#it's just SO out there i'm doubting that's what's going to happen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 2 days ago

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@lamentationsofalonelypotato

I'm so excited for you, my friend!! Thank you for diving in. 🥰

I like this line, because it's what made Dean stop. In my head I feel like this version of Dean has pushed away so many people and the reader is the first person in a long time to genuinely say that she was "worried" about him, and it strikes something in his chest because he couldn't remember the last time it happened. That's the headcanon in my head anyway lol.

Oh yeah, that's a totally accurate observation, poor Dean. 🥲 He hasn't allowed himself to be "worried about" in a long time, since he and Sam started up their own lives.

Also the spice was.... 😱🌶️🔥. I literally cannot write smut to save my life, but you always write it so well! I also liked that you didn't do it as intense as omegaverse usually is, because we both know how it can be 👀

ahaha thank youuu 😘 It's really not easy for me, but I write it when I feel the story warrants it. And totally, the more subtle approach was what I was going for loll! I don't think I could write the aggressive smut that omegaverse fics tend to be. 🤪

OH MY WORD DEAN SHUT UP! I promise it's okay! She loves you and she can see that you're not a bad person because you literally have been nursing her back to health with her broken ankle 😭 Not to mention you guys are fated! She's not going to let you go no matter what you do.

Lol RIGHT?! How many times do we have to go over this, Dean???? 😭

But again... on brand for Dean to hate himself and to think he's not good enough -sigh- just means that you get to spend more time wrapped up with him trying to convince him 😊😉. I also believe that Dean loves intimac, that he does crave that connection with someone, not to mention I still love what you do in your Midnight Espresso series with Dean being a little touch starved for non-sexual touch. I feel like you've also implied this here and it is marvelous!

This is where I have to beat down the "not worthy" aspect of Dean's personality when it comes to love and intimacy. 😭 But I SO agree with you -- he craves it, even though he doesn't feel like he deserves it half the time. That's a big theme in Midnight Espresso, so I love you so much for enjoying that aspect in that series and in this one. 🥹💓💓

I'm literally cackling. I can hear Dean saying this to his significant other. Meeting Baby for the first time holds the same place in his heart as meeting Sam for the first time 🤣 ALSO, I wasn't ready for the palm kiss. Palm kisses and forehead kisses DESTROY me.

LOL this part of the scene was so vivid in my mind -- I have no doubt he'd be just like this when his girl meets his Baby. 🤣🤣 Oh same. I LOVE hand kisses and forehead kisses. They're so wholesome. 🥹

I like that this was an alternate ending to the dumpster fire that was the end of Supernatural. That it's Dean and his girl out on the open road listening to a Led Zeppelin song holding hands in the front seat of Baby was just beautiful in the best way and a perfect ending to this mini-series my wonderful friend!! I am going to miss this couple so much, but it really was a fitting end for them 🥰

Honestly that's the biggest compliment I could get on this story! 💕💕 It's the two of them riding into the subset to some Zep tunes, on their way to see Sam and his new little family. I might come back to write their little reunion, but until then, I'm so glad you've enjoyed this snowy, angsty ride. 😘❄️💜💜

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

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Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him.

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder.

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house.

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right.

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says.

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips.

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says.

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between.

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues.

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas.

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling.

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention.

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.”

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips.

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks.

So you tell him.

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes.

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn.

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate.

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason.

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide.

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.”

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat.

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.”

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him.

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss.

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital.

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement.

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh.

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live.

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.”

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb.

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question.

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school.

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his.

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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v3lv3tsin · 3 days ago

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moonstruck: nishimura riki

| pairning: nishimura riki x reader

I genre: prince!niki, princess!reader

I warnings: no warnings <3

I word count: 1.8k

I stefy's note: just a little something before i actually come back and post the last part of the jungwon series (i'm really sorry it took so long to write but i was busy with uni and some resits), so enjoy :)

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

If anyone would have asked what do you like about Niki, you would have said before that it was his smile, but now ever since getting to know him better that answer changed and so have you. His sense of humor, especially when having guest to entertain was what made you two get close to each other in the first place.

It was easy how it happened and since none of you planned for it to happen made it even more special. But your mother never approved of him, saying that he "wouldn't be a good enough suitor for you" nor a good husband from the way he was behaving.

He was known to be more of carefree than other princes were, but maybe that's what made you notice him. Or maybe it was the sly smile he always gave you whenever you'd meet.

What came to your surprise was that although your mother seemed to be very keen on keeping the two of you apart for as long as possible it didn't seem to work all the time. And this was the case for when Niki invited other distinguished guests, such as Mr. Yang, Mr. Park and Mr. Sim, alongside you. Obviously.

To your surprise, your mother seemed to have approved of the invitation long before you could've even proposed the idea to her. Meaning that you would be accompanied by your governess. Saying that you weren't excited even a bit to see him, was a lie in itself. There was no doubt that his father approved of the party to be held at their spring residence. You heard about the stories about the fountains and their respective tricks so being able to experience it sounded perfect already.

So that is how you and your governess, Claire, found yourselves waiting to be escorted into the gardens and fountains of the residence, by Niki and his father. It didn't take long to see Nikis smile widening as soon as he saw you waiting for him and his father to be able to welcome you properly, as if he didn't plan this whole party just to see you and hear your voice. Having to go to all the trouble of convincing his father that having his others friends coming to the party it would distract him from even talking to you in the first place.

Realizing they might be busy with the guests that would have to be arriving soon or they already arrived, the butler escorts you into the gardens with a small grin as if he knew that would happen when you would enter the garden area. As soon as you enter through the gates you're met with a slight splash of water coming from the statutes guarding the fountains at the center of the garden. Although the water didn't get too much on your dress as it wasn't a lot, it made you laugh just a little bit.

One thing is for sure that this was no ordinary party. And another thing that you realized was that water will be involved.

Before being able exit being hit by the water in the first place, you finally make eye contact with Niki, seeing that he was laughing too. Coming to greet and welcome you to their spring residence, were both him and his father. "Welcome to our little house, Mrs. Choi." Mr. Nishimura, Niki's father says on a modest tone, knowing that the residence wasn't close to being little.

"Thank you for inviting me." You smile happily, knowing how much of a fuss was for him and his son to be able to have this many guests in their private residence. Smiling at Niki before to his father, you're met with the news that lunch would be served soon, as one of the butlers came to announce Mr. Nishimura.

"I see that you've already met my son." His father feels the need to point out that your relationship with his son was far from a friendship from what he could grasp at first sight. Without wanting to have more of the awkward silence that seemed to be happening for some time now, his father voices on the same tone as before, making sure to let the two of you talk in peace. "Lunch will be served soon."

"I'm surprised your mother decided to let you come alone." Niki speaks on a teasing tone, thinking it was high time that he talks about most feared topic between the two of you. Your mother. It was true that his father agreed to plan the party and sent you an invitation, and not your mother, knowing that she would never let you come to it.

"She is busy with tonight's party." You answer him giving him barely any information about your plans for the night as you were missing your mother's party instead of being there to help her organize everything. "But you knew that very well." You continue on the same tone wanting to let him know that it was his idea this party, in the first place.

"I missed you." Niki blurs out while rubbing the back of his neck, in a whispery tone as he looks at you. It was true, he did. Ever since you spent more time together he couldn't take his mind off you as much as he tried.

"Lunch should be served soon." You answer by changing the topic, not wanting to talk to him about the feelings you have been developing for him lately. Or ever since you first met him at one of Mr. Yang's parties. Heading to the stunningly looking table, that seemed to made out of stone having around it shining stone seats. One interesting aspect about the stone seats was that they all seemed to have a hole in the middle of them. It did seem uncomfortable at first, but when you saw Niki sit down next you, all of it was gone.

Usually you would be the one to complain about how comfortable or not something was, but it seemed that this was not the case. Everyone around the table seemed to be enjoying themselves, you finally make eye contact with Niki's father who seemed to be in an intense conversation with his son while you were sharing your thoughts with one of Mr. Park's date. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever you could feel something coming from the back of you.

Water. Splashes of water everywhere. Surrounding the whole table. From the front and from the back.

The delicious meal in front of you was not drenched in water and so were you. Not as much as you have except as the dress having so many layers managed to block some of the water coming from the chair you were sitting on.

"Gentlemen, i think it is better to enjoy the view somewhere else." Wearing a smirk on his face was now Mr. Nishimura, Nki's father who seemed to be enjoying the annoyed or the surprised faces of his guests. As much as you hated your mother for forbidding you to see Niki, there was one aspect that you two usually agree on.

Never, under no circumstance, piss of Mr. Nishimura. As charming as his son can be, the Nishimuras have always been known for getting their revenge, one way or another.

Getting up from your seat to follow Niki's father, who was now leading the way to what looked like to be a mechanical music-playing theatre. It was nothing you have seen before. While walking to the theatre you felt Niki's hand holding yours as the two of you followed his fathers lead. The place was beautiful to say the least, each statute had water coming from it in a peaceful manner. Some were showing scenes you have never seen before, such as a demon like face who had its tongue coming out, along with water coming out of its nose or two lovers walking together, hand in hand, in a forest.

Before you could see the theatre in its full glory, Niki whispered to you. "Come, i know a place when we'll be just fine." Just fine? Not being hit by the water again sounded perfectly so you followed him willingly. He surely knew more about the place than you, but knowing him he was surely planning something.

Sitting in front of a tower-like palace you could a court life, showing different professions, whether it is the building work-party, the daily workers who bring building materials to the foreman, who drinks, or the butchers slaughtering an ox, or the barber who shaves a man beneath his guild sign. The palace was surrounded by a three-storey building in a semicircle, partly giving a view into its interior.

Busy activity takes place on the street: a dancing bear performs, guards march past the Residence, a farmer pushes an old woman in a wheelbarrow over the road. Figures from the Commedia dell’arte are also to be seen, and if one so wishes, one can discern the social status of the figures involved. The most noble move less and more slowly that the workers.

Holding your waist from behind as you watched the now music-playing theatre was Niki, that was whispering to you new information about the palace-like theatre. "200 figurines, powered by water." It wasn't a lot of information, but thinking that these 200 figurines were moving by the help of water, was something innovative. Considering that the both of you sat pretty far in the back, for any of you to be able to see anything, you suggested moving forward to be able to watch the scene better.

Not long after the mechanical theatre stopped from Mr. Nishimuras signal, water started splashing again. Slower this time, but still a lot. Considering that you and Niki were far back, the water didn't get to you. That is when you decided to ask him, how or why did that happen. Seeing that your curiosity was peaked, Niki answers before you could open you mouth to even ask the question. "This spot is never wet. There's no water conduit here."

Taking your hand in his as his father was now leading the gentlemen to a church looking like building, Niki was leading you outside the beautiful garden. Trying to avoid the water coming from the different parts of them, he took your face in his hands and said on a loving whispery tone. "I waited so long to do this."

Before you could protest, his lips found yours and all seemed forgotten. Your mum not letting you see him again. Your governess having to accompany you to the party. The disapproving looks his father would give you from time to time.

All of it was gone.

#Spotify #enhypen #enha #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #riki nishimura x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen niki #niki nishimura #nishimura riki x you #riki x reader #enhypen riki #kpop smut #enhypen smut

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akiraarabella · 1 day ago

Text

...Doey... Kissy... Riley...

I'm so sorry we failed you all.

Spoilers ahead

I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm so mad. What the fuck was this chapter. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS CHAPTER?! This was the most traumatizing chapter yet. Btw on a totally unrelated note can i just say the voice acting of everyone was just CHEFS KISS. Everyone did such a phenomenal job. Now back to the game.

I feel so bad for doey. The fact that he stayed when he could leave for the kids that were there. My dude protected them for so long and now every single one is dead! I felt mad at prototype yes but you cant deny we're still a reason for that even if not directly. The moment we entered the safe haven and saw what the prototype did.. I genuinely cried.. Bro, those kids.. Those poor kids.. AAAAAA WHEN I FUCKING GET YOU YOU SON OF A-

Also seeing kissy like that.. My baby.. MY BABY! Thinking about it from her perspective only one she could trust was poppy and after what happened at the end and poppy left she's alone again, maybe cant even trust poppy again i dont know MY BABY DIDNT DESERVE THAT!

Ollie wasn't a shock obv. I think the only reason poppy belived him to be real wasn't out of naivety but more so desperation. I feel bad for poppy too but like doey kissy and riley are up there this chapter.

ALSO POOR RILEY I SWEAR TO GOD EVERY SINGLE PAGE OF THAT JOURNAL AND WHEN WE FIND THE KEY AAAAAAAAAAAAA I've never felt this attached to a character i didn't see or meet. And the way she brutally wrote everything in detail too is just.. Ugh..

Idk wtf prototype is planning to do with all those orphans but I'm mad. I need that thing to cease to exist.

About the doctor, I'm sure he'll be back he's too smart to not have a backup in case things go wrong. Tho if he's a narcissistic i doubt it but yeah.

Talking about coming back I KNEW HUGGY WASN'T DEAD! I FELT STRANGE EMOTIONS WHEN I SAW HIM AGAIN LIKE SCARED BECAUSE OF THE MONOLOGUE AND THE SETTING BUT ALSO EXCITED? IDFK MAN HE'S LIKE A FACE OF THE FRANCHISE SO IT WAS HYPE LMAO

Anyway yeah thats all i gotta say lmao dont mind me yapping. Regardless tho i loved this chapter WAAAAAAAYYYY MOORE THAN THE LAST ONE. Puzzles were just enough, story was intriguing,everything was perfect. I loved it. The storytelling was also on point and every characters introduction was also perfect. I loved loved loved it. CANT WAIT FOR CHAPTER 5! Share your theories with me if you'd like!

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 4 #the prototype #kissy missy #doey the doughman #poppy #ollie #harley sawyer #huggy #huggy wuggy #poppy playtime theory #poppy playtime the doctor #poppy playtime the prototype

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tangerineastronaut · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! I saw you take requests.

May I request something with GOT7 Jackson Wang and best friend!reader, in which the reader starts developing feelings for him and start thinking he’s the one for her? <3

Friends, Just for Now | Jackson Wang (Part 1)

The one where your best friend can't keep his secret anymore (and you're oblivious).

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 6.6k (oops) Warnings: Cheating (not between jackson and reader), lots of profanity, nicknames, namecalling, minor injury, reader wouldn't know love if it smacked her in the head, holy shit they're kind of annoying af A/N: this was so fun to write, love me a good idiots friends to lovers. I'm also cheesy af, feel free to call me out. Please excuse any errors there may be, I usually proofread after posting. ❣️The love I received on my yunho imagine has literally made me do happy dances, I haven't posted anything on tumblr in 8 years and you guys are just literally the best. I love you all so much! Requests: Open (link below)

Part 2 is on its way!

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

🎧 FRI(END)S by V

“Come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen. You never listen.”

Two things went through your mind, though you refused to lift your head from where it was tucked against your knees.

One, you hated that nickname. Pie. He thought it was so cute, and it probably would’ve died off had you not reacted to it the way you did. One missed smear of cherry on your nose 3 years ago and suddenly you’ve been christened. It was his favorite story to tell.

And two, Jackson Wang was going to get his shit rocked if he didn’t leave you alone.

“Fuck off,” you say bitterly, pulling further into yourself.

He was right. He had warned you.

You’d hoped Leejin was different, that the rumors were just exaggerated. Surely he didn’t cheat on every girlfriend…right?

“Wrong,” Jackson had laughed. “He’s a fucking dog, y/n.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and then Jackson said three words to you that had kind of hurt. Not kind of. A lot. They’d hurt a lot.

“You’re not special.”

Leejin was so nice, he was smart and funny and headed for a successful career with his family’s business (so what if his parents probably paid off the school to make sure those student conduct violations never stuck). You wanted to be special. Spent 4 months trying to be. It wasn't an eternity, but you tended to put your whole heart into everything, and it almost always ended up like this.

But Jackson’s words rang true, painfully so, when you received a text from an unknown number earlier today—screenshots of messages between Leejin and some girl, including explicit photos. The unnamed person had said nothing else; you wondered if it was the girl from the screenshots, but you didn’t reply. You simply texted Leejin to go fuck himself before blocking him on everything, running straight home to your apartment, praying that Jackson wasn’t there. He was, of course, as you split the rent. You hated the look on his face when you barged in, nose red and snotty from crying.

It wasn’t smug, it was just…"come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen."

You heard him sigh now, no doubt running a hand through his hair. It was blonde; you’d made fun of him at the time he'd dyed it though begrudgingly had to admit it suited him. But he was going to be bald before he was 40 if he didn’t stop tugging at it when he was stressed.

“Hey. Hey, stop. I hate it when you cry, you know, makes my joints hurt or something,” he says, kneeling beside you.

The fuck…? What does that even—

But you were too upset to stop, so he muttered under his breath, poking at your head until you whipped it up to slap him away. He looked like such a boy, hugging his knees and giving you a pleading look. Fine. Bastard.

You sighed and uncurled yourself, your knees screaming from the pain of turning into a human rollie pollie for the last half hour. Jackson sighed as well, no doubt relieved that you weren’t ugly crying anymore.

He waited until your sniffles were a few minutes apart before moving, sitting criss cross on the floor. His brown eyes were soft, a rarity, truly, though you knew he was already formulating ways to tease you about this when it was more irritating than painful.

“Done?” he asks, more to comfort himself than you. You sniff and nod, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Well, his sleeve. He made a face, realizing that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, but made the apparent decision to yell at you later.

“Don’t be mean to me,” you mumble, resting your cheek on your knee.

“When am I ever?”

“Jackson, I swear to fucking—”

“I didn’t say anything, pie.”

“If you don’t drop that god damned nickname, it was one time, one little bit of cherry filling, I don’t even like cherry pie, you’re so fucking annoying—”

It was his turn to interrupt, but he didn’t. He just watched you, an irritating twinkle of amusement in his eyes. You scoffed and tucked your face away again, wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. Or at all, really. If there was one thing you’d learned after being friends with him for so long…the asshat had some eyes on him. Had this way of using his gaze to set the mood, able to stop your arguments or rile you up with micro expressions like an olympic gold medalist of manipulation.

“Want some ramen?” he asks, tilting his head as though speaking to a kicked dog. You crinkle your nose without looking at him. “Want some cake? Some candy?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“Want a bath?”

You sigh, refusing to humor him with an answer he already had. He snapped his fingers like he’d just solved the equation of the century, having the audacity to ruffle your hair as he stepped over you unnecessarily to get to the door. You could hear him down the hall, the sound of the bathroom cabinets opening and closing, the water running, hopefully set on hot like you liked.

“You're out of bath bombs,” he called. You frown.

“I’m not, they’re under the sink.”

“Why’d you move them? Next to your menstrual equipment, eww.”

That’s why. You felt sorry for whatever unfortunate woman Jackson decided to wife up—the man was addicted to hot baths and cotton candy bath bombs. You’d have to move them again though, now that he knew about your stash. Besides, you’d sent him to the shop more than a few times when you were cramping and out of pads (and chocolate); he would not be impeded by them.

Jackson was waiting for you by the time you dragged yourself to the small shared bathroom. He bowed dramatically, gesturing toward the tub which was steaming hot, as you liked—a meal’s gotta cook.

You mumble a thank you as he walks past, though he pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“Get naked, and give me my damn sweatshirt,” he says, pointing accusingly at you. You pout, immediately clutching your pearls.

“Is that why you never get laid? Jesus, would’ve thought you were smoother than that,” you huff. He impatiently tugs at your sleeve, rolling his eyes in that sassy way that always made you giggle and made him more irritated—a win win scenario.

“It’s a $30 shirt, not a snot rag…pie.”

“You’re a snot rag,” you mumble. You turn your back to him, crossing your arms at the hem and tugging it over your head. You were still in a bra thankfully, though still covered your chest as you tossed the material at him.

Jackson caught it smoothly, though he wasn’t even looking at the sweatshirt. You didn’t realize he was looking at you until you reached for the button of your jeans. His eyes weren’t lower than your lips, but he looked a little…off. You expected a joke about a food baby or maybe how pale you’ve gotten, but he says nothing.

“Hello?” you say, shaking your head. “Is that all? Want my pants too? Gonna do my laundry for a change?”

Jackson blinks like his brain finally returned to his skull. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and backing out of the doorway. Before he closed the door, however, his eyes leveled with yours, so intense it made your breath catch in your throat. Was he mad? Over a sweatshirt?

“Leejin is a fucking idiot,” he says before turning on his heel and heading down the hall.

You stare at the spot where he stood, even after he’s gone. The hell was his problem now?

By the time you’ve finished your glorious bath, you waltz into the living room like a princess. Jackson looks up from his place on the sofa, deadpanning and tossing his phone on the coffee table as he takes in the freshly purloined hoodie you're sporting.

“Gonna lock my closet,” he says, shaking his head. You beam at him, cutely crinkling your nose as you pad to the kitchen. You tug open the fridge, thinking maybe you could cook something simple for the two of you. It was kind of late to make anything grand, but you wanted more than ramen.

The empty shelves make your eye twitch.

“Seriously?” you huff, gesturing around. “Would it kill you to get groceries once?”

“You always complain when I do,” Jackson shrugs, flicking through netflix with the remote. “Got the wrong brand, got too many, didn’t get enough—”

“I always text you a detailed list, but whatever,” you grumble, low enough that it doesn’t provoke a response. “Since you’re a big man baby incapable of buying groceries, you can buy us something at the convenience store.”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes.

“Of what? Weaponized incompetence? I agree, get dressed,” you hum.

Ten minutes later, you’re walking side by side down to the convenience store. The apartment’s location was perfect—five minutes from campus one way, five to a 24 hour convenience store another. Perfect because you both had a habit of wanting to come home when you were drunk after a party, starved and craving foods that you’d regret the next day.

The doors chimed a welcome as they slid open, allowing you inside. You made a beeline for the sweets, Jackson went straight for the energy drinks.

You perused the aisle for a few minutes, making your choice and going to find your roommate. You rounded the corner and froze.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to block someone in real life. So while you’d never see Leejin’s social media posts, it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t run into him on a saturday night at the convenience store near your apartment.

You feel a mix of emotions—anger, shame, disbelief among them. You knew it wasn’t impossible, it wasn’t even unlikely, as this store was one of only a few. But it felt so damn unfair that he’d happen to be here, hours after you found out about what he’d done.

“Is that all you’re getting?” Jackson snorts, frowning as he eyes your bag of chips. But he notices your stillness, following your gaze to see Leejin, casually chatting on the phone as he looks at the protein bars.

You expect him to snort, maybe make a comment just loud enough for the other to hear before pulling you away, but Jackson surges forward so quickly he nearly knocks you over. You grab his arm, both to steady him and stop him from…whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Where are you going?” you whisper, tugging him back with as much strength as you could muster.

“He broke your heart and I’m gonna break his fucking face.”

He moves again, this time dragging you along on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, Leejin is too preoccupied with his call to notice. The thought makes your stomach twist, briefly wondering who he’s talking to.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, what’s the matter with you?” you hiss, trying to shake sense into him. Jackson yanks his arm away from you, dropping the energy drinks on the nearest shelf before storming off. You stare after him, mouth agape in disbelief.

You arrive home 15 minutes later, having hid near the bathrooms until Leejin had left. You’d bought (and paid for, irritatingly) your snacks and Jackson’s drinks, but when you shove into the apartment, it’s empty. Lights off, no sign of him. You worry for a few seconds—had he waited for you and bumped into Leejin instead? But you surely would’ve heard something outside. You opt to text him and choose to believe he’s being broody and walking through the streets like a sad music video.

> what the fuck? is your deal? Where are you??

You’re confused and groggy when someone taps at your cheek, not realizing you’d even fallen asleep on the couch. You rub at your eyes, squinting, processing the sight of Jackson standing over you, t-shirt stuck to his form, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks.

You’ve had weird dreams about him before, ones that you’d rather never speak of again, and they usually start out like this. But this Jackson rolls his eyes in a way that sweet, sweet dream Jackson would never.

“Get up, jesus. Your back is going to hurt,” he says. You slowly sit up, realizing he’s right. Apparently not only had you fallen asleep on the couch, but you’d fallen asleep sitting up, sleeping in an unnatural slouched position.

“Ow…”

“Told you.”

“No it’s…hey,” you snap, waking up a bit more now that you remember that you’re actually pissed at him. “It’s your fucking fault, what happened to you? You just disappeared! I was worried!”

You’re surprised to see Jackson bristle. He’s not shaken easily, least of all by you, but he glances to the side and tugs at his t-shirt, separating it from his damp skin.

“Went to the gym. Figured I should cool off,” he says. You want to be pissed at him more, say something else, but your back hurts and you’re sleepy. Plus, you’re glad to see he’s alright. Mostly.

“Whatever,” you finally grumble, trying to stretch out your neck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno, around 2 a.m.,” he replies casually. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Great,” you huff. “You go shower. I’ll go roll over and die happy now that I know you’re alive.”

You stumble down the hall to your room, sighing at the sight of your unmade bed. What was the point if you were going to mess it up anyway? You hear Jackson follow shortly after, the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower starts, and you shuffle beneath the covers.

You wake up not long after, whining in protest as you’re jostled.

“It’s me,” Jackson says, rudely pushing you over. “Scoot.”

You wanted to shove him away, to point out that “scoot” should be said before you rob someone of their bed, but you can’t be bothered. Besides, once he settles next to you, you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells nice and clean.

Sleepy, groggy, annoyed, relieved, you curl against him like a bunny seeking warmth. You feel him stiffen, though you think little of it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not sounding the least bit tired. You couldn’t say the same for yourself, unable to open your eyes as you reply.

“Mm. ‘s warm down here. Night night.”

You hear him sigh, then shuffle, and then he’s rolled over to face you, offering a human-made cocoon that you happily burrow into. He’s soft and warm and smells like his manly body wash—and your shampoo, damn it.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says, soft enough to count but not enough for you to notice.

Waking up tangled with Jackson was, unfortunately (?), not all that unusual. When you were upset, you found your way to his bed, and despite his protests you knew he didn't actually mind. It went both ways—you'll die before you admit that you like it, if only because he's a human heater.

You still feel groggy, squinting and fumbling around for your phone. Such a task is difficult when there's deadweight slung over your waist, but you manage, bringing the device to your face.

10:43 a.m.

Oh good. You slept 8 hours—and half the day away, to your brain at least. You toss your phone down, debating whether or not you should just go back to sleep. You choose instead to roll over, addressing the sleeping shirtless man keeping you pinned to your bed.

Your camera roll was filled with photos just like this, because Jackson slept like a baby. Literally. Hands curled into fists, face relaxed, head tilted to the side. His blonde hair is mussed from sleeping with it wet last night, and you dodn't hesitate to run your fingers through it for no reason at all. It was soft and surprisingly thick, but you weren't about to dial back on the baldness theory.

Jackson stirred, though didn't wake up, shifting to lie on his back. Freed from your restraints, you sat up and had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Of course the curtains parted like that, of course he was sleeping like a prince now, sunlight arcing off of his jaw—it even highlighted his stubble in an annoyingly poetic way. What kind of gods were kind enough to give him of all people that face?

He really was kinda...pretty.

No, not kinda. Jackson Wang was beautiful. You were his best friend, but you weren't blind. Maybe you'd become a little numb to his charms, but you'd seen what he could do to people with just a look, even without malicious intent. He was charismatic on top of that, though you were the only one who got to see the side of him that wasn't.

The side that stole your shampoo and commandeered your bed, anyway.

So fine, you knew he was pretty. But he was kinda sorta extra pretty right now, and maybe you wanted to remember it later.

You shifted to grab your phone—a never-ending quest for material to bully each other over—but the movement apparently jostled him awake. You sheepishly smiled as he blinked a few times, using the heel of his palm to rub the blurriness away.

"Really?" he asked, voice rough, eyes leveling to the phone in your hand. "Fucking creep."

"You have like a thousand pictures of me sleeping," you point out, narrowing your eyes. Jackson nods, rolling over and hugging your waist, his head resting against your hip.

"That I do—you're cute when you drool all over yourself. I'm working on a collage."

"Asshole," you mutter, prying his arms off of you. You make an attempt to escape, but as expected, you're smoothly hauled back down.

"Where you going?"

"I need to pee, wanna come with?"

"It's early."

"It's almost 11."

"Yeah, early."

Jackson grunts before you can reply, practically placing you in a chokehold as he rolls over. You have no choice but to go with him, ending up flopped over his chest like a dead fish.

He says nothing for a moment, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. It's not difficult to squirm out of his grasp this time, though rather than allowing you to slide off, the apparently-awake-Jackson moves both hands to your hips.

Your stomach does that funny thing it sometimes does around him, like a little alarm that says 'hey! getting too close!' Listening to this alarm had prevented a lot of mistakes over the course of your friendship, mistakes like wanting to kiss him when you were tipsy, noticing the way he looked after a long workout, hair plastered to his forehead, the fuzziness you felt that time your heating pad broke, and his warm hands wound up on the lower half of your tummy to stave off the cramps.

Mistakes like that.

His eyes open again, and you do your best to look irritated.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, suddenly unnaturally serious. "I was just trying to cool off, and my phone died, so I didn't see your text until after I got home."

You're not really sure how to respond—it was always strange when conversations got like this between you, regardless of the topic. It was so jarring, so far from the usual cracked out nonsense. You decided to nod, then shake your head, then nod again.

Jackson was a badass, most people knew as much. He was trained in martial arts and practically ate protein for every meal. But despite this, he wasn't typically an aggressive guy. You'd only ever seen him throw one punch—an ex of yours a couple years ago who threatened to post a nude photo of you. Needless to say, the guy deleted them, made difficult thanks to the blood smearing his screen as it dripped from his nose.

"It's fine, I get it," you say. "Just...why were you so mad at him? Did he do something to you?"

Jackson blinks up at you, shifting so that he's partially sitting up on his elbows.

"I told you, y/n," he says, shaking his head like you're an idiot. "He broke your heart, I was gonna break his face. You should've let me get one hit in at least."

"He didn't break my heart," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that serious, you know that. We'd only been dating for 4 months."

"...I watched you cry for an hour because someone stepped on a worm—"

"—that's different. It's literally a living little creature, what if that's someone's girlfriend, hm? What if she asked her boyfriend 'would you still love me if I was a worm' and he said yes except now they can't live wormily ever after because she's smushed all because some horrible person can't be bothered to step aside for a worm?"

Jackson stared up at you, blinking slowly, looking 175% done with your shit.

"What the fuck is wormily ever after?"

You sigh, leaning forward until your head is on his bare shoulder. You have half a mind to bite him, though you resist. You will be civil—for now.

"I don't know," you mumble. "No early birds, no hot sidewalks?"

"I....you're so fucking weird."

"Lots of guys are dickheads, but you were ready to knock him out. Really, Jackson, was that all? Promise he didn't say something to you?" you ask, voice muffled against his warm skin. Just one lil munch. It'd be good payback for him scaring the hell out of you last night.

Jackson exhales, and there's suddenly a hand tugging at your tangled mess of bedhead until you're sitting up, looking down at him.

"I wanted to kick his ass for the same reason that I never bring anyone home," he says quietly. His eyes are serious, no sparkle of humor in them, and it makes your stomach twist. You didn't like it when Jackson got serious.

"What? Because of me?" you ask. "I don't care who you fuck as long as I don't have to cook them breakfast."

Mostly true—you were afraid of walking out of your bedroom one morning and running into a really pretty girl, someone with perfect grades and clear skin, who has the audacity to be beautiful and nice. Someone only Jackson deserves. But you leave that bit out and give him a half teasing smile.

Jackson doesn't return it. He grunts, moving his hand up to tug at his hair. You slip yours beneath his, mumbling for him to stop doing that.

"You really don't?" he finally asks, swallowing hard enough that you see his throat move.

"Don't what?"

"You don't care who I fuck?"

His question catches you off guard, though not as much as the fact that he still looks dead serious. This seems like something the two of you should be laughing over—not something to talk about whilst you're currently straddling your best friend in your bed, who happens to be naked from the waist up.

"I mean...no?" you say, shaking your head in confusion. "Should I?"

"I don't know, should you?"

Should you? What the hell was that supposed to mean? You didn't like riddles, and this felt like one. You'd tried to stay out of his business over the four years you've been friends, though come to think of it...you'd never met any of his girlfriends after the first six months. You'd assumed he was so busy with classes and his extracurriculars that there just wasn't much time for anything past shallow hookups.

But...you couldn't remember a single time that had occurred. He was home every night, never brought company over for that purpose.

"Jackson," you say quietly, palms resting on his chest. When the hell did he get so muscular? There was a noticable firmness beneath your fingers, and you briefly considered billing Leejin for your services in making sure he didn't get the shit beat out of him. "I feel like this is an inside joke and I'm out of the loop. You're upset? Why?"

"Why would I be?" he counters, irritatingly smooth. The hands on your hips squeeze once, like he's trying to talk to you in morse code. It's annoying.

"Quit," you mumble, biting your lower lip. "I'm trying. Stop being mean and just tell me."

He sighs, moving a hand to his face.

"If you don't already know, then it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Wh—"

You're cut off as he suddenly shifts from beneath you, leaving you tumbling to the sheets when he stands. Just like the last two times for some damn reason, he prepares to storm out of the room.

"Jackson, wait—shit."

You trip over the edge of your nightstand, catching yourself on your hands. Your lamp tumbles to the floor, thankfully not shattering on the carpet. Still, the ache brings tears to your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you sit down.

"How many times have I told you to push that against the wall!?" Jackson says, rushing over to you. You lean back against your bed, grimacing as you look at your knee. It's not the worst scrape you've ever gotten, but it is bleeding, and it burns.

"Hang on, pie." He leaves the room, and by the time he returns with the pack of bandaids and peroxide, you're covering your face with one hand and hugging your knee with the other.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he says, obviously in partial panic mode as he kneels in front of you and tugs at your ankle. He probably thought that's why you were in tears, but it was moreso the fact that he was being...just...weird, and you didn't like it.

You quietly sit there, hands over your eyes as he uses a cotton ball to dab at the blood. You don't even flinch, it doesn't burn—perks of having an MMA star for a roommate; he knew how to bandage a cut (a common occurence for your clumsy ass, unfortunately).

After a few minutes, he pats the side of your calf, and you finally uncover your eyes. There's a bandaid over the scrape now, and you let your knee fall to the side. Jackson is looking at you, and you nod.

"That's good, thanks," you mumble quietly.

"You sure?" he asks. You frown, nodding quickly. But his hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it as his thumb swipes below your eye.

Tears.

That alarm goes off inside of you, but Jackson doesn't move his hand, so you let it sit there and you feel your stomach tying itself into a knot. You're a little worried it's not gonna come undone.

"I wasn't crying because of that," you say, swallowing as you glance away shamefully. "I...I don't like this, Jackson. Feels weird. If I did something to make you mad, I wish you'd just tell me—"

"I'm not mad at you," he replies. You sniff, and finally his hand slips away, though only to rest on your uninjured knee. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something but won't let himself. Slap you, maybe, for never listening to him and always ending up hurt because of it. You would, if you were him.

"You keep running away from me," you point out, a little surge of anger from last night returning. "You keep acting like I'm supposed to know everything you're thinking, and I don't, because you won't tell me stuff. I tell you stuff, the least you could do is text me a grocery list of what the fuck is going on inside of your brain, so I'm not sitting here thinking I'm gonna lose my best friend and roommate over something I don't even know that I've done. I'm sorry we ran into Leejin, it's not like I knew he was gonna be there. I'm sorry for thinking I was special in the first place and ending up where you said I'd be."

Jackson sighs and tilts his head, and you hate yourself for crying more. It wasn't a big deal, things were a little crazy after yesterday. You didn't even love Leejin, it had just...hurt? Your pride? No one wants to know they're less than a second choice. But Jackson had acted like Leejin was out for his blood, and every time he runs away, it feels like he's escaping you.

"You're not gonna lose me," he finally says, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I've got a lot of shit to work through, you know? It's not...it's not your fault though."

"Like what?" you ask, worry lining your brow. "If you'd just—is it money? Because we can figure out rent—"

"It's not money," he interrupts. "I promise, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?" You huff, a little more irritated than concerned. "Parents? Grades? Girl trouble?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips. "That last bit."

"Girl trouble?" you ask, somewhat surprised. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't told you about a girl bothered you more than the idea that there was one at all. You shared everything with him; if he'd kept her a secret, it had to have been a little more serious.

"Do I know her?" you ask tentatively. Please say no, I don't want to go through a list of the hottest girls I know.

"Yeah," he replies. Fuck.

"Oh. How long have you been dating?"

"We're not."

"Then...?"

"She's an idiot."

"It's a mystery as to why you're single, really," you say, rolling your eyes. "So she's an idiot because she won't date you? Sounds kind of shallow on your end."

"She's an idiot because she keeps dating jackasses who don't give a shit about her. I don't give a damn if she ever chooses me or not," he says plainly. You frown.

"Maybe she's insecure?"

"She is. Very."

"Huh. Is she pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh. Hm."

Well what the fuck were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Sorrows, sorrows, prayers?

"Okay..." you say after a beat. You were not good with advice, especially when it came to love, obviously. He didn't say love though. Infatuation, maybe. Still, you were not an expert. "So if she keeps dating jackasses and won't date you, why do you bother? Why not just forget about her?"

Jackson's eye twitches. You don't notice.

"Hard to forget someone you see every day, pie," he says. You scoff.

"Okay, I'm calling bullshit. I'm literally the only person you see every day."

"Mhm."

"Then you're lying?" you ask. Jackson deadpans.

"Please, for the love of god, never reproduce."

"Rude," you mutter. "Fine, so I know her, she's insecure, pretty, dates assholes, you allegedly see her everyday?"

"All of the above," he says. You frown, lips pursing as you rack your brain for answers, going through the hot insecure girls you know like a filing cabinet.

Wait.

Your eyes widen. Jackson's do the same, and then he smiles, like he's proud of you.

"Oh my god, is it Kim Sujin?" You ask, covering your mouth. "The girl with the—"

"Jesus fucking christ, y/n," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Are you...you're fucking with me? That's what this is. You're not this dumb, right? Please say no. I feel like I'm in middle school right now, holy shit."

You open your mouth to argue, to insist he was being unfair (you didn't even like puzzles!) but he suddenly leans forward, palms cupping both of your cheeks. He pulls you toward him, nose inches from yours. You've been this close to him before, but you're suddenly dizzy now, a little out of it as you wonder if this is really happening to you—or if this is another sweaty-jackson-standing-over-me dream. Jackson, who has freckles on the tip of his nose and won't stop looking at you like that, the knot pulling tighter and tighter.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself. 'm gonna kiss you now, is that okay?" he asks.

Is that oka—?

"Kiss?" you mumble, swallowed up by those god damn pretty brown eyes. Jackson nods, head tilted, primed to kiss the cluelessness out of you, apparently. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

"It's gonna be...it's gonna be a lot, okay? Like not just a peck. You're fine with that?"

"Yep," you nod.

Jackson nods back. And then he kisses you.

He doesn't release your face, squishing your body between himself and the bed behind you. His lips press to yours, insistent and warm, though you can tell he's being cautious—if you wanted to push him away, you could. But you did not want to do that.

Because Jackson Wang was kissing you, and he's a really good kisser.

You briefly forget that you have hands, so when you remember, you waste no time in using them. One cups his jaw, feeling the edge of it press into your palm. The other fists his blonde hair, tugging it gently.

Jackson groans into your mouth, and that alarm in your belly turns into a fucking war drum. You feel the knot tighten and snap, and suddenly you're pushing him back, scrambling into his lap.

You kind of want more, kind of want to put your tongue in his mouth because he's warm and tastes good and you can only imagine how much better it would be, but he beats you to it. His tongue swipes over your lower lip and you eagerly open for him. He breathes in as soon as you do, and it feels like he's stealing your soul. Fuck it? He can have it?

It's messy, a tad bit desperate, definitely not the poetic kiss of rom coms, but you don't give a shit. It feels good, feels warm and right, like you've been kissing him in your head every day for the past 4 years.

By the time you manage to separate, you're trembling an embarassing amount. You'd blame the buzz on coffee if you'd had any, but you just hide your flushed cheeks and rest your forehead against his shoulder. You can tell that for once, Jackson's brain seems to also have short circuited, as it takes him a minute before he finally wraps his arms around you. You can hear his breath—as shaky as yours, thank god.

"Was that okay? Was it weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, tilting back on one palm to look at you, his other arm secured around your waist. You sit up, shamelessly biting your lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He mistakes this for discomfort, all but shoving you out of his lap, hands flying to his hair.

"Fuck, I...I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna...I'm so fucking sorry y/n, if you want me to move out—"

"You're gonna go bald," you mumble, a little blitzed out as you rest on your hands.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Stop freaking out, okay?" you offer, finally looking up at him. God he looks...scared. Hair messy, brown eyes wide. So unlike his usual cocky self that you're a little shaken, caught between wanting to protect him and wanting to kiss him again.

"I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" he asks softly. That alarm is now everywhere, setting off in your chest at his concerned tone. You shake your head.

"No. I'm okay," you reassure him. "A little irritated."

Jackson's head snaps up, worry on his face. You feel guilty, so you quickly clarify.

"You said I'm not special," you say quietly, looking away. "If you were talking about me just now...why did you tell me that?"

He looks confused, like he can't remember (of all the things he's said to bully you—while you kept a detailed record). But he seems to finally recall the conversation, rubbing his forehead as his lips spread into a smile.

"What's funny?" you puff.

"I meant to him, pie. You're not special to him. Not that you weren't special at all, or to...to me," he explains, looking part amused and part shy. You soften a bit, unable to help but pout.

"Then you should say that!" you say, gesturing at nothing. "You can't just go around telling people they aren't special."

"I don't make you feel special?" he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Well, yes, but that's not the point. You choose not to reply.

Just like most things when it comes to you, however, he already knows the answer. He looks a little too proud of himself as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you back into him. You're not quite in his lap, but you lean heavily against his side, your chin resting against his chest.

"What if we mess it up?" you ask, looking up at him. He frowns, not understanding. "Us. What if...what if we mess us up?"

"I don't see how we would," he laughs. "We're practically married."

"Gross. We are not."

"We split the bills, pie."

"Most roommates do."

"We cook together."

"Most roommates do."

"My mother loves you."

"Your mother loves everyone."

"Not true. And my father loves you."

You pause, then squint.

"Your father has good taste," you say. Jackson rolls his eyes. He looks a little conflicted, like he can't decide what's too much, what's too soon.

"I do," he says quietly.

You hate that, for once in your life, you know exactly what he's saying without him saying it. And god damn it, you feel your eyes burning.

"Don't...ugh," you whine, looking away from him. But he's not having it, taking your chin and tilting your face up. You're faced with glassy eyes that make you want to die.

You hated it when he cried. Maybe you make his joints hurt or whatever, but you've only seen Jackson cry twice, once when his family dog died, and another when he was drunk and had convinced himself you weren't his friend anymore. Both times, you'd never felt so helpless. The way you feel now.

"Y/n, I—"

"Please don't," you breathe quickly, swallowing down your tears. You immediately panic at the look on his face, like you've slapped him. But you tuck your hair behind your ear and shake your head.

"No, I-I mean, I know you do, and I...I'm pretty sure I do too. I just...I can't say it now, alright?" you explain. "I'm sorry, I just—you know me better than anyone. I don't...don't wanna fuck it up, you know? I don't wanna lose you, I'm so bad, so stupid when it comes to this—"

"Hey, hey, shh..." Jackson says, gently shaking your chin. "I'm not upset, okay? Just relieved, a little scared. I don't want to fuck this up either, yeah? I want...I want what we are today and I want it tomorrow, even if that means we stay just like this."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. God, you want to kiss him again.

"No rush, pie, okay? I'll wait for you, even if..." he sucks in air and looks away, as though the idea hurts to even consider. "...even if it's never for us."

You want to kiss him again. Would that even be appropriate? After what you just said? After the emotions threatening to disrupt the foundation of your life for the past four years?

"Can...can I kiss you again?" he asks softly. You swallow and nod.

"Please."

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spanishskulduggery · 7 hours ago

Note

Pulling my frikkin hair out, I cannot wrap my head around the subjunctive

I mean this with the utmost sincerity, the subjunctive is something English-speakers have the hardest time understanding because English doesn't have a true subjunctive

Which is to say we don't have a separate conjugation for subjunctive, so our subjunctive looks like normal [indicative] grammar to us

The other main issue is that the subjunctive encompasses multiple things. I'm going to give a quick overview so that you understand it's okay to feel overwhelmed by it.

What also makes this worse is that there are times when indicative or subjunctive both make sense but it depends on how you mean it, and English sometimes translates them equally which is confusing

Please know that I will try to touch on everything, but not in a ton of depth - but if there's anything you want further clarification on please let me know

The subjunctive mood is not a grammatical "tense" that's easy to learn. It's a mood

In the same way that the indicative encompasses present tense, preterite, imperfect, future, and conditional... the subjunctive mood encompasses multiple things and each one is a learning curve

I'm saying that so you realize two things - first, that subjunctive is hard, and second, that it's not impossible to learn but it takes longer to learn

When I was in school they told us that a good part of Spanish 3 and 4 [which would be like B1/B2 level courses devoted to grammar specifically] would be trying to understand subjunctive

...

Again, a quick overview, there are three grammatical moods in Spanish

These are the imperative [commands], subjunctive, and indicative. When people try to explain the indicative they basically say everything that isn't subjunctive or a command

Moods are the umbrella terms, and each mood contains something similar to a grammatical "tense" with separate conjugations

"Moods" (el modo "mode" in Spanish) are the way Spanish is used. And "tenses" (el tiempo "time/weather" in Spanish) are best described like the ways/times Spanish is used

...

To put into really basic terms (not 100% accurate terms but as close as I can explain), the "moods" are the way Spanish is used, and the tenses are largely whether it's past, present, or future

As for what subjunctive mood is, it's going to depend on the ways you're seeing it

Subjunctive is primarily the mood used for: polite requests, doubt, hypotheticals and contrary to fact statements, hopes/wishes, uncertainty, and things that have the possibility to happen but might not actually happen

All of that sounds really complicated and confusing, but the more you get used to it, the more you can see subjunctive in English and you get closer to understanding it

When you're introduced to subjunctive in classrooms it's usually in the context of polite requests and a handful of subjunctive clauses

The polite requests (plus expressions of hope/desire or doubt) are the part of subjunctive that make the most sense

It's called "polite requests" since that's usually how it's used but it's specifically one person/thing acting on another, so it's not all requests exactly - but they follow the same pattern

These specific subjunctive expressions are two separate clauses [a subject and conjugated verb] that are separated with que

Quiero que pongas la mesa. = I want you to set the table. Dudo que llueva. = I doubt that it will rain. Espero que lleguen pronto. = I hope that they will arrive soon.

Each one is two separate clauses, with one acting on another subject

It's not possible for one subject to act on itself in subjunctive...... In other words, espero llegar pronto "I hope to arrive soon" or quiero poner la mesa "I want to set the table"

It's not possible to say "I want myself to do something" in a way that is subjunctive - it's always indicative, just one modal/helping verb + unconjugated

But likewise, with expressions that are weather or things that are 3rd person in nature, it's not possible for expressions of doubt/uncertainty regarding them NOT to be subjunctive:

Espero que no haga calor. = I hope it's not hot (out). Dudo que nieve. = I doubt that it will snow.

Once you move past the polite requests, desires, and doubts, you then learn more about uncertainty or when opinions or subjective thoughts can be subjunctive

This is harder to explain sometimes. People will understand more about doubt/probability - for example:

Es posible que no llegue a tiempo. = It's possible that it won't arrive on time. Puede que sea necesario. = It may be necessary.

Related to this you'll see something very important:

creer que + indicative no creer que + subjunctive

pensar que + indicative no pensar que + subjunctive

estar seguro/a de que + indicative no estar seguro/a de que + subjunctive

Expressions of opinion and belief in the affirmative are not subjunctive. But in the negative, they're subjunctive.

It's like the difference between "I think it can happen" then "I don't think it could happen" where the negative comes out more doubtful or unlikely

Next you'll have some subjunctive clauses, and these can be confusing but they're parts of speech that either always or usually imply subjunctive

Some of them can be indicative, but just keep an eye on subjunctive clauses - particularly be aware of if something has happened yet (indicative) or something may happen later (subjunctive)

para que = so that (something happens)

a menos que = unless (something happens)

con tal de que = as long as (something happens)

antes de que = before (something happens)

después de que = after (something happens)

hasta que = until (something happens)

You also see this a lot with expressions of subjective emotion and interest; me alegro de que, me alegra que, es necesario que, es interesante que, es aconsejable que...

Some verbs also tend to imply subjunctive:

querer que = to want (that)

desear que = to desire (that)

esperar que = to hope (that) esperar a que = to wait until (something happens) / "to await"

necesitar que = to need (that)

recomendar que = to recommend (that)

pedir que = to request (that)

sugerir que = to suggest (that)

aconsejar que = to advise (that)

rogar que = to beg (that)

exigir que = to demand (that)

obligar a que = to force (someone to do something)

insistir que = to insist (that)

dudar que = to doubt (that something will happen)

And plenty others, but usually you can sense that they're verbs of putting a request onto someone else and they almost always involve a que

The verbs by themselves aren't necessarily subjunctive, but the use of que does tend to imply an imposition of will/desire onto something else, or a feeling being placed onto something else

.......

It's also worth pointing out that many expressions can go either way

si "if" and cuando "when" can be indicative or subjunctive, but they read differently

si tienes tiempo = if you have time si tengas tiempo = if you happen to have time [sounds a little too polite, almost deferential] cuando tienes tiempo = when you have time cuando tengas tiempo = whenever you have time [sounds doubtful or hesitant]

Many expressions in English that have an -ever imply a certain amount of subjunctive of the unknown

a quien corresponda is "to whom it concerns" but it reads like "to whomever this should go to" - it's like saying "I don't know who this is supposed to go to, but to that person I have this to say..."

lo que sea = whatever [lit. "whatever it may be"]

como quieras = as you wish [lit. "however you want it"] Como gustéis = As You Like It [the Shakespeare play; lit. "however you are pleased"]

dondequiera = wherever [sometimes por dondequiera "all over the place", literally "around wherever", sometimes shortened as doquier]

adondequiera que vayas = wherever you go

cuando quieras = whenever you want

quienquiera = whoever / whosoever, whomever

Some expressions like this are understood as subjunctive because it's being done, but you don't know by who or when; that's the idea behind a quien corresponda

Sometimes it's an unknown subject or an unknown condition that lets in uncertainty

Quien lea esto... = Whoever reads this... El que esté sin pecado... = He who is without sin... [depending on the Bible version it might be el que de vosotros esté sin pecado "he/whoever that among (all of) you is without sin", some versions use ustedes instead of vosotros but either way it's subjunctive] No me importa lo que digan. = I don't care what they say. [lit. "whatever they happen to say, I do not care (about it)"]

...

There's also a very important word when it comes to subjunctive which is aunque and this will change meaning depending on if it's subjunctive or indicative

As indicative - aunque usually means "although" or "though"

Aunque es verdad que... = Although it is true that... Aunque están contentos... = Although they are happy Aunque dicen que... = Although they say that...

But as subjunctive, aunque gets used in contrary to fact statements or hypotheticals - "even though" or "even if"

Aunque sea verdad que... = Even if it's true that... Aunque estén contentos... = Even if they are happy... Aunque digan que... = Even if they say...

The final major aspect of subjunctive is the imperfect subjunctive which can be narrowed down to two major things

First is that it's past tense subjunctive; the same sorts of phrases you would see for subjunctive can be done in past tense:

Querían que me fuera. = They wanted me to leave. Esperaba que lloviera. = I expected/hoped that it would rain. No pensaba que fuera posible. = I didn't think it was/would be possible.

The other main aspect of imperfect subjunctive is that it can be used for contrary to fact statements and hypothetical futures

This is probably the closest you get to being able to notice the subjunctive in English:

Si fuera rico/a... = If I were rich...

English has two versions of this. We can say "if I was rich" and also "if I were rich"; the "was" is typically past tense, but "were" is directly from German's imperfect subjunctive carried over into English

Most often these expressions come up as "if/then" statements with imperfect subjunctive as the "if", and conditional tense [which is indicative] as the "then"

Si pudiera (hacerlo), ayudaría. = If I could, I would help. [lit. "if I were able (to do it), I would help. Ayudaría, si pudiera. = I would help, if I could.

As you can see, "if/then" statements can be phrased either way - the "if" describes a hypothetical reality that isn't necessarily true. The "then" says what would happen in that case

In other words "if I were able to" or "if I could" implies that I may or may not be able to; that's what's meant by contrary to fact or hypothetical

And the imperfect subjunctive can be used without conditional in some cases:

Aunque fuera verdad... = Even if that were true... Antes de que pudieran testificar... = Before they could testify... Lo escribiste en la pizarra para que todos pudiéramos ver la respuesta. = You wrote it on the blackboard so that all of us could see the answer. [or, "so that all of us would be able to see the answer" - would and could are really murky in this tense for English]

You'll also see como si fuera or como si estuviera as "as if it were"; these are ser/estar differences but just be aware:

como si fuera la última vez = as if it were the last time Los dos se quedaron en silencio como si fueran de piedra. = The two stayed silent as if they were made of stone. como si estuviera contento/a = as if he/she were happy Seguían hablando como si todavía estuviera aquí. = They kept talking as if he/she were still here.

Especially in literature you're going to see a lot of similes and analogies using como si + imperfect subjunctive for descriptions of things - things that aren't necessarily true scenarios but "as if it were"

*Please Note: if you look up the imperfect subjunctive you will see two separate conjugations

Latin America tends to use -iera/-ara forms for all of imperfect subjunctive

Spain tends to use -iera/-ara for a more past tense imperfect subjunctive, while the hypotheticals are usually done for Spain with the -iese/-ase forms

In other words:

Si fuera el jefe... = If I were the boss... Si fuese el jefe... = If I were the boss...

Both are accepted; just that if I see si fuese I would think Spain

Typically Spain makes more of a distinction, and Latin America uses just one form at least in my experience

The distinction is something like "if I studied abroad", one is more past tense "this would have happened if I studied abroad", and the other is more hypothetical "what if I studied abroad?" - not a perfect analogy but you can sort of see the breakdown the same way English uses "was/were" can create confusion

Please also note that even Spanish-speakers are not all in agreement on imperfect subjunctive. There are people who use only conditional, or use only the imperfect subjunctive and ignore the conditional tense... It's a bit of a mess, but standard Spanish recognizes both the imperfect subjunctive and the conditional

The English uses a lot of the same tense conjugations for all of this so it's just as confusing there too sometimes and often requires you to understand the vibe of what's being said, and if you mean it in a past sort of way [i.e. "could have" as in "I did have the ability to", which is podía imperfect], a conditional sort of way [i.e. "could have" as in "I could have done that (if I had the chance)" which is podría conditional], or a hypothetical sort of way [i.e. "could have" as in "if only I could have done that" which is pudiera or pudiese imperfect subjunctive]

There's more history involved in the imperfect subjunctive that could really bog this explanation down though

And finally, it's obsolete now but there used to be a future subjunctive which is now used in imperfect subjunctive

These endings were like -iere/-are, and you're not going to see them today unless you read old things or some legalese; like si fuere menester in older stuff comes out like "in the event of" but more literally "should it happen to be necessary"

This particular future subjunctive is very similar to English saying "should" in older dramas like "if I should choose to go" si fuere which is ir... or "if I should happen upon" which is more like si me encontrare

Again this is just so in case you see it in a conjugation chart because it will be there and it's confusing if you don't know

So if you see -iere/-are forms, that's what that means and don't worry about it but just know what it is

...

One final tip:

Conjugating the present subjunctive is using the present tense (indicative) yo conjugation, and then switching the typical ending [with the exception of irregular verbs like ser, ir, dar, haber and a handful of others]

So in general your conjugation will depend on what the present tense yo looks like and thus it's really important to know your irregulars and stem-changing verbs:

hablo -> hable, hables, hable, hablen, hablemos, habléis vivo -> viva, vivas, viva, vivan, vivamos, viváis como -> coma, comas, coma, comamos, comáis digo -> diga, digas, diga, digan, digamos, digáis tengo -> tenga, tengas, tenga, tengan, tengamos, tengáis pido -> pida, pidas, pida, pidan, pidamos, pidáis duermo -> duerma, duermas, duerma, duerman, durmamos, durmáis pienso -> piense, pienses, piense, piensen, pensemos, penséis

And all weird ones like conozco -> conozca, finjo -> finja, venzo -> venza, and so on.

Imperfect subjunctive conjugates according to 3rd person (plural) preterite

You'll get tuvieron -> tuviera, dijeron -> dijera, durmieron -> durmiera, etc. And the weird ones here like leyeron -> leyera, condujeron -> condujera

If you're not there yet don't worry about it but that's the pattern you're following; also note that ser and ir have the same conjugation in preterite so it's both fuera

As always if you have any specific questions let me know. It's a LOT of stuff, and some of it makes a bit of sense, a lot of it takes getting used to

#spanish #langblr #learning spanish #subjunctive #spanish grammar #asks #long post #la gramatica #verbos #for reference #el subjuntivo

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royalarchivist · 1 day ago

Text

Jaiden: My question is– if I have a past with, either the Federation or Cucurucho, that I don't know about– then why am I on the Island? Was it like, "Oh, we need one of our own on the inside, let's put her here because you're a good worker"?

Foolish: Yeah... No, that could maybe make sense, like an experiment, like a controlled variable.

Jaiden: Yeah, but it also could be like, a punishment for like, "Oh, you were doin' some bad stuff, let's banish you to the Island with no memories. See how you like that."

Foolish: Ohhh. No memories makes it a little... yeah. Hmm... 🤔 Is there like a good-case scenario? Where it's like, "You did a great job! Here, let's wipe your memory, go on the Island."

Jaiden: [Laughs] "You earned a free vacation!" 🏝️

—

TRANSCRIPT

Jaiden: My question is like– if I have a past with, either the Federation or Cucurucho, that I don't know about– then why am I on the Island? Like, what happened?

Foolish: Hmmm... So like, why are you on the Island as in the state that you are in right now? Um...

Jaiden: Like, why would they put me here if I had like, a previous job, you know?

Foolish: Ok, previous job...

Jaiden: Either– was it like, they were like, "Oh, we need one of our own on the inside, let's put her here because you're a good worker, and we– [Stammers] You're so good." [Distracted] Oh, the fcking donkey is here–

Foolish: Yeah... No, that could maybe make sense, like an experiment, like a controlled variable.

Jaiden: Yeah, but it also could be like, a punishment for like, "Oh, you were- you were doin' some bad stuff, let's– let's banish you to the Island with- with no memories. See how you like that."

Foolish: Ohhh. No memories makes it a little... yeah. Hmm, I'm trying to think, would there be... Is there any like– is there like a good-case scenario? Where it's like, "You did a great job! Here, let's wipe your memory, go on the Island."

Jaiden: [Laughs] "You- you earned a free vacation!"

Foolish: [Also laughs] I don't know!

Jaiden: I don't' really know, but like... All I know is I've worked with Cucurucho in the past, and they trust me to like, train a new one.

Foolish: Yeah, that's what I find interesting.

Jaiden: –and I'm supposed to like, progress report on how well he's doing. And stuff.

So, is the current Cucurucho that's been out and about with us could be like, the second one? Because that's–

Jaiden: I'll be honest, I don't even know how many there are. I don't even doubt that there's more.

Foolish: Oh. Yeah, I guess if there's two, there certainly could be more.

Jaiden: Mhmm. They are... slightly different in personality, though.

Foolish: Oh, really?

Jaiden: I mean, the normal Cucurucho is just like, super serious–

Foolish: Right.

Jaiden: And then the other one is like... more silly, and goofy. I think that was the one who played like, Hide-and-Seek with us, and they did more fun games, and that's the other one.

Foolish: Oh, yeah!

Jaiden: And I– they said that he's not perfect, and I need to train him to be perfect.

Foolish: So you need to– wipe him of personality? [He speaks with a laugh]

Jaiden: Yeah. I– though– I mean, the thing I told him is just to hide it, you know? That's... the best way to do it.

Foolish: Conceal don't feel, don't let them know?

Jaiden: Yeah, exactly. Exactly, exactly. You know how it is.

—

Stream date: September 7, 2023

Timestamp: ~43m 30s

#Jaiden Animations #Jaiden #Foolish #Foolish Gamers #QSMP #September 7 2023 #Takes a break from work to rest my wrist and then winds up writing a long clip transcript #o(-(#I think about q!Jaiden a lot and her relationship with the Cucuruchos a lot #I want to know what their history was... I wanted to learn more about her lore

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barbarianbookhoe · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 12

Forever falls Apart

A/N: I know I promised not to disappear for months again, but hey, I finished first semester of university with straight A's, so that's a win😅 This is a long ass one!

We are on the highway to hell for the next 2-3 chapters, I LOVE YOU GUYS THO

P. S. Mind you, I'm on my third rewatch of Glee while writing this

[Lil' guide: the divided parts are flashbacks, and the things said in "this format" are !SPOILER! 's voice echoing.]

Taglist: @kiraflowersworld @vainillasmil157 @bookloverfilmoholic @so-get-this-sammy @ell0ra-br3kk3r @hufflepuffprincessbabe @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitterspoons @wonderland2425 @noorie101

Fear has a habit of altering even the sanest of minds. It's like a disease, a plague that clouds your every thought until you are nothing but a mere semblance of the person you were before. It can cloud any reasonable logic you have, making you act irrationally.

And it can make you completely useless. Frozen like a statue. Disconnected from reality. Indifferent to what's happening around you. Trapped with your thoughts. Speechless.

Kaz stood and watched as Y/N fell from the sky, leaving a pool of blood where she sank into the sea. He watched as he waited for her to come up and wave to them, probably cursing about the cold water and her wet clothes. He waited, and waited, and waited, but she never emerged. Her voice was ringing in his ears.

"Promise me, Kaz. If I show symptoms of an addiction, promise me you won't give any jurda to me. Even if it means I'll die."

Kaz felt the urge to throw up. He held onto the railing of the ship with all his might, no doubt that his knuckles were turning white under the gloves. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, making him deaf to anything else.

The feeling came suddenly and Kaz feared he was going to drown in it. His breathing became rigid as he tried to keep any ounce of control he had left in him.

"We are soldiers."

Kaz blinked and out of nowhere Jesper and Inej were looking at him, terrified. Why was Jesper completely wet? How long was he standing there? Did they found her? Or has the sea claimed her forever?

"She won't wake up," Jesper told him with a trembling voice, tears burning his eyes. Matthias was taking off his fur, while Nina began the chest compression, using her powers to restart her heart.

Her hands were already covered in blood.

Inej and Wylan stood a few steps away from them, their eyes full of horror. Kaz saw the people around him speak, but the sounds didn't reach his ears.

Oh.

"If it comes down to it, let me die. Don't let me suffer. Please, Kaz, promise me."

That suffocating feeling returned much stronger, and it made Kaz unable to speak. He couldn't look away from the limp body that was holding him mere minutes ago. The bile rose in his throat, but Kaz refused to throw up. He felt sick, and all he could think of was the fact that now Y/N was just another one of the cold bodies that were suffocating him.

Kaz felt like his heart could stop any second, but he was physically unable to take his eyes off of her. Every attempt Nina made at reuscitating Y/N felt like a twist to the knife in his chest.

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

"Will you ever tell me-"

"Y/N." She interrupted him and for a second Kaz just looked at her, utterly confused.

"What?" He asked, but the girl just smiled back at him.

"You were going to ask my name. It's Y/N." Kaz only nodded, but he was already testing her name in his mind. Y/N. Y/N. He found it way too casual a name for someone like her.

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

There was a muffled sound coming from next to him. Someone was trying to speak to him. Kaz didn't know who it was, and he didn't really care either. Y/N was dying. Or was she already dead? Should he go over to her? Check her pulse? Make sure she's alive? For that to happen, Kaz would've had to move and touch her skin.

Cold. Numb. Red. Void of any sign of life.

"I will march with you in times of war."

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

"Do it." Kaz demanded on a quiet voice, but Y/N just giggled. "No." Kaz asked again as he leaned heavily on his cane, visibly drunk. "Y/N, pleaseee."

"Absolutely not. Now get inside," she told him, pointing to the open door of his room. Kaz shook his head and tried to keep his face neutral, but his blown pupils betrayed his inebriated state.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a laugh escaped her. "This is the last time I turned into a cat while you're drunk."

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

Cold. She must be feeling cold.

Kaz's movements were rigid, like he didn't even process what he was doing as he took his coat off and walked closer to Y/N's body on the floor. Then he stopped as if rethinking his decision, when he raised his gaze and noticed Jesper and Inej sobbing.

His first thought was that something must be really wrong if Jesper was uncontrollably sobbing. Jesper was an emotional person, but Kaz had never seen him cry, not even once.

To see him nearly choke on his own tears felt wrong to Kaz.

He looked at his coat in his hands, gripping the fabric so tight he might as well could've tore it apart. Kaz tried to control his erratic breathing, but it was harder and harder to do, the longer he kept staring at Y/N's body. The only color she had left was her own blood coating her. Kaz lowered the coat in his hand. She won't need it anymore.

Kaz felt the stares from the others, but he didn't dare look at them. He couldn't. How could he? He knew the kind of look they were giving him. Sadness. Grief. Pity. More pity. More sadness. He didn't need it. He didn't need their pity, he needed Y/N.

His Y/N. His best friend. His wife. Them staring at him with pitiful looks won't bring her back.

"I will rest with you in times of peace."

Kaz could still feel the way she was grabbing onto him on the tank. How she was holding him like he would disappear if she didn't. And after she ripped herself away from him, for one fleeting second, Kaz could see the guilt in her eyes.

That one second was already haunting him.

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

She was standing so close to him, Kaz could almost feel her heart beating. He looked at her like she was going to disappear if he didn't.

Her eyes had a faint glint in them from all the candles that she lit earlier. Kaz raised a hand to cup the side of her face and when she gently leaned into his touch, Kaz let out a gasp of breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

Y/N just smiled at him, and Kaz decided then and there he was going to change.

For the better, for Jordie…and for her.

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

He turned away from them. He felt his eyes burning and Kaz knew if he didn't leave, he was going to break down in front of them, no matter how strong his self-control was.

This was his breaking point. Losing his brother, the only family he had left, was like a death sentence to him. He couldn't go a day without something reminding him of his absence.

Then Kaz stumbled upon Y/N. Or rather, she stumbled upon him. She was annoying and too talkative, always making some noise and seeking Kaz's company whenever he was in the same room as her. Kaz did everything to avoid her, but she was persistent and eventually Kaz got used to her constant presence. He would've never admitted it, but sometimes he asked for her companion on purpose. Although he always had a made-up excuse for it.

Kaz stepped away from them, slowly, as if he was in a daze. In a way he was. His mind kept replaying every moment they spent together. Wether it was the two of them, or a mission, or just another night at the Crow Club. Every single interaction they had ever since they have met ran through his mind.

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

"No matter how hard I try to erase you from my mind, you sneak back in by simply existing. It's… frustrating," Kaz said as he dragged himself to his feet, every fiber of his being drenched in the harbor's water.

Then he looked at her, and he felt his heart stop at the way she was looking at him, like he was something worth looking at.

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

There was a gentle tap on his shoulder and Kaz aggressively hit the hand away, not even looking at who it was. He kept walking, not really knowing where. The chamber? The bottom of the ship? Back to her? Should he sit down? Should he continue with the plan? He would have to create a new one, without…her.

"I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return."

Kaz didn't plan this far. He didn't plan for this, because he was sure he was going to be the one to die. His death seemed most likely to happen. Not hers. Ghezen, not her.

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

Raffiel's fiancé stood near Kaz, watching him with a suspicious gaze. Kaz didn't know what to make of it, so he turned to her with a questioning look.

"You're just another fool under that cold exterior." She said with a faint smile as she watched Kaz look back and stare at Y/N.

"Watch out, Brekker. You look like you're falling."

I think I already did, Kaz thought to himself as he left the room.

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

What was he supposed to tell her family? What was he supposed to say to her brother, when he left basically saying she was going to come home, and not him? What was going to happen when Raffiel saw Kaz return, without her?

He would probably beat Kaz until he's nothing but a sack of bones and meat. Or shapeshift into a wolf, or a dog, or something predatory and tear him limb from limb. Kaz would take the punishment gladly. He decided that if Raffiel attacked him, he will let him.

There was another tap on his shoulder, but it was harsher, urging him to look at them. Kaz refused to, even when they stepped in front of him and began shouting at him. The closeness of the other person finally made Kaz look up, only to see Jesper's tear stained face.

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

The bottle was already half empty when Kaz finally decided to sign the papers. The papers he specifically asked for. With every signature, he took another sip from the glass. He finished the bottle too quickly for his liking. Everytime he wrote the name down, a part of him wanted to burn the papers, but the other part stopped himself from doing so. He told himself he was only being cautious, that this was the rational thing to do. But deep down Kaz knew that it would take all of his strength to control himself and not run to Y/N. The wedding ring was practically burning in his pocket.

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

Kaz got lost in his thoughts again, and Jesper desperately tried to make him understand what he was saying. As he took in the empty look in Kaz's eyes, Jesper felt like he was talking to a ghost, rather than a human person. He never could read the emotions on Kaz's face, but this time it felt as if Kaz was drained of every emotion. Jesper could see it in his eyes that Kaz's mind was elsewhere, somewhere far away from the present.

"I have seen you change at the bottom of the world."

"For fuck's sake Kaz, are you even listening to me?!" Kaz heard Jesper shout into his face, and he looked at him. Jesper still didn't know if Kaz was actually hearing his words, but he kept speaking once again. "She's breathing Kaz. She's alive." He said and felt himself tear up again.

Kaz only looked back at him with slightly furrowed brows. Internally he was confused. Why was Jesper saying this? Why is he lying to him? Was this his way of trying to…console him? He didn't need consolation. Didn't need their pity.

Jesper's words made Kaz feel like someone just punched him after a fight, right before shooting him. Jesper must've noticed his confusion, because he looked into Kaz's eyes, not breaking eyecontact, hoping Kaz would finally understand him.

"She. Is. Alive." Jesper's words were firm, not leaving room for discussion. Kaz turned visibly confused, but Jesper just repeated his words. Kaz grew more and more confused, as Inej walked up to them. Kaz was glancing between the two of them, his brows furrowed, the confusion turning into irritation.

"Nina is taking care of her. She's too weak, but she's breathing." Inej informed him, but then her expression turned softer. "Look at her, Kaz. She's alive." She nodded behind Kaz, where Nina was still crying, accompanied by a relieved smile.

Kaz was almost sure his own mind was playing tricks on him. A joke. This must be a cruel joke. He must have been in so much distress and shock that he began hallucinating. The floorboards swayed under him, but that could've been caused by the waves crashing against the ship. Either way, it felt like everything was spinning around him.

He became dizzy, and soon the familiar feeling of bile rising in his throat got his attention. Kaz focused so hard on trying not to empty the contents of his stomach that he didn't even notice when he was left alone.

His heart was beating too loud. Breathing felt impossible. There were multiple voices around him, muffled by his own heartbeat. His vision was blurry and the cane in his hand did nothing to help him walk. In just a few seconds, Kaz walked as far away as he could from the group, and when he was sure they couldn't see him, he leaned over the railing and threw up.

The cold wind did nothing to ease his nausea. Kaz felt like he was back on the barge, suffocating under the mountains of bodies. He closed his eyes to try and get a grip on himself, but as soon as he did, the image of Y/N falling from the sky replayed in his head. There was too much blood. She was covered in it.

"There is no one more loved by me Kaz Brekker, stubborn and unbreakable."

Her voice was the only thing Kaz was able to hear, and it felt like torture to him.

"Let me die."

The air was being sucked out of his lungs, and Kaz gripped the railing like his life depended on it.

"Please don't let me suffer."

There were footsteps around him and Kaz felt the presence of someone towering over him. He didn't even realize he was bending down, clutching at his chest, his breathing uncontrollable.

"Promise me, Kaz."

The anger grew in him rapidly. Her voice was haunting him. Kaz hated how easy it was to miss her, how he could recognize the change in her attitude just by her voice, how it took up space in his head, but most of all, he hated that the only thing he could think about in that moment was the fact that he was never going to hear her again.

"What about Death?"

"It takes more than death to get rid of me."

Kaz let out a humorless scoff. "Liar," he whispered to himself. Stubborn. Reckless. Convincing. She was probably the best liar Kaz had ever met, second only after him.

"In this life and the next."

Why couldn't it be this one? They just got married. Y/N just realized how to be herself, not despite, but with her power. Kaz was just at the beginning of his redemption. If saints and gods did exist, Kaz couldn't understand why they would let Y/N die.

Y/N died.

She was dead.

Dead.

Y/N died. She's dead. Y/N is dead.

Dead.

At the edge of his vision Kaz glared at the sea like it was responsible for her death. Instead of blue, all he could see was red. The blood that coated her body. Blood, unfathomable amount of blood, that made it seem like she bathed in it.

How did she lose so much blood? Was there even that much in her? Kaz didn't know that much about biology or anatomy, but he knew losing so much blood was fatal.

Jesper and Inej shared concerned glances at Kaz's state. They retreated with a few steps after Kaz almost stabbed Jesper with the beak of his cane. His eyes were red, like he was holding back from crying, but despite that it seemed as if he was unaware of his surroundings. He would occasionally start to hyperventilate, only to abruptly stop and stare ahead of him, his mind being completely elsewhere.

The others didn't really know what to make of it, but Jesper and Inej, being the ones who knew him the longest outside of Y/N, they knew he was suffering internally. Kaz didn't really show his emotions, he wasn't the kind of person to express it outwardly. And for him to be so detached from reality that he didn't even hear what they were saying, for him to be completely locked inside his mind meant that he was overwhelmed. He was overwhelmed with his emotions and this was the only way he knew how to process the heavy load.

Jesper had an arm around Inej's shoulder, resting his head on top of hers. He was trying to muffle a sniffle, but Inej noticed it and looked up at him. "She's here, Jesper. She's still here with us," she tried to reassure him and Jesper looked up at the sky for a moment, sniffling.

"I just, I don't know what I would've done if she didn't make it." He let go of Inej to fidget with the rings on his fingers, hoping to ease his nerves. It didn't help.

"Nina doesn't know if she got affected by the jurda. She says she won't know anything until Y/N wakes up. I pray to the Saints she does," Inej told him and Jesper let out a weak scoff. "I think if she finds out I lost one of my guns, Y/N's going to bring herself out of a coma just to kick my ass." Jesper said it casually and it made Inej let out a soft laugh.

Kaz turned his head at the sound of their laugh. They weren't loud, their laugh was a quiet scoff at most, but still, it reached Kaz's ears. He looked at the two of them with such anger and disgust on his face, that for a second Jesper thought he was going to lash out at them.

He didn't. He kept staring back at them, and they could see the emotions change on his face. It turned from anger to detestation in mere seconds, and now both Jesper and Inej were waiting for Kaz to jump up and start a fight.

The hatred in his eyes shifted just as quickly as it appeared. It turned ito disappointment, raw and deep, and the unfiltered emotions he was showing made the guilt weigh heavy in their chest. Both of them knew how this must've looked from Kaz's view. He thought his wife was dead, and they were here, laughing, as if she was nothing to them.

"Kaz?" Jesper spoke first, trying to get a reaction from him, without triggering him to lash out. He looked back at them with the same glare, slowly getting up from the ground. His movements were predatory, and Jesper instinctively put a hand on his pistol, but with no real intention of using it.

He didn't know what to say. Kaz was standing in front of them, looking like he would burn them with his stare if he could. He took a slow step closer, the cane tapping against the floorboards with a loud click. Jesper finally understood how scary the sound of it actually was, especially in the silence. One wrong word or move, and Kaz was going to snap.

"Y/N is alive." Inej's voice was soft, but it had a firmness that made Kaz glance at her. She didn't break the eyecontact, guessing that Kaz was trying to decipher if she was lying or not. "Y/N is alive. She's injured, and Nina is taking care of her," she explained but the tension didn't leave Kaz's expression.

"She's going to be fine." Jesper added as positively as he could, despite his inner concern. Kaz seemed to be considering their words, still unsure if it was true or not. Jesper and Inej stood there, waiting for Kaz to process everything. Jesper almost let out a loud sigh of relief when the anger from Kaz's expression dissipated. He furrowed his brows as he looked back at them, utterly confused.

Poor Wylan decided to walk over to them at the wrong moment.

He was talking about what Kuwei just revealed about the jurda, and how it could affect Y/N, and the symptoms he noticed on her already. Kuwei stood next to Wylan, glancing at Kaz every two seconds, slightly scared of the way he was looking at them. He was right to feel scared, because Kaz was unusually silent. After Wylan quickly stopped talking, there was a few seconds of silence, where they were all just staring at Kaz, whose face was unreadable.

In three seconds Kaz was gripping the collar of Kuwei's shirt, slamming him down on the railing as if he was about to throw him into the sea. The beak of the crow was already at Kuwei's neck, keeping him from moving too much. His eyes were wide with terror as he looked into Kaz's violent gaze. It was like staring at a wild animal, that was ready to rip him limb from limb.

"Get off him, Kaz!" Jesper shouted and tried to get closer, but Kaz looked back at him with the same animalistic gaze and Jesper immediately stopped. He looked at Inej for help, while holding a hand out sigaling to Wylan to get behind him.

"Kaz, let him go. We need him alive." Inej managed to get to his side, ordering him sternly.

"I don't," Kaz replied, his voice lower than he realized. He loosened his grip on Kuwei, slightly lowering him over the railing. Kuwei began kicking for him to let go, but Kaz just tightened his hold on the silver crow at Kuwei's neck, drawing blood.

"He knows everything about the jurda. He could tell what side effects it might have on-," Wylan told him but he was quickly hushed by Jesper. "You've said enough already!" He ushered him further away from Kaz. Momentarily Kaz loosened his grip on the cane, glancing back where Wylan was standing. Wylan swallowed at the sight of the raw anger in Kaz's eyes.

That didn't stop him from speaking up again. Unfortunately for Wylan, he learned how to be confident at the worst possible moment. This time he really should've tried to be invisible instead of acting confident.

"Kuwei said it's still in her system, making it harder for Nina to heal her, because Y/N's shapeshifting might have made the injuries worse, than they were bef-," Before Wylan could process what was happening, Kaz had a hand around his face, forcing him to look up at him.

"Say it," Kaz seethed furiously, his hand tightening on Wylan's face, making his jaw hurt from the pressure.

"Say her name one more time Merchling, and they'll be uncovering your body for months," he whispered and Wylan tried to nod, but realized he couldn't because of the grip Kaz had on him. Kaz raised one of his brows as he loosened his grip, just enough for Wylan to nod fiercely. Kaz held him for a few more seconds before letting him go.

Four days.

Four damn days.

That's how long Kaz has been avoiding everything and everyone. Whenever one of them asked what the next step was when they got back, his reply was always the same. Stick to the original plan.

He was more like a ghost than a real person at this point. Jesper exchanged concerned looks with Inej, or Nina anytime he found Kaz staring at the horizon, unmoving. He couldn't wrap his head around why Kaz wasn't with you right now. They told him countless times that you were alive and breathing, that you did not die.

But it seemed Kaz was already convinced you were dead. In the past four days Jesper saw more emotion on Kaz than in the years he had known him. He didn't know wether to be concerned or relieved that Kaz was actually expressing what he was feeling.

He decided on the former. Kaz wasn't stable by any means. The emotions he showed weren't exactly positive. Anger, grief, irritation. These were the usual feelings he showed aside from his usual brooding mood.

They were walking on thin ice around him. Any word or movement could set him off and Kaz would take his feelings out on the object closest to him. The group hid most of the things around the ship, before even Specht decided he had enough of Kaz destroying everything.

After each crash out Kaz retreated to the side of the ship, staring out at the water for hours upon hours, once or twice even attempting to walk into the room Nina treated Y/N in. He always failed to do so. The furthest he got was two steps from the door. He couldn't find it in himself to actually look inside and see her.

He was convinced that once he looked, all he would be able to see was her corpse. Then he would realize the others were lying about her survival to keep him from going completely insane. Too late for that, he thought.

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

On the fifth day Kaz finally willed himself to take those remaining two steps. The only reason he was able to do so was because everyone else was gathered around Nina, who was telling them tales from her childhood, trying to lighten everyone's spirits.

Obviously they didn't notice him slipping away from them. They didn't even know he was eavesdropping on them.

As Kaz stood in front of the door now, his couarge wavered. He would never admit it, probably not even to Y/N, but he never felt so anxious like in that moment. His hand was holding the doorknob for at least five minutes now, debating if he should enter or try again tomorrow.

What are the chances he could do this again? That there wouldn't be anyone to see him hesitate? How many more attempts have to be made before he finally steps inside?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. At first, Kaz only looked around the dimly lit room, taking in the mess on the table. The first thing he focused on were the multiple clots thrown into a pile on one of the chairs. Bloody clots.

He was so focused on the blood, he didn't notice the movements on the small bed in the corner. He didn't even register the quiet noise, until a raspy voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Kaz?" The voice asked shakily, as if they had just woken up.

Kaz didn't turn to them immediately. He took a few seconds to pull himself together, before slowly, agonizingly slowly turned to look at the figure on the bed.

As soon as he looked into Y/N's eyes, Kaz crumbled.

He had to grab onto his cane along with the table so as not to fall to his kness. His legs trembled slightly anyways. The air was knocked from his lungs as he just... stared at her.

She was alive. She was breathing. She was here.

"Kaz?" She asked again, frowning a little when her movement caused her side to jolt in pain.

"Alive," Kaz mumbled under his breath, the words too muffled for Y/N to hear.

"What?" She asked tiredly, her voice no louder than a whisper as she kept staring back at him. Kaz leaned towards her slightly, as if he tried to step closer, but changed his mind and leaned back.

Neither of them broke the eyecontact. The silence was heavy with their unsaid words, the circumstances making it harder for either of them to say what they wanted.

"You're alive." Kaz whispered, but it felt loud in the silence. Y/N looked at him with furrowed brows at first. She looked at him with a questioning look, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

"You're alive." His words were firmer this time, as he let go of the table and took a step closer. Despite her tiredness and the pain all through her body, Y/N managed a tiny smile in the corner of her lips.

"I'm alive, koja," she whispered.

Kaz collapsed into the chair next to her bed.

A/N: If you read this far, first of all thank you and hope you liked it!

Second: here's the full wedding vow from Genya and David's wedding, edited to fit this story. It's one of my deleted scenes, where Y/N says it in Kerch, while Kaz says it in Ravkan♡

"We are soldiers. I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return. I have seen you change at the bottom of the world. There is no one more loved by me Kaz Brekker, stubborn and unbreakable."

[Bottom of the world=the Barrel]

#grishaverse #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x fem!reader #grishaverse fic #kaz brekker fanfic #six of crows #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone #kaz brekker #ice court heist

24 notes · View notes

cloversnstrawberries · 22 hours ago

Note

I really loved the platonic RE yandere you posted, would you mind writing a continuation of the Wesker part? xoxo

platonic!yandere!albert wesker & S.T.A.R.S!gn!reader [oneshot] ! !

masterlist ! [this is a continuation of this post !]

description; Honestly, why were you here? Why you? Why was it, out of everyone on the now defunct S.T.A.R.S team, you who caught his attention like you had? And why is he acting like this is normal?

additional notes; hello!!! i'm so glad you like it so much!! it was my first time doing multi-HCs, and i think it came out really well all things considered :)) i haven't really gotten the hang of HC format fully though, so i ended up doing a oneshot for this </3

but thank you so much for requesting a continuation!! i was more than happy to do it :)) i also tried a new style(?) of description, but i don't know if i'll stick with it or not </3

warnings; Drugging, hospital/medical setting, Wesker's god complex, mention of the other S.T.A.R.S members and their fates, imprisonment, captivity, general terror and confusion, Reader is very suspicious of Wesker's reasonings (he's not helping it at all), possessiveness, soft(ish) Albert Wesker, and if there's anymore i missed, please let me know!! :D my writing seems to leave my mind the moment i put it down...

w/c; 4.1k

How could it end like this? How could you let this happen?

You're trained. Maybe not as much as your other team members-- but you went through school for this, and you could've sworn you were just getting the hang of it all.

But then again, maybe there was nothing you could've done. Even if you were as experienced as everyone else-- hell, if you had more experience than everyone combined, it'd probably turn out the same regardless.

You trusted him-- they trusted him, just for him to lead them all like lambs to the slaughter;

He spared you, though. Why? What the hell is he up to?

That phone call you'd been eavesdropping on-- at the time, you couldn't make heads or tails of it. But now, oh... now you understand it perfectly.

S.T.A.R.S was never what it claimed to be, but out of everyone, only Wesker was aware of that. Not even Marini, because lord knows if he knew what was actually going on, he wouldn't have had any part in it.

Did any of them survive? Wesker made it sound like there was no chance anyone could've made it out alive. Apparently, he hadn't made it out alive--

He claims to have died, but to have come back better; reborn as something truer than what he had been.

God... how did you not see this coming? Again, you were trained! You... you were supposed to be able to spot these kinds of things. Maybe you'd been too blindly trusting, after all, he was your captain.

If you couldn't trust anyone else, you should've been able to trust him. That's how it's supposed to be. Only for him to turn around and stab you all in the back.

Even if he didn't send you out there. Even if you were the one exception, his companion (whatever that entailed), that couldn't mean much. Not to a man like him, who uses people as stepping stones. Who used your co-workers, your friends, as just rungs in a ladder; as he sought to achieve godhood.

He's different, now. He says he'd died-- and you don't quite doubt that fact. Maybe you should, but his... his eyes. His eyes gave you pause, as you tried to discredit his claim of being revived.

They were like a snakes-- no, a dragons, actually. You don't think snakes can have that sort of coloring naturally, the central heterochromatic yellow around his pupils, and the bright, jarring red the rest of his pupils held.

Sometimes, they almost glowed. The way he moved now wasn't human. Nothing about him was-- but not all of that could be attributed to his strange, unexplainable (from your point of view, at least) metamorphosis.

In theory, he was still so human. He had the same face-- his bone structure hadn't changed, god no. The only physical attribute that tangibly changed had been his eyes, and maybe his teeth and nails being a little sharper.

But something about him was monstrous, beyond those traits. Maybe it was the knowledge of what he'd done, or the fear spawned out of uncertainty. Uncertainty of what he has planned for you, that makes him seem so otherworldly beyond the obvious.

Why you? Why, out of everyone, did he spare you? It couldn't have anything to do with your age-- he'd mentioned no sort of exception made for Rebecca, who was only 18. Safe to say, he didn't have any qualms about leading a literal teenager to her untimely death,

And maybe you could argue that it was his higherups-- or whoever that Birkin he was seemingly talking to on the phone-- that forced his hand and made him 'euthanize' S.T.A.R.S.

He talked about them like they were animals, and not people with hopes, dreams-- families. Reasons to live outside of their jobs, reasons they were important.

Like they were lab rats, he'd indirectly referred to them as much during the phone call. So what did that make you?

When you were young, you had a neighbor who owned a snake. You don't remember what kind exactly, but it was a very sweet little thing. You wouldn't think a snake could be cuddly until you met that little sucker-- but in the end, it was still a snake.

It still needed to eat; most of the time, your neighbor would feed it frozen mice. But the snake would get bored, and if it got too bored then it'd refuse to eat until something caught it's fancy;

And in those cases, your neighbor would get live feeder mice. One of them, the runt of the litter-- had tugged on his heartstrings, one that seemed more intent on snuggling into his head more than trying to flee.

He kept it, and named it Sunflower. Sunny for short; and kept that little feeder mouse around as long as it could last-- and it even went past the expected age for a domesticated mouse. Much less a runt feeder.

Is that what you are? A feeder mouse that somehow managed to squeeze your way into whatever was left of Wesker's heart, one that snuggled up so sweetly-- that he couldn't help but to keep you, while he threw the rest of your brethren into the hungry snake’s enclosure.

Dinner and a show, your neighbor had dubbed it to try and make it seem less gruesome. If anything, it made the action worse in your little mind-- to add such an unassuming title to the practice.

You just can't wrap your head around it, how Wesker could give up so many people-- people he knew personally, that he'd actively sought out for their positions,

But that he seemed to draw the line when it came to you. That for some reason, he decided he wanted to keep you.

He visits you often, but not too much. You have no way of telling the time or date, or even an approximate of how long you've been here. You're set up in this strange sort of... half hospital room, half normal bedroom. It sort of looked like your bedroom back home-- your childhood one, but not to the point were you'd assume Wesker broke in and took a look around.

No, it just... looks like a normal bedroom, not necessarily childish, but not necessarily full adult. There was a dresser, a desk, nightstand, and a clothes rack-- an empty one, sure, but it was still there regardless.

That didn't make much sense to you, considering there seems to be a closet right next to the empty rack; but if you've learned one thing, it's hat you have no hope of trying to figure out why Wesker does the things he does.

And then, there was the bed. It was your average, run-of-the-mill hospital bed, complete with the ability to adjust the incline, bars at the side, and places for medical equipment to be threaded through or attached in some manner.

There was a stool next to your bed, and a metal rolling cart that Wesker usually pushed just out of your reach when he wasn't actively in the room. Like he was taunting you-- he probably was, actually. Just another thing to rub your own helplessness in your face.

Honestly, you wish you could explore the room. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small; you'd probably find very little, sure, but it'd still be something.

Instead, you were handcuffed to the metal bar of the hospital bed. As if you were a particularly high-risk patient, and not a completely healthy person that Wesker fucking kidnapped and hooked up to an IV, pumping god-knows-what in your system.

It didn't make you out of it, but you weren't exactly fully aware right now. Not physically, anyways-- you could hardly muster enough energy to turn onto your side, so safe to say that's the intention of whatever fluid is the IV bag hanging by your bedside.

And while it didn't necessarily make you out of it-- you could still think perfectly fine--, it did dull your senses a little bit. Made you more susceptible to being snuck up on,

"Good morning, dear heart." Honestly, it surprised you that you had enough energy to jolt a Wesker's sudden appearance-- you swung your head around so fast that your vision went bleary for a few seconds, before inexplicably clearing up.

"Is it really morning, or is it just another one of your lies?" This had become a routine of yours-- questioning every little thing he said. Everything he does, everything he says, could be (and most likely was) in an attempt to trip you up further.

Wesker has yet to be annoyed by this, and that worries you. It worries how... kind he's appearing to be. Yes, he's still stern, and grabs you a little too roughly when you try to resist whatever medication or food he's trying to give you--

But that's nothing compared to hell he put the rest of S.T.A.R.S through, from what you could piece together from little context clues here and there-- and the tiny tidbits of information he seems to let slip on accident.

He sat on the stool next to your bed, letting out a breathy laugh "Do you really think I'd lie about something soinconsequential?" You deadpanned, and immediately shot back with a monotone "Yes."

Again, he laughed. He always did this-- always had some sort of fondness held in his eyes, a softness to his smile that you didn't think he was capable of, especially now. He's acting as if this just another day, as if this is normal.

Like this is life or death for you, like you aren't in the den of a viper-- acting like a caring, nurturing figure to its prey. You know better, though. You know better than to believe it, that he won't turn around and eat you whole once you've served whatever hidden purpose he has for you.

"Well," He began, as he leaned over and pulled that metal rolling cart by his side. As he busied himself with preparing the blood pressure cuff (god knows why he's so insistent on doing this every visit-- like you were actually sick and in need of his care, and not like he was actively pumping drugs in your system to make you sluggish and lethargic for his own gain), he continued his thought.

"Despite what you seem to think, I don't particularly enjoy lying. Especially not to you, dear heart." You had half a mind to jerk your arm away when he reached out, but you knew from previous experience he just wouldn't care. He'd just grab you regardless-- be a little rougher with it. It didn't accomplish anything, fighting him like this.

...But it was the only conceivable way you could fight back right now, and that infuriates you. You like to think that, if you weren't cuffed to the bed with an IV stuck in your arm, you'd be able to take him down.

As if he took those precautions to protect himself from you, and not to protect you from yourself-- or keep you from trying to make a break for it the first chance you get. He knew you were clever, he'd said as much himself.

Oddly enough, Wesker had this strange habit of always complimenting you; usually, it was in relation to himself-- saying you were smart, but too kind for your own good. That your relation to him blinded you, made you overlook any and all red flags until it was too late to do anything about it.

But sometimes, he'd just... compliment you. No apparent backhandedness about it. Sometimes, he reminded you of a proud dad, welcoming home his kid after they got all A's in school.

It was disturbing, to say the very least.

After a few moments, you finally respond with a curt "Whatever helps you sleep at night.", Because you don't believe him for even a second. You wish you could yell at him, that you could berate him over everything he's done-- but with the drugs making you less articulate than before, and the fact that he could just kill you right then and there-- or at least cause you grievous bodily harm--, you decide against that.

For a moment, you could've sworn you saw genuine emotion cross his face-- but it was gone so fast, that you seriously question if your brain just made it up. That even after all he's done, your brain still tries to grasp at straws that he cares for you. That he cares for you as a person, and not what you can do for him.

...Whatever that might be, which has yet to be seen by anything but Wesker himself.

Wesker took a deep breath, a habit you used to think fondly of; because it meant he was actively putting an effort into not snapping at something, and he was downright terrifying when he got angry-- or even just irritated.

Now, it just makes your body tense. Back straight, muscles wound up-- like a hare ready to bolt. He seems to realize this, but doesn't seem to process what caused it. Instead of moving back, because it was so obviously him that was bringing out this primal sort of fear in you--

He just leaned closer. Thankfully, he didn't reach out to touch you or anything-- but he was still closer.

...Then you realize he was just opening a new bottle of disinfectant-- obviously, you hadn't gone down without a fight, no matter how futile it was. Maybe this was your brain trying to humanize the monster before you-- but if you didn't know any better, you'd say he felt guilty for causing your injuries.

Even if they weren't that serious; he treated them like they were the end of the world, when you knew you've sustained much worse from much less then a god-like being trying to capture you.

Hell, one time you got a concussion from falling off a spinning chair in high-school! (admittedly, that was not your best idea-- but it got the job done! you'd fixed the loose ceiling tile that'd been bugging for three weeks straight!) You'll be fine--!

But for some Godforsaken reason, Wesker seems to think your more fragile than a porcelain doll; and a not trained S.T.A.R.S operative (though, you weren't very experienced, that didn't negate the fact that you had the formal training, and passed all the tests).

For now, you let him play doctor. You tried your best to suppress a hard flinch when he leaned forward, and started tending to the cuts and scrapes littering your face and arms-- for some reason, he thought it'd been a good idea to toss you through a fucking window--

...Albeit, the window had been in the first floor lobby of your mediocre apartment-- and it did very well to slow you down from escaping, but still. Why would he do that? You were lucky to get away with what little injuries you had from the action--

Sometimes, a scary, downright existentsial fear inducing thought crossed you mind. That maybe, just maybe he genuinely hadn't meant to do that. He just didn't know his own strength-- didn't know how easy it was to toss your around like a ragdoll, now that he was... whatever he was now.

You didn't realize how quiet it'd gotten, only the faint whir of the medical equipment and occasional sound of shifting clothes or something being picked up-- until Wesker spoke again, startling you out of your downward spiral of thought.

"Is there anything you'd like?" That was... unexpected. Very out of the blue-- and at first, you thought it had to be some kind of test. Like he was trying to trick you.

Cautiously, you needled him for further explanation with a simple, straight-to-the-point "...What?"

Very well-spoken, you were-- but who could blame you, with whatever cocktail of sedatives and (entirely unnecessary, in your opinion) painkillers working through your system right now?

A faint, almost soft, smile graced his face-- as he, unhelpfully, just repeated what he'd said before. "Is there anything you'd like, dearheart?"

Your brows furrowed, as you searched his face for any clue on what the actual hell he was getting at.

Surprisingly, he let you think it through. Didn't rush you, and didn't seem to be getting impatient. You, however, did not want to push that limit, and ultimately just gave and asked "What do you mean? Like... meds?"

Predictably, Wesker laughed-- unpredictably, at least from your point of view, he leaned forward and fucking-- ruffled your hair?

Seriously, did his supposed death and rebirth cross some wires or what? What was going on??

"No, but I don't fault you for thinking that." You grimaced, his hand staying firmly on your head for a few more seconds, before he pulled back-- and you thanked whatever was out there for finally helping you out here, but that thankfulness was quickly dashed when he grabbed a hold of your hand.

It reminded you of when you caught pneumonia as a child, probably around 5 or 6. Your mom sat by your side the whole time, holding your hand just as Wesker was right now.

You wanted so badly to smack it away and yell at him, demand that he leave you alone and just stop acting like he cared--!

"Anything at all, a favorite food, a book, something to keep you busy,"

You should know better then to interrupt him, but you can't help it. It was a stupid idea, the whole thing-- but you had to try. That's all you can do right now, is try whatever you can--

"I want to be let go." Immediately, there was a very... noticeable shift in the energy of the room. No longer was it a tentative calm,

Now it was so stifling that it felt hard to breathe, as Wesker stared-- you're pretty sure, again, his eyes are covered as always-- you down, making you squirm.

His hold on your hand tightened, and you swore you could feel the bones in it creak and shift under the pressure of it.

Right before you were sure your hand would simply cave-- just give in under the pressure, Wesker loosened his grip.

Just enough where you were not longer worried about the immediate shattering of your bones-- it still wasn't comfortable, physically and emotionally speaking.

"There's nothing out there for you, dearheart." The strange sort of monotone aspect of his voice should've tipped you off, should've had the alarm bells in your head ringing louder than an emergency siren-- screaming at you to don't you dare try to push it! don't be dumb!

Evidently, you weren't paying any attention to that. It was like sleeping soundly through a tornado warning--

But hey, might as well start calling your Dorothy, huh?

"I don't care." Foolishly, you tried to pull your hand from his. Obviously, he didn't budge-- but it was a good sign that he didn't tighten his grip any further.

...Mostly because it would absolutely cause some serious damage if he did, and you're sure he was well aware of that fact.

"I don't want to be here anymore. I had a life outside of S.T.A.R.S, outside of you, and you can't just keep me in this room forever--!"

You don't think you've ever seen him so angry before. It caught you completely off guard, how open the emotion on his face was. How tensely he held himself,

"I wasn't planning on doing so! I'd let you roam once you're better, and I know you won't try anything stupid." There was... so much unbridled rage in his tone, that you felt like your heart might give out right then and there.

He'd never raised his voice at you before.

But you were too far in-- this was your chance, with him so worked up; you might be able to get some real answers out of him now.

"Why are you doing this?!" You sat up, trying in vain to yank your hand from his grip again-- surprisingly, he let you do so. But as you came to realize, it wasn't because of your efforts;

He stood, turning his back to you and headed over to the closet-- that was... unprecedented. You didn't know what was in there, and it only made you panic further.

Grasping at straws now, you tried to poke at his supposed admiration of you-- rushing out a quick "What's so special about me, huh? That you go through-- through all of--"

You didn't fault yourself for stumbling over the words, you were still drugged, and it was impressive as hell that you were able to be this coherent as it was.

That, to give credit where credit is due, got his attention. He was halfway through opening the closet-- and for a second there, when he stopped moving for just a second, you really thought he was going to answer you.

Shame on you, for thinking any part of this hellish experience would work in your favor-- because after that momentary pause, he went along his merry way without another hiccup.

Your heart was going a mile a minute, and you leaned over the side of the bed and strained your neck, trying to get a view inside the closet and--

Huh.

Despite your previous assumption, it wasn't so much a closet for clothes, as it was a... supply closet. Like ones you'd usually find in hallways, filled with cleaning supplies and miscellaneous home goods that didn't have anywhere else to go.

But instead of some strongly lemon scented spray cleaner and a dustpan-- there was some more medical supplies. Name bloodwork things, syringes, vials of god knows what;

And Wesker sure as hell wasn't reaching for the bloodwork stuff.

"Please, just-- just answer me!" Desperate saturated your tone, and you begged for a straight answer-- this was all so confusing. Why? Seriously, why you, why now-- why like this?

You couldn't see what he doing for a while, but when he turned, you realized the syringe was filled with something. While it didn't look particularly suspicious-- just a clear liquid in a run-of-the-mill syringe, you knew that not everything was as it seems.

In a last ditch effort of escaping whatever it was Wesker had planned, you threw the white hospital blanket off your legs and stood; you were cuffed, you knew very well you couldn't do jackshit--

But you weren't thinking very clearly, obviously.

To his credit, Wesker didn't really reprimand you for standing. Usually, he'd get a little 'worried' (thinly veiled annoyance, in your opinion) and get you to lay back down,

This time, he just grabbed you. Didn't try and get you back on the bed-- you struggled, God knows you struggled best you could;

In the end, it all amounted to nothing. Like you knew it would.

And yet, you still tried to fight the inevitable.

You felt a sharp pinch in your upper arm-- you looked down to realize he'd managed to inject you with whatever it was.

It took a few moments to register what had happened, and by then it was already taking effect. You stumbled, and managed to slur out a barely discernable "Wha.. was tha-at..."

"Just a sedative, no need to be worried." You wished you were in any condition to give him a glare that'd send any normal person running for the hills-- not that it'd do much beside amuse him, but it's the thought that counts in this situations--, but alas, you really weren't.

You weren't in any condition to give a coherent response either, or fight as he helped you back on the bed and placed the blanket back over your legs and torso, tucking you in like you would with a small child.

"And to answer your first question," Your mind had slowed down exponentially-- rendering you almost entirely unaware to the world around you,

But something about his words, even if you couldn't make sense or make any connections at the time, cut through that fog just enough where you vaguely processed it.

Wesker leaned down, giving you a little kiss on the forehead-- like a parent wishing their beloved child a good nights sleep, before he finally answered.

"It's because you're mine, dearheart. There's no deeper meaning, I simply wanted you safe and by my side. Like you always should've been."

At that point, you were mere seconds from passing the hell out-- the last thing you really registered was this smug sort of smile, like he knew you wouldn't remember a majority of that exchange come morning (or whenever you woke up).

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