#i just wish i knew where i could find manual scans

[autistickaitovocaloid]

Project Diva Extend disc jumpscare

[hautevaux]

@obscureign asked: 💭 + fishing net MEME: Forget me Not 💭My muse has lost their memories. Send 💭 + something would your muse say/do to bring their memories back.

It's disorientating, to suffer the obscenity of a large seizure; it is made worse thrice over, however, upon coming around and not recalling anything. Naught about ones self, not about ones life or preference, naught about the people one knows or the job they work.

There are people now, in his company as he sits upon a seat in a rather dark hallway, that have been attempting to get him to recall something by telling him tales of how they knew one another, or what he had done for them through his job. But it all felt surreal, it all felt as if he was being fed stories and naught that was true - for none of it sparked recognition in the slightest. The longer it went on, the more panicked Vaux became, fearing that he would never remember.

Eyes tightly closed, a moment taken to simply breathe and attempt to settle himself down. The last thing he needed was to trigger another seizure through immense stress - and when he reopens his eyes does he find another figure in his company, but this one - dressed in stark white - sits aside him.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, fine features - no matter how many times his own silver eyes scanned his newfound companys face, he simply didn't know who he was. Cute though-

He tries his best to smile, to remain polite just in case, but the last thing he wanted was to have more unknowns thrown at him for the lithe possibility it would trigger any kind of recognition. Frankly, it was giving him a headache by this point - - but he would struggle through just one more, it would seem.

"Fishing nets-?" He repeats, appearing thrice more confused than he had been with any of the other suggestions he had been offered. Was he a fisherman? Eyes glanced down at hands and aside from what appeared to be the odd papercut and extremely well manicured nails, there were no signs of heavy manual labor. So perhaps not?

"I'm sorry, I just don't... Remember." He glances towards company once more, unable to help himself gazing at what he was wearing, finding a mental link between the words uttered and how his clothing appeared. The ends of his coat really did look rather like a fishing net, didn't they?

Upon that thought, his headache grew worse and he was all but forced to squeeze his eyes closed and cradle his head in his hands, whining towards the pain. With the discomfort came mild recognition, the first spark of it since he had regained consciousness and thought the shock of pain was detestable, he was thankful that something was found as familiar.

When it subsided after only a moment longer, Vaux took another look at his company, this time staring longer, willing his mind to remember.

"I know that I know you---" He begins, re-closing his eyes to aid in the aching of his head: "-- but I cannot place your name... Or where we are: only the feeling of familiarity and that I don't like the bottom half of your coat, passionately."

He ought be happy he had that - but Vaux couldn't shake the feeling of being displaced because of not remembering so much about himself, his routines. It was frightening, in all honesty, and he knew not quite what to do.

Perhaps relaxing was the answer, not trying to rush things out of fear and desperation would allow his mind to remember naturally but it was easier said than done.

"May I stay here a while?" Fingers pick at nails in idle anxiety, eyes now turned towards the ground: "... I'd leave but... I know not where to go." He couldn't remember where he lived, where he worked, if he had any family around that would look after him: " - - - unless you know of any family that I could be dropped off with? I wouldn't wish to be in the way here. " Wherever here was.

[pandas-pandemonium]

Yandere! Sentient! Twst (Dorm Leaders) - Player decides to delete the app for another game

A/N: Another bunch of asks I decided to group together. I also went ahead and narrowed it down to dorm leaders. If you'd like a specific character, please do say so, thanks!

Minor Chapter 6 spoilers for Idia's part

Phone storage sure is a funky little thing, isn't it? One moment you're sure you have tons of space and the next thing you know, you're staring at your application management screen, deciding what apps will have to face the fate of the dreaded 'uninstall' button. You sighed. Honestly, you really didn't want to do this, but a sacrifice had to be made! Your favourite romance visual novel game just came out and you were anticipating its release for months now! As your [Eye Colour] eyes scanned the screen, you grimaced. Guess Twisted Wonderland will have to go. It's not like you've been playing it much anyways. Plus, the internet had tons of gameplay videos with translations. You were certain you wouldn't miss out on too much.

With a wistful sigh, you smiled as your finger hovered above the button and wished your favourite characters goodbye-

What?

What's going on?

Is your phone lagging or something? The app refused to be deleted! You frowned, repeatedly tapping your phone screen. Should you restart it to see if something went wrong? You groaned, exiting the app systems screen. Maybe manually deleting it off the screen will work?

So you switched to your home screen and held the app icon, prepared to delete it off your phone. You furrowed your eyebrows, there was no option or red 'x' to uninstall it! What is up with your phone?!

Maybe restarting is the only option and so you did.

When your screen turned on again, something was very, very wrong. What kind of virus is this?? Why is the Twisted Wonderland app starting itself? Why do you hear distorted voices from your phone, as if they were trying to reach you?!

Frightened, you backed away from your phone. This is all a glitch, a very bad glitch...right?

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was extremely happy. Looks like asking Cater for help regarding phones paid off! Sure, he didn't know anything as complex as taking over someone's phone via magic, but Riddle managed to figure it out after a visit to Sam's shop. He really did have everything in stock.

Really though, you were testing his patience with your insistence in trying to delete the app, to delete him! The nerve! He's tried so hard to convey his feelings to you, and you're trying to replace his love with a bunch of other characters?! Ridiculous! His love is enough, you didn't need some random pieces of code that didn't even have sentience to pretend to love you! At least this time he has all the time in the world to talk to you.

Ah, he should really start preparing the tea! Oh, his heart was beating so fast! To think that he would finally have his very first tea party with you, the actual person behind that pre-generated character!

As he runs about, he wonders, what tea would you like? He hopes you like his choice of tea, and that you stay through the whole party. He would hate if anything were to go wrong...

Leona Kingscholar

Hey now, did you really think he of all people would allow you to get rid of him so simply? You've got to try a little harder than that, herbivore. Not to mention, were you trying to insult his looks and charm by choosing some other character over him, of all people?

As he stares out of your screen, he finds himself chuckling at your panic. That's right, keep looking at him like that. Can you hear it? The roar of a lion echoing through the speakers? Why don't you come closer? The spell he's created has been set in place. His best subject is ancient curses after all, and who knew that knowledge would come in handy in such a modern setting?

That's right, just a little closer and soon, you too, will be right where you belong.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had never thought his magic could be used in such a manner, at first. To think that with a little digging, he could easily access the Terms and Conditions of the app and change them to suit his needs! Indeed, this counts as you having signed a contract with him, no? Forget about other games and other fictional characters. He's the only one for you!

It sure is a good thing he foresaw this coming and made a few...edits beforehand, that inevitably sealed you to your fate.

"By agreeing to the Terms and Conditions of the application, you hereby agree to swear absolute loyalty to Azul Ashengrotto of Twisted Wonderland. Should the user download another visual novel or game of similar genre, the user will forfeit their physical existence immediately and will be transported to the digital realm as per the terms and conditions of the contract."

It sure is a good thing these sort of things are barely looked at again after the initial agreement. Ah, you poor, unfortunate soul... You must be so confused as to why your phone is acting up like this. Now come, the moment your finger touches the screen, the magic seal will activate and bring you to him.

Azul has never been so ecstatic. Oh, he just can't wait to have you with him!

Kalim Al Asim

Kalim is, apologetic. He really didn't want to have to frighten you like this but he had to! It just didn't sit right with him to let you go ahead and replace him with some other person!

In Kalim's case, this was rather impulsive of him. There wasn't any big plan to crash your phone, he just...did it out of willpower. Who knew you could summon a whole wave of water to actually influence code? Oh well...it worked out in the end for the young heir.

He hopes you'll forgive him for doing this. If he apologises and explains himself...you would understand, right? He can give anything you desire. Just tell him what you require and he'll buy it for you! Surely some other outsider character won't be able to compare! Besides, as far as he knows, only he's gained sentience, so that's already a bonus.

Vil Schoenheit

You sure are greedy, aren't you? If his love wasn't enough already, you choose to crave the love of others? Sure, Twisted Wonderland isn't meant to be a romance game, but he has been figuring out ways to work around his default lines. It is a shame he had to leave that project aside for a while, since he had to deal with your current, much more urgent, issue - deleting the game to make space for another. If you did that, all his hard work would go to waste!

Curses sure are a nifty thing, though. Using Fairest One Of All certainly was a good move, especially because it's something even he can't dispel until the conditions are satisfied. In this case, your phone was set to malfunction until you give up on trying to delete the application. Think of it as a little nudge in the right direction! Every time you try to click that 'uninstall' button, your phone will reboot on you, reminding you constantly that he will be with you, no matter what it takes.

Idia Shroud

Idia couldn't be anymore proud with the fact that his hacking skills could actually come in handy. To think that interfering with the Fourth Wall was so simple! He just can't believe it! All he had to do was install a virus in your phone, something that he embedded into the application, and voila! Your phone is now incapable of installing applications without his approval!

Sure, he understands your interest in other games and all, he totally gets it! But he's going to allow you to delete him along with the game! Once you calm down, he'll make sure to create a quick maintenance notice as a form of apology. Sure, he's not going to trap you in the game, but he at least wants you to keep him around.

When the game starts back up, you'll notice a new addition to your phone - your very personal Idia version of Siri/Alexa!

Malleus Draconia

Malleus simply cannot understand. Is he not enough? What exactly is he lacking that you have to search out new people, a different game entirely, to entertain your fickle human heart? He simply cannot wrap his head around the reason why you chose to delete Twisted Wonderland of all things! Why not other applications, like your messaging apps? You don't actually need to talk to others when you have him, do you?

Alas, he hasn't always been extremely good with keeping his emotions from affecting the weather. It is so unfortunate that your actions have angered this dragon fae prince; especially because his anger has very well created a storm within the game's code. Breaking it piece by piece - he'll have Lilia tend to it later - so that you won't touch the other games and applications on your device.

Really now, he should have done this much sooner! Who would have guessed how delighted he would feel when he sees you staring at your phone in fear and confusion? Sure, it's not the enchanted and lovestruck look he was hoping for, but that can be worked with. For now, let him relish in your attention, will you?

[fangirlshrewt97]

Let’s Witness the Stars Tonight

Two for one lol! I liked how this piece turned out, and I hope you guys do too!

///

Ram startled awake late into the night, and yawned. Why had he woken up? Blinking blearily, he reached for the pot of water he kept below his bed. He sat up and took a drink, yawning again. He rubbed away the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, scanning his bedroom.

After some evening rains, the breeze was bordering on cold as it floated through the room. The moon was bright though, and even the small amount entering through his window was enough to illuminate the whole room.

Which brought his attention to the sleeping mat next to his bed. Specifically, the empty mat where Akthar should have been sleeping.  

Brows furrowing, he slapped himself lightly to wake up some more and got up to go to the bathroom to search for his friend. But even after looking there and the kitchen, Ram could not find him. He walked the length of his floor outside too, and then returned to his flat to see if Akthar had left in the middle of the night, but his shoes were still by the doorway. Biting his lip, Ram glanced at the window.

Could it be…?

He put on a jacket and grabbed Akthar’s discarded blanket and made his way up to the roof of his building.

Akthar was sitting in the middle of the empty roof, the few drying clothes swaying with the wind. Ram paused just before he turned the corner which would let Akthar see him.

The younger man was sitting cross-legged, with his knees raised and arms around his legs. His head was tilted back, and eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, and even younger somehow. Ram’s breath hitched. How he wished Akthar could always be so happy. He looked so good.

Clearing his throat, Ram made his footsteps heavy as he approached Akthar. ”There you are. I thought perhaps Raju had snuck into the window and stolen you away again.” Ram teased as he settled next to his… Akthar. His Akthar. His. What a fantasy.  

Akthar’s lips curved into a smile. “That only happened one time, and it was the middle of the day. I am certain Raju has a much healthier sleep schedule than either of us.”

Ram snorted. “Probably.”

He unfolded the blanket in his arms, shaking out the wrinkles before draping it around Akthar’s shoulders. “It is freezing up here, and you are barefoot. You are going to get sick.”

Akthar’s fingers came to clutch the edges of the blankets as he rolled his head to look at Ram, eyes filled with so much fondness Ram turned to look at his own feet. “Maybe I knew you would find me soon enough with this? You are always looking out for me Anna.”

Ram blushed as he turned, praying the moonlight wasn’t so bright as to give away how much Akthar’s words affected him. Akthar’s knees knocked against him, forearms brushing against his own. They were probably twice the size of Ram’s.

Maybe it was his jovial nature, or the innocent way he behaved that made Akthar feel like a little kid. But sitting next to him like this, Ram was very aware of how much of a man he really was. Broader than Ram at the shoulders, muscles earned through a life of manual labour rather than exercise. Toes perfectly pointed even when sitting down. Akthar had a lot of strength coiled inside himself, a nimbleness that felt at odds with his size. 

Ram had seen glimpses of the flexibility, the speed, the grace with which Akthar could move. He wanted to see it fully. Properly. He was sure it would be a sight to behold. The type to leave one breathless.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I’d come to get some air.”

“Hmm. What made you wake up?” Ram asked as he brought his own knees to his chest, resting his chin on them.

Akthar sighed. “A bad dream.”

Ram’s heart ached. Akthar should never have bad dreams. “Do you want to …talk about it?”

He winced. He knew he wasn’t the type to share his feelings, but he was willing to do anything if it would help Akthar.

Bheem gave him a sad smile and shrugged. “No, it’s alright now. I just wish I was somewhere I could see the stars.”

He titled his head back again, gazing at the skies.

Ram copied him.

Delhi was growing by the month, and more people meant more homes and more lights being added to the city. Even in the short time Ram had been here, he had seen the skies becoming more and more cloudy, a heavy fog that rarely cleared enough to let them see all the stars. It made him miss home fiercely.

“They’re beautiful back home.” he said before he could stop himself.

Akthar turned to him sharply. Ram rarely said anything about his life before Delhi. “Yeah?”

Ram let his lips stretch into a soft smile. “Flat plains with the odd hills, a forest some distance from the village. Ma Godavari would become the perfect mirror on some nights when the waters were quiet, so still you could barely make out where the water ended and the skies started. 

And there were so many stars Akthar. Baba tried to teach the different constellations to me.” he laughed even as tears gathered at his eyes. He hadn’t thought about that in so long. “I was terrible with them. Sita would make fun of me constantly about it. Especially since she was able to memorize them by the second time he tried to teach me.”

Akthar made a wounded sound and leaned into Ram, resting his body weight against Ram’s side. Ram closed his eyes at the comforting weight, inhaling wetly when Akthar snuck his hand into Ram’s threading their fingers together. Ram softly lay his cheek on top of Akthar’s hair.

“I would like to see that sight one day.”

And oh, the idea of taking Akthar back to his village. Of telling him the whole truth, and seeing him among Ram’s people caused a hurricane in his guts. He wanted it so much it hurt.

“One day.” he whispered.

Akthar squeezed, turning his face to rub his forehead against Ram’s shoulder, resting it there.

///

Bheem woke up slowly, then all at once.

“-eem! Bheema!” Ram was calling his name urgently as he shook his shoulder. Scrambling up, Bheem reached for the blade he kept by his pillow even before he had properly opened his eyes.

“Huh? What? Where is the enemy?!” he asked as he blinked away his tiredness. And yet, when he was aware of his surroundings, all he saw was Ram kneeling beside him, a sheepish expression on his face as he scratched the back of his neck.

Bheem willing his heart to slow down as he realized there was no imminent danger.

“Ah. Sorry Bheema, didn’t mean to scare you. But there is something you need to see! Now!” Ram’s eyes seemed to twinkle, and his whole face looked so young it almost felt like a stranger’s to Bheem. It made him ache, that so much had been robbed from his Ram.

He tilted his head to the side, noticing that it was still the middle of the night before scanning Ram’s face. He shrugged off the blanket. “Ok, let’s go.”

Bheem stood up, tucking his blade back into it’s scabbard at the head of the bed. Ram opened the front door and gestured for Bheem to follow him.

Ram’s village was so different to his own, a farm land divided into neat plots, surrounded by farmer-soldiers. The trees where thin and brittle, too prone to being cut down for timber to have the chance to grow into the behemoths Bheem had grown up around. And yet, it still felt familiar. All because of Ram.

The people had been wary when he had first arrived, but upon learning he was Ram’s Bheem? They had welcomed him with open arms. Bheem had been fed so much food. He had been giddy.

A warm breeze blew through the trees, ruffling his hair as he silently trekked behind Ram as they walked away from the village, in the direction of the surrounding hills.

The moon looked enormous tonight, and in these open fields, the light was more than enough to walk comfortably. Ram held his hand out to help Bheem up some of the steeper sections but eventually they came to a hill a good distance from the village, with rocks scattered at the bottom of a short rock outcropping with a single tree standing tall.

Bheem breathed in the scent of the quiet earth around them, the tree bark and warm dirt. “It is so peaceful here.”

Ram hummed. When Bheem glanced at Ram, his partner’s eyes were focused on something in the distance. Bheem turned to look too, and spotted a small slab of wood a few hundred paces from them. A target was painted on it.

A memory from his first meeting with Sita nudged at him. He inhaled sharply. “Ram…is that?”

Ram nodded as Bheem trailed off. “The target I used to practice with. The first real target I hit with a real gun.”

Bheem was stunned as Ram crouched to the ground, lifting his arms to hold an imaginary rifle in his hands, the muscles automatically shifting into the correct posture.

Bheem wrapped a hand over Ram’s shoulder. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

Ram shook his head. “No. We just happened to pass by it, so I stopped. Come on, we are close by though.”

Ram got up and started walking again, confident as he wove his wave through the sparse trees. Bheem followed quietly, feeling something in the air that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Soon enough they broke through the tree line.

In front of them, the Godavari seemed to stretch to the horizon. The waters were still, the ripples minuscule. It left the river practically flat.

Just like Ram had said all those months before.

The stars seemed to have come down to the Earth for a dip in the waters too, the way their lights glinted off her surface. Bheem’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the sheer number of stars in the sky. 

The forest canopies were tricky to climb at night, and though they also got these many stars, he had never had a chance to see such an unbroken sky full of them. He felt weightless as he stood before them. 

Like if he also took a dip in the waters, he’d end up walking among them.

“Stunning isn’t it?” Ram murmured. Bheem couldn’t even speak, so he nodded his head.

Ram took hold of Bheem’s hand, fingers warm as he pressed close to they were pressed shoulder to hip.

Bheem squeezed his hand. “I don’t think I have ever seen something so beautiful.”

Ram lifted their joint hands to press a kiss to Bheem’s knuckles. “Me neither.”

He swiveled his head, only to find Ram looking straight at him. He felt the same weightlessness again.

Illuminated by the moonlight, surrounded by the stars around him, Ram looked just as godly as when Bheem had first seen him holding Lord Ram’s bow and arrows.

“Ram…”

Ram leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to Bheem’s lips before wrapping his arms around Bheem’s shoulders. He sank into him. Bheem’s eyes fluttered close as all his senses were overwhelmed by Ram, enveloping his arms in a vice grip around Ram’s waist.

They stayed there, wrapped around each other, just breathing as their hearts beat together.

“Thank you for showing this to me.” Bheem whispered.

“Thank you for coming with me.” Ram responded.

Neither mentioned the tears that were soaking their kurtas.

Or how they were still so tightly wound around each other even as they passed the night in Ma Godavari’s banks, watching as the stars eventually gave way to the rosy hues of a golden sunrise.

///

Taglist:

@rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @kafkaesquebestie @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @bluesolace1 @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheem @rambheemisgoated @jaganmaya @adikavy @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @bromance-minus-the-b @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208

Let me know what you guys think!

[bratkook]

eleven months. (m) myg. two.

masterlist.

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: fluff, slow burn!!!, eventual smut, warnings: brief non-descriptive mention of death, otherwise none word count: 7k author’s note: here’s some more backstory on both of them as well as more interaction beyond yoongi hunting down an album by the cure lmao. like i said before, i’m really soft for yoongi in this story so lmk what you think! (also..because i hate myself and love piling up wips, theres mention of oc having a previous love interest that’s actually part of another story that takes place in this universe that’s a prequel soooo...coming soon lol) taglist (open): @min-yus​ summary: it’s been years of yoongi living his routine life, accustomed to his pace of living, going with the flow and simply existing. until you come along. yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, but he weirdly craves it. craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what’s coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. and maybe you can help with that.

In the next coming weeks it becomes obvious that Yoongi is in fact a regular. His routine visits allow you to remember the usual days and times he’d pop in, so you knew if you’d be working on his chosen days. 

Somewhere in between his casual drop ins, the two of you had formed somewhat of a friendship— or the beginning stages of one at least. Yoongi liked your sense of humor, how open and friendly you were to anyone you encountered, always having something to say about anything. Conversation came easy to you, never running out of stories. It left Yoongi thinking you’ve definitely lived about ten lifetimes compared to him.

In turn, you liked how he let you steer the conversation any way you chose. Most people would probably watch on in horror at the way you’d go from talking about a specific song or band, and then switching to a story about how you chased a pickpocketer during your travels before moving on to talking about your roommate’s cat. None of it gave him whiplash though, seamlessly flowing into the next topic with a grin on his face, never feeling like he had to think too hard to keep it going. It worked best this way. Yoongi was observant by nature, a great listener above it all, so if you were the one doing most of the talking it was fine by him. 

Everyone at Rkive360 had taken notice that Yoongi’s usual five minute visits had turned into ten, and then twenty, until it became very clear he was lingering inside the store. No one told him anything, besides the fact that he was bestfriends with the owner and had immunity, all of you were fond of him. Taehyung enjoyed the sly remarks Yoongi would make, Sana just enjoyed ogling at him, Namjoon would never mind seeing him, and you would take any chance you could to attempt to wow him with your small knowledge of music. 

It was a nice distraction whenever he stopped by, always heading straight to the back where the vinyl was kept. Sometimes he had a specific album in mind, other times he was simply browsing, but he only ever bought one at a time. It was routine, maybe even a weird ritual of sorts if he really thought about it. 

On the days you knew he’d be coming you would spend a little extra time in the beginning of your shift picking out a few records to suggest to him if he didn’t have one in mind. Because of this, he had stopped his usual path to the bins and now came directly to you, the first stray off his usual routine. 

Today you’re standing behind the counter, ringing up a customer when he walks in, a smile on your face as you chat away. He patiently waits at the far corner, leaning back against it as his eyes roamed the interior of the store, taking note of the way Sana and Taehyung were trying and failing to build a giant display. It looks like a mess of parts, scattered around with no instruction manual in sight— definitely Taehyung’s idea to toss it judging by Sana’s look of frustration. 

He tears his gaze away from them beginning to argue when he hears you wish the customer a good day as they leave, pushing away from the counter and shuffling your way with a grin on his face. You smile back at the way his doughy cheeks push out, high points of them reflecting the light from above. 

“Any shirt facts of the day?”

That had also become another common occurrence. Whenever you decided to wear a band shirt, he somehow always had random facts about whoever it was. It didn’t matter if it was some obscure french band or a 90’s rapper, Yoongi knew something about everyone, like some walking encyclopedia of musical artists. So when you take a step away and spread your arms out, he sees your shirt of choice today is The Doors, and he scoffs. Too easy.

“The Doors were the first band to ever advertise a new album on a billboard.” He nods his head slowly, almost as if he’s telling you yes I know, amazing right?

A hum leaves your lips at his fun fact, slightly impressed by it. “Interesting. Like always, I did not know that.” You peek under the counter top at the selection of records you kept stowed away for him, safe from any undeserving customers. “Now, do you want to see my daily, hand picked selection just for you.”

This was his new favorite pastime, getting to see the random albums you’d group together for him, wanting to know what you thought was worthy for him to listen to. When he nods, rubbing his hands together in excitement, you haul up the stack and carefully spread them out across the top.

The genre of the day was R&B, he can tell that much as he sorts through the albums. You’re familiar with the way he clumps together certain records, marking them down as albums he already owns, until he gets to an orange colored cover. The words The Internet fill the top right corner along with Ego Death on the bottom left. This he had never heard before. He picks it up and flips it over, scanning the song names with interest.

His eyes raise up to yours with curiosity, the same sharp gaze that somehow still makes you nervous holds the obvious question being passed between you with no need for words: are they any good? And the way you nod your head immediately convinces him enough. “Alright, I’ll give them a shot.”

A small sense of pride fills your chest, a tiny victory whenever he decides to pick something from your stack, trusting whatever music knowledge you had somehow convinced him you have. “I promise you’ll love them.”

When you hand him his change and the brown paper bag, you immediately check the time and clock out, dipping back under the counter and grabbing your bag from its hidden spot.

“Are you off?” Yoongi finds himself asking, no longer used to leaving immediately after he purchased something. The usual fifteen minute conversation you two had was missing today, and he’s not too sure how he feels about that. 

“Yes I am, you were my last customer. The store will now be run by those two heathens. Here’s to hoping they don’t bite each others heads off while they finish building whatever the fuck that is.” Taehyung is now standing up, lazily holding up a part of the display as Sana tries to screw something together, angrily giving Taehyung commands but he only mimics her with a ridiculous face. And when she socks his thigh, her fist aiming a little too close to home, you let out a laugh.

Yoongi highly doubts that’s going to be possible, Namjoon would probably have to be the one left to finish building the display while also putting them on opposite sides of the store whenever he came in for the day. It was truly a shock that they had gone this long working together without an actual fist fight breaking out. If it came down to it, Yoongi had his money on Sana being able to whoop Tae’s ass. 

“Do you know any good take out spots nearby? I’m starving and I’m still new to the area so I’ll take any recommendations.” Your voice snaps him back, his eyes looking at you briefly as the question registers within him.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a place not too far from here that has pretty good jajangmyeon.”

“Hell yeah.” Your hands pat your belly softly, coming up to readjust your bag as you walk around the counter and head for the door, shouting out a goodbye to Taehyung and Sana as you leave the store. When you exit the shop, your hand holding the door open behind you, you glance back inside in confusion when you spot Yoongi still standing by the counter with wide eyes. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

Truth be told, he had been wanting to talk to you outside of work for a while but he was scared to ask, not wanting to make you feel obligated to say yes just because he was a regular at your place of employment. Something about you seemed familiar to him, and to be quite honest he just craved social intimacy. His job consumed him and coming into this record shop was the small escape he needed, you being there was just a newly added plus.

You’re on the same page he is, wanting to hang out with him just as much as he had, something about the way he seemed like a half open book interested you. Throughout all of your adventures you had forced yourself to come out of your shell, no longer afraid or bashful when it came to initiating friendships. If you wanted to get to know someone better, then you’d bite first. And you definitely wanted to get to know Yoongi better.

It takes him a moment to react, his gaze switching from you to look back over at your coworkers, seeing Sana sending you a curious glance. Yoongi was about to attempt to muster up the courage to ask you to hang out and you beat him to the punch, but after a second he grins at you with a nod. Of course he was coming.

The weather in Seoul is forgiving today, the usual cold of autumn being prevalent in the air without the need to bundle up, the slight wind not stinging your skin as it blows around you. This was probably your favorite season, comfortable enough for you to do whatever you want without feeling restricted by heavy layers or sticky from the heat. 

A soft smile is on your lips, hands shoved into the pockets of your baggy cardigan, and a small pep in your step as your eyes take in the world around you. That feeling you get when you visit a new town on vacation, how you’re just passing through for a brief moment in a place so many call home, it makes you realize how small you actually are. 

It’s a feeling you always longed for, to experience a new place and make it home, it's the main reason you always bounced around so much. Staring at all the shops around you, taking in all the people just going about their daily life, you’re content with your new choice of scenery. 

Too lost in your own head as you take in the shops and people around you, you snap out of it when Yoongi reaches out and clasps a hand on your shoulder, steering you to turn right when you keep walking straight. “Get your head out of the clouds.” 

He hears the snort you let out, allowing him to guide you the correct way. Slowly trailing away from the main road, the amount of people lessens, only a handful of stores line up around the alley you had turned into. When you spare a glance at Yoongi you can see the excitement on his face, speeding up his pace until he’s standing in front of the restaurant. It’s a small hole in the wall shop that didn’t even look like it served food from the outside, all black exterior with a red sign hung up on top showcasing their name, Ipum.

It’s charming, and the way Yoongi spreads his arm out puts a similar smile on your face. Only then does he pull open the door, allowing you to step in first before he follows. 

Once Yoongi steps inside he’s immediately greeted by the workers calling out his name in glee, bowing in response with a bashful smile as he approaches the small counter set up for take out orders, not needing to read the menu. You don’t realize he’s waiting for you as you take in the interior of the restaurant, the red dining tables surprisingly packed despite their lack of advertising outside. This place really must be as good as Yoongi promised.

“Anything specific you want?” he asks, finger pointing to the small menu in his hand in case you needed it. When you shake your head, letting him know he can order anything he wants, he does exactly that, placing two orders of jajangmyeon, along with fried dumplings and sweet and sour pork to complete it. It was his go to choices whenever he came, so he hopes you’ll enjoy it as much as he does. 

As you step to the side, backs pressed against the wall closest to the counter in order to keep the space open for the workers and patrons to walk comfortably in the small shop, you turn your head to glance at Yoongi again. “You come here often?”

The way the workers had spoken to him had made that glaringly obvious, but you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know if he came here for comfort food or some other weird tradition like his ‘one-vinyl-a-day’ way of life. 

It was sort of a habit he had fallen into years ago. Having grown up in this city his whole life, he had stumbled upon this place his last year of high school. It had become a staple soon after, a place he would come to directly after classes were done to come stuff his face before heading home. Then it became a place his girlfriend and him frequented when the apartment they moved into turned out to be a mere block away. 

In a way, the owners of this shop had become like a second family. The amount of times they’ve seen Yoongi at his best and worst throughout the years, never once throwing judgment his way even if he came in beyond plastered back in the years he used to drink, never turning him away even if he cried into his noodles. 

He decides that’s a little too much to unpack right now, so he just nods in confirmation. “Yeah, I’ve been coming here for years. One taste of their noodles and you’ll be hooked too, trust me.”

Oh you trusted him, the amount of plates you’ve seen so far just made your mouth water once they passed by you and the smell of the food reached your nose. “We should’ve just sat down, I’m not gonna be able to wait until I get home to eat this.”

As you say this one of the workers approaches you two with a tied up plastic bag in his hand, the inside stuffed with takeout boxes and utensils for you to take. Yoongi grasps the bag with a smile and thanks him as he walks away. “Don’t worry, I live like a block away.”

He realizes how his words could be taken immediately, how he had assumed you two would innocently go back to his place to share a meal. You had invited him to eat but the location of where you would be doing so had not been discussed and the last thing he wanted was to come across as a sleaze.

His mouth was ready to back track completely, until he sees the way you dramatically place your hand over your chest, and he knows it's too late, “Oh damn, your place? Saucy, but I’m starving so I’ll do almost anything.”

You can see the way he relaxes when he notices you aren’t being serious, taking his words lightly the way he intended them. His eyes roll behind his lids, a lazy smile gracing his lips as he shoves your shoulder lightly to get you to start walking. 

“Is jajangmyeon all it takes?”

“Slow your roll, good jajangmyeon is all it takes. I’ve yet to have a taste.”

Yoongi smiles at your words, taking the lead when you step out of the shop and turn back down towards the main street. His apartment was on the next block over, a short walk that you didn’t mind, especially since he took it upon himself to point at random stores you passed to let you know the best places to get what.

He has a lot of love for this city, the memories it possesses spread out through his entire childhood and early adult years, lingering in each crack on the sidewalk. He often sits and wonders how different his life would be if his parents had decided to move to Busan instead of Seoul, or stayed in Daegu altogether. The thought of the timeline of his life being altered so drastically to the point of possibly not being able to be living this moment sends his mind into a flurry, so he's grateful you’ve reached his front door now as his mind settles.

“Oh my god who’s this?” You coo as you step into his apartment, crouching down towards the white stone floors to pet the fluffy gray cat that greeted you, enjoying the way it purred and rubbed against your knee.

“That's Yuri, the queen of the house.” He steps away from you, setting the plastic bag on top of the kitchen counter a few feet away, his hands pulling out the containers and setting them down. “Don’t give her too much attention or she’ll never let you leave.”

Yuri glances up at you, her bright green eyes peering up innocently at Yoongi’s words, almost as if she was pleading for you to keep petting her. It doesn’t take much convincing for you to scoop your hands under her and press her against your chest as you stand up, your fingers gently scratching the top of her head. Yoongi lets out a sigh when he sees his cat has succeeded in wrapping you around her finger.

“Sorry, she’s too cute to not cuddle with.”

She nuzzles into your chest, purring in appreciation when your fingers trail down onto her spine. Yoongi watches you as he pops open the lid of the container that holds the noodles. Yuri is his baby, yet every time a new person comes into his place she acts like he doesn’t exist— well not until he pops open the container holding the sweet and sour pork. That's when her head pops up, her green eyes sharpening when she spots the food, and Yoongi glares back at the fluffy traitor.

When Yuri's fluffy body shakes slightly as you laugh Yoongi glances back at you, breaking up the staring contest he had going with his cat. “She’s gonna betray your love right now for some pork.” 

You don’t doubt him, not with the way her paws start to push at your arms, attempting to stand up in your embrace until she’s hopping off from your arms and slowly walking towards Yoongi. She’s absolutely shameless as she rubs her body against his legs, and Yoongi can only look down at her before staring back up at you, gesturing out with his hands. “You see?”

The act of betrayal doesn’t sting, not when she’s as cute as she is. Instead you just chuckle, walking towards the stools Yoongi has by the oversized kitchen island, a breakfast bar set up at the end, the food spread out on top of it. He ignores Yuri for the time being, pulling out the stool beside yours and sliding into it. The both of you pull your chopsticks apart and get to eating instantly, swirling the noodles until they’re evenly coated in the sauce.

You try to ignore the way Yoongi blatantly stares at you as you bring up the first clump of noodles, waiting to see what your initial reaction would be to the food he held so near and dear to his heart. Yoongi knows this could go south so quickly, there is nothing worse than trying something new when you’re starving and having it absolutely suck. Sensing his nerves, you slurp the noodles up, and when the salty taste hits your tongue you hum, chewing them thoughtfully to make a show for Yoongi.

“Verdict?”

He waits patiently for you to swallow, sharp eyes analyzing your expression, seeing you lick your lips and grin at him. “You weren’t lying, definitely some of the best jajangmyeon I’ve had.”

In pure dramatics, he practically sags in his seat and raises a fist into the air in success, being able to properly enjoy his food now that he knew you approved of it. The two of you begin to eat in relative silence, the sound of munching and slurping filling up his kitchen space. 

As the minutes go by, the back and forth of your chopsticks plucking out a dumpling after he did, lands with you snatching the last one. An evil cackle leaving you as you pop it into your mouth and grin at him, cheeks puffed out slightly and he can’t find it in himself to be irked at you snatching the last dumpling when you looked like that.

The compromise of that is you leaving the remaining pieces of pork for him to enjoy, and when Yuri gracefully hops onto the counter you see why he had suggested that. He grasps a tiny piece of pork on his chopsticks and feeds her like a parent would a toddler, airplane noise and all until Yuri opens wide and gently clamps down on the meat.

“She’s spoiled because of you.”

He merely shrugs, a giant smile spreading across his face as he watches her with adoration as she chews the food. “I refuse to confirm or deny that.”

As you finish up the last of your food you just watch on as Yoongi alternates between feeding himself and Yuri until no more pork remains. Seeing the soft way he acts with his cat just warms you up, Yoongi had always seemed like a blunt person from the times you’ve seen him at the store, his sense of humor is one that could easily be taken as harsh or cold if you didn’t match it, but you’d never expect to see him this way. The tops of his cheeks push out as he smiles at his cat, cupping her face between his hands and rocking it back and forth before planting a kiss on her forehead.

She seems to understand that that's her cue to hop off the counter, knowing that snack time is now over as Yoongi starts to clean up the empty containers. When you reach to clean your own mess up he’s quick to slap your hands away, smirking when you retract them with a small wince, your fingers rubbing the back of your palm that he had swatted with a pair of chopsticks.

“Shoo.” He waves his arm in the direction of his couch, not giving you another glance and missing the way you pout at how he had dismissed you like he would his cat.

With a huff you turn on your heel, properly taking in his living room. From the small tidbits of half truthful information that Taehyung had provided you with, you knew Yoongi was somebody in the music industry. You had always assumed that when people said that it meant struggling soundcloud rapper or something of the sort, but from the look of his apartment alone it was very evident that Yoongi was not a struggling soundcloud rapper. 

The wall of his living room was lined with floor to ceiling windows, letting you catch a glimpse of the cityscape down below, the darkening horizon and slowly flickering street lights blending together. A dark grey couch was on the wall adjacent to that, directly facing the entertainment center he had set up, complete with a massive mounted television and soundbar, a collection of DVDs organized in the storage unit below it.

You walk closer to it, catching sight of the picture frames he had displayed along the top of it. They were all simple black frames, all differing in size, all of them having photos of Yoongi and his friends on them. The one in particular that had you smiling was a photo booth picture with Yoongi and Namjoon, they were accompanied by three other people, a boy with slightly red tinged hair and a bright smile, another boy with dark brown hair and a slight pout on his face from Namjoon squishing his cheeks, and a girl with light brown hair smiling widely as Yoongi gave her bunny ears.

Namjoon was a very smiley person, never needing a reason to be, but seeing Yoongi sporting a massive gummy smile had you realizing how nicely a smile suited him. It was clear that he held this group of people near to his heart considering they all occupied the remaining photos as well.

A couple of steps right beside that was where he had his prized possession, his record player that he had fully customized to get him the desired sound he was looking for. It was a sleek black, accents of silver shining off of it, resting pretty on a dark stained wooden stand. A few of his records were stored beneath it, but what really caught your eye was the eight by eight makeshift gallery wall that showcased his current favorite LP’s, each individually shelved to show the album art in all its glory.

“Should I give this a listen with you here?”

His question has you turning your head towards him, cutting your admiration of the album covers short. He stood a few feet away, his hands holding up the orange cover of the album he had bought today with your suggestion, and a small sense of nerves bubbles up in your stomach for some reason. You had always suggested music, confident in your choices when you were in the safety of the record store, but having to witness his first impression made you a little uneasy. What if he hated the band entirely, or worse, what if he pretended he didn’t hate them just to soothe your ego.

Is this what he felt like watching you take your first bite of food earlier?

“Sure,” you choke out, taking a giant step back from his record player, hearing him chuckle at your odd behavior.

As he lifts the cover up and slides the giant record out of its sleeve you decide to go sit on the couch, sinking into the plush material and welcoming Yuri into your lap when she jumps on as well.

With a few clicks, the low whirring is heard of the turntable beginning to spin. And when he eases the needle onto the record a small crackle sounds before Get Away starts to play. He fiddles with the volume slightly until satisfied, only then does he turn back around and join you on the couch.

His face is settled in thought, bobbing his head gently to the beat as he rests back against the couch, sinking into it with a groan until he’s fully comfortable, legs spread out with one arm resting casually on his lap and the other on the arm rest, fingers tapping along.

You watch on in silence, your fingers raking through Yuri’s fur until her purring calms your nerves and you’re sagging back. Before you know it your eyes shut as you listen along to the music, your belly is full and your limbs are sore from the unpacking and rearranging that had to be done at work so being able to sit here and shut your brain off while mellow music filled the room was what you needed.

Before long the A side is finished playing, Yoongi having to get up to flip it over until the B side plays all the way through, the ending voicemail of Palace/Curse playing until it fizzles out entirely, the room falling into silence once more.

Yuri had gotten comfortable herself, sprawled out across your lap with her head by your hip, but when Yoongi gets up with a stretch her head pops up, eyes narrowing at her owner until she senses no threat and lays back down.

“Verdict?” You repeat his earlier question, seeing him hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, his lips pursed in thought.

“Honest opinion?”

“Brutally honest.”

He hums with a sly grin as he turns his head to face you. “They’re good. Kinda makes me feel nostalgic too for some reason. But as a whole, it's great music that calms you down.”

With the way you’re laying practically boneless on his couch you can attest to that, they were definitely a band you listened to to unwind. He catches the wide smile spreading across your face as he stands back up to properly store the record, your smile only getting bigger when you see him replace one of the displayed albums on the wall with the new one. 

“It's going on the wall of favorites,” he announces, sliding the previous record back into the storage underneath.

“I’m honored.”

He steps back from the wall with his hands on his hips, admiring how the orange of the album pops out against the others. Yoongi very rarely switched these albums out, but he had a feeling this wall would eventually become full of the random albums you’d recommend to him.

“Quick question,” he starts as he turns back to face you, taking in the sight of you and his cat cuddling together. “It’s been sitting at the back of my mind, and Taehyung has given me like three different answers.”

A small laugh leaves you as you raise your eyebrow at him in question. “Sure, what is it?”

“Where did you move from?”

You stretch your legs out in front of you, your toes just barely reaching the coffee table he has set up a bit away from the couch, Yuri mimicking your actions and stretching out as well. You were definitely gonna grow as attached to her as you were to your roommate’s cat.

“Like where was I last before this, or where am I actually from?”

He walks towards his fridge, still being able to see and hear you due to the open layout of his place. “Both I guess.” The door pops open and he reaches for a bottle of water.“You thirsty?”

“You have some wine, or some beer?”

Yoongi grunts at that, shaking his head slightly, “Sorry, I don’t drink anymore but I’ve got water and juice.”

You’re sitting up straighter now, voicing out that the water was fine. “Where I’m from is classified information, you’ll have to level up on our friendship for me to tell you that.” You accept the water he hands you, smiling at him as he sits back on the couch. He was fine with your secrecy, taking whatever you feel comfortable telling him. “But I was in Madrid before I came here.”

“Oh? Did you leave where you’re from to go live there?”

Your fingers capture Yuri’s paw, squishing her toe beans as she gently swats at your hair. “No, I was in Amsterdam before that, and Berlin before that as well to name a few. I’ve been bouncing around since I was 20, so about 6 years now.”

He has a look of interest on his face as he sips the water, leaning onto the couch sideways to face you. “Do you ever want to go back to those places?”

“Like visiting the place more than once?”

He nods, his eyes focusing on Yuri’s fluffy body, seeing her sitting back up to hop onto the ledge of the couch, rubbing her body against the back of your head before settling on the backrest of it and getting comfy.

“Hm, not sure. I can’t see myself wanting to flip back the pages of my life to reread a story I already know the outcome to.” With a sigh you shrug at him, your fingers now tracing the material of the couch. “Maybe in the future, years from now, I’ll crave a specific memory and want to go back, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

The amount of new cities and countries you’ve been lucky enough to call home for any amount of time held a special place inside of you, the memories and stories you had because of those experiences helped shape you into the person you are. Sure not all of them were movie-like experiences, some close calls happening at a few places that made you question whether you made the right choice living your life the way you did. But then you’d have moments that just felt right, and right now, sitting on this couch with Yoongi, this was one of those moments.

“So you don’t plan on staying here forever?”

“Well what do you mean by forever?”

He smiles, not thinking he would have to explain what forever meant to him. “For the rest of your life. Is there another version of forever Y/N?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “It’s not likely, but who's to say. I never move somewhere with a time frame of how long I plan on staying.”

“How do you decide? Sorry if I’m prying but I just can’t imagine that moving somewhere new would be easy. Picturing having to leave friends behind would probably wound me.” 

That was true, that was definitely the hardest part of doing this— emotionally at least. The people you met and befriended were a factor in deciding how long you’d stay somewhere. After the initial week of exploring a new place, it gets lonely. You’ve been to places where even the roommates you’d stay with weren’t friendly, and you’d have to take it a step further and search for friendships elsewhere. It was the main reason you had learned to not be timid when it came to making the first move.

“It’s kind of a gut feeling. The longest place I’ve lived in was Paris for two years.” A smile spreads across your face as you recall the two years you spent in that city, how you probably would’ve left after a few weeks if you hadn’t ran into that cute boy right before the club you were in shut down for the night. That experience alone was one of the main reasons you made it a conscious decision to not fall in love, not wanting to experience the inevitable heartbreak that came with it. 

Paris was the first place you moved to, jumping head first into adventure and taking everything that came with it, including romance. Leaving friends behind had been hard, but leaving Park Jimin behind had been a different version of painful.

“Before this I was in Madrid for a month. I found myself getting comfortable too fast and when I get comfortable I get bored. When it's no longer new and exciting I don’t see the point of staying anymore.”

Yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, the carefree aura radiating off of you, but he weirdly craves it. He craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what's coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. His entire life had changed in the last few years and was now built off routine, bullet point to-do lists and deadlines he had to meet. The only adventure he experiences anymore is thanks to his friends, luring him out of his apartment to fulfil any of their spur of the moment ideas, but nothing comes close to this. 

He’s not able to understand how you can be suspended in freefall for the majority of your life, and instead of panicking about your lack of parachute, you’re admiring the view.

“Do you plan on staying here forever?”

That question makes him freeze a little, he had been prying into your life no problem but now that a question was directed at him, he felt himself growing uneasy. “I guess I did.”

“Did...why past tense?”

You see the way he hesitates, his mind is already playing through all the scenarios that can come because of this but he decides to just bite the bullet. “Love makes you think of forever. I pictured forever with my fiance.”

At the mention of a fiance your mind thinks of the girl in the photos with Yoongi, the girl with the bright smile and wide eyes.

Was Yoongi a married man?

He can spot the way you process his vague information, knowing he should elaborate before you think anything else, before your eyes move to his ring finger only to find it bare. “When you’re with someone for almost 8 years its normal to think of forever you know.”

The flashes of his relationship play in his mind, meeting his fiance in his last year of high school. How they had pulled each other out of their shells, becoming rather chaotic in their adventures over the years, turning into adults and supporting each other in every aspect of life.

The memory of Yoongi proposing to her still feels fresh in his mind, taking her to Jeju island since it was a place she had always wanted to visit, not being able to due to caring for her family.

“We were actually planning our wedding, having invitations sent out with everything nearly ready but she uh–“ he stops to breathe slightly, his eyes moving to stare at the picture frames, proving your assumption of the girl being his fiance right. “She got into an accident.”

He hadn’t specified if she died or not, but that faraway look in his eyes spelled it out for you. Forever didn’t have any sympathy for his situation, but he just shrugs it off, forcing himself to not speak further on it. There was more that tied in to the tragic passing of his fiance but he felt he had overshared enough already, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by unloading this information on you. The last thing he needed was to turn this nice day into a pity party with him being the center of attention. 

He’s just waiting for the routine apologetic words that would fall from your mouth—maybe you’d reach over and rub his arm like some people did, tell him how sad it was as if he didn’t already know. Some half assed attempt to make him feel better even though you were clearly blind sided by the topic. 

Yoongi didn’t want that, always hating the way people would stare at him like he was some charity case. This was why he rarely chose to stray from his circle of comfort, from the people that knew the baggage that came with him and accepted him, keeping his group as tight knit as possible in order to not pick at scabbed over wounds. 

When you sigh, he braces for it, mentally accepting that this might be what ends your new formed friendship before you could really creep through the cracks in the wall he built. But instead you reach forward and grasp Yuri once more, scooping her up and bringing her to your chest like a baby. “So Yuri wasn’t the only queen of the house, is that it?”

Yuri purrs in confirmation and Yoongi turns to stare at you again, blinking the wetness away from his eyes before he could even call them tears. You had a smile on your face as you stared at him, not that typical sympathetic smile people always sent his way, it was a genuine one, letting him know he was free to talk more on the subject if he needed to.

And for the first time Yoongi acknowledges that maybe he did need to. He was so used to bottling his emotions in, shutting himself off after her passing, pushing all of his friends and family away and locking himself at home as he mourned, submerging himself in his work to numb himself from feeling anything. Even now, his friends never pried, let him handle his feelings any way he wanted to. But Yoongi can’t act like his chest aches from keeping it all in, the pressure slowly releasing even with the minimal information he had given you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out in relief, reaching out to pet Yuri. “Hani was the queen before Yuri got promoted.”

As you coo at his cat he feels himself sagging back onto the couch. The small dam of emotions he had inside finally released, and before you know it he’s spilling everything out, telling you tidbit stories of him and Hani, and somehow easing you into sharing similar stories of you and Jimin. 

The sun fully sets through the windows, neither of you noticing as you talk well into the night, and Yoongi found himself laughing and smiling at the mention of Hani for the first time in two years. You urge him on, watching on with interest while he talks about the day they had picked up Yuri from the shelter. 

His eyes are crinkled up in that endearing way you had seen more of today than in the past weeks of knowing him, and it fills you with warmth to know he’s allowing you to know about this part of his life. It felt like sacred information, uncharted territory from the way he had hesitated in the beginning, almost like he wasn’t sure if he could trust you with the precious memories he held tightly. All he needed was a gentle nudge and a genuine smile to slowly let you flip the pages of his brain, knowing you wouldn’t judge the bleeding ink and scratched out words that came with each story. 

As he stares at the way you smile at him, he comes to the realization that your sneaky ass must have already managed to slip past the cracks of the walls he built, infiltrating the tight knit circle he had for himself. He has to hold in a laugh when he recalls the way Taehyung had seriously suggested that you might be a spy sent here from another country. Maybe he was onto something, because he was refusing to accept that his willingness to overshare and stray from his norm was due to anything but your highly trained interrogation skills. 

You clearly had his cat fooled as well. When Yuri leans up and nuzzles her face against yours he sighs, knowing she had claimed you as her favorite solely based on the attention you gave her. You were good. Yoongi guesses he would have to keep you around now, just for the sake of his cat, nothing more. 

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 7

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: You try to smooth relations between you and Detective Anderson, made difficult when the human wants nothing to do with you.

AO3

Story banner by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

You allowed the glass door to swing quietly shut behind you, smoothing your tie as you followed at a polite distance on the detective’s heels. The hunch of his shoulders was interpreted by your social module as a sign of discomfort and tension.

You were given several options on how to approach the human, even one suggesting taking several minutes before engaging him in conversation, but your mission prompt wouldn’t allow you to have that flexibility.

[EARN DET. ANDERSON’S TRUST]

Standing directly next to his desk, you appraised the human’s belongings, noting all of the items you had scanned upon your arrival. The human had an assortment of items, including an ancient mp3 player [Zune, manufactured 2008], a work cell phone, a bonsai tree [Japanese maple, dying], and several personal photos printed out and taped to his display board.

They were of different places and at different times, going by the various types of clothing, but they consisted of mostly the same subjects. Three men wearing nearly identical faces that only android software could differentiate between, and an older man catalogued as Captain Hank Anderson. He was marked as the adoptive father of the triplets.

Even though you had done it several times before, you scanned the detective’s features. His identifying information displayed on your HUD, further settling in your memory banks each time you did it.

DET. ANDERSON, CONNOR

Born: 08/15/2008 // Police Detective

Criminal record: [Sealed Juvenile Records]

You blinked and the identifying information disappeared, leaving you to fully observe the detective where he sat, hunched over his terminal with a scowl on his face.

“I know the situation is not ideal,” you began in your most diplomatic tone, “but I look forward to working with a law enforcement officer of your caliber."

The human gave no indication he heard you, but his heart rate increased by a small percentage, and his fingers pressed down on his flat keyboard in a way that was counteractive to typing.

You were prompted with more dialogue options, and once again went with the friendliest approach.

“It seems we will be working together for some time, so perhaps it would be beneficial to get to know one another.”

The human remained reticent, glaring at the terminal screen as if it were angering him personally. The detective also narrowed his eyes, indicating an intense dislike, but remained silent on the state of his emotions.

Your gaze drifted down to the empty mug of coffee next to the withering bonsai tree.

[ESTABLISH RAPPORT WITH DET. ANDERSON]

“What are you doing?”

You tilted your head, freezing your motor functions when the question was asked, putting you in the position of half-bending over the detective’s desk. You had blocked his terminal with your body as you attempted to reach his coffee cup, and he now stared at you from inches away with a wide, startled expression.

“Sorry, Detective. I thought you might like a refill.”

You had received a helpful notification that caffeine withdrawal can result in headache and irritation, both of which you had identified in the detective’s tense expression.

“Okay, fine, could you just—“ He released a puff of air, fluttering the loose lock of hair that strategically fell to the side of your face. “—hurry up so you’re not in my goddamn lap?”

You weren’t in his lap, or even in the relative vicinity of his groin. It would have been more accurate to say you were closest to his face and hands, the latter of which had been rapidly retracted when the front of your chassis had brushed against them.

You also noted the rise in temperature of his skin, the pink hue across his cheeks, and the dilation of his pupils—all indications of arousal and attraction. These were common occurrences with your model design, and you dismissed the pop-up that asked if you wished to run the sexual subroutine. Such programs were low priority and only used as a last result if the detective were uncooperative with the investigation.

“Sorry, Detective,” you repeated, forming your lips into the approximation of a warm smile. “I’ll return shortly.”

You carefully picked up the mug and moved into a standing position, and the detective released a long exhale, avoiding meeting your eye as he turned back to his terminal.

Satisfied in your endeavor, you crossed the short distance to the station breakroom.

Two humans resided inside, leaning against an elevated circular table as they spoke. Both turned their heads to stare, and you took the opportunity to scan them.

CPL. LEE, HELEN

Born: 05/19/2005 // Police Corporal

Criminal record: None

 LT. ANDERSON, COLIN

Born: 08/15/2008 // Police Lieutenant

Criminal record: [Expunged Juvenile Records]

You blinked away the notifications and gave them a non-threatening smile before turning to the coffee machine. It was a large unit, meant for offices with frequent foot traffic, and a brief scan indicated it was overdue for a cleaning.

You weighed the negatives against the benefits of obtaining a beverage from this machine, and determined it was worth the possible contamination risk.

Placing the mug underneath the drip dispenser, you pushed the appropriate buttons after determining the detective’s preferred blend with a quick swipe of your fingers to the interior of the cup and placing them on your tongue.

There was a noise from behind, a slight huff of air and the soft pad of rubber soles against linoleum. One pair vacated the breakroom, and the other approached and stopped at your back.

“Connor done having his temper tantrum yet?”

You turned to face the lieutenant, examining his features and finding open curiosity. He stayed a polite distance away, unlike earlier, when he had stood so close that you had been forced to take a seat at the detective’s desk.

You wondered now if you should have tolerated the lieutenant’s close proximity, since occupying the detective’s chair had seemed to upset him.

“Must be bad if he’s already sent you to fetch his coffee,” he added with a nod to the mug sitting on the drainage tray. “Usually, he waits a day or two before terrorizing the rookies.”

“I volunteered,” you hurried to say, not wanting a ranking officer to get the wrong idea about the detective. “I believe it will be an appropriate icebreaker for our new partnership.”

“That so? Pretty sophisticated for an android, and terribly hopeful.” He canted his head to the side. “You got some kind of human instruction manual inside that processor of yours?”

The lieutenant dropped his gaze down your body, lingering in a way it had done many times before. The evidence of his attraction was even more obvious than the detective’s, but your sexual subroutines had never been activated by his interest before. You were assigned to Det. Anderson’s charge, and therefore, it would serve no purpose to offer your additional features to the lieutenant.

“In essence,” you answered, passive but friendly enough not to antagonize. “My human relations program assists in easing the interaction between CyberLife androids and humans.”

“I see.”

He moved closer, face neutral but his eyes highly observant. He reached out and took your tie, tugging it upwards. The tie clip stopped him from lifting it far, but the lieutenant seemed satisfied with letting the fabric run through his fingers.

“What else can your human relations program do?”

The tone of his question was easy enough to decipher, your program indicating the query was of a sexual nature.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Lieutenant,” you said. “Only Detective Anderson has access to my specialized subroutines.”

The fingers threading your tie went still. The open curiosity vanished from the lieutenant’s face, replaced by a calculating appraisal.

“Well, then. My brother’s a lucky guy.”

His lips pulled into a languid smile that didn’t match the tightness around his eyes.

You carefully pulled your tie from his lax fingers, once again giving him a non-threatening expression.

“The coffee’s done brewing. I must get back to the detective now.”

Turning back to the coffee machine, you kept a significant number of your processors focused on the sound of Lt. Anderson’s heartbeat and breathing, even sampling the micro sensors on your skin.

He remained at a close distance, though by the time you turned around with mug in hand, all you could see of him was his retreating back as he went around the corner down the hallway. From your downloaded schematics of the building, you knew the most likely route he was taking was either to the unisex bathrooms or the station gym.

Your statistical readouts stated the chance the lieutenant would try to engage in sexual activity with you at some point was at approximately 35.2%, and you tasked your processors with running the probability in the background. It was important that erratic human behavior didn’t interfere with your investigation.

“Have a nice chat with my brother?” the detective asked, tone flat as he stared at his monitor.

You filed away possible tension between the two siblings to observe further. You placed the mug next to his keyboard, this time on the side nearest you so you would not lean over and agitate the human again.

“It was informative,” you simply said, straightening into a standing position once more.

The detective gave a huff through his nose and muttered, “I’ll bet.” His eyes narrowed, and after seven seconds of glaring at his terminal, he locked on your face in irritation.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes,” you said, letting a friendly smile appear. “I would like to know where I can access the DPD’s database. I wish to review the case files.”

The skin around the human’s nose crinkled. He seemed to hold some kind of internal conflict before he sighed and indicated the desk connected with his own.

“Belonged to my last partner. You can use it. For now.” He emphasized the words, as if you had possibly forgotten the temporary nature of your partnership.

“Thank you,” you said with a small nod. The detective rolled his eyes and turned back to his terminal, seemingly already having forgotten you.

You knew he hadn’t. Every observant sensor of your body informed you of his continued wariness, even while his eyes were mostly focused on the glass screen in front of him, he was constantly tuned to your presence.

By the time you had sat down in the chair of the empty desk, you had already pulled up in the DPD database to discover what had become of the detective’s last partner.

Sheila Pernell, also a detective, had transferred to another precinct months earlier, citing the difficult nature of working with Anderson and his unpleasant personality. The language she had used had been colorful and extremely unprofessional.

You made another note in your background processes: Detective Connor Anderson displays hostility toward work partners and colleagues. Difficult to connect with others on an interpersonal level. Approach and adapt to antisocial tendencies as needed.

You turned toward the terminal and placed the fingers of your right hand on the keyboard, allowing your synthetic skin to pull make to interface with the device. Connecting to the network and pulling up the cases assigned to Det. Anderson, you downloaded all 243 into your memory bank.

Hoping to prompt a conversation with the detective, you turned toward him from your chair, slightly tilting your head as you analyzed his tense posture. It hadn’t relaxed at all within the past two minutes since your last interaction.

“There are two hundred and forty-three cases dating back to February of this year, many of them originating in Detroit. An AX400 abducted a young girl from her home last night. I thought that might be a good place to start. It’s flagged as the most urgent case due to it being a crime against a minor.”

Your social module had indicated bringing up the danger to a child would have prompted some kind of response, but the detective remained fixedly silent, leaning the side of his jaw against his propped knuckles.

A more drastic approach was needed. You stood, walked around the joined desk, and approached the detective as he made a noise and turned away.

Coming to a stop directly next to his chair, you adopted the understanding demeanor, hoping to placate the detective’s agitation.

“I understand this isn’t an ideal situation, Detective, but perhaps it would be best to set aside your personal issues, and—“

“Excuse me?” the detective snapped, glaring at you out of the side of his eye. “Were you just about to suggest how I do my job? Because if so, I advise you to shut the hell up. You’re not my boss, and you’re definitely not my partner, so perhaps it would be best if you fucked off and didn’t come back.”

He turned away again and picked up his tablet as he pretended you were no longer standing there.

You plucked the device out of his hand, ignored the surprised noise he made, and placed your other palm between his shoulder blades to establish a physical connection he couldn’t ignore.

“I’m investigating these cases whether you like it or not, Detective.” You leaned closer, speaking directly next to his ear so as not to be overheard. “If you continue to refuse to cooperate, then I’ll find someone else who will be more amenable to my presence.”

For the span of two seconds, the detective remained completely frozen. And then he abruptly stood, grabbed you by the jacket, and swung you around. Your back slammed against the glass partition with a solid thud.

“I’m only going to say this once,” he growled, inches from your face. “I don’t care how many Barbie dolls CyberLife sends to the station. If you keep mouthing off to me, I’ll shoot you myself and throw you in the dumpster. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” you calmly answered, which served to only agitate the detective further.

His brows creased as his hands tightened around the edges of your jacket. The human was stronger than his wiry frame gave him credit for as he managed to hold you between himself and the glass, your toes brushing the ground but unable to find purchase.

You remained silent, returning his glare with a bland, pleasant expression despite the discomfort traveling your circuits. If the detective was going to continue to be a problem, you would need to report his behavior, and that might further delay the investigation.

Trying to adapt to his psychology was proving fruitless, and it was clear you had underestimated just how socially challenged he was. Perhaps seeking a new partner was the right course of action after all.

Elijah had stated that if the detective became too much of an issue, his brother would be a suitable replacement. But when you thought of the lieutenant, the idea of working with the human was…

Unpleasant.

You studied the human’s face, searching those dark brown eyes, but found no acceptance there. You were going to have to work harder to—

“Detective, uh… sorry to bother you…”

At the sound of the timid voice, the detective released your jacket and allowed you to stand on firm ground. He didn’t turn to look at the officer standing behind him, however, and continued to level a glare at you, effectively penning you in so you couldn’t step around him.

“What is it, Ralph.”

“It’s about the AX400? The one who kidnapped the little girl? Someone just called in on the APB, said they saw it in the Ravendale district.” He paused, wide hazel eyes darting between you and the detective’s rigid back. “If you need me to bring this to the lieutenant—“

“I’ll handle it,” he said, the heated glare finally pulled off you when he turned and walked away.

Adjusting your jacket of its newly acquired wrinkles, you took a moment to process the detective’s unstable and problematic behavior, and quickly followed before the detective left the station without you.

Next Chapter

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Dolls’ Eyes — A Jaws AU

Pairings: established Peggy/Steve, developing Brunnhilde/Carol Rating: T Chapters: 14/14

Summary: Tony Stark snapped his fingers and the vanished half of the universe returned, but Thanos escaped the battlefield, fleeing into space. Now that he’s virtually powerless, most of the Avengers consider chasing him all over the universe a waste of resources, but Peggy Carter—newly deposited in the 21st century—is determined to finish the job. Brunnhilde and Carol Danvers have the same idea.

When scattered rumours of fresh killings escalate to the death of one of their own, the three women team up to defeat Thanos once and for all.

read the prologue

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen

After everything, Carol wasn’t surprised that Brunnhilde put up a fight over being told to just rest. Carol reminded her that she was lucky to be alive, to which Brunnhilde responded that it wasn’t anything like luck, and went on to list the incredible, lifesaving properties of her fine armour, explain the enhanced durability provided by her Asgardian biology, and enumerate all of the injuries she’d previously sustained that were apparently worse than being electrocuted half to death, and then nearly drowning while incapacitated. Carol didn’t believe half of it, but it was kinda hot when Brunnhilde bragged.

So, in spite of Carol’s efforts, Brunnhilde kept getting up the second her back was turned in order to haul bodies off of Thanos’s ship. As they started to fix everything Carol had broken (including a patch job of that hole in the roof), a scan of the local environment informed them that almost all of the life on this planet was aquatic. They left the stack of corpses on land. Whatever water critters were around, they didn’t need toxic eyeball goo leeching into their habitat.

Carol caught Brunnhilde shaking out a twitching arm and made her sit to do electronic repairs rather than manual labour. (Carol had that handled anyway, plus, she knew where all the bodies were because she was the one who’d left them there.) Brunnhilde protested that she was the captain. Carol came way too close to saying not of this ship, but stopped herself. Instead, she suggested Brunnhilde do like any other captain would and let her underlings take on the grunt work. That got a smile, if not verbal agreement.

Thankfully, Peggy was a fast learner; Carol explained the basics of what she’d done to wreck something and Peggy quickly understood how to walk back the damage. They worked their way through the ship, staying at neighbouring stations so Carol would be there if Peggy had questions, and Peggy would be there if (when) Carol had messed something up so badly that it needed four hands to fix.

“Maria would’ve been great with this,” she said without thinking, holding up a fistful of wires while Peggy tinkered beneath.

“Maria?”

It was easier to talk about her than it had ever been before. Like with the repairs, she could tell that Peggy understood without Carol having to do much more than gush over how good Maria had been at fixing stuff, how thorough she’d been with the plane she’d kept in the hangar on her property, how reliable, how trustworthy, how patient…

“Yes,” Peggy told her with a smile. “She sounds like she was wonderful.”

“She was.”

But when the two of them had finished their circuit of the ship and Carol went to tell Brunnhilde they were good to go, she wasn’t there. Carol panicked, worried that Brunnhilde had overheard all her praise of Maria and somehow missed the tone of a person who was in the late stages of grief, who had accepted the worst and was keen to keep living, maybe even loving.

When she couldn’t find her on the ship, she jogged down the ramp, intending to look for her outside. The second she turned to face the water, she spotted Brunnhilde coming towards her from the escape vessel. Carol ran out to meet her.

“What’s all this?” she asked in a tone of amusement, because Brunnhilde had her arms full.

“Food, Peggy’s jacket, a couple beers that didn’t get smashed when Thanos rammed us, uh…” She tried to examine the rest of the pile she was carrying, but it teetered and slipped; laughing, Carol scooped a few things out of her arms before they could end up in the shallow water.

“I thought you might’ve taken off on us,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t think you thought I’d be capable of that after getting zapped.”

“I was just…”

Brunnhilde walked close, pressing her arm into Carol’s.

“I know. I would’ve been the same way if it’d been you.”

“I don’t even know if I can get electrocuted,” Carol said.

“I’m not gonna recommend trying it for fun,” Brunnhilde told her. “Anyway, I used all my discs on Thanos and I dropped the remote in the water somewhere… You’d have to go to Thor with your request, ask him to bring the lightning down.”

“Straight to Thor?!” Carol laughed. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Or you could just stand around outside in New Asgard during a storm and wait for it to happen naturally.”

“And why would I need to be in New Asgard specifically?” Carol asked in a teasing voice. “I could get struck by lightning anywhere.”

She watched Brunnhilde flounder but couldn’t get an answer out of her, not on the way to the ship, not while she was distracted with Peggy asking her a slew of health questions, and not while they were trying to figure out how to get this humongous spaceship off the ground with a crew of only three people.

As they made their rocky assent, Carol was too busy to wonder whether Brunnhilde had heard her talking about Maria before she’d left the ship to scavenge from the escape craft. They had just broken through the atmosphere, blue sky giving way to black, when Brunnhilde spoke.

“Love’s like war.”

It was so sudden that Carol snorted a laugh.

“Ok, poet,” she said. She was tempted to devote some time to getting Thanos’s ship to play her music, if only to put on ‘Love Is a Battlefield’ for Brunnhilde. To let her know what had been said on the subject already.

She smirked to herself when Brunnhilde continued, clearly not giving a shit about her interruption or joking criticism.

“It is.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked more seriously.

Brunnhilde shifted in her seat, engaging different protocols for outer space travel. Carol noticed the tremor had gone from her arm.

“You do better in both because of experience,” Brunnhilde said, looking straight out the viewport. “Anybody who can’t appreciate the benefit of falling for someone who’s been in love before is a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“I hope that isn’t a question.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. They flew in silence for a while.

“When we get back,” she said eventually, peering shyly over at her captain, “I owe someone important to me a visit, but then I’m coming to see you. Just a heads-up.”

“Vaguely threatening.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Brunnhilde told her, grabbing her forearm to get her full attention, “I liked it.”

Heat raced up Carol’s neck until she was blushing as bright red as her suit, or the dumb acid burn on her arm.

Just then, Peggy’s agitated voice came from the other end of the wide flight deck.

“Someone’s coming right at us!”

Before Carol had the chance to say what the hell? or who? or again?, an incoming message threw a distantly familiar face up in front of them, hovering in the form of a hologram.

“Hey,” Carol greeted. “Small universe.”

—

Peggy had never thought to imagine what Gamora might be like. She’d had an account of Peter Quill’s affection for her from Rocket, but had recognized that a portrayal of the woman that crew had known—the woman Peter had loved enough to forfeit his life in the quest for reunion—couldn’t be fully accurate. At best, the Gamora they described would be one layer removed from the real person. The Gamora they had known and the one whose hologram had just appeared before Peggy, Carol, and Brunnhilde were a handful of years and a thousand experiences apart.

It seemed absurd to Peggy that this woman may wish to harm them, but she really ought to have considered it.

“Was it your distress signal I picked up?” Gamora asked flatly, eyes locked on Carol in the pilot’s seat.

“Umm… yep.”

“And you still require assistance?”

Carol glanced at Brunnhilde, then over to Peggy, who nodded. They certainly had worked wonders, she felt, in getting this massive spaceship off the planet, but who knew how many things could go wrong between here and Earth? Peggy doubted either of her shipmates had told her the half of it. They were simply short-staffed, too few fingers available to plug any metaphorical leaks they might spring on the journey.

“Yes please,” Carol told her.

With a nod, 2014 Gamora went from unknown quantity to ally. Peggy sighed in relief.

The three of them were transported directly from Thanos’s ship to Gamora’s. The process was quite indescribable, Peggy thought. Tingly, quick, with a bit of a lurch as she rematerialized on an entirely different flight deck from the one she’d just left. Had the transfer been instantaneous? Had she, perhaps, ceased to exist for a moment or two? She was full of questions but unsure to whom she should direct them.

Gamora, while welcoming in deed, was somewhat inscrutable when they met her face-to-face. Standoffish. Unsure of herself, Peggy realized. Immediately, she warmed to the woman. She had been in her place herself once, sort of, if not precisely in her intimidating boots. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been ferried through time to find the world completely changed. What Gamora needed was a reason to trust them the way they were trusting her.

“I take it you killed my father?” Gamora asked plainly once they were aboard.

Oh dear. It seemed they weren’t off to a very auspicious start.

Brunnhilde stepped in front of Carol, who’d just been opening her mouth to speak, presumably to claim responsibility.

“I was the captain,” she stated. “Thanos was killed on my orders.”

“Uh, no, not explicitly,” Carol argued.

“Anyway,” Peggy piped up, “I’m the one who shot him in the head.”

“And he was only vulnerable to that because I electrocuted him to within an inch of his despicable life and his helmet fell off,” Brunnhilde countered.

“On a planet I flew us to,” Carol reminded them.

“We’ll be sharing the blame,” Peggy informed Gamora on behalf of her crewmates.

Gamora cocked her head consideringly.

“And if it’s approval?” To their universal silence, she explained, “I know what he was capable of in my time, and I saw enough of Earth to get a general idea of what he was set to accomplish if he wasn’t stopped.”

“Were you out here hunting him too?” Peggy took a step towards her.

Directing her gaze away from them, Gamora blinked rapidly, looking momentarily confused and upset. In the next second, she’d hidden any outward hint of those feelings.

“I should’ve been,” she said, “but I’ve never been able to stand up to him like I should have. After I left your planet… for a while, I wasn’t looking for him. But I began to see signs. And then Peter Quill came.”

“Peter!” Carol said. “You saw him? Did you talk to him? Rocket never said—”

“No. I just watched. I followed him for a while. I knew he was looking for me. He was so… loud.” Gamora made a face. “Leaving word for me everywhere, telling traders and transports that he was my boyfriend. He was an idiot, but an entertaining idiot… I barely noticed that I’d stopped keeping track of Thanos until he just showed up…

“I was a coward,” Gamora went on. “I saw my father intercept Peter’s ship and I knew what would probably happen, but I couldn’t put myself between the two of them. Was I supposed to stand up for this guy when I’d never been able to stand up for myself? I was raised to be cruel, to think of myself, that attachments formed to accomplish anything but the acquisition of power make you weak. I know Thanos killed Peter. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Peggy stood in front of her, refraining from placing a reassuring hand on Gamora’s shoulder when she gave her cagey eyes.

“It’s not,” Peggy told her firmly.

“I only heard your distress signal because I heard Peter’s first,” Gamora said. “I went onboard after my father had left; it was days before I could force myself to do it, maybe longer. I used his communications system to speak to his crewmates on Earth.”

“You must’ve just missed us leaving,” Brunnhilde said.

“That’s what he told me. He said three more morons had left the planet, on their way to hunt down Thanos.”

“And you’ve helped us,” Peggy said, tone insistent. “If you do feel any responsibility for what happened to Peter, then surely you should also believe that you’ve redeemed yourself by saving our backsides.”

Gamora’s eyes squinted as though she were in pain.

“I owed him more than this and I hate it,” she said, jaw clenched. “He was no one to me. He knew someone I’m never going to become.”

“Shhh. I know,” Peggy said soothingly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Have you ever had someone tell you they love you when it feels like it’s impossible that they even know you? That whoever they loved had to be a different person from who you are?”

Peggy’s shoulders fell. She could feel the bittersweet smile on her face.

“Actually, yes.”

Gamora appeared surprised to have been brought up short in such a manner.

“Do you have any advice?” Peggy urged softly.

For a minute, Gamora was quiet, staring hard at the wall. Peggy could feel that the others had backed away, giving them time and space when Gamora’s stream of information had been diverted by the confusing grief she was obviously experiencing.

“Whatever lengths he goes to because he thinks you’re better than you are…” Gamora finally said, turning her head to look Peggy in the eye. “Try to be worth it.”

“Got it.”

Peggy folded her hands together, pressing her right palm to her wedding ring.

—

They were about to get underway, their new crew of four on a significantly smaller, though sleeker, ship. (Brunnhilde didn’t mourn for the one they’d left in the shallows; it had served them well, first the Asgardians and now the team responsible for the death of Thanos.) However, staring out the viewport from the seat in which she’d been installed as the effective second-in-command, Brunnhilde didn’t feel right. The sight of Thanos’s ship just hanging there in space unnerved her. It would be better if no trace of the Titan remained.

“Let’s blast it,” she suggested to the deck at large.

“Thanos’s spaceship?” Peggy checked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Carol said, “we aren’t near anything. There’s nothing for the debris to hit…”

Brunnhilde smiled slightly and looked to the captain.

“Gamora? Do you have any weapons on this ship that could do the job?”

“There is one thing I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Gamora said, gaze fixed on Thanos’s ship. “First, we’re going to need to get clear.”

She piloted them away—away from the planet, away from the ship. Part of Brunnhilde wanted to request the honour of launching the torpedo Gamora was setting the coordinates for, locking it onto her late father’s final vessel, but she was already satisfied with the role she’d played. Let Gamora take this final, symbolic step. It was like Thor’s hideous couch; Brunnhilde had helped him lug the thing into the open air, but permitted him to drop the match (once she’d soaked the cushions in lighter fluid, just in case it wasn’t sufficiently saturated in spilled beer). She would content herself with watching it go up in flames.

And it did. It was an impressive explosion, scattering wreckage in a wide perimeter Gamora had kept them outside of. They were briefly silent as jagged hunks of metal twisted in the void.

“That’s one way to get the stink of dead bodies out,” Carol noted, and Brunnhilde turned to her, shoulders shaking with laughter Carol quickly joined in on.

They flew for some time, and it was good just to relax, to stretch in her seat and tilt her head from side to side so that her neck cracked horrendously and Peggy said things like “good lord!” while Carol laughed her ass off. Brunnhilde remained alert though. She couldn’t help it. In the old days, with the Valkyrie, there’d been a certain relief when the battle in which they’d been engaged was done, but they’d only known true rest once they’d returned to Asgard. Home. The last time she’d been on a ship bound for Earth, the atmosphere had been one of intense grief, muffled weeping in the corridors. They’d known Earth as Midgard and had little admiration for its country of Norway, chilly with fog and swathed in the bleak colours that reflected their inner emptiness. Nothing they loved was there—not their people, not their gleaming towers and soaring statues. How could it ever possibly feel like coming home?

Brunnhilde had honestly believed she’d lost her ability to experience that feeling, that, without her sisters-in-arms, the sensation was lost to her. Yet, despite the tension she still carried from the fight, she felt it easing. She felt herself longing for home, her little house at the water’s edge. For the chance to return to her people as their king and announce a great evil defeated. Maybe this tension was only anticipation after all.

In contrast to the fruits of her own contemplation and revelation, Gamora’s private thoughts had left her expression mournful and roving. Brunnhilde exited the deck to relieve herself and find something to eat in Gamora’s stores, and when she returned, she addressed her.

“You’re not taking us all the way to Earth, are you?”

Gamora flicked her gaze sideways to assess her. Brunnhilde knew there was no judgement to be found in her face, so she stared back calmly.

“I’m taking you to Quill’s ship. Thanos, in his infinite arrogance, didn’t damage it. Maybe he thought he might like to return to it some time and claim it as part of his fleet. It’s a tribute to how much I continue to feel my father’s influence that I planned to do the same. Not build a fleet, but go back. There’s something about that ship… I find it comforting.”

Brunnhilde frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it and leave this one for us?”

“No. What I felt when I was onboard, examining it and… and removing Quill’s body for space burial… that was just a feeling of, I don’t know, another life. There’s a group on Earth for whom that ship means something. And it’s the only thing they have of him. I couldn’t keep it.”

“One of those people is your sister,” Brunnhilde said carefully.

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t like me very much. I don’t blame her,” she added as Gamora gave her a wary look. “She was upset.”

“Nebula is at her most dangerous when upset, and she’s always upset, so she’s always dangerous.”

“She was upset about Peter’s death. But I think also because, without him, no one was out here looking for you.”

Gamora stiffened.

“If she really wants to find me, she can come look for me herself. I’ll be ready.”

“She doesn’t want to fight you,” Brunnhilde said. “She misses you. I think. It’s really none of my business.”

“Why would you wish to get involved in our family affairs?” Gamora’s voice was more curious than accusing. “Besides murdering our father, of course.”

Brunnhilde sighed before answering.

“I’ve lost many people I cared about. I don’t have a family anymore.” She glanced over to see Carol and Peggy bent over a screen together, Carol’s sudden snort infecting Peggy until they were both laughing. “I mean,” Brunnhilde corrected herself, “I didn’t.”

When they arrived at the Benatar and Gamora transported Carol and Peggy off her ship, Brunnhilde motioned for Gamora to hold off a moment on removing her.

“If we don’t meet again,” she said, sticking out her arm for Gamora to grasp.

Gamora gripped her tightly and nodded.

“I think we might though. I thought about it and realized it’s easier for me to find Nebula than for her to find me.”

“I may have left you her coordinates.” Brunnhilde released Gamora’s arm. “Enjoy Missouri.”

She joined Peggy and Carol on the Benatar, pausing to bend over Carol’s seat to surprise her with a deep kiss before she took up her own position. She brushed stray strands of hair back out of Carol’s dancing eyes.

“I’m going to have to redo your braid,” Brunnhilde told her.

“Oh, we’ll have time. We’ve got quite a road trip ahead of us. Luckily… Peter left us his tunes.” Beaming, she started up a song with a bright beat.

Brunnhilde smiled and went to her seat, fastening herself in as Carol readied the vessel for launch.

“You know,” Peggy said thoughtfully, slinging her jacket over the back of her chosen seat, “before all of this, I was actually quite afraid of outer space.”

Carol laughed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

[offaeandcreation]

A Pearl Lost and Found

“This is the composition I made for my final exam; its name is ‘A Pearl Button Lost and Found.’” She announced. Finally, she settled her fingers on the guqin and rang her first chord.

Meng Shi waited and waited. Trained A-Yao in everything she knew; reading, writing, music, even squirreling away every extra coin on cultivation manuals. A-Yao must be ready for when Jin Guangshan returned for them. For him. For her. Day in and day out. He trained. She worked.

Jin Guangshan did not return.

CW: Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Financial Issues Referenced

AO3

A breeze rushed through the open hall, sweeping the white and blue banners of the Gusu Lan Sect into a dance. Though the noise never passed a whisper, a hush settled as a young woman ambled into the hall. With her guqin tucked in a silk sleeve under her arm, robes curling around her like blooming petals of a flower, Meng Shi settled in her place at the front of the hall like an immortal cultivator, long fingers ghosting over the qin strings.

“This is the composition I made for my final exam; its name is ‘A Pearl Button Lost and Found.’” She announced. Finally, she settled her fingers on the guqin and rang her first chord.  

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

She dreamed Jin Guangshan would return for her. Constructed fantasies where one night he would sweep into the brothel, take A-Yao into his arms, smiling as he did so, and ferry them away. Far away.

Deep in the nights, while a client would take their pleasure inside her, Meng Shi would dream: it was him, not a client. She was in Jin Guangshan’s bed, married and unworried when her next meal would be. And A-Yao was practicing cultivation and studying the six arts, not hidden in a closet away from wandering eyes. Sometimes, when the client was especially rough, not bothering to even use oil, (or letting her slip it on), she would clutch the pearl button he had given her so tightly she would find its imprint inscribed into her palm the next morning.

A button and a dream. That’s all she had.

Meng Shi waited and waited. Trained A-Yao in everything she knew; reading, writing, music, even squirreling away every extra coin on cultivation manuals. A-Yao must be ready for when Jin Guangshan returned for them. For him. For her.

Day in and day out. He trained. She worked.

Jin Guangshan did not return.

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

The chords soft and slow, required Meng Shi to hold down zither strings while plucking others. And then the pause. The last note hung in the air, stringing the audience into an uncomfortable pause. Made them freeze, spines akin to metal spikes – waiting for the breath, the respite. Just like she was all those years. At least, they had the privilege of it lasting only for a moment.  

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

The one who freed her out of the brothel did not wear gold. At least in his robes; he brought no buttons or promises.

In fact, when they first met, she didn’t even know who he was.

The last visages of sunlight vanished beneath the horizon. A couple days off, only during the time she bled. Cramps tightened their grip around Meng Shi’s waist and it must have shown on her face for A-Yao crept closer, clutching at her skirt. She squeezed his hand with a smile, making certain her eyes crinkled. A-Yao returned the grin. She wondered if it was as false as her own.

The merchant selling the cultivation manuals often took his place at the end of the street, just at the intersection between the poor and rich red district in Yunping. She scanned the crowd for the familiar squirrelly-mustached man in blue or green hemp. Loud chatter boomed in the busy street as vendors and prostitutes called out to potential customers. Potential coin. Another meal. Another day.

“Are you looking for your friends?” A voice said very much close by. The sort of slurred smirking tone Meng Shi was all too familiar with. She pulled A-Yao close, using her sleeve and skirts to hide him, her fingers dug into her purse, nails scraping through the thin material into the too little coin. She peered over her shoulder, scanning for the drunkard.

Not even a couple paces away, said drunkard lounged on a nearby pillar, liquor pouring down his chin as he looked down on what appeared to be a cloaked person—their back to her. The fabric looked thin, and it shimmered against the torchlight.

Red silk, most likely. Rich.

Though the weather wasn’t as humid as it usually was this time of year, it was obvious the person wished to hide their identity. As if a rich man could shed his origin so easily in these parts.

“I asked where Yunmeng is.” A youthful voice replied, coming from the throat of someone who just stepped over the door’s ledge of adolescence into adulthood thoug it didn’t crack, “either tell me or I’m leaving.”

A gold piece flashed in the torchlight.

Her coin purse too light.

The merchant may raise the price again. And she wouldn’t even be able to afford a meal for A-Yao.

“A-Niang?” A-Yao asked. They had stopped walking.

The drunkard’s eyes glittered, a slow dripping grin spread on his face, “Ah, what a junior, so impatient. Too embarrassed to enter a brothel? With your pretty face, you may get even a discount!”

The young man bristled, hand flying to his side. The drunkard’s smile fell away into horror, skin sheet-white.

“I’m sure if I swing around your pretty face, anyone would give me a discount.” The young man hissed.

Meng Shi frowned. Rich and spoiled. Likely to flash a weapon he couldn’t even yield.

She pulled A-Yao along. Not worth the risk.

“A-Niang,” A-Yao said as they slipped back into the flow of the crowd, “I think he is a cultivator.”

~~~

The merchant raised the price.

Meng Shi tucked the booklet into her sleeve alongside the painfully empty purse. A-Yao dragged his feet on the pebbled ground, kicking up dirt clouds. They walked down a smaller street now, crowds and people leaning more into the open, brightly colored shops. Surprisingly enough, this side of the street remained empty. Not even drunkards or thieves hung around. Something about a ghost wandering the area. Not that she had ever seen it.  

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer, frowning at her sleeve before pulling at her skirt to continue back to the brothel, “It’s nothing, A-Niang.”

The third time he got like this.

“A-Yao, please-” Meng Shi stopped, clutching the book closer to herself.

“The cultivator is here.” A-Yao interrupted, pointing behind her instead.

Meng Shi turned, and indeed a silhouette with a cloak leaped from balcony to balcony, right to the roof of an abandoned tea-house. No one had picked up the place due to the leaky, broken roof…

“Master cultivator! Watch out!” The cry tore out of her throat.

The moment the words left her mouth, the cultivator sunk into the rooftop as if it devoured him. A loud, painful crash.

Meng Shi covered her mouth with her sleeve. The tea-house simply too unsafe for her to enter, and what even could she offer?

What is it with rich men fooling around and getting themselves into trouble?

She should just leave. Perhaps the cultivator broke a bone or two, but he had the funds for a doctor, while if she so much as attempted to climb into the unstable building, a scratch could kill her.

A red light blinked in the holes of the house. Bright. Like a silent firework.

And the young cultivator shot up through the hole in the roof, cloak billowing around him like a flying flag. Sword beneath him, engulfed in the colors of a scarlet star.

Is this how Jin Guangshan flew? Would A-Yao one day be like an immortal, flying above them all?

She clutched the book closer. Hopefully.

The red light remained only for a moment, disappearing before anyone in the crowd noticed him.

He landed right in front of them. The wind swirled around him, cupping his figure in the air. A slow descent, a god. Meng Shi pulled A-Yao close, bowing her head.

“Is this esteemed cultivator injured?” She asked, eyeing the red, bleeding slashes on his exposed hands and chin. Her mind raced, tracing the building of the local doctor on a mental map. Yes, down two streets and-

“No need.” The cultivator replied.

A-Yao’s gasp tore her attention back to him.

The red slices slowly shrunk and disappeared, like wiping off makeup.

The cloak’s hood that framed his face slipped to reveal dark hair wound up in an elaborate hairstyle, clipped probably with some luxurious pin, hidden in shadow. Round red eyes met hers, “I appreciate your warning, however.”

Irises scanned her before shifting to A-Yao, peeking his head from behind her. He too must have seen how his wounds vanished in a flash.

“What a sweet-faced son, impressed?” Voice tilted up with a pride of a purring cat. Crescent smile to match.

A-Yao nodded, though his white-knuckled grip on Meng Shi’s skirt revealed his trepidation.

The cultivator slid a sword into its sheath, gold with motifs woven in. But the light from the shops and vendors proved to be insufficient lighting to see what they were.

Very expensive. Perhaps when Jin Guangshan took A-Yao to the Jinlintai, he would finally get one.

“Perhaps you can help me with a matter.” The cultivator said, “do you know-”

“Yunmeng is on the northern end of the city which you can find the lake to cross to reach it following up this street,” A-Yao said, pointing behind the cultivator.

Meng Shi squeezed A-Yao’s shoulder, “do not interrupt someone, A-Yao.” Much less a rich, dangerous cultivator.

The cultivator blinked before bursting into laughter, “I actually was going to ask something else, but clearly you must have walked by me earlier to overhear that interesting conversation.”

A cold pit dropped into Meng Shi’s gut. She swung her sleeve to cover A-Yao. Maybe he wouldn’t punish them for the interruption. Maybe-

The booklet went flying, clattering into the dirt as its flimsy spine snapped. Colorful papers skidded across the ground, flashing their contents for all to see.

And the coin purse slumped to the ground, not even containing a coin for a single clunk.

Meng Shi gasped. A-Yao scrambled on his hands and knees, picking up the scattered paper. She too, though tears blurred her vision, never mind her skirt, scrambled the precious paper up from the ground. There is no way the merchant would even allow them to exchange the book! He would demand money. And the pages were out-of-order now, not even numbered. How would A-Yao use it now?!

“What is this?” The cultivator leaned over, picking up a sheet.

Meng Shi bowed her head, shoulders shaking. Please don’t laugh at her. Please don’t-

“A cultivation manual, esteemed cultivator,” A-Yao answered, also bowing his head, remembering his manners.

Meng Shi dared to look up. The cultivator frowned at the sheet, flipping it back and forth. The line between his brows growing into a crevice. His gaze shifted back to A-Yao, “You eagerly want to become a cultivator?”

A-Yao hesitated, glancing at Meng Shi for assurance.

“I’d prefer you wouldn’t lie to me. There won’t be a consequence for your answer, but I hate liars.” The cultivator interrupted. He crossed his arms, but the page didn’t so much as crinkle. Long sharp nails barely ghosting the fragile paper.

“My father is a cultivator,” A-Yao replied, voice even.

“Oh?” The cultivator leaned back, posture relaxing a bit, “And who is this man? I might know him.”

“Sect Leader Jin Guangshan.”

The cultivator… flinched. He opened his mouth, paused, before closing.

Did something happen to Jin Guangshan? Why did he flinch? Was he this cultivator’s sworn enemy? Were they in danger?

He said nothing. And A-Yao remained in his spot, not so much as flinching or trembling under the red-eyed stare. Even with placid smile—the same mask Meng Shi wore with the more difficult clients.

The cultivator finally sighed, breaking the silence, and changing the subject, “What do you think of this… manual?” The way the words came out sounded like he just had eaten some strange-tasting fruit.

Meng Shi’s hand curled into a fist, hidden beneath her sleeve. How dare he? She stayed up night after night, working, spreading her damned legs for ferocious beasts to claw a meal for them. To get A-Yao schooled. To get those manuals so he could leave and never look back. Meng Shi would bet her pearl button given as a gift, as a promise, that this man wouldn’t survive one night working as a prostitute. And he had the gall to look down at the manual. At her?

A-Yao’s gaze flittered to the ground.

“Remember, I don’t like liars.” The cultivator reminded him.

“These manuals are useless,” A-Yao said. Now he shook, eyes flitting between her and the cultivator.

The wind stole her breath.

No.

No, he had to be incorrect.

A-Yao must have been doing something wrong, perhaps the manuals were too advanced or-

The cultivator smiled, sharp-edged like the sword he wore on his belt, “Correct. These are more likely to give you Qi deviation than anything else. A useless endeavor.” He then turned to her.

Only clasping her hands together, digging nails into her flesh kept her from bursting into tears, “You have a clever son. A shame really that-” he paused, frowning at her. The relaxed arrogance in his posture dissipated. Tht stupid smirk fell away.  

A rich. Spoiled. Brat-

“Your name?”

He suddenly wanted to know her name?!

“Meng Shi.” She hissed, grinding her teeth together to keep angry words from spilling.

At A-Yao, “and yours?”

“Meng Yao.” Obediently, responded with a salute.

“We’ll meet again then.” The cultivator said with a wave, cloak billowing like a curtain in the wind as he walked away, without a goodbye.

“A-Niang…”

“Let’s go home.”  

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

The melody changed to something heavier, sadness into tension, but a playful sharp tune echoed within the pauses. How else would she paint their benefactor? Outer appearance merely a veneer of youth. Sharp-edged and almost bordering cruel. But unlike a certain man with a certain button, the man kept his promise. Foreshadowed in a lack of a goodbye and by the tune she plucked on the zither.

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

Two nights later, as Meng Shi calculated the number of clients she would need to take on extra to buy a refill of rouge, anything but to think about the collection of false manuals stacked in a corner behind A-Yao when a rapid knock forced her to open her door early.

Sisi waited with a frown on her face. Lips already painted in her favorite deep rose pink, “Madame says someone is here for you.”

Meng Shi’s fingers dug into the old wood. Nails too short, clipped to defenseless crescent-moons, unable to even make a scratch on her damn door.

“A-Yao.” She gestured at her son, who had looked up from his poetry book when the door knocked, skin turning pale, “go hide. Only come out when I come for you.”

He nodded, slipping past her and Sisi with his shoulders hunched.

“Watch over him, please-”

Sisi grabbed her hand, warming her cold, trembling fingers between her palms, “I’ll scratch out anyone who so much as looks his direction.”

Meng Shi nodded, touching her hair, making sure not a single stubborn strand stood out of place. And she went to the first floor.

Madame Meng stood at the front room of the brothel with a cloaked man, taller than the young cultivator she met a few nights before but wearing the same color outer robes, standing akin to a column holding up a temple, with a stone expression to match.

“It appears a Young Master bought your contract.” Madame Meng twitched a false smile as Meng Shi lifted her head from her bow, “and your son’s.”

Meng Shi’s jaw dropped. She stared at the Madame before shifting to the unexpressive, unfamiliar man.

“Take any possessions and your son. I’ll escort you to your carriage.” The man said.

The debt? The contract? Everything? Paid?

The glimmer of excitement popped. The red robe. He must have been that youngster’s servant or something. Most likely, he bought her to be his concubine.

But a concubine didn’t have to take on clients.

Better than a prostitute.

Maybe if she asked nicely, she could ask for A-Yao to learn cultivation…

“Of course, please give me half a sichen.” She bowed again. Her throat closed up.

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

Meng Shi’s hands flew on the guqin. The melody bright, full of scales and chords, forcing her arms to run up and down the entirety of the instrument. Sweat trickled down her spine. Above the fast-paced song, murmurs among the crowd hummed in the background.

And then a pause, before she started the remix, a softer, sweeter tune than the first set of verses she played.

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

The youngster cultivator ended up to be older than she was, revealing himself to be Sect Leader Wen.

He had no interest in making her his concubine.  

Instead, he had A-Yao immediately swept away to join the other junior cultivators. And herself, a two-story house within Nightless City, with two servants, and an allowance.

Meng Shi waited with baited breath for the ‘but.’ When Sect Leader Wen announced it, he easily read her.  

“All talent should be part of my sect. Why should I let anyone else snatch your son up?” The response came with another of his sharp-toothed smiles.

Well… as long as A-Yao wasn’t in any danger…

That was it. Right? A-Yao studied cultivation under the banners of the greatest Sect in the cultivation world. She no longer had to take clients to bring food to the table. And she bought Sisi’s contract as well.

But her hands itched.

“The Gusu Lan Sect’s expertise is in musical cultivation,” A-Yao mentioned offhandedly once, among a tirade of other information about the Great Sects.

An idea popped like a firecracker. At the very least, she would have fun for an evening if it didn’t go as planned.

~~~

The Wen Clan had more than enough money to throw at almost any form of entertainment while juggling the expenses of running the biggest sect there was without a hitch. Every couple of evenings, entertainers would perform for the clan in their private dining room. Guests, lucky enough to be invited, often came back with stories such as the one time Madame Wen paid a troupe of fire-breathing acrobats to accompany an announcement of her pregnancy. By coincidence, A-Yao befriended First Master Wen Xu and had been invited to dine with the main branch more than a handful of times. He mentioned Sect Leader Wen paid musicians this time around.

Asking permission to play one song on the guqin on that nights proved to be quite easy: certainly helped to slip a bag of coins to the troupe leader and flutter her eyelashes.

She prepared like she would for work, excluding the ruffling of fabric and sewing of her sleeves so they would hitch up whenever she twisted her wrist. With her guqin in its silk sleeve, she slipped into the room, earning a nod from the musicians and a confused stare by the bodyguard Wen Zhuliu.  

“It’s just a performance. Don’t worry.” She whispered to him, placing a manicured finger to her lips.

It earned her more blinking, but he let her in.

Servants milled about the never-ending sea of tables in the private dining hall. Members of the Wen clan with their flame robes sat in sections, eating and talking, passing and turning the revolving trays filled to the brim with soups, meats, and noodles. And at the back of the room, on an elevated platform, the main branch with their fiery collars towered above the rest. And A-Yao.

He quickly noticed her presence, followed by Sect Leader Wen. A raised eyebrow, but she only bowed in his direction before taking a seat where the musicians set up.

Straight back, head angled, guqin propped on the carpeted. And she played.

It was a melody she composed many years ago. Sweet like the lychee she peeled for A-Yao, sprinkled with a little Yunmeng spice she could afford once a year.

The piece came to an end to a silent room. Disciples and elders alike all watched her with mesmerized gazes. And then the clapping began.

~~~

“An excellent performance; I didn’t hear such quality for many years.” Sect Leader Wen mentioned the following day. On purpose, Meng Shi escorted A-Yao to his classes, something she hadn’t done since the first six months of their arrival. And as she prepared to leave, Sect Leader Wen materialized behind her.

Meng Shi bowed, “many thanks to Sect Leader.” She clutched her sleeves to not flick her wrists.

Sect Leader Wen tilted his head, “but I’m guessing you didn’t perform just for fun.”

Meng Shi returns a smile, “I was hoping to showcase my abilities, so Sect Leader may consider allowing me to continue my music study?”

“Oh?~” A pause as Sect Leader Wen tapped under his chin, most likely pondering the matter, “This year, the Gusu Lan Sect will host a discussion conference. Perhaps you wish to come with Meng Yao?”

~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~~🎵~~~🎵~~~🎵~

The music ended. A long chord held with crescendoing trills before drifting off into oblivion. Only its echo remained in the quiet hall.

Unlike the private dining hall of the Wen clan, the Lan Sect clapped quietly—crisp and polite.

Even A-Yao matched their volume and rhythm, though she could read his posture to be restless with how wide his grin spread on his face and how the muscles in his hands twitched.

Meng Shi saluted, signaling the end of her examination

Lan Qiren, acting Sect Leader, gave a single curt nod. Perhaps it was just the light, but she swore he wore a tiny twitch of a smile, “The examiners and I will return once we have our verdict.”

Even with the budding...relationship? between them, she was sure Lan Qiren would judge her purely on merit and performance.

An incense stick later, with a smile no longer hidden, he announced:

She passed.

[humandisasterskywalker]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Touch-Starved, Hallucinations, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, No Beta We Die Like Clones Series: Part 6 of Whumptober 2021 Summary:

Whumptober 2021

Day 6 - TOUCH & GO

bruises / touch starved /hunger

"I’m happy knowing you are a hallucination Anakin, you don’t have to worry that my clarity about the situation will stop me from having them. I don’t mind. They give me someone to talk to.”

Obi Wan had been presumed dead. Anakin had to let him go, but he had never ever been able to truly give up hope. Part of him always hoped, always dreamed that he would find his Master. He never gave much consideration to the state that Obi Wan would be left in...

.

.

.

Anakin froze.

He glanced around. The city was quiet, nothing particularly out of the ordinary for a Mid Rim planet that had not been touched by the war.

Definitely not the kind of place where he would feel that.

Not that he ever thought that he would feel it again. He had accepted it. He had been forced into accepting that his Master was gone.

He had searched for so long that it was the only possible solution.

But then why had he just sensed Obi Wans force signature.

He reached up to where his Padawan braid should have been. Obi Wan should have been the one to cut that. Geonosis had robbed the order of so much, but it had robbed Anakin of a Master.

It couldn’t have been him.

It couldn’t.

But Anakin couldn’t help it.

He closed his eyes letting his breath even out and reached out with the force.

His mind pushed through the city passing over street after street, thousands of unremarkable sentients. Uninteresting signatures.

Disappointment washed over him. This is why he stopped. This is why he had forced himself into acceptance. He had stopped hoping because every disappointment was like losing Obi Wan all over again.

He began to withdraw when he felt it.

Just on the edges of his consciousness, like it had been deliberately hidden there was a spark.

A spark of familiarity.

It was faint but it was there. It had to be.

There was no way anyone could have such a similar signature to his Master. Obi Wan had been unique, even amongst the Jedi order. No one else in the galaxy could have such a similar impact on the force. Of that Anakin was certain.

He was moving before he realised it, the informant he was supposed to be meeting with gone from his mind. He was fixated on only one thing.

Obi Wan. Obi Wan was here.

The speeder bike he commandeered was old, sputtering and not going at anywhere near the speed he wanted it to. He ignored the traffic, swerving between the stationary and slow-moving land speeders and probably breaking every planetary traffic rule in the process.  But Anakin didn’t care. The signature was getting closer. Obi Wan was getting closer.

The buildings grew darker and more run down as he left the city centre, the streets growing more empty.

He stopped the speeder outside a warehouse. It was more than rundown. It was practically decrepit, several of the windows were broken and the roof looked like part of it had already collapsed.

Some street urchins began to creep towards him, before turning in the other direction when they caught sight of his lightsaber.

Good. They should be afraid. Everyone on this planet should be afraid of him, for keeping his Master from him. He closed his eyes taking a deep breath. Those were not thoughts worth following. There would be no point finding his master again just to lose him by again by falling to the dark.

He pushed open the door, igniting his blade to light up the room.

The room was large but bare. Any of the old industrial equipment had been ripped out leaving it empty.

There was no sign of Obi Wan.

Anakin tried to fight off the rising tide of panic. He could sense Obi Wan, he had to be here. He had to.

He scanned the room looking for something, looking for anything that could give him an idea. Any clue as to where Obi Wan could be.

There. On the far wall, the door to the old supervisors' office was different. Shinier. Far too new for a building like this.

He moved to inspect it. Definitely newer.  The rest of the building had been unsecured with decaying manual locks on the doors and windows, the very embodiment of low-tech. This door however was the opposite. There was a complicated computer panel next to the door, grafted into the concrete of the floor and completely out of character with the rest of the building.

Anakin wished he had brought Artoo, rather than leaving him in his starfighter back on the ship. The astromech would have been able to slice it within minutes. He looked more closely at the panel. He probably could slice into it if given the time. And the patience.

Anakin drove his lightsaber through the door. He did not have the patience.

The door was heavy duty, but it wasn’t a blast door. It only took him a few minutes to cut an opening through the dura-steel.

He stepped through. The corridor beyond was dimly lit but that didn’t matter. Anakin could sense him strongly now. His Master was here.

His Master was alive!

Anakin rolled an industrial door aside and froze.

Obi Wan was sat slumped against the far wall. He looked up at the sound of the door and gave a small smile.

“So it is you who is visiting me today dear one.”

Obi Wans face was covered in bruises, his hair was wild and his beard had grown out of control. He didn’t look at all like the immaculately presented man he had always known.

But it was undeniable that it was him.

“Master! I…”

“You haven’t come to see me for a while Padawan. Qui-Gon has been the one who has visited me the most recently.”

“Master, but Master Jinn is… he’s dead.”

Obi Wan waved a dismissive hand. “Oh I know he’s not real, just like you aren’t but it is nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who isn’t one of them.”

“But Master I am real. It’s me. Anakin!”

Obi Wan narrowed his eyes.

“None of you have tried to convince me you were real in a while. I’m happy knowing you are hallucinations Anakin, you don’t have to worry that my clarity about the situation will stop me from having them. I don’t mind. They give me someone to talk to.”

Anakin was panicking again. He hadn’t considered the state Obi Wan would be in, single minded in his determination to find him that he had given no thought to the attention that he may need. If he had been suffering these sorts of hallucinations for such a long time… He would need to see a mind healer. And soon.

“Master look at me!” Anakin begged. “Do I look like I did the last time I saw you? Can’t you see I’m older? Why would you hallucinate that.”

Obi Wan looked unsure for the first time.

“You don’t have your braid.” He muttered. “Why don’t you have your braid?”

“I was Knighted by Master Yoda, we… we couldn’t find you. I-” Anakin's voice cracked. “I wanted to wait. I wanted you to do it, but we couldn’t find you.”

Obi Wan looked smaller like the world was closing in on him. His eyes darted around the room, frantic.

“You have always looked like you did on the last day I saw you when you have visited before. Why do you look older? Why?”

Anakin edged closer. “It really is me, Master. I swear.”

Obi Wan wasn’t listening to him. He was talking to himself quickly, trying to convince himself.

“They never come this close. They never touch. He won’t be able to touch. Don’t hope. It’s not real. You can’t hope.”

Anakin knelt down in front of him.

“Master. I am here.”

He reached forward.

The moment his hand touched Obi Wans face the man let out a sob.

He slumped forwards into Anakin's arms.

“It is you. It's really you.”

“I found you, Master!” Anakin felt tears on his cheeks. His words choked. “I always hoped. I always dreamed.”

“Never lost faith in you. My dear one. My Padawan. The best Padawan.”

“I’m sorry it took so long. I failed you.”

“You could never fail me Anakin.”  He ran his hand up through Anakin's hair, rubbing his hand where the braid used to be. “You’ve been Knighted. I’m glad. I wish I could have been the one to cut your braid.”

“I wanted you to be,” Anakin whispered. “It didn’t feel right. Master Yoda treated me well but it wasn’t you. It should have been you.”

“You honour me Anakin. You would have honoured me as a knight even if you never found me.”

Anakin felt Obi Wans grip tighten.

“You found me he” whispered. “You are truly here.”

“I won’t leave you again Master,” Anakin said. “I promise. You will never be left alone like this again.”

Obi Wans eyes closed. His conversation became incoherent again. “Found. They were never able to touch. Never before were they able to touch.” He squeezed Anakin's hand again.

“We’re going to get you back to the Temple Master. We’ll get you better. We’ll get you home.

“Home” Obi Wan agreed.

Anakin gathered him up in his arms. His master was light, far too light for a man who was only a couple of inches shorter than him. What had happened to him Anakin thought darkly.

He drove back to the ship as quick as he could. He didn’t let go of Obi Wan for a second, terrified that he would disappear the moment he did.

Obi Wan never let go of his hand.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

[schrijverr]

Clinging to affection

After a comment from Tim, Jonny worries that he’s too clingy. He avoids the rest, but when he has to fix a part of the ship with Brian they get locked in. Brian talks to him and gives him a hug.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: jonnys low self esteem. Tell me if I missed anything or you want me to tag something!!!

This is for @assyer, Merry Christmas! 

~~~~~~~~~~

Jonny had been feeling kind of bad lately. Nothing special had happened to set it off, he had just woken up a few days ago and life had said ‘no <3’ and it hadn’t gone away.

What he really needed right now was a good and grounding hug. He knew that, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to ask for it. Asking for a hug was scary and he was too tough for that anyway, someone had to offer.

But even if he wasn’t going to ask, he was going to make it obvious. It was a sort of unspoken thing, he would sit in the common room alone and if anyone saw they would most likely give him a hug.

Today he had only sat there for twenty minutes when Ivy happened to walk by. When she saw him, she did a quick double-take and scanned his face, before sitting down and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

For a moment he tried to keep his pride, but then he sagged into the touch and curled up around her, while she cracked open the book she had been carrying.

Jonny lay there for a long while, the knot of badness in his chest uncoiling as the peace settled over him.

After a while Ashes had walked in and took in the scene. It didn’t happen often, not anymore, but they could still recognize the tense slump of Jonnys shoulders. So, they sat down nearby and when Ivy left, she gently levered Jonny onto them.

While he was practically lying on them, some of the others trickled in. Brian and Marius were discussing if Marius tactics were a horrifying offense to doctors or not and Raphaella had mixed herself into the discussion as well.

Then Tim came in and saw. Tim and Jonny always had a relation that mostly existed out of jabs or trashtalk and he hadn’t been here when these bad moments had been most frequent. This is why the first thing out of his mouth was: “You comfortable there, octokitten?”

Immediately Jonny straightened up and glared at Tim, as he spat: “I’m not an octokitten.”

You wouldn't see it when you looked at him, but the moment the words had left Tims lips, a pit formed in Jonnys stomach. It opened up and seemed to suck all the warmth and relaxation into it and swallow it, leaving Jonny cold and alone.

“Whatever you say suction cup arms.” Tim grinned, not noticing how Jonny had shriveled up on the inside.

Jonny rolled his eyes at him, then stalked off. Throwing a “I hate you” over his shoulder.

He didn’t see how Ashes frowned at his tense back, before they set Tims coat on fire without him noticing, after which they walked after Jonny.

They came to face with a locked door. They knew that they could blow it open if they wanted to, but they doubted that was a good idea. After a knock, there was no reaction and they cursed Tim under their breath, walking back to shoot him.

Meanwhile, Jonny was lying on his bed. He had ignored the knock, he didn’t want to face anyone, it was embarrassing. He was embarrassing.

Tim had instantly seen how fucking clingy he was and Ashes just put up with him because they always had, same went for Ivy. And Brian and Marius and Raphaella had all been there and seen how embarrassingly clingy he was and they would find it weird.

And oh god why had he even allowed that!

It was stupid, so stupid. He didn’t need a hug, he was just being a baby about it.

He made a solution not to allow that anymore, but first the others would have to forget this ever happened. He reasoned with himself that if he just avoided them for long enough, they would have to forget eventually.

With that master plan in mind, he turned around in his bed and pulled the sheets over his head, allowing himself to wallow some more.

He managed to lie there for three whole days, before knocks became too frequent on his door for him to keep it up, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to anyone. So, he grabbed food and left, only showing his face for a few seconds, but mostly kept himself busy elsewhere.

This peace, alas, was not meant to last long either. It was not even a full month later that the ship was attacked.

Nothing major, of course, just a crew of other space pirates, who thought the small crew of the Aurora would be an easy target. Lets say it didn’t work out well for them and Jonny got some nice snacks, but they did manage to land a hit on Aurora.

Nastya assured them that she would be able to fix it quite easily, however she did also request that the others helped to get her girlfriend up and running in a short time-span.

Jonny had hoped he would be able to do tasks alone, but Nastya had said that it was better to go in pairs, just in case something went wrong and your body had to be fished out of fire or mysterious liquids to regenerate. So Jonny was assigned to fix one of the wings of the ship with Brian.

The wings were not really wings, but small extrusions on either side where a lot of wiring and computing and other science stuff Jonny didn’t get was stored.

They were accessible through a door and the space to operate in wasn’t that big, meaning Jonny wouldn't be able to hide from Brian, who would almost definitely ask how he was doing and if everything was alright.

With a heavy heart he trudged after Brian and started to work on the wiring with help from the manual Nastya had given him. Beside him Brian was doing the same.

After a while Brian took a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Jonny looked at him and said: “No.”

Brian looked startled for a second, then an understanding look came over his face that made Jonny skin crawl as he replied: “I just wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

Jonny glared at him suspiciously, then turned away without giving Brian an answer.

They returned to working in silence once more, but Jonny knew the time was ticking. If he wanted to get out before Brian would attempt a conversation again, he would have to hurry. His movements sped up and he spend less time inspecting the manual in the hope of getting his task done as soon as possible.

It proved to be to his determent.

He pulled on the wires quickly connecting them to each other or ports as he tried to make sense of whatever this part of the ship was supposed to do, when he accidentally pulled too hard and one of the wires broke.

His head snapped up as he scanned the wing to see what that did and if they were going to die from it. His eyes fell on the door just as it slid close and locked itself with a click. He cursed.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Brian asked when he heard.

“I accidentally broke the door.” Jonny managed through gritted teeth, “We’re locked in.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.” Brian commented.

“Really? Is that all you have to say?” Jonny exclaimed, “We’re locked in a small part of the ship where almost no one ever comes while everyone is busy and your response is ‘that’s unfortunate’?”

Brian looked taken aback by his outburst and a nub of guilt formed in Jonnys chest as Brian replied: “I didn’t want to make a fuss, you already seem so stressed lately and it’s not like it’s your fault.”

Jonny worried his lip between his teeth as a few seconds passed by in silence, then Jonny softly admitted: “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Would you mind if I took a look at it?” Brian asked.

Jonny shook his head and Brian moved into the spot next to him while he inspected the wiring, after a moment he concluded: “I don’t think it is fixable, we need someone to open it from the outside.”

With a sigh, Jonny dropped to the floor and laid down. Brian looked at him for a second, before shrugging and joining him. Jonny cracked open one eye and asked: “Don’t you have shit to finish? That had been my last wire.”

“Oh, I’ve been done for a few minutes already, but I’d thought I’d keep you company. You’ve been so lonely these past few weeks, I missed you hanging around.” Brian told him.

“That’s a fucking lie.” it was out of Jonnys mouth before he had thought about it.

“I can’t lie right now, first off. And second off, why would you think I’d lie about that, that would be mean and untrue.” Brian said, sounding actually upset at the thought.

The nub of guilt grew as Jonny noticed the switch on MJE on Brians neck. With a slight flush coloring his cheeks he shrugged: “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, how did you mean it then?” Brian asked, seeing right through his bullshit.

“Uhh...” Jonny blanked.

“That’s what I thought.” Brian said gently, “I know you hate talking about feelings, but I have eyes, I know there is something wrong and now we have time, so please talking to me. What is going on in that head of yours?”

“Why do you even care?” Jonny tried to avoid answering, moving a bit away as to not seem clingy.

“Because you’re my friend and you’re always there for me and I like hanging around you?” Brian answered so sincerely like it was nothing, turning his head to look Jonny in the eyes.

Without his permission some tears sprung into Jonnys eyes as he quickly swallowed and looked away. It was so relieving to hear and he knew Brian couldn't lie, but still a part of him didn’t really believe him, he was annoying and clingy.

He said that last part: “But I’m clingy.”

The understanding look from earlier returned, but it didn’t make Jonny as uncomfortable, just relieved when Brian pulled him into a hug and said: “You’re not clingy at all, Jonny. If anything, I’d wish you would let people hug you more. What made you think that?”

Jonnys shoulders shook as he cried slightly. He thought it was embarrassing that this was enough to set him off, but the bad feeling that had caused him to go look for a hug in the first place hadn’t left with the comment and all he had wanted was someone to tell him it was alright and give him a bit of affection. So when it finally happened, it was too much in a good way.

Brian didn’t seem to mind, he just held Jonny until he could make noise again: “It’s just- and then- you know? When- and I couldn't- with Tim- and-”

Jonny sniffled unable to explain more than that incoherent blubbering, but Brian made the connection to the comment of Tim a while back. He sighed: “Oh, Jonny, he didn’t mean it like that, no one thinks that you’re clingy.”

“How- how do you know?” Jonny asked, teary eyed and pouty.

“Because Ashes set him on fire over it and Marius scolded him until he sheepishly admitted that had not been his intention at all, only to be shot by Ashes when they got back from following you to make sure you were alright.” Brian told him.

“Wha- what?” Jonny voice was full of disbelief, “Why?”

Brian squeezed him tight and said: “Because everyone here cares for you and they don’t want you to not get affection. It was just light teasing, he didn’t know you would be so hurt by it or he wouldn't have said it.”

“Oh.” was all Jonny could reply to that, heart lighter even if he couldn't fully believe everything Brian told him. He burrowed his face closer to Brians chest and let it rest there.

They laid there for a long while, until Jonny had drifted off.

Then the door beeped and slid open once more as Nastya stuck her head in confused and asked: “What happened here, why aren’t you back yet? Aurora is running again.”

“Jonny accidentally locked the door on us.” Brian explained as he got up, carrying the sleeping First Mate in a bridal-carry.

When Nastya saw the dried tear tracks on Jonnys face she nodded and ask: “Did you have a good talk with him?”

“I think he got something out of it, yes.” Brian confirmed.

“Good.”

They brought him to bed and gently tucked him in. Tomorrow he would wake and come to breakfast and stay. He would joke around and allow Tim to sling an arm around him and whisper a small apology, before Ashes dragged him off to play cards.

But that was tomorrow, for now he could rest and hug the pillow close to his chest.

[honey-dewey]

Patient Zero

Chapter One

Paring: Din Djarin/Imperial Reader

Word Count: 1,127

Warnings: No big ones, mentions of carbonite freezing, needles, and PTSD

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

Working with the Empire as one of their researchers was, in theory, a boring job. At least, right up until you were assigned the mysterious Patient Zero. With no records, no data, and no name, he may as well not exist. But he’s much more than meets the eye, and you’re about to find that out the hard way. 

Multi-chapter story. Chapter 1 of 4. 

You saw patients all day long aboard the Imperial medi-ship, but none were as intriguing as Patient Zero. 

Patient Zero had, to your knowledge, once been a hard to catch high priority bounty, but the bounty was removed suddenly under unknown circumstances. The Empire found him despite the missing bounty and, in their words, acquired him. He’d been horribly volatile and aggressive, and they’d had no choice but to freeze him in carbonite. Every so often, they’d unfreeze him, and he’d come out swinging, so they refroze him. 

It was a process that gave you hives. Refreezing, especially in rapid succession like that, was incredibly dangerous. When Patient Zero did finally calm, he was entirely blind for three months and had difficulty moving by himself for almost four weeks. But he’d recovered well enough for you to take over. As one of the Empire’s leading researchers, they’d given you Patient Zero to focus on. Up until then, you’d studied him from afar, but the reassignment from basic medical to patient study meant that you’d have a very up close and personal relationship with Patient Zero. 

He’d been stubborn at first, naturally. You could tell that beyond the blindness and the immobility was a warrior’s soul, although you couldn’t ID him to confirm a past. It was as if his face didn’t exist. So you’d resorted to the next best thing. Putting him in the database yourself. 

Samples had been taken and tests had been run during your manual input, and you’d found something really interesting. Patient Zero wasn’t a Force sensitive individual by birth. But he’d been exposed to a powerful Force user for a long and regular amount of time, and that had altered his biological makeup to adapt him to the Force. In other words, he had forced his body to become Force sensitive. It was such a breakthrough that you’d almost not believed it. But numbers don’t lie. 

You sighed, inputting another file entry. Recently, Patient Zero had requested a notebook and pencil, and you’d provided it. He wasn’t talkative at all, so you figured writing things down might help him. His journaling had given you glimpses of his past, despite every word being written in a language no one knew how to translate. He doodled a small Mudhorn on the corner of a few pages, and you had scanned the page to copy the drawing into his file. So he had traveled to or lived on Arvala-7. But not many saw a Mudhorn and lived to tell the tale. 

The current entry to Patient Zero’s file was a scanned page in which there were no words, just drawings. The Mudhorn doodle, a mysterious two-tusked creature, a scratched out drawing of a creature with large ears and round eyes, a poor attempt at his own face, and a helmet with a curiously familiar design. It was the most hodgepodge collection of drawings, and yet, they told a story. 

Hitting enter, you scooped up the newly printed file and shoved it in Patient Zero’s folder. Tucking the folder safely in a file cabinet, you left your office, intent on visiting your favorite patient. 

One thing you’d learned about Patient Zero was that, despite his initial stubbornness and his clear instinct to fight, he never turned down food. Not even in the beginning, when he’d growled and fought like a starved animal. He’d always eaten everything, which, to you, meant that he knew the value of food. Either he’d been intentionally denied food, or he knew what it was like to simply not have more. Either way, he was now fed three solid meals a day, which was good for his body. 

You carried two lunch trays into his room, smiling when you saw him where he always was. Sat at the desk with a book. The room was incredibly simplistic. Grey metal floor, lighter grey walls, basic white lights. A bed with no bed frame on one side of the room, covered in neatly folded white blankets and two pillows. A desk, two chairs, and a bookshelf, all slightly barren and white in color, on the other side of the room. A single door led to his bathroom, a tiny room with an unbreakable mirror, a toilet, a sink, and the base toiletries. It was mildly depressing, but Patient Zero never voiced his discomfort with the room. 

You placed his lunch in front of him, settling down at the desk as well, using the spare chair. Patient Zero looked down at his food, then back up at you, a clear look of discontent on his face. 

“I know it’s what we had yesterday,” you said, starting on the mystery meat on your tray. “But it’s what they had.” 

Patient Zero shrugged and picked up his fork, slowly eating his vegetables first. You’d found that endearing, that he always ate his veggies first. You could almost imagine a child version of Patient Zero being chided for not eating his greens, leading to this learned trait. 

You both ate in relative silence, not wanting to disturb the delicate bond you had. He didn’t hate you as much as he hated the troopers and the other scientists. But you were the only one who’d made a real effort to humanize him, giving him comforts and treating him well. 

Finally, you could avoid it no longer. “You drew another Mudhorn,” you said softly, taking a bite of the unidentifiable mash of what you hoped was a starch. “Have you ever seen one?”

Patient Zero was quiet and still for a moment before softly saying, “I killed one.” 

“I’m sorry?” To your knowledge, Mudhorns were nearly unkillable. It typically took a small army to even wound one. And yet, your incredible Patient Zero took one down, and by the way he said it, you assumed he did it alone. 

Patient Zero’s mouth twitched in what you quickly learned was his version of a smile. He didn’t say another word about it. 

After lunch, you two headed down to the labs for tests. Patient Zero reluctantly let the troopers follow, eyeing them warily the entire time. 

“Lay down,” you instructed upon reaching the lab room. Patient Zero did, laying on his back on the raised white table. 

“Good,” you murmured, positioning some of the machines that hung down from the ceiling. “This’ll pinch.” 

Patient Zero didn’t move as the arm cuff began to take a blood sample. You’d been monitoring his m-count, surprised to see it holding steady despite not using or interacting with the Force. Today was, seemingly, not an exception. 

You punched in the numbers, adjusting your coat and sighing. “You’re an extraordinary man,” you said softly down to your patient. “I just wish I knew who you were.”

[eatsleepandsupernatural]

Saved - Chapter Eight

Saved Masterlist

Pairings: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Angst, Character Resurrection, excerpts from 14x08

Word Count: 2,243

A/N: Hey! The following chapter does contain some aspects of the Supernatural episode Byzantium. I would like to just state that I do not own those particular paragraphs of this chapter or of course the characters (but we already knew that). You probably didn’t expect the chapter to go this way, it was my plan from the beginning because of an idea I had, can’t tell you yet. Anyway, hope you don’t mind and I hope you enjoy! XX

Tags: @akshi8278​ @goddessofmischiefs​ @flutistbyday2020​ @samsgirl93​

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

   Tossing and turning, surrounding yourself with your Alphas scent, no matter how hard you tried, you can’t sleep. Your thoughts are on Jack, the image of him collapsing on the floor, coughing up blood, is replaying over and over in your mind. He had quickly become your closest friend, keeping you company while Sam and Dean went on hunts. You had made a habit of sneaking into the ‘Dean Cave’, cooking up some popcorn and watching movies for hours at a time. The way Jack’s eyes fixed on the T.V like an excited puppy always made you smile. You had barely known him, but the memory of him passing away, his hand grasped firmly in yours, was overwhelming. 

   You shove the covers off and leave your room in search of Dean and some comfort. You had gone to bed once he and Cas brought Sam back safely after he had left the bunker, feeling the need for some alone time. Hours have passed and your need for your Alpha grew stronger every second. 

   You find him passed out in the kitchen, surrounded by empty glasses and half drunk bottles of whiskey, snoring louder than you had ever heard. 

   ‘Dean...Dean, you shouldn’t sleep here.’ You speak softly into his ear and gently shake his shoulder in an effort to wake him up. ‘Dean.’ 

   ‘I don’t think he’s waking up anytime soon, Y/N.’ You turn around to face Cas, who is watching you from the doorway. ‘Why are you awake?’ 

   ‘I never went to sleep, couldn't.’ You admit quietly, knowing what was going to come next, silently wishing it was Sam who had found you. 

   Cas glances between you and Dean before sighing and holding out his hand, ‘It would be unfair to wake him now. Come on, I’ll get you settled.’ 

   You place your hand in his and let him lead you back to your room, but you don’t make it easy for him, dragging your feet along the way. There is no hiding the fact that you are frustrated with him, with everyone. Jack is dead and they are still hiding things. You want to know why Jack was sick in the first place, and for how long. You want to know why, whenever you ask about anything supernatural related you are ignored. 

   ‘Y/N, what are you doing? Aren’t you tired?’ Cas asks when you pull your hand from his and take a few steps back to put some space between you. 

   ‘I am tired. I am tired of being kept in the dark. Did you ever think that maybe I would have been able to help Jack if I had known what was going on? He was my friend, and I lost him, and I don’t even know why. All you guys do is keep me in the dark for ‘my protection’, but one day, that’s going to come back and bite you in the arse. I may have been afraid of the idea of monsters being real when I first moved in, but I’ve seen Sam and Dean come back from enough hunts to accept that truth now. I’m ready to fight, to help. Dean, he is never going to let me near a gun. I need you to let me help, teach me to fight Cas, please.’ 

   Cas stares at you, surprised by your outburst. He frowns for a moment, deep in thought, before approaching you slowly. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. I will talk to Dean.’ 

   You roll your eyes at his response and slouch your shoulders. ‘Like that will do...Hey!’ 

   Cas cuts you off mid sentence, grabbing you around the waist and placing two fingers to your forehead. ‘Go to sleep Y/N’

   ‘Y/N, wake up,’

   ‘Omega.’ A firm hand on your shoulder and the smooth voice of your Alpha draws you from a peaceful, deep sleep. Your eyes meet Deans tired ones, the bags sitting below them prominent. 

   ‘Morning’. You sit up against the bed head, accepting the glass of water Dean offers you. 

   ‘Afternoon, actually.’ 

   ‘Stupid Angel.’ You grunt, making Dean chuckle softly. 

   ‘I had an interesting conversation with Cas this morning.’ He informs you, turning serious once again. ‘He told me you had trouble sleeping, went for a late night stroll.’ 

   ‘Didn’t realise that was something I wasn’t allowed to do.’ You shoot back. You aren’t sure where the attitude is coming from, but you are sick of Dean’s Alpha behaviour. 

   ‘I didn’t say that.’ He speaks quickly, eyes scanning your face in an attempt to read your thoughts. ‘But he told me what you spoke about, and I’m sorry. Truly. My intentions were always to keep you safe, and in doing so, I’ve pushed you away. And you’re right, chances of you holding a gun in this lifetime, or any other lifetime are pretty small. But you’re also right, that I have been letting the Alpha in me control my actions, and I have been unfair to you. If you believe that you are ready, you can be put on research duty. That means books only, no knives, no guns, no ghosts. We got a deal?’ 

   You stare at your Alpha with wide eyes, shocked and disbelieving. Dean stands up from the bed and smiles down at you, ‘You coming? You might want to get dressed. We have a guest.’ 

   You take a few minutes to compose yourself, washing your face and brushing your teeth in the basin, before getting dressed and leaving your room in search of the others. 

   The library is not how you left it last night, furniture has been moved to the side, and Sam and Dean stand next to a table in the middle of what looks to be a very intense discussion making you pause at the door and hide behind the wall, you decide waiting out the conversation is the best idea. 

   ‘Use the soul-sucking magic? Boy, that lady’s a peach.’ Dean’s tone of voice surprises you, and you realise this was one of the things he was trying to hide from you, his hunter side.

   ‘Listen, we talked about this.’ Sam interjects.

   ‘I know. Gotta happen. It’s the only way. Right. But I don’t like rolling the dice on some psycho ex-angel killer.’

   ‘I don’t love it, either, but taking risks, making crappy deals--that’s what we do.’

   ‘Yeah, and they usually bite us in the arse.’ You smile at Dean’s choice of words, remembering what you had said to Cas last night.

   ‘So, what do you want to do about it? Leave Jack in the morgue? Burn him?’ That’s the moment you realise that they were planning to do something about Jack, to try and bring him back. You had heard snippets of conversations before, you knew that both Sam and Dean had died at least once. 

   ‘I didn’t say that.’

   ‘Because, for me, not doing this--that-- that would be like letting him die all over again.’ At Sam’s words your heart almost breaks all over again and you struggle to hold back tears. 

   ‘I want Jack back, too okay? I do. I just don’t trust Lily. Especially with my little eavesdropper.’ 

   If you hadn’t had that conversation with Dean ten minutes ago, your heart would have dropped to your stomach. You straighten your back and peek around the doorway with a small smile on your face. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’ 

   Dean rolls his eyes but waves you over, and you reach him the same time Cas comes up the steps looking more than stressed. 

   ‘You got a twenty on Jack?’ Dean asks, eyes pleading for a yes.

   ‘Not exactly. Angel Radio is playing a distress signal.’ 

   ‘Awesome’, He replies, letting his arms fall, surely mirroring his disappointment. 

   ‘All of Heaven’s gates are open, even the ones that Metatron closed.’

   ‘What could that mean?’ Sam asks.

   ‘I don’t know but it’s not good.’

   ‘More awesome.’ Dean says, making you reach out and grab his hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

   ‘All right, well you go. We got Lily. When we’re ready, we’ll pray.’ Sam says, hoping that the solution will be enough.

   Cas shares a look with Sam and Dean before walking away and to do whatever he had to do. 

   ‘What’s going on?’ You ask, turning back to face the two Alphas.

   ‘We may have a way to bring Jack back. It’s risky, but we figured it’s worth a shot. You can hang around for now, but if I need you to leave later, you have to trust me. We’ve never done this before Y/N.’ 

   You are tempted to argue but something in Sam’s eyes makes you change your mind. He is watching you carefully, eyes wide, pleading with you to reassure Dean that you’ll listen. 

   ‘Got it, just tell me to go make myself some lunch, and I’m gone.’ As soon as you see Dean’s entire body relax you know you have made the right decision and Sam shoots you the biggest smile, to which you respond with an eye roll. It’s as if they don’t believe you can behave. 

   ‘Alright, hand me that glass bottle would ya?’ Dean gestures behind you as he moves to fiddle with some paint and a bowl on the table. 

   You pick it up, inspecting the clear liquid inside before handing it over and you and Sam watch as he pours the liquid in and stirs the paint around. He picks up the bowl and holds out a piece of paper for him to copy from and you watch in awe as Dean expertly paints a large symbol on the wooden floor. 

   ‘The instruction manual’. You had been watching Dean so closely you hadn’t heard the footsteps of another person approach the three of you and you jump away in shock as she hands an old leather-bound book to Sam. 

   ‘It’s alright Y/N,’ Sam reassures you before turning to face the older woman who you assume must be Lily gives you a questioning look before turning back to Sam. ‘Thanks. All right, we’re almost set. Just got to get one more thing. I’m gonna go grab it.’ He says, he gives you a second reassuring smile before walking off. You watch him go, as he does, he grabs Dean’s attention and nods in the direction of you and the strange woman. 

   Dean puts the bowl and brush down on the ground as he stands up and walks towards you, watching where he steps. He gives you a quick smile before addressing Lily.

   ‘You know, I think we got off to a bad start. Um, I guess I should be thanking you.’

   ‘Apology accepted.’ You frown at Lily’s response and her attitude towards your Alpha, but you stay quiet, unwilling to test any boundaries on the first day. ‘Are you going to introduce me?’ 

   ‘Uh, right. This is Y/N, my mate. Y/N, this is Lily Sunder, an old...acquaintance.’

   ‘Nice to meet you.’ You nod from your corner with a small smile, not a fan of strangers. Lily was a beta, but she gives off a weird vibe that makes you uncomfortable. 

   ‘There, you’re acquainted, great. Except, something’s been bothering me. Uh, you know, if this magic of yours is so great...why’d you stop using it? You’re letting yourself get old. You’re letting yourself die. Why? Why risk going to hell if you don’t have to? There’s something you’re not telling us.’

   You raise your eyebrows at Dean’s words and look to Lily, waiting for her answer. Is this magic too risky to use on Jack? 

   ‘When Ishim took my daughter, I swore I’d kill him, even if it meant burning my entire soul. But it didn’t. I have a sliver, a whisper of my soul left.’

   ‘And?’ Dean prompts, getting impatient.

   ‘May--my daughter, my little girl--is in heaven. And if there is still a piece of my soul...Now do you understand?’ 

   You are deep in thought when Sam comes back carrying a box filled to the brim with candles. You watch as he places them down at different points on the symbol like he had done it hundreds of times before. 

   ‘Sweetheart.’ Your head whips up at the sound of Dean calling from the other side of the room, breaking you from your thoughts. ‘Why don’t you go make yourself that lunch we talked about.’ You glance back over to Sam who’s already looking at you, one eyebrow raised, a reminder of your promise. 

   ‘I was getting hungry anyway. You know where I’ll be if you need me.’ Sending your Alpha one last long look before making your way to the kitchen. 

   You take your time, deciding to make a pasta salad, one of your favourite home-made dishes from before your parents became alcoholics. 

   Twenty minutes later, one potato salad and a cup of tea, your curiosity gets the better of you. You quietly make your way down the hallway and poke your head around the corner to see Jack sitting up on the table saying words you don’t understand, Sam and Dean standing either side of him. 

   ‘Was that my soul?’ He asks, looking up at Dean.

   ‘How do you feel?’ Dean queries, his hands hovering over Jack as if he is expecting something to go wrong. 

   ‘Good. I feel...good.’

   Sam smiles as Dean gives Jack a quick hug.

   ‘It’s good to have you back’, he says with his hand resting on Jack’s shoulder. 

   You are about to join them when you notice Lily sitting in your favourite chair, umoving.

   ‘Lily, thank you,’ Dean speaks from beside Jack. 

   ‘Yeah. Lily..’ Sam’ voice is halted when he sees Lily. 

   ‘Lily?’ Dean calls once more but there is no response. 

   ‘How about Jack and I go back to his room, I can help him get settled?’ You ask tentatively from the door. 

   The Alpha’s turn to face you faster than you thought possible. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ Sam asks, his lips twitching as he tries to hold back a smile. 

   ‘Long enough. I got bored.’ You smile at Jack who slowly turns around to meet gaze.

   Dean rolls his eyes at your excuse for leaving the kitchen but keeps his opinions to himself all the same. ‘You wanna hang out with Y/N for a bit Jack? We’ve got some clean-up to do.’

   Jack nodded, ‘I like the sound of that,’ he says getting off the table and making his way over to you on wobbly legs. 

   ‘I’ve changed my mind, why don’t we break into Dean’s room instead.’ You suggest, wagging your eyebrows at him in excitement.

   ‘Can we watch Star Wars? I like that one.’

   ‘Jack, we can watch anything you want.’

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Eight: Spaces Between Us

Life for Ashley was weird, although they were keeping their distance from each other, Harry insisted that a car came to pick Ashley up for work each morning, he was fearful that she would end up in a situation out of her control, and her safety was ultimately his main priority. Since Ashley ended things they had tried to remain as civil as possible, if they were going to be co-parenting a baby, they needed to at least be on good terms. She sat in the back of the car as it drove through the streets of London, the city that once felt like another world, had become the place she called home. The streets she once feared were now the places that held some of her fondest memories.

Roman greeted Ashley with open arms as she entered the studio for her last day at work, “Morning Ash, how are you feeling about today?” He asked.

“Scared, but I’m ready, I’m excited to focus all my time on my little ones, well Daisy isn’t so little anymore, she starts big school on Monday, it feels like yesterday I was standing in that kitchen with you when my waters broke.” Ashley reminded him.

“It’s been incredible working with you for the past few years, I know you’ve gone through a lot of shit since you’ve been here, but if you ever need anything, you can call me. I think of you like my younger sister, and that’s a bond for life.” Roman smiled.

“You’re a soft bugger Ro.” Her heart skipped a beat, that’s what she once called Harry, before life got all kinds of complicated. “We best get the show on the road then.” Ashley declared, taking a seat at the studio desk and putting on her chunky headphones for the final time.

“Good Morning! You’re listening to the breakfast show on Capital with me Roman Kemp, and for the final time Ash Hanson.” Roman told the listeners, “Seeing as it’s her last day on the radio, Ash has complete control of today’s tracks, so Ash what’s your first song going to be?” Roman asked.

“It’s a personal favourite of mine, and I think the lyrics are something we could all do with a little bit more of in our lives, this is New Rules by Dua Lipa.” Ashley announced just before the track began to play.

“That wouldn’t be a bit of shade thrown at a certain boyband member would it?” Roman whispered, now that they weren’t on air.

“Maybe.” Ashley smirked.

Flatpack furniture had always confused Harry, even though it was supposedly extremely simple to assemble, he found the instruction manuals no help at all, he had spent the first part of the morning trying to construct a crib for the baby. Although he wouldn’t have full custody of the baby, Harry felt that it was right for his future child to have a bedroom in his house. So here he was, random pieces of wood scattered across the floor, he had no clue what went where, or how to assemble it properly, he was losing his mind. The sound of the radio made up for the lack of silence in his house, since Ashley let him go, Harry had been listening to the breakfast show every morning, simply so he could hear her voice. He was meant to be meeting her at the hospital for an appointment at 11am, and wanting an excuse to abandon his flat pack furniture endeavours, he decided it would be best to pick Ashley up from work instead. 

Ashley left the Capital offices for the last time armed with several bouquets of flowers and gift bags, making her way to the underground car park where the Addison Lee usually waits for her, “Let me help you with that,” She looked up to see Harry smiling warmly at her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as Harry took a couple of the bags from her.

“We  have that hospital appointment, and I didn’t like the thought of you getting the tube there.” Harry explained as they climbed into his car.

“I am a fully capable woman Harry, just because I’m pregnant it doesn’t mean I can’t get myself to the other side of London.” Ashley told him as Harry pulled out of the car park.

“I know that love, but if anything ever happened to you or the baby I could never forgive myself, I don’t want the press finding out and swarming you, especially when I’m not here to look after you.” Harry replied.

“What does that mean?” Ashley asked.

“I won’t be in the country when the baby arrives, I’m going to be in another film, I won’t be back until December.” Harry told her.

“It’s like that is it?” Ashley sighed, she had hoped Harry would be there when the baby came, she desperately wanted him there when Daisy was born, but that never happened.

“There’s nothing I can do about it Ash, I can’t ask you to come to America with me, Daisy starts school next week, I don’t want her to miss vital months of her education.” Harry explained as they pulled into the hospital car park, still overly concerned about Ashley’s safety, Harry was paying for her to go to a private maternity hospital, meaning details of her pregnancy were much less likely to be leaked.

“Hello you two, how’s everything going today?” Kirstie, the midwife asked as she entered the consultation room where Ashley and Harry were waiting. 

“Wonderful.” Ashley answered bluntly in response to Harry’s previous revelation.

“So we’re here to talk through the birth plan, have you decided what’s happening? Mr Styles you’re most welcome to be there.” She explained.

“He’s out of the country when the baby’s due.” Ashley said bitterly.

“That's okay, is there anyone you want there with you?” Kirstie asked.

“It’ll probably have to be Lou or Harry’s sister Gemma.” Ashley replied.

“That's good, as long as you have someone who can be by your side, that's all that matters.” She assured her, “If you hop onto the bed, we’ll do that scan we talked about.” Ashley climbed onto the bed, pulling up her top to reveal a perfectly round bump, Harry moved his chair to sit beside her as Kirstie squeezed the cold gel onto Ashley’s stomach. She slowly moved the scanner across her stomach, the baby appeared on the screen, the sound of it’s heartbeat echoing through the room. “That’s your baby, there's it’s hands and feet, I’ll give you two a minute alone while I go and print that scan for you.” 

Ashley turned from where her gaze was transfixed on the screen displaying her baby to where Harry was sat on the other side of her, his eyes glossed over, “You alright?” She whispered, wiping the gel from her stomach.

“That’s our beautiful baby, a beautiful little person who is going to be loved not just by its family, but by thousands of people across the world, in the same way they love Bear and Freddie.” Tears began rolling down his cheeks, “I let you down Ash, I need to be someone you can depend on, whether we’re bringing up our child in a relationship or not, I promise you, with every inch of my existence, that I will always be beside you.”

When they made it back to Ashley’s house, Harry insisted on helping her take her things inside, she put her key in the door and dumped all her stuff in the hallway, “Do you want a cup of tea?” Ashley asked in an attempt to offer a lifeline.

“I’ll make them, you go and sit yourself down and get comfy.” Harry smiled.

Harry walked down the corridor to the hallway, so Ashley proceeded into the living room, “Surprise!” All her favourite people were gathered in her living room, the One Direction boys and their respective partners, Harry’s band, Gemma, Lou, Lottie and Lux. Roman and Nick had also come along, as did both Anne and Linda who had made the trip down from Holmes Chapel. The living room was decorated with various decorations in pastel shades of yellow, green and lilac, pictures of both Ashley and Harry when they were babies scattered the room.

“Did you know about this?” She asked Harry as he returned from the kitchen. 

“I’m legally not obliged to say.” Harry chuckled.

“Mummy!” Daisy ran over from where she had been sitting on Gemma’s lap.

“Hello princess, how are you?” Ashley asked, crouching down to look her in the eye.

“I helped Auntie Gem and Lou get it ready, and I made you something, Harry has it.” Daisy took her by the hand, leading her into the kitchen where Harry was waiting. Harry handed Daisy a box which she gave to Ashley. Ashley opened the box, inside it were four homemade bracelets, Daisy had made a blue one for Harry, a purple one for Ashley, a pink one for herself, and yellow for the new baby. “It’s for our little family.” Daisy smiled as she sat in Harry’s arms, bringing Ashley to tears.

“You are the most precious little lady I could ever ask for Daisy Darling,” Ashley held her tight, as both Harry and Daisy wrapped their arms around her, none of them ever wanting to let go.

The party had died down and only Niall, Gemma, Sarah and Mitch were left, the group were sat together in Ashley’s living room, scrolling through old instagram posts, filling Sarah and Mitch in on the One Direction days. Ashley sat beside Niall, her head resting on his shoulder, and although Harry knew it was completely platonic, he wished it were his shoulder instead. Niall clicked onto Twitter briefly, intending to reply to a fan’s tweet about his latest golf project. “Hey what’s that?” Ashley tapped on a tweet from The Sun, ‘HARRY’S NEW BABY MAMA?’ flashed up on Niall’s screen. “No, no this can’t be happening.” Ashley rested her head in her hands. 

“Ash what is it?” Harry asked, taking the phone from Niall, “Hey love come here,” Niall stood up allowing Harry to comfort Ashley, “Gem can you take Dais up to bed, I don’t want this to worry her.”

“Of course, come on Dais, shall we go and find one of those pretty bath bombs and get you ready for bed?” Gemma asked, taking Daisy’s hand and leading her upstairs.

“I’ll call Jeff and ask if there’s anything he can do.” Sarah told Harry.

“What does it actually say?” Harry asked Niall.

“It just says a source close to the pair exclusively revealed the news of Ash Hanson’s pregnancy.” Niall replied.

“Who is it Harry? Who have I wrongly put my trust in? It could’ve been someone who was here today, someone we’ve had in the house?” Ashley panicked as her breathing quickened.

“Hey, Ash, look at me darling,” Harry whispered as he cupped her cheeks, “We’re going to sort this out, but I need you to slow your breathing, it’s not good for you or the baby, breathe with me angel.” Harry soothed, demonstrating to Ashley how to breathe calmly. “That’s better baby, much better.” He assured her, holding her head close to his chest and stroking her hair gently, knowing that it always made her feel calm. 

“Your PR person is working on a statement at the moment Harry, they’ll send it to Jeff and he’s going to have it circulated, he says not to worry.” Sarah explained.

“I’ll make sure you have extra security Ash, so they can’t get close to the house, we’re going to do it together.” Harry told her, not daring to let her slip from his embrace. He wanted to protect her more than anything in the world, but he didn’t have the power to stop people selling stories and spinning lies, so for now, his only power was to hold her and promise he’ll never let go.

[octothorpetopus]

The Scientist (Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid)

When Spencer gets infected with anthrax, Derek’s not willing to let him go without a fight.

A/N: I highly recommend listening to “The Scientist” by Coldplay while reading this

Tags: @rxseinbloom @cha0ticbisexual

At first, Derek couldn’t see Spencer through the glass sliding door. His heart leapt into his throat as he scanned the lab. If he wasn’t here, where was he? If he was dead already, would they have gotten him out so quickly? Then he looked down and saw Spencer sitting with his back against the wall, his left side against the door, just out of Derek’s line of sight. He sat down on the other side of the door, and if not for that quarter-inch of glass, he would have fallen right into Spencer.

“Hey, kid.” Spencer’s head snapped up, as if he hadn’t seen Derek coming. He blinked as if waking up from a very long nap, and shook his head as if manually clearing his thoughts. For a moment, his eyes flitted over Derek’s head to the plastic tent in which a dozen or so government scientists were trying to find a way to get him out. He didn’t respond, just smiled a tired little half-smile. “How’re you doing?” Spencer shrugged.

“You know. Dying.” Derek laughed, but only because he couldn’t really picture it. He actually couldn’t picture Spencer dying, how stupid was that?

“You’re not dying, kid. You found the inhaler.”

“Yeah, and we still don’t know that that was the cure. He could just have asthma.” As if to prove his point, Spencer coughed. The harsh, raspy sound hit Derek’s ears and shoved his optimism even further down into the growing black pit in his stomach.

“You’re gonna be fine, Reid.”

“Yeah? When did you become an expert in biochemistry?”

“Since I started hanging out with you.” Spencer grinned weakly and leaned his head against the glass. Once again, Derek couldn’t help but realize that if the glass weren’t there, his head would have fallen onto Derek’s shoulder. “You know, it’s funny. I never thought about all the things I wish I’d done until now. I don’t really like looking back, I don’t usually see the point, but now-” he sighed. “Now, I wish I’d gone out for drinks with Emily and JJ when they’d asked. I wish I’d gone to all those hockey games you asked me to. I wish I’d said yes when Rossi invited me to dinner. I never thought I’d be one of those people who had a ton of regrets when they died, but now, I guess-”

“You guess nothing, because you’re not dying.” Derek didn’t say anything about all the things he’d regret if Spencer died. The things he wished he’d said, the things he wished he’d done. “Look, Spencer, I gotta tell you something.” Hesitating, he pressed one palm against the door. Goosebumps prickled his arms as his hand touched the frigid glass, but he didn’t shiver. Spencer held up one slightly hand and put it right where Derek’s was on the other side of the glass. His hand was thinner and bonier, and Derek had a feeling that if he could hold it, it would be freezing despite the heat.

“What’s that?” Spencer murmured, barely audible through the glass and under the din of everything happening around them.

“It’s just… with all this talk about what you regret… well, if you die, which you won’t, I’ll have some regrets of my own.”

“Morgan, whatever you’re trying to say, just say it. I’m too tired to profile you right now.”

“Well…” Derek tapped his forefinger against Spencer’s through the door. “If you die, I’ll never get to tell you how nice I think your hair always looks, even when it was long. Or how I get butterflies in my stomach when you fall asleep on my shoulder on plane rides home. How much I like to listen to you ramble about whatever it is you’re on at the moment. I’ll never get to tell you how much I love you, Spencer.” His voice cracked, but he kept on. “As a friend, and… well, I love you, kid. And hey, I don’t expect you to say anything back; especially not now. You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t want any regrets, and I want you to know you shouldn’t regret anything. Not with me. I’ll be here as long as you are, kid, and when they get you out of here, I’ll be with you. I’m with you to the end of the line, Spencer, whether that’s now or in fifty years. We’re ride or die, right?” Derek thought back to the night they’d taken the train to Atlantic City and gotten drunk tattoos together. Ride or die. That’s what they said. He rolled his sleeve up to show Spencer, to remind him. Spencer smiled weakly and put his hand over his collarbone, where Derek knew his only tattoo was hidden.

“I really wish I could get out of here now.” His voice was far too raspy to be his own, and it broke Derek’s heart.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I’d give anything to kiss you right now.” He put his forehead, pale and sweat-covered as it was, against the glass, and Derek matched it, willing himself not to cry.

“You will, kid. I promise you, you’ll get out of there and I’ll be right with you.”

“I never knew. Why didn’t you say anything earlier? Did you have to wait until I was on my deathbed?”

“First of all, you’re not on your deathbed, so shut up about that. Second, I thought I was obvious, and third, how was I supposed to know you felt the same way? You’re not exactly forthcoming, Spencer.”

“Yeah. Maybe that one is on me.”

“No, it’s not. You have nothing to blame yourself for. Not now, not ever. You’ll get out of here, and you’ll see.”

“Derek.” Spencer spoke deliberately now as his eyes fixed earnestly on Derek. “I’m serious. If I don’t get out of here-”

“You will.”

“If I don’t. I left a message for my mom, but someone still needs to go see her. And… if I don’t see the others again, tell them… tell them there’s no other way I’d rather have gone. And that it’s not anyone’s fault but mine, so they shouldn’t blame themselves. Especially Hotch and JJ, because they will. And you. It’s none of your faults. Make sure they bury me in Nevada. This is my home, but I want my mom to be able to come see me. And, uh… I’ll miss you. All of you.” It was as if a dam broke inside him, because as soon as the last word was out of Spencer’s mouth, he broke down in sobs, his thin shoulders shaking. Derek instinctively moved to put an arm around him, to comfort him, but smashed his hand against the glass door. He was helpless to watch as Spencer buried his face in his hands, trying to suppress his tears but failing miserably. “I don’t want to die, Derek,” he cried. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know, kid, I know,” Derek murmured, willing the door between them to dissolve so he could wrap Spencer in his arms and hold him. It didn’t. “We’re gonna get through this, you and me. We have to. We have to,” he repeated, over and over and over until Spencer finally calmed down, and someone came over to tell him he had to get back so they could start the extraction process.

“I’ll see you in a minute, kid,” he said, pressing his fingertips to his lips and then to the glass one last time.

“Derek!” Spencer called out. “My mom. Promise me you’ll make sure she’s okay.”

“You’ll do it yourself, now-”

“Derek. Promise me.”

“...I promise.” Derek let out a shaky breath and stepped back. “And I love you,” he added mentally. He wished he’d said it out loud, but Dr. Kimura was already helping Spencer into a hazmat suit of his own. Come on, kid. You’ve survived so much. This won’t- this can’t be the thing that gets you. But as the doctors led him over to the heavily secured plastic tent, Spencer looked as if he could barely walk. Derek turned away. He couldn’t watch. He had come to the realization that whatever would happen was already going to happen, and he wasn’t going to get a say. That’s life. Derek was not an avid churchgoer, and to his knowledge, Spencer had never been, but with his back turned to the operation behind him, he closed his eyes, and began to pray.

The hospital was quiet, clean, and cold, just like Spencer. Derek sat by his bedside, feet kicked up on the edge of the hospital bed, hands folded together and resting on his chest over his heart.

He was going to be okay, that was what the doctors thought. He’d be out of commission for a few days, and any respiratory illness for a little while could have potentially fatal repercussions, but for the most part, he would recover.

That didn’t stop Derek’s heart from pounding while he waited for Spencer to wake up. He had already read the four very old Food Network magazines from the waiting room, cleared out the photo cache on his phone, called his mother, and played 17 games of sudoku by the time Spencer finally cleared his throat.

“Hi,” was all he said, the rasp in his voice no longer striking fear into Derek’s heart.

“Hi.” He pulled the chair closer so he could lean against the bed. “How are you?”

“Eh.” Spencer coughed. “I’m not dying, so…”

“I told you.” With considerable effort, Spencer lifted his hand and held it out to Derek, who got it immediately. He pressed his palm against Spencer’s, a thrill jolting through him at the skin-on-skin contact now that there was no door between them. “I told you.”

“In my defense, I’m the one with three PhDs, so if anyone knows anything…” he trailed off, his face making it clear he realized it didn’t matter. Derek bit his lip and squeezed Spencer’s hand.

“I think we should talk.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Do you… you don’t remember?”

“What? That you love me?” Derek flinched at how easily he said it. “Derek.” With his other hand, still pale and clammy but strong enough, Spencer reached up to cup Derek’s face. “What’s there to talk about? It’s love. Serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin. I could talk about the science behind it for hours, but that wouldn’t matter to you, because we don’t feel chemicals. We feel love.” We. We feel love. Derek was overwhelmed by the urge to kiss Spencer, and realized at once that he could. There was nothing now, no door, real or metaphorical. So he did, he kissed Spencer. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined their first kiss would take place in a hospital, but it didn’t matter. Spencer was freezing to the touch, but through his thin hospital gown, Derek could feel his heartbeat. Spencer pushed his lips into Derek’s insistently, pulling him down with his hand on the back of his neck.

“Spence, I- oh!” Derek and Spencer flew apart at the sound of JJ’s voice. JJ, along with Penelope, Emily, Hotch, and Rossi stood in the doorway, every single one of them with their eyes wide and mouths open in shock. Spencer blushed a deep red and Derek covered his face in his hands. JJ cleared her throat. “Spence, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah. I made you cookies.” Penelope held up her tupperware and the team filed into the room, smiling and laughing but without a word about the kiss. Derek and Spencer shared a wordless glance, suppressing smiles. Quietly, subtly, they linked hands. Chemical or feeling, love had beat death today, and in Derek Morgan’s book, that was a win.

[kisskissbanggang]

The Sabotage of Simkung House - Part 3

[Stray Kids Multi Fic - 20Min Read/5.8K Words - Hyunjin x Female Reader - Non-Idol!au, Variety!au - NSFW/Smut, Plot - Reverse Harems, Variety Shows, Unfolding Plot, Panty Stealing, Noona Kink, Femdom, Brat Taming, Dom/Sub Elements, Secret Hook-Ups]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Feedback

Hyunjin was a troublemaker. You hadn’t noticed it before, but it was abundantly clear now that you were finally taking a morning to make up the beds. The boys were expectedly possessive of their rooms as they were their only “private” spaces on set, but with each passing day you could tell at least two of the three bedrooms were growing musky, the worst of which belonged to the two youngest cast members. They clearly weren’t cleaning, and they clearly weren't giving you all their laundry. In fact, only a couple of the cast were giving you everything. Minho and Changbin were currently taking turns setting their laundry downstairs for you from their shared room, and those were the only pairs of socks and underwear you’d seen since filming began. Clearly, the other boys were doing half their own laundry. Whether from pride or privacy, you have no clue, but, nonetheless, this allowed an opportunity for Hyunjin to account for one pair of your missing panties, laid out perfectly flat under his pillow. 

It was suspicious. The panties were still clean, still smelling of laundry soap with no hints of debauchery other than the fact that they currently weren’t in your own room. In fact, you’d found them solely because a hint of lace had peeked out from under Hyunjin’s pillow. You were meant to see this. So what were you to do? You set about cleaning the rest of the room, the lion’s share of the mess belonging to Jisung, and set about formulating your game plan.

You tugged and patted the sheets on Jisung's bed flat, instantly satisfied as the room looked better overall, even with just the beds made, when you nearly tripped on a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Another peek of lace was barely noticeable in the tangle of clothes. You gently pried the rest of the pile up, not wanting to disturb where the panties had been left, just like you left the pair Hyunjin stole supposedly untouched under his pillow. These, however, were decidedly used. You weren’t disgusted -- it wasn’t like the entire pair was a solidified mess -- but the delicate fabric was clearly crumpled and hidden after Jisung had finished being “inspired” by them. Unlike Hyunjin, he absolutely did not want you to find these. 

So the wheels in your head turned a little differently now, perhaps a little more efficiently. Both boys had stolen your panties, but were they working together? You doubted it, considering the two seemed to only tolerate each other's presence on set. The duo constantly bickered, hardly ever studying together or working together for challenges. They only ended up as roommates because Chan got his own room and Minho and Changbin “chose” to room together because they were the next oldest. Otherwise, Jisung detested Hyunjin’s prim and snobbish persona, while Hyunjin constantly picked over Jisung’s perfectionist streak and clumsy tendencies. Nevertheless, yet more reconnaissance needed to be done. 

You headed downstairs, looking busy with your duster and sprucing up as you surreptitiously looked for the boys. They were once again mysteriously missing, before you caught noise down the hall in the study. You neared the door, surprised as it opened almost right into your face. Chan and the other boys stared at you from behind him. 

“Secret meeting?” You chuckled lightly. 

“Studying,” Chan clarified, shrugging past you and into the hall. The boys followed suit, and as Hyunjin passed you, you noticed just how tall he was, but maybe that was because of how he looked right down at you. You looked up through your eyelashes at him in time to catch his smirk. That energy felt dangerous -- if everything was going to go your way, you had to be in control. That's why Chan wasn't even on your radar aside from avoiding him, and that was definitely why you needed to take your time and be careful around Hyunjin for now. You turned to leave, pausing as you noticed Jisung still inside, still sitting in the large easy chair by the tall shelves lining the walls.

Really, you hadn't been able to get much of a read on Jisung. He'd been quiet the first couple days of filming, but once he warmed up to the cast he wouldn't shut up. That is, except for you and the other staff cast and even a good chunk of the crew. Jisung barely looked up from the book he was holding as he continued to scribble notes in his lap, eyeing you carefully as you casually entered the room and went about dusting and sprucing up. You tried to think of something, anything to break the ice, when you finally noticed what he was reading. The wheels cranked in your head. 

“Is that… Is that 3.5 edition?” You asked curiously, tilting your head to see the cover better. Jisung jolted, surprised at your attention and drawing his knees up just the smallest bit, as if he was covering up from your prying eyes. You chuckled apologetically. “Sorry, I couldn't help but notice. Why not 5th edition? Don't you like the balancing?”

“You play, noona?” He asked warily. He adjusted his glasses on his nose before pulling them off altogether and habitually nibbling on the end of the plastic arm. You shrugged, as if establishing any sort of familiarity with him wasn't imperative to make your plan happen. 

“Sure. It's been a long time, but I play.”

You didn't. You'd had a short-lived stint with a DM just after college, back when you used to hustle for spare cash, who allowed you to sit in on his planning and play sessions, but you'd learned he was frankly terrible at it when you consulted his manuals yourself. Your friend Duckie had teased you relentlessly for days for letting a neckbeard relegate you to arm candy, and you frankly never lived it down between the two of you. 

Jisung sighed and set the manual closed on his lap. It looked like you'd been granted an answer. “Somehow, I mentioned tabletop gaming once and the guys all pushed it because none of them have tried it, and I said no, so the producers told me this morning that we're doing it, so we're doing it. Setting up a one-shot on short notice is a nightmare, so I grabbed my manual. I only brought it because I'm developing my campaign to pick back up when filming is over.”

You smiled sympathetically as you continued dusting. “Are they doing their own character sheets?”

“Oh, god, no,”Jisung laughed, shaking his head. He really was cute. You just wished you didn't also know his room was a damn mess and that he was a panty thief. “I'm doing it for them and I'm trying to make this whole thing easy.”

“That's really cool,” you said sincerely as you continued cleaning, silently applauding the bashful blush in his cheeks, “it sounds like you really know what you're doing.”

“Thanks, noona,” he replied meekly. Jisung watched as you accidentally flung a cloud of dust off a high shelf and you looked up, sputtering and coughing as you caught a glimpse of the offender: a large vase, its gleam dulled by dust. You hopped at it, trying to reach the vase with your duster. 

“Jisung,” you called over your shoulder, “can you please help me reach this?” Jisung nodded, setting his book and notes down as he got up. He strode over, sizing you up against the bookshelves before he simply grabbed your duster from your hands and did it himself. You leaned against the bookshelf, between the hardwood and him, watching him and deciding now was as good a time as any to plant a seed. 

“Jisung,” you began, catching his eyes comically widening as he noticed how close you were, “be careful when you take care of your own laundry, alright? I noticed I was missing some things so I'd hate to think you boys are getting all your laundry mixed up.”

His hand wavered where he was intently dusting, almost damn near knocking over the vase. You scanned the room: there were three more vases just like this. “You're missing some things, noona?”

You nodded. “Weird, right? I'd die if something of mine ended up in one of your baskets by accident,” you laughed, startled as Jisung quickly finished and handed you back your duster. 

“Really weird, noona, I hope you find your stuff,” he babbled as he scrambled back to the other side of the room and grabbed his things from his chair, “wouldn’t it be easier for you to reach if you had a stepstool? I swear I saw one in the hall closet. I’ll just go get it for you--”

And he was out the door, walking more like a sprint down the hallway. You stared, your developing plans dashed. Jisung didn't return. It wasn't like you waited a crazy amount of time, but more than enough that you knew you'd scared him off instead of inviting him. Nevertheless, a plan was still forming -- Jisung was more nervous than he let on, but that didn't mean he couldn't be encouraged.

You worked your way through the house, cleaning and taking care of chores when you noticed some dishes outside on the patio table. Sliding open the glass door, you set about picking up dishes when you heard a quiet snicker behind you. You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts that a surprised gasp escaped you before you could even whip around and promptly land on your ass, unaware that you hadn't been alone. Even though you hadn't seen anyone out here at first, the large house opened up to its patio from the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, but each door and window seemed to have their own blind spots, apparently. You looked up to see Hyunjin smirking to himself as he read a book, reclined on a lounge chair in the warm afternoon sun. He looked up, an amused grin spread on his face as he set his book down and trotted over to offer you a hand up. 

“I'm sorry, noona, did I surprise you?”

You sighed with a laugh as you dusted yourself off. “A little, Hyunjin, but I'm alright.”

“I'm glad. Actually, noona, while I have you here, can I ask you a question?” It wasn't surprising that Hyunjin was so cordial and charming -- dashing, even -- but you didn't trust it at this moment. Something in his smile was mischievous. Nonetheless, you nodded. “What did you study in school?”

“Who says I went to school?” You smirked. 

“Chan-hyung,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “He mentioned you seemed much smarter than you let on. I figured you’ve just been modest.”

Holy shit, you pondered, hoping Hyunjin wasn’t noticing your hard blink, what kind of conspiracy has he been building? By now it felt apparent that Chan wasn’t just concerned with you trying to sleep with him or any of the cast for that matter. This wasn’t just playing aloof or hard to get, he actively appeared to despise you. 

“I’m just wondering because I was curious how your family feels about your acting.” Hyunjin continued, pulling you out of your plotting. 

“Well then, yes,” you sighed, “I went to school. And not for acting. And my family doesn’t know. I mean, they know I'm interested and enjoy it, but they don’t know everything.” That was true. Your family knew you’d taken bit parts in dramas and commercials, but they had no idea about the show and certainly no idea about your more known acting credits. Why should they fall victim to that inevitable disappointment?

“Ah,” Hyunjin shook his head with a reluctant laugh, “then maybe there’s no hope for me.”

“So your parents don’t know?”

“Of course not!” He chuckled. “My father is a lawyer and my mother is an architect. Guess how I disappointed both of them?” He waited for your patient shrug. “Studying statistical psychology. I loved it, and they hated that I loved it. So I joined the theatre club at school on a whim to start taking my mind off switching majors, try something new, and now I love this. So they definitely can’t know about that either, or they’ll take it away, too.”

“I’m sorry you have to hide this special thing from your parents,” you sympathized as you resumed stacking dishes on the patio table. In your own way, you truly did understand where Hyunjin was coming from -- it was exciting to be proud of your path, but it always hurt to hide it from people you loved. 

“It’s alright,” Hyunjin sighed with a small smile. “If I can be candid, noona, that’s what sort of drew me to you. I was thinking of school and home, and you reminded me of someone, a mentor I had back in the theatre club.”

“Oh yeah?” You humored him, eyeing his feet when he stepped closer. You took a cautious step back.

“Definitely,” he nodded, stepping forward again. “She had this quiet air that she knew plenty more than she let on.”

“Must’ve been a great teacher,” you placated, taking another step back with your stack of dishes. Hyunjin pressed forward once again, his toes only inches from yours. 

“She was,” he smirked, “She taught me everything I know.”

You took a firm step back towards the door and Hyunjin stopped in his tracks the moment your fingers touched the handle. “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” you smiled demurely, “I should get back to work.”

“Noona,” he called after you, his playful tone making you stop in the middle of you turning into the opened door, “I meant to tell you something. Be mindful of the laundry, please; I noticed some things in my basket that don't belong to me.”

You stepped through the door and briskly rushed into the kitchen to tend to the dishes, thrusting your hands under the hot water as you vigorously scrubbed. That tricky little pervert. 

The fact that Hyunjin could knock you off center like that was troubling. You would never feel confident about your progress if you let him take control like that again.

You began your next morning with a fire in you, ready to make the progress you were too off-kilter to make the previous day. This meant, of course, fetching something from Hyunjin’s room. 

The hall to the boys’ rooms was silent as you neared Hyunjin’s door, the cast all outside working out and doing yoga, so you simply turned the knob and walked inside. 

Your sharp gasp matched Jisung’s as he promptly fell off the bed, cocooned in his blanket. 

“Jisung, I'm so sorry!” You blurted from under your hands covering your eyes, “I thought you were outside with the others!” 

“Noona!” Jisung groaned as he unfolded himself from the floor. A cursory glance through your fingers let you notice the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed had been dismantled. “I was still sleeping! I thought the others were still getting ready.” Sure enough, Jisung freed himself from his blanket but deftly snuck his hand underneath to adjust himself as you finally released your eyes. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I've been making the beds and grabbing your laundry in the morning now,” you sighed, “some of you boys are pretty messy.”

Jisung looked at his half of the room, littered in socks and books and notes, and his cheeks reddened even more. He watched as you helped yourself to fixing Hyunjin’s bed, surreptitiously snatching your panties from under his pillow and shoving them in your apron as you patted the sheets flat. You whirled around, trying to match Jisung’s level of flustered as you apologized. 

“I'm sorry for waking you up,” you said sheepishly, “I'll let the others know you’re coming.”

You rushed out of the room just as he did from the study the day before and set about the rest of your day once you were out of sight before Seungmin caught up with you. “Not working out today, noona?”

“Afraid not, Min,” you smiled warmly, “lots to do.”

“Are you making the beds now, too? Hyunjin mentioned it this morning.”

You nodded as you continued down the hall. “Why not? Their rooms could use some tidying. It’s small but it’s helpful.”

“That’s very considerate of you noona, let me know if you need anything.” Seungmin smiled and waved goodbye as he headed back up one more level to the attic. 

Your plan was exceedingly simple: you would ignore Hyunjin for a whole day -- and more, if he could manage -- before making any forward moves, except for one. He'd been so readily forward with you that it seemed reasonable to predict that this was Hyunjin’s usual tactic, to be handsome and dashing and silver-tongued enough to easily land any of his conquests. Really, that was probably why he turned to AV’s in the first place. With how he looked at you, he thought you were putty in his hands and, frankly, the assumption drove you crazy. 

What you didn't expect, however, was for your simple plan to be instantly effective. After scampering away to tell the boys Jisung was on his way downstairs, it was easy to pay more attention to Changbin and Minho -- who easily smiled and joked and socialized with you whenever you were around now -- even with Chan eyeing you suspiciously in the corner. You barely regarded Hyunjin’s attempt to give you a knowing look. It wasn’t like you could flat-out ignore him right off the bat. He had to notice. You were careful to not look sheepish or bashful when you did make eye contact, wanting to be sure to make him feel more conflicted about his previous perception of you. 

That afternoon, while you waited off to the side during filming, you brushed right past Hyunjin’s sly smile and sauntered up to Changbin again, playfully patting down a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. Hyunjin’s attention was piqued as you doled out all this personal attention to almost anyone except him over the course of the day, and you applauded yourself as you saw him try more and more to get in your eyeline. Later, during a break, he caught you hanging out with Minho in the kitchen, fiddling with his earrings. 

“I didn’t know your ears were pierced,” you cutely prodded, dutifully ignoring Hyunjin as he hung out near the fridge and close to your conversation. Minho jumped and grabbed at them. 

“I forgot I had them on!” He jovially whined. “Oh my god I've had them on all day, I'm surprised I didn't get reamed for this.”

“I do, too. Almost all of us have our ears pierced,” Hyunjin interjected, “Chan-hyung isn’t even--”

“You hide your earrings?” You asked Minho curiously. Hyunjin silently steamed on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Of course,” Minho nodded, “they signed us to look studious. None of us are supposed to look super cool or anything.”

“That’s too bad,” you pouted, “they look good on you.” You checked the time on your phone and stretched out a little. “Shouldn’t we be getting back?” The boys both nodded, but you still only looked at Minho and followed him out, passing by Hyunjin looking almost offended at how you could dare ignore him. You brushed past, surreptitiously slipping the reclaimed pair of panties out of your apron and into Hyunjin’s blazer pocket on your way out the door and down the hall. 

Finally, at the end of formal filming for the day, you headed upstairs to return your pages once the crew cleared out. You made sure your mic was unclipped and back in its cradle, and checked the big calendar hung on the wall for any big developments in the daytime show for the week when a creak on the stairs startled you. Looking up, you were faced with Chan staring at you from the door. 

“Looking for something?” You asked casually.

“No, just you,” he said as he stepped into the room. “What’s your angle here?”

“Angle?”

“Don’t be dumb,” Chan shook his head, “what are you trying to do here? I've been watching you all day, all week -- you’re doing something more than just the show.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you carefully fired back, “so I’d appreciate it if you’d care to explain where you got these big presumptions from.”

“Come on! All this extra screentime?” Chan reeled as he quietly shut the attic door behind him. “Look, I don’t know how many of the guys recognize you, but I do, alright? I didn’t think you were taking a break to try and make it big, and if I had thought you were then I definitely wouldn't have expected to see you here. What are you doing? Are you trying to get attention from other producers watching the show?”

You stared back, arms folded indignantly. “What, am I not good enough?”

“No, it’s not that,” he babbled, “I just know--”

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you know,” you snapped, “and I definitely don't appreciate you trying to accuse me of trying to get anything more than what I signed for. Sorry if it seems like I'm fighting for more screentime.” You turned your nose up, bumping past Chan on your way back downstairs. Honestly, getting him was going to be the most grueling part of this whole concept. You quickly texted Felix when you escaped to your room.

> How many of the guys know who I am?

>> None, but who doesn’t lie about watching porn?

>Can I get a meeting? I'm feeling pretty antsy. 

>>Sorry Shining Star, emergencies only. Gotta preserve the atmosphere. But I'll let the Big Boss know how you’re feeling. You got this. 

You sighed, feeling a bit ruffled with how weird this was getting. Would tonight be a good night for a break? You figured if there would be any, then it would be tonight, just trying to get your head back in order and ready to tackle everything the next day. Some dinner and then bed and you would be good to go. 

Passing through the main floor to the kitchen, you heard a commotion coming from the study. Thinking back, this was probably the night of Jisung’s campaign. In a small way, you were excited for him, hoping all the guys were being open and receptive and having fun. A hand shot out from around the corner, startling you and pulling you into the alcove of the dining room door.   Hyunjin’s lips were on yours the moment he pulled you against him where he was pressed against the wall, his tongue hot in your mouth and his exhales almost resembling low groans as he kissed you. Your fists beat against his chest to push him back. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You demanded, your hushed tone still sharp against his mischievous grin. 

“You know, beautiful, I loved my surprise but it's not a present if I stole them in the first place. Maybe I can get a replacement?”

“You mean ‘noona,’” you growled, “and is that supposed to work on me?” The quixotic sparkle in Hyunjin’s eye disappeared. 

“You're a bit of a bitch, noona, you know that?”

His glare shattered as you laughed meanly at him. “And you're a bit of a brat. Boys like you only call women bitches when they can't get what they want.”

“Well, as a big fan, maybe I just wanted what I've been fantasizing about.” Hyunjin stared hard at you, challenging you with his admission, the hungry edge to his look remaining even as he was surprised to see you relax in his grip. His eyes widened for just a moment as you gently cupped his face, but both your expressions changed when you pinched his pierced earlobe and tugged him close. You smiled at his shock as you punted open the swinging dining room door and dragged Hyunjin inside like a guilty schoolboy. Approaching the handsome dining table, you yanked him down to bend over it as you searched his blazer pockets, savoring his struggling grunts. 

“So you recognized me on the first day?” You interrogated. 

“Yes,” Hyunjin laughed against the table, “I couldn't believe I was so lucky.”

“Then what exactly have you been fantasizing about?”

“I just want to see for myself,” he smirked, “see if you're as sexy in real life. I want to see if you really cum like that. Didn't expect you to be so rough.”

“I'm only rough with brats who think they can just take me,” you reviled as you found what you were looking for. You reached a foot over to slide out a chair before twisting him around to push him onto it. Hyunjin looked up at you expectantly as you stood, the panties you grabbed balled in one fist on your hip, your other hand reaching to play with his earrings again. “You didn't tell me you had pierced ears,” you provokingly laughed as he agitatedly tried to smack your hand away. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“God, you really are such a bitch,” Hyunjin grimaced. 

“Not much of a prince off-camera, are you?” You sneered, tugging on his ear again and taking notice that even while Hyunjin tried to stop that, he hadn't made any other attempts to make you leave him alone or stop you. He still looked up at you, anticipating your next move. 

“Come on, baby,” he laughed breathlessly, “you don’t -- hey!”

Hyunjin gasped as you tugged on the collar of his shirt, slung the panties in your hand over his head, and down around his neck. Twisting the fabric in your fist as you pulled him close, you had a chance to tangle your fingers into his hair, firmly yanking him back against your hold. He watched, eyes glued to you as you manhandled him to sit up straight in the chair. 

“Manners, brat,” you smirked, “you're supposed to respect your elders.”

“Noona, I --” Hyunjin yelped as you stepped between his feet, one of your knees raised to rest on his cock, hard in his slacks. 

“So close, but you're still so dumb. Apologize first.”

“I’m sorry, noona,” he gulped, his quiet plea dry and cautious. “I want you so much.”

“Is that why you ambushed me like a little pervert?” You scolded him, only pulling back on the attitude once you saw a shine of intimidation in his eyes. “Hyunjin,” you soothed, letting go of your improvised hold around his neck to cup his face, “I can stop.”

And Hyunjin smirked as he shook his head, the saccharine smile coming right back. Atta boy. “No, noona, I ‘ambushed’ you because I knew I could.”

“Disgusting,” you grinned, “I bet you wouldn’t even know what to do with me if you had me.”

Hyunjin got up now, pushing you back and standing over you as he herded you onto the dinner table. 

“You think so?” He challenged arrogantly as his eager hands shoved your skirt up around your hips. 

“I know so, brat,” you laughed as you smacked his hands off of you. He gasped out a moan as you groped his erection through his slacks. “I bet you don't even know how to use this. Any trust fund baby you’ve fucked has probably worshipped it without knowing any better.”

“Then let me show you,” he insisted through gritted teeth, quickly unzipping and exposing his long cock in his grip. You hazarded a glance -- an open mistake, judging by Hyunjin’s valiantly cocky grin. “Don’t you like it? Don’t you want it, noona?”

“God, you’re so insufferable,” you rolled your eyes as you watched him brazenly stroke his length, “you’ve never had someone refuse you, have you?”

“Never,” he smiled, “and I'm not about to start.” Hyunjin made a boldly stupid move as he got his hands under your thighs to pull you against him where you sat back on the table, only apparent to him once you shoved a foot in his way to hold him off of you. 

“You think you deserve it?” You raised a dubious eyebrow at him, catching his eyes glued to your breasts as you slowly unbuttoned your blouse and revealed the lace bra underneath. He gulped, barely nodding as you raised the hem of your skirt just a little more, showing off the matching panties barely covering your damp pussy. “Say it, stupid, if you’re so sure of yourself.”

“I deserve it, noona,” Hyunjin breathed, pushing against your foot digging into his hip. He watched as you slowly let him fall against you, a deep groan erupting from his throat as the head of his cock prodded against your entrance. 

“Prove it,” you demanded, and let Hyunjin sink into you as you gripped onto the panties around his neck once again. Hyunjin exhaled hard at the sensation of your depths squeezing his length, and you held back from reacting for him with every fiber of your being. 

In truth, Hyunjin's cock felt amazing, and his moans sounded so sweet in your ear as he fucked you on the dinner table. That was the real difference you were noticing -- Hyunjin had almost no inhibitions about his own moans, they were nearly unabashed as he thrust into you, and you could feel every nuance in tandem with his wandering hands on your breasts or in your hair or gripping onto your ass. Honestly, if he wanted to pursue this, he could probably make a decent living with AV’s. You admired the way he could enter this headspace on camera, could be this vulnerable even when you weren’t truly alone. 

“How is it?” You purred, forcing yourself out of your reverie. 

“It's perfect,” Hyunjin spat, his hips still thrusting hard enough against you to make the dining table rock and creak. “Isn't it?”

“Well, I'm not too sure,” you teasingly sighed. 

“What?! Why the fuck not?” 

“All this work and no extra effort to make me cum,” you shrugged with a smile, “you are convincing me to look into selling sex toys, though.”

“You're a rotten bitch,” Hyunjin growled under his breath. 

“And you're a spoiled brat,” you smirked as you leaned up to kiss his lips, noting when he did nothing but kiss back and take your continuous bait. “You said you deserve it but you haven't proven it yet.”

Hyunjin scoffed and dragged his lips to your neck, to the crook of your shoulder exposed by your open blouse, his teeth finding purchase and clamping down. His cock surged within you as you finally let out a tepid moan. He stood up straight, looking renewed at the small reward you supplied. The wheels in his head visibly turned as he started looking for more ways to make you moan and gasp for him, finally leaning you back on the table to stroke your clit with the pad of his thumb with one of your ankles slung over his shoulder. His moans grew more ragged as yours grew more intense, and your fingers gripped on the panties wrapped around Hyunjin’s neck like a leash. “Say it,” he pleaded. 

“Say what, brat?” You mewled. 

“Tell me I deserve it. Tell me I'm going to make you cum.”

“Hyunjin,” you nodded desperately, catching his attention and making him buck harder into you, “you’re going to make me cum.” 

“And I deserve it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, “you deserve it.”

And just at the utterance of those words, Hyunjin gripped your hips hard as he came, beating you by just a second as you cried out and clutched onto his hands. 

Hyunjin collapsed onto you, breathing hard, his hair smelling of conditioner and sweat as he recovered, and you absently caught yourself rubbing his back before you snatched your hand back. You eased him out of you and pushed him back onto the chair you’d pulled out and he slouched, boneless and dazed. He barely noticed as you sat up and tugged off your scant panties. 

“What a lucky fan,” you simpered as you got up, setting these around his neck before plucking off the stolen pair. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his temple as you slipped on the clean panties under your skirt and smoothed it out. “Did your mentor teach you that?”

Hyunjin shook his head with a breathless smile. “No, but I'm a quick learner.” He squeezed your hand that had somehow landed on his shoulder as he glanced down at the garment strung around his neck. “What’re these for?”

“You deserve them,” you laughed, “now don’t make things weird around set.”

“Or what? We’ll have to do this again?” Hyunjin playfully challenged as you pushed open the swinging door. “Who knows, maybe I'll quit acting and start doing what you do. Maybe teach you a thing or two.”

You left, but something about Hyunjin’s comment ate at you as you descended the stairs. That is, until you noticed Chan poking his head into the laundry room. You quietly approached before giving a polite cough behind him, making him jump. 

“Noona!” Chan exclaimed, a small bundle of laundry in his arms. “I was, er, looking for you. I was wondering if you’d seen Hyunjin. He left to get something to eat after he got killed off in Jisung’s campaign.”

“Hyunjin was feeling a bit worn out,” you improvised. “He’s upstairs sleeping. Didn’t you check up there?”

Chan shifted uncomfortably, “Of course. The lights were off, though, so I must not have seen him.”

“Right,” you nodded dubiously, eyeing the small bundle of laundry in Chan’s hands, “is that for me?”

“What, this? Uh, of course, that’s why I was looking for you.”

You bluntly grabbed the clothes out of Chan’s hands and stepped around him into the laundry room. “Thank you for bringing your clothes down. Goodnight, Chan,” you nodded tersely. 

“Goodnight, noona.” 

You sighed as you listened for Chan’s footsteps to ascend the stairs before you relaxed onto a footstool in the corner of the small room. Something felt weird. Minho’s comment. Changbin’s comment. Now Hyunjin's comment. Tiny little weird comments were building up and squeezing your stomach into knots. You couldn't talk to the producer, you couldn't talk to Felix, so who could knock some sense into you? Finally, you pulled your phone out of your apron and opened your DM’s, scrolling down to Duckie’s name. His profile picture was new: another in a long line of faceless shots, only now with his defined chest peeking out from an open hoodie and your necklace in plain view. Your stomach squeezed again. It'd been weeks since you talked by now. 

>Hey, you free right now?

>>Hey! I was wondering where you are. I'm free I'm just relaxing after work.

>You ever get a really weird feeling on a set?

>>Weird like what?

[To be continued.]