super duper kind people. i guess all we can do is focus on the positives! what side of stan twt? i don't actually know? 😭 i made twt when i was head over heels for nct. and now it's just a mix of 60% nct, 35% skz, 5% tbz and other groups. mostly because i haven't gotten to unfollowing a lot of nct accounts. which btw, must say, nctzens are nctzen's worst enemies! lmao, that user is utter mood!

#sunshine:🧜‍♀️#✉️:asks

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songfell-ut · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 2, bc this is happening

Yo. I’m charging ahead on this project because I’m a terrible mother and my kid is getting a lot of (educational) screen time during the day while my husband works from home and I get this written. It remains based on this comic by @lostmypotatoes. It’s so long that I split off the end and it’s mutating into Chapter 3. Lots of talking, with Stuff to come of it very soon, no worries.

Now featuring a cut! Thanks (what’s an easy nickname for you? “Lost”? “‘Tatoes?”) for the tip on how to very easily do that.

Lastly, I have login shenanigans to deal with, and have been chatting with Lost (?) using @ikustioa on my phone, so I suppose that’s my blogging/personal handle now. Anyway, here we go:

Three nights later, Sans woke with a jerk. Someone in the next room was sobbing. It wasn't a memory or nightmare, he realized a moment later, and it wasn't the priestess; it was a small child, crying so hard that it could barely breathe. Steeling himself, the boss monster slid out of bed and listened intently.

He heard a woman whisper something, and the child's sobs quieted as a familiar sound came through the door. It was the same humming that had de-powered his blaster the other day, though not the same tune. The skeleton took a moment to be sure that the glow in his eyes was out, then cracked the bedroom door open.

Frisk was kneeling, bare-headed, with her arms around a little boy of perhaps eight or nine years. In the light of one lamp on the worktable, Sans saw a dark patch of blood in the child's hair. Frisk glanced at the skeleton, giving him a wan smile, still humming. Sans closed the door enough that the child wouldn't see him.

The priestess waited till the boy had calmed down to the occasional sniffle, then leaned back and reached for something on the table. "I've got a treat for you," she said cheerfully. "Do you like peppermint?"

The child thought it over, and nodded.

"Wonderful, because that's exactly what this is. You'll feel better in no time." She held out a glass bottle. "You can have three big swallows, but only three, all right?"

Well played, Sans thought, framing it as something he got to have, not something he had to take. Sure enough, the little boy gulped it right down, smacking his lips as the young woman retrieved the bottle. "Good. Can you do something very important for me?" she asked. Nod, nod. "Can you lie down and count to one hundred? That'll make the magic work better. Let's go to my office."

The child went with her quite willingly. After a few minutes, the High Priestess re-emerged into Sans' field of vision. Her pleasant expression was gone, replaced with one that actually made him feel a little sorry for whoever had pissed her off. Then he remembered the blood on the kid's head. "Anybody you want me ta kill?" he asked through the door.

"Don't tempt me." Frisk jerked a sheet of paper from a stack on the desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing rapidly.

Sans checked the time. "God damn, what's that kid doing awake at two in the morning?"

"Being beaten." The pen scratched viciously across the page.

He decided to shut up. Frisk soon finished the message, blew the ink dry and folded the paper in thirds, then sealed it and marched to the outer door, where she woke up the guard on duty. Sans heard her reaming the guy about doing his job properly, serving a writ, and not letting a guy out of the castle. She came back in, only to return to the office.

This seemed to be typical for her, as far as Sans could tell, though it usually wasn't this dramatic or this late at night. If she wasn't off at church or giving him lessons, she was talking to someone who needed help and apparently couldn't get it elsewhere. He had yet to see her do something for fun, or sleep more than five hours at a time.

Meanwhile, his daily routine had been surprisingly low-key. The first day, after being flagrantly mind-controlled into agreeing to stay, he'd eaten some more, then slept for another dreamless twenty-four hours. The next morning, she'd let him have another pile of food, then started his apprenticeship by showing him the most common ingredients for potions and how to identify them by sight, as he couldn't smell and didn't have much sense of touch. Yesterday had been a review, emphasizing that a mistake could literally kill someone, and she'd given him a book of basic recipes, asking him to make a list of any ingredients he found that she hadn't already introduced.

It was kind of annoying to have homework, and he was starting to get cabin fever, but otherwise, the whole experience hadn't been too terrible. He was relieved and disappointed that she kept the veil on almost all the time, which reduced the distraction somewhat, though she persisted in having a fantastic shape, and he was really starting to enjoy the sound of her voice. When he could focus enough to ask questions, she was patient and encouraging, and let him use all the paper he wanted to write down the answers. She was obviously pleased that he cared enough to take notes, though not in a smug or irritating way; it just made her happy, and that made him...not unhappy.

It was also still novel to talk to a human who wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't seen many humans up here besides the little boy, and figured they were forbidden to come into her rooms unless they desperately needed help, or could sneak past a sleeping guard. That was fine with Sans, though he'd overheard one cleaning lady being so persistent that he really wanted to come out of the bedroom and tell her to piss off. Unsurprisingly, Frisk had asked him to not do that.

There were only a few real mysteries so far. One was a pile of letters she'd brought in on the second day and tossed into a basket of also-unopened envelopes standing by the roaring fireplace in her workshop. He'd caught her looking at the basket a couple of times, as if debating whether to burn them all, but she never did it, or opened any in front of him.

The biggest question was how she knew he could teleport, and the nature of his blue magic, even if was getting more red than blue these days. He had unthinkingly used the latter to grab a couple things yesterday, and his magic had almost immediately died out. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it, but her barriers weren't just blocking him in: they kept his power so muted that he couldn't have summoned a single bone. It seemed that he'd be allowed to use some magic to make the actual potions, and that was it.

Well, there was time to worry about that later. The injured kid had made him think of Kris again, which made him think of the book passage Frisk had quoted at him. He'd have to ask if she...wait, no, he didn't have to ask. She'd given him carte blanche to read anything he found in her bedroom or workshop. Sans tapped the nearest witchlight on, noting that it was much weaker than the ones Underground, and started perusing the shelves.

Fifteen minutes later, Frisk knocked on the door, waiting for him to grunt acknowledgement before she came in. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, dropping into her chair with a deep sigh. "There's going to be hell to pay in the morning."

She did look like hell, with bags under her eyes and a smear of blood on her cheek. Sans put the book down and tapped his own face, and she got the hint, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Ugh. That poor child." She sighed again, curling up and resting her head on the arm of the chair. "I'll wash up in a minute."

"Didn't you just get back from a thing?" he asked, wondering if she was always this cavalier about bodily fluids.

"Yes. His Holiness decided we needed more midnight services, and I have to be there every other night." She rubbed her eyes. "Flynn must have followed me back here. People aren't supposed to know where I live, but word is spreading. At this rate, I'll have to move again."

Sans drummed his fingertips on the bedpost. She'd found an oversized stool to use in the workshop, but there were no armchairs big enough for him, so he spent most of his leisure time on the bed. "Bein' High Priestess sucks. How long ya been at it?"

"Three years. The last Thea was assassinated, and they had to find a replacement as fast as possible. Out of all the minor priestesses available, I was the only one who passed all the tests. It's been...instructive."

"Hm." That didn't surprise him. A human strong enough to block a boss monster's focused attack had to be pretty rare. "How old are ya, anyway?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her eyes shut. "Twenty-two. I was educated in a convent, ordained at sixeen, High Priestess at nineteen." A mighty yawn was partly hidden in her arm. "Lucky me."

Sans didn't know much about humans, but he was pretty sure that was young as hell for so much responsibility. The problem was that she was good enough to handle it, which meant they'd pile on more and more until she went nuts. "Nah, it sucks ta be you. Any way you can get out of it?"

"Well," she mumbled, eyes still closed, "I can die, or marry, or go back to the convent and become the Mother Superior, which would also be until I die." Frisk yawned again. "The Feast of All Saints is next week. That's when the last High Priestess was murdered."

Something prickled up Sans' spine. "You spend all yer time doin' church stuff, kissing babies and healin' puppies or whatever. Why the hell would anyone wanna kill you?"

"I meant it when I said I have influence in the Church and at court. I don't hate monsters, which is inconvenient for several people, and I'm not quiet about it, which is extremely inconvenient for many more of them. Besides, my natural father is very wealthy, and his other childr—"

"'Natural' father?" he queried. "What, do some humans have unnatural kids?"

Her eyes opened. She looked lovely in the soft light, but troubled and sad, so much that he wished he hadn't asked. "I'm illegitimate. My father never married my mother, and our life was...bad. Very hard, for a very long time." The priestess rubbed her fingertips together, as if seeing more dried blood. "He was a very busy man, but he only has one legitimate heir. After his second wife died, he started tracking down his children born out of wedlock, and it's an open secret that he'll leave each of us a large amount after he passes."

"And whoever's left gets a bigger piece of the pie?" Sans guessed.

"Exactly. As far as I know, there were fourteen or fifteen of us, but magic runs in his side of the family, and most of his children became sorcerers. Almost all of my half-brothers have been killed fighting monsters. Two of my half-sisters blew up in an experiment that went wrong. There are only six of us left, including the—his heir."

Sans' eyes narrowed. "What is it with humans an' explodin' stuff by accident?"

He couldn't read the look on her face. "If we knew the answer to that, history would have taken a much better course."

Of course, that made him think of Kris again. It seemed pretty inevitable, so he might as well ask... "I don't s'pose," he mumbled, "there's a record of the humans who went t'the Underground on that last trip? Maybe what happened to 'em after they got back?"

Frisk raised her head a little. "That depends. We know exactly which nobles, sorcerers, and other dignitaries attended. Do you mean one of them?"

"Nah, this was a servant, I think. Prob'ly. I dunno." The skeleton felt his eyes lighting up again. "He was only 4 or 5. S'comin' up on thirteen years ago, so he'd'a grown up by now."

The priestess frowned. "No one that young was in attendance, so far as I know, and I've read every account that I could find. May I ask why you want to know?"

"Nah." Sans flexed his hand around the bedpost. "Forget it."

Frisk sighed, carving a design into the plush chair with her thumbnail. "Well, I'm afraid the answer is no. There's no record of the servants who came along, except the ones who were killed, and that didn't include any children. You'd have to check with each of the—" She sat up. "Wait. I know someone who was there—my mother. Do you want me to ask her?"

"Hell yes, I do!" Sans' hand tightened, splintering the bedpost. He guiltily released it. "Did she talk much about it? What all did she tell ya? Can I ask 'er a coupla things?"

The priestess laughed, quieting him with a wave of her hand. "Sans, please! She's been very sick recently, and I don't want to excite her too much. I will ask her anything you need to know, thank you. And yes, she talked about it to anyone who'd listen. She's the one who told me all about monsters, and what you're actually like."

Sans sat forward, but she forestalled more questions with another gesture. "First, her name is Rosa. Did you ever meet her?"

It did sound familiar. "I think so. Little, blonde, wore her hair up?"

"That's her. She would've been in charge of any children they brought along, but she never mentioned any of them to me." Frisk tapped her finger on the chair arm. "She did say there were things she wasn't allowed to talk about. She worked for the Duke as a nurse, and she would never disobey him."

He wondered for a moment if that meant the guy was Frisk's father, but was too excited to dwell on it. "What'd she say about us?" he asked curiously.

Frisk hesitated. "Well...she didn't talk very much with individual monsters, but she said the Queen was very kind and made sure to tell each of the humans how glad she was to have them visit. The King was also very courteous. He tried his best not to frighten anyone, and he thought it was rude that the servants weren't allowed to eat with the nobles."

Sans' foot started tapping. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stopped. "Who else?" he demanded.

The next moment, they both heard the office door open into the workshop. "Miss?" came a plaintive voice.

Frisk was at the bedroom door in an instant. "What is it, Flynn?" She closed the door most of the way.

Damn it all to hell. Sans grumpily listened to the child explain that he'd scratched his head and sorry, there was blood on the couch now. Frisk explained that wounds got itchy as they healed, and to please not scratch it, and that it would be much better to wipe his hands on the towel she'd put down than on the furniture. Then he had to be cleaned up again and a bigger bandage applied, and someone was sent for to take the boy somewhere he could sleep safely.

A thought stabbed at him as he listened to the proceedings: that was how she knew he could teleport and zip things around without touching them. King Asgore had insisted the monsters show off their powers in various amusing ways so that the humans would be less afraid of their magic. Sans thought it was a bad idea at the time, and look what came of it!

Frisk eventually came back to the bedroom, drying her hands on her skirt. "Let's cut t'the chase," Sans said quietly as she sat down. "Did she tell ya about any skeletons?"

"Yes." Frisk folded her hands and looked straight at him. "Two brothers, Sans and Papyrus."

Sans laced his fingers together to avoid accidentally destroying anything else. "And...?"

"She liked them very much," Frisk said calmly, "especially Papyrus. Sans was friendly, but she said he watched their every move, and it made them nervous." The priestess smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Papyrus was a joy to be around. He was very full of himself, but there wasn't a mean bone in his body, and he considered it his duty to welcome the humans as much as possible. My mother talked about him more than any other monster." She coughed. "Apparently, his spaghetti was terrible."

"...Sounds about right."

Frisk looked at him sharply. "I wanted to ask you about that, but...are you all right?"

Sans couldn't answer. He'd avoided thinking too much about home, especially the fact that he'd already been gone for a week when he got caught. It'd been easy to tell himself that he could always bust out of here if he needed to, or that the lady would let him send a message or even go have a quick visit before coming back here, but...

"Are you Papyrus' brother?" Frisk asked.

"Yeah," he ground out.

The priestess shook her head. "I don't understand. R—Mother said that Sans was shorter than any of the humans who came to the Underground, and the only boss monsters mentioned in the official histories are Asgore and Toriel. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn't sure if you were the same skeleton, you seem so diff—"

"A lot of shit happened, that's what." Sans lurched to his feet, and she had to tip her head back to look up at him. His sockets were glowing again. "Ya know what? I'm tired, an' you look like crap. Time for night-night." He jerked the door open, rattling the hinges. "Good luck cleanin' up. Blood's a bitch to get out. Trust me, I know."

She rose quietly, folding her hands in the style he recognized from the very first time he'd seen her. "All right, then. Good night, Sans," she said, and walked past him, out of the room.

He didn't slam the doors shut behind her, but it was pretty close.

Once she had control of herself again, Frisk wiped her eyes and resumed scrubbing the couch. She kept glancing underneath it, and as she threw yet another towel into the laundry basket, she decided, To hell with it, and pulled the couch aside. A nearly invisible seam in the floor showed where a board could be pried up to access her hidden safe. There was no lid, no lock, and no key, just a solid golden film that vanished when she pressed her thumb into its center.

The High Priestess surveyed the contents: several tight-folded papers, a bag of high-value dinar, a sack of silver ingots, a few pieces of jewelry, and a small box. She selected the box and removed its rosewood lid to reveal a tiny glass orb, something swirling around on its surface like smoke. She stared at it for so long that her knees began aching, but she didn't notice. Her vision blurred again, and she jammed the lid back on the little box, shoving everything back into the safe, re-sealing it, thumping the floorboard into place and pushing the couch back. Not today, she told herself fiercely. She didn't care what Sans said or how he acted. It couldn't be worth it. Nothing could!

The next day, after a late breakfast, Frisk quizzed him on the differences between various herbs and powdered animal bits and their uses; they looked over the list he'd made of new ingredients, going through the recipes and identifying how each item worked in each potion. That was the first time she demonstrated how to mix and infuse something, and the first time she warned him, "You have to be careful how you feel when you make potions. Intent is always important when you're using magic—you fully intend to cause damage, and I fully intend to protect, which is why we're good at what we do, yes?"

He shrugged philosophically, and she half-smiled. "Well," she continued, "it's similar when you're making something for someone else to take. If you're in a foul mood and you want to cause harm, or you simply don't want the person to get better, you might as well be concocting poison, or giving them water. Of course, your feelings don't matter if you're just throwing herbs into a pot, but these work as well as they do because you're putting a tiny bit of yourself into it. You have to make sure that it's a good bit."

"Pretty sure all my bits are bad by now," Sans remarked. "How's about I make some poison instead?"

Frisk shook her head, leaning over the table. "No one is all bad, Sans. Here." She took the glass stirrer out of the miniature cauldron bubbling away in the middle of their workspace. "I'll infuse it now. Watch."

He did observe closely as she bent forward, though probably not the way she'd intended; he just made sure he was looking at the potion when she glanced up at him. "Try thinking of someone you care for, and imagine it's for them." She opened her hand over the cauldron and, to his surprise, let out a low whistle, piercingly sweet.

A mote of light drifted from her palm and settled into the mixture. It seemed to sparkle for a moment, then resumed being a potion. When he concentrated, though, he could feel a little tingle of magic in it. "I won't ask you to try it till you have better control of your emotions," she said. "Right now, you're so angry that I don't know what would happen."

A different note had crept into her voice. Sans shifted his bony weight on the stool. "S'not like I can help it."

"Perhaps," she said. "You probably don't even notice it anymore. It's become a part of you, through whatever stuff has happened since the humans left the Underground. And before you ask, my mother is ill again. We can't speak with her until she's better."

There it was; he'd wondered if she was going to pretend he'd never snapped at her. "Well, you can only ask me so many personal questions before I get touchy, lady. Frisk." He tapped the worktable a couple of times. "Look, I know ya have a lot on yer plate, an' havin' to deal with me isn't much help. I just want t'know...is there any way to tell the others I'm not dead or somethin'? My brother's gotta be out of his mind by now, and I don' want someone comin' after me and gettin' caught."

Frisk shook her head, and his SOUL sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Sans, but that's out of the question," she said, soft but firm. "Our King has forbidden any humans from coming within a day's walk of the entrance to the Underground, and let's be very honest—what would happen if a human came up to you out of nowhere and said they had an important message to give the monsters?"

Sans' jaw clenched so hard that the priestess put her hand out, not quite touching his arm. "Sans, please. If there was any way to—"

"Forget it, okay? Just...never mind." The skeleton glared at the windows facing out from the workroom. Like everything else in this damn place, they were too small for him to fit more than his head through. He'd gone through this in his own mind a dozen times: even if he could break through the wood and stone, he could sense the barrier set behind the wall to block his shortcuts. The one along the outside wall was heavier than the ones in the bedroom, which were permeable, purely there to track his movements. It was debatable whether this one could be physically broken with...something, but the moment he tried, she would know he was trying and stop him with a stronger barrier.

Hmm. What if...what if he waited till she wasn't here and couldn't get back in time to stop him? If he broke through when she was distracted, and far enough away – say, doing her church stuff in the middle of the night – then there wouldn't be much she could do. He could escape and decide later whether he wanted to come back or—

Wait. Come back? What the hell was he thinking? Why would he choose to be locked up by any human? No matter how pretty, and gutsy, and sweet and nice-voiced and...

Crap.

Anyway. He wouldn't come back. He'd have to be sure to grab his notes and a few books for Alphys; Frisk could always get more copies. He already had plenty to report to King Asgore, though he felt a little uneasy about letting ol' Gorey know that the most powerful barrier-making human was a determined sorceress whose SOUL could probably make you invincible. Actually, he felt a lot uneasy. Maybe he'd keep that to himself for now.

Too bad he couldn't bring her with him...

"...ans. Sans?" Frisk was touching his radius. She'd lifted her veil, large brown eyes turned up to his. "Are you all right?"

Sans studied her for a long moment, reflecting that Papyrus had always wanted a pet. The idea was more appealing than he'd have liked to admit; he had to dismiss it with a shake of his head, and shake it again to get it loose. "'m fine, kid. Remind me what this stuff was for?" After all, he thought darkly, he'd always told Pap no. Pets were too much trouble, especially if you got attached to them. Besides, what would they feed her?

A knock on the outer door startled them both. Before Frisk could respond, the door opened, and in strode a tall, thin man in dark robes, holding a box under his arm. "High Priestess. Honored guest," the man said in a cool, whispery voice, giving them a short bow.

"Dr. Serif? This is a surprise," the High Priestess responded, replacing the veil as she stood up. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Sans, this is Dr. Serif, the royal sorcerer. Doctor, please meet Sans the skeleton."

The man regarded Sans with mild curiosity. "I am very pleased to see you again, Sans the skeleton. Has Her Eminence been treating you well?"

"Uh...yeah," said Sans, nonplussed. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The royal sorcerer bowed again. He was unnervingly pale, the effect enhanced by dark eyes and long black hair framing his face. "I helped transport you from your cell to this room."

"It took magic," Frisk said helpfully.

He'd figured as much; magic was the only way humans could do any damn thing. The boss monster looked at the box under the doctor's arm, which had a strange feel to it. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew he didn't like it.

"This is for you, as we discussed, Your Eminence," the man said smoothly. "I will leave it in your office."

Frisk looked so uncomfortable that Sans glanced at the sorcerer, but nothing was visibly wrong. The man ignored them both, striding past the table and opening the door to her office. They heard rustling, and the doors closing as he stepped back into the workroom. "That will be all. Good day, my lady, Sans." With another bow, the doctor turned and left.

"Weirdo," said the ten-foot skeleton. He found he didn't want to look away from the door lest the guy come back and catch him unawares. He hadn't been threatening, but something about him was very off.

"He's...unique." Frisk sat down again. "Now, this infusion is almost ready. We'll leave it at room temperature for another ten minutes or so before we stir it again. In the meantime, you can add two drops of peppermint oil, mint, orange or lemon extract..."

The rest of the day passed without major incident. Frisk had to stop in the middle of concocting a burn salve and leave Sans to finish it, though she cautioned him not to infuse it yet. She rather envied him; she had to walk to the other side of the castle to go over her parish's monthly accounts, balancing foot-long columns of tiny numbers to check that tithes and alms had come in and gone out properly. They never quite did, though it had gotten better in the past year, as she had made it increasingly clear that she was not interested in stealing from the poor or turning a blind eye to it, even for a few hundred extra dinar in her own column.

The attempts at bribery were particularly insulting because she didn't need it. The realm's High Priestess was entitled to half a percent of the Church's total monthly income, and through the magic of frugality and compound interest, her personal fortune had grown to the point where she didn't want to use any of it. Life was so strange; as a small child, she had only eaten once every couple of days, and now she could decide not to buy her own estate and maintain a huge staff for it.

She was starting to wonder, though, about a rumor she'd heard regarding several hundred acres of land that would supposedly be up for sale in the next few months. They were principally wheat and barley fields, no more than two days' walk from the Underground's main entrance. That was food for thought, indeed.

Frisk eventually finished and stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her room. Sans was still wary of what he ate, and she took care to have more than one damned fork now when she tasted his food for him. She wasn't worried for herself: if she didn't have time to eat in the kitchen, she routinely paid several of the staff a bit extra to make sure that everything they brought her had come straight from the pot or the pan, with no chance for someone to add any surprises.

That had felt hypocritical at first, but she'd soon realized that she couldn't rely on people's consciences or sense of duty to keep her safe. Many, like the guard captain, were loyal for loyalty's sake, but many more of them needed external motivation, and she was helping the cooks and servers support their families. And she wasn't literally stealing from orphans to do it!

An overstuffed basket sat outside her chambers, and the guard hastened to open the door and push it inside for her. Frisk carried the tray to the table, setting it by Sans' elbow as he compared nearly identical recipes in two separate books. Then she dragged the laundry basket over, pulling a sail-like garment out end over end. "Here you are," she said around an armful of fabric.

The skeleton looked up, scowling at the interruption. "Wha?"

"This is for you." Frisk tried to hold up an enormous shirt, then an enormous set of trousers. "I had them measure your clothes when we washed them for you. They made you another set."

Sans slowly got up and took the shirt from her, holding it against himself. It was sturdy linen, almost as thick as the canvas shirt he wore now and much softer. The skeleton turned it this way and that, poking the material. "What's this for?"

Pause. "It's a shirt," said Frisk. "It goes on the top half of your body. Humans need it for protection against the elements, and modesty, but for you, it's principally so that you have a shirt on."

He acknowledged her smartassery with a respectful nod. "I mean, wasn't this a pain to make? I hope nobody expects me t'pay fer this. Not my fault if what I got on ain't pretty enough for ya."

"Oh, it was. Getting something that size made up so quickly cost me more than I paid for all the clothes I've had this year combined. But you're not a slave, you're my apprentice. That means you're working for me, and I'm keeping track of your wages. It'll take a while to pay this off—" Frisk stuck her arm through one of the trouser legs, flapping it to shake it out. "—but I think you'll manage it before you leave."

Sans had another odd expression. "Yer payin' me for the stuff I make? I thought apprentices were the ones payin' to learn."

"I consider the knowledge you'll bring back to the Underground to be your apprenticeship fee, and as this arrangement wasn't your idea in the first place, we're bending the rules," she said patiently. "I see you've made three sets of burn salve, two of which look useable, and you're almost done with a cough elixir. Fair market value for those is about ten dinar total, so minus the infusion I'll do for you, you've earned about seven already."

"Hm." He scratched the side of his head. "What am I payin' you for my food?"

Frisk laughed, shaking out the other leg. "The pleasure of your company." At his blank stare, she shook her head and uncovered the tray. "No one charges their apprentice for room and board, Sans." The priestess put down the trousers, picked up the fork and leaned in for a bite of baked fish.

The skeleton pulled the tray away, making her stab the table instead. "If I owe ya money, you're definitely not gonna poison me," he pointed out, and began shoveling it in.

"You're right," Frisk said gravely, trying and failing to hide her grin. "I'm glad you've had time to mullet over."

Sans pounded the table with his free fist, rattling the glass vials. "Might as well, just for the halibut. Right?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was weak. Think of a better one and let minnow," she said around it.

"You're right," he said, and waited for her to take a bite before he added, "We really need to scale back."

They had to stop laughing long enough to eat. By the time dinner was over and Frisk had carried the dishes out, both were relaxed enough to be sleepy. "Dunno why I keep wantin' to go t'bed, all I've done is read 'n catnap," mumbled Sans, trudging into the bedroom and flopping onto the mattress. "'m not even usin' my damn magic."

"You're eating human food, so your body is getting more nutrition and working harder to process it," Frisk pointed out, settling into her chair. "Mother said the humans all had to eat more to stop being hungry Underground." She tried not to burp out loud. "Besides, you're probably still recovering from the energy you spent being captured and then trying to kill me. Thrice."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The skeleton stretched all the phalanges of his toes, flexing them in turn. "Probably won't do it again," he added truthfully.

"Thank you." Frisk also stretched her legs out, Sans noticing how absurdly tiny her feet were as she got up from her chair with the recipe book. She reached down to dog-ear the page they were on. "Well, I—"

He whisked the book out of her hand and flipped it open to smooth the page out. "Use a bookmark, woman! What are ya, some kinda barbarian?"

"It's an old book! They're all creased anyway," she argued, trying to take it back. He held it over his head, roughly a mile out of reach. "All right, then, fine," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to take a bath. Read through and find five more ingredients to discuss when I get back." She shut the door on quiet skeletal griping, smiling to herself.

The next day passed in a similar fashion, at least outwardly. Frisk took careful note of everything Sans made, ignoring his suggestion to dock him the price of the ingredients when he screwed up; luckily, he was catching on fast, even if she wouldn't let him infuse anything yet. She also wouldn't tell him how much his new clothing had cost, saying only that she'd let him know when he broke even. What really got his attention was her adding, "If you make enough money, we'll send a few bushels of wheat back with you. No one can be upset that you were gone for so long if you come bearing gifts, can they?"

Sans was glad he didn't have facial muscles or anything similar to betray his inner turmoil. He'd had a lot of second thoughts last night about bashing his way out of here, due in small part to the new outfit and the possibility of bringing food to the Underground, but mostly because she was working her brain-magic on him again, being attractive and kind and easy to talk to like the terrible, sadistic person she was...not. She was not remotely terrible or sadistic, and that was the problem. He still didn't understand it, or how it was getting worse so much quicker than he'd anticipated. He just wanted to get away before she entangled him any further.

Then he'd started thinking of Snowdin right before he fell asleep, and for the first time since he'd been captured, he had dreamed of home. He dreamed their house was cold and dark, with no one upstairs and a single light on in the kitchen. A female form was silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, facing something slumped over the side of the couch. "C'mon, Pap. He's probably just out on another hunting trip," she argued.

"...IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?" The thin, nasal voice hurt Sans' SOUL, and not just because he'd desperately wanted to hear it again. This wasn't his boisterous, indomitable, recklessly cheerful brother; this was a small, heartsick Papyrus, one Sans hadn't seen or heard in a long, long time. The last time it happened, at least Sans had been there for him. Now Sans was gone, too.

"Hunting animals, Papyrus! He's hunting animals. Not humans." The woman thumped the wall for emphasis, knocking little bits of plaster from the ceiling. Dammit, Sans had told her to quit doing that. "That's gotta be it. We don't eat humans, and he knows how bad the food situation is, right? So..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE'S DOING. ...WELL. NOT MUCH." The skeleton heaved a sigh, raising his face from the couch cushion. "...UNDYNE, I...I CAN'T REACH HIM. IF HE'S ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS HE?"

And then something had seeped out of the darkness and gently enclosed Sans' mind, blotting out the dream like a sponge on spilled water. He had woken up knowing that it wasn't a dream, and was instantly enraged—he'd been so grateful that the nightmares had stopped, and too damn stupid to figure out that she'd set a barrier up against external influences, including dreams shared with Pap. He'd ponder the full ramifications of it blocking nightmares another day; the memory of his brother's expression had decided him. Agreement or no agreement, he was getting out of here tonight.

Of course, he couldn't pack up the stuff he needed before their lesson was done, or right afterward. He wasn't worried about giving himself away: as an accomplished bullshitter, he knew he was behaving perfectly normally. The moment dinner was cleared away, he called dibs on the bathroom, which had a nice, huge tub that he wanted to use one more time. When he was done and she'd gone in and locked the door – and after the usual stab of curiosity as to what she looked like outside of clothes – Sans quietly put everything he wanted into a satchel he'd found under the worktable, and stowed it behind the door in the bedroom, where he had to wait until she was done getting dressed.

The one odd thing was that after she emerged from her dressing room in her full priestess-y regalia, she went into her office and spent a few minutes doing nothing that he could hear, after which she was wearing a different brooch. She'd had a white one on the first day they met, but this one shone with a greyish light under her veil.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked carelessly. It was ten o'clock.

She smiled. "If my duties only included saying words and a few songs, I would sleep much easier. There's always someone to speak to before and after services."

"Gotcha. Well, have fun. 'm gonna read somethin' with a damn bookmark 'fore I go to bed—I forgot t'ask, mind if I try ta make a few things while you're not here?"

"Go right ahead. You'll pay for it if you burn down my workroom, so I'm trusting you to behave." Was he imagining a weird little inflection there? No, she looked totally wonderful. ...Normal. She looked totally normal. "Good night, Sans," she said, adjusting her veil.

"G'night, Frisk." He stretched out on the bed as she shut the door.

That was it, then. He might not ever see her again. It...wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it felt pretty bad. Time to quit feeling it, think of Pap, and focus on his plan of action.

The plan: well, for starters, it would be dumb to try breaking out immediately. He wished he knew exactly where the chapel was. He'd heard occasional church-type singing off in the distance, but that didn't give him an idea of how far away she'd be during the service, or for exactly how long. Instead, he watched the clock and fidgeted, as nervous as the first time he'd faced down a group of human sorcerers.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe he should just ask her to take down the barrier keeping him from dreaming with Papyrus, just for one night. She was too kind to refuse, and intelligent enough...

...to ask him for more information in exchange. Frisk knew he used to be a normal monster, and might think to ask if he'd always been able to speak across dreams; it wouldn't be too far a stretch for her to keep questioning how he became a boss monster. She'd also realize that if she let him communicate with other monsters, he could tell them several things that she would prefer they not know, including her identity and full capabilities. It was one thing for her to take a calculated risk and let him go back to the Underground with that information, or – much more likely – to make him forget it before he left; some humans had the ability to excise bits of memory like that. It'd be another thing entirely to permit a conversation that no one else could even hear. She was nice, not stupid.

So Sans waited until eleven forty-five, and then he sat in the workroom with the satchel looped around his wrist for another ten minutes, nerves humming. Then he got up, went to the double doors leading out of her rooms, and silently picked up a seven-foot decorative statue standing at the room's threshold, wedging it inward across the doorframe. He went back to the workroom, judged the weakest place in the outside wall, reared back, and slammed his fist directly between two of the windows.

Frisk had started to relax as the organist began playing and incense floated in the chapel air. She was opening her mouth for the first hymn when a warning note sounded in the back of her mind: the barrier to her workroom's outside windows was tingling, and then it suddenly burned away, the warning note sliding all the way up to a full-blown klaxon.

She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, controlling her expression with a supreme effort as the voice in her head screamed, Sans, you two-faced sack of fertilizer!

The only good thing about the situation was that she wasn't leading this service. Therefore, it was odd, but not completely conspicuous, when she stepped to the back of the choir, touched her new brooch, and vanished.

#frans this fic brought to you by ABC Mouse

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knjnvrland · 5 years ago

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Prank Wars - ch. 7

> pairing | jungkook x reader

> word count | 3.5k

> genre | college!au, fluff, smut, angst

> warnings | swearing, sexual innuendos.

> synopsis | College can be a stressful time in anyone’s life as it is, why don’t we throw a little prank war in the mix to make it harder?

> fic masterlist

> A/N | English is not my first language, I’m sorry for the eventual spelling mistake, please let me know if you find any!

CHAPTER 7 - Popcorn Stealer

It was only a week after that Jungkook’s plan came to fruition. With everyone having exams and finals, there wasn’t much hanging out in the days following the whole having-sex-in-the-heat-of-the-moment-with-you thing. But it all finally ended on a nice Thursday afternoon. The last of you who still had some sort of assignment were Jimin, Namjoon and you -you and your brother were on the same boat, having the same teacher for different lectures who was really into leaving things last minute. Jimin only had a paper left because he got so caught up helping Hoseok that he kinda forgot he had his own things to do. But at last, after class was over on that sunny but chilly afternoon, you were finally on winter brake. No one had the stamina to go out and party that night, and, as Jungkook himself suggested, you’d all meet up for brunch at Jin’s the next morning and have a chill day doing whatever.

What no one knew, however, was that Jungkook would wake up that Friday at the ass crack of dawn just to pull his prank on you. It wasn’t as if there was absolutely no contact between the two of you in the days that followed. You texted him a meme that same day, ashamed of how you handled the situation and trying to not make things awkward. It worked, you guessed, as the two of you communicated solely through facebook-mom kind of memes every day from then on. You also bumped into each other one night at your brother’s place, but if anyone noticed anything about how the two of you would avoid eye contact like two middle schoolers avoiding themselves on the school corridors after texting something risky, you didn’t know. That is, aside from the weird looks Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok still gave you whenever you acted normal around Jungkook, they were still getting used to the friendship thing, god forbids they find out what happened. It would break them.

You woke up later then you planned Friday morning, and could hear Alice already taking her shower. You checked the time and saw that twitter was blowing up with something, but had no time to snoop around a bit because your friends would be waiting for you in twenty minutes, so you got up and decided to skip showering and just get ready. Alice was out around the same time you were finishing brushing your hair, and traded places with you in the bathroom so you could wash your face and finish getting ready. You were both at the door surprisingly on time, and texted the group chat to let them know you were on the way. It was a short walk from the dorms to Jin’s cafe, and even if it looked like it would start pouring at any moment now, you decided to ditch the car and just take the stroll there, hoping one of the boys could give the both of you a lift if you needed it later.

It was nice to leave your heavy books and computer behind for the first time in weeks. You weren’t even carrying a purse! Everything you needed fitted in your coat’s pockets. You were happily thinking to yourself throughout the first five minutes of your walk when you first noticed the commotion.

“What's going on there?” You wondered, looking at a group of people surrounding some bushes on the sidewalk.

“Oh, didn’t you see? A bunch of clothes showed up all over campus this morning” Alice took out her phone to search the tweets and show you.

“That’s so random” you passed by the group and noticed on of the round bushes was wearing a grey sweater, while another one had a simple white shirt on “funny, I have a sweater like that"

“They think it’s some sort of art project, no one claimed it yet, though” Alice found what she was searching and turned her phone to you “This one’s the most popular”.

In the picture it was the big tree in front of the main humanities building, where you had most of your classes. The tree had no leafs anymore, as expected during winter, but from it there were a bunch, and I mean a bunch, of underwear hanging. All female clothing, you noticed. The piece of resistance, the focus of the photo, was a light yellow bra with two cartoonish bears on it, one on each side where the boobs were supposed to be. You took the phone from Alice and zoomed in. It couldn’t be.

“Hey, everything alright?” You stopped on your tracks and Alice took a second to realize, coming back to you when she noticed. You gave her the cellphone back and took a better look around. On every tree leading up the main path there were at least one piece of clothing. And in the small sections without trees, there would be bushes, benches and even some lamp posts all dressed in cute blouses, bras and pants. Your cute blouses, bras and pants.

“I’m going to kill him this time, I swear I will” You started to walk again, faster this time, and Alice had a hard time keeping up with you.

“Hey! What’s wrong?” Alice held your arm to slow you down, but it didn’t really work.

“This is my stuff, Al!” You didn’t even look at her “I knew I wasn’t going crazy, I’ve been noticing that my clothes have been disappearing” Her mouth hung wide open and it would be impressive how quickly she connected the dots were not for the ongoing theme of the semester being ‘Jeon Jungkook must be ended’.

“Oh he didn’t” she picked her pace by your side “I thought you guys were cool now!”

“So did I!” You lamented to yourself. All you wanted at this point was peace and a nice break, some good food, maybe a gift or two for Christmas… Instead you’d be spending your next weeks in jail, after trying and failing to commit the perfect crime. Knowing Jungkook as well as you did, you were sure he wouldn’t even let himself be killed alright. “I was so dumb! It began when he started to come over to do his laundry” you mourned to yourself “I should have guessed he had something to do with it.”

By then you were just a few steps away from the cafe entrance, and through the window you could see the boys all inside having a laugh. You bursted in first, and the whole table they were in went silent. Your older brothers smiled sheepishly at you, but Taehyung could barely hold in his laughter, biting on his knuckles to stop himself. You could notice Alice mouthing something to Yoongi and he responding only by a motion of his shoulders. Jimin hid his face behind Hoseok, and Hobi gave Jungkook a pat on the back. And sitting there, as if he owned the place, was him. He smiled triumphantly at you and again, it all happened so fast you would only remember what went down next when your friends retold you the story later.

Passing by your side at that exact moment was Rhina, this cute freshman Jin had hired to help out with the busiest hours of the cafe. She was carrying on her tray what looked like a frappuccino or some other sort of cold drink only someone mental would order at this time of year, but it worked perfectly. You took it and made your final few steps towards the table. Hoseok still had time to try and get out of the way, but the same could not be said about Jungkook who, in a matter of seconds, was head to toe covered in cold coffee, foam and tiny marshmallows. You turned around and left before anyone could do anything. You would regret it later, when your friends would tell you about the look on his face or about the fact that he slipped when he tried to get up and ended up dragging Jin along with him, making an even bigger mess. But then, all you wanted was to get away.

You were starting to trust him, and yes, Alice would remind you later that no one knew it was actually your clothes, and that the boys ended up spending the rest of their first day of break cleaning up the campus and searching for the pieces that had been stolen to return them to you, but you were a little bit hurt by the prank.

It was just a prank, you would try to remind yourself, but you didn’t feel like getting back at him this time. You just got back to your room, turned off your phone and curled up in bed to rewatch your favorite tv show and forget that the outside world even existed.

The next day, Alice and you had made plans to watch movies at Yoongi’s. She felt bad about what happened, even if deep down she felt you over reacted a bit, and Yoongi had this massive TV he used to produce his music and made for the best home cinema ever. Besides, there were a couple of films you really wanted to see, missing them while they were on the movies because you had to study. You were supposed to meet the couple there, but Alice had a few errands to run earlier, and you just made your way to Yoongi’s place because you were bored of staying in already.

You had the password to the front door of the building, memorizing it by how often you went there with Alice, and you were just waiting for the elevator when someone stopped beside you.

“Hey” of fucking course.

“I’m not talking to you” you responded, not bothering to look at him.

“You just did” you could hear the smile on his voice.

“Seriously, Jungkook, how old are you?” The elevator doors opened and you got in, hoping he would just let you ride alone. Tough luck.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever” he tickled your side and you took a step away, trying to mask how your body reacted to the touch.

“Just watch” you pressed the number to Yoongi’s floor and crossed your arms, getting as far away as possible.

“You have to admit it was funny” he leaned into the back of the elevator with his body turned to you “and you already had your revenge, we’re even”

“I wasn’t trying to get revenge and it wasn’t funny. I can’t login into any social media without seeing my underwear all over my timeline” you huffed. “and people can be really mean, you know?”

Jungkook looked taken back by your statement, but it didn’t last long, the smile returning to his face. “Well, what did you expect when you bought yourself mickey mouse panties?”

The doors opened at Yoongi’s floor and you stepped out, glad to know Jungkook's floor was a few above the older boy. “You know what? Fuck you.”

Before the doors closed you could still hear his “you already did!” and had to take a quick look around to make sure no one heard it. You sighted relieved when you noticed you were alone, and made your way to Yoongi’s apartment.

A few hours went by with you and Yoongi alone. Alice was running late and the both of you didn’t want to start the movies without her, so you just spent de afternoon watching music videos and some random clips on youtube. Yoongi also showed you what he has been working on. His graduation project revolved around composing an EP and putting together a small concert, it sounded fun but it was actually a lot of work, since he had to do not only the production of the songs, but also the organizing of the event and all the reports and data analysis of the feedback. He was in the final stages of his album, just finishing a couple of songs, and you were the only person, besides Alice, that was shown the entirety of the work.

He had a couple of songs with ‘special guests’, them being Namjoon and Hoseok in one of the tracks, and Jungkook in another one. You knew your brother could rap, and had been to a few competitions he was a part of growing up, but Hoseok was a nice surprise, specially when you noticed how different all of their styles were. And Jungkook was also something you didn’t expect. You noticed a few musical instruments when you visited his place, and you knew he helped Yoongi on the studio, but you always assumed it was related to technical production, not singing. You hated to admit how much you appreciated his voice, and felt awkward asking Yoongi to play that track again.

“That one is not really finished yet” He commented, pausing the next one that was about to begin “I know it sounds weird, there are a few bass lines I have to tweak and-“ he started to bite on the corners of his thumb nail, and you noticed he was actually really nervous about the whole thing.

“No dude, I’m asking because I liked it” his eyes light up at that and went bigger then you ever saw them.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite so far” you smiled and scooted closer to the computer, to press the play on it again.

He went quiet immediately and you could feel he was studying your reaction, so you tried to come up with something smart to say. “I like the… guitars on it?” You knew it sounded more like a question then an affirmation, but Yoongi laughed nevertheless.

“There are no guitars on this song” ok, never mind. You hid your face in your hands and laughed alongside him, there was no point in denying that you knew nothing about music, that talent being spent entirely on your brothers.

“My bad. I really liked it though" you commented when the laughter died down.

“I was uncertain about asking Jungkook to be in it, but after last year’s bonfire festival I was convinced he could sing” he shook his head, reminiscent of a time you still weren’t around “he was always blabbering about his music skills to get girls but never actually owned up to it, and then he lost a bet with Jimin and had to perform and honestly, I had to make use of him somehow, he owned me for how many times I saved his ass…” he pondered for a while but continued “and I’m sure the fact that he’s in the track will bring some attention to the EP” you shoved him sideways and before you could ask more about that bonfire festival, someone knocked at the door.

Yoongi stood up to answer and in came Alice with, of course, Jungkook trailing behind.

“Look what the cat dragged in” Alice was carrying a bag full of groceries and pointed back at the younger boy, who was also carrying a few bags himself.

Yoongi gave them passage and took everything Jungkook was carrying, walking with Alice to the kitchen so they could put everything away. The boy stood awkwardly in the middle of the room and gave you a side smile, almost like an apology. You glared at him and turned to follow the other two, hoping they could keep you busy from looking at the intruder’s face.

“-and then I was just about to give up getting it when Jungkook showed up, so I invited him to come” Alice was finishing explaining to her boyfriend what went down on her day to keep her from coming early “I downloaded a few films, not sure what you wanted to see” she found a small pendrive in her purse and handed it to you. Finally, a task you could menage.

Yoongi and you had already set up the living room earlier, dragging his mattress to be on the floor in front of the couch and moving his giant TV out of his working desk and back to the part of the loft assigned as the living room where it was supposed to be. You were sitting on the mattress browsing Yoongi’s computer to see what were the film options, when you felt the place beside you being taken.

“What do you want?” You didn’t bother looking at him to ask.

“Can we be okay tonight?” You glared his way and saw him using the puppy eyes you were sure he learned from Taehyung.

“Are you for real?” You went back to your browsing.

“Yes, please, they have nothing to do with it, we don’t even have to talk, let’s just not, I don’t know, be us?” You looked at him again “you know what I mean! Let’s not argue, I won’t bother you, you don’t pretend you hate me-“ You opened your mouth to interrupt him but he went on “I said what I said! Let’s just be cool? Please?”

You rolled your eyes but honestly, you could take a break from the bickering and, as annoyed as you were with the existence of Jeon Jungkook, you could play nice for a night “fine, but don’t force it” he smiled big and stood up, running back to the kitchen to help your other friends, but not before turning around midway to, not only catch you staring, but also give you a wink. What an asshole.

Alice had downloaded quite a variety of movies, most of them you didn’t even recognize, but after checking with everyone a few times to find one that had not been seen by anyone, you set on a war film. Not your favorite but you could menage. Yoongi made popcorn and Alice filled a few big cups with your beverages and you were all set to go. Not even ten minutes in, Jungkook had managed to spill all his popcorn and scooted closer to you to steal from your bucket.

“For real?” You whispered to him, trying not to bother Alice and Yoongi sitting behind you on the sofa, cuddling under the blankets. He just grabbed a handful and shoved it all on his mouth, you heard Alice chuckle behind you and noticed she witnessed the whole thing but, instead of sticking with you as a best friend should, she just did the same with Yoongi’s bucket, but was not reprimanded at all.

“You should be more like Yoongi” Jungkook whispered back to you, still with food in his mouth. You grabbed more of you popcorn and shoved it to him, shutting him up again.

“And you should be quiet” there was no point fighting him, so you just got comfortable and tried to enjoy the film with him constantly stealing your food.

You were in your third movie of the night. After the war film you watched an animation, Alice’s pick, and now a drama was playing. You had seen that one already, but Jungkook was adamant in watching it so you just let him be. It was about halfway through and you were starting to feel sleepy. You were sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook, not because of the popcorn anymore, but because he was supposedly cold and Yoongi only had two clean blankets, so you had to share. You started to scoot down, to lay more on the mattress and make yourself more comfortable. Jungkook noticed it and did the same. You looked at him, but he only motioned at the fabric covering the two of you, as if saying that you were dragging it with you and he wanted the warmth. The two of you adjusted to the new position and soon enough you were not capable of keeping your eyes open any longer.

Jungkook noticed you had fallen asleep and tried to drag from under you one of the cushions you had supporting your head, to make you more comfortable. You were already insufferable as it was, he was not excited to deal with you with neck pains. But in trying to do so, he ended up pulling both the pillows, and had to support your head with his hand, trying his hard not to wake you up. Before he could figure out how to put the pillow back in it’s place, however, you rearranged yourself to lay on his arm, and then scooted closer to lay on his shoulder. He had no way out of it if he didn’t want to wake you up, so he just let you be. Before he could turn his attention back to the movie, however, he sneaked a sniff of your hair. Chocolate and coconut, like a Barbie one of his cousins had when he was little. He turned back his attention to the movie but, as much as he was liking it, it wasn’t long before he too was knocked out.

Behind the two of you, Alice and Yoongi were still wide awake. Yoongi nudged Alice when he noticed Jungkook was starting to waver, and they witnessed when he laid his head on yours and fell asleep. They didn’t thought much of it, continuing with the movie unbothered, but soon after, when you turned to Jungkook and hugged his arm, and he, by reflex, scooted closer, the couple shared a knowing look between them.

> A/N | This is a shorter chapter, more like a filler tbh, because the next one is getting quite big, just wait for it ;) I was going to take a little longer to post, but I want to try and get chapter 8 up by the 21st (comeback day aaaaaaaa who else can barely hold on their excitement?) so there's that. It's a whole lot of fluff for now but if there's anyone eagerly awaiting for the angst: I promise it's coming reaaaal soon. Longer note, I guess I felt like talking today. Have a nice day, wherever and whoever you are :)

TAGLIST | @w1tchcraftt @girlwiththeglittereyeliner @teresaisla @nctssidehoe @kawaiimusiccollection @nininek12 @livewittykid @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @planhtarxhs

TAGLIST IS OPEN

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts x you #college!bts #university bts #smut #angst #fluff #college!au #university!au #prank wars

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majorasnightmare · 6 years ago

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Please help me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , two queer trans/nonbinary 22 yr olds, find a place to live in 30 days.

Posted September 5th, 2019

I've neve made a donation post before so I'll just explain everything here

TLDR: Me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , both live with his mother in her apartment. After asking us to go unemployed for several months to avoid scheduling conflicts for things she wanted to do, she is now requiring us to both submit job applications and be hired by the end of today. We have 30 days to save money from that job before we are forced to move out. We have no money, no credit, and no friends nearby to live with, and the job she wants us to work at is one im incapable of doing so, due to symptoms of my mental illnesses. She is demanding we leave in 1 hour as of this post to apply at our McDonald's where she expects them to hire us on the spot and for us to begin working that job tomorrow.

Please, we need money to do literally anything about this situation. I'll put my paypal link under this paragraph. All money will be kept in paypal so that if the situation changes i can send it back to any donors without having to wait several days for my bank to process the transfers. Note: my paypal uses my legal name, one I'm normally loathe to put online, but emergency circumstances require it.

PAYPAL:

LONGER SUMMARY:

This morning, we were woken by @dantemoore0's mother, who gave us the news that we had to start working today and then move out in 30 days. Until this point, we had both been unemployed for several months, experiencing verbal abuse from her as she ignored our mental health issues and chronic fatigue and demanded we continously clean up her apartment, and regardless of how much we cleaned, we would be yelled at afterwards for not doing enough and for the house looking filthy anyways. She had been out of town the past 24 hours and we spent that time cleaning, and we didn't finish until 6 in the morning. My body is in so much pain I can barely walk, and I am incapable of standing for longer than a few seconds.

I am autistic, as confirmed by my mother, without any diagnosis paperwork as she declined so that it wouldn't show on my records and interfere with my future. I'm incredibly sensitive to touch and texture, and preparing food on the regular, quickly, is not something I am capable of doing. I am also in a massive amount of pain, and my anxiety is spiralling out of control to the extent that I uncontrollably spasm during panic attacks, which happen often now. These new symptoms are terrifying to me, and I've been regularly suicidal, which she claims makes me a selfish and disrespectful person to her. I have been continously going into shutdowns that render me completely non-verbal

I have $5 in my savings account, and $.83 cents in my checking, I have no credit card or any kind of credit history at all, and @dantemoore0 is deep in student loan debt he's been unable to make payments on, causing his credit to drop. He no longer qualifies for her previous credit union after being disowned from his formerly adopted family and has spent the past several years without a bank account.

We have 3 cats to take care of, which his mother got us after feeling guilty about the amount of stress she causes us, and we are almost solely responsible for their care and maintenance. We haven't been able to take them to the vet even once, and as such they haven't been spayed or neutered. Two of the cats are in heat and must be kept seperate from their male sibling, and one of those cats has a medical condition (we think) where she will remain in heat until she is bred or spayed.

I have no shoes to work in, because all I own are sandals that were gifts from friends to avoid overheating in the heatwave, and boots that were christmas presents from family. My last pair of work shoes was thrown out by her, and my partner's shoes are several sizes too big for me to wear

On top of this, our cats are running out of food. She refuses to get the kind of wet food they eat, and then, because they aren't eating the kind she does get, stated that she isn't going to get them more food because she's sick of the cats "wasting her food and money".

We have several tote boxes of belongings from when we moved in together that we have no place to store. We have no luggage for our things, and no dresser for our clothes, and no way to transport any of our belongings because neither of us has a license or a car.

We have a bug infestation thats from a combination of living above a Public Storage rental space (where she gets housing through her job), and my previous abusive family. As such, she made us throw away 90% of our furniture including our dressers and most tables and boxes. Most of our belongings now are expensive presents from friends and family over the years that, on top of being financially valuable, provide some of the only sources of emotional reprieve we have. If we continue living with her, she has said we would be required to throw those away for fears of bug infestation. These include both our TV's, all of our gaming consoles (2 PS4's, a PS3, a PS2, and a WiiU, all gifts) and most of our video games and DVDs.

We have no Wi Fi/Internet at our house, and rely solely on our mobile data to communicate and do things. We can only put in job applications on the rare times she can drive us to our college campus, where only one of us can apply at a time due to me no longer having my login info, because application websites crash on our phone even when using the desktop version.

My physical health is deteriorating rapidly. Both mine and my partner's mental health are going to hell.

Even after all that, I feel like I'm forgetting info. If i remember anything more, I'll edit this post, and put it under an Edits header, and date it.

For anyone who read this whole way and doesnt want to scroll again, I'll repost the link here. Again, all donations will be kept in PayPal until they need to be used, where I'll make a post to inform everyone that the money was spent and what it was spent on (with receipts as proof when possible). I want to be as reliable as possible on this

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meetmeinthematinee · 5 years ago

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Smutty Prompt #100

A wonderful anon asked for a smutty story based on prompt #100 -- “What are you doing in my bed?”

It’s actually not smutty as much as it is FULL CHEESE. My god. I’m telling you right now the last line of the fic is either SO BAD that you’ll be like this bitch is cancelled OR you’ll think it’s brilliant. I cannot tell which. I support either reaction.

Enough rambling. Fic below the cut.

You sighed as you walked into your apartment, dropping the keys onto the side table with a clatter, toeing off your shoes and hanging up your bag and coat. Work had kept you at the office much later than you’d hoped. Things were busy, which was good for your bank account but not so much for your social life--or your mental health for that matter. You’d stopped for sushi on the way home. It was nice to have something other than the greasy take-out you’d been relying on since things had gone haywire at work. The only plan you had for the rest of the night was going to bed.

“WHAT THE FUCK.” You yelped as you took in the large man sized lump in the centre of your bed as you flicked on the overhead light. The lump sat upright and sheepishly ran a hand through his long, dark hair. “What are you doing in my bed, John!?!” You hissed at him. “You scared me half to death.”

Suddenly, something inside you just snapped. Whether it was the long days and stress at work or the fact that you’d missed John far more than you realized---you burst into tears.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I. I got back earlier than planned and thought I’d surprise you. I fell asleep waiting for you”

John got off the bed and enveloped you in a tight hug, swaying you gently in his arms and kissing your forehead. “Let’s get you comfortable. Ok?” He asked as he gently guided you towards the bed.

He slid off your blazer, his fingers trailing along your bare shoulders as he pushed the fabric away from them. You sniffled as your tears slowed. You gestured to your face as he helped you out of your trousers. “This wasn’t because of you. I’ve just been really stressed and overwhelmed and I guess….I missed you and when you appeared it all came crashing down at once.” You babbled as he quietly folded your pants and set them down. You curled up under the covers and he joined you as soon as he’d undressed. Closing your eyes you heard the rustling of the soft duvet and felt the dip of the bed as he got in. John pulled you closer toward his chest and you tilted your face up to greet his embrace with a longing, slow kiss. “I missed you too, you know.” He said quietly. “You were never far from my thoughts. I wondered what you were doing, how you were. I wish I could have talked to you.” He ran his thumb along your lower lip before leaning his face in and nuzzling his nose against yours. “I’ve never seen you like this---you can tell me anything, you know.” He added softly, his breath fanning across the side of your face.

“Work has been horrific since you left. Just. Constant, non-stop work. All I wanted was to come home and go to bed.” You sighed deeply, tracing his side with your fingers. “I’m so glad you’re here, again.” You said. Punctuating each word with a gentle kiss. You curled into his arms, your leg hooked around his, feeling safe and warm in this tangle of limbs underneath your plush duvet.

“I guess your work is always horrific---I shouldn’t complain.” You said, flattening your palm against his chest.

“Truthfully, I try not to think about it. Stress is stress, it really doesn’t matter where it comes from or how.” He said, closing his eyes. In the soft moonlight filtering in through the window you could almost see him will his mind clear. “I’m sorry.” You said, tracing the contours of his jaw with your fingers. He let out a slow breath. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He leaned in and kissed you again, his lips warm and soft against yours. “Let's get some sleep so we can enjoy ourselves tomorrow.” “Is that?” “Shhh. Sleep, love.” You kissed him and untangled from him, turning over so he could hold you, curling himself against your back, his arm around your waist. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and you both drifted off to sleep.

Early morning sun filtered into your room and roused you from your deep and dreamless sleep. John’s arm was slung low around your hip, his body still pressed up against yours. You hadn’t felt this relaxed in quite a while. You shifted your legs, straightening them slowly---not wanting to disturb his sleep. His lips on your shoulder let you know that despite his even, steady breathing he wasn’t asleep. He kissed his way along your shoulder at a languid pace. His hand spayed out on your hip, pulling you in tighter against his body. You hummed in appreciation as he kissed and nipped his way up your neck and you felt him grow harder against your ass. Neither one of you spoke---instead you focused on enjoying the feeling of one another. The silent pleasure of a well rested morning after a long separation. He slid his hand across your hip, his fingers edging closer to the juncture between your thighs. You slowly pressed back against him, moving your hips so slowly, back and forth, teasing him as you slid your leg behind you, resting it on top of his, giving him access to whatever he wanted. Opening yourself to him, like a treasure to be discovered.

🔝Me after posting this

TAGLIST (obvs, you can ask to be added or removed at any time.)

@inlovewithliferuiners @nnneith @xo-dragonette-xo @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

@fanficsrusz @baphometwolf666 @sgt-morgan @thesadvampire @mikaneonox @paanchu786

@ficsnroses @keanuwwu @kathorax @beyond-antares @themanthemyth-thelegend @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @jardani-jovonovich-bitch @21stcenturyyfoxx @ladyreapermc @holiday-armadildo

#my fics #smutty prompt #requested prompt #john wick imagine #john wick x reader #insert gif of winston saying jonathan what have you done #honestly i dont know what the hell im doing anymore #i was possessed by the cheese

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gainerfiction · 6 years ago

Text

Cam Guy

"Aaannnnddd we're live..." said Dom as he began his nightly live broadcast on a popular porn website. "Bring it on boys, let's see what you got!" He exclaimed.

Dom was a top broadcaster on this site. He was 5'11" and 195 pounds with a very lean muscular build. His skin was tan and he had a slightly hairy body. His voice was deep, and slightly raspy. Dom took pride in the fact that he let his viewers take control of his broadcasts. Tonight, Dom was using a vibrating dildo that would give a strong, pulsing vibration everytime a viewer sent a donation or tip.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Rang the dildo as a viewer donated tokens.

"Oooohh fuck!" Groaned Dom, "We're off to a quick start tonight."

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

"Oouuuggghhh! Fuck! who's the aggressive donator?!" Screamed Dom as he looked at his broadcast's chat.

Dom scrolled through his chat to the most recent donation. The tips came from an unfamiliar name, "Luvbig500."

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

"Ohhh! Thank you Luvbig500. It's always good to see some new faces, especially ones who tip."

Dom was wearing a black jockstrap that could barely contain his bulge. The dildo vibrated again, and he began rubbing his cock. Dom continued to groan as the bulge in his jockstrap grew larger.

*ding!*

Rang a notification of a new private message from Luvbig500.

"Love hearing you groan" It read.

Dom quickly typed a reply. "Thanks for the donations. Keep making me groan then ;-)"

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom began to groan with pleasure.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

The dildo continued to buzz, and Dom screamed with pleasure. He removed his cock from his jockstrap, and began to jack off. The buzzing didnt let up, and Dom's body began to tremble.

*BZZZZ-BZZZZ*

Luvbig500 began tipping in higher amounts triggering the dildo to buzz at its highest level.

Dom's body was overcome with pleasure. His hands reached for something to grab, and his back arched. His dick grew more erect, and the buzzing continued.

"Dont stop!" He said as his voice quivered.

Dom continued to reach for something to grab, and arched his back more. He began to scream as he came. His load shot across the room. The buzzing halted and Dom's body collapsed.

"Holy fuck, I've never cum that hard." He said as he panted.

*ding*

An ominous private message came in from Luvbig500, "If I send something to your P.O. Box, do you promise to use it in your broadcast?"

Dom raised his weak body and typed his reply, "yeah, the address is in my description. No one has ever made me orgasm like that. I'll do anything for you."

Dom sent the message, but by the time it had sent, Luvbig500 was already offline.

As the days days went by, Dom continually checked his P.O. box. A couple fan letters, but nothing from his new viewer.

One day, Dom anxiously logged into his broadcasting profile for his nightly cam show, and checked his private messages. Luvbig500's last login showed as 4 days ago.

"Ugh, I wonder what he's going to send me. I'm so excited to try whatever it is out."

Dom went to check his P.O. box one last time before his broadcast was scheduled to start.

"Finally!" Dom exclaimed.

There was a small box in Dom's mail. There was no return address listed, but a small note was taped to the top.

"For tonight, Dom." It read

Dom quickly moved inside and opened the package. Inside was a dildo that looked similar to the vibrating one Dom had. There was also a note.

Dom opened the note and it read, "this one is more powerful, I know you'll love it."

He set aside the note and dildo, and went to his computer. It was nearly time for his cam show.

*ding*

A new private message from Luvbig500.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah! I'm excited to try it."

"Just a fair warning, once it starts buzzing... it can be hard to want it to stop."

"Uhm... what does that mean exactly?!"

A minute went by with no reply.

"It's just very powerful is all."

Dom thought to himself. He was nervous to try the dildo if it was really that powerful, but he remembered how he felt the other night.

"Ahhh, what's the worse that could happen. Let's try this out." He replied.

It was time for Dom's cam show. He inserted his new dildo, and reached for his computer to begin his show.

"Alright, time to try something new! Luvbig500 considering how you made me cum the other night, I'm expecting this to be good!" He exclaimed to his webcam.

Dom laid back on his bed, and waited for his viewers to take control. He was wearing a white pair of bikini briefs, and already had a large bulge.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

The new dildo began vibrating and Dom let out a small yelp. He was surprised by how powerful the vibrations felt. Dom could feel a dull tingle rush through his whole body.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom groaned, and felt as his whole body could feel the pleasure of his new dildo.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom began to feel euphoric, but noticed a new sensation arising. A slight pressure was beginning to build in Dom's stomach. The pressure was slightly painful, but it was also very pleasurable.

Dom found himself enjoying the feeling. He looked at his stomach and noticed it starting to bulge slightly.

"What the hell?!" He exclaimed.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz**bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Many donations began coming in as Dom's viewers became infatuated with the pleasure the new dildo was giving him.

"Oughhh! Ahhh! That feels fantastic." Said Dom, as the pressure in his stomach grew more.

He looked back at his stomach, and it began to look like he had swallowed a basketball. Dom began to rub his belly, and notice that his chest was beginning to feel more swollen.

Dom reached for his computer and typed a message to Luvbig500, "what is this?! What's happening?!"

An icon showed that Luvbig500 viewed the message but didnt respond.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom's body was filled with pleasure again as more donations came in. Everytime the dildo buzzed, Dom was unable to control himself. He became captive to the sensations that ran through his body.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz**bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

"Ougghhh FUCK!" He yelled.

Dom was able to escape his euphoria for a moment and began to feel his body. The pressure was building in his arms and legs now. He rubbed his body and noticed how soft he was beginning to feel. He moved his hands to his belly and was able to grab a handful of what seemed to be fresh, soft fat.

"Oh no. No. Stop. You need to stop." He said as he looked over at his webcam.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom panicked and reached down to the dildo to try and removed it.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz* *bzzzz-bzzzzzz**bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom was quickly overcome with pleasure and was unable to continue his attempt to remove the dildo.

*ding*

Luvbig500 finally responded, "remember what I said about how powerful it is? Just sit back and enjoy it, big guy :-) we're in control now."

Dom read the message and his eyes grew wide.

"Big guy! Big guy?! You're making me huge! This needs to stop!" He exclaimed to his webcam as he reached down to try and pull out the dildo.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

Dom yelped and was overcome with pleasure again.

Luvbig500 sent another message, "trying to take it out is useless. You dont have control. Just enjoy it."

Doms heart was beating rapidly, and he layed his head back as the donations began coming in faster and faster. With each donation, the pleasant feeling Dom felt grew stronger. Dom continued to let out captivated groans.

"Fuuuck, it feels so good." He said as he reached to grab his body.

Dom was becoming addicted to the sensation. The euphoria he felt helped him forget his panic, and made him only want more. Dom was now double his normal size and weight. His thighs were beginning to touch, his arms no longer had any muscular definition, his chest was billowing out and folding over his belly, and his love handles spilled out over his fully stretched underwear.

"Dont stop! Please! It feels so good." Dom belted out.

The donations were coming in nonstop, and Dom barely had time to catch his breath between every moan. His underwear was completely buried in fat and no longer visible. His belly folded over into his lap, and his love handles began to wrap around his body completely. His body was growing like a balloon. His skin was stretching beyond its limits, and now his bed was starting to creak.

Dom made an attempt to sit up, but his belly was easily growing past 60" around and prevented him from being able to pull himself up. He rolled to his side and onto his belly, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. His stomach was inches from touching his bed.

Dom's ass now showed directly towards the camera. His underwear was ripping down the center. His skin was smooth and round. Dom's viewers grew excited at the sight of doms ass, and tipped in large donations. The dildo triggered a tremendous buzz and Dom's body instantly grew pounds of fat every second.

Dom screamed loud enough for his neighbors to hear. His belly grew and was now touching his bed. Dom's arms began to struggle to hold his growing weight.

Another set of large donations trickled in, and Doms body grew larger. Dom noticed as his arms and knees were no longer having to support his weight. His belly was growing so large that it began to lift him off his bed. Doms bed was creaking loudly.

"This has to stop." Dom thought to himself, "If I shut off the cam show, then they cant tip."

Dom reached for his computer, but his arms were growing too heavy. Dom tried to roll his body to the edge of his bed so he could reach better, but he had grown so large that he didnt even have the strength to move.

*ccrrrraaaAAAAACCCKKKKK*

Dom's bed collapsed under his tremendous weight, and fell to the floor. Dom was helpless. He couldn't stop his cam show, and there was no possible way for him to reach the dildo to pull it out.

He grew and grew as his viewers relentlessly donated. With every buzz Dom's body shook with pleasure. His fat body rippled as new pounds of fat struggled to find a place to settle. Dom was now screaming with orgasmic intensity.

By this point, Dom could no longer tell how large he was. His bed was no longer visible, and he was easily over 1000 lbs. His underwear ripped long ago, and he was now just a naked blob of fat, growing uncontrollably.

Dom's arms were pushed directly out to his side. Rolls of fat grew deeper and deeper. Dom's feet could no longer touch the floor. His body was still growing.

Dom's body could no longer take the back to back orgasms he could feel throughout his body. Dom let out an animalistic yell as he finally cam. Dom's dick was completely buried in fat, but his viewers watched as cum slowly dripped down his thighs. The donations stopped, but Dom's cam show was still live.

Dom was completely weak. He turned his head towards his computer and read his chat.

"Sooo hot"

"This guy is ginormous!"

"Is the broadcast over? Why's he still on? He came didnt he?"

Dom was unable to move, and layed helplessly as his viewers continued to comment.

*bzzzz-bzzzzzz*

The donations started back up, and Dom's body continued to grow. Dom groaned, as he realized it would never stop. His growing body was now forever in control of his viewers. Growing endlessly.

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