#since I want to refresh my memory of how everyone reacted to finding out they were fictional for research purposes 👀

[silverlining-ships]

I'm deeply curious! You understand and analyse Jasper very well. Where did you start with this? I'm wanting to understand the characters of my f/os on a deeper level as well so I can be confident writing and drawing them, but it feels daunting when there's so much to cover and consider! Arcs, themes, motivations, connections to other characters, how they change... Is it just a matter of time/paying prolonged attention?

this is SUCH a fun ask, thank you for giving me the opportunity to go into this a bit!! character analysis is SO much fun to me, even outside of self shipping, so I'm so grateful for this!!

so disclaimer. I have engaged with steven universe specifically since it aired, which is probably too many years. this world and its mechanics are incredibly familiar to me just from how long I've played in this world. so it sometimes is partially a matter of time! but character analysis doesn't always need time, sometimes it just needs a bit of playing around! some of the things I do are:

wiki hopping:

this is SO much fun to me. I'll read a characters wiki until I hit something that makes me think wait... why is that? fandom wiki is always imperfect so no matter the character there are normally inconsistencies or things that just seem thrown in there

an example with Jasper is I was reading her wiki and reread the piece where it says she's implied to know how to pilot a Roaming Eye (piece of surveillance spacecraft) and was like. . . wait. I know she is a Quartz soldier, which are like ground level front line muscle in the caste system. so WHY would she know how to pilot SPACECRAFT?

so that's my question, and I'll hop around the wiki overall to try and find an answer! in this instance I refreshed a lot of my memory on the caste system, some of the other Jaspers, the spacecraft in the show.

sometimes I won't be able to find an answer - which is where I can use headcanons to fill in the gaps! I could go on and on about the conclusions I've reached with Jasper, but overall I feel as though she is a specially designed soldier made when the war was at a low point, and with her ground expertise and stellar record they pulled her into other necessary tasks during the war - like piloting!

essay writing:

no I'm not kidding and everyone who's reading this knows that. I LOVE building essays. no it doesn't have to be perfect grammatically sound text, but it can be so fun to start a text post posing a question/commenting on something you noticed from a character, and just. elaborating on it!

like for example, I have a text post somewhere where I pose the question that - if Jasper is so against fusion, and fusion is taboo in Homeworld, how did she know its functionality enough to initiate fusion with an entirely different Gem? and I just went through stuff. considering different scenes I've seen her in, the wiki, of course. it's a lot of rambling! but I feel the rambling helps draw you to a conclusion

engaging with the media itself:

one, our source media is always fun to come back to, so now you have another excuse!

two. . . you will always notice something new when you re-engage with the media. maybe the character reacted to a conflict in a way that you didn't really think about that much before. maybe you notice the character's physical expressions or the way they gesture.

engaging with the media also gives you a chance to really feel out a character arc as well. you can read the wiki all you want, but really diving into the source material helps you feel the pace that it was intended to go at.

other things to consider:

really when you're doing char analysis for fun you want to focus on what interests YOU specifically. for Jasper, I am consistently so so fascinated with who she was behind the screen and trying to figure out her history from the very little the show gave us, so I tend to analyze those things specifically and try and figure them out. always start with what YOU want to learn first and just. . . build it up from there!

"Arcs, themes, motivations, connections to other characters, how they change…" - these are all SUCH fun ways to explore a character, but which ones fascinate you the most? what do you love about your f/o, and then. . . why are they like that? why do they DO that thing you really like?

I hope this wasn't too rambly I love talking about char analysis hahaha

[theshadowsingersraven]

Hi! Had to unblock you real quick since I had you blocked due to Elaingate. Let me address some concerns for you and refresh your memory, since I'm not sure how you're confused about this.

Why were Eluciens upset about the prior Elain Week? Well, firstly, it wasn't exclusively Eluciens upset. It was many people with different alignments about Elain interpretations, different ships, etc. People were upset that any ships were banned at all, because a concept not everyone seems to grasp, particularly people like you is that character apprecation does not look the same way for everyone. This is kind of a base rule for all of fandom, not just ACOTAR. People were further upset because Elain Week's rule about banning abusive ships or features of other characters was based on "protecting survivors". And doing that meant, even unintentionally, creating a dynamic where only survivors who felt like they related to were/triggered by Tamlin's behavior deserved those protections. Not people who felt triggered by Rhys, Nesta, Feyre, etc.

There is a page for this Elain Week. It had to be taken over by new hosts because the prior hosts dealt with so much harassment and hate that they no longer felt comfortable hosting after 2023. If you check Elain Week's Archive, you can see the blog started in 2022 and has had posts since then. This is not a new blog. In fact, I personally reached out to the prior hosts, and here's my post doing so. Which, fun fact, is also tagged Elriel. Which means that any single one of you who felt like you should be included/represented were more than welcome to collaborate with me. That didn't happen. One Elriel (something like Pluto, iirc?) commended me for actually taking action and taking the vast recommendations Elriels made--which was to make our own Elain Week. And that happened.

Elain Day was spontaneous. That's the point. Some people who were friends with one another or mutuals discussed it with each other to make something, but it clearly wasn't widely announced to anyone since you can see that there are Eluciens who didn't know, Gwynriels that didn't know, Tamlains, etc.

You are, in fact, in a fandom of adults. The reality is that you isolated parts of this community who were shamed and treated like they were less than or didn't care about survivors of DV because their version of appreciating Elain didn't align with yours. Many of them DV survivors themselves-- including me!

Hi, I'm Raven, I'm a DV survivor, particularly at the hands of my dad. And yet, I'm capable of not treating people who have any appreication of Beron or might find a dynamic between him and any other characters interesting, particularly romantically, like shit or like there's some kind of moral failing. And these are my posts from months ago expressing that I, like anyone else, am responsible for my own triggers, as a DV survivor. I learned how to filter content that's tagged accordingly so I'm not exposed to things that trigger me, and there's even posts about how to do so yourself. x, x

Speaking as someone whose been in therapy for many years--art is therapy. Art is a way for people to cope, to experience things safely, to take their power back, etc. And it's gross to shame people for how they choose to explore topics, appreciate characters, or engage with a fandom generally, but especially when you don't know them or what their art means to them.

Respectfully, you have reaped what you sowed. I don't know how you can take a look at the elaingate tag and how many Elriels reacted, and not expect people to want to create a space for themselves to celebrate a character without further harassment and shame. No one is barred from participating in Elain Day, unlike the prior Elain Week.

You want to contribute something? No one is stopping you.

But you have no place to be upset that people stood on business about creating a different space when they didn't feel welcome in the other. And since Elriels were the ones pushing for the idea that not everyone is welcome in every space (which I personally disagree with) or that not everything is catered to you...shouldn't you be relieved to know that no is actually barred from this second one? That this isn't even the actual official event, just a random one-off day, and no one is prevented from participating?

Hope this sheds some light on the subject.

Leaving Elriels out of Elain Day, Real Classy Y’all

The Eluciens complain about how they felt like they couldn’t participate in Elain week, even though they were welcomed and given every opportunity to commission art. And chose to mostly not participate because they were upset about who the f knows what.

So then they host their own day for Elain and don’t advertise it anywhere and don’t even have a page for it, presumably to keep us out. How demure. How charming. How mindful. 🙄

All the sudden there’s commissions for an Elain Archeron Day, and not one Elriel I know had anything commissioned because we didn’t know about it.

I thought I was engaging in a fandom of adults, not overgrown mean girls who thrive on catty behavior and peaked in high school.

[whattheskyknows]

Drv3 chapter 5 investigation: yeah the Exisals have an electronic lock

Me, who had completely forgotten: yeah so the Exisals can be opened using some sort of latch-

[see-arcane]

Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*

*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction

Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.

I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.

1.     There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.

(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)

2.     Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.

(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)

3.     Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.

Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.

Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.

NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES

Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”

He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.

Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)

It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.

Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…

“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”

And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…

“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”

For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:

He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.

And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.

Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.

…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:

“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”

Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!

But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.

Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.

In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?

The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.

The End.

Suck on it, Francis.

[ootahime]

analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga p2

part 1 is here :3

this post includes more excruciatingly long paragraphs so grab urself something and enjoy LOL

chapter 40 

i know they’re not interacting in this panel but i still want to bring it up.  i’m gonna give some context to this scene in case someone needs to jog their memory.  so basically, mei’s ability to command crows is what allows the staff to observe the students from afar.  however, gojo notices that there’s lack of footage where yuuji is and asks mei why that’s so.  she tells him that they’re animals at the end of the day so she can’t control what they look at.  he doesn’t believe her so he asks her whose side she’s on (for yuuji’s execution vs against yuuji’s execution) to which she responds with, “whose side?  i’m on the side with money, of course.  there’s no value in something that can’t be bought since you can’t exchange that for money.”  in other words, she’ll always choose the side that offers her more money because she doesn’t care about how morally “correct” or “incorrect” something is.  it’s not worth fighting for a cause that doesn’t benefit her in the long run which is why she views things that are unable to be bought (friendships, relationships, favors) as useless - they can’t be exchanged for money.  it’s clear that gojo knows she’s not on his side because he replies with, “spoken from experience!” or “i wonder how much!” (translation varies).  he says it out loud to perhaps let gakuganji know that he’s onto him.  i find it interesting how utahime is in the panel as well with a “?” to express her confusion at his words.  let’s overthink dissect that.  why is she there in the first place? if the message was to let gakuganji know that gojo is aware of his ulterior motives then a panel with gakuganji and gojo would have sufficed.  why add utahime with a question mark? 

here’s a personal headcanon of mine that makes no absolute sense, but who cares? it makes me happy LOL.  so let’s examine the panel.  gojo’s face is more simplified and cartoonish with a grey background on top and some sort of white bubble surrounding the three characters.  gakuganji is staring at utahime and gojo.  in the official viz translation, he replies to mei with, “i wonder how much!”  

normal and logical explanation: shading the principal by asking out loud how much mei was paid by him to avoid monitoring yuuji.

gojohime brainrot explanation: 

mei: “there’s no value in something that can’t be bought since you can’t exchange that for money”

gojo: (in response) i wonder how much utahime’s love would cost if it did have a price.

utahime: ?

you’re probably thinking i’m delulu (true) BUT HEAR ME OUT.  IT WOULD SOMEWHAT MAKE SENSE IN THIS CONTEXT...

mei’s saying seems to be what she lives by.  relationships, love, friendships, etc. do not matter to her as this is evident when she ultimately abandons everyone in shibuya to escape to malaysia, selling all her stocks before japan’s economy goes down.  she doesn’t care about anyone else.  she even takes advantage of ui ui’s adoration for her.  she contrasts utahime.  utahime is loved by her students.  children, especially teenagers, are picky when it comes to choosing the adults they admire and respect.  while everyone trusts gojo, they do not respect him because of his childishness and overall absurdity.  it’s refreshing to see how they always call him an idiot or have a -_- face when he’s around.  when akutami says everyone absolutely adores utahime-sensei, it says a lot.  we haven’t seen her interact with her students all that much, but she’s obviously close to them because she’s frequently arguing with momo.  even a closed off person like mechamaru wanted to keep her away from danger.  she most certainly expresses a lot of concern and care for her students, and gojo and her students can pick up on this. 

i’ve talked about this in every post LOLOL but there’s a reason why he went to utahime first to help him investigate.  utahime is a loyal person through and through.  she would never do something that harms the students even if she was offered everything in the world.  she values relationships above everything else.  besides her concern for the students, how else was i able to come to this conclusion about her character?  well, she got shoko to stop smoking because she was worried about how it might damage her friend’s health.  from these two details, it’s obvious that she’s the complete opposite of mei.  

maybe that’s why he calls her weak.  she’s too selfless and compassionate in a world where every sorcerer is for themselves.  the world is cruel as a sorcerer.  no matter how hard you try to fight, in the end, you’ll always die alone.  remember his talk with megumi after the baseball game?  after witnessing megumi pull a sacrificial bunt to help his teammates advance, gojo has a talk with megumi about his attitude and potential.  he says that being selfless and caring about others is not a bad thing, but in a world like this, where people always die alone, he is wasting his potential by being concerned with others.  it’s okay to be selfish.  this is why we see fierce independence in a lot of the sorcerers like mei, nanami, and gojo.  they each have their own reasons as to why they work alone, but it’s still a common characteristic.  i feel like utahime doesn’t have a selfish bone in her body.  i speculate that her selflessness is the exact reason why she is being held back.  during her mission to exorcise a grade 1 spirit by herself, the final task before being promoted to grade 1, she likely got distracted trying to help civilians out of danger and failed her mission.  he’s right when he says she doesn’t have the guts to be the traitor, utahime doesn’t have it in her to do something so boldly solely for her own benefit.  

after this long tangent, how does this relate to your headcanon, ootahime?  

as you know, love is not transactional.  you can’t pay someone to love you.  what if gojo is asking himself how much it would cost to buy her love.  hence, her confusion because she is oblivious to what he really means.  it could be probable because gakuganji is observing not only gojo, but utahime as well.  so what gojo says must involve her too, right?  

or she could just be confused because his words seem out of place because she is unaware of what gakuganji is doing behind everyone’s back.  that explanation makes sense for viz’s official translation but it doesn’t make sense when he says, “spoken from experience!” because his words make sense in that context.  he’s basically saying that mei’s beliefs must be based on her past experiences so he understands why she feels this way.  that’s an appropriate response to mei’s statement so i don’t see why utahime would be confused by this.  unless i’m interpreting this whole scene completely wrong.  in that case, whoopsies!  

let me know if you’re confused because i’m willing to clarify.  idk why but i found this really difficult to explain.  maybe because i’m reaching so hard haha

chapter 40

he finds any way he can to tease her.  they seem like a married couple watching a movie or something.  does he take pride in being the only person she doesn’t get along with?  i mean, she says it herself so he is aware she thinks he’s annoying, but he keeps picking on her anyway.  he doesn’t even pick on his enemies this much LMAOOO i think the only other person he likes to make fun of is gakuganji but he does so because he doesn’t agree with his views.  with utahime it’s different.  he trusts her a lot and even looks out for her.  

chapter 44

why are there two separate instances of gakuganji observing utahime and gojo’s interactions from afar?  nah i’m just playing.  he’s just looking because he’s concerned she’ll run into the semi-grade 1 curse he had for yuuji.  OKAY BUT I NOTICED SOMETHING KINDA CUTE?  whenever utahime says something suddenly, he always has those 3 little triangles near his head.  it’s like he’s thinking, “oh!  utahime is speaking, i must listen <3″  look at his face too.  he’s looking at her like :O

this is also an example of her showcasing her concern for the students in front of gojo.  i feel like he questions why she’s so caring because if it were him, he would have left the student to figure it out themselves.  i really wonder how she would react if he answered her truthfully when she asked what he’d do if she were the traitor.  

chapter 45

there’s not much to say here...they’re just cute.  i know it’ll never happen but i’d like to see them fight side by side one day.  i’m aware that gojo works best alone but i just want to see how they’d work together, okay? 😔

chapter 45

see the little triangles on his head again?  UGH SO CUTE.  

chapter 45

IS THIS NOT INTENTIONAL???  they share the same thoughts.  he even finished her thought.  mannnnnnnnnnnnn what is akutami doing?  giving us false hope and stripping it away just for fun?  making them work so well together for what??

chapter 52

cute how he looks out for her.  i have nothing more to say LOL

chapter 53

notice how they’re sitting across from each other?  HEHE

chapter 53

yet another instance of her caring for her students in front of gojo.  in the anime she has the cutest expression when she says she’s glad the students are safe.  i bet gojo saw that too.  i also bet that she looks prettier from his point of view.

extra

from the manga and light novels, gojo and utahime are the ones that talk about sports the most.  he most definitely chose baseball to cheer her up.  it’s not a coincidence people!  

--

i feel like i had a lot more to say but i completely lost my train of thought while writing this, especially with chapter 40. i’m once again writing this at 4 in the morning LOL........  please please please add on or share your thoughts!  thank you for reading and sorry for any mistakes.  

[neonponders]

Here’s a prologue for my The Mummy AU!

This all started because of the moodboards above, created by @memes-saved-me and @harringrove000 . I just couldn’t help myself.

Here’s my original post about this au (it includes links to the moodboards) ~

And @hoegrove I know you wanted to see this so 🌹

Read on ao3 ~

• • • • • • •

The overhead bulbs and candlelight cast harsh shadows and warm light throughout the grimy bar. Everyone glistened with sweat from the desert heat. The night brought with it gentle, cool breezes over the Nile, but in this packed place, the occasional thworp of paper and silk fans being thrown open could be heard. Even the swish of luxurious ostrich feathers swayed to cool people off.

Steve moved his legs to cross his knees, the papyrus green trousers brushing against the military beige breeches of the man sitting opposite him at their small, round, gambling table. They had gathered quite an audience; the messy pile of money had long since included bets beyond Steve and this man’s wagers. Steve hadn’t caught his name, but he felt the heat of his body through their trouser fabrics, and more than once caught himself staring at how the light gleamed in that dark blond, honeyed hair.

“You trying to distract me?”

“No,” Steve smirked, “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Stressed?” the man crooned.

Steve removed his gaze from those pin-made waves of his hair. They had long since given up their shape to the day’s heat, but a tress outright curled over this handsome bastard’s forehead. Steve dared to think he looked better unkempt. “Not one bit. Play your cards. You’re dressed like you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m in no rush,” he replied lethargically, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Steve let his eyes wander him a little more. “You sure? You look like a military man.”

“Honorably discharged.”

“Congratulations.”

Steve knew his eyes were blue, but in this lighting they looked like clear glass over onyx pupils when he tilted his head to look at Steve curiously. The latter retaliated before he even spoke. “Is that a strange thing to say?”

The blond shrugged with a gentle shake of his head as he plucked at his cards, rearranging them in his hand. “Only if you worship at the alter of hyper patriotism and military imperialism.”

Some chuckles sounded around them as harlots shared long, cigarette filter stems with their johns, and the barkeeps made glass clatter. Steve exhaled in a huff. “Whatever that means. I’d like to win, already. Play your cards.”

“You first, dear.”

He did, laying down his fan of cards underneath the row of cards from the dealer. The Madame of the place listened to their exchanges with amusement but kept it professional as she narrated, “Full house. Always something to brag about. And you, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove, huh? Steve mused as he watched for any amount of discomfort on the man’s face. He didn’t get it.

“Straight flush,” the Madame said, aligning the winning cards with those from Steve’s and her own line. Steve had practically given him that win. And more of his father’s allowance than he would ever admit.

Hargrove moved a stack of chips to the Madame’s side of the table for a substantial tip, and then offered that hand to Steve. “Good game, Mr…?”

His eyes lolled under a slow blink before he accepted the hand. “Just Steve. It’s what I get for losing.”

“Let me top off your drink, at least, Steve.”

He took his loss with grace and stood to follow Hargrove to the bar. The crowd separated for him apart from a random slap on the back and long fingers stroking his hair in consolation. Hargrove reached the bar first, and watched all this while leaning back on his elbow. A light overhead moved across the exposed skin of his chest, just as honeyed as the rest of him, and the sparse hair there. Steve discretely lowered his gaze as if to not trip over the tiled stair raising the bar from the regular floor.

“Do you come here often?”

Steve snorted a quiet laugh and lifted his gaze. “You’ve already got me here. Ask me a real question.”

Hargrove smiled as the barkeep approached. “A bottle of red, please. Two glasses. It is a real question. People respond to you as if they know you here.”

Steve mirrored his stance and leaned into his elbow on the bar. “My sister and I come here sometimes. When we want to get away from…all of it.”

Hargrove hummed deep in his chest as the sound of a cork popping briefly diverted their attention. “Sister?”

“Stepsister, if you want to get specific, but she’s not here. You’ve only got little ol’ me.”

The barman poured two glasses without stopping, holding the vessels together with a practiced hand before he set them and the bottle on the bar. Hargrove paid him as he replied, “I have one of those. A stepsister, I mean. Although I don’t know how much it counts if you haven’t seen your so-called family in years.”

Steve reached for his wine and asked before he meant to, “Do you miss her?”

It was a bit too personal of a conversation between strangers. Hargrove’s pause made him quickly add, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll miss you, depending on how the rest of this night goes.”

Steve coughed on his wine. Hargrove chuckled as he offered a pale blue handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Are you always this generous to people who’ve lost money to you?”

“Only the ones who are pretty enough to be a prize themselves.”

Steve’s eyes lolled in his head despite the rouge blooming in his cheeks and dusting across this throat. “If I’d known you were so used to winning I might’ve spent my money better.”

Hargrove’s eyes held steadily on him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

* * *

Steve’s back pressed hard enough against the wall to break the kiss with a huff. He craned his face towards the sky as Hargrove made him shudder with soft lips and prickling stubble on his throat. They could hear the bar’s goings-on just on the other side of the exterior wall, but leaving the humid interior was refreshing on their wine-flushed skin. The darkness of the Cairo alleyway freed Hargrove’s hands to massage Steve’s backside.

As Steve caught his breath, he managed to slip his own hand between them, feeling the muscle of that chest for himself before he ducked to taste Hargrove’s skin. Salt and the neutral sweetness of a man’s skin. He liked the little sounds that Hargrove hummed while making a mess of Steve’s hair.

“I want this hair all over me. Better than silk.”

Steve lifted back up to frame Hargrove’s head in his hands, claiming and tasting and licking into his mouth. The way Hargrove kissed—like Steve was an oasis and honeycomb. Delicious and all his. It made Steve want to have him right here. Better than wine and cigars—intoxicating, having this kind of attention all to himself.

Hargrove hummed again, this time to get Steve’s attention. “Put your arms around me. I’ll do the rest.”

He didn’t fully understand until his trouser buttons slid free with ease. Steve openly moaned in the wake of Hargrove’s hand massaging his front, finding which direction his erection stood and easing it out into the night air. As his warm palm pumped him to aching readiness, Steve’s hands continued to wander Hargrove’s body. The man kissed him in a rush, almost brutally plundering his mouth before releasing to latch onto Steve’s collarbone.

One of Steve’s arms remained anchored around Hargrove’s shoulders. The rest of him rocked gently against the man intent to take him apart in a back alley—not that Steve minded one bit. His other hand pushed aside that half-open shirt to squeeze a nipple. Hargrove groaned deliciously and lifted his head to give Steve’s ear the same tantalizing attention—

Steve frowned a little at the hard and heavy rock of a thing knocking against his hand. It didn’t take much to pry the thing out of Hargrove’s jacket breast pocket. Steve didn’t have the time or the lighting to see what it really was. He had half a mind to hold onto it just out of petty spite. A token for taking so much out of his own wallet.

A reason for Hargrove to find him the next day.

Except a voice made Steve chirp, “Huh?”

And then Hargrove faced him with the same curiosity. They realized together that neither of them had spoken. Gas and oil lanterns were quickly moving through the alleyway, held aloft by harsh voices.

“Shit!” Steve hissed, rapidly putting himself back in his trousers. He yelped a choked sound as Hargrove yanked him out of the alley by his arm.

“We gotta go!”

“No shit!”

“Split up!”

“What?”

“GO.”

With that, Hargrove shoved him right into the vaporous air of a crowded hookah restaurant. Steve could only dodge and duck around rapidly standing patrons as the police flooded inside. The kitchen staff only reacted after he’d already dashed through the room, and by then, the police were too held up to catch up with him. Steve didn’t stop running. He heard yelling and whistles in the streets behind him, but he kept going—Hargrove’s strange stone clutched tight in his hand.

Only once he’d finished a very round-about path back to his lodgings, did he sneak quietly past his sister’s room and light a lamp to see his prize. The octagonal…thing…fit well in his palm. On one face, jagged lines had been finely carved, but all around its edges were familiar hieroglyphics.

“Oh. What the hell—better yet, what is a handsome American in Egypt doing with you in his pocket?”

Steve went over to his writing desk to find his glasses in a drawer. He popped them on and recognized a cartouche when he saw one. “Seti. Pharaoh Seti, huh? Well, Robin’s going to be all over this when she sees it.”

A shrill whistle outside startled him enough to drop it heavily on his floor. The whistle sounded far away, but he remained very still in case the wrath of a woman awoken before dawn barged into his room.

If Robin woke up, Steve remained blissfully unaware. He quickly undressed, washed as much of himself as he was able with the washbasin, and collapsed onto the bed. With Hargrove’s fancy artifact on his bedside table, Steve let the memory of sharp beard stubble and firm hands guide his own down to his cock. He got himself back to standing and finished what Hargrove started quickly.

But it was soft lips, open arms, and steady eyes that eased Steve to longing sleep. A slumber so deep that had his stepsister threw a pillow at him the next morning for oversleeping on her way to work at the National Library.

[ragingbookdragon]

These Words You Should Always Remember: To You, My Heart I Surrender

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4.6 Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be 4K words y'all. I swear. But y'all better love me for it. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

There were the occasional sounds of fists meeting faces and shins hitting sides echoing in her ears, but she paid them no mind, eyes trained on the screen before her. She was content to let her brother and oldest friend beat the ever-living shit out of each other if it meant they’d eventually put their feelings aside and make up. Of course, it was a long-shot pipe dream and one not so easily reached—she could hope though.

Over the sound of the continual fighting came footsteps, followed by, “Aunt (Y/N). How’s it hangin’?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her second nephew. “Jason,” she greeted warmly, and he bent down beside her, letting her press a kiss to his temple. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you and Roy were going to Panama City tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Plane leaves in the morning. Figured I’d hang around here for the night to say a couple ‘see you laters’.” Jason’s eyes followed the screen. “Is that the human trafficking ring out of Saint Petersburg?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered, turning to click at the mouse. “Some lawyers from the courts around here got caught in a hotel room with a few of the girls.”

Someone new appeared in her peripheral, two people actually, Tim and Dick. “Didn’t they arrest everybody in the hotel room?” Tim asked, propping his chin on her shoulder.

She reached up and scratched his scalp the way he liked. “They did. The girls were sent to a secure facility for treatment and the lawyers have unsurprisingly lawyered up. None of them are talking.” (Y/N) clicked on the screen, opening a tab that led to an interrogation room. “Gordon’s not having any luck. Whoever’s running this operation is obviously terrifying enough that none of these guys are cracking. Even with the threat of getting sent to prison for life.”

“Want some help?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“Nah. We adults have it.” (Y/N) looked at them and smiled. “You guys go do what young people do. Hang out with your friends, drink, party, be young.”

“I feel like you’re saying that to the wrong trio,” Tim said. “None of us drink except Jason and even then, none of us party.”

She shook her head again, this time in shame. “God, you people need to live.”

Jason happened to glance over her head, and he frowned. “Speaking of needing to live…you might wanna stop Bruce and GM from killing one another.”

(Y/N) turned in the direction of her friend and brother and sighed. “Am I a terrible person for considering letting them punch each other unconscious?”

“Nope!” came unified response and she chuckled, rising from her seat.

“Thought so,” she said, walking over to where Bruce and Ghost-Maker were about to go at it again.

She stepped in between them, gracefully dodging a throw punch and a kicked-out leg, shoving both of them back in return. “Hey, enough.”

“Move.” Bruce commanded and she glared at him.

“I said, enough.” Her head turned to Ghost-Maker. “We all know this little sparring match has gone a bit farther than just training.”

“No one’s getting hurt, (Y/N).” Ghost-Maker said, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe not right now, but someone will get hurt and we don’t need that.” She pointed to the opposite ends of the room. “Separate and cool off. Both of you.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, Bruce let out a puff of air and turned, striding into the showers, leaving her and the other man on the mats. (Y/N) sighed quietly, rubbing her temples, and griped, “I swear you both make it so difficult to be around.”

“Only because he lets his emotions get in the way.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. She caught his hand. “You busted your knuckles.”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to pull away and she tightened her grip.

“Don’t even start with me, Ghost.” She tugged him to the med bay and shoved him towards a seat. “Sit.” He obeyed, though she could tell he was probably making a face at her, and she busied herself with finding the antiseptic and some wraps.

Turning back around, she perched herself on the desk and placed his hand in her lap, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from the wounds; then she set the rag aside and wrapped his knuckles with the fresh gauze, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

When she was finished, she couldn’t help but do the childish thing she’d come up with all those years ago during their training; (Y/N) softly rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, blowing quietly, then she murmured, “There. All healed.”

A rare smile came over his lips, though she could tell it was more of a sneer than one. “You’re still doing that?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and shoved his hand off her legs. “Yes. How do you think I managed to heal all the wounds me and the family have gotten over the years?”

“Hmm, stitches and alcohol.”

“Smart-ass,” she grunted, rising to her feet. “You hungry?”

Ghost-Maker stood from his seat. “No. I have to get back to The Haunt.”

“Hot date waiting?” (Y/N) cracked, elbowing him in the side and he snorted.

“No. I need to read up on the information Icon’s run through since I’ve been gone.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him. “You know I’m doing that right now with our scans, right?”

“Of course, I do. But you’re not Icon.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Great, I’ve been beaten by an AI.”

“An AI that I designed.” Ghost-Maker added, and she glared at him for a moment before chuckling.

“With fear, so I’ve heard.”

He shrugged. “I figured I would give him the one thing I lack.” He looked over at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She wanted to, but she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” her eyes found the shower room door. “Someone needs to stay behind and talk to him.”

“I’m not surprised you’re staying.”

It was all he said before he disappeared from her sight and (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as something aching tugged deep in her chest. She hated how easy it was for her to understand when Ghost-Maker was disappointed in her decisions. How easy it was for him to impact her feelings. It’d been almost two decades since they actually held real conversations and every memory of the time they’d spent together, her, him, and her brother came back to her. Every moment of watching the two boys go head-to-head, and her torn between her family and the man she loved—it’d always been that way…and sometimes she wished she were like Ghost-Maker, unfeeling of love and empathy.

She shook herself from her stupor and walked into the locker room, leaning against the wall of the closed shower door; she could see his feet beneath the door. “Why do you always let yourself get so angry when it comes to Ghost?”

“You know why.” Bruce retorted. “You know how he is.”

“And I know how you are,” (Y/N) countered. “Yet you refuse to admit that on some level he’s got good points.”

He stuck his hand out from the opening of the door. “Towel.” She waited. “Please.”

Handing it over, she said, “You and I both know the longer we do this the darker it gets…the darker we get.”

“I’m not killing people, (Y/N).” Bruce griped as he stepped out of the shower, the towel around his waist. He’d busted his eyebrow and lip.

“I’m not saying you have to, Bruce. I wouldn’t expect you to. All I’m saying is you won’t admit that Ghost is right about things.”

“About what!” He shouted, turning on her. “That I should just start slitting throats up and down the street! That I should give up what we started as children! What (Y/N)!”

She merely stared at him amidst his yelling and then she calmly stated, “That you can’t save everyone.” He didn’t react, just looked at her as she explained, “You are so hellbent on the idea that everyone can have a moral redemption arc, but the truth is that not everyone has one nor does everyone deserve one.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Sometimes I think Ghost was right. Trying to save everyone? Giving up every part of myself to make sure everyone lives? He was right. It eats until there’s nothing left inside you.”

“So what? You’re going to stop saving people?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bruce.” She gave him a sharp look and said, “I’m going to stop saving the people who don’t deserve saving. And if that means I let someone bad die? I can live with that.” Walking off, she ignored him as he called out for her to stop, leaving him alone.

***

The little hovering tray floated into her peripheral and she blinked, turning to look at it. “Good evening, Miss Wayne. Refreshments?”

She smiled, plucking a champagne glass off along with a few grapes and cheese slices. “Thanks Icon.”

“You’re welcome.” The tray wandered off and she walked over to where he was sitting down, silently reading through the reports.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, popping a grape in her mouth as she nudged his elbow off the armrest to perch on it herself. His arm unconsciously rested around her waist, fingers brushing the side of her pants.

“Leonidovich is having a party tonight.”

(Y/N) hummed, watching as he clicked through the pictures of the party’s setup. “Big place. Open. Good for plain clothed security to get around in.” she narrowed her gaze. “This is the ball room of the Winter Nebula Hotel. Who’s renting out the penthouse?”

Ghost-Maker smirked. “Our host for the party.”

She nodded. “Then that’s where the real party is going to be tonight.” Glancing at him, she asked. “Any big ballers on the VIP list?”

“Oh, a few internationally wanted arms and drug dealers.” He looked at the screen. “Leonidovich picked up a new shipment of girls earlier. He’s probably going to make a deal with the dealers tonight in exchange for them.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I guess it’s time to put our noses to the grind then.” She shimmied off the seat and started towards the closet. “Have any dresses back here?”

“You’re going inside?” he questioned, almost sounding surprised.

“Well, you can’t go it,” she retorted. “Your wily ways of fucking and flying means that people know your face.”

“Half of it.”

(Y/N) stuck her head out from the curtain, neck, and shoulders bare. “You’re not going to go in without your mask on. We both know that.” She pulled back in, grunting and shuffling around until she was finished.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out in a thigh length white heart-bodice dress, form fitting to her body and off the shoulders. (Y/N) slipped in the black metal teardrop earrings. “Part of me wants to ask why you have female clothing in your closet, but the other part wants to ask why on God’s green earth do you have to buy everything in white.”

Her face pinched. “It’s sterile. At least paint some gray in here somewhere, Jesus.” Ghost-Maker merely chuckled at her complaints and stepped behind her, gently placing something around her neck. “What are you—”

He let the black necklace fall to her chest and gently grabbed her chin, the other plucking a small device from the tray that Icon had next to them. Maneuvering her head to the side, he reached up and stuck it behind her ear, snug and out of sight. “Your hair should cover it,” he said.

“What is ‘it’?” (Y/N) asked.

“Listening device.” Ghost-Maker nodded to the screen, and she looked over, seeing a black box on the screen with a marker that was ticking. He raised his fingers to her ear and snapped; the blue marker etched with the sound, and she couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Nicely designed, Ghost.” She remarked, glancing back at him. “Get my invitation?”

“It’s printing.” He met her eyes. “You need to be careful.”

(Y/N) knew he was being serious, but she couldn’t help but mess with him a bit. She smirked. “Why, Ghost, are you worried that I can’t handle a bunch of international criminals by myself? Me? That mighty Widow-Maker?”

“I’m not worried about you.” He said, and it hurt a lot more than she expected it too. “But I’d be down a sparring partner if you got yourself killed.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not sure what’s more upsetting—that you only think of me as a sparring partner or that you legitimately think I can’t do this by myself.” (Y/N) tipped her head. “Ghost, I’ve got this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away, walking to the door. “Where will you be tonight?”

He watched her back. “I’ll be doing what I do best. Surveying until you get into the penthouse.”

“You can’t bust in until I get enough on Leonidovich to have him arrested.”

“I’m not going to arrest him, (Y/N).” She turned, staring at him, but she said nothing, and he cocked a brow. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Her gaze fell to the tile floor, and she shrugged. “I don’t think I can, even if I tried to.” She let out a breath and turned. “Good luck tonight.”

***

To a novice, the party would’ve just been a normal high-class function, but to her knowing eyes, both from her own billionaire life and her vigilantism, this party was crawling with criminals. She’d caught at least seven drug deals go down in the past five minutes since she walked in, and at least nine men went off with escorts.

She inconspicuously grabbed a champagne chute from a waiter’s tray and sipped it lightly, scanning the room for Leonidovich. He was in the corner of the room, sitting next to a few women who (Y/N) recognized from the missing persons in Gotham.

His eyes flashed to hers and she gave him a flirty wink, disappearing to the bar, knowing he was going to take the bait. Sure enough, a hand touched the small of her back and she hummed as his lips brushed her ear. “I wasn’t expecting a goddess like you to come to this party tonight.”

She smiled and leaned back into his chest. “This goddess goes where she pleases.” Tipping her head slightly, she caught his eye. “And where her boss will find the best deals.”

“Deals, hmm?” he hummed. “What kind of deals are you expecting?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Oh, the ones where lots of money is involved…and merchandise.”

He gazed at her for a few moments then murmured in her ear, “The code word for entrance to the penthouse is ‘подземный мир’.”

“I’ll remember.” Leonidovich pulled from her with a smile and disappeared into the crowd. Something made her want to shiver from disgust, but she concealed it, watching and waiting for him to enter the elevator.

When he did, she waited another few minutes before walking over to it; the security stopped her and she cocked a brow, muttering, “подземный мир.”

The two guards looked at each other then stepped aside, letting her into the elevator. Another guard was inside, and she smiled politely as she stepped in, glancing at the little panel as it blinked.

It dinged, signaling their arrival and when the doors opened, she was greeted by an extravagant penthouse. To her surprise, there weren’t many people inside, just Leonidovich and his personal entourage.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he greeted, holding out a hand.

She took it, letting him place a kiss to her knuckles. “I told you, this goddess goes where she pleases and where she’s needed.” Looking around, she murmured, “My boss would prefer our business done alone. Is that possible?”

The guards seemed to turn even frostier but Leonidovich merely chuckled, nodding his head as he let her go and gestured to a side door. “The office is just through those doors. We can draw up a contract.” He turned to his thugs. “Wait here.”

(Y/N) nodded, following him as he led her into the office, noting how he locked the door, and he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Taking her seat, she crossed a leg over her knee. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink, would you?”

“What can I offer you?”

“Vodka.”

He chuckled. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He waltzed over to the bar and poured them both glasses, walking back to hand her hers. “Here you are.”

(Y/N) took it and clinked her glass to his. “ваше здоровье.”

They both downed their glasses and for effect, she held her façade. “You speak and drink like a true daughter of Russia.”

She smiled. “I’ve had more than a few drinks with many sons of Russia.” Glancing out the window, she added, “My boss is interested in your inventory. A few of them actually.”

Leonidovich hummed, turning back to wander over to the drink counter. “Tell me about your boss.”

“He’s a multi-billionaire out of Hong-Kong. Made his fortune by building cell towers and selling opium on the side.”

“Opium is a highly sought-after drug.”

“That it is,” (Y/N) agreed. “He’s been branching out into Kolkata, wanting to get into the spice trade.” She gazed into her empty glass, staring at her reflection. “But the men over there want something in return…more than money, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” He said, matter of factly. “Perhaps I can offer them something better.”

“And what would that be?” almost there. She thought, but she never expected—

“You.”

(Y/N) turned her head just as he swung his arm as hard as he could, the vodka bottle in his grasp. She barely even had time for her eyes to widen when it collided with her temple, shattering into a thousand shards, cutting deep into her skin.

She fell out of her seat and hit the ground, dazed and in a massive amount of pain. Reaching up, she felt the blood pouring from her head and she sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to wipe away the fluid from her eyes so she could see.

Of course, he didn’t give her time because he was pressing his knee into her back, fingers yanking the listening device from behind her ear. Leonidovich glared at it and smashed it between his fingers. “I know who you are working for. I’ve seen this tech before.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, throwing out her elbow, which to give her credit, she did catch him in the jaw, but he was quick to respond, punching her across the face. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat at him, then his hands were winding around her throat, squeezing tightly. It reminded her of the training in the Amazons where she had to learn to uncoil anacondas from her body.

His grip became tighter and tighter just like the reptiles and she bared her teeth as she tried to suck in air, digging her nails into the flesh of his hands, his wrists, anything she could scratch at. He was heavy enough that she couldn’t flip him and with the dress tight around her thighs, she couldn’t cock her legs up to his shoulders or waist to get any distance between them.

She gasped when he put his knee in her stomach and that was the last bit of air she had to hold in. Her lungs started burning, begging her for air she felt the panic starting to rise in her as she thrashed beneath him, trying to throw him just an inch, but nothing was working.

Dark spots started to ebb out from the corner of her vision and like the phrase had come alive, she saw every moment of her life flash before her eyes. Every wrong decision, every right one. Every goodbye, every hello. Every person she’d ever lost and every one she’d ever saved. Her nephews’ and nieces’ faces darted across her vision followed by Bruce’s and then his.

She didn’t want to die now. Not since he’d come back to see them after so long. She wanted to stay. Wanted to tell him she loved him, even if she knew he would never be able to feel the same. She wanted to live.

Gunshots sounded from the outside, but they were like whispers as her eyelids started to droop shut, brain fogging from the lack of oxygen. Her hands started to go slack as the door was kicked in and as her arms went limp, something damp splattered across her face and the weight of Leonidovich’s body fell away.

(Y/N) sucked in a lungful of air and rolled, with what strength she’d received from the freedom, over onto her side, coughing violently. Her head was swimming with pain and her brain felt like someone had taken a mallet to an overripe melon.

Someone gripped her shoulder and she screeched, flailing on them when they grabbed her wrists. “(Y/N). It’s me.” They pulled her against them, folding her to their chest and placed a hand to the back of her head. “You’re safe.”

Sandalwood and metal oil wafted up her nose and she heard the familiar hum of his suit. “K?” she breathed, terrified to pull away and look at him.

His thumb caressed the back of her head. “It’s me, (Y/N).”

Something broke inside her and she buried her face in his cloak, sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. Words passed her lips, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying but it didn’t matter because all she could think about was how he’d saved her in the nick of time. The man she’d turned her back on at twenty to go home with her brother, had saved her again.

***

When she awoke, she sat up straight in the bed, vaguely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. She started to move when she heard, “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

Stilling, she looked over, seeing Ghost-Maker with a book in his hands. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, one of his favorites. When they used to train together when they were children, they used to lie under the stars, and he’d tell her all about how each chapter in the book had been devoted to a different art of warfare; she loved how passionate he would get when he talked about it.

“What happened?” she asked, fingers twitching against her side where it had started to ache.

“You were found out and almost strangled to death in penthouse suit.” He snapped the book shut. “When the bug went down, I moved in and took care of the criminals in the suite before killing Leonidovich and saving your life.”

(Y/N) frowned as he set the book down and leaned over, checking inside the bandage that was wrapped around her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes found his behind his mask. “What happened after?”

“You don’t remember?” he inquired curiously, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was firm, keeping her in place.

“No. I remember you saving me but everything after that is a giant blur.” Suddenly she felt too transparent and pulled from his hands, turning her back to him as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She rested a split second and stood, though his earlier warning rang in her ears as her knees buckled beneath her, head swimming.

He was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her, lowering her back onto the bed. “I told you not to move.”

(Y/N) grunted at him and when he moved to pull away, she held on, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just…wait, K.” She whispered softly. “Please, just a moment.”

Ghost-Maker didn’t move though she felt the way he tensed at the first letter of his name. “You called me ‘K’ back there too.”

“I was relieved to see you.”

“And what you said afterwards?” She fell silent. “You don’t remember, do you?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “I have an idea of what I said. But I doubt you’ve been oblivious to it all these years.”

“Why do you love me?” he inquired, and from the tone of his voice he was either genuinely curious or completely baffled, she was hoping for the former and not the latter.

She turned her head, ignoring the prickling of pain as her temple brushed his shoulder, and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Because you saw who I was when no one else did.” Tears started swimming in her vision, and she reached up, curling her hand in his suit jacket. “I love you because you’re you, K. Because you’re my oldest friend and the one who’s always known me.”

Ghost-Maker closed his hand around the one in his suit and fell silent for a long while and (Y/N) stayed quiet too, simply letting the tears fall from her cheeks to the skin of his collarbone, her lips quivering against his skin.

“I can’t love you the way you love me.” He finally admitted.

(Y/N) blinked the tears away, whispering, “I know.” She started to pull away from him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, K.” It was hard to look at him, but she managed it, barely. “Just…give me some time and let me work through all,” she gestured around herself, her heart, and her head. “This.”

“You’re not angry at me.” He remarked and her brows furrowed.

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because I don’t feel what you do. Love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh despite the heartache. “K, I’m not going to get angry because you don’t feel love.” She reached up and placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the fabric he kept covering his nose and eyes. “I know that in your own way you do care. Even if it’s not love.” Her hand shifted and she ran her thumb over his lips. “I can live with that.”

Ghost-Maker slid his hand up the side of her neck, pulling her to him; he pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the bliss of the moment, if only for a moment, then she pulled away and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

She offered him a sad smile and managed to find her feet again, rising from the bed, leaving him there. “I’ll see you sometime soon, K.” she said, walking to the door.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to pick you up?”

“No. I’ll walk for a bit.” (Y/N) got to the door and stopped, pausing to look back at him. “K?”

He glanced over, meeting her gaze. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what my biggest regret is?”

“I don’t.”

(Y/N) grimaced. “It was leaving you.” Even behind his mask, she knew the surprise was in his eyes; she knew him that well. “And if I could do it all over again…I’d stay with you instead of getting on the plane that night.”

Ghost-Maker looked shocked for a moment, then it gave way to a smile. A real smile. One she hadn’t seen in years from him. “I think I would liked that.”

“Goodnight K.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Stay safe.”

[doyumacy]

ʀɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ - 1

ʏᴜᴛᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴍᴀʀᴋ ʟᴇᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴀʟꜰ ʙᴏᴛʜᴇʀ’ꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴀ ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʀᴀᴄᴇꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ɢɪʀʟꜱ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ʙᴏʏ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʀᴀᴄᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ ɢᴇᴛ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. ɴᴏᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ.

ᴍᴀʀᴋ ʟᴇᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ’ꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱᴛᴀʏɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ ʀᴀᴄᴇꜱ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴇʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴜɴ. ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴛɪʀ ᴜᴘ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʙᴇɢɪɴꜱ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴏʀ’ᴀ ʜᴀʟꜰ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴇ’ꜱ ᴘɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ, ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ɢᴜɴꜱ, ɢᴜɴꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ,

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5,3ᴋ

next

three years ago

you slide out from under the car you've been working on when you hear an unfamiliar engine approaching the garage. it must be a customer, you think as you go to the front desk to help them.

the man who enters the office surprises you. he has light brown hair and is wearing black jeans with a white shirt with black flowers. his dark brown eyes sparkle with curiosity as he sees you. a black maserati is parked behind him.

"can i help you?" you ask, freely.

"i have a faulty spark plug and my garage is on the other side of the planet. they told me this was the best place in town."

"and it is. go ahead and go into the store."

"don't mechanics normally keep people waiting in the office?" he asked amused.

"only when the person doesn't know anything about cars. obviously you do, so you have to keep me company while i fix it," you smirk.

"what's your name, suh? -he asks, using the last name on your work shirt.

"y/n. yours?"

"yuta. nakamoto yuta."

"nice to meet you. let's get that car fixed, shall we?"

a few minutes later, the black car is with the hood open in the garage. yuta, on the other hand, is helping you by handing you the necessary tools. you let his fingers brush a little more than strictly necessary when yuta hands you a wrench.

yuta smiles and leans back against the car once you're done. "how much do i owe you?" he asks quietly.

it takes you a second to really register how close you are to each other. you look him in the eye. "how about you take me out to dinner and the debt is settled?" you ask in a sudden flare of audacity.

fortunately, he smiles.

"my thoughts exactly. what time will you be out here?

“six.”

he looks down at that ridiculously nice black gold watch.

"it's only an hour from now. how about i keep you company until then?"

"i'd like that."

"so what were you working on before I showed up?"

"my charger over there. there are some bastards who want to compete with me saying their luxury imports can beat it. tonight they're in for an ugly surprise."

you assume yuta has heard about your garage, knows about your regular clientele. they consider themselves the best store around to the fellow street racers. but to everyone else, it's just a small garage.

"that sounds like something i'd like to see. mind if i stay and watch you kick their asses?"

"it'd be my pleasure," you smile.

as expected, you end up following yuta back to his apartment after winning the race by a solid car length. the endorphins from winning the race flood your senses, and yuta is amazed that he had managed to stumble upon such an amazing girl. someone like him.

sl walking, you find yourself wrapped in warm arms and leaning against a hard chest. you caress the dragon-shaped tattoo on his right shoulder and plant a kiss on it.

a quiet moan tells you she is waking up. his arm tightens around her. he plants a kiss on your forehead.

"Good morning to you too," you say.

yuta rolls you onto his back and rests his torso on top of yours. "good morning."

"You look happy.

"i woke up with a beautiful, bad-ass, street-racing woman in my arms. how could i complain?"

you laugh. "well, i could say the same thing. it's not often i get to wake up next to a hot guy and  that brother would probably beat up if he knew where i spent the night."

he barks out a laugh. "you're most likely right..." he bites his lip. "there's something you need to know."

your smile disappears. "you're not married, are you?"

"no! god, no," he replies instantly. "i just want to know if you want it to be more than a brief fling."

you are silent for a moment as he thought.

"yes, i think so. i mean, we could get to know each other better but yes," you explain.

"then we're on the same page," you nod absently. "do you want to have breakfast before we go on with our talk?"

you can't help but get a little nervous. what does he have to say?

"what do you want for breakfast?"

"uh..." you sit up, holding the black sheet against your chest to cover yourself. "whatever. i'm not particularly picky."

yuta nods and gets out of bed, pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants. he leaves his room and you lie back down on the bed. your cell phone rings somewhere in yuta's room and you grunt getting up to look for it. you find it inside your jeans.

"y/n! where the hell are you?" johnny asks as soon as you answer the phone. “you didn’t come home last night, and jaehyun said there was a guy watching you the entire race.”

“don’t worry about it, brother. that guy was my date last night. i’m at this place right now,” you grin.

“hold on, you had a date?! who? why didn’t you tell me?” johnny bombards you with questions.

you sigh. you saw this coming.

“everything all right?” yuta asks, entering his bedroom.

“my brother,” you say with your mouth. “johnny! easy with the questions. i’ll tell you later, bye!”

“be responsible!” it can be heard from the phone and you hang up.

you exhale dramatically and fall back on the bed.

“trouble, dear?” yuta inquiries.

you raise your head to look at him. “big brothers are tedious,” you announce after a minute.

“i wouldn’t know; i’m the older brother.”

“oh?”

yuta smiles warmly. “i have a younger brother. the idiot used to fight older bullies in the yard, and i was the one who had to finish them off.”

you smirk. “you protected him. my brother’s the same way.”

“let’s eat, okay? i still need to talk about something important,” yuta declares.

you nod and he tosses you slightly one of his shirts. you put it on and grab your panties putting them on.

yuta made sunny side up eggs and french toasts. between bites, yuta begins to speak. “i work for the korean mafia.”

“huh?” you stop eating and stare at him. “you what?”

yuta laughs lightly. “i work for the korean mafia.” he repeats. “i bet you’re wondering what a japanese guy is doing working for the korean mafia.”

“not exactly my first thought but yes,” you shrug. “what do you do?”

“let’s say i’m a middleman between the korean mafia and the yakuza,” he confesses.

you frown. “so you buy goods from them and sell them?”

yuta raises an eyebrow at you. “what are you? a businesswoman?”

you laugh and have a bite of your toast. “i went to business school, but i dropped out this semester.”

“hot,” he plants a kiss on your lips. “so yes, that’s my job. aren’t you scared?”

“of what? you? your job?” you snort. “i’ve seen way worse in the underground. i gotta say i’m surprised because i thought you were a good boy.”

yuta chuckles. “i am good at other things,” he winks at you.

you push the plate aside and sit on his lap. “i can’t recall, do you mind refreshing my memory?”

yuta grins and places his hand on your ass cheeks. “aren’t you too sore?”

“pain is my best friend,” you nip at his lip and he groans.

yuta kisses you and his hand goes to your throat tilting your head to the side and biting your neck harshly. you whimper at the painful yet pleasurable sensation. yuta shushes you and darts his eyes to you. “i thought you enjoyed the pain, baby girl.”

one year ago

you’re standing in front of his gravestone and place the flower bouquet next to it. the only sound is the wind, rustling through a nearby copse of trees. it has been five days since yuta died and the hole in your chest only gets deeper.

it hurts.

you’re broken.

your life without him means nothing. the city without him means nothing. nothing makes sense without him.

“you shouldn’t have died,” you say. “we could have been better.” you mumble, sitting in front of the grave. “it’s weird, today i woke up and i thought i heard your voice. am i going crazy?” you scoff.

you stare at the gravestone and then lower your heard. “i came to say goodbye. i can’t stay here anymore. everywhere i go i see your face. everyone reminds me of you.”

you feel tears streaming down your face. “i’ll never forget you, yuta. i love you so much.” you burst out crying.

after you left town, you were pretty much everywhere: singapore, thailand, indonesia, philippines, malaysia and even japan for a few weeks. racing and making a fame known as the ‘nameless girl’ who would beat everyone.

you left a note to johnny saying you’d be okay and you would return when you feel ready to.

you didn’t stay long in every country and you didn’t make any relations so things didn’t attach to you there. you were lonely but you got used to it. and you didn’t dislike it.

one night, you decided it was time to come back home. yuta would never come back and you felt you moved on.

the train arrives at its last stop and you grab your small suitcase exiting it. you walk and take a taxi to your house, or johnny’s house just to find a party. people and their racing cars everywhere.

of course. it’s friday.

you get into your house and see people everywhere. people dancing, no, grinding on each other’s bodies and blowing some smoke. perhaps weed. you walk through the crowded living room and spot johnny sipping a beer. you don’t know how he's going to react since you didn’t tell anyone you’re back.

you walk to johnny but he’s interrupted by a red haired and kissed him. you roll your eyes, johnny and his bitches.

you change your direction walking to the kitchen and see jaehyun talking to some people. he turns to you and doesn’t seem to notice you, it’s when he turns again and his face brightens up with a smile. “y/n!” he walks to you and tugs you for a hug, lifting you from the ground.

“hi,” you giggle, placing a kiss on his cheek.

jaehyun puts you back on the ground and smiles, "i almost didn't recognize you, you've changed so much."

“i just dyed my hair: i got babylights,” you grin.

“i like them, you look great,” jaehyun nods. “but where have you been?!”

“huh everywhere?” you shrug.

“and you couldn’t call?” he stares at you.

“i know, i’m sorry,” you rest a hand on his shoulder. “we’ll talk later, okay? where’s everyone?”

“johnny is lena, jungwoo is having a blunt with jinsoul in the yard and of course jisung is in his room, he’s not allowed to come downstairs,” jaehyun comments.

you nod and rest your hands on your waist. “i don’t know half of these people. who are they?”

“johnny became kind of a sponsor?” jaehyun frowns and you laugh. “no, it’s true! half of these people are rich kids betting on johnny's people, he met two guys that are literally gods of racing.”

“i’d like to see that,” you add. “what are their names?”

“mark lee and lee donghyuck,” jaehyun hands you a beer. “they’re dickheads but we’ve been getting so much money because of them.”

you scoff. “they’re just lucky. i am back.”

jaehyun whistles, smiling. “that’s the attitude, baby. i can’t wait to see you race again.”

you smirk. “i bet you wanna.”

“ah, johnny’s coming,” jaehyun murmurs.

you turn and see a blond haired johnny walking towards you. you tuck your hands into your jeans pocket and smile nicely. “hi brother.”

“when people started saying my sister was here i didn’t believe it because maybe she left this fucking town a year ago leaving just a note!” johnny exclaims. “and thought ‘why would she return just like that?’”

you sigh. “i’m sorry, johnny. but i’m back and i’m okay. that’s the only thing that should matters.”

johnny rolls his eyes. “are you dumb?”

you frown. “just because you’re my brother i d-

“half-brother,” johnny remarks.

“fuck you, johnny,” you hiss and leave the kitchen

when johnny gets upset he tends to be the classical dickhead and uses the ‘half-brother’ excuse just to hurt you. you think you might deserve it, but why is it so hard for him to understand why you left? why you need to leave?

maybe it’s because he has never loved someone the way you loved yuta. or maybe he’s too selfish to understand it.

of course you also think you didn’t do the right thing by simply disappearing out of the blue, but again, you don’t owe anything to no one.

you go to the bathroom that is next to the stairs and groan when you realise it’s locked. you lean against the wall and sigh. next to you, there are three girls whispering and laughing. you don’t care, until you hear your name.

“did you see y/n? she’s back,” one of them says.

“yeah. i thought she was in jail,” the other mocks.

“in jail? for what?” she laughs.

“apparently she was the one that killed yuta,” she comments. “and ran away, but my boyfriend told me the police caught her.”

the blonde one laughs. “poor thing.”

“and i’d go back to jail for ripping your ugly faces off,” you murmur, still leaning against the wall.

the girls stare at you and they decide to leave. you groan, rolling your eyes. “assholes.”

someone walking down the hallway whistles and smiles at you. “should i be concerned about my well being right now?.”

you look at them and you see a black haired guy, wearing a green jacket with black ripped jeans and black shirt. you scoff. “fuck off, dude.”

“but please don’t rip my face off.,” the guy rests his hand on his chest.

you stare at him and clench your jaw. “bugger off, dude. really, i’m not in the mood to take someone’s shit.”

“sorry,” he nods. “i’m mark by the way,” he passes the bottle of the beer he’s drinking to his free hand and extends his hand.

you look at his hand, hesitant. you shake your head and take it. “y/n.”

he grins, gripping at your hand. “you’re the famous y/n.”

you chuckle. “and you’re not the famous mark lee.”

mark smiles sideways. “so you’ve heard about me.”

“very little,” you shrug. “nothing impressive.”

“ah, they weren’t wrong when they said you’re a bitch,” mark frees your hand.

“did i hurt your feelings?” you pout mockingly.

“you’re gonna need more than that to hurt my feelings, gorgeous,” he winks at you.

you nod. “noted, boy. well, it was nice talking to you.”

“you leaving already?” mark asks.

“yeah. i’m tired and i need a place to sleep,” you say. “i guess i’ll see you around.”

mark nods. “have a good night, y/n.”

(...)

“when did she get back? how come i didn't see her?” donghyuck slides off the plastic armrest of the outdoor sofa he was sitting on.

jeno walks away to get a drink. “who 's back?” he asks.

“y/n suh,” mark replies.

“johnny’s sister?” jeno looks at him.

donghyuck and mark nod.

“what was she in jail for, like, a year?” jeno’s voice drops to a whisper.

“she was in jail?” donghyuck stares at mark.

“no. she just disappeared last fall,” mark explains.

“it was probably jail,” donghyuck adds, “that or she had a baby. i mean, the timing kind of fits for that, don’t you think?”

“and where’s the baby, smartass?” mark glances at him.

“gave it away for adoption,” donghyuck shrugs.

“what are you fuckers talking about,” johnny questions, going outside the house.

“your sibling,” jeno admits, earning an elbow to his side by mark.

johnny laughs and turns to look out over his yard. “which one?”

“y/n.”

“watch it, dude,” jaehyun warns him, joining them outside.. “johnny’s not too forgiving when it comes to his siblings.”

“noted.” jeno nods.

“anyways, i’m here to talk business,” johnny sits in front of them.

“back to the things i like,” mark comments.

johnny grins. “there’s a race next weekend, 15 grand for the winner.”

donghyuck whistles. “i like what i’m hearing already.”

“it’s a bit complicated since it won’t be in an enclosed area as usual. it will be in downtown LA,” johnny adds.

“count me in,” mark says.

“dude, do you know how risky it is?” jeno stares at him.

“i’ve done riskier things and here i am,” mark rolls his eyes. “i’ll be there, johnny.”

“you’re my favourite,” johnny smiles and looks at jeno and donghyuck. “you two are disappointing me.”

“i can live with that but not in jail,” donghyuck smirks.

“pussy,” jaehyun hums.

“sorry mr. in-n-out-from-jail,” donghyuck rolls his eyes.

mark chuckles. “that race it’s already mine. and the cops can suck my dick, they wish they were as fast as me.”

“my canadian boy right here is the shit,” johnny smiles.

(...)

the bright neon lights. the skimpy clothing worn by chasers. the many cars lined up.

it's another night in los angeles, and another night means another race.

mark breathes it in as he leans on his orange acura nsx. not a single scratch in sight on the top of the car. although he's working with a sponsor, he has his own gang known as death angels, because they’re risk takers, or most of them are.. he can hear the countless bickering of his gang, who are also his closest friends. donghyuck, jeno, and earphone yves, lucas, bickering about god knows what now. jeno and lucas are conversing about seeing some new people joining the race.

there's no doubt he probably owns the most showy and expensive car in the entire parking lot. until a brown haired girl, who he knows, motioned him to come over.

you.

"seems like you got a challenger," donghyuck murmurs.

"tsk, anyone can beat her. what's so special about her anyway?" mark says, annoyed.

yves clicks her tongue. "i wouldn't be so sure about it, babe."

you get off from your car, hair tied up, perfectly showing your features. your toned eyes are slightly covered with black eyeliner. wearing tight jeans, black t-shirt and a red leather jacket.

you look like you are meant to be there. not a chaser wanting attention, not a flag girl wanting to show herself off, but. tracer. the crowd don't bother you. you begin to slightly look around, and that's when you see mark. you and mark lock eyes, and with a strut, you walk with a confident walk over mark.

crossing your arms, showing off your figure, you take a breath, and open your mouth. "no shit you're here as well."

mark scoffs. "i'm a car racer, where else was i supposed to be?"

"junior leagues," you shrug and you hear one of his friends laugh.

mark stares at you and grins. "i challenge you to a race. simply, nobody else. that is if you are up for it."

the offer is rather simple.

an easy 10-second style race, just the two of you, nobody else.

you let out a breathy chuckle, nodding your head. "alright then, it's settled." you reply, standing up to his level, and leaning over his ear. "but don't be crying when you loose, sweetheart"

mark scoffs at that. "you're underestimating my ability right now, gorgeous." he says, poking his lips out in a seductive manner.

you laugh and he smiles.

you turn around for just a few seconds, yelling over to him words that are barely audible. “te veré al inicio de la línea,” (i'll see you at the starting lineyou say.

mark’s orange acura nsx is a perfect fit considering the late at night arrival they have been in. it’s his prized possession, obviously. he checks the side of his car, smirking to himself seeing the NOS lined up on the passenger seat. however, your white nissan gtr is a good contrast. no dent is seen on it, and the engines flare when you start it, earning an erupt from the spectators. fifteen thousand dollars are on the game, and you need that money.

you notice the flag-girl as one of the members of death angels. she wears a simple purple and black outfit: purple harem pants and a black bomber jacket, carefully showing her slightest laced bra. she looks good, there’s no denying it. and with that, she points at mark, starting his engines and giving a show for his car. then she points to you, and you’re wearing a smile on your face. your engines starting.

and time seems to stop when you hear words emit from her mouth. “go!”

mark and you immediately go and hit the accelerator at about the same time, so you two are neck and neck. you know your strategy, and mark knows his.

8 seconds left.

knowing this, mark uses his NOS, eating a prideful laugh and his back hitting the seat. but you have different plans. you wear a smug look, and let out a giggle. “the NOS he’s using will take a shorter time than it relatively should.” you think you yourself, and activate yours.

6 seconds left.

you fly back to your seat, seeing the crowd erupt in cheers. mark sees your white nissan catch up to him, and before he knows, you’re way ahead of him.

“shit!” he yells.

2 seconds.

and before he knows, you are at the finish line, turning your car around and creating a donut with it, earning praise from the crowd. marks ends up second, or last in this case. he gets out of the car with a scowl, and you make your way to him, with a smile on your face, and your hair is out of the ponytail you have been wearing.

“the NOS you used, doesn't take up as much time as normal NOS used. it was a bit too early,” you say, giving your hand out to him. he clicks his tongue, now slightly irritated to know the fact you're indeed right. marks gives you the money. “pass by the shop any time you want.”

“why would you want to help me anyways? we’re rivals now,” he cocks an eyebrow.

you sigh, when you are interrupted by the shouts of numerous spectators and blaring sirens.

“cops! cops!”

everything happens so fast. next thing you know, you are in the back of your car, hitting your foot on the accelerator and immediately rushing out of the area, keeping an eye out for cops in your view mirror. luckily, you don’t seem to spot many. but where you don’t look?

right in front of you.

bullets ricochet throughout the alley way, earning a slight flinch from you. you are scared. only a few times bullets have been in front of you. you quickly take out your silver handgun from out of your shirt, shooting at the cop, not enough to kill him, but it’s enough to get him to surrender.

“bullet proof vests don’t cover the legs, idiot,” you mumble, smirking ever so slightly. you turn a sharp left, going back to the place where you call home. a right. then left. another right. straight forward 2 miles, and there you are.

“ＳＵＨ　ＭＥＣＨＡＮＩＣＳ　ＡＮＤ　ＭＡＮＵＦＡＣＴＵＲＩＮＧ” is written in bold letters. you love this place, you and your brother practically grow up there. you make your way inside, after swiftly parking your car into your garage. the shop is somewhat connected to the house from behind, so you make your way out of the garage, locking the door swiftly, and arriving with 2 familiar faces.

“you had no business ruining mark’s race!” johnny stands in front of you. he’s angry.

“forget about that!” jaehyun stares at johnny and then at you. “you just returned like two hours ago and the cops are after you already? can you be more careful?”

“ah, br- sorry, half-brother, jaehyun. i appreciate the concern and all, but i got this covered, you know?” you reply and look at your brother. “and please, if you really cared about mark you would have recommended him a new NOS. his sucks.”

jaehyun presses his lips together. “it’s true. i’ve been telling you about that for weeks.”

johnny rolls his eyes. “it’s not my fault. the kid won’t change them.”

“well, then you should find a new guy because you won’t make much money with him.” you say and you take out your money. “and me? i am back, baby.”

jaehyun smirks. “then i guess beers are on you.”

“you guess right.”

(...)

mark rushes off in his car, having donghyuck joining him. he locks his gun, having his fingers on the trigger for any given moment. mark sighs out a stuttered breath, immediately hitting the accelerator and rushing out of the way. he has another tank full of NOS, that donghyuck simply swaps out, for mark to use at any moment.

“jeno and yves have made it back alright,” donghyuck tells him, while mark drives at an inhumane pace.

mark nods and takes the exit 12, driving to glendale. and after almost 25 minutes, they arrive at their warehouse. he parks his car next to jeno’s and they make their way inside.

“dude! that was fucking awesome!” jeno approaches him. “now i understand why the streets wouldn't shut up about her.”

yves rolls his eyes. “it was just lucky. she’s not that good.”

“then you wouldn't mind racing against her,” donghyuck hums.

“please, she’s nothing to me,” yves smirks.

“she got you mad,” mark walks to the kitchen. “she is something to you.”

“anyway,” jeno locks the door. “who sent those policemen? it’s weird, we have been using the same location for months,” jeno asks.

“someone was there. someone who’s purpose wasn’t to spectate or race, but to infliritrate,” mark sighs, adjusting his belt from his jeans.

“i’m wondering if suh is single,” donghyuck sits, ignoring the talk his friends are having.

“johnny or y/n?” mark mocks him.

“she doesn’t date,” yves sits next to him. “or that’s what i’ve heard.”

“since when you’re a fan of gossip?” jeno frowns.

“you don’t need to gossip, everyone talks about her and her tragic love life,” yves shrugs.

“so she wasn’t in jail?” donghyuck inquiries.

“i already told you she wasn’t in jail, smartass,” mark tosses him a beer.

“then where was she?” jeno sits in front of donghyuck.

yves slides a little on the couch. “you ever heard about nakamoto yuta?”

the three men shake their heads. yves rolls her eyes. “he used to work for the korean mafia and the yakuza doing what? i don’t know, but he was well known before we arrived here.”

“and what happened to him?” jeno asks.

“he messed with the wrong people, and he paid for his mistakes,” yves says. “they got him and killed him.”

“and how is he related to y/n?” mark rubs his chin with his index finger.

“they were together,” yves pulls out a box of cigarettes. “and days after his murder, she went away.”

jeno grimaces. “i would’ve done the same. it’s sad.”

“well, he’s dead and we can’t do shit to help her,” donghyuck stretches out his arms. “she’s hot.”

“dude,” jeno chuckles. “we were just talking about his dead boyfriend and you’re saying she’s hot?”

“donghyuck only uses his lower head,” yves mocks. “why are you even surprised?”

mark laughs and donghyuck rolls his eyes. “i’m gonna race against her again.”

“dude, you want to lose again?” jeno stares at him.

mark frowns. “a little bit of support?”

(...)

a few days later, you are working at your peace in call, the mechanic shop. you work with jungwoo, jaehyun, and johnny. jaehyun is an incredibly talented racer, that’s for sure, he was the one who taught you everything you know. johnny and jaehyun are practically always together.

they have been friends since high school, and he’s close with you as well, despite you going to a different school.

so, there you are currently stocking up the shelves and displays with certain kinds of replacements and NOS, to whoever needs them. you wear leather pants, along with a white turtleneck shirt. your hair is down.

“do you have everything locked? storage room too, jungwoo?” you ask the blond.

“yep! johnny is currently working on the new car by the way. he said the client wanted something old school, and because of this, he got inspiration from somewhere,” he informs.

you raise an eyebrow, handing jungwoo the remaining products form the shelves, and making your way inside the shop. you see a black haired man glancing at the shelves with NOS.

you approach him. “hi, welcome. can i help you?”

the man turns and he smiles at you.

mark lee.

you stop the urge of rolling your eyes. “and we see each other.”

“you told me i could pass by whenever i wanted to,” he shrugs. “

“that was me being nice because i beat you,” you smirk.

mark grins. “then i suppose i should go to the Fascinare’s shop? i heard they’re nicer.”

if you and johnny didn’t hate the Facinare you probably would’ve told him to go, but since they are your competition you couldn't afford losing a customer.

you sigh. “of course we can help you.” you fake a smile.

“that’s what i thought,” mark says. “how many days will it take?”

you take a look at his car. “up to 1 to 3 days.”

he nods. “fantastic. i’ll be looking forward to racing against you again then.”

you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest. “i can give your car all the NOS in this world and yet, you won’t beat me.”

“you were just lucky the other night, gorgeous,” he winks at you.

“maybe if you focus on racing instead of flirting you might beat me,” you grin.

mark chuckles and nods. “right. i’ll leave you my phone so you can give me a call when my baby is ready.”

“my god,” you hum. “be right back.”

you go behind the counter and grab a small notebook and a pen. you hand it to mark and write his number down. “i’ll be looking forward for that call.”

“hopefully it won't be me making it,” you smile falsely.

“alright. see you then,” marks says, exiting the shop. “don’t miss me much, gorgeous.”

you roll your eyes again, and smile lowering your head. 

you then frown and shake your head. 

[cherryblossomtease]

Chapter 12

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ for explicit sexual content: depictions of sub/dom lifestyle and lead up to m/m sexual relationship. If it’s not your thing please keep scrolling. Thank you!

~

Is there a word for this feeling? The one that happens when you wake up not knowing when or where you are…

Is it day, is it night? Is this my bed? Is this even a bed? Am I home and if not, how far away am I? So many questions go tumbling around in your head so quickly that you just have to shut your eyes against the bizarre sensation. It’s one of the few that’s happened to absolutely everyone at some point. And as you lie there in bed —yes, this is definitely a bed— you think, no way the Germans don’t have a word for this strange phenomenon.

Inhaling slowly, exhaling even slower, you finally feel it come rushing back to you so that by the time you’ve filled your lungs with a nice deep breath of salty ocean air, the smile that raises your cheeks turns into a silent laugh as you roll onto your side, curling up tight, sliding your hand across the empty expanse of the cool bedsheets, lightly perfumed by the fading scent of his cologne which makes you feel warm all over.

You open your eyes, blinking, focusing, letting the view refresh the last of the memories.

You should have known, you think laying your hand on the pillow where he’d been. You stroke the high thread count like you did his hair and his face as he’d looked into your eyes and your racing hearts settled. How many unnecessary tears were shed for him? How much time was spent worrying that you might never see the man again when all you had to do was trust that no prison could keep Helmut Zemo locked away for long, and you laugh because a year must be a record for shortest maximum security prison stays.

Now, while escaping from the supposedly inescapable is impressive, you can’t begin to fathom how he’s done it and you’re more than happy to keep it that way which is probably for the best as Zemo’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want you in possession of said knowledge for your own safety. The less you know at this uncertain stage in the game the better. You’re physically far from government detection or any others lookin to recapture the Baron for that matter, still, nothing is ever fully guaranteed.

Luckily it’s hard to feel anything other than at peace as you smile and lazily roll onto your back, stretching your arms over your head before looking down the length of the king sized bed to find the source of light warming your bare skin.

Oh, you smile That’s right.

The matching circular windows are very large and offer views of wild blue water as far as the eye can see. It is the very definition of tranquility.

And just off to the side is a glass door that opens to a large balcony just calling your name. You'll spend too much time out there soon enough you think, imagining falling asleep with a good book and a drink. After all, you’ve got two weeks before you reach France and then it's a quick flight to you final destination of Villefranche-Sur-Mer, according to Zemo.

Two incredible weeks— and to think you’d nearly dismissed that text this morning as nothing but annoying spam.

Luckily something about it brought you back after you'd poured cereal and milk into your bowl. You’d sat at the kitchen counter unable to look away from that single message sent from an unknown number, your breakfast all but forgotten.

It was short and to the point and it reminded you of the kind Zemo used to send what felt like a lifetime ago when the instructions were no more than a time but now there was the added bonus of a location and you were no longer the sole recipient.

The sound of Bucky charging down the hall of his apartment that had become just as much yours since Zemo went away answered the question before it could be asked.

“You got it too didn’t you?” You’d asked him looking up.

Bucky stood in the doorway, hair wet and slicked back from his shower, gripping the towel he’d quickly tossed around his waist and smelling like your body wash which he liked to snag when he ran out of his own. You didn’t mind so much but it was confusing when you were a tangle of arms and legs and other parts that smelled the same…

“It’s a trick. It’s gotta be.” He’d insisted, to which you’d rolled your eyes and considered throwing your phone at his head for saying something so ridiculous. Why would Zemo play a game so cruel. “He’s in the raft” He said your name with a finality that made you reconsider, but when you looked down at your phone again, you knew it wasn’t true.

This was him. This was Zemo.

“Go get dressed. I really think something’s happened.” You’d told him. He’d stood there for a second longer, his face unreadable. But he did turn and disappear down the hall, wet footprints on the hard wood left behind.

You must have been shaking as you waited. You’d been so anxious and your head a mess of worry and hope and fear and hesitation but so much excitement.

By the time Bucky came back dressed in sweats and a t-shirt which bothered you because you wanted him dressed to go, you were completely convinced you’d hear a knock at the door and find the Baron on the other side, you’d always been good at working yourself up into a frenzy.

Bucky had been the complete opposite. You can still see him; a gloomy hundred year old kill-joy.

You remember thinking he might have been a worried at first. A little jealous or scared maybe? Like he’d gotten too used to your life and the return of the man responsible for what you had together could also be the one to see it come to an end which was just silly. James was and would always will be your best friend, but your friendship had long since proven to be more than late night Netflix binging and ordering takeout.

In fact the night before the text, he’d come in long after you’d gone to bed. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks on some grand mission with Sam —off to save the world no doubt.

You were dreaming when he’d slipped in behind you and pulled you close, waking you with the warmth of those perfect lips so soft and full, the touch of his kiss leaving a trail of heat down your shoulder and back, only to flip you over once you were half awake with the strength of that wonderfully dangerous arm. As he pulled your shorts down and found you in the dark, you happily gave in, welcoming him home as only you could, and never once did either of you expect that your unconventional but comfortable life would come to such an abrupt end.

But no, he wasn’t jealous. You knew it because there was something sort of sweet in the look of shock on his face that gave you pause in asking why he was reacting this way.

That, was the look of man conflicted.

As you’d begun cleaning the apartment —certain you’d be leaving it soon— you’d paused and studied him sitting on the couch, alone with his thoughts, phone held in his hand like he’d never put it down. You knew Bucky well enough to know the basics of what he must have been thinking.

The Winter Soldier had been trapped in the living prison of his own body for a lifetime. Now Bucky was forever free to make his own choices. You certainly wouldn’t be the one to persuade him into doing anything he didn’t truly want to do. But you also knew that you weren’t alone in missing Zemo; not after what the three of you had shared and certainly not after what the two of them had come so close to starting.

But that poor dear, somewhat clueless man. For someone who was still adjusting to life in the present day after such a strange journey you tried to cut him some slack. He was still torn, still stuck between worlds. Having to question what he knew about his sexuality didn’t seem like a very fair thing to have to add to the mix, but that’s life. Unexpected to say the least.

He could no more deny his draw to Zemo than he could his desire to be a good person. These things were solid facts; He didn’t want to kill anymore and he was absolutely attracted to this man and presumably others, but yes particularly this one.

But now he was worried that giving in to his own happiness might cost him his friendship with people like Sam, and almost certainly his freedom when he’d only just gotten it back. Not because of being bi-sexual, but, because of, well— Helmut Zemo.

As much as you didn’t want to, you could easily understand the conflict.

Once you’d finished cleaning and packing your weekend bag you went back into the living room and made him look at you. “I know you’re worried about Sam and the others. All those super heroes you know. But what sort of friends would they be if they stopped you from living your life the way you want to live it?”

“Good ones if It means living with an escaped criminal.” His retort was so logical. You hate it when he’s right.

“One that you helped escape before right?”

“That was for a reason. This is all Zemo.”

“Did he really deserve to be in there?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question.”

You did not, so you’d stepped away and gave in, just letting him be.

It was frustrating to say the least but Bucky was not allowed to steal your joy, no matter how true it all was. Unfortunately, he was very much tied to that joy.

When you’d rushed back down the hall almost forgetting your tooth brush, he’d finally gotten up and gone into the bedroom but you'd ignored him, not out of anger but because It broke your heart to think you’d be leaving him alone to his own misery. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but if you absolutely had to you would.

Zemo was the man you’d loved long before you met Bucky, you would not put the Baron aside for another person's moral dilemmas, even if might crush your heart. You would leave and send word of where you and Zemo were and hope that he could join you in time but you had to see Helmut, you couldn’t ignore the message.

However, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes could be a real man of surprise when he wanted to be.

As you finished cleaning up, tears in your eyes for what you would be leaving behind, he’d come into the kitchen with his own black duffle bag and tossed it down on the floor.You’d spun around at the sound of it hitting the tile and kept it together but you could have screamed you were so happy.

He gave you that “don’t say anything” look so instead you just flashed a brilliant smile and kissed his cheek which he dismissed as if he didn’t love it, but you saw the way his eyes lit up. He could have hidden it from someone else who hadn’t spent the last year living with him but not you.

“It’s not permanent. I can’t stay no matter where he’s taking us. But, for a little while I think it’ll be all right."

“Of course!” You weren't pressed, you'd just talk him into it later because as of that minute you’d been too elated to care about time.

*

“So what the hell are these instructions?” You’d asked Bucky in the cab out of the city

“I have an idea.” He said shaking his head a little. He was clearly thinking ‘what have I gotten myself into’ which made you laugh. You could hear Zemo in your head, his answer simply being ‘Trouble’

“Well where are we going?” You’d asked anxious to know more.

“I don’t think we’re staying in New York if that’s what you’re asking.”

You’d quickly looked back at the city, watching the bridges fade behind you, wondering if you’d see them again. There was a strong possibility that it would be a while before you did.

As expected, Bucky knew his stuff. You were definitely leaving the city. The instructions were a time and location as you’d guessed but you hadn’t understood that the second half were coordinates and not for the cab.

When you got out of the very expensive car ride— which you charged to that handy little black credit card that had magically appeared in your mailbox about a year ago (thanks prison daddy)— the two of you stood in what looked like no more than an old shipping yard.

“Come on, I actually know this place. We need to go this way.” Bucky said with his head down and eyes up, his serious face looking every bit the superhero he was when he wasn’t with you. It always made you laugh a little. This was the same guy who also sat around in his underwear watching reality competition shows with you eating ice cream…

“What’s this way?”

“Room.”

Cryptic. They always love being cryptic you’d grumbled following him, feeling on edge as you’d snaked your way through the maze of shipping containers and storage units.

As you came near the water, the rusted out rectangles did in fact clear and the narrow passages opened up giving enough space, or as Bucky had said, ‘room’ for a blacked out helicopter to rise up. It was the sort of midsized military grade machine made for traveling long distance and sitting inside was a pilot-- the sort who deals in silence and cash only transactions.

“What exactly did you tell Sam?” You’d asked once you were in the air with your headset on. “I’m sure you had to tell him something to keep him and anyone else from asking questions.”

“That I finally decided to take a vacation” Bucky’d said, his voice clear in your ears as he glanced at you. He didn't have to ask for you to see that he really didn't want you to make fun of him for it either.

“Ha! And he bought that?”

“I think so. He said it was— a good look for me.” He mocked Sams tone.

You’d laughed rubbing his warm arm and laying your head on his shoulder agreeing with Sam whole heartedly but for very different reasons.

About an hour or more in you’d fallen asleep only to be startled awake by the sound of Bucky’s humorless laughter just in time to see your destination come into view.

“I knew it.” He’d sneered looking through your window.

“Oh my god” You sat up leaning forward peering down at the white oval in the expanse of blue.

“Of course.” The way Bucky could detest Zemo’s opulence would forever amuse you. He’d sat back refusing to look anymore, as if you weren’t about to land anyway.

“It's perfect,” You’d insisted.

“He’s such an asshole” He'd grumbled but you’d caught the little twitch of a smile.

“Shut up Bucky. It’s amazing”

“Its a god damned yacht!” His voice gone high with the absolute offense of it all.

All you could do was laugh.

*

You lie in bed remembering stepping out of the helicopter, your bags tossed out and the bird in the air so quickly it’s like the pilot was never there.

“Still think this was a good idea?” Bucky’d asked as if anything about this might have changed your mind.

Impressed by the private landing pad on the highest deck but already aware of the delights that were undoubtedly waiting below, you’d just smiled and gave his cheek a pat. “Come on.”

Bucky grabbed both bags and you’d led him down the steps and onto a massive deck of beautiful pale wood lined with low white couches at the far end, blinding in the bold sun. Beneath the overhang was a large wet bar, with glasses already set out and an ice bucket, the neck of a champagne bottle greeting you.

“Please miss. Allow me”

You’d both looked behind you, startled to find the old butler Oeznik coming up from the center stairwell.

Poor thing, you'd nearly toppled him, throwing your arms around his neck but you really did adore that wonderful old man. He’d just laughed and hugged you back welcoming you aboard.

You thanked him but no sooner had he offered had you forgotten all about his hospitality.

Your back had been turned when you heard your name said with the soft accented voice that you had missed, craved and imagined for so many months…

“Helmut.” You will never forget what it felt like to turn and find him.

He stepped from the shadows and into the sun and you can still feel the way you’d bit down on your bottom lip to keep from crying.

Those eyes, that hair, his smile; so subtle and sly. You’d nearly forgotten that you could in fact go to him. He wasn’t just a man made up from your lonely daydreams but flesh and blood and so perfectly made.

It took him drawing his hands from his pants pockets— linen pants of all the casual things— to break the spell.

He’d opened his arms to just the right size for you and there was no holding back then.

What had it felt like? You try to remember now, but it's useless. You can remember him pulling you in as though he couldn’t stand another second without you close. You’d closed your eyes inhaling his scent as he touched your face and hair, his fingers brushing along your neck and shoulders. It’s so lovely and primitive the way touch and smell can become the thing that reunites and reacquaints us. You were like two animals in the wild and you’d gasped at the feel of his face gliding against yours, and his arms so tight around you until he'd pressed his forehead to yours whispering things you couldn’t understand as you held onto his forearms giving in to the thin line of tears that fell from your eyes. It was an unexpected moment of reconnecting. You knew you’d missed him, but this was so much more. You’d felt ready to submit to every command so quickly it honestly surprised you. The warm touch of his face against yours, his breath along your neck and finally his lips meeting your own was and will always be your first experience with what people describe as coming home. And then he’d pulled back, looked you in the eyes and simply said “Hello”

You couldn’t say anything back. You just watched him look past you and saw how his expression changed. You still can’t place it… “James.” The way he said his name. God it was so beautiful. You’d turned in Zemo’s arms and saw the look on Bucky’s face. There were tears in his eyes that you’re not sure he was even aware of.

“Zemo”

“How was the ride?” He’d asked politely.

“Fine.”

The tension was charged. There was unfinished business between them that they would need to work out on their own, but you hoped they could do it quickly.

And then Zemo raised his hand in offering. He had after all sent that text to two people.

Bucky hesitated for longer than he needed to, but when he did come forward and gripped the Baron in what he’d assumed would be no more than a handshake, Zemo smiled and pulled him in. He’d let go to hold Bucky by the back of his head for a moment gazing at his face. “I actually didn't expect you” He said sounding relieved.

Bucky gave in to his own feelings and reached out, gently grabbing Zemo’s waist. “Well Im here.”

“So you are.” He’d said, the pressure of such strong feelings for his soldier bubbling at the surface, desperate to be released. But he just stroked Bucky’s jaw with his thumb and smiled before looking down at you. “And now that you are, let me show you both around.”

Sitting up, you rub your eyes and find your clothes tossed all over the place mixed in with Zemo’s.

As he’d attempted to show you and Bucky the ship and explain your route, his hand would linger on the small of your back. He would find your curves as he talked about the endless amenities the yacht had to offer until neither of you were sure if he was talking about you or the boat. By the time you’d come down to the cabin deck, he’d pulled you close from behind as Bucky went on ahead unaware. Zemo grabbed your hips exhaling against your ear and you’re fairly certain it was the moan you let slip when he ever so gently pulled your hair, tilting your head to the side as he whispered something to you in Sokovian that got Bucky’s attention.

“James, please help yourself to anything at all. There are more comfortable clothes in the room here. If you’d like, Oeznik can help you find whatever you need. But— it has been a year since I’ve seen her.” He’d said his grip on your hair easing a bit as he stroked his fingers down your back. “As I’m sure you understand a year without a woman like this is a year too long.”

There was a tense few seconds between them and you worried you'd been wrong about the jealousy, but Bucky's face relaxed as he looked around Zemo towards the back of the yacht. “Was that a bottle of Longrow scotch I spotted in that other room?”

“Ah.” He seemed impressed with Bucky’s keen eye. “18 years." Zemo smiled.

“Perfect.” Bucky winked and slipped past giving your cheek a quick pinch.

After that you don’t even remember getting into the room. One second you’d been standing in the hall lost in a wash of furious kisses and the next he had you over his shoulder charging down the hall to the master bedroom practically kicking the door in.

He’d sat you down and you’d both gone wild pushing and pulling at your clothes only just breaking away from one another’s lips to actually undress with a few anxious smiles, some excited laughter tossed in until finally you were naked and then….

You hide your face behind your hand now remembering how good it felt, even though it’d been strange to have another man inside of you after so long.

There was no sign of your former lifestyle this time as he’d fucked you so perfectly. This time, desperate as he was, Helmut was gentle. He’d picked you up and held you between the wall and his own body, finding you easily, moaning into the space between you as he watched your face. He seemed so pleased to see you react to his attention as you once had, because yes, he was another man— he was the Baron and no one could ever take his place.

You’d ended up in the bed on your back nearly in tears from the feel of being under him after so long apart. Not until he’d felt you nearing your climax did he slip back into his natural state of dominance and only just enough to make the orgasm stronger as he’d closed his lovely fingers around your throat and looked into your eyes as you came and he’d whispered your name “I love you…"

Thank the stars that man is free, you smile wide now letting the lasting pleasure ripple through your body.

You look up and say it to yourself again letting the truth of him being here and you for that matter ground you. This day has been a whirlwind and until this moment you’ve been flung from one emotional state to the next. This is the first time you’ve been alone to process it and you are thankful, but the moment is short lived because Helmut’s escape was no small feat and you are not the only one ecstatic about his return.

Eyeing the closet across the room you feel a twinge of a different sort. Helmut is a planner, you’re certain there’s nothing but extraordinary outfits just waiting to be worn and you decide very easily that it’s time to get up and celebrate his freedom and address the very sexy, very annoying tension between the two men you love most in all the world before it consumes them both.

[heavcnslyre]

never leave me again — leo valdez x reader

in which you return from years of being missing, only to find that your boyfriend, leo valdez, has been missing as well.

warnings swearing

notes it’s been a few months since i’ve read the books so i kind of just made this my own. also this took me DAYS to write so pls appreciate it w me

events in this are not all canon

masterlist

the scent of camp half blood was familiar— yet something felt different. it had been years since you had smelt it, and being there again brought upon a feeling you couldn’t quite explain. you listened for the familiar ruffle of the trees and the rippling of the lake, but heard nothing. it was silent; eerily silent. it was the middle of summer, yet the camp was still.

although, you had been away from everything for so long, you didn’t actually know if it was summer or not. truthfully, you didn’t even know exactly what year it was.

you inched towards the entrance of camp nervously. something inside of you was scared that you weren’t even going to be let into the camp— but as you read the ancient greek at the entrance fluently and your foot went through the barrier, you instantly calmed down. the familiar atmosphere of the camp was comforting, even if you could automatically feel how different it was.

making your way to the big house, you gathered that it was still early in the morning as you saw the sun peaking out in the east. it was chilly and the grass was wet and suddenly you realized how tired you were. you wanted nothing more than to collapse into your bunk in cabin 18. your cabin was often lively, as it was common for children of hebe to enjoy parties and be social; but you only had a few siblings and you were one of the oldest. they listened to you if you asked them to quiet down, and the environment of your cabin was soothing. you found yourself longing for it on rough nights, and now that you were back, you debated on just going straight there as if nothing happened.

but, you fought the temptation and knocked on the door to the big house. you found yourself anxious for a moment that no one would be awake, but you heard movement from the inside and the door opened seconds later. you looked down and saw chiron sitting in his wheelchair. he looked the same, as you assumed he would. somehow, he didn’t look surprised to see you.

“(y/n). i thought you’d be here today,” he said, moving himself out of the way. “come in, we can talk.”

you followed him to the main table in the house and took a seat across from him. he settled his hands into his lap and studied you. suddenly aware of how you may have changed, you shifted in your seat awkwardly.

“chiron, can i ask...” you said after a moment. “how long has it been? how long have i been gone?”

“a little over two years.”

you sank down in your seat. “oh.”

“do you want to fill me in on where you’ve been, or should i tell you what happened here first?”

“oh, uh— i guess a lot of its fuzzy,” you started. “i was with hera, and she sent me to do... different quests. time doesn’t really feel real, at this point. i never got a break, i don’t think. she sent me places and i forgot a lot about... my life. and everything.”

“do you remember everything now?”

“i remember all of my life before hera— yeah,” you paused, taking it in. “but i don’t remember a lot of what she had me do, or whatever she said to me when i wasn’t off on a quest. that’s why i didn’t know how much time passed, it feels like it’s been three years and three days at the same time.”

chiron sighed. “i get that. the gods have the powers to do whatever they want to time and your memory— but they rarely use the ability. but hera, after all she’s done...”

“why is she so against demigods? after she switched jason and percy for no reason we thought she was done, why did she need to take me?”

“i guess we’ll never truly know her intentions,” chiron said. “i did assume now is when you would return, though. leo valdez is missing.”

you felt your heart skip a beat. leo. he had been a constant in your mind in the past two years that you had been gone, just like how percy explained that annabeth was all he could remember. you had started dating a few months before you disappeared. suddenly you yearned for his warmth, remembering the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. your heart ached for him for years and now that you’re home— he’s gone.

“how... how long has he been missing?” you asked. chiron frowned.

“a few months. after the war ended, he disappeared, basically into the sky. (y/n)... there’s a good chance he didn’t survive.”

you could almost feel your heart breaking, but you knew that wasn’t the main issue at the moment. you took a deep breath to gather yourself. “how’s everyone else doing?”

“it’s been rough, obviously. the prophecy of the seven was fulfilled, which was hard enough on the campers. and with leo gone... no ones sure how to continue. but, we are at peace with rome and some campers are planning on college in great rome,” chiron said, obviously proud. you smiled gently.

“thats... amazing. is everyone here now? piper, annabeth, percy and jason?”

chiron nodded. “everyone is here. it is early, though. i suggest you head to your cabin for some rest, unless you have anymore questions?”

“honestly, i have hundreds. but... my brain is foggy. i can’t really focus on anything right now so, later. later i’ll bombard you with the questions,” you joked and chiron smiled.

“go, get some rest. breakfast starts in about an hour and a half, but you take all the time you need,” you stood up.

“thank you, chiron. it’s good to be back.”

as soon as you slipped into your cabin, you felt at home. you saw your younger siblings sleeping soundly and that warmed your heart to see. they were safe; they were okay.

your bunk was obviously saved for you. there were organized bags of your stuff laying on top, and the sheets were made neatly. you could tell that no one had slept there since you left. the thought of this was bittersweet; you were happy they waited for you but... you couldn’t imagine how worried they all were for you.

the more you thought about it, the more you realized how many people could have been worried for you.

when percy and jason were switched back, everyone seemed to be at ease. the romans and greeks seemed to be getting along, and things were good... for about an hour.

you were walking around rome with leo. the seven of the prophecy had been decided; leo was one of them, you were not. this wasn’t easy for either of you, as you had recently began dating, but you both knew that this didn’t mean forever. cherishing your time together, you walked hand in hand down the beautiful streets of new rome. after a while, leo decided he was going to go check up on the argo ii, make sure it was ready for the quest to come. you kissed him goodbye, and told him to iris message you whenever he got the chance.

before you knew it, camp jupiter was being attacked. and leo was the one behind it.

you ran through the crowd, trying to push towards the ship to see what the hell was happening to leo. but the romans were angry— and you were wearing an orange shirt.

you didn’t know exactly what happened next. one second you were pushing through the crowd, the next second you woke in a bright room, hera standing over you.

thus the years with hera began. she told you that she needed you— and she’d bring you home when you were ready. she brought you places and gave you quests to do, and the more time you spent with her, the more you weren’t sure how much time had passed, and the more you forgot your real life. you were stuck in an endless loop, until this morning, where hera plopped you down right outside of camp half-blood; with a fuzzy memory and a million questions.

you woke up later to an empty cabin. it was obvious people had been in and out of it, and you wondered how everyone reacted when they saw you in your bed. you were just internally grateful no one woke you up.

after getting ready (putting on a new camp t-shirt was so refreshing) you slipped out of your cabin and out into the sunlight. at first, it didn’t register how much time had passed, because everyone was in the dining hall as they would be during breakfast. but, after examining more, you gathered that you had awoken just as dinner was starting, and you had slept all day. you stood back, taking in the familiarity of the buzz of mealtime. as you stood there, unsure on how to present yourself to the campers, you heard your name.

“(y/n)?” you looked forward to be met with the gaze of your best friend, piper mclean, standing by her table, staring at you in disbelief. “i can’t believe it.”

the entire hall hushed as everyone looked in your direction. you were suddenly aware of every little thing about yourself, and you hated the attention. but when piper rushed forward to hug you, you ignored your surroundings and let yourself feel comfort in her hug. it had been so long since you had felt so... loved. after these past couple of years, then the news that leo was missing, taking in the scent and warmth of your best friend was the most comforting thing you could imagine.

piper pulled back from your hug and studied your face. you studied hers as well, noticing everything you could; any change you could find. but, she looked almost the same. she was the prettiest person you had ever seen, and although she seemed slightly older and wiser, it wasn’t in a negative way. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you said. “obviously i’m... adjusting. but, i’m okay.”

“what happened to you? where have you been?” piper asked gently.

“when the romans were angry at us, after leo...” you hesitated and piper’s expression softened. you cleared your throat. “i was attacked, or something. next thing i knew i was with hera and basically did anything she needed. i was so tired, constantly doing work for her. everything i did with her is sort of fuzzy though, just like my personal life was when i was working for her, if that makes sense.”

“hera’s the worst,” piper said. “guess switching jason and percy just wasn’t enough for her.”

you raised your eyebrows in agreement before being approached by annabeth chase, one of your other closest friends, who hugged you tightly. “i’m so relieved you’re alright.”

“back at you,” you said. percy and jason followed close behind annabeth, and you hugged both of them as well. “i can’t imagine things have been easy for you guys.”

“it’s been rough,” jason agreed. “but we got through it.”

your mind went straight to leo, and the four of them obviously noticed. piper put her hand on your shoulder and jason frowned. “hey, i’m sure he’s...”

“no,” you stopped him. “it’s fine. i... i’m really proud of you guys. seriously, saving the world and shit. that’s pretty cool.”

they all laughed which brought a warm feeling to your chest. it was going to be rough without leo, but you adored your friends. you knew they’d be there for you no matter what.

“c’mon, you must be starving,” annabeth said. “plus, i think you have a few more people to chat with.”

annabeth motioned towards your cabins table, where your siblings sat anxiously, watching you with wide eyes. you grinned at the sight and made your way over to the table, only to be met with smiling faces and lots of questions.

weeks past since you had returned to camp. you were settled back in and at ease with everything, but things still felt off. you figured it was just because you were most excited to come back to camp to see leo, but he was gone. and you didn’t even know if he was still alive.

you spent your days training and reconnecting with your friends. they had been through so much, and you couldn’t imagine how painful it was for them. they asked you questions about what you had been up to, but you weren’t able to answer them. you couldn’t remember a thing— it was like the past years had never happened. as days went on you forgot more and more about what you had done.

one morning, you stayed behind to finish cleanup in your cabin. now that you returned to camp, you returned to your position as head counselor. you were protective over your siblings (since you were the oldest), so when everyone was running late for breakfast, you volunteered to finish cleanup.

after you finished making all the beds, you fixed your hair and slipped out of your cabin. when the mess hall came into your line of vision, you paused as you saw a group of campers gathered around something. the scene was similar to how everyone reacted when you returned, and you watched curiously. but when you studied the campers who were grouped together, you realized it was a majority of the hephaestus canon who was standing. your eyes widened and you hurried forward, into the mess hall.

nyssa barrera, one of the older hephaestus kids, looked over at you and her eyes widened. she pulled a few of her siblings back to make room, and you were met with the grinning face of leo valdez.

your leo, standing there, in the flesh.

it took him a moment to see you, but when he did, his expression softened. he visibly relaxed, and his eyes studied your face. you were frozen in your spot and your eyes never left his. he inched towards you, and before you knew it you charged forward to him and threw your arms around his neck. he buried his face in your neck as he held you tightly around your waist. you took in his natural warmth and his vague scent of campfires and motor oil. he rubbed your back as you held him as tightly as possible. you never wanted to let go.

when you finally did pull back, you missed his warmth immediately. in his arms you felt safe, and that was something you had missed with your whole heart.

“are you okay?” was the first thing he asked you, tucking your hair behind your ears. you smiled at the sound of his voice. you didn’t realize how many little things you had missed.

“i’m okay. are you?”

“i’m... amazing,” he studied your face again. “gods i’ve missed you.”

“i’ve missed you too, you have no idea,” you said. your eyes drifted to a girl you didn’t recognize standing awkwardly behind leo. “who is that?”

leo raised his eyebrows and turned around to look at who you were referring to. “oh, this is my friend. calypso.”

“oh!” you said, remembering the story of calypso. “thats... hi! it’s really cool to meet you.”

“you as well,” calypso responded, her voice smooth. “leo talked about you non-stop.”

maybe it was the longing look on her face, or the fact that you had just finally reconnected with your boyfriend, but you moved towards calypso and pulled her into a hug. she tensed, but after a moment she relaxed and hugged you back. when you pulled back, you gave her a warm smile and when she gave you one back, you knew that there was no bad blood between you. calypso wanted to be loved— but she wasn’t interested in leo.

you turned around to find your way back next to leo. he watched you with a fond look on his face, and when you were closer to him, he grabbed your hand tightly. at this moment you made a promise to yourself — you would never lose him again.

chiron ended up coming over to tell people to sit at their tables for breakfast, but leo leaned over to whisper to you, “want to go chat? just the two of us?”

“absolutely.”

the two of you snuck out of the mess hall (although, if anyone had seen you, you doubted they would stop you from leaving). you made your way down towards the lake, hand in hand. you sat down next to each other, leo’s arm around your waist and your head on his shoulder.

“so how did you get calypso off her island?” you asked him after a moment of silence.

“well, i landed on her island a little while ago but i had to leave, obviously. was in the middle of a quest,” he said. “but she was miserable there, so i promised i’d come back to get her. and a few months ago, i landed on her island again, but with a plan this time.”

you listened intently. “and it worked?”

“for the most part. i had to work really hard to figure out a way to make it work, but it did. i just hope she gets a real chance to be happy now that she’s off her island.”

“that’s amazing. you did it against all odds, right?”

he chuckled lightly. “guess so. what about you? what happened to you?” you sighed and sat up to face him.

“i guess i’m not completely sure,” you started. he knit his eyebrows. “i was working with... or i guess, for, hera. but i don’t remember most of what she made me do. i just know i went on quests for her, and time didn’t really feel real. i had no idea how much time had passed when i returned.”

“gods that sounds... terrible,” he said genuinely. you shrugged.

“i got through it,” you grabbed his hand and started tracing lines on it. “and so did you.”

leo hummed and moved his other hand to your cheek. “i always knew you’d come back.”

“i knew you would, too.”

“promise to never leave me again?” you leaned into his hand.

“only if you promise me the same thing.”

[spencers-renaissance]

The Noiseless Crash of Crumbling Walls

Summary: After Derek and Spencer are paired up on a science project in their senior year of high school, they become the closest, most unlikely friends possible. But what happens when Derek finally finds out what Spencer's dealing with at home? Inspired by the prompt “where did you get those bruises?”

Tags: high school au, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hurt spencer, protective derek, abuse, friendship, pre-slash, spencer just turned 16, derek is almost 18

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Part Two

This is a platonic Derek & Spencer friendship fic because they are minors, but there are seeds being fairly obviously sown for part two of this series which will be set when they are both over the age of 18.

Spencer unfolds the creased piece of paper he’s holding for the eleventh time as he stares up at the house in front of him. He remembers the address scrawled on the sheet Derek Morgan had ripped from the back of his notebook earlier that day perfectly, the spiky peaks of his handwriting and the surprisingly loopy ‘y’s and ‘g’s are burned into his brain, but nerves have overtaken his helpless body. He’s not exactly in control of his actions. 

It’s not much but it’s definitely a cheerful house, that much is clear from the brightly lit windows and colourful curtains, the many gnomes decorating the front garden and the carefully planted flowers neighbouring the vegetable patch. One of the windows upstairs is cracked slightly and he can hear 90s R&B floating through the airwaves, accompanied by a female singing voice. The welcome he knows he’ll receive, though, is exactly what’s giving him pause.

A happy home is so foreign to him he has no idea how to behave. He’s used to being the adult, but tonight he has to play the 16 year old he is, and his mask is so dusty and disused he’s worried he won’t be anywhere close to convincing. 

Eventually, though, he summons up the courage to make his way up the stony path leading to the bright red front door. A brass knocker stares him in the face, but there’s a doorbell to his right as well, and the choice debilitates him for a moment, leaving him standing uselessly on the front step. He decides on the doorbell, since it’s a little more subtle, and he only has to wait a couple of seconds before the door is being yanked open and a smiling Derek Morgan is right in front of him. 

“I thought you’d never come.” His voice is bright and cheery but Spencer wonders for a moment if he’s mad at him. He’d been early when he first turned onto Derek’s road, but his over-thinking and ritualistic obsession over the address written on a scrap piece of paper had made him late. 

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and his desperation to be understood, his clear discomfort in such a foreign environment must be obvious, because Derek’s face softens even further. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty boy,” he grins, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him deeper into the hallway as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

Pretty boy. He’d used the nickname once earlier that day when they were planning when to meet up for their science project, and Spencer had flushed immediately. No-one’s ever called him pretty. He’s an awkward, lanky 16 year old senior who’s far too short for his age; his appearance isn’t exactly conducive to flattery. 

The last time anyone had called him by a fond nickname was when he was eleven years old and his mother was still somewhat rational. She’d pulled him close and called him her baby boy, and while some pre-teens might have recoiled from such a name, he simply snuggled closer and tried to remember every second he was wrapped up in such warmth. Five years later, he’s so thankful he did. He replays it most nights before he drops off to sleep.

He blushes again at Derek’s easy affection, trying to relax into the warmth of his house. 

“Is that your friend, honey?” A woman emerges from what Spencer assumes is the kitchen, drying her hands on a teatowel. She looks every bit the stereotypical American mother, dressed in casual, comfortable clothes with a warm smile plastered across her face. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Fran, Derek’s mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says shyly, trying to meet her eyes but failing miserably. He can’t help that this whole experience is so out of his comfort zone it’s ridiculous. 

“Do you boys want any snacks to take up with you?”

“Are you hungry, Spencer?” Derek asks, and he internally panics for a moment. Yes, is the answer. Yes, I’m so hungry. The only thing I’ve eaten today is an apple this morning. But is he allowed to say that? He examines the both of them and it does look like a genuine offer, but will they guess that something is wrong if he says yes? It’s only six o’clock, though, so maybe he can swing it.

“Yes please,” he dares, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Fran says, putting her hands on her hips. “You both head on up. I’ll bring up a tray.” 

Derek’s room is big, filled with football trophies and posters. It’s so achingly normal that Spencer’s stomach clenches as he gingerly takes a seat on his bed at Derek’s instruction. 

“I did some research that will help us with our presentation,” Spencer offers as Derek sits on his desk chair, spinning around to face him. 

It had been a shock when they’d been paired up. Derek’s friends had hollered and laughed when their chemistry teacher had paired them together, and Spencer had gone bright red at the humiliation, not that he could exactly blame them. Pairing up the skinny nerd who’d been moved up two grades with the jock who was almost guaranteed a football scholarship to an excellent university later this year had been a rather bizarre choice on their teacher’s part.

It’s not that Spencer minded: along with being the quarterback with a 4.0 GPA, he was also painfully nice. But everyone else certainly did. Every girl in their science class had sent him death glares as Derek had sauntered over to his desk at the end of class, wearing a lazy grin.

“Chill, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he pushes himself side to side in his spinning chair. “We got time.”

“I have to be back home by 9,” Spencer says sheepishly. He’s sure most people in their senior year are allowed to stay out later than that, and he hopes against hope Derek thinks it’s only because he’s sixteen and not that he has to get his mother into bed and try and force her meds down her throat so she won’t wake him up in the middle of the night convinced the shadows in her room are government spies. 

“Still three hours. Anyway, I’m sure my mom can drop you home,” Derek shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, we have weeks until we have to present. Why don’t we spend tonight getting to know each other? I feel like I should know a little bit about my project partner, especially if we’re going to be working together for the rest of the year.”

“The rest of the year?” His voice squeaks anxiously but he can’t help it, Derek’s completely catching him off guard. 

“Yeah. Ms Farron keeps partners from the first project together for every assignment that year.”

This is news to Spencer, but he tries to keep calm. It’s a good thing, right? Derek has always been friendly to him, and he’s intelligent, too. It’s unlikely he’ll fob all the work off onto him. But being taken advantage of and subsequently left alone is what he’s used to: ‘getting to know each other’ is decidedly new territory. Spencer’s head is spinning. 

“Oh.”

“So, pretty boy,” Derek grins, giving himself another 360 spin, “tell me what a 16 year old is doing in senior year.”

“I got moved up two grades back in elementary school,” he explains, grateful that this is at least a rather impersonal topic. “My teachers wanted me even higher but two grades is the maximum our school district allows.”

“I guessed that much,” Derek points out. “Why were you moved up two grades?”

They’re briefly interrupted by Fran’s delivery of a delectable spread for them to feast on. Spencer reaches for a cracker and dips it in some cream cheese, but as soon as he’s swallowed his first bite, Derek gives him a look that tells him he hasn’t exactly gotten away with it. 

He sighs. “The last time I was tested, I had an IQ of 187,” he admits, looking down at his worn sneakers. He’d expected to be told to remove them, but he’s glad he wasn’t. His socks almost certainly have holes in them, and laundry isn’t something he can afford to do often. “And I have an eidetic memory.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Damn, I knew you were a genius but that’s some next level shit,” he says, before popping a grape in his mouth. “You’re going places, Spencer Reid.” He’s saved from having to fight his blush too hard by Derek moving swiftly on. “Your turn to ask me a question.” 

Spencer takes a second to think before deciding to push the boat out, to ask something he actually wants to know instead of playing it safe. “You’re popular, star of the football team, get straight As,” he starts slowly, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “What makes you so nice? You could easily join in with your friends and be another asshole jock pushing me into lockers.”

When he looks up, Derek’s face is an array of emotions. “Kindness costs nothing,” he says seriously, and the intensity of his gaze surprises Spencer. “I saw my pops shot to death in front of me when I was ten and I got my ass kicked every day in freshman year, believe it or not. I know what kindness can mean to a person just as much as I know what cruelty does to someone.”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he knows that he’s finally relaxed a little. Derek’s stark honesty and vulnerability, as much as he doesn’t know quite the right way to react, is refreshing to him, and it’s made the icon of their school seem much more human. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Spencer says quietly. 

“Thanks, man,” Derek says, a half smile crossing his face. “What about your family life?” 

Spencer swallows another bite of his cream cheese and crackers, his empty stomach thanking him for finally filling it. “My dad walked out when I was ten,” he admits, treading as carefully as possibly. “It’s just me and my mom now.”

“I’m sorry. Are you and your mom close?”

How does he answer a question like that? They’re close in the respect that Spencer cares for her and spends every free moment he has with her. But he also holds his breath every time he turns down his street, half expecting to see his house up in flames, and they’re going hungry this week because she threw most of their groceries in a nearby river after convincing herself it was all poisoned. They don’t exactly have a typical mother-son relationship. 

“Something like that,” he mumbles, stuffing another cracker into his mouth. Derek clearly takes the hint that he doesn’t want to elaborate and moves on. 

They spend the rest of the evening taking it in turns asking one another questions, ranging from simple ones like their favourite colours to deeper conversations around their future plans and biggest fears. By the time 9 rolls around, they’re lying next to one another on Derek’s bed both facing the ceiling as they trade questions back and forth. Fran’s dinner tray is now covered in crumbs, her carefully prepared spread having been demolished by two hungry teenagers. 

Their assigned topic, Enthalpy, Entropy, and Free Energy, hasn’t even been touched, and Spencer can’t find it in him to care. He could throw together a perfect presentation the night before if he needed to. Right now, getting to know Derek Morgan seems far more important. Ironically, the boy he’s only really started to get to know three hours ago is probably the person who knows him best in this whole world, and the thought makes his chest hurt. 

The jittery nerves that had consumed him at the start of the evening have dissipated into a calm companionship, and he can’t believe how comfortable he now feels. He doesn’t want to leave, but he has to take care of his mom; she’s already been on her own for so long today. 

As if on cue, Fran knocks on the door, poking her head round. “Would you like me to drop you home, Spencer?”

He feels guilty accepting, but the last thing he wants is a twenty minute walk home through the streets of Chicago in the pitch black December night. “Yes, please.”

Derek comes with them for the short drive, and Spencer feels a little embarrassed as he points out the apartment block he lives in. It’s a shitty neighbourhood and his building is crumbling, but it’s home and it’s the cheapest they can afford on welfare. He ducks out of the car and shoots them both a grateful smile. 

“Thank you for driving me home, Fran,” he says. “And thank you for a nice evening, Derek.”

“No problem, pretty boy,” Derek winks. “I’ll find you at school tomorrow and we’ll sort out another night to meet up, yeah?”

The smile the Morgans put on his face doesn’t fade until he opens the door to his apartment and reality brings him crashing back down to earth. 

⭐️

Over the next few weeks, Spencer Reid gains his first friend. They finally end up actually writing their presentation and naturally, they get an A+ but Spencer’s anxiety that Derek would want to stop hanging out with him once the project that had brought them together was behind them ended up being for nothing. Derek had fist-bumped him as they’d walked out of their classroom. “Come over tonight?” he’d asked, and once Spencer had recovered from his shock, he’d beamed and nodded excitedly. 

As Christmas comes and goes, they continue their bizarre friendship. Spencer runs up to Derek’s room as soon as the door is opened, and dives under the covers on his bed, always freezing cold. The first time Derek had cuddled Spencer, he hadn’t been able to stop smiling. He’s seriously touch-starved, and it’s only more apparent from the way he craves contact with Derek. He’s ridiculously thankful that the older boy is so free with his affection, not consumed by the same toxic masculinity that seems to plague the rest of the football team. 

It’s nearing February when Derek asks the fatal question.

Spencer had whizzed home after school and made sure his mom was okay before running over to Derek’s, breezing past Sarah on the staircase and diving onto the soft, clean bed sheets. He’s sometimes jealous of all the home comforts his friend has access to, but he does his best to tamp it down. It’s not like it’s Derek’s fault that he’s well-loved and cared for. 

“Whoa, pretty boy,” Derek chuckles as he spins around from where he’s doing homework at his desk. “Where’s that shy boy who sat right on the edge of my bed only two months ago, hm?”

“You prefer confident Spencer and you know it.” He moves up the bed a little to sit with his back against the headboard. He’s never become so comfortable around a person this quickly before but there’s something different about Derek. 

“Can’t argue with that.” He gets off the chair and moves to sit next to Spencer on the bed, lifting his arm to let the smaller boy cuddle close. Spencer sometimes has nightmares that the boys at school find out how affectionate they are with one another and call them gay after which Derek doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore. (Secretly, he thinks he might actually be gay, but he won’t tell Derek that. Just in case.)

“Can I stay for dinner?” he asks. It’s a moot point: Spencer always asks if he can stay and the Morgans always say yes, but he doesn’t like assuming, especially since he knows how expensive food is. Not that Fran has ever complained about an extra mouth to feed, though. The dinners at Derek’s house are always a family affair, full of laughter and hearty, homemade meals and Spencer likes pretending he’s one of them, just for a little while. 

The guilt that he’s leaving his mom for so long eats him up, only eased by the knowledge that she usually sleeps the afternoon away, worn out by a manic morning. He has no idea how to navigate this anymore. It was easier when the only person he had in the world was his mom, but now he has Derek and his family. And as much as he loves his mom and doesn’t mind taking care of her at all, spending time with Derek doesn’t automatically trigger gut-eating anxiety and heart-wrenching misery.

“Of course you can stay, don’t be ridiculous.” Derek elbows him playfully. “You don’t need to ask every night.”

“What if one night you don’t want me to stay, though?”

“I thought I told you to stop being ridiculous?”

Spencer can’t help but smile at Derek’s relaxed, easy grin. For some reason this popular football player with the world as his oyster and a million friends chooses to spend every evening with the nerd who’s two years younger than everyone in their year. For some reason, Derek chooses Spencer. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Derek asks the question. “Why don’t I come over to your place instead one evening?” It’s a casual suggestion, there’s nothing really behind it. “I’d like to meet your mom and see your bedroom. If you’re gonna make fun of my football trophies, I need some revenge material.”

Spencer freezes. He has no idea how to respond to such an innocent proposition. Derek takes his stunned silence as reluctance simply cured with a little more persuasion. “Besides,” he continues, “I feel bad that you always have to run home first before coming over here. It’s like a twenty minute walk.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer hedges, trying to buy time as he comes up with a cover story. “My mom is really particular about our space and she doesn’t really like visitors. I’m not sure your mom could spare you a family dinner anyway.” He pushes Derek playfully, hoping to God he’s even half-way convincing. 

One glance at Derek’s face tells him he isn’t buying it, but he can clearly read Spencer’s troubled anxiety expression so he doesn’t push it. “Okay, pretty boy,” he says, relaxing back into the bed, “we’ll stick with the Fran Morgan dinner delight for now.”

Something tells him he won’t get so lucky next time. 

⭐️

Spring is just starting to show her face the next time it comes up, and this time it’s completely Spencer’s fault. He shouldn’t have gone over to Derek’s. He should have made up an excuse and stayed in his shitty apartment with his mom, but he couldn’t help it. He was sore and desperately sad, and all he wanted was Fran’s comforting shepherd’s pie and a cuddle with Derek. So he’d made his way home, checked his mom was still sleeping before limping over to the Morgan’s.

He’d concealed it pretty well all day, but energy is seeping out of him and the pain is only getting worse, not helped by the decent trek across town. 

He has a key now, so he lets himself in, hoping to avoid Fran until dinner time. Luckily, he’s quiet enough to not disturb her baking in the kitchen, so he makes his way slowly up the stairs, hoping Derek is not as perceptive tonight as he usually is. He’d briefly considered using bullies as a cover story if it came up, but Derek has spent almost every moment he could at school with him the last few days, he wasn’t out of his sight long enough to really encounter anyone cruel enough for it to be a viable story. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek greets him, not turning away from the maths homework he’s finishing up. It gives Spencer a little extra time to make it to the bed like he usually does. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “A bit tired. You?”

“Training was rough today so I’m sore as shit, but otherwise I’m fine. Better now you’re here.” He turns to smile fondly at Spencer, finally locking eyes on his pale, sallow skin and defeated expression. He scrambles to try and make himself look slightly less terrible, but he’s not quick enough. “You sure you’re good? You don’t look it.”

“No, seriously, I’m fine,” Spencer tries to persuade him. “Just tired as I said. Can we watch a movie while we wait for dinner?”

Derek doesn’t look even close to convinced, but he gives in and brings up netflix on his computer. Spencer collapses against Derek and lets his eyes close as the film they choose plays across the laptop screen, but he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he’s being shaken awake by his friend and he’s in a completely different position. 

“Spencer, wake up,” he says insistently, and the urgent worry in his tone makes him sit up, wincing when the movement aches his core. 

“What? What’s wrong?” he mumbles sleepily, obediently sitting up at Derek’s instruction. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek says, sounding teary and a little desperate, “where did you get those bruises?” 

He freezes for a second before glancing down at himself and realising that as he’d slept his shirt had shifted, revealing his black and blue stomach. How the fuck was he going to explain this? Not seeming himself wasn’t such a challenge, everyone has their off-days after all, but bruises like these aren’t the sort of thing your best friend just drops when you don’t want to explain them. 

“I—” He has no idea what to say. Tears spring to his eyes in a terribly unhelpful fashion, and Derek moves closer, wrapping Spencer up in a hug. 

“It’s okay, you can tell me, Spencer,” he promises as he holds him so tenderly it breaks his heart. “Take your time.” 

He cries for a good few minutes — it just feels so good to let it out — but as his painful sobs draw to a close, he knows it’s time to face the music. There’s no other option. He has to tell Derek. And maybe a teeny tiny part of him actually wants to tell his best friend.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he confesses, keeping his head buried in his friend’s chest so he doesn’t have to look him in the eyes. Derek’s hand combing through his hair doesn’t falter. “The reason I didn’t want you to come to my place is because of my mom… She’s a paranoid schizophrenic. When my dad left I became her primary carer, and I’m— I’m not doing a good job.”

Derek holds him a little tighter and presses his cheek to the top of Spencer’s head, shushing him quietly. “Don’t say that, I’m sure you’re doing an amazing job.”

“The other night she got confused because she’d refused her meds again. She became convinced that I was a spy there to hurt her. I can usually talk her down from these moments, or at least guide her to bed to let her sleep it off, but this time there was no reasoning. Eventually, she got so worked up that she shoved me backwards, hard. It sent me sprawling face first across the coffee table, and she kicked me twice before considering herself safe and barricading herself in her room.” He tells the whole story through thick tears, shoulders still shaking with pent up emotion. He wishes it didn’t feel so good to finally get off my chest. 

“Spencer, oh my God,” Derek whispers, sounding thoroughly shocked. He’s suddenly fearful that he’s going to report Diana, and he sits up, finally meeting Derek’s teary eyes with his own. 

“You can’t… you can’t tell anyone,” he begs. “If anyone finds out, she’ll be locked away and I’ll be put into foster care. I can’t do that to her and I can’t lose you.” 

Derek takes Spencer’s hands. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, making him calm down a little. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, okay? Not without your permission. But I also can’t let you be beat up by your mom.”

“It’s not her fault,” Spencer says desperately, “it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she thinks she’s in danger.”

“I know,” Derek promises him, “I know it’s not her fault, but she still hurt you. Has this happened before?” Spencer’s hung head and refusal to respond speaks for itself. “Okay, listen. I know you need to go home tonight, but come over tomorrow morning okay? It’s a Saturday and we can spend the morning figuring out a game plan and the afternoon taking your mind off it. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Is this… is this why you like being here?” Derek sounds nervous asking the question, clearly not wanting to offend him.

“Before I became friends with you,” he whispers, moving back to hide against Derek’s chest where it’s safe, “I went hungry a lot. We don’t have much money between rent and bills and mom’s medical expenses. I had to hide the groceries because she would become convinced they were poisoned and destroy them, but she got really good at finding them. I had to stop keeping them in my room because she would insist that I was corroborating with the government in trying to poison her.” 

“Spencer,” Derek breathes, holding onto him for dear life. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t know about any of this, I would’ve done something, I could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I’ll keep you safe now. I promise.” 

When Fran comes and asks them down for dinner a few minutes later, Derek points to Spencer’s exhausted form slumped against him and asks if they can have it up in his room. She relents, and Derek manages to get him to eat a few bites of the risotto Fran had made, not leaving his safe cocoon against Derek’s chest.

He insists on driving Spencer home himself tonight, surprising Fran who had her coat and boots on already, but he escorts his friend right up to his door. “If you come in, mom will get confused,” he explains so Derek gives him a long hug in front of his apartment door instead, holding him as close as possible. 

“Spencer… you know I love you right?” he asks, expression intense and serious as his gentle hands rest on his shoulders. “You’re my best friend. I’m always gonna be here for you.”

“I love you, too, Derek,” he whispers, giving him another hug. It scares him just how much he means those five little words, all the meanings that dance behind them taking him aback. For now, though, he settles on one more tight squeeze before deciding to not procrastinate the inevitable anymore. “I should go in and see mom.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at 9 tomorrow?”

“Perfect.” His heart does an excited little leap at the thought of seeing Derek again in the morning. As he walks away back towards the elevators, Spencer takes a deep breath before inserting his key into the lock on his door and pushing it open. He only has to go 12 hours without seeing his best friend. He can do this. 

His life suddenly seems like it holds infinitely more promise than it ever has. He supposes that’s the power of Derek Morgan.

Part Two 

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @hotchgans @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith  (taglist form)

[alpacaparkaseok]

Mine

3. Stalk me all you want, just bring refreshments.

Genre: Yoongi x OC

Warnings: some stalking lol

Word Count: 3.1k 

We’ve made it to Paris by the time the first stalker finds me.

The past week has been spent in England popping in and out of interviews and press conferences. For the most part, it’s been pretty quiet. Granted, each interview never fails to bring up BTS, one even going so far as to pull up a quiz to see how similar I am to Suga.

I got 62%.

Sebastian demanded to take it as well. He got 43%. I still can’t tell if he was relieved or upset. Either way, things have been a little strange between us ever since that morning when he woke me up post panic attack. I can’t tell if it’s just because we’ve both got a lot of things on our minds or the fact that we’re back in civilization now, but I find myself seeking out the company of friends through phone calls and facetimes more often.

Stacey has been working nonstop to deflate the situation as much as possible. Truly, I owe her everything. She’s quick to remind me just that as I make my way to my hotel room.

“You know, this is very different from any other case I’ve had before. This fanbase is hard to get around.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me from the other end of the phone. “You really have to stop referring to this as a case. It sounds like I’m some type of criminal.”

Sebastian passes me to go to his room while I fumble with my keycard. Stacey is in the middle of explaining the reasoning behind calling this a case when I finally open up the door and nearly drop the phone at the sight before me.

A girl sits on the edge of the bed, phone held up and hat low on her head. She stands up, walking over to me.

“Look who it is! Cara Richie!” For her surprised tone, I know she isn’t surprised at all. Stacey pauses on the phone as she picks up on the other voice. I remain frozen in the doorway, utterly confused. Did I get the wrong room?

Sebastian is the first one to react. “Keep your head down Car, and walk over here. Come into my room, I’ll get security.”

I do as he says, hesitating only a moment longer before turning my head down and heading down the hall. Stacey is demanding answers in my ear, but I can’t bring myself to answer her. Not as the girl is rushing out the door in an attempt to capture more footage.

“You think just because you’re a pretty face that Yoongi would be interested in you? He probably felt bad for your sorry excuse of a career and wanted to help. How do you feel about being a pity case?”

The words fling themselves at my back, but I focus on putting one step in front of the other. Sebastian is speaking quickly on the phone, motioning for me to walk faster.

“C’mon, c’mon…” He mutters under his breath, opening his door wide.

“I think you should know that this is live on Instagram. You look like a coward. Why would he like a coward like you?”

My feet refuse to move faster, my measly pace being the only thing I can manage. There’s a piece of me that really wants to turn around and give her a piece of my mind, but I know that’s the last move I should take. Not when she’s filming. Not when we’re just beginning promotions and my career is already barely hanging in there.

When I’m within arm’s reach, Sebastian grabs me and hauls me into the room. I just glimpse the dark clothing of security bursting out of the stairwell before Sebastian closes the door behind us.

“What was that?” Stacey demands to know. I watch as Sebastian scours the room, checking the bathroom and even under the covers for any unwanted visitors. Once he gives me a thumbs-up, I finally speak.

“I...I think that girl was stalking me.”

🌙

To say the least, Paris and I don’t get along well. Yes, the world-famous city of love. The irony of it all isn’t lost on me. I’m stuck in the city of love all the while trying my best to avoid crazed would-be lovers of some man I’ve only ever seen through a screen.

On the bright side, people who work for the tabloids are having a heyday. I haven’t managed to get my hands on any of the magazines they’re working for, but I do have a phone and said phone is in a constant state of buzzing and ringing.

One the down side I still have no clue how I’m supposed to make it through these promotions in one piece. A part of me hopes that BTS will step in and basically tell everyone to knock it off, but I have no way of knowing how their PR teams works. Either way, they seem to be very good at keeping things on their side very quiet while my side is barely holding the barricade.

We’re driving back from an interview when my phone rings yet again. Sebastian looks at me.

“You gonna answer that?”

Sighing, I yank my phone out of my pocket. No doubt it’s yet another nosy friend or reporter that got my number from a nosy friend.

“Oh!” I gasp. It’s an actual friend. “Bong-Cha!” I all but scream into the phone. It’s my crazy roommate from my senior year in college that convinced me to pursue another degree with her in Seoul.

“Wow, you actually sound happy to hear from me,” my friend teases.

“There’s a first time for everything. How are you?” It feels like it’s been years since we’ve last spoken.

Sebastian looks at me with a puzzled expression as I slip into Korean. I’ve never spoken it around him, but I’ve never had a reason to. In fact, it’s about time I got a call from my friend. I need to keep practicing.

“I’m...great.”

I furrow my brows as I study the Parisian streets we pass. “Are you sure about that?”

Bong-cha’s sigh carries through the phone. “Yeah, I think so. It’s just...remember when I told you before you left for the Congo that I had a really big gig coming up? Like, really big?”

The conversation we had less than a week before I left for the Congo comes back to my mind. Bong-cha and I originally went into the university to study acting. When we were both accepted to a prestigious school in Seoul she was elated and I was confused. I didn’t apply to the school. I didn’t even speak the language, why would I apply? Bong-cha took things into her own hands and filled out the application for me. It took a lot of puppy eyes and convincing, but eventually I realized that a fresh start on a new continent and even with a new language would be exactly what I needed.

The program took two years, but it only took Bong-cha six months to realize that she wanted to focus more on the music part of filming rather than the actual acting. The little punk switched programs, but we still lived together for the duration of the two years. Looking back, she made the right decision. She can weave and create a soundtrack that puts people under a spell. She even helped with the soundtrack for one of my very first indie flicks.

Thanks to her I had something of an advantage going into the world of cinema with both American and Korean acting experience. But the best part of it all was the building up a friendship that will last for decades.

“Yeah,” I come out of my walk down memory lane. Paris somehow makes me nostalgic. “What happened with that? How did it go?”

“Well, it went well...it wasn’t exactly for a movie, though.”

“What was it for, then?” I can sense the hesitation in her tone and urge her forward. “Are you releasing a mixtape or something?” We both chuckle at the notion.

“No, not that. Although I would take the world by storm if I decided to drop a mixtape. It would be pure genius.”

“Yeah, yeah. What was it for? Now you’ve made me curious.”

Another sigh. “I was working on a comeback trailer for BTS.”

My heart stutters for a moment. “You- you what?”

“I know, and I should have told you all of this-”

“Daebak!” I shout into the car, Sebastian jumping a little at my sudden exclamation. “That’s so cool, Bong-cha! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before!”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, it is amazing, isn’t it? They’re kind of going for this intense dystopian feel and somebody recommended me to them because they’d seen ‘True Lies’, isn’t that great? I still can’t believe it.”

Bong-cha deserves every ounce of credit that comes her way, I couldn’t be happier for her. Then I remember my current situation, and the questions I’m dying to ask her are all jumping for attention. I bite them down, reminding myself that this isn’t about me.

“I told you that the soundtrack for ‘True Lies’ was perfect, didn’t I? See, you should listen to me more often.”

A half-hearted chuckle from the other end of the phone. “I guess I should. But Cara, that’s not the only reason I called. I think I may have screwed something up.”

If my heart keeps stuttering I may die. Trying not to jump to any conclusions, I struggle to keep the apprehension out of my voice. “Ok...what happened?”

“Well...I worked a lot with all the boys, they’re very hands on in the whole process.”

“Ok.”

“I especially worked a lot with Suga because he’s very talented at producing music and all that, so he had a lot of say in the overall vibe and feel of the piece. Anyways, as you can imagine, we had to spend a lot of time together and we actually became pretty good friends...”

A yellow bike is being parked in a bike rack painted with red flowers and vines. It’s outside of the kind of cafe you only see in movies, and a young woman sits by the window with a book in hand. She’s lost in thought, no longer looking down at her book but instead watching the cars as they pass by. One hand rests idly around her drink which is still full. We make eye contact for a single second before I speed by, and I know that I’ll never see her again but I can’t help but wish I was her.

If I were her I could sit there calmly, not worried about much except for not spilling my drink on my novel. I would admire the yellow bike in the rack, and think up bike routes that I could enjoy. I would pack my book in the little basket between the handlebars and I would wait for a sunny day to go out and read.

Just my bike, book, and me.

Jumping a little as we pass over a speed bump I’m ripped from my alternate reality and drink in the words that Bong-cha speaks as delicately as possible.

“...we talked a lot, and eventually I started talking about my friends. You know, pretty normal, isn’t it?  Everyone talks about their best friends. I mentioned you, of course. Explained how we lived together for however long, like what, four years? Two in the states and two in Seoul? Anyways, I was going on about you because ‘Under Nine’ has been so huge and it’s like you finally had your big break.”

Coaxing my jaw to move from its stiff position, I form a sentence. “Bong-cha, just tell me.”

There’s a two second pause before she dives back in. “He’d seen the film, said that you seemed cool. And I just started thinking about it and I thought that you two would be so cute together. And he just seems...lonely. Is that weird? And you’re always so stressed with trying to find the next big project so I just talked you up but...I- I didn’t tell him to date you or anything, I swear! I just said that you two should be friends. That’s all, I swear.”

Somehow the spike in heart rate I was expecting never comes. Instead, I almost feel  more at ease. At least I’m starting to understand how this got started. It all seemed too disconnected before, like he just picked my name out of a hat and decided to have some fun with it.

“So...do you know why he said those things in the interview? Because that wasn’t exactly a call for friendship. At least, if that’s how he meant it, he failed. Big time. And now I’m paying the price.”

I can’t keep the bite out of my voice toward the end, and Sebastian doesn’t need to be fluent in the language to understand that tone.

‘You ok?’ he mouths. I nod and roll my neck in an attempt to relax. I don’t want Bong-cha to think that I’m mad at her. If anything, I’m flattered that she even thought to act as a sponsor for me to one of the most famous rappers in the world, however misguided her intentions.

“I know. I know, trust me, I talked to him about it.”

I wasn’t expecting that. They must be pretty good friends if Bong-cha feels comfortable calling him out on this. “You did?”

She chuckles. “I know, shocking. I just feel partially responsible for all of this. Then when I saw that video in your hotel room-”

“Wait, you saw that? I thought they were able to take that down in time.”

“Well, it was live when she was filming it. So she had to stop the filming but it was already out in the world. If it makes you feel any better, most people feel bad for you. You reacted really well in the video. Didn’t even say anything. Yoongi felt horrible when-”

“Hold up, hold up.” The words tumble from my mouth before she can continue. “You’re telling me that he actually saw that? And you talked to him about all of this? What is he saying?”

“I would tell you if you would quit interrupting me.”

“Sorry.” A hint of a smile tugs at my lips, the head strong Bong-cha I know so well reappearing.

“Anyways, as I was saying he felt horrible once he saw the video. Obviously we knew that it was probably a little crazy for you, especially with interviews and stuff. But I think even the guys were surprised to hear about you having stalkers and stuff.”

“The guys as in…”

“As in the guys. Jin and Jimin and-”

“Yeah. Yep. Got it.” I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry, so I settle for shock.

“I talked to Yoongi about it, though. They all feel horrible about it, really. I guess after I talked about you so much he got curious and started doing some research and trying to figure out who you were. You know, kind of like friend shopping.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Sure, when you’re that crazy famous it is. You have to make sure the person you want to befriend isn’t some psycho in disguise.”

I snort. “I am a psycho, though. I don’t even try to hide it.”

Bong-cha chuckles, in full agreement with me. “Trust me, I know. But I don’t know, maybe he thinks it’s endearing? I mean, look at his closest friends. Compared to the rest of the members, you’re pretty tame. They’re all nuts.”

Just from the way Bong-cha speaks about the band I can tell that she really loved spending her time working with them. It would appear they all became fast friends. I can’t say that surprises me; she’s always had a knack for making friends.

“Alright, if you say so.”

“Anyways, I guess the guys were just giving him a hard time because he was always watching your stuff. Everyone took it too far in that interview. I mean, honestly speaking, I think they want him to get a girlfriend as badly as I do, but,” she keeps chattering away as she senses my impending interruption, “they realize that this wasn’t the best way to go about everything. Trust me when I say that their agency practically skinned them alive when the interview went viral.”

I suppose it makes sense to a certain point, but there’s still one outlier in all this information. If this is purely just an innocent mistake, then why on earth would Yoongi fan the flame by inviting us to the film festival in Seoul? And publicly RSVP?

I ask Bong-cha as much, the skepticism thick in my voice. “I just don’t get it, I guess.”

Bong-cha curses on the other side, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes. “That is precisely why all of the boys have basically been in time out for the past couple of weeks. Remember when I said that the other boys want Yoongi to get moving as much as I do?”

“Yeah? I don’t follow…”

Bong-cha laughs at the situation, the sound of it only worrying me more. “That wasn’t Yoongi that invited you guys and RSVPd.”

I nearly choke at the new information. The anger I feel is red-hot. Somebody really is trying to sabotage my career, aren’t they? “W-who? Who would do that? Why haven’t they said anything about that? Clearly someone is trying to ruin my career, and possibly his as well. Wouldn’t BigHit do someth-”

“Hey! Listen to me you psycho!” Bong-cha yells through the phone, barely able to get me to shut up for more than two seconds. “Are you even listening to me at all? I just said that the others are pushing for you and Yoongi, too. Nobody is trying to destroy your career.” She pauses, and for once I don’t interrupt her. Instead I wait with bated breath for her to continue. “You should have seen Yoongi’s face when Jin told him what he did.”

Jin? Kim Seokjin? What did he do?

“What do you mean? What did Jin do?”

A sigh of long-suffering. “He’s the one that invited you guys. And made sure Yoongi would have to be there to face you by publicly RSVPing him. Got it?”

“Why would he do that?” I ask myself the question more than anything. Bong-cha still responds though, the smirk evident in her tone.

“You’ll just have to ask him in person when you get here, won’t you? Make sure you save me a seat. I want to be there for this.”

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taglist: @taylorroe3 @eusticenatalie @agustneeds @oceandeep​

[notnctu]

to jisung, my family friend ♡

To All The J’s I’ve Loved Before Series by notnctu ♡ park jisung x fem!reader  ♡ genre - fluff ♡ wc - 2.2k ♡ warnings - none ♡ synopsis - in which you guide a lost freshman to his lecture ♡ taglist - @colpen ; @cestmoncoeur ; @hyucksberry ; @lexiluness ; @lovelycharm05 ; @dearlyminhyung ; @classic-antifood ; @pikijaemin​ ; @whorefortaeyong​ ; @jaeismytamtation​ ♡ a/n - let us know if you want to be on the taglist for the next ones!

Jisung,

I’m already laughing at myself writing this letter, but it has to be done. You’ve grown up so well, I think it has to be a good four years since I’ve seen you in person. I can’t tell whether or not you're a stranger to me.

Our moms are literal best friends and I think we could’ve formed the same relationship if they didn’t try to force that on us. I’m reminiscing about our many play dates we had together as I write this.

We were such awkward kids, I mean, you still kind of are. Word of advice as your upperclassman, don’t wear your freshman lanyard. It’s too much of a tell that you’re a freshie, not that you don’t already look like one being lost on campus or clumsiness bumping into people on your way to class.

Jisung, I can’t help but look at you differently. When did your shy smile light up the room? You really grew into your features, because I don’t remember you having such a sharp jawline. I questioned my thoughts for you as we laughed together even after all these years. Your personality was still the same, maybe more mature now? Like someone hurt you in the past. Like your eyes grew sadder.

But honestly, you’re the most innocence I’ve experienced being in college. You showed me a type of love that could develop beyond a kiss or devious acts. I thought I’d never come across that again.

It was like an epiphany, like my cheeks felt warm whenever you acknowledged me. Your silliness never sold itself short, I could laugh for hours with you. There were no consequential thoughts between the two of us, like a refreshing love that is so pure and full of warmth from sunshine.

There’s a lot for you to learn and experience. I won’t rob that from you, given that I’ve experienced plenty after all these years. But there is such a compelling feeling within me to shield you from any negativity, to guide you in being the best version of yourself. I want to help you find yourself and maybe, grow with you since we have been absent of that during our teenage years. Maybe this is what should’ve been of our relationship a while ago.

If I had tried to notice you sooner, we could’ve saved each other from all the pain.

-from your mom’s favorite, y/n

“Honey, do you remember Jisung? You two were best friends when you were younger?” The phone call with your mom had droned on for more than you had anticipated. It was one of her I need a favor calls that could not wait until later.

The loud chatter and background music of the store caused your lack of attention to what she had been going on about. “You mean, your best friend’s son who you tried to force me to be best friends with when I was younger? What about him? I haven’t seen him for almost four years now.”

The phone receiver buzzed before she continued hesitantly, “I gave him your number.”

The box of pasta fell from your hands at her sudden statement. The strangers around you watched as your anxious hands recovered it from the ground. “Why?” The annoyance in your cadence was nothing surprising.

“He got accepted to your college, sweetie! Isn’t that great? You can guide him around campus, help him transition to college life. No one is forcing you two to be friends anymore. But it would be an amazing favor for me and your auntie. You know, she has been saying how she wants to pitch in to buy you a new car.” Coercion. Rolling your eyes, you aggressively packed your groceries in your reusable bag.

“How could I ever say no to her when I’m her favorite person?” It was a double edge sword with your mom. She never really gave you many options to work with and expected you to follow through as her very obedient daughter.

“That’s what I like to hear!” After the strenuous call, messages from an unknown number sat patiently in your inbox.

(127)-127-1271: hi (Y/N)!! idk if you remember me, we haven’t talked in awhile but it’s jisung! I’m going to be attending ur school in fall and I was wondering if you can help me with some housing stuff????

you: hey bud, congrats! Yeah, you can ask me anything you need to know, everything is very confusing when you first start out :)

The least you could do was act friendly. Jisung never did anything wrong and if anything, you two were oftentimes in the same awkward boat during your childhoods.

Talking to him again reminded you of all the holiday barbecues spent at his house and running away from the adults to play games with his cousins. The many sleepovers where his mom made him sacrifice his bed for you and he’d end up sleeping on their blow up mattress. Fond memories that were definitely lost in your present. You no longer remember how this boy even looked like.  

Summer slipped from your fingers faster than you could blink. Another school year of newer experiences, yet without the aid of being a lost freshman. Everything fell back into a schedule as classes began. The floods of college students rushing to their next lecture. Students working in study rooms or at the outside commodities. The lost freshmen with their dangling lanyards who walk too slow and bumped into people.

There was one tall, shy boy that caught your eye. He wandered outside the building, checking the lecture hall number and scanning the enormous facility. The sheer panic in his expression when he looked down at his phone in his iron grip.

His features were clearly recognizable, but Jisung had grown incredibly older. His jawline was wider and he had several inches stacked above you. As you approached him, his infamous pout appeared as he rapidly scrolled on his dark screen. His cheeks weren’t entirely slimmed out.

“Jisung?”

Jisung was quick to see who could have possibly known his name at this new institution. He tilted his head when he finally laid his tired eyes on you. He knew there was no way he could have recognized you on his own. Not that you were absolutely different, but the whole aura that surrounded you embodied a college upperclassman. You were no longer the loud, weird middle school girl who wore her hair in wacky ponytails.

“(Y/N)! Wow, it’s been so long. I almost didn’t know who you were.” The deepness of his voice took you aback. His hand retreated to the back of his neck out of shyness. His high cheekbones marveled in the autumn afternoon. The boyish charm was very prominent, but his eyes seemed a bit lifeless, a bit sad. There was no gleam, loss of fairy dust that glimmered.

“I can recognize a lost freshman anywhere. Let me walk you to class.” You offered and his cheeks turned slightly pink from embarrassment.

A small side smile appeared when Jisung handed you his phone to see what building he was struggling to find. “I was trying to not be obvious, but the campus is so big. I really haven’t gotten used to where my classes are.”

A laugh escaped your lips when you gave the boy his phone. His wide eyes grew concerned, afraid you were mocking him. “It’s already the third week and I never noticed you were in my class. Let’s go, I’ll finally have someone to sit with.”

A sense of relief washed over his entire body as he followed your lead. The curious boy remained astonished as you two walked side by side on the large campus. He was barely taking in the massive structures, long roads, and the volume of people. His whole face lit up, with tiny sound effects whenever he was amazed by something.

“How could you ever get used to a place like this? I feel like there is so much to explore.” Jisung tried his best to match your strides to avoid losing you in the stream of hurried students.

“Yeah, it loses its luster after a few months.” Looking up, you noted the drop in his smile. Guilt filled your system at lowering his spirits. “But with the right experiences, you’ll fall in love with it more.”

Just like that, his rectangular smile rested well on his small face. “Thanks for answering all my texts over the summer.” His eyes averted to the ground as he held his backpack straps.

“I’m happy to help. C’mon, Jisung. We go way back, you’ve helped me escape many horrible adult encounters during your mom’s get togethers. The least I could do is return the favor.”

“Oh, we’re bringing up the past? Are you still afraid of the dark?” He raised a snarky eyebrow and you were surprised at the random attack.

You scoffed dramatically, and pretended to seem offended. “Says the one who had the night light in his room growing up.”

His hearty laugh surrounded the air around you two and you giggled lightly at how cutely he reacted. As his melody came to a descend, he analyzed your facial expression before saying, “talking to you is so natural, like we didn’t have a long pause on our barely developing friendship. I’ve been waiting to encounter a conversation like this since I got here.”

A strange, inexplicable feeling burned across your chest. Were those the butterflies that you felt so often around a boy you found the slightest potential? Long stares at Jisung’s profile had you admiring his strikingly handsome features. You shook off the unusual thought, “what about your roommate? You two haven’t hit it off yet?”

Jisung shrugged and looked around as if expecting his roommate to be wandering around him. He relaxed and stood by your side to wait for the lecture doors to open with leaving students. “Not exactly. Chenle’s a bit loud, a little weird too. He sleeps on silk pillows with his initials embroidered on them and has fancy cutlery.”

Laughter and more laughter filled the gaps with Jisung. It was the most refreshing feeling to be around, something you never knew you missed. Everyone was too busy being adults or experiencing wild, mature adventures. There was no room for innocence or child’s play. For a brief moment, you forgot about the stress of your future and wanted to bathe in the smiles that Jisung provided.

After the long boring lecture and a whole hour of Jisung performing pen tricks, he practically begged you to walk him to his next class. Given that your schedule was a bit more free today, with the spin of your heels, you were off giving him random tips about surviving his first year.

“Make sure you avoid walking to class through the center of campus on Wednesdays, unless you want to be harassed by clubs.” You cringed remembering the fateful encounter with your orientation leader from your first year, Jeno, that happened not too long ago. And how he still managed to flyer you after catching up.

Jisung did nothing, but nod aggressively to your advice to mentally note them all. He was overwhelmed, in a good way. However, knowing that he had you by his side, it made him feel all the more better. The realization that you two could actually be friends hit him like bricks. He wanted you to be guiding him, teaching him, bettering him.

“Hey homie!” A familiar, taunting voice called after you. You both perked up and watched as your best friend, Jungwoo, danced his way over to you.

You chuckled at your silly friend, “when did you ever call me homie?”

“When I noticed you standing next to a new friend and I don’t want to be too mean by calling you a loser.” Jungwoo’s happy smile bloomed as he stuck his hand out for Jisung to shake. “I’m Jungwoo, 2nd year Chemical Engineering major.”

Jisung stared at his hand, unsure how to even begin at introducing himself to other people. His only instinct was to throw scissors to Jungwoo’s extended palm, like he was playing a game of rock, paper, scissors. Jungwoo erupted with giggles and jumped at his hand being sandwiched between Jisung’s fingers. You, also, laughed at the awkward boy’s action.

“I like him.” Jungwoo patted Jisung’s stiff shoulder, causing Jisung to smile at his statement. “First year?”

“What gave it away?” You asked, eyeing Jisung with a matter of fact attitude.

“The lanyard dangling from his back pocket.” Jungwoo crossed his arms and joined you at your side. Jisung quickly stuffed the rest of his exposed lanyard into his pocket to refrain from being a first year stereotype.

The lecture doors opened with a bustling blast of people pouring out. You gave Jisung a warm touch on his arm, which he blushed unknowingly at. “Welcome to college, Jisung. We’re hanging out tomorrow because I said so.”

It was almost difficult for Jisung to stop smiling around you. He nodded and waved goodbye to both you and Jungwoo. A small thanks was all you heard before he disappeared inside.

Sighing, you and Jungwoo began heading towards any source of food. “Jisung, first year and undeclared major. He’s a family friend of mine.”

“He’s cute. You two look great together.” He winked. You pushed at Jungwoo’s arm playfully to rid any romantic thoughts. Though, it would be an absolute lie you weren’t already having some of your own. Maybe not entirely romantic, but more in a sense that you endearingly cared for him more than you had anticipated.

[ultimatetrashgoblin]

Blaire Reviews: Ezra Season 4

Disclaimer: This is all my opinion, you are allowed to disagree with me. I encourage you to read this route and form your own opinions. (It’s no secret that EAA is my favorite series, so this will probably be extremely biased)

First Impressions

The stakes are very high going into this season. Red is on the loose, and with the spell on the Ice Queen's heart broken, it's only a matter of time before she's there as well. Probably doesn't help that Ezra broke the fucking front door down because either could easily walk into the house and kill everyone.

The conflict becomes immediately apparent when Ezra and FMC go to the university and find that all of the students and faculty are in some sort of trance, lifelessly moving around the school, while barely reacting to anything going on around them (If only Bosco was in this route, he'd fit right in).

They go to the library to find Darla, only to discover that she and Omar are also under this mysterious spell, and have lost their memories of magic. We also got this glorious moment (and you're lying if you said you picked any other option).

Ezra, Mouse, and Edward go off to find Red (and restore the power of three after Ezra broke it last season by running away like the dramatic bitch he is for like the fifth time in his route) leaving FMC with Nora and Arin, who get her to confess that the spell around the Ice Queen's heart has been broken. Fortunately, FMC is also given confirmation that she was not responsible for what was happening to the student body.

Unfortunately, we find out that Red is the one responsible for this, having stolen Omar's lamp and using them essentially as an army to literally "paint the town red".

In order to find Red's book, Ezra and FMC realize they need to go to the magic world to find it. Nora goes with them in order to collect ingredients she needs to reverse Dr. Tutorea's curse. But Arin warns them that The Ice Queen would know if Ezra was in the world, so they had to be quick.

The group (minus MMC and Lucas for some reason) performs a spell that will allow the door between worlds to be slightly open. I thought that this heart scene was incredibly well done, and was 100% worth the hearts.

Once in the magic world, we're immediately introduced to Galahad. Now I know plenty of people want his route, which I can understand, (the amount of male LIs who are genuinely sweet off the bat is very low) but I found him to be boring. Granted, he wasn't introduced until halfway through Ezra's last season, and his character was barely used. If we were given more time to see his character, maybe I'd understand the hype around him more.

Ezra finds Red's book and reads it, realizing that Red was the one who killed the wolves (like with Grandma, I'd suspected it, but the reveal was still shocking nonetheless). The Ice Queen shows up (though we don't actually see her), and with Red's book, the potion for Dr. Tutorea, and our new friend who Ezra totally isn't jealous of, the group goes back through the door.

I loved the final battle (even if it was paywalled) and being able to see everyone working together to take Red down. AND MOUSE FINALLY GOT TO SLAP HER!

Good for you baby, I'm proud of you.

For someone who has been getting hyped for this entire route, the Ice Queen made an appearance for a whooping one episode. In her defense, she did make the most of her short appearance. Her turning on Red and calling her out for betraying the hunters and Grandma was an amazing moment. Also:

Yeah, it's a little on the nose, especially since we already know she's getting a route in June. Still, I thought it was a fun addition. See you then Lavinia!

The finale was similar to Nora's. The MCs get their memories back, and FMC, Ezra, Nora, Lucas, and Dr. Tutorea go to the magic world. But what I wasn't expecting was that last heart scene. In all honesty, it probably was just a cute moment between Ezra and FMC, and I'm probably overthinking things. But it seemed a lot like they were exchanging vows- So I'm allowing myself to have this headcanon that they eloped.

Then and Now

Since this was Ezra's final season, I'm going to compare the character and relationship dynamics in his first and last seasons.

When we first meet Ezra, he's clearly the mean, snarky LI that we have never seen before, especially in wlm routes. We did get a few glimpses of a softer, more gentle side of Ezra as the season progressed, and he showed himself to be very protective over FMC (especially when Edward was introduced). One thing I loved about the relationship dynamic between FMC and Ezra was the banter. Both of them have very strong personalities, and there were moments where they would clash with each other. But rather than being malicious remarks towards each other, these arguments were more playful jabs, which was refreshing.

In this season, Ezra was much more open with FMC. There was still some witty banter between the two of them, but we also got more sweet moments. There was also better communication, and there was clearly a great amount of trust there. Ezra didn't run off as much and would tell FMC his plans beforehand to make her feel more comfortable.

In my opinion, Ezra is an example of the rude LI trope done right. He admires FMC's ambition and bravery, mentioning how most people don't have the guts to stand up to him (which is the origin of the nickname "Little Star"). I've seen other LIs of this type belittling the MC, and sometimes downright insulting them Chance Valentine, but Ezra clearly respects her.

Final Thoughts

It's always sad to see such a beloved route end. This story had so much potential, and it's sad to see the potential wasted by ending a route early, especially with such a beloved LI. As someone who isn't attracted to men, it's rare for me to find a wlm route that I can avidly enjoy and look forward to seeing updates for.

Despite the ending feeling somewhat rushed, this season was incredibly well done and allowed us time to see our favorite characters one last time. Red was an amazing and ruthless villain, the dynamic between the group was wonderful. I don't think we could have asked for a better ending (just maybe a few seasons later).

Overall Rating: 8/10

Favorite CG

I was stuck between this CG and the last one, but if there's anything that I'm weak for, it's beautiful lighting and attractive women.

[fallout4reactsblog]

In my exploration for fanfic, I stumbled across a Soulmate AU in the Naruto fandom - but not just any Soulmate AU, oh no, it was something that instantly made me crack up (I'll explain why, hold on a sec). You're completely incapable of lying to your soulmate. Dead silence or weird stuttering, or maybe even a strangled noise when the words just won't come out. You just can't. *You can't.* And I thought of DEACON's reaction (lmao), and then thought the other companions would be fun/cute, too!

Cait: At least sole is nice enough to give her a beer, after the day she’s had. It’s an uncomfortably warm temperature from their bag, and it’s not the Gwinnett Stout she prefers, nor the hit of Psycho she needs, but it’s better than nothing. After all, it’s not like they’re obligated to treat her well, or even have an incentive to do so. She’s a bargaining chip that they foolishly accepted.

They return to the campfire, hair still slightly damp from washing out the blood and bone of former raiders. She has to admit that that was fun to watch, at least. They’d made quite a mess out of all those assholes, and seeing the pain be on them for a change was a sort of sick justice she never thought she’d get. She supposes she can cut them a little slack for that.

“Are you hungry?” they ask, rummaging through their bag. “I don’t eat much, but you’re welcome to have anything I’ve got in here.”

She doesn’t want their stupid pity, so she opens her mouth to snap at them and tell them no. She doesn’t want their food, nor the sad way they look at her, like she’s some sort of wounded animal.

Nothing comes out. The words are right there, burning to be said, but her mouth won’t move, and she suddenly can’t make a sound.

“Here.” They hand her what looks to be some sort of grilled meat on a skewer. “Try some squirrel. It’s fresh.”

She takes it wordlessly, still trying to understand what’s just happened to her.

“Have some water, too. You must be thirsty.”

Suddenly, there’s a can of water in her hands, too, and a knife to open it up.

“Do you need anything else?”

What she really needs is a hit of Psycho so she can make this all a fuzzy memory, but she’s not about to tell them that. It’s none of their business, frankly, and she doesn’t even trust them.

But she can’t say no. She just sits there, mouth open, trying to make any sound to refuse them, to tell them she doesn’t want their help, but her lips won’t move.

“Are you okay?” they ask, and she sees the concern in her eyes.

“I’m just trying to-” She cuts off at the words “say no,” and can’t speak again.

They sigh and lean back in the chair they’d dug out of an abandoned shack. “Cait, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you or anything. I just want to make sure I can take care of you. Since I got out of cryo, my human functions have been on the fritz, so I need you to tell me when you need food, water, or anything else. There’s no shame in it.”

The world is becoming far too clear around her for her taste. She wishes she could have stolen the Psycho stashes from the Combat Zone, but sole had gotten there first. All of her drugs are in their bag, just out of reach.

But she can’t tell them that. She can’t just admit to needing their help, because if she does- Well, she doesn’t want to think about it. But she can’t deny she really needs to be high, and she also can’t deny that the only supply is sitting by her new companion’s feet.

“Just- hand me some Psycho, will you?”

They comply without a word, digging into their bag to pull up a dose, careful of the needle. She snatches it from their hands, relieved to just have it again, and once the drug is rushing through her blood, everything feels better. She can think clearly enough to remember all those stupid conversations she’d overheard, that soulmate bullshit about not being able to lie.

She scowls across the campfire at them, where they’re cleaning their gun, and tries to figure out what the hell this means for her future.

Curie: She’s seen enough wounds to know when a limb is done for. She knows the limits of stimpacks, knows how far their healing can go, and whatever happened to sole to make their arm look like this is far beyond any medicine’s capabilities.

“How do we look?” they ask, dopey grin on their face. She’d administered some chems to at least take away the pain.

“Well-” She searches for the nicest way to tell them the truth. 

Their arm is well beyond saving, and she knows it, but to have to tell them that seems impossible. Besides, she doesn’t know how they’ll react. No, she can’t tell them the truth. She’ll have to settle for the old tradition among healthcare professionals of lying and telling them everything will be fine.

But instead of comforting words and false niceties, what comes of out her mouth is a stuttering, jumbled mess of sounds, hopelessly incoherent.

“Don’t tell me you popped some pills, too, Curie.” They giggle a little. “I saw how that worked out for Earl Sterling. Hard pass.”

“No, I did not take any chems. I am just looking at your arm, that is all.”

“Am I gonna lose it?”

Again, she tries to comfort them with a small lie, but again, she stumbles so much over her words that nothing she’s saying makes sense. She frowns at her inability to be professional; after all, she’s lied to many people about their condition since getting out of the vault. This should be no different.

“Careful with that stuttering, doc. People will start to think we’re soulmates or something.”

Her hands freeze over a pair of scissors to cut off their sleeves. “Soulmates?”

“Yeah. You know, the whole ‘there’s one person in the world you can’t lie to, and that’s your soulmate’ thing? Did they teach you about that?”

“Certainly.” She begins cutting at their shirt. “I had just forgotten about it until now.”

“Me, too.” They sigh, a little wistfully. “It’s a shame I never found mine, I guess. They’re probably long dead by now.”

“I don’t think so, madame/monsieur.” A tiny smile creeps to her face, even as she pulls out some chems to sedate them. “But we will discuss this more when you wake up.”

“You know, Curie,” they say, as their eyelids grow heavy. “If I still have a soulmate out there, I hope it’s you.”

She barely has time to process what they’ve said before they’re out like a light, and she needs to get to work.

Danse: It’s easier to be honest at night.

The fire doesn’t quite illuminate sole’s face, just the barest hint of their features as they tell him a story about life before the war. A can of purified water dangles loosely from their fingertips, seemingly forgotten as they tell him about their life before the bombs fell. It’s nice to hear them talk about it; here, people tend to idealize what life must have been like before. To get a second opinion is refreshing.

“I think one of the worst things was the soulmate obsession,” they say. “Everyone was absolutely set on marrying their ‘one true love,’ you know? Most people didn’t even consider anyone else. They wanted their soulmate and their soulmate alone. It made being married pretty hard, especially once we had a kid. So many friends of ours were upset we weren’t trying to find the person who’d been chosen for us.”

“Your partner wasn’t your soulmate?”

They shake their head. “There was war hanging over our heads, and we were both getting to the age that we wanted to settle down. We were happy enough together, so we just went ahead and got married. Why not, right?”

“I suppose so.” Truth be told, he tries not to think about the idea of a soulmate too much. He has more important things to think about, and the idea seems almost childish. A fantasy for someone who doesn’t understand how hard the world is. “Do you regret your actions now?”

They shrug. “Not really. From what I’ve seen, being in love is tough these days.”

He has to agree with them there. “The Commonwealth is dangerous, and more so if you’re committed to protecting someone else. The stress alone of that bond would make survival here difficult. I can certainly see why you would choose to not pursue a romantic connection.”

“What if you did find them, though? What would you do?”

He thinks hard on the question. “The Brotherhood is where my loyalties lie. I don’t think I would prioritize someone else over my duties there.”

“Okay, but what if you didn’t have to? I mean, this person is supposedly your perfect other half. Maybe they would understand.”

He tries to tell them that it wouldn’t matter. Loyalties are loyalties, and he won’t allow someone else to disrupt that, but for some reason he can’t. The words won’t come.

“I suppose I’d have to talk to them about it,” he admits, still wondering why he can’t say what he wants to. “What about you?”

They shrug. “The same, I guess. I’d want to get to know them better, make sure we’re both on the same page.”

They continue on talking, but Danse finds it hard to concentrate all of a sudden. His inability to speak is troubling, and something he’ll need to investigate further.

Later, though. For now, he has to focus on his duties.

Deacon: He has no clue what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Everything had been going fine. He and sole had gone adventuring, and they’d passed by a group of supermutants, and he’d tried to make a joke about having seen a supermutant in drag one time. Just a little something to lighten the mood. The tiniest, whitest lie.

But he hadn’t, no, he couldn’t. His mouth wouldn’t let him. No matter how many times he’d tried, no matter how many different variants of the joke, he couldn’t do it. Because he’s never seen a supermutant in drag (or a deathclaw, or a mirelurk, or anything else) and now it turns out he can’t lie to them, which is inconvenient, to say the least.

He’s not an idiot. He knows he lies compulsively, without even thinking about it, and he knows he can’t stop and doesn’t want to. It’s easy to hide behind a wall of lies, and it’s definitely convenient if you don’t want anyone to ever know who you really are.

But to find out he not only has a soulmate, but that it’s sole, of all people, is really fucking up his day. Because sole is a badass, and the Railroad really, really needs them. And he knows that to get them through these first few weeks of getting settled, he’s going to need to twist the truth and make the Railroad seem like it’s their only option if they want peace. He also knows that he really likes them, and he usually lies to people he likes to make sure that they like him back.

Part of him tells him he has to stop working with them. If he can’t lie, he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and who knows what he might tell them without thinking about it. But the other part of him does like sole, and wants to hang out with them more, and the only way to do that is to talk to them. Which means he’ll have to settle for not lying to them.

He doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know if they’re worth it. But there’s that tiny, nagging thought at the back of his head that tell him to forget the lying part, the fact that they’re his soulmate means he ought to at least try.

“Deacon!” Their head appears around a corner. “Want to go bust open a DIA cache with me?”

Like an idiot, he agrees.

Gage: They look like shit. Dark circles hang below their eyes, and there’s still blood on their lips from getting punched in the nose earlier. Those ghouls had really beaten the shit out of them, and even though their stimpacks had healed most of the damage, they still look like they’ve been through the wringer.

“Having a beer before bed?” he asks, settling into the chair across from them. He eyes the other three bottles lined up on the table suspiciously, and wonders if this is their first drink of the night. It doesn’t look likely.

“Having a beer before work, more like.” They rub a hand across their face as if they can scrub away their apparent exhaustion. “There’s too much to do. Can’t go to bed quite yet.”

“Don’t be stupid. If you’re not at your best, these pieces of shit will rip you up. You should sleep.”

“Careful, Gage.” Their eyes shine with mischief. “You keep talking like that, I’ll have to wonder if you actually care about me.”

He tries to tell them that he doesn’t care about them, but again, the words don’t come out. It’s strange. So often, when he tries to talk to them, he can’t speak, like he’s tongue-tied. It’s annoying, especially when he’s trying to get something out of them. He’s a good manipulator, and he knows that, but it’s hard to do that when he can’t seem to lie to them.

Which means, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the new Overboss happens to be his soulmate.

“Fucking hell,” he huffs, and grabs their beer to have a drink of his own.

“Something wrong, Gage?”

He shakes his head, trying to figure out how to phrase it without lying, exactly. “Nothing that I’d see as important.”

The truth is he’s never cared about having a soulmate. In fact, he was convinced he didn’t have one. Everyone around him is an idiot, weak, or too single-minded to impress him. He’d assumed a long time ago that there was no way any of them could be “the one,” and if they were, there was no way he was going to do anything about it.

But the Overboss, well, that was different. For one, it would definitely give him a tactical advantage, and it would make them want to keep him close. No chance of getting shut out. Also, in the part of him that he’d rather ignore, he had to admit that it wouldn’t be bad to be tied to them. They were the only one who he didn’t immediately peg as a moron, and they actually seemed to know what they were doing and how to do it. He liked that.

Yes, this was an advantage to him for sure. He just had to figure out a way to tell them without sounding like an idiot.

Hancock: “Hancock, how much have you had, exactly?”

He glances up to see them standing in the door, an almost disappointed look on their face. He knows them better than that, of course; their disappointment is their excuse to not show their concern. That’s okay, though. He understands.

“Not sure. Wanna join me?”

“John.” They fall to the couch beside him with a huff. “You know I have work to do. Responsibilities. Et cetera, et cetera.”

Laughing, he leans over to rest his head on their shoulder. “Me, too, sunshine. What’s your point?”

They gently tap a finger to what remains of his nose. “My point is we should be getting to those responsibilities, not getting high.”

He shrugs and burrows his head a little more firmly against their arm. They’re so warm, so comfortable, so patient with his antics. He supposes he’s lucky to have them. As they wrap an arm around his waist, he sighs contentedly, happy that they’re here. He can’t think of a single person he’d rather have at his side.

“I’m glad you’re here, sunshine. I missed you while you were gone.”

They lean to rest their head to his, their hair tickling at his scalp. “I missed you too.”

It occurs to him, somewhere at the very back of his mind, that this is probably what love feels like, or at least, what it probably should feel like. This contentment, this bliss. He could walk through fire for even a taste of this moment.

Gently, he takes their hand in his, running his fingers across their smooth skin. Their wedding band glints in the dim light of the Old State House, glimmering gold and perfectly cleaned.

“You must really miss your partner, huh?”

“I guess.” Idly, sole entwines their fingers. “It was hard, though. All our friends married their soulmates, but we never found ours. It was part of the reason we got married, actually; we were tired of waiting for someone we might never find.”

“You ever wonder who your soulmate was?”

“I try not to.”

He opens his mouth to agree, but something stops him. The words catch. It’s a lie, but one that he’s never had an issue telling. As far as everyone else knows, he never thinks about his soulmate, and doesn’t believe in the idea. But for some reason, no matter how he tries to phrase it, he just can’t tell sole.

“Sunshine, will you be honest with me a second?”

They laugh softly. “I’m always honest with you, John.”

“You’ve never lied to me?”

“Of course not.”

Despite how sedated he should feel, given how much Day Tripper he’s probably consumed today, his heartbeat kicks up into overdrive. Suddenly, he’s faced with the possibility of a soulmate, despite spending years denying they exist and longer trying to pretend they didn’t

“Why do you ask?”

As he tries and fails to tell them, “No reason,” he realizes how tough this is actually going to be.

MacCready: “Mac.”

He doesn’t respond. He knows that’s immature of him, but it’s what they deserve. After all, they didn’t tell him they’d joined the Railroad, he had to find out from some rando in Diamond City, so why should he tell them anything?

“Come on, RJ, stop being stupid. It’s not that big of a deal.”

It feels like a big deal, though. He’s trusted them so much, and they couldn’t bother to share this little tidbit of information? It’s not fair, and it definitely doesn’t earn them any conversation. Instead, he’ll sit here and clean his gun and stare sullenly at the fire. That’ll show them.

They huff, obviously irritated, and sit down beside him. He scoots away, which is definitely immature, but he’s beyond caring about his image at the moment. They scoot closer in retaliation.

“I don’t get why you’re so upset about such a little thing.”

“I’m not upset,” he snaps, or at least he tries, but it doesn’t come out like that. It comes out as unintelligible stuttering, and he freezes.

He knows this feeling; the way the words scramble in his mouth before he can say them. He’s felt it once before, years ago, and he thought he couldn’t have it again. After all, Lucy was his soulmate, wasn’t she? His one and only, the person he was meant to be with. But here he is, sitting with sole, unable to say a word.

“Come again?” they say, bumping his knee with theirs.

He stands, stomach twisting. It’s not possible to have another soulmate. He shouldn’t, he can’t. He won’t just leave her behind because suddenly sole is in the picture. Sure, they’re just the right amount of kind, they’re smarter than he is, and they always listen when he speaks. But that doesn’t make them his soulmate, and it doesn’t give him an excuse to move on.

“RJ, what’s wrong?” They stand up, too, peering into the darkness around their camp. “Did you hear something?”

The sound of their voice makes him want to throw up. Not because he hates them, to the contrary, he’s far more fond of them than he has any right to be.

“No. I need to take a walk.”

“It’s dangerous,” they protest. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

Their worry for him is endearing, but he needs to collect his thoughts quietly, before he says something he’ll regret.

“I’m not going far. I just need a minute.”

The fact that they accept it, trust him, and let him go makes everything that much worse.

Nick: “I swear I set it down right here.”

Nick watches them from across the agency, bemused smile on his face as they try to find the sunglasses perched on top of their head. For someone so intelligent, so clever, he’s almost impressed by their antics. Not just everyone can decipher a code, hack a terminal, and then turn around and lose the sunglasses that they’re wearing.

“Ellie, have you seen my glasses?”

“Nope, haven’t seen them.” She shoots Nick a mischievous look across the room, and he chuckles and shakes his head. God, she’s impossible in the most fun way.

“Nick?” The hero of the Commonwealth turns to him, next. “I thought I set them on your desk.”

He almost says, “I haven’t seen them,” but he can’t. Before he can even get the first syllable out, his lips freeze in place, and he can’t speak.

“Hello?” They wave a hand in front of his face. “Don’t tell me you’re glitching on me now, Nick. I still need you.”

“Ha ha,” he says sarcastically, batting their hand away. “I’m not glitching, just having a little trouble, that’s all.”

“Me, too, because I can’t find these stupid...”

They turn away to begin rifling through drawers. Ellie looks at him with a concerned look on her face, but he waves her off, mouthing, “I’m fine,” at her.

He’s surprised, though. He honestly thought he couldn’t have a soulmate, that his better half would be the same as pre-war Nick’s. After all, they do have the same memories, the same personality, they just happen to look a little different. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that they would have the same soulmate.

He almost wishes they did, as he watches sole begin peering under desks. They deserve better. Someone who can keep up with them, who still has their youth and their whole life ahead of them. Besides, they’re probably still mourning their late spouse. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to keep this a secret from them.

Especially since he can’t lie.

Piper: She sizes them up discreetly from across the room. They’ve curled up on her couch with the latest issue of the Publick, despite the fact that they proofread every article in it. Still, they look deeply invested. It’s flattering.

Now’s probably a good time, she thinks. She’s known Blue for a while now, and if they’re her soulmate she wouldn’t be upset in the slightest. After all, they’re clever, cute, and their butt looks great in their vault suit. She’s not going to get her hopes up, though, because Blue’s soulmate could have easily been alive with them all those years ago and now be long dead. But, if it does just so happen that everything works out in her favor, that would be almost too good to be true.

She picks a lie carefully, just in case the words actually can be spoken to them. She doesn’t want to sound stupid, or say something that’s embarrassing. Maybe something about her favorite flavor of Nuka-Cola? She’s always been pretty ambivalent about Nuka-Cherry.

“Hey, Blue.”

They glance up from the paper as if they forgot she was there altogether. “What is it, Piper?”

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“Absolutely.” They put the paper to the side and lean forward intently. “Spill.”

She smiles at their enthusiasm and attempts her lie. Nuka-Cherry is her favorite. Such a simple little thing, so inconsequential, something that would be so easy to lie about, if she could.

But she can’t.

“Piper? Are you gonna tell me your secret?”

Her smile spreads into a grin, and she winks at them in a way she hopes is cute and flirtatious. “We’re soulmates, Blue.”

“What?” They jump to their feet, eyes sparkling. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I can’t exactly lie to you about it.”

They’re across the room in an instant, sweeping her into a hug. “Holy shit! I thought I’d never find you, that I’d lost you when the bombs dropped. But you were here the whole time. I just had to get to you first.”

She laughs and wraps her arms around their neck. “That’s right! I was just waiting for you to finally show up.”

They stand in the middle of Piper’s home, arms wrapped around each other, enjoying a moment neither of them knew they would ever have.

Preston: “Preston.”

Their voice startles him. He hadn’t heard them come down the hall, and he hastily wipes the tears from his face and uncurls from his position in the corner. They’re standing in the doorway, green light illuminating the air around them. He forces a smile up to his face.

“Did you need something, General?”

“Nothing more important than you.” They step further into the room and sit down on the chair across from him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He stands up, straightening his coat out and dusting himself off, forcing away the thoughts of blood that threaten to cloud his vision.

“Preston. You can tell me. I’m not going to judge you.”

For a moment, he considers it. He could lay it all out in front of them, finally let someone else share the burden of Quincy and everything that followed. If nothing else, maybe it would help clear his mind.

But, he can’t. They’ve been through too much to have to shoulder his troubles as well. It would be unfair of him to ask them for help, and unfair to expect them to. They’re doing enough for the Minutemen already.

He doesn’t say that, though. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, because when he tries to tell them that he’s fine and that nothing’s wrong, the words scramble themselves on his tongue and emerge in a mess of sounds with no meaning.

They raise an eyebrow. “You okay there? You didn’t take anything strange, did you? I know Mama Murphy offers, but you don’t have to accept.”

He sighs, though the lightness of their voice does help to lift the mood in the room a little. “No, I didn’t take anything.”

“Well, that’s something, at least.” They reach into their bag which rests at their feet. “Do you want a gumdrop?”

He accepts, and the flavor of artificial orange offers him some comfort. It’s easier to forget about the darkness and rain and the taste of blood in his mouth with sole across from him and half an orange gumdrop in his hand.

“So what was it?” they ask as he chews.

He tries again to brush them off, but when the syllables scramble themselves up again, he gives up and falls back into silence. Across the room, he catches the faintest hint of a smile on their face, and for some reason that stings.

“What’s so funny?”

They wave a hand through the air, laughing just a little under their breath. “Preston, I don’t suppose you’ve ever met your soulmate?”

“I never really looked for them. It wasn’t really a priority, so I-” Realization dawns on him. “Oh. You think? We’re...?

“Well, you can’t just brush me off and tell me it’s nothing, which is what you’re trying to do. Just like I can’t tell you I’m fine when I’m not. It just makes sense.”

And, suddenly, it does.

A stupid grin finds his face as he looks at them, washed in green light from their Pip-Boy. In this moment, he can’t honestly think of anyone he’d rather be soulmates with. They’re perfect in every way. He couldn’t ask for better.

“Well, soulmate, how about you tell me what’s going on? I’d hate to leave you crying in the dark all alone.”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “So you remember what I told you about Quincy...”

X6: Their face is furious. Anger blazes in their eyes with the heat of a thousand suns, hot enough that X6 suspects he might get burned if he steps any closer. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least. He’s not supposed to be easily intimidated, but in this moment, sole is terrifying.

“Are you going to answer my question, or not?”

He’d very much like to answer their question. In fact, he’d love to tell them that he’s not been hiding anything from them, that he has no doubts about his loyalties, and that everything is functioning perfectly, but the words just won’t come. It doesn’t matter how many times he tries. Nothing. Works.

“X6, I’m starting to get very irritated.”

“It seems to me that you’re beyond irritated already.”

“Then that should be an incentive to tell me if you’ve been hiding something from me, and then lay out exactly what that thing is. Believe me, you will not like-”

“I’m trying,” he snaps, frustrated at himself for being so unable to complete this simple task. “Will you just give me a goddamn second?”

“I don’t know why you’re making this so difficult.”

He grapples with his lie again, attempting to force it from between his lips, but surrenders quickly in exasperation. “Believe me, neither do I.”

They shake their head and scrub a hand over their eyes, seemingly fed up. The look in their eyes is still anger, but a resigned kind, the kind that festers and breaks people apart. “Look. I’m not angry, and as long as it’s not going to hurt anyone, it’s fine. Don’t tell me. Whatever. I honestly don’t care anymore.”

Their scorn strikes a nerve, and X6, who is already at his breaking point with both them and himself, gives in. “Don’t insult me. You know as well as I do that if it were that simple, I would have told you by now. I don’t hide things unless it’s necessary, and I’ve never lied to you. As it turns out, I probably can’t, so you’ll just have to trust me when I say I won’t hide something from you unless it’s important.”

They blink once, eyes wide, seemingly stunned into silence. For the first time in what feels like hours, the air around them is quiet and almost peaceful. There are no angry words, no harsh accusations. They just stare at him as if in shock, and he takes the moment to compose himself again.

“You can’t lie to me?”

“It seems not. Probably because you’re the future Director, and it’s not logical for me to be able to lie to you. I would suppose I can’t lie to Father, either, but I’ve never tried.”

“No, I’ve looked through the data. That’s nowhere in the programming. You should be able to lie to anyone you need to, including me.”

“Well, I can’t. I suppose it’s a malfunction.”

“It could be, but...”

They look him in the eyes, open their mouth as if to speak, then snap it closed. A smirk finds their face, almost triumphant.

“That settles it. You’re not malfunctioning, X6. You just happen to have found your soulmate.”

That stops his train of thought dead in its tracks. While not unfamiliar with the concept of soulmates- he had heard some of the scientists discussing the matter- he had never put much thought to it. After all, as a synth he couldn’t have a soulmate, because he had no soul. At least, that was what he’d been taught, and what he’d believed for his entire life.

“A soulmate? You?”

“Seems that way.” They smile, all the anger now gone from their face. “Come on, let’s sit down by the fire. We should get to know each other a little better.”

Wordlessly, he agrees.

[shiberpostshere]

The Kiss Thief - Park Seonghwa Social Media AU

13. Chapter Nine: Mega big brain boy ✨

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Masterlist of the AU✨

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Yesterday was wild. It was truly wild personified. Your friends and Seonghwa's friends mingled together to create, as Yeosang kept mentioning, chaos multiplied. 

Despite the loud talking, heavy eating, after-dinner meeting and dramatic goodbyes under the influence of alcohol, (No one has yet confessed who switched Cola with Alcohol. Hence, the appearance of bold Jongho) the time spent was the most fun you've had since college life began. 

It was fun but it was tiring staying up late.

The only thing that occupied your mind today was the thought of comfortable sheets putting you to sleep in your bed.

Currently, you're thinking about the same but with different emotions, specifically regret. 

"Why are you making a face like that? This is the fourth time you've zoned out today." Seonghwa's question pulls you out of your trance. 

You two wrapped the daily studio teaching a few minutes ago and the next occupants of the recording studio showed up when you were leaving. As Seonghwa conversed with them, you decided to text Yeri, who delivered you the news, shattering your napping plans. 

Why today, of all days, today I forgot my key? 

You rub your eyes and place the phone in your pocket. "You've been counting?" 

"Well, you're the only person here I am supposed to pay attention to. So yes, I've been counting. What's up?" He asks as you two begin walking down the stairs. 

Groaning, you push your hair back into an aggressively tight ponytail. "I forgot my dorm keys, I wanted to nap but now I need to pretend to study in the library while I complain loudly in my mind." 

He raises a brow, hands fishing out car keys from his pocket. "Why don't you just drink your deathly beverage? Doesn't it keep you all buzzed and active?" 

You stop in front of the building entrance with a smug expression. "Oh, my deathly beverage for which I attended the beverage addiction convention?" 

Looking down, he shakes his head. "Do you want to grab something to eat?" You expected a snarky or teasing remark but what is delivered surprises you for a moment. 

"Together?" The thought of just the two of you sharing a meal is enough for your heart to beat a little faster than usual.  

The time spent in the studio mostly consists of him correcting mistakes and answering your confused questions.

The initial embarassment is only subtly present. His playful comment are mostly absent when he's explaining what Hongjoong has already well explained to you. His presence is comfortable.

When among your friends there's always someone (mostly Mingi) chiming in now and then but this is the first time since you've met that you'll be spending time with each other. 

Frankly, you also don't know how to act around everyone with him when even sneezing is considered giggling. You two haven't exactly acknowledged openly about your high school crush on him other than easy, playful conversation you two engage in quite a lot, whether texting or talking. 

"No, we'll be sitting on seperate tables." He begins walking towards his car. You had half-expected an answer like that. 

"Really? That sounds great, at least I don't have to put up with your nagging." Arriving by his side, you comment with a side eye. 

He offers you a deadpan expression. "Didn't you listen to what Yeosang said? I'm actually that clueless. That open discussion about me, remember." 

"Are you really? I have receipts of your messages admitting how you find my reactions 'cute'." You tap your pocket, contaning the source of evidence, your phone. 

The confidence comes when with him without you having to muster up any.

Seonghwa unlocks his car, a small hint of smile on his lips. "Okay, let's continue this conversation while eating." 

This boy. 

"Are you really that unphased? Are you really that clueless? Teach me your ways." 

He opens the door to the passenger's seat. "I'll feed you instead." 

You place your hands on your chest, followed by a dramatic expression. "Wow, you're amazing at deflecting." 

Seonghwa places a hand on his hip and that's your cue to get inside before losing your free meal ticket. 

You'd rather eat with Seonghwa any day instead of pretending to study at the library with droopy eyes.

🌸

After a ten minutes ride to a small and cozy restaurant, you two are seated in the chatter filled environment with two servings of soup in front of you loaded with vegetables, meat and noodles.  

He arranges the spoons for both of you.

"Better than greasy food that will make you more sleepy." He sips a spoonful and an instant satisfaction takes over his features.

You chuckle. "Oh my god, you're really a mom material---" The comment is instantly regretted as you taste the refreshing soup, enough to widen your eyes. 

He slurps the noodles and then turns to you with a victorious smile. "You develop motherly instincts when you hang out with children." 

"Children?" You're listening to him but the soup definitely has a majority of your attention. "Oh, you mean the guys?"

"All the seven of us are uniquely handful," The smile is still ever present on his lips. 

Even though you haven't spent much alone time with him, you can still detect the warmth filled, selfless nature he had back then and still has it within him now.

That was one of the main reasons you were attracted to him. 

Okay, not now (Y/N), let's not make it awkward. 

You take a big bite of the juicy, broth soaked meat. "You're still as initiative and kind as I remember." Speaking with much difficulty, you hold up your hand in front of your lips, "But I think something went wrong somewhere and you developed the quality of enjoying making fun of innocent girls like me." 

He offers you a tissue with his trademark, unphased expression. "I am actually that clueless." He shrugs. 

You snatch the tissue and wipe the corner of your lips. "Yeah, sure." 

He laughs at the look on your face. "What? You can't take a little teasing from your senior?" 

You throw up your hands in false frustration. "Oh my god, stop asserting your age kink!" 

"It's not a kink!" He says defensively. 

"Yes, sure. Mingi is Mingi but you, you are something else!" You say the statement, knowing that he understands the meaning behind it and begin sipping the remaining broth.

He too, downs the broth in one shot. "What am I?"

There it is, that amused and knowing glint in his eyes and the smirk he's attempting to hide. 

"You're..I don't know, whatever. Seventeen year old Seonghwa would never do this to me" You bite your tongue after delivering the statement.

He crosses his arms below his chest. "Seventeen year old Seonghwa was actually clueless." 

You point a finger at him with an exaggerated smirk. "Ha! You are basically saying that twenty-one year old Seonghwa isn't!" 

He places his head on his hands, shoulders shaking with gentle laughter. "(Y/N) if you keep reacting like that, do you really think I can stop?" 

Your expressive gesture shrinks. "You know what, I understand now." You hold up your hands in defeat. 

"No, don't stop now. We are finally opening up and talking." He gives you an encouraging nod. 

"Oh, don't trick me now. My eyes are about to roll back into my head." Your fingers undo the ponytail to let your hair breath. 

Sleep has abandoned your senses long ago but only now you realise how energized you're feeling.

"Fifteen year old (Y/N) would never." The innocent face of his doesn't do justice to the way he is speaking. 

"Hey!" You protest.

Wow, I sure react to everything he says. 

"Fine, fine. I'll stop now but If it ever gets beyond the limit, tell me." He assures with an honest expression. 

God, you cannot be teasing one minute and be kind the other, no, don't do this Park Seonghwa. 

You huff out a sigh and lean into your palms. "It is harmless anyway but you're too good at it and sometimes you are something else."

He mirrors your posture. "Yes, (Y/N), so tell, What am I? What is something else?" 

Your face falls into your palm and you hear his soft chuckles. 

Not again, Park Seonghwa, not again. 

Pairing: College Student! Seonghwa x College Student! Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, A teeny tiny bit of smut with a pinch of angst

Synopsis: High school crushes are often silly and forgotten. However, you cannot forget the one senior, you "borrowed" once a kiss from. Years have passed and it's a memory you laugh at but what will happen if you're to encounter the same senior in a much different setting and situation? Especially during your first year of college.

A/N: He make fun of you, he tease you but mostly importantly, he feed you 🙏🏻

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