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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years ago

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Courtship Rules

For the lovley @beansapalooza for some alien fucking! For Science!

Summary: You are a scientist on a team of four sent to live on a planet where xenomorphs inhabit. You are all to have your studies on them, everyone has their own thing. You? Well. You study their breeding habits. Perhaps getting a little TOO close to that knowledge. But, what better way to study than hands on? Or. In which a xenomorph recognizes you from its past and believes you to be its mate. Who are you to refuse getting stuffed full of eggs? All in the name of science, of course.

Reblogs > Likes. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, have your age in your bio to interact!

Fandom: Aliens - Aliens VS Predators

Relationship: Xenomorph/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader is gn and has a vulva + is chubby, oviposition/ovipositors, knotting, brief brief mentions of mild gore that’s canon typical, breeding, you get stuffed with alien eggs!

Words: 8.7k

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The mission relayed to you had been one of great importance. But it came with great dangers, dangers that you were all aware of.

There were four of you total, almost all scientists in your own regard. A handful of teams had come into contact with the creatures you were now studying. And all those teams had wound up dead.

One of those teams, years ago who had first come into contact with them, didn’t know what they were up against or what they were bringing back. Another team had been sent to wipe them out, claiming them to be parasites, with only one survivor to return to tell the tale. Another team had been sent out as a means to take one or two back to study in cages on their ships, once again did not go well. Another team sent to explore their home planet, weapons in hand because exterminating the species had been the only thing on their mind. Then another team, and another, and another...

Other teams were documented, more and more who wanted to quietly try and study or eliminate them. All failed. All dead.

~Rest under the cut~

All marked in the files and reports you had read with big red stamps over pictures of people just like you reading ‘deceased’. Graphic images of rib cages and stomachs burst open and people hanging in this thick, black goop. Holes stabbed straight through the hearts or the forehead. These aliens, classified under the term Xenomorph, were quick killing predators who were used to getting what they needed to survive.

They were bred that way, for fighting and survival.

Your team was to study them. All of you had different projects given to you. Your team consisted of: Lillian, a tall woman with wild curls of deep red down her back and warm brown skin with a smile that could break hearts. She studied how they lived through the hive, their ranking, and what was the importance of all of their systems. This also included breaking down their anatomy and worked hand in hand with you.

Frankie, a short haired nonbinary person with a deep olive skin tone and a soft, shy personality that could become booming once excited. They were in charge of monitoring and studying the physical data that came in through either physical samples of the hive or sediment from the planet to see if there was a connection. Different points of study depending on the surrounding climates.

And Mavrick, who was on the way taller side of all of you and needed to duck to get around your ship. A man with sharp teeth and charmingly an asshole, with wild hair and quite the affinity for Frankie. Who was, as far as you knew, married to them. He wasn’t a researcher, but an engineer who kept your ship intact and in one piece, in charge of sending messages out when supplies were needed.

And you? Well. You studied their breeding habits. There had been question that if a Queen was not involved, how did they breed? However, this hive didn’t have a queen. Two years ago, when your team was sent here, they did. But she passed away and became one with the hive walls. It had brought a concern to all of you thinking that there was no survival to continue so therefor no mission, and yet, it seemed in record time, they evolved in peculiar ways.

The xenomorphs before both exhibited both internal and external genitalia, but they didn’t seem to actually use said genitalia until recently when the Queen had died. Xenomorphs lived in freezing cold environments, their bodies just as cold blooded despite their blood being so high in acidity that it could melt a floor. Yet, even with these factors, they adapted to fit the environments they were in. Whether warm or cold.

Through varied, new studies on these peculiar evolutions, xenomorphs with internal genitalia could hold the eggs given to them by their external genitalia counterparts. But, the problem is the eggs don’t tend to survive unless the xenomorph stays warm enough for them to incubate. And refusing to leave their freezing cold hive meant there was no chance they could keep their bodies warm.

Curiosity and in the name of science had led your team to carefully place blankets near their hive. And with cameras you had been able to see how they built nests with these. The xenomorphs carrying the eggs staying warmed and inside of them in order to incubate these eggs until they could lay them. With trial and error, the xenomorphs learned that their bodies had to stay warm in order to hatch the eggs they now carried.

However, that could be too big a trial for a xenomorph always on the go and within the hive. They needed something more permanent that wasn’t hindering for them.

The older, bigger eggs from the Queen used to hatch with what was called ‘Face huggers’ due to their spider leg appearance and long tails. Other creatures on the planet were captured in their hive and used as hosts for these beings to lay their eggs and then curl up and die. It took either days or weeks depending on the size- or rank- of the xenomorph before the ‘chest burster’ would emerge and crack through the rib cage or abdomen of its host. Which left the xenomorphs to do very little than simply capture live prey and let the face huggers do the rest.

This new evolution for their spawn to continue required more work. And yet, the eggs that hatched from these evolved ones were what used to be deemed as ‘chest bursters’. Which took out the need for face huggers, so eliminating a step. Curiously, these young xenomorphs were hatched warm blooded and then developed to be cold blooded as they grew and adapted to their environment. Another proof of their steps in adaptability to fit the climates that surrounded them.

That’s what you and Lillian had been studying together, the new evolution of xenomorphs and how their bodies had adjusted as well as breeding patterns. It also seemed that the xenomorphs were now trying to branch out into warmer areas of the planet where beasts were, another study that Frankie was making note of. It made sense that the warm-blooded beings would be warm and could keep their eggs alive without needing to do all that work of blankets and trying to keep their own bodies warm. It saved a step.

However, the current study conducted by your team was monitoring how these creatures were going to use these beasts to their advantage.

There were cameras in the dark hive that let you guys see what was happening. But all of you had also figured out that a year in that you could suit up entirely head to toe and use the collected pheromones from the xenomorphs to mask that you were in the hive. It made physical data collection a lot easier, and less suspicious than sending in a humming drone to collect the data in a little basket.

Those got destroyed quite frequently by a well-aimed, sharp tail.

Though, it was still an unnerving task having to go into the hive. Going in the dark with only the screen on your goggles to see through the dark of the rooms or the small beams of light coming in from the ceiling. Hearing the taps of claws passing by as they worked through the hive. Sometimes there would be a hiss and you had to ensure you didn’t stiffen up or jump to draw attention to yourselves. Any sort of abnormality in behavior could be seen as an infiltrator.

The first time your team had done this, you went in a full group of four. It had been a scary time as you carefully moved in a group. But for the most part the xenomorphs thought you must have been a bigger drone worker, because they’d pass you guys by without so much as a glance or hesitation.

The jig had almost been up when you all had made it to the egg room, one of the warm-blooded creatures stuck on the wall suddenly howling out and a chest burster breaking from it.

Mavrick had drawn his gun first out of reflex, no sound from any of you as to not alert the hive. You understood as the reaction was only natural because you guys knew how dangerous they could all be. Yet, for some reason you had quickly scooped up the chest burster and held it to your chest. Vigorously shaking your head for reasons other than the fact it would have alerted the others to investigate and perhaps slaughter your team. Reason that, to this day, you couldn’t quite pinpoint why you did it.

The chest burster looked...different than the others. Its crown wasn’t smooth, but tall and pointed- very much like, well, a crown. It looked similar to a Queen xenomorph child, but there would be no need for a queen, and this one wasn’t quite big enough to classify as even that. Perhaps some new evolved version of a higher rank?

Regardless of these questions, you quickly had run to one of the small holes that led to another room. Gently, you’d set the shockingly quiet and non-squirming chest burster down, quickly shooing it off.

You can’t help but feel like it lingered to look at you- but you knew these creatures were very well almost near blind, fairly near sighted. Everything seen in a blurry black and white for them. There was no way it could have seen you in that grand of detail- and your team wasn’t sure about how well their memories held at that time. So, there was no guarantee it was trying to actually see or remember you in some way.

It had been a scary moment for all of you. Your human instincts all told you to run or to kill it, and yet you felt this pull to keep it alive. Perhaps it was just because you had been studying them for so long that you were attached to this hive. That would make sense, even if you knew that at a moment’s notice the xenomorphs would take you out for infiltrating. A clean, swift death from either a tail or their strange miniature mouths.

Sort of how people back on Earth would care for a lion pride, knowing full well they could be killed if they so much as stopped feeding them.

Today, a year later, you have to go into the hive. You do this as often as you could, nearly once a week in order to collect physical data. Since you’re the only one who feels particularly brave enough to do it so often, you don’t mind the everyday suit up in order to get better data on all of your studies.

However, the reason today was due to one of the cameras having fallen off the wall of the hive looking into the nesting room. It was crucial to have it up, especially since you were focusing on studying their new mating and breeding habits. One of which being how they were trying to figure out how to use beasts like they had in the past to hold their eggs. But, the old-fashioned way of a face hugger implanting it in their chest clearly wasn’t going to happen.

Pheromones are sprayed across your pitch-black suit and helmet to ensure you blended in with the hive. The helmet was unnecessary for planet survival, but necessary in case of an accident; Oxygen was clean and the air was as cold as a fresh winter day, but it allowed you to see in the dim space of their hive, as well as protected your head if you got knocked over.

And if you did get knocked over, you’d rather that the hive members would have to try to work for their kill at least.

You keep your cool as you head out of the ship, a camera installed in the front of your suit ensuring that your team could monitor if something went wrong. You keep quiet as you navigate the halls as easily as you would your ship once inside the hive, making sure to keep moving when you hear the taps of claws. If you startled or held still, they would know something was up, so you keep as if you are one of them. As you always did.

The nesting room is a larger room in the center of the hive, the ceiling open to allow light to be mainly focused here with only spider webs of black goop keeping the hive connected above. Five nesting areas of craters are scattered about with furs from beasts stacked in some or blankets your team had left out. But what’s the most interesting is on the wall is a large beast, looking akin to a saber tooth tiger with far too many eyes and too many tails to be one.

It was alive. Breathing. Encased in the black goop with four dark gray eggs almost swaddled against its abdomen with more of the hard-black material they used to build their hive. Like a makeshift incubator without killing the beast. That was...interesting. They had tried killing these beasts before, tearing open their abdomens or chests to put their eggs, but they must have learned that the bodies became too cold after a few hours.

Your eyes light up when you realize they’re going against their very nature to maul upon sight- learning to adapt to keep their species going. Even if it means going against what they were bred to do.

You spy the camera on the ground near the snoozing beast and carefully creep up. You move it around in your grasp to check for damages, only spotting a slight scratch on the outer edge of it, but thankfully not the lens. That was good, it meant replacement wasn’t necessary and you could just get it back up without needing to go back to your ship for repairs.

But your train of thought is paused when you hear the beast let out a low, slow growl.

Your heart pounds, eyes moving up slowly and carefully whilst keeping your body still to not alert it. You soon see its eyes are still closed.

It was a snore.

Okay, okay that was fine! Cool, don’t make that sound again, thanks!

You let out a breath you’d been holding, practically feeling your team do the same when you give a thumbs up to the camera in your grasp after you turn it on. You move towards the back of the room near the nests to mount it on the wall with a sticky adhesive, positioning it to be just right.

That’s when you hear a different noise right behind you when you take one step back to admire your handiwork. You freeze when you hear the quiet, near nonexistent tapping of claws behind you. Normally when the xenomorphs were walking, you could hear them. This was a deliberate drag of a tail, near silence. The only time they would be quiet is if...

Is if they were hunting.

Your heart is pounding heavily in your ears, your hands shaking by your sides and your breath quickening. You swallow heavily, remembering their body language and how they responded to quick movement. You don’t move a muscle, hearing the low hiss of warning behind you and the drag of its tail sound lighter as it’s lifted.

You tuck and roll to the right just as quick as the tail stabs just where you were standing, narrowly missing the camera on the wall. You yelp when you land yourself in one of the craters of their nests, scrambling back on your elbows and watching the xenomorph crawl after you with that same high hiss of warning.

You were an intruder in their nesting ground. That was the biggest offense.

Your lips quiver, vision blurring with fat tears when it crawls overtop you. Its large body frames your own with its long head lowering down towards your helmet. Its mouth of razor-sharp teeth opening and its miniature mouth poised to strike your helmet to attempt to get through the thick glass.

You knew coming into this that this was dangerous. All of this was dangerous. You can’t even blame the xenomorph. As far as it knew, you were an intruder who just planted something inside of its home. You don’t fear this death, but your heart still races and tears still slide down your cheeks with your instincts to move, to run, to flee.

And then suddenly. There’s a blur of black as it gets knocked to the side by a much bigger xenomorph.

It stands a good foot taller than the average six foot they normally are. Its body wider and girthier, circling its hive member with a louder and deeper sounding hiss that reverberates in the room. The smaller one hisses back in a weaker tone, looking over towards your direction and then whipping its head back at the larger xenomorph. Their body language is loud and obvious, an argument of if you were an intruder or not.

The larger one acts as if this was an argument between hive members and breaking it up.

The smaller one still bristled and looking at you like trying to prove you didn’t belong there.

It’s with a slam of the larger one’s thicker tail does the smaller finally scuttle off back down a hallway. You weren’t a threat, you weren’t a danger enough to keep arguing over.

Your heart is racing as you consider what the fuck just happened. Maybe this larger one wanted to end you instead? Maybe that was its job? Its job was protector, you knew that much from its size. You can’t even think clearly, watching as its head now turns towards you without a single snarl on its face. Except- curious. You...you know this one. With its tall crown flaring out much to look like a crown, like a miniature Queen.

The chest burster you had practically rescued; You’d only caught glimpses of it as an adult on the cameras. Lillian knew more about it than you, she nicknamed it The Knight.

No way it could remember you, right? Xenomorphs were based mostly on scent, this was true, but you’d used pheromones then and you definitely used them now. They didn’t pack bond like humans...did they? And even if they did, would it recognize you by your suit alone?

That would definitely be a new evolutionary trait- but then again, the beast on the wall wasn’t killed either but being used for its heat and kept alive.

Regardless, the xenomorph is stalking closer, but slower. Not prowling as if making sure to make noise as if it wanted to be sure you saw it. You swallow thickly, flinching when its long fingers outstretch towards your helmet. Its long, wide crowned head cocks. A small, almost trilling noise from its throat as it slowly moves itself into the nest you were currently still lying in. It doesn’t move to be on top of you, instead moving towards your side, gently nudging your side as if to urge you to get out.

O-oh?

You move as guided, helped out of the little crater with it again making that same sound as if it was pleased you did what it wanted. You’re still high off your fear, not quite thinking of anything else besides your shaky legs as you climb out. The alien behind you nudges your back with its head, a fond gesture you don’t even think about at first until it’s scooping you up. You don’t make a sound, fearing that yelping would anger it in some way but. But there was something about this...

You realize how it’s holding you. Cradled to its chest just like you had that little chest burster. It marches purposefully through the hive, back the way you came and keeping you tucked close with a firm grasp. Just like you had done to it to protect it from your team. It was protecting you from the hive just in case the drone had summoned others. Its body language purposeful.

As it walks, you contemplate what just happened. A drone got angry, went to attack you, and the Knight defended you. Okay, so it must have remembered you, but that trill.

Why did you know that sound? They only made that sound if--

Mate.

It thinks you’re its mate.

Or rather, trying to court you into being its mate.

You note it turns a new way down the hive structure. Not towards the exit, but instead to its own area. It has a similar crater in the ground with furs lovingly skinned off beasts piled in said nest. The room is wide, dome shaped almost with a beam of light streaming from up above and into the center of the nest.

Only higher ranked xenomorphs had their own spaces, especially to breed and nest, whilst the drones used the center room.

You’re set down oh so carefully into the wide nest that was built bigger than the others for reasons you can only assume is because how big this xenomorph was. It trills once again, but doesn’t follow you into the nest. Moving to lie curled around the edge of it with its head turned towards you and lying on its side to expose its belly and keep its tail far from you. The body language was familiar to you with courtships. ‘I am not a threat’ it’s practically yelling. You almost laugh at how silly this display seems to you as a human, but can’t help the nervousness in your throat.

“H-hi-” You manage to croak out finally, feeling silly for even deciding to speak. But, it merely lifts its head slightly, as if to show you it’s listening. It lets out a low noise in its throat, a sort of snort as if trying to mimic the thickness of your voice. Another sign it was trying to court you with mimicry, despite not having the right vocal cords to sound how you sounded.

It had to know you were another species, right? The pheromones on your suits would mimic a xenomorph, sure, but it carried you in a way that said it knew you were softer in flesh. It would feel that when touching you. It would feel you were much warmer- and maybe that was the key, you realize, it knew you were warmer and could hold its...its eggs without any trouble.

You cannot place why that does not turn you off or make you frightened in the slightest.

You can only imagine your team screaming back on the ship with the camera feed in your suit right now. You imagine Lillian is trying to jot down this data as quick as she can in her many, many journals.

You swallow thickly, remembering all the different noises to indicate certain things. You release a low hiss yourself, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth and letting air escape through a small part of your teeth to sound subtle, quiet. ‘Scared’ yours says ‘Not ready’.

Immediately, the xenomorph perks its head up, slowly rolling back onto its abdomen and hissing the same sound back with a cock of its head. Xenomorphs didn’t take each other without consent, they courted each other much like humans would. And it takes your consent with a question, as if asking if you are sure, and once you repeat the sound followed by a whimper, it sits right up.

There’s no anger in its movements as it comes closer to your helmet, gently tapping the roundness of its head against your helmet. ‘I will wait’ it says without saying a word. And once more you are offered to come out of the nest, gathered into its arms, set foot through the hive and set just at the mouth of the hive where you had come in.

It knew you weren’t of its kind. Or else it would have led you right back into the hive. It knew you didn’t belong there. How curious—how smart this creature was.

You can’t help but look back at it as it waits by the door, seeming to watch you leave until you leave its near sighted vision. It crawls back into the hive as you race back to your ship with a pounding heart and a sense of longing lingering over your body.

When you come inside, decontamination processes occur before you can put your suit away and enter the ship safely. Lillian is jumping on you first, to no surprise. You’re dizzy with her hands fretting over you, question after question until she cups your face and wipes away your dried tears. “Are you alright, my dear? I can’t imagine how frightening that was- but oh, how interesting! That is the same creature you had saved, correct?”

You kind of vaguely nod to her questions, letting her guide you into your quarters instead. She leaves you to rest when you clearly need your space to think, stroking your cheek fondly and telling you if you need anything, you know you can yell for any of them. But, by the end of the night when dinner is shared between all of you, Mavrick really outdoing himself in the kitchen as always, you manage to share the details.

From all of your combined studies, you all agree that this was courtship. There was no fear in denying a xenomorph, they all accepted rejections just like a human might without any bloodshed. But, Frankie does point something out that’s interesting. “If the xenomorph does lay its eggs in you, wouldn’t that make studying them easier? I mean, if we bring the eggs on board and they hatch, what if they pack bond due to their evolutionary traits?”

That makes everyone at the table pause to look at them. Watching as they pop a mouthful of chili in their mouth only to notice everyone’s looking at them. They fluster, cheeks warming and covering their mouth with the back of their hand when they speak, their southern accent thicker now. “W-what? I’m just sayin ’ it’d be easier than trynna collect a sample from an angry alien in the hive!”

“Frankie. I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all year.” You tease lightly, soft laughter from your chest when they shoot you daggers.

“Why, thank you. I’m glad that saying ‘go get railed by an alien’ is considered a smart option to you.” They huff, earning them a kiss atop their head from Mavrick to soothe their feigned upset attitude.

After dinner, you help clean up, settling at the table with everyone as you all game plan.

You weren’t against being mated to a xenomorph, they were your life already, and maybe having one bonded to you would help a lot in your gathered research. Not to mention, sexual repression was high in the ship- unless you were Frankie and Mavrick who most definitely went at it like rabbits when no one was looking. You? Lillian? Nada. Zip. Maybe some alien dick wasn’t so bad for you, although the idea of eggs being inside you should have been terrifying, you can’t help but feel...excited.

Wow. You really were sexually frustrated, huh?

Allow the Knight to court you. You could test your limitations within the hive due to it being higher ranking, it would argue against others attacking you. Allow the Knight to, well, mate with you and pray it lets you go back to your ship instead of insisting you stay in the hive. And double pray that the eggs come out and you don’t risk a chest burster becoming a Womb burster.

What a terrifying thought.

“Well. Ladies, gentlemen, Frankie. Let’s go make some alien babies, huh?” You announce at the end of it all, earning laughter all around and new excitement buzzing in the air of a new project.

Operation: “Romance an alien” was a go.

You don’t have to look very far. When you wake and suit up, you don’t use the pheromones this time. You hear that same deep trill right outside the ship door and the same loud drag of its tail to alert you to its location. You don’t jump back in fear this time or flinch when it gently bumps its head to your helmet, seeming satisfied of your safety. But you do note how it seems to inhale your scent, lowering its head down to the chest of your suit where you must radiate the most heat. Lowering towards your stomach before it moves back to its original position.

Memorizing you or scenting you, you couldn’t tell.

You follow it into the hive the distance away, occasionally seeing it stop to wait for you. Its head lightly tilted to seemingly hear for your footsteps before proceeding. Once you get to the mouth, it hisses high enough and long through the hallways and you hear the piercing noises come right back, a noise you would hear more often coming in.

‘Do not harm what I have brought back’. Says the Knight’s hiss.

‘We shall not harm nor alert.’ Says the reply back from the hive.

Normally reserved for the beasts they brought back from around the planet to indicate this creature was to stay alive. You wonder if there was other intelligent life on the planet that they were also trying to court. The planet was huge and vast, and your team’s main focus had been on the xenomorphs rather than branching out too far unless necessary. It could be possible there was other intelligent life that was hiding around and being attempted to be used as a breeder or mate.

Once more you are taken to the room where it resided. It doesn’t move you this time, but it does lie on the mouth of the nest once more. Lying on its side, tail moved far behind it, resting its head on one of its skeletal arms. One of its legs rests behind the other, exposing the hardly noticeable slit between its legs.

There were no outward appearance indicators of what genitalia a xenomorph had, only certain body language when courting. It wasn’t going into the nest or resting on all fours, this behavior it was currently exhibiting indicated external genitalia. Which meant your hunch was right about it wanting to lay its eggs in you.

You show your interest by moving into the nest and the xenomorph reacts with an almost purring growl in its throat of approval. It doesn’t move at all, waiting for you to make your courting gesture.

If you were a xenomorph, you’d show your interest by exposing yourself however you could. But you instead hiss again. ‘Want to, unsure still’ to allow it to realize you were interested but weren’t satisfied with the length of courting. Once more it trills, rolling onto its abdomen to no longer expose itself and offering its head lowered to you to instead bump your helmet affectionately again. Indicating its patience but determination.

This is the game you play for an entire month of letting the hive become so used to your presence that pheromones were no longer needed on your suit. This xenomorph waits for you outside your ship every day, waiting to court you in traditional fashions. Furs from skinned beasts are left outside your ship in a pile, different meats placed carefully and frozen nearby, all organs carefully chosen.

Yet, interesting new additions to the courtship occur. Foliage. Of flowers that you had in your own room. It must have found the same flowers you had, knowing that these clung to your scent so you must have liked them, and left them lovingly atop a pile of furs.

Xenomorphs were one of the most intelligent life forms out there, and how they learned to adapt to overcome certain obstacles- such as courting a different species- was always so shocking to your team.

It also started to understand what you were saying, it felt like. Or perhaps it was only understanding the tone at which you said things, you were unsure still. Lillian was trying to decipher that over the details she could see from the camera in your suit.

Mavrick had cracked a joke that if it was horny enough, maybe it was just desperate to find out if you were saying ‘yes’ yet. To which Frankie had given him a look that resulted in him pouting. For reasons you can only assume meant that they were telling him ‘no head later’.

The gifts you received over the course of its courtship were: Varied and healthy organs from beasts, flowers- which you had experimented with and got new flowers for your room and it brought you the same flowers you had each time, furs that were carefully skinned and cleaned, and curiously shiny objects. This could be from rocks to gems to things that looked like amber. It was a fascinating development, and well, you were rather smitten with the Knight yourself.

You’d gotten closer to the point not only could you enter the hive without pheromones, you could also take off your helmet once in its nest. The first time you had done it your heart had been racing out of your chest when it had gently trilled at you. It had rested your foreheads together, obviously taking note that you were warm and no longer encased in a bubble. Its long fingers had gently caressed your face, seeming to outline you as best as it could. It didn’t seem upset by what it found either.

Now, you’ve exited the ship. Fully suited up and already seeing the Knight waiting for you patiently. It makes that same trill it always does, crawling on all fours towards you before standing to its impressive height. It hunches over more towards your much smaller height, cocking its head when it gently presses its head to yours. You laugh softly when it snorts against your helmet, clearly frustrated you have it on.

“C’mon, big guy, it’s too cold!” You try to explain. It pauses to take in your voice, mimicking the same tone you say ‘cold’ in with a low grunt. You roll your eyes, hooking your fingers under your helmet as it makes a low hiss with the movement. The xenomorph trills, already ducking its head to help nudge it back and waiting impatiently. You can’t help but smile as its head tilts until you press your warm lips to the smooth front of its head. Immediately it trills, satisfied with getting what it wanted and turning back towards its hive to begin guiding you in.

You have a bag with you today full of little things like lubricant and a few toys. Foreplay wasn’t really in the books for xenomorphs and you’d spent the better part of this morning preparing for this already.

You’d been filled with anticipation all week for this, showing your interest throughout the week to the Knight who had clearly been eager at you wanting to move forward. You spent this morning edging yourself, fitting larger and larger toys in you with trembles of your thighs and frustration when you never let yourself cum. Xenomorphs were very kind about making sure each got their own. It was being shown in recent of your studies that a lot of them had sex just for the pleasure of it, too.

You can only hope the same hospitality is spared to you.

You know that it can smell your arousal. They had great senses of smell, and the one who saw you as a mate should have known your scent inside and out by now. You’d think xenomorphs weren’t the cuddling or kissing type, but turns out at least this one appreciated them. You think you’d never seen an alien more at ease than when you were showing it how to hold you, hitching your own leg over its waist and hearing it make such happy sounds in its throat.

Spooning an alien. Who’d have thought?

Now, as you’re escorted into the hive and into its nest, the courtship begins properly. Once again it lies on the edge of the crater of its nest, one leg behind the other, head resting on its arm and exposing its slit that you can already see leaking this translucent black fluid. Oh, it definitely smelled you. That only makes a shudder wrack through you at the very thought of its patience and desperation.

You very slowly remove your helmet and set it to the side, stepping into the nest as your fingers find the zipper of your suit. You quietly apologize to Lillian in your head when you shut off the camera along the way, no way did you want them to see this. You’d try and write a detailed report just for her once you got past the embarrassment.

The suit slides off your shoulders and you set it with your helmet. Patient as ever, the Knight only trills at you as it always does, but you notice its head lift ever so slightly to scent the air. You even get the pleasure of watching the head of its ovipositor slip out of its slit, seeing how it was already drooling with lubrication and desire. Your mouth waters, tempted to show it that there was more warmth to you than just your cunt, but you decide that was for another time.

Preferably when it had no eggs that could potentially be slid down your throat.

Under your suit you wore a tight black tanktop and gray sweatpants, super simple and warm. Your scent must be louder when you remove your suit in full because the sound that the Knight makes sounds like a growl. You gently press your warm hand to the smoothness of its head, soothing it softly. “Shhh. Wait, be patient.” Murmured from your lips, and once more you’re not sure if it understands or just responds to your tone, but it huffs through its nostrils and lies its head back.

You work out of your top, nipples already tightening with the chilled air. Your fingers run over your soft abdomen, something that always made you smile at your own squishiness. The Knight seemed to like it too, if it constantly trying to press its head against your softness was any indication. Your thumbs hitch in your waistband, sliding them down your rounded thighs with your underwear following with a sliver of slick sticking to it. It makes your face flush at realizing how wet you were.

You shouldn’t tease, you know you shouldn’t. But you can’t help but take your underwear and hold it in front of its face. Watching its head follow the scent and a low, hungering hiss sliding from its teeth as its hands snatch the fabric from you. It presses the article to its face to inhale deeply, releasing a low growling exhale as its ovipositor slides fully out of its slit.

Their cocks were always beautiful to you. It was especially thick at the base and coming up almost like a rounded knot that’s to keep them intact to their partner to not lose any eggs, coming all the way up to a tapered head. Ribbed patterns line beneath the head down to the base, where you know it can expand for the eggs to be lain with ease. The slit on the head is wide for the same reasons, leaking this translucent black fluid like it is now in preparation for you. The knot looked as thick as your wrist, doable but definitely going to be a strain, its length looking about seven or eight inches which made you tremble already.

How...how deep could it lay its eggs in a human? Internal organed xenomorphs had no cervix, no hinderance to this sort of thing. Your breath catches at the anticipation of the very thought it could fit deeper into you. You knew its lubrication also doubled as a muscle relaxer, helping ease their longer and thicker cocks deep within their mates. Would it be enough to ease you to take their eggs into your womb?

A low hiss reaches your ears and your eyes quickly dart to its face rather than its cock you were eyeing shamelessly. Seems your underwear isn’t doing it anymore. It slowly rises, waiting for you to reject, but you lie back in the soft furs instead, spreading open your legs with a small tremor when you part them.

Its much larger body pulls itself on top of yours, its smooth head starting at your knees and lifting until it can find your cunt. Its cold breath exhales across your flushed and wet flesh, making your hips come up without thinking and pressing to its mouth.

You can see drool coming down its chin, lifting its head with great resistance to nose at your soft abdomen like it loved so much. It buries its face there, scenting you before its head comes up with almost nuzzle-like gestures at your breasts. It seemed to like the softness you had and you can't help the soft laugh you emit. It felt so...normal to be nuzzled up on.

You’re suddenly gripped then with a yelp from your lips. Rolled onto your abdomen and your hips being pulled up by bony, long fingers. You’re glad you prepped with toys earlier, feeling the tapered head slide against your lower lips and slipping across your clit in a missed thrust.

A swear falls from your lips, reaching under you with shaky fingers until you wrap your fingers around its cock. The reaction is instant, a trill falling from its throat and attempting to fuck against your palm. “Wait, you big doofus-” You grumble mostly to yourself, but the Knight mimics your tone back how you say ‘wait’, its hips pausing as if confused. Questioning you.

It gives you time to draw your hips up into its grip, sliding its cock down against you until it catches on your hole. The thrust it gives immediately is sloppy and excited, entering you a few inches before it moves slower. You moan low in your throat, burying your face in your crossed arms under your head as you lean back down, your entire body shaking.

Its cock wasn’t fleshly like a human’s, almost like a harder silicone feeling made to morph to the shape of your body. It felt cold in comparison to your body, and you can only imagine how hot you feel to it.

There’s a slow press into you now, its claws digging into your hips and definitely making you bleed. You don’t mind the sharp pain. Though, you do smile when you feel it press at the back of your neck with its cold face. Sweet thing wanting your attention. You lift yourself up onto your hands instead, bowing your back as you reach up and behind you to cup under its jaw to draw its head over your shoulder. The hiss you hear by your face is low and wanting when you clench your inner walls around it, sighing out yourself. “Good. There you go, baby, nice and slow.”

You’re not sure if you’re speaking to fill the silence or because it seems fond of your voice anymore. Regardless, it works in your favor when you hear a soft trill, its hips moving just as slow in little humps to enter you fully. The knot rests outside you for now, pressing to the rim of your hole but not entering just yet.

Your head drops and your shoulders heave. You felt so full, something exhilarating about this whole thing. Your thoughts are soon put on pause when you feel its hands press around your abdomen with a tug. You follow the motion, sitting up on your knees and feeling it splay its own long legs out to follow your lower body to accommodate size difference. You’re held back against it, your back to its chest as its arms encircle you like it loved to do. Your hand remains on its jaw, stroking with your thumb in one of the crevices there.

A cooing noise falls from it and you mimic the sound, resting your cheek against its head as its hips start to hump up into you. You don’t feel any pain, its own lubrication working quick with your own. All you feel is wet and heat pooling in your lower abdomen with each desperate hump up into you. Soft sighs fall from your lips, way different from the growling and hissing you hear nearby your ear with its drool dripping onto the furs below you and onto your shoulder.

Your free hand reaches down, sliding down past its hand and down to your clit to rub it in circles in sync with its thrusts. It starts to get a bit harder now that you’re squeezing down on it, a moan falling from your lips and your head falling back to its shoulder. You’re aware you’re baring your throat, and it seems the Knight does as well when fingers come up to circle your neck. They don’t squeeze, holding you there with its other hand digging its nails into your hip as its hips slam against you harder.

Possessive.

“Fuck-” You hiss out, your body already as your first orgasm hits you. Your fingers circle your clit harder until it’s too much, drawing your hand away to reach behind yourself to grab at the xenomorph’s hip to encourage it to be rougher.

You don’t get the brutal breeding you expect and desire. Instead, it stops. Slamming deep into you and forcing its knot into you. No pain, but a deep pressure widening you out making a cry fall from your lips, arching your back only to get yanked right back with a low, rumbling growl from its chest. Possessive and quiet.

You weren’t going anywhere.

You hold still like forced to, its low snarls settling and its hand on your hip leaving. Its head bows to look down your body as its fingers find your clit to mimic what you had been doing to yourself. God, you always forgot how intelligent they were.

“Ss--shit-” You shudder, your head falling back against its shoulder as soft cries leave you, pushing past your harsh panting. It croons softly in its throat, turning its head to gently bonk your cheek with its head until you turn your head to press soft kisses across the hard carapace. Up until you’re gasping, your abdomen starting to get taut.

“Oh God, yes, yes, yes like that, just like that,” You’re whimpering out when it applies more pressure, your knees locking as another orgasm rips through you with ease. You scramble with the intensity , your free hand gripping its wrist when its fingers keep moving. A sharp whimper leaves you, but it seems to decipher it’s not from pain because the hand on your throat tightens briefly. Quietly telling you not to move as your cunt squeezes around its cock and knot, contracting with every flick of its fingers like it had seen you doing.

Oh, it liked that your body tightened around it. Filthy little thing was doing it on purpose.

“Ah, ah, ah-” Soft moaning whines fall from your lips again, shamefully even more turned on by the threat of its claws on your neck. You press your body back against its hard one, only giving more of an opening to your body that it takes with pleasure. Experimenting with circling your clit and the pressure you had put until you’re crying out and straining against the hand on your throat as you cum a third time in record succession.

Its hand only moves from your clit so it can grab your hip to hold you flush back against it. It can’t move much in you, not with its knot filling you and holding you together, but that doesn’t seem to stop it from humping against your frantically. You’re so out of it, drooling and your eyes fluttering that you hardly feel when the base of its ovipositor begins to fill out a little bigger than its knot.

You get your answer from earlier on if you would be relaxed enough, because you feel an odd stretch in your lower abdomen. Not painful, just a little odd. You know from experience that their eggs are just about the size of your fist and they could lay up to four. But this xenomorph was bigger and a higher rank. Which could mean that it would have only one or two eggs. You thank your luck on that one, unsure of how many your body could hold.

“Oh-” You gasp out when you feel it settle into you fully. It’s got a weight to it, felt more with how the xenomorph tries to huddle against your body closer. One of its hands sliding up from your hip to rest on your lower abdomen where it presses lightly over where the pressure rested. You whimper as you’re guided back onto all fours, bracing yourself on your arms and letting your chest rest on your crossed arms again.

The second egg you can feel when you close your eyes. Again, no pain, just a sliding, thicker pressure up your inner walls until that pressure is thicker in your lower abdomen. There are teeth hovering above the crook of your neck that makes you stiffen, but you’re so out of it you tilt your head and plead with it to bite you. You don’t get that pain, only its face pressing against your neck like it so desperately wanted to but knew it was a bad idea.

There are a few more violent grinds against your ass before you hear a snarl ripping out of it, going into a high hiss as it cums inside you. Its cum was thick for reasons such as this, made to be thick enough it could help the eggs stick in you and keep you numbed up. You can feel each harsh pulse of its cock as thick ribbons of cum spill into you, spilling out past its knot and onto the furs underneath you and on your inner thighs.

There’s a moment where you two rest like that. You, overstimulated and practically fuck drunk right now, comfortable with your hips still held high in the air. The Knight, with its arms encircling your waist and applying its weight on your back to relax with lazy rolls of its hips as its orgasm still trails out of it.

After a few minutes, it slides out of you nice and slow with only some thick cum drooling out of you. You had planned to maybe leave the hive, go and lie down on a table and have Lillian examine you, but you can’t find the strength in your shaking legs. And with the way it's now guiding you to lie spooned against its chest all tucked up, you’re going to assume you’re not allowed to leave yet anyway.

It presses against the top of your head with its face, hands resting protectively over your lower abdomen where you can feel your abdomen bulging out slightly. You whine softly in your throat, grumbling about the cold which gathers its attention to briefly let go of you and pulling three furs atop your body. Right before it goes back to holding you with a satisfied, low trill.

Guess that answered your question on if it was starting to understand you too, huh?

You’ll tell Lillian all about it, you think as your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

Maybe your alien children can learn to understand English too, are your last thoughts with a smile on your face as you slip into a warmed sleep. Knowing you are safe with the extraterrestrial predator that knocked you up’s embrace.

#Aliens #Aliens vs Predators #Xenomorphs #Xenomorph x Reader #nsft #lemon #monster fucking #commissions #princess writing

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starlightstevie · 4 years ago

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fics rec / january 2021

And I’m back with another fic rec! There’s some absolute goodies in this month’s rec - I hope you enjoy them as much as I did! Happy reading x

(* is smut)

*tale as old as time (series) by @spacelabrathor Beast!Thor x reader: Thor is a beast, prowling the halls of an empty castle alone, living a life of cold, barren solitude. Villagers visit once yearly to bring him gifts he does not seek, piling valueless trinkets at his gate they feel will keep him appeased. They hate Thor and Thor knows, someday, that they will breach his gates and come for his head. He wonders to himself, often, if he will try to stop them when they do. This year, though, the offering has changed. Thor finds not trinkets at his front gate, but a girl, and then everything begins to change.

COWBOY THOR COWBOY THOR COWBOY THOR by @inthorantine While not officially out yet, I am putting this here because everyone needs to read this! Kait has outdone herself and no, I will not stop talking about this for the next 500 years. Here’s some h/c to keep you going until it comes out! One | Two

*if I love you was a promise by @blueberrythor Thor x reader: Thor doesn’t consider himself a jealous man–there aren’t many who could compare to him, especially among mortals. He hasn’t had much reason to acquaint himself with the feeling. But watching you with Steve, even he isn’t immune to the sharp sting of jealousy.

*The Watching by @opheliadawnwalker3 Thor x reader (some Loki x reader): Reader has been dating Thor for about a year and is celebrating her first Yuletide on Asgard. But she’s unprepared for certain traditions that are expected of her. Or that these traditions also involve Thor and his companions.

*Desperate Measures by @lancsnerd Thor x reader: When an agent is affected by sex pollen and needs assistance, just how helpful will Thor be?

*passionate & burning by @peachyteabuck Thor x reader: You’re busy with working from home, but Thor has other plans for the day.

*my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand by @spacelabrathor Frontier!Thor x reader: Thor makes a home and a life for his family out on the rugged frontier of the Old West. The winters are unforgiving but he keeps them safe and warm. At night, their cabin glows with firelight and the warmth of their company. A small slice of their life together.

*survive the summer and its sequel *hungry for me by @peachyteabuck (Dubcon) Thor x reader: A stranger approaches you on a warm summers day.

*the fluffer (series) by @punani Masterlist 70′s pornstar!Chris Evans x black!reader: It’s the 70′s and the erotic videos industry is experiencing another boom after the risen popularity in the previous decade. The studio’s are hot, Gemini Flanagan is a brand, and you’re a newly hired assistant at Shaggin’ Studios. Chris takes a liking to you, altering your job description so that you get to work more closely with him. Is this all just physical, or is there something more?

*old flannel by @honeysucklesteve Chris x reader: an innocent night of lounging in his old flannel leads to not to innocent touches.

*sunday football by @honeysucklesteve Chris x reader: Chris sits you on his lap as he teaches you all about football.

*grocery run by @honeysucklesteve Chris x reader: Innocently wearing Chris’ shirt leads to you finding out just how much he can’t resist you.

*Captain by @chrissquares Nomad!Steve x reader: You call Steve a name that drives him wild.

*A Birthday Gift by @the-iceni-bitch Nomad!Steve x reader: The nomad crew have been holed up with you for months and tensions are high. Nat, being an unrepentant pot stirrer, decides to arrange a pleasant birthday surprise for you.

*let me come home to you (series) by @evansweaters Masterlist Alpha!Steve x Omega!Reader: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in amber’s end, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.

*mountainside by @honeysucklesteve Nomad!Steve x reader: Steve needs something to give him a release and you do just that.

*steve needs to relax, good thing you’re here by @honeysucklesteve

*Such a Shame by @angrythingstarlight Steve x reader: You owe him for saving your life, the price is more than you were willing to pay, such a shame you have to force his hand.

*Captain Jealousy by @nony-bear Steve x reader: You and Steve have been keeping your relationship a secret to avoid public backlash for your age difference. However, after watching Steve flirt with a new agent at one of Tony Stark’s famous parties, your jealousy and frustration come to a head.

*A Christmas Compromise by @stargazingfangirl18 Ransom x reader: Even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself, all you wanted for Christmas was Ransom.

*a man of god by @punani Priest!Ransom x reader: You’ve always been a good girl– attending mass regularly, never been touched by yourself or another, and the way that you dress? a naive innocence radiates off of you. even a man of god can’t help himself, not that he puts any effort into refraining from forbidden fruit.

*Naughty or Nice by @sweeterthanthis Ransom x reader: Getting caught nibbling on forbidden holiday treats.

*her cherry lips on his whiskey flavoured kiss by @cloudystevie Ransom x reader: The moment he met you, he knew.

Not My Style by @chrissquares Ransom x reader: With cold weather comes dry lips..

*In Good Hands by @ozarkthedog (Dark) Doctor!Andy Barber x reader: Your usual OBGYN Doctor got called away leaving Dr. Barber to administer your pap exam.

*Drowning by @savior-adriana Andy x reader: You love working as Jacob’s tutor in German. Not necessarily because you love the language or the teen’s attitude, but because it means you get to spend time alone with a certain Andy Barber once a week.

*Something Old, Something New by @sweeterthanthis Stepdad!Bucky x reader: To this day you couldn’t work out why he’d chosen your mother. They were total opposites, a mismatched couple if ever you saw one. Yet, you watched it play out – thinking, hoping, that he’d never go through with it.

*Beg for Daddy by @sweeterthanthis Stepdad!Bucky x reader: The thought of your mother passed out next door, the other side of your bedroom wall, did nothing to quell the intense hunger you felt for him.

*it’s the right time to roll to me (series) by @blueberrythor Masterlist Bucky x married!reader: Stuck in an unhappy marriage, you find solace in Bucky.

*about last week by @xbuchananbarnes Bucky x reader: You’ve been avoiding Bucky.

*need by @cloudystevie Bucky x reader: You’re horni for Bonky’s metal hand

Season of the Witch by @msmarvelwrites Bucky x reader: Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much.

*The Bet (series) by @no-droids Part One | Part Two Poe x reader: There are 3 rules to the bet between you and your x-wing commander: No sex, No touching yourself, No orgasms.

*the shakes by @whistlingwillows Poe x reader: “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.” Or, you’re experiencing the terrible side effects of being horny and Poe Dameron knows just how to fix it.

Mornings with Modern!Poe by @okay-hotshot Modern!Poe x reader: You and Poe try to have some alone time while you wait for your morning coffee and tea to brew, only to have your child interrupt you and run away yowling.

frigid by @whirlybirbs Mando x reader: Din doesn’t like the ocean. You’re soaked.

Getting vulnerable with Mando by @cptnbvcks

*men of the bau: kinks by @luciilferss

open road by @gayprentiss Emily Prentiss x JJ Jareau: After retiring from the BAU, JJ and Emily decide to forgo an apartment in favor of an old sprinter van.

*Teacher’s Pet by @imagining-in-the-margins Professor!Reid x reader: There are only a few reasons to sign up for Criminal Psychology. You could be like the reasonable students and join the class because you are genuinely interested in the material, or you could be like the rest of us. That is, you could enroll in the class because the professor is a fine piece of ass fresh out of prison.

*Spencer taking you in the library by @spenciebabie

*of terrible coffee and late-night rides by @venusbarnes Hotch x reader: A collection of moments throughout your relationship with one Aaron Hotchner.

*fragrance by @whistlingwillows College!Hotch x reader: Plato said, “The god of love lives in a state of need. It is a need. It is an urge. It is a homeostatic imbalance. Like hunger and thirst, it's almost impossible to stamp out.”

*bitter end (series) by @whistlingwillows Masterlist Hotch x reader: Author Sarah Dessen wrote, “Life is an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend.”

*Beard Kink by @reidsexualwriting Hotch x reader: Hotch with a beard has you feeling all types of ways.

*Lunch break by @arganfics Hotch x reader: You help Hotch relax after a tough day.

*Early Mornings by @mrvltwimagines Hotch x reader: The very rare mornings where you wake up and your boyfriend was still home and in bed were definitely cherished by you.

*Do you like that? Being in control? by @writefasttalkevenfaster Hotch x reader: You decide that Hotch needs a break from being in charge.

*Waking up Hotch with a blowjob by @writefasttalkevenfaster

Taking a day off with Hotch by @ssahoodrathotchner

*eat until your blood sings by @peachyteabuck Tony Stark x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers x Clint Barton x Thor Odinson x reader: Gangbang with the Avengers.

*Anakin Skywalker has a big dick by @anakinswhore

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admiringlove · 4 years ago

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𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲: fukurōdani academy

愛してる: 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏.

— we invite you to celebrate the brewery’s first valentines’ day, with freshly brewed sweet drinks, to honor the day dedicated to love. click for valentines’ day special menu!

↳ 梟谷学園 — fukurōdani academy.

credits for image @ roarzoro on twitter.

akaashi keiji

as we all are aware, akaashi keiji is a reserved boy. he doesn't speak up most of the time unless it's absolutely necessary, so his confession is a little reserved, shy, quiet, and unconditionally adorable.

he watches you in class because you sit next to him. he befriends you almost instantly when you join the volleyball club as a manager. he tries to be closer to you—which is his way of saying, "let's be together", or "i want to spend some time with you."

his blushes are only slight, because akaashi keiji doesn't show that he's in love. he's not one for grand gestures, because his love is subtle. it's the quiet glances, the small stares in the library(but looking away when you notice because it makes him flush irrationally), the bringing you recommendations for novels, or studying in the library together(and sitting in a way where your legs brush together, making his heart afloat with wonder).

he looks forward to the weekends. because that's when you tend to invite him to places. but, sometimes, the two of you show up to places without planning that you are going to meet. like last weekend, when akaashi was browsing through the romance section in the library, and you pulled a book from the other side of the shelf, making instant eye contact with the cerulean eyed boy.

so, since akaashi has this little infatuation with you, he decides that it's gotten to an extent where he has to tell you no matter what.

his heart paces up every time you're around. he loves the way you ruffle his hair before going into your house(the two of you walk home together), his mind is always thinking about you, and he can't even shake you away in his dreams.

and so, begins the confession. akaashi keiji, being the smart and collective boy he is, confesses to you with a letter.

you were heading home, and it was quite late in the evening. your part-time shift at a local bakery had just ended, and you were tired when you stepped outside, locking the door with a slight huff. you turn around, to see your best friend waiting there, as you slightly flinch back, making the messy-haired boy chuckle.

"keiji!" you said, a hand over your heart, "how are you, this fine evening?"

he chuckles at the way you greet him, gesturing for you to walk alongside his figure as he muses, "i'm doing spectacularly well, m'lady. here, i brought some tea to refresh you as we walk home."

you beam, taking the flask from his soft hands, and bringing it to your lips. the aroma of the clove, cardamom, and other spices immediately in your senses as you excitedly ask, "this is chai, isn't it?"

"yes it is," he replies as you take a long-awaited sip, sighing after you do as the hot drink travels down your throat, clearing it almost instantly. you grin as you look up at the already velvet night sky, specks of joy littering the navy hue across the horizon. tonight feels pleasant to you—the company of your best friend, who always tends to make your heart swell up like a balloon, was quieter than usual tonight. he didn't speak much, wore a black face-mask to cover his overwhelming flustered state, and his reading glasses perched up onto the bridge of his nose that he kept pushing desperately.

"keiji, is there something wrong?" you ask, placing a hand on the blade of his shoulder. he flinches suddenly, his eyes looking up at you in worry as he says, "we're here."

"yes, but-"

"don't say anything tonight, [y/n]. i need to do something," he mumbles, shoving his hand inside his bag and pulling out a small envelope with a wax stamp. he holds it out for you to take, which you do gratefully as he says, "open it when you're inside, okay?"

"keiji, is there something wrong?" you murmur, but he only shakes his head, ruffles your hair, and begins to walk towards the direction of his home. you sigh, opening your front door and take off your shoes, immediately tearing through the envelope and reading its contents.

your eyes begin to moisten as you read the small moments that akaashi describes in the letter—which you thought made something bloom in your heart, but you weren't sure if he felt the same. you stop, eyes widening in the realization that your best friend is outside, and probably overthinking to an extent where his brain is probably going haywire.

you run outside, not heeding that you only have socks on as you find your friend merely blocks away. he's about to enter his own home when you yell out his name, letter waving in your palm in the air, "oi, keiji!"

he turns to look at you, the outside light reflecting his glassy blue eyes with his mouth partly open. you stop, panting as you shove the letter in his face and say, "why couldn't you give me this sooner?"

"w-what?" he whispers, his voice stuck in his throat as his mind thinks at a pace of a million miles per hour. why are you here? you're supposed to be at home. you don't like him back—wait, do you?

"if you had given me this letter sooner, dummy, we could've celebrated valentine's day together in the library instead of me doing it out at a coffee shop with my friends!" you huff, engulfing him in a warm embrace as he blinks away the confusion. his heart calms down, as he returns the hug with grace and hums into your ear indulgently, "i love you."

"i love you too, nerd."

bokuto kōtarō

bokuto needs to double-check everything with his more mature, sophisticated, and intelligent best friend, akaashi for confirmation that he actually does like you.

he's going on-and-on about you. he doesn't intend to stop anytime soon, but akaashi is fed up. although the setter doesn't want to admit it, he thinks that the small infatuation with you has gotten to a level where it's either annoying or adorable to listen to bokuto ramble. and right now? it was annoying, because bokuto is supposed to be focusing on volleyball.

akaashi stops bokuto after practice, leading him to a quieter place outside the gates where the two spend some time(again, bokuto is talking about how neat your notebook is, or how kind you were when talking to him—akaashi had tuned him out at this point) when the blue-eyed boy finally snapped.

he tells bokuto that he should probably confess to you because talking to akaashi about his infatuation is probably not going to help your relationship develop into something more serious. till now, you were only friends with the ace; a friendly classmate whom bokuto loved talking to and partnering up with for projects.

bokuto thinks about it for a few days, his mind completely clouded by what akaashi had said. he even consults kuroo during the weekend, and finally comes to the revelation that no matter what, he has to confess his feelings to you. and of course, since valentine's day was on a sunday this year, he would ask you a day before.

but, the ace is left dejected when you come to school one day with a few roses and chocolates in your hands. his hair deflates, eyes disheartened and he sulks into his seat behind you. you're concerned, but you continue paying attention to class.

after school, bokuto realizes that there isn't volleyball practice today. how is he supposed to distract his mind now? you were right behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he flinches.

"ko-san?" you mumble, "are you okay? you haven't been talking to me the whole day."

bokuto's amber eyes soften at the nickname you had given him, as he shakes his head and chuckles dryly, "oh, no. not at all, [y/n]. i'm completely fine."

"you do realize, you're a really bad liar," you giggle, pulling his coat sleeve along as you begin walking out the gates. the school was fairly empty, you had waited to talk to bokuto, because today was the day you had decided that you would finally confess. but he had been behaving strangely, and he avoided you even in recess—which was when you were about to tell him your feelings, but he ran away after getting only a glimpse of you.

"ah, i'm sorry. i was just a little upset that volleyball got cancelled today," he mutters, a hand on the back of his neck as he averts his gaze from you. you chuckle at the awkward ace, who's usually booming with joy and radiant with his obnoxiously loud persona. you attempt to give him a head-pat after getting on your tippy-toes, but alas, it doesn't work out(come on now, the boy is huge).

he begins laughing at your pout but continues to bow down to your height so you could run your hands through his hair. you feel chills run down your spine when bokuto smiles at you after you do it, as you accidentally blurt, "you should continue smiling. sulking doesn't suit you."

"you think?" he asks, a slight blend of a smirk and a grin plays itself on his face as mutters, "i think you should smile more too."

"really?" you ask, "oh yeah, do you want to come to a coffee shop with me?"

he looks up at you almost instantly, and blurts, "i thought you had someone to do that with now."

"what?" you widen your eyes, stopping in your tracks as you laugh, "wait, you mean the little chocolates and the roses?"

he blushes, covering his face with his hand as his grey hair shines—but you laugh more, because of how adorable the scene unfolding in front of you was.

"me and my friends exchanged valentines' day chocolates with each other," you chuckle, "i'd rather go out with you."

you shrug lightly, your eyes fixed on the pavement below your feet(because grey is such a complex color, right?) as you wait for a response from the grey-haired boy. he sighs theatrically, and the next thing you know, two huge arms are wrapping themselves around you, and a voice utters into your ear, "i'd go out with you too. i was about to confess today but... i got sad after seeing you with valentines' gifts."

you laugh, looking up into his majestic yellow eyes as you peck his nose softly, "that's adorable."

regular customers(taglist). @babyworld @renee1414 @anotherhydrangea @seita @tobiosnoelle @weebslxt @tsukkiwaifu16 @loveusandoor @kozumebri @sarawrz @crackheadsara @kyuudere @cultsax @supernovaa-a @akaashikeijisan @b3llo-there @sugasloverr @kagebunshiin @iwaizoom @velvetfireworks @seijohlogy @vhskenma @sweetsamus @sakuric

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cyborg00-why · 4 years ago

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Random yet specific headcanons

Alright, I’ve been working on a rancher fic and wanted to share a few of my favorite headcanons for these three.

Jet Link

- Considering his time of abduction and how often he’s gone off to be a ranch hand/play cowboy there is a very high chance he’s a Spaghetti Western fan. His ideas and romanticism of the west based almost solely on what he’d seen on film, by extension his bravado and man’s man personality being heavily influenced from such films. Something that both mirrored his gang life on the streets while still being a mental escape. The lone cowboy out to right wrongs on his own terms something he’d see in himself.

- This of course would bleed into an odd fascination/respect for Geronimo Jr. as he’d likely be the only Indigenous person he’d ever met (that he was aware of at least). The personification of the “last of a dying breed” trope you see often in such films, something he likely project onto Jr. Especially considering that being from New York he’d known of Mohawk Steelworkers but wouldn’t have known any personally.

- Serial pawn shop shopper. He knows they don’t make knives or lighters like they use to and he’s got a small collection going.

- Apart from his established knife fighting skills, he’d whittle in his free time.

-Great at darts.

- He’d be a great houseguest, very considerate and takes direction as well as he can. Doesn’t want to be deadweight on the ranch, and have a stern ‘earn his keep’ sort of vibe.

-Despite having a high interest in learning the ropes he’d still struggle. His time on the ranch would positively impact his ‘square peg being forced into a round hole’ mentality.

- Plays a mean game of checkers.

- Maybe too embarrassed to say it, but really respects Jr.’s self sufficiency and wants to take after him in some ways. Is really touched when Geronimo teaches him something. At the same time can be especially hurt when there are traditional lessons Jr. won’t share.

-Sure he can play the guitar but he’s also been teaching himself the harmonica. He’s also good at playing both the spoons and a blade of grass but he’ll never admit to either.

-Can do that really cool two finger whistle thing.

- Long story but he knows from first hand experience that chickens float in water. Pyunma isn’t impressed and Jr. thinks it’s cute he likes chickens.

- You know at some point in time Jet would do rodeo shows and live out the whole cliche bonding with a horse who can’t be broken bologna while Geronimo worked the event as an MC.

Geronimo Jr.

Which brings me to Jr.

- You know, and I mean KNOW he’s worked the Arizona circuit like no ones business. Despite the team thinking of him as stoic and saying little everyone in town knows him as their favorite MC. He’s done everything from powwows, estate sales, property auctions, all the way to rodeos.

-Those on the moccasin telegraph rumor he was a guest at G.O.N. in New Mexico one year.

- Would absolutely have an old 1988 red, sun bleached Toyota Tacoma that had seen better days but still runs. Of course the suspension is shot and leans heavily on the drivers side. The glove compartment is full of old tapes, and he’d have at least one mix tape with classic 49ers in there too.

- When he’s working as an auctioneer he goes Full Boomhauer

- Aunties love him. He’s always given an extra helping at food stalls and everyone is vying for him to say their fry bread is best, even though we all know his grandmothers was #1.

-Would be in the loop on all the local chisme.

-He can’t shop at normal stores for clothes, instead making annual custom orders through Wrangler and Dickies.

-He is why Wrangler revoked their lifetime guarantee. Too many blown out shoulder seams.

-He’s excellent at traditional methodologies and takes a lot of pride in keeping traditions alive. He’d be a great beader and leatherworker, his mitts being extremely sought after in the community with order requests coming in year round. Word is he’ll sometimes make a trade if you can do quillwork.

-Prior to the bootleg boom his family would have been respected artisans, collectors and locals alike still hold onto their older jewelry, and at a few estate sales he’d seen his dads old silver stamping tools still in circulation. Sometimes he get’s letters in the mail from a collector in another state asking to verify the family stamp.

-He’s got a lifetime ban from one diner in Albuquerque for smashing a jukebox that was playing The Ballad of Ira Hayes.

-Standardized cooking measurements do not exist in his house, everything is old school cooking in relation to yourself. A handful of this, a pinch of that.

- He has his grandmothers taste in home decor. 70′s shag rugs, wood laminate, acrylic yarn doilies, and a mug collection that at it’s best could be described as kitschy.

-While he is incredibly thankful that after being abducted he’d gotten to keep his hair, there was also the struggle to maintain like he had before. Enhanced hulking muscles meant he isn’t as flexible as he use to be, and he is unable to braid it. So he kept it short on the dolphin, and even on breaks back home he’d grow it out in a bun tucked under his hat.

On one of the many trips where Pyunma would stay with him, he’d catch Jr. early one morning struggling to braid it. Instead offering to do so himself. This became a routine whenever Pyunma stayed over, and as far as he knew the only person Jr. will let touch his hair. Pyunma would also take a lot of pride in his handiwork, especially whenever he’d catch Jr. admiring his own reflection.

Pyunma

- He’d always wanted to visit Jr.’s ranch but maybe felt a bit awkward to ask, unsure if he’d even want the company.

- He’d immensely enjoy the monotony of ranch life, the predictability of long structured workdays giving him a chance to mentally tune out while keeping busy. A sort of stress relief from the unpredictability of his previous life back home.

- One of the only people Jr. would share teachings with because he understood that weight and responsibility that comes with it.

- Would be really into plant identification and drying them for storage. Would have a whole notebook full of illustrations and field notes based on what Jr. shared. Maybe even get into salve making on the side.

-Always carries a canteen to water the plants he harvests from, even when Jr. isn’t watching.

- Loves, loves, loves telling Jet believable lies about ranch stuff. Think lying about a weed being a cure all for muscle soreness, only to have Jr. ask where the hell he’d heard that from.

- Big fan of cinnamon instant oatmeal, Jr. is sure to stock up when he knows Pyunma is coming by.

- Of all the hand crafts Jr. had shared with him, Pyunma’s favorite would be dressing feathers. He’s got a near cult following in the fancy dance community for his bustle work.

- Very good at removing the stickers from nopales, often times double and triple checking Jr.’s handiwork before they make breakfast.

- Not afraid of rattlesnakes, but respects them deeply. Firm believer in the old rope trick.

- Can haggle with the best of them at vendor stalls, he knows a tourist price when he hears one.

- Enjoys listening to old radio dramas while laying in the back of Jr.’s truck at night. Eventually getting all three of them to make it a part of the weekly routine. They sit outside and start a fire, and make dinner before tuning in. They eat in silence, and when it get’s cold they all share a big wool pendleton.

#Cyborg 009 #Jet Link #002 #Geronimo Jr #005 #Pyunma #008 #Headcanons #HC

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abreathofthewild · 4 years ago

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a touch of magic

Prompt: This TikTok

Tagline: Sometimes all you need in life is a touch of magic.

Summary: A Halloween in the life of Thor and Reader and their family.

Warnings: this fluff will rot your teeth.

Wordcount: 1664

Notes: I am so excited to be posting this! I was inspired by the above-mentioned TikTok and after deliberating which character I wanted to write this for, Thor felt like the most appropriate choice. This piece is self-indulgent fluff, friends. I hope y'all enjoy and that you get to have a safe and fun Halloween! ALSO: IMAGE IS NOT MINE I FOUND IT WITH NO EXTERNAL LINK ON PINTEREST.

It’s Halloween. You had chosen something simple for your costume: a long black dress with gauzy black sleeves that puffed a little at the shoulders and were cuffed at the wrist. A black witch’s hat with a large swooping brim sat smartly on your head. Typically, you went all out but this year you really wanted your kids’ costumes to shine. It had taken you six months in between the creative writing courses you taught to sew Darcy’s Belle gown and half of that time to put together Cole’s knight armor. You could hear them clambering down the stairs now shrieking with laughter.

“Mm, I love that dress on you,” a deep voice said behind you. You applied your red lipstick as the final touch, smirking at Thor’s reflection in the mirror. His massive frame took up the doorway as he leaned against it, giving you an affectionately approving once-over. You turned and sauntered over to him, taking in the picture of your husband standing there. Even after all this time, there were moments where his words still made you shiver. He matched your movements, stepping further into the room and into your space as your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Do you, now?” You stood on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Maybe that’s why I wore it.” Another kiss on his lips. He leaned into you, smiling as he returned the kiss. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my wolfman.” It seemed only natural with his tousled golden hair and beard that he would recycle one of his favorite costumes and step out in the neighborhood as a werewolf. He wore a red and black flannel over a white shirt that he had cut in three spots with long slashes. His jeans were purposefully torn in a couple of places and instead of applying any product to his hair he had ruffled it and left it a bit unkempt. The best part in your opinion, however, was the fangs. “Love when you wear those,” you murmured, running your tongue along the fake teeth.

It didn’t take long for him to move you until the backs of your knees hit your bed. “Wish we didn’t have to go anywhere tonight,” he whispered, giving you a soft nip at the neck. A small gasp escaped your mouth as your gripped at him tighter. “Maybe we could get a babysitter,” he said as he kissed from your neck down the v of your dress. You could feel the familiar heat creep along your cheeks and flutter in your belly.

“Mommy! Daddy! Cole pushed me!” Darcy was exclaiming her frustration at the bottom of the stairs. Even from here, you could hear her stamping her little feet.

“Did not!” Cole chimed in with the vehemence characteristic of a seven-year-old trying to not get into trouble for bullying his six-year-old sister. You let out an exasperated laugh as Thor groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. You sidled under his arm and grabbed his hand, dragging him along.

“It sounds very tempting hon’ but you know how much the kids have been looking forward to this year. Plus, they’d miss us. Plus,” you whispered as you pulled him in to rub the red smudges from his cheek and lips “I already got us a babysitter for tomorrow night.” You let go of his hand and gave one glance behind you, trying not to let your feet falter at the look in his eyes. He followed close behind.

The scene downstairs wasn’t so great as the one you had just left. Darcy had started crying and Cole looked a little like he had been caught doing something wrong. You went to her but she shook her head saying in between tears “I want Daddy.” You motioned to her as Thor came down the stairs.

“Of course. He’s right there. I’ll talk to Cole for you instead, okay darlin’?” She nodded, her eyes puffy and red. Her bottom lip stuck out and was still quivering when Thor knelt in front of her, wiping the tears from her cheeks and adjusting the laces on her dress sleeves. Even upset she was the prettiest little girl you had ever seen (you were biased), especially with the soft yellow of the ballgown she wore. Cole on the other hand looked quite miserable, his armor sticking out at odd angles because his arms were crossed. You took his hand and walked him a few feet away into the living room and sat on the couch so you were at eye level. “Cole, did you push your sister?” He didn’t quite look you in the eye.

“Yes,” he mumbled. You pursed your lips and gave him a disappointed glance, waiting for him to continue. “She told me my costume was stupid,” he finished quietly. You put your index finger under his chin and gently turned his face so he was looking at you.

“Do you like your costume?” He nodded, tears forming in his crystal blue eyes. So like his father. “Well, then that’s all that matters. I know your sister hurt your feelings but that was no reason to push her. She’s allowed to not like your costume but she definitely needs to use better words. Can you think what you could have done differently?” A begrudging and wavery sigh escaped the little boy in front of you.

“I could have used my words too. I could have told her that hurt my feelings.” You gave him a beaming smile.

“Exactly. Next time, let’s work on using your words, okay? And if you need help, you can always ask Daddy or me. Now, I’m going to wave the magic wand and when I do, I want you to try really hard not to smile. You can’t smile, all right?” You tried to hide your own as you already saw the hints of one teasing at the corner of his mouth. It was an old trick your mother had used on you whenever you were unreasonably cross as a child or needed cheering up. She would tell you not to smile as she waved “the magic wand” which was really just her hand. Of course, the act of telling you not to smile alone would bring one immediately to your face. Sure enough, as you did the same to your little boy, a grin had sprung from ear to ear across his features. “There’s my beautiful boy. I need you to do one last thing for me. Can you apologize to Darcy? We want to have so much fun tonight!”

Cole bounded away with such enthusiasm you would have never known he had quarreled with his sister moments before. You followed behind him, grabbing your coat and his from the hooks by the front door. He was already standing in front of his sister and as Thor stood, he wrapped her up as best he could in his clanky armored arms.

“I’m sorry I pushed you, Darcy.” You watched with a knowing smile as she hugged her brother back. Her little voice piped up as you caught Thor’s eye, guessing he had had a similar talk with your daughter.

“I’m sorry I called your costume stupid.” He looked at you as the siblings slipped on their shoes, now chattering happily about the candy they were going to collect. You handed Cole his jacket to put on and stepped back as Thor wrapped an arm around your waist. You glanced up at him, once again taken aback by how blue his eyes were. The small crinkles of the skin there looked a little more pronounced but you knew it was from smiles and laughter. His hair had started silvering just a little around the sides, no longer the burnished gold of his youth. You brought his hand from your waist to your shoulder, kissing it tenderly. Even his hands now held some looks of a man who was still young but had worked long and hard.

He turned you towards him and you couldn’t help but allow yourself to drown in his gaze. It was tender and after all these years still full of promise. You felt something trip across the connection you shared. A hand to his heart told you it still beat for you, still thundered under your fingertips. The flame that had once burned bright hot when you first met had now turned to a steady glowing ember. One that would last a very long time.

“What?” He questioned you with a lazy grin. You just shook your head in a bit of disbelief.

“I’m just very, very happy,” you whispered. “I can’t believe you, all this, is mine to keep as long as I live.” He looked at you for a moment, stunned into silence. You could see the gears turning in his head as he thought of words to answer you, instead settling on leaning in for yet another kiss.

“As long as we live, I’m yours and you are mine.” Nothing else mattered. It was you and him and the kids. Your family. Your family. To love and cherish and nurture. He stepped back and boomed “Who wants to go trick-or-treating?” The rumbling of their father’s voice brought Cole and Darcy to ecstatic attention as they bounced in their places by the front door. They both yelled “Me! Me!” as Thor opened the front door letting them run past its threshold and ushering you next to him as he locked it. “As long as we live,” he repeated and you nodded, grabbing his hand as you turned onto the sidewalk.

Leaves danced across the pavement in flaming reds and oranges and yellow. The kids trotted on ahead, screaming in delight as they caught up with neighborhood friends. The air smelled like cinnamon and promises. Promises that the two of you would always keep. And you were safe. And you were happy. And you were alive.

#thor #thor x reader #thor x reader and ocs #dad!thor #i feel like thor def made the most sense #because of how adorable he always looks with the kids #inthorantine writes #halloween

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findingtheperfectcharacter · 4 years ago

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Writers block

Unsymptober day 4!

@unsympathetic-october-2020

Tw: Unsympathetic Virgil, Sympathetic Roman, Roman Angst

"Who'd read this crud?" Virgil snickered as he read the first line of Roman's concept. Roman sighed and put down his pen, so it was gonna be one of those days huh?

"It's a heartwarming tale -"

"It's cliche." He rolled his eyes, "Oh wow, 5 high schoolars from different social backgrounds are forced to work together. Real original stuff here Breakfast Club. What's next, a prince saving a princess from mortal terror."

Roman shook his head, it's okay, he knows what he's doing he can get this to work. He can work past Virgil's brown eyes hard and cold as steel refusing to let him in. He can show him how this was going ti work, It's not just the concept! It's the characters." He quickly found the folder with some of his basic sketches... He'll admit that he'd thrown a few of these into Thomas's mind when he slept but if he could let Virgil get them through so he and Thomas could expand on them-

"No."

Roman stopped in his mental tracks, "What? You can't just... Say no?! Virgil," he could feel a lump start to form in his throat. Don't cry Roman, don't cry right now he'll make fun of you for being so sensitive and than you'll never manage to get this idea to Thomas. "Virgil I-I know you don't think this idea looks good enough, but I worked really hard creating it! I think it might finally be our big one, our final effort to being knighted as the greatest creative minds that have ever lived."

Virgil sighed and put a hand on Roman's shoulder, "Princey, Princey, Princey. Of course you think that, you're Thomas's hopes and dreams or whatever. But reality check, your ideas are stupid." Roman flinched.

"And bad." It was getting harder to keep his tears from welling up in his eyes, his head started to pound from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

"And they're not going to get us anywhere. You might as well throw these out because I can’t imagine anyone caring about this.” Roman nodded, and put the folder back in his drawer, “Right. You’re right of course.”

Of course he was right. What was he even thinking! He took a second to glance at his main heroine, yeah who’d care about her secret stamp collecting hobby and how she’d use it to bond with the foreign exchange student- who’d even make it that far! It was too boring. He swallowed, he could do way better than this!

He gave a small smile, “I’ll start preparing something new, something better! Something worthy of showing to Thomas, and maybe.” He did sparkle hands around his face, “The world.” He hated how much his voice shook despite his attempts to keep it stable.

Virgil looked at his nails, “Yeah, I’m kind of starting to doubt that. How long have you been trying to find this mystical wonderful worthwhile story anyway?” Romans took a shuddered breath, don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry-

“Our entire lives, and everything that’s come out of it has been trash. Yeah we have what a few dozen 12 year old kids who are deluded into thinking your work is worthwhile, but that’s about it.” He shrugged, “Let’s be honest, you’re just not good at this whole ‘creating’ thing.”

Roman couldn’t help himself, he tried to blink them away but the tears just fell down his face with the force and heat of flaming arrows attacking a castle.

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Oh great, here come the waterworks, look Roman I’m just telling the truth.”

He’s right, he’s right, he’s not doing anything wrong. He’s just trying to help and here Roman was crying like some sort of child.

“Why do you have to be so sensitive?”

Why couldn’t he just stop crying and listen? Everything was blurring around him, Virgil’s naturally quiet voice boomed around his head cracking his skull? Was that why his head hurt so much? Or maybe it was his stupid crying, stupid, stupid, why couldn’t he just stop.

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Tell me when you have a better idea. Or if you decide to quit so we can finally move on with our lives from this illusion. See ya.”

Roman heard the door to his room close behind him as Virgil left. He stumbled back to his desk, and with a shaky hand picked up his folder again. He hated it. He hated that he tried, he hated that he was wasting his time and Thomas’s time and everyone’s time with this worthless piece of junk. He needed to get rid of it. He walked over to the fireplace in the corner of his room and threw it in. The fireplace lit up with a pink light. In the smoke he saw the final remains of the concept, the Indian exchange student with cute braided hair, the heroine sharing her stamp collection with her, small moments and random words that he was inspired by.

Moments that would now never see the light of day.

He took another breath, his lungs felt exhausted and heavy, “Alright Roman, new-new starts. You’ve done this before. By the snakes of Medusa you’re the Prince of Creativity! If anyone can make a good story in this place it’s you! Who even are you if you can’t.” He nodded to himself and moved his chair to sit at his desk. He cracked his knuckles. “Time to try again.”

He stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him, pen in hand ready to right.

He stared at the blank piece of paper.

He stared

He couldn’t.

His brain felt empty. Why-

He banged his head on his desk?

Who was he if he couldn’t even create?

------------------------------------------------------

Thomas blinked as he sat in front of the blank word document. It was so weird, he could have sworn a second ago he had a hint of an idea. Something about... Stamps? No stickers? He moved his hand over his keyboard but for some reason nothing was coming to him. In fact, writing felt like a really bad idea right now. It felt wrong, he felt... Tired. Forget it, even if it wasn’t a great use of time, at least eating Cheetoes and watching Youtube videos would make him feel better.

Stupid writers block.

#Unsympathetic virgil #Sympathetic Roman #Roman angst

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foreficfandom · 5 years ago

Text

Mystic Messenger - Their Favorite Gift From MC

-- Zen: Customized Bracelet --

Zen’s sort of an excessive person so he’s almost always the one giving you gifts. He doesn’t want for much and the stuff he does - like skincare products - you used to buy for him but he eventually convinced you to buy it also for yourself so you could do sheet masks together.

When you do buy gifts for him, it can be a bit difficult. His fans send him a bunch of stuff all the time, like baked goods, or fanart, or neckties. He, of course, is a lot happier when you decide to hand him something, but it’s almost never something he’s ever gotten before.

You have to outsource. So you order a custom-stamped leather bracelet from an indie crafter, something he can wear while rehearsing without worrying about it falling off. On the outside, you have ‘I love you’, and on the inside ‘Zen x MC’.

You give it to him for Valentine’s, his favorite holiday. Zen dedicates the entire day to you and him, and pushes aside the many packages from his fans for later.

You hand him a little box, and he opens it to gasp dramatically at the bracelet, immediately putting it on and exploring the texture of the leather. The lightly-colored tan matches his complexion perfectly.

First, a kiss for you, then its 904709 selfies with him proudly modeling his gift. It goes on his social media to a slight ruckus, because Zen’s never shown off any gifts he’s gotten before.

“My love is so thoughtful!!! Such a beautiful bracelet <3333″

Your name isn’t on the outside to maintain privacy, which proves to be a good idea since that picture is circulated like crazy to mixed reactions.

Zen doesn’t care, this is by far the best gift he’s ever gotten. He hugs you tightly and promises to wear it always.

-- Yoosung: Vinyl Laptop Stickers --

You like to buy knick-knacks for each other on occasion. Yoosung’s wallet isn’t packing so he can only get you stuff once and a while, and you return the favor with other little things.

And Yoosung is also kinda already surrounded by little trinkets and other stuff he’s collected on his own. Little figurines and toys from vending machines, plastic reward favors from convenience stores, character-themed pens and mugs and phone charms.

It can get a little cluttered. His backpack alone is heavily decorated with pinback buttons and enamel pins, and you know he’s home just by the jingling of the many charms hanging off the zippers.

He’s also of a romantic and ‘cute’ mind, so when you give him practical gifts of a headset holder for his gaming desktop, he’s pleased but ... he prefers it when your gifts aren’t quite so banal.

You eventually do some deep surfing for his upcoming birthday, and find this adorable pack of laptop stickers based off of LOLOL characters. These wouldn’t take up anymore of his space, and he could still carry them with him. So during his birthday dinner, you give it to him over cake and he opens it with a gasp.

“It’s ... oh, it’s so cute! It’s perfect, MC!” He hugs you tightly and immediately has you help him stick them on.

He uses this laptop for school, bringing it with him on most days, so it was the perfect gift to remember you by. Whenever he opens his laptop in the student lounge, or in class, he sees all those bright colors reminding him of his favorite pastime, but also he thinks of you and how much you love each other.

-- Jaehee: Promise Ring --

You’ve gotten her spice giftboxes for her cooking, a set of cozy loungewear for the both of you, and other cute things she absolutely adores.

But her true favorite? Her engagement ring. A dainty little band that matches yours perfectly. You had proposed to her during a beautiful evening in the park, making her tear up.

“We’re partners, now,” you said. She gave a watery smile and put her ring on proudly.

South Korea wouldn’t allow marriage between you two, so these rings promised more than a union. It promised a brighter future in the face of adversity. It promised progress in the name of love and equality.

Jaehee struggles with societal expectations for a woman like her. This ring was like a shield against the worse thoughts, or an anchor during the more tremulous times. She had chosen to pursue you against the world’s wishes, and it was the best decision she’s ever made.

You and her wear the rings 24/7. To an onlooker, it just seemed like the two of you were separately engaged people. But she knows differently. A proud little secret.

Customers sometimes make comments about them. She’d be ringing them up, and they’ll notice the brilliant white sapphire. “When’s the date?” some have asked. She stammered, “It’s in the making.” The customer nodded, and wished her a happy union.

She twists the ring around her finger, looking at you wistfully. It will be a happy union. One day!

-- Jumin: Custom-Made Cologne --

What the heck do you gift the man who could have anything he wanted? Material possessions are never a strain for him. He grew up knowing that any toy, any trinket, any new technology or experience he desired, he would get. He’d ask for ice cream and his father’d purchase an entire chain.

His current self rarely buys indulgences. He’s had years of being fulfilled already. But he definitely buys gifts for you, almost to ridiculous levels. You can see from the diversity of gifts that he has a reach for any product or merchandise, anywhere at any time.

When it came time to get him a gift, you had asked the RFA for advice. And everyone was as clueless as you were. Even Jihyun wasn’t sure; the two of them have almost never exchanged gifts throughout the long years of their friendship, since they knew the other was showered in generosity already.

“You’re gonna have to go custom. Something that can’t be bought,” Zen suggested. So when Jumin announced that he had to go to Birmingham for a business meeting, you came along with him. Which you seldom do, since it’s two days of Jumin being stuck at meetings leaving you to your own devices. But you had a plan.

You looked up a luxury custom perfumery, and with the help of an expert nez you crafted a bottle that would complement him perfectly. On the bottle was a label that said “Love Forever by MC”.

So for his birthday, he accepted his gift with grace and asked where you bought it. “This bottle doesn’t look like its from Clive Christian, is it? Maybe it’s Dior ...”

You explained where you got it, and giggled when his mouth dropped open in surprise. He opened it, sniffed, and his smile grew bigger ‘cause it was so much more special now. It was made under your hand, something that will never be replicated. His and his only.

He loves wearing it to work. It’s so wonderful to be surrounded by a smell that reminds him of you.

-- Saeyoung: Fingerprint Charm --

He’s a surprisingly complicated man to gift. Like Jumin, he neither lacks nor wants for material needs. Sometimes you’ve given him cute candies or hand-knitted mittens for winter, and meanwhile he’ll give you ridiculously advanced robot cats or he’ll bust out his packing wallet and boom, you’ve got a new Gucci clutch bag.

He kinda knows that he’s hard to gift. So whenever you shyly hand over a six-pack of gag-flavored soda for Christmas or something, he makes a big show of loving it and thanking you with kisses and nuzzles. And he does love it! He’s never had gifts before, not from V or Rika or his co-workers, and definitely not from his mother. Just the thought that someone cared enough to surprise him with trinkets is so heartwarming.

But your anniversary was coming up. It marked the day that Saeyoung’s life turned around a complete 180 for the better. A very important day, one that you couldn’t mark with an exotic beef jerky bouquet or whatever.

One day, while touring a small art fair, you found an indie jeweler who offered custom fingerprint charms. You set up a date to come in and make a mold by pressing your thumb into a block of sand, which was cast into a mold and into which steel was poured.

You gave it to him over a late-night car ride date. He took the charm out of the little bag and stared at it, you explained what it was. “That’s my very own fingerprint right there. I hope it’s something you can carry with you, and remember me by.”

He was silent for a few long seconds. You saw that his hand was shaking. So you reached over and kissed him, he embraced you tightly and said with a wavering voice, “Thank you.” A sniffle, and he was back to his cheery self. You helped him put it on his keychain, next to his car keys.

He loves it dearly. Especially when he fingers the print and feels the groves, imagining your hand.

-- Saeran: Sweater --

For a long while, Saeran couldn’t live a proper civilian life and spent many days holed up at home, stuck in an anxious and depressive slump. Any venture outside was an ordeal for him. Bit by bit, through therapy and medication, he regained his confidence.

You found this sweater online, and you knew how much he liked wearing sweaters at home. It had this quote on it that the both of you were familiar with. It had been one of the repeated self-forgiving phrases his therapist suggested. Saeran took to that phrase particularly well. He repeats it in his mind when he feels himself on the verge of a breakdown, and it helps de-escalate.

You knew you had to buy it. But keeping it secret from Saeran was kinda a challenge because he likes to tour around your internet history when he’s bored. Not for malicious reasons, he’s just curious and wants to know what kind of stuff you like to re-tweet, or what shops you frequent.

So with Saeyoung’s help, you ordered the sweater under a guise Saeran wouldn’t be able to crack without some effort, and it ended up being a legit surprise when you handed Saeran his gift.

You watched his eyes trace the quote carefully, and at his fingers tracing the screenprinted flowers. He was quiet for a long while, just exploring the sweater thoroughly.

He can’t remember the last time he’s gotten a gift. Maybe it had been never. His eyes teared up.

You hugged him close and stroked his hair like he said he enjoys. It was almost hard for him to accept this from you; he’d spent years trying to approve others under threat of violence, and he’s rarely gotten to experience true generosity.

He wears it at least once a week. It’s his absolute favorite article of clothing forever and ever.

-- Jihyun: Filled Scrapbook --

For the holidays, Jihyun had given you a beautiful set of jewelry over dinner, along with a framed photo of yourself that he had taken some time before. He rarely decides to spoil you with his riches, but sometimes the occasion calls for it.

How can you match up with his generosity? You knew Jihyun would be charmed with whatever you gave him, but you wanted your gift to mean something.

Once your anniversary began to creep up, you had an idea and began working on your project two weeks in advance - it was going to be a beautiful scrapbook of not just Jihyun’s photos, but also little momentos and decorations on every page, detailing particular moments of your life together up to this point.

You scoured his instagram, printing out copies onto photo paper and cutting and pasting. You folded within old plane, bus, and boat tickets. There were sightseeing brochures from trips abroad, old restaurant menus, stamps from envelopes he had sent you. You wrote messages and captions with multicolored ink.

Extra special were the pages dedicated to when the two of you moved into the new apartment together, and when V was officially recovered from retina surgery, and also the first RFA party he co-hosted with you. Some pages touched on more sad subjects.

Finally, you finished the scrapbook just in time for the anniversary, and it was all worth it to see Jihyun completely blown away by the effort you put into it. He spent several minutes on every page, talking them over with you and reminiscing.

He managed to hold in his tears until the last page, which you kept empty except for a calligraphy script that said, “... and into the beyond.”

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger imagines #mysme #mysme zen #Yoosung Kim #jaehee kang #jumin han #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #jihyun kim

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thesundropfalls · 5 years ago

Text

Unprepared, untrained, and fatally unskilled (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Word count: 6.5K

Setting: PreTFA (The Force Awakens)

Summary: You've lived a quiet life so far in Naboo, coming from the Naberrie household. When a deadly mistake turns you into an informant for the Resistance, you're forced to go into hiding. As if that weren't enough, a particular Pilot's interest in you is piqued. Navigating an affair with a hot-headed flyboy and an Empire's downfall, you learn that no one is truly on your side.

Warnings: 18+ This is a violent, smut heavy series. It features Punishment, Dubious consent, Non-consensual sex, Mentions of rape, Masturbation, Oral sex, Praise kink, Slight Yandere, Violence, Gore, Drugs, Character Death, and way too much personification of nature. If you are uncomfortable with any of those, please DO NOT start this series. They will be featured in the next few chapters.

"Shuttle stop... eight thousand paces... Entry borders..." You mutter, repeating your Master's directions. It has to be here. It has to. What else were you to do?

"You will make it to the resistance base." You hype to yourself, lifting your chin. "You won't die a sweaty death on this Maker-forsaken planet." You weren't sure whether saying it aloud was an attempt to self-soothe or to boost your determination, either way, you didn't buy it.

The pilot droid had informed you that a mile of jungle separated the base from the shuttle stop. Was it joking? Can droids joke? It must have been. You could cross a mile in fifteen minutes, yet you've been maneuvering through forestry for half a day.

This steamy muck maze was loud. Distractingly loud. The low humming and chirping of critters drone in your ears, warning you of their presence. Every living thing could sting, poison, or kill you if they wished. Vastly different from your calm shores of crystal in Naboo. You came knowing that, but just how different they were, your Master never could prepare you for.

Your toes ached from being bashed into roots, the soles of your once new shoes had worn through hours ago. However, tripping and not falling flat on your face was an achievement you let yourself be proud of.

You couldn't even walk on this planet, let alone breathe. A blanket of moist air engulfs your body, filling your lungs with a dense humidity. It was sickening. Yet, onward you trudge. Maybe there was a path just behind that brush, or that clearing, or that tree. Maybe.

Looking up, you try searching overhead for the suns, attempting to find a navigation point. Still, all you were met with was a high canopy of thick vines and branches. It stretched for miles, sunlight only peaking through cracks the vegetation left vulnerable.

A buzzing grew loud in your ear, making your stomach drop like a stone.

"Mother of moons-" A surge of adrenaline shoots through your body as a mosquito lands on your bare shoulder. It was huge-at least the size of a small Voorpak.

You barely have a chance to squeak before it sinks its proboscis deep into your muscle tissue. With a smack of your palm, you burst it's engorged stomach sack on your skin, spewing its juices over your collar.

You gag and scrape the fluid off of your hand onto the bark of a poor nearby tree. The liquid is thickly viscous for some reason, but you weren't about to investigate and find out why. Now you regret discarding the D'qar environmental manual on your shuttle from Naboo. At least it was dead. The proof was on your shoulder.

You reach into your satchel and slip on a patterned kaftan of your own design. You couldn't have insect guts smeared all over yourself when you meet with General Organa, could you? If you ever did make it there.

As you walked, you allowed your conscious to amble backward through your memories. It showed you a glimpse of the mistake that brought you to the jungle in the first place.

....

You scurried down the hall, skirts balled in your fist as not to trip over them. You've never been late. In all eleven years of working for The General, your Master, you've never been late. There was a chance, though. That he wasn't already in his quarters, you could work at triple speed to clean all of the surfaces before he arrived.

You prayed you wouldn't find him there as you turned the corner and pressed the door's opening hatch. Sure enough, the room was empty.

"Thank the Maker." You sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. You got to work as quick as lightning. Cloth in hand, you scrubbed the woodwork, decorations, counter surfaces, and wiped off anything with a coating of dust.

Despite your daily efforts, all your Master ever noticed was if the rooms smelled cleaner than he left it. You made a mental note to hide a different vial of herbs in his wardrobe each morning. The last task was to replace it, and then you could scoot away without penalty. Lady luck was on your side this morning, you thought. Being much too short to reach their designated place on the upper shelf, you stepped into the closet and shut the doors behind you.

That's when you heard it. The sound of the door's hatch flying open. Your Master.

Dread melted a pit in your stomach. You wanted to shrink out of existence, to dig a hole and crawl in to die. You contemplated revealing yourself. But what would you say to him then? You'd have no excuse for it. Surely he'd send you away. It would cost you your job, and you'd be back begging on the streets. So you stilled, the force of fear stopped your hand from pushing open doors.

Your Master began to speak, and a static voice replied.

"General Pyrus. They've taken over my cruiser. I haven't much time--"

"Quickly now. Tell me."

"Eighteen point two thousand-- two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective--" The static voice cut in and out. "Passkey--Saint Alchemy."

"And the code?"

"--Digits MC-32809. I can't hold them off-- I failed her."

" You haven't. You followed orders. You did everything right."

"The base is on D'qar, find Leia-- Find the resi--" Blaster fire overtook the static intercom. The line ended.

The gasp that escaped your lips was less suppressed than you realized.

Did you just hear someone die? Was the man on the intercom shot? What was your Master talking about? Who shot him?

Your head swirled with unanswered questions, distracting you from the volume of your stunted breathing. Your second mistake.

A gloved hand shot through the crack of the door and yanked you from your hideaway. With a shriek, you spilled out onto the floor of the office. You made a feeble attempt to scramble to your knees, but your Master held you down by the neck of your collar.

"Traitorous bitch!" He spat on you.

You shook your head rapidly in denial, eyes wet. "Please, Sir I-"

"Who do you work for? Shadow collective? The First Order? Imperial commandos? Speak!" He ordered.

Shock shot up your veins and froze your system. You stared at him, agape and quivering. You forced the words to pass around the stone in your throat. "I-I... I do- I don't know-know. I don't know... Master, please plea- please." You choked.

Your Master grew impatient with you and tightened his constricting grasp, "Tell me at once, spy!"

"I work for you!" You finally shouted, eyes screwed shut for protection. "I have for eleven cycles, Master." You put your hands up in defense, who betrayed you with how vigorously they trembled.

"And I'm- I'm no... I'm not a spy, please, Master. I-I... I overslept and came to work late. I didn't mean to intrude. I was cleaning your quarters, and then you- you came home." Your lungs cried for a gulp of air, spent on stuttering.

He stared down at you, seething. You couldn't read his expression as it was teetering between sincere regret and anger. You didn't know which one you least preferred, either way, it was mortifying to be cast such a look. You prayed for him to recognize you, to see past the vulnerability, and identify you as you were-one of his handmaidens, his best.

"I was going to come out and apologize, I swear it!" You begged him. "But, you started to speak to someone..." You hesitated, wondering if you should admit to what you heard. You decided upon it against your better judgment. "...Someone that was killed, Sir."

Watching his eyes fill with slight sorrow, you bit back tears and pipped up again, "But I am no spy, I am no traitor! I swear it on my mother's name."

"Of course you aren't," Pyrus released his grip, letting you fall back to the floor. Your hands shot up to your neck and held the strangled area as a sweet breath of air filled your lungs.

"Much too stupid to be a spy. Do you have any idea what you've just done?" He boomed, his spit rained over your red face.

"It was nothing I heard, nothing at all!" You defended, holding your hands up to him for grace.

"You dare lie to me, that message was highly classified, higher than your comprehension, you foolish girl." He hovered tall above you, "I should have to kill you. I cannot risk the possibility of having you captured by the First Order."

"Please, please..." You fell on your chest, face smashed against the abrasive carpeting. Tears streamed hotly down the sides of your face, burning your skin.

You wept for a long time. Minutes passed, and still, Pryus looked down upon you pitifully. He gave no response to your cries, weighing his options grievously. All the while, you prepared to be shot.

"Get up," He commanded, breaking his silence.

"Master?" You croaked, peeling your cheek from the floor.

Pyrus stamped the heel of his boot, "I said, get up."

You wasted not another second to scramble to your feet, yet you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, tears steadily trickling down your flushed face.

"No more blood will be spilled over the safe delivery of this code. I have a task for you." Pyrus said and stalked across the room to his desk. He leaned over its polished surface and shifted weight upon his knuckles.

"Originally, I was to deliver the code to General Leia Organa via intercom. However, I haven't been able to reach her." He raked a hand through his scalp, "I can only assume that they've been working underground to evade the First Order. We must pray that they've been successful."

You stared at your shoes, still sniffling and wiping the damp mess from your face with the frill of your sleeve. The First Order, The Resistance, General Organa, all those which you heard about through heated debates or hushed rumors. Up until this point, you never honestly considered them to be real things and not the gossip of the serving class.

Pyrus turned to face you, "It appears that I need a new messenger. And now that you've heard the code, I can't let you go. You're sure to be captured."

You cradled your opposite forearm, "I swear it, Master. I can't remember any such code. I wasn't trying to listen." Besides that, it didn't make sense as to how anyone could find out your attachment to this, this code thing. Whatever it was.

"It's not what you can remember. It's what they can pull out of you." He corrected, folding his arms across his chest. "The First Order possess the power of the dark side, the power to reach into your mind and pluck any information they need."

Dark side. Power. These things shouldn't be spoken of in such a setting. You were wary of believing in them, but for argument's sake, you didn't question it. "Master, if that is the case, you are no more safe than I. They could capture you too. What makes it so that you could not deliver it yourself?"

"I am a General of the national court. I have a battalion to command. The importance of your life is but a grain of sand compared to mine." He snapped. "You can be spared, the people of Naboo depend on my lead." He held no emotion in his voice. There was truth in his statement, irrefutably there was truth. It made his words sting no less.

Pryus sighed and crossed the room to you, "Howbeit, the burden of this information gives you more substance than yourself alone. An informant you will be. You have no such skill to have been granted such a task, but as fate would have it, you have been."

"Am I still... I still have a job here?"

"If you cooperate." He nods, "Now, repeat to me what you heard."

"Coordinates, yes. It sounded like coordinates, Was it?" You suggest, seeking his approval. He stared at you simply, his silence beckons you to reach farther.

"Also... Maybe a-a pass-... um... a passkey of some kind. Saint..." You begin to rack your brain, the flutters of your heartbeat picking up into a pound. Nothing else in your memory, nothing but the static sound of blaster fire. Giving up, your chest fell, "Master, I just don't remember."

Pryus bid you closer, "Listen carefully now. I"m going to give you the rest of the code, but you'll need to do exactly as I say."

Your heart sank deeper, "I have to comply, I can't refuse?"

"You're certainly allowed to refuse." He clenched his jaw, "But, I would deem it most unwise."

...

It pulls you from your thoughts, and at first, you think you imagine it-faint sounds of machinery that fill your ears. And then you see it, hints of civilization sparkling in the distance. Filled with delight and newfound faith, your pace quickens. You're almost weightless as you speed to what must be the borders of the base.

You, unknowingly, were about to be smacked with the reality of the universe. Merrily skipping into a stark ambiance of war and battlefront lines that you were strictly unprepared for. Of course, you understood the circumstance. Warfare massacred the outskirts of your own homeworld. You spent a portion of your youth hearing about the slaughter of millions and the depopulation of planets. You understood the urgency.

Maybe a call to action or perhaps a way to pull yourself from poverty, your intentions were muddled. The very moment you became of age, You took the position to serve a General of the political guard, Master Ranrat Pyrus. Acting as a servant to his beck and call, you were made a Handmaiden. From your impoverished point of view, it was an occupation of luxury, easy money with a decent prospect of living.

And that's what it was, at first. Your Master was decent to you, so you remained in his staff.

Despite the direness of war, the way of life on your mother world had bound itself to your soul and engraved clearly into your features. Your skin had memorized the way the Naboo suns kissed you, replicating the glow for others to covet. Your feet grew up wading in cool liquid crystal and traveling naked across cushy sandbars. Every cycle, the renewed sky sent her gusts of wind to tussle and play with your hair.

Your fingertips knew the intricately woven fabrics of lakeside merchants. Who's real craft was haggling prices. Their wrinkled faces used to light up at the sight of their oldest customer combing shelves for a bargain of delicate satin. Lakeside lifestyle proudly shone on your body, and it's culture woven into your hair like ribbons on royalty.

You would miss that life dearly, once you realized it was gone.

Passing the border, you stepped into a clearing of roaring engines and the working of machines. Beeping droids busy with their tasks hustled past you. Mission alarms rang out overhead as X-wing pilots wrestled the motors of old beasts alive. Gusts of wind exploded in your ears, and Welders sent sparks of fire outward in a show of skill. All the while, tubes of engine fuel decorated the floor, pumping the metal to life.

The sight of it took your breath away. Absently, you stepped backward, overwhelmed by it all. You've never seen so many machines in one place, all working furiously for their created purpose.

Is this where you've been sent? Among pilots for weapons of destruction? Masters of war? Decorated soldiers with bravery and-

Metal rammed into your calves, knocking you off your feet. The ground swiftly rose up to collide with your backside.

"Oh," You were on the floor.

Shifting your gaze, you sucked in a startled breath, coming face to face with a droid. It chirped at you. You must've run into it.

It whirred and blinked once more, rolling forward and bumping your kneecap accusedly.

Should you apologize? Would it understand you? You didn't understand binary, let alone speak it.

The shock of the situation began to roll off your shoulders, staring at it wouldn't do you any good.

"I uh, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" You inquired slowly, testing its comprehension.

It circled you, chirping at you frustratedly.

It wasn't alright.

"Hey!" You heard a shout over the working of machinery. Your attention snapped to an orange figure charging towards you.

Yeah, that was definitely directed at you.

You promptly stood and dusted off your pants. Thinking the figure to be a superior, your tongue hastily began to gather apologies, preparing to spit them out in your defense.

Kriffing hell, were you really about to get reprimanded? You hadn't even finished walking to your destination, how useless were you?

"What's your problem?" The man barks, not sparing you a glance and bending down to search the droid of any injuries.

"I'm sorry! Sir, please. I apologize, I just- I didn't see it." You stammer, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

Maybe if you bat your pretty little eyelashes, he wouldn't stick you on the first shuttle to Mustafar before you had a chance to meet with the General.

He whips his head back around, fully prepared to chew you out for all you were worth. His eyes, full of annoyance, lock with yours.

"I'm sure you di-" He hesitates, the anger he once held seems to vacate his expression. He let his eyes drift down your body, if only for a second. They come back up briskly, connecting with yours once again.

"I, uh, I don't..." The droid beeps and whirrs to him. He shrugs at the droid and then shifts his focus back to you as he gathers himself.

"Are you okay, miss? M'sorry, my buddy here can be somewhat of a rustbucket sometimes." He encouragingly rubs the side of his droid and stands, extending his hand to you. "My name's Poe, Poe Dameron. Black Leader, Commander of Rapier Squadron."

His tone was relaxed; he wasn't going to reprimand you. Your shoulders drop in relief. His eyes strike you, the intensity of his stare was almost uncomfortable. Almost. You step back out of respect and secret intimidation.

"Well met, Poe Dameron. Y/n Naberrie." You swallow stones. Your palm opens to accept, and his calloused hand envelops yours in a gentle squeeze as you tell him your name.

Poe seems to focus on you as if he'd never been introduced to someone before. You watch his lips repeat your name no louder than a whisper, playing with the sound on his tongue.

Growing impatient, the droid below him started to whirr and rolls straight into his shin.

"Shit! Calm down, BB." He nudges the bottom of the droid with the heel of his boot, silently communicating with his droid to stop shaking his game. "This is BB-8, astromerch unit. For a piston head, his circuit board must be cross-wired over the moons today. So much for ninety-eight suit programmings. I just..." Poe trails off with a laugh, his mouth seals when he recognizes confusion in your eyes.

Sod it. He knows you didn't understand him.

You cough a short laugh, praying that he'd take it as a delayed response. "Oh yeah, totally. I just, I'm new." You explain, "I'm uh, actually not supposed to be out here, I don't think."

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, debating whether to explain your situation to him. Poe seemed kind for a Commanding Officer, maybe a little hyper-fixated, but kind. You could trust him in pointing you in the right direction.

"I'm looking for the Control Center," You breathe, "I have business General Organa." You'd let him know that much.

"Oh yeah, that's in the Eastern Sector over..." He pauses to think it over, "Why don't I show you?"

"You aren't terribly busy, are you?" You shift your gaze down to BB-8, who was silent but beginning to vibrate out of frustration.

"I was assessing some damage on a processing unit, but BB'll take care of it, won't you bud?" Poe makes an expression to the droid that you couldn't explain, and with a whirr, BB-8 scooted away.

You'd never seen a droid of that model before, not that you had seen many before. This one was just a ball of steel with an attitude.

"He's kinda cute, your droid." You muse after he rolls around the corner out of earshot.

"He's adorable," Poe corrects. "But don't tell him that," the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. It rests so comfortably on his face, and you could only imagine how many hours of the day he spent wearing it.

"Shall we?" He holds his arm out for yours to slip into. To that, you stifle a laugh, waiting for his lead. He waited too.

Oh, he's serious.

"Maker, I'm sorry." You hesitate, then slip your arm into his. This is awful cordial for a military fort, was it not? His grip is soft but firm. The padding of his jumpsuit acts as a barrier between his skin and yours. For a moment, you imagine what it would feel like bare, probably the same as his grip.

He pays no mind and leads you out of the yard and down to a concrete runway. A neverending lane of battleships, a full fleet of them were parked in several rows. They stood so tall, taller than you ever would've guessed. These couldn't be the same ones that passed through your village. They seemed so tiny in the sky. Every few cycles, you would see an armada of spacecraft torpedo through the air. They were pilots of the republic, and they were right in front of you.

They weren't new, though. As beautiful as the beasts were, they ran half as well as they did in their prime. Ladies of war now in their sunset years, called to action one last time. Leave it to you to think rustbuckets to be poetic.

Poe noticed your taken expression with each passing ship, "Never seen an x-wing fleet before?"

"I can't say I have. Where I'm from, we don't get many fleets of anything, let alone pilots. It's a bit of a nowhere." You say, trying your best not to get whistful.

"A nowhere, is that where this is from?" He gestured to your brightly colored Kaftan, "Because I gotta find out where I can get me one of these things."

A giggle slips past your filter. Pupils mooning, you bring your hand impulsively over your mouth.

You giggled. In front of a Commanding officer, no less. Not that Poe acted very commanding.

He turns his head to squint at you, "What's the matter, you don't like your laugh?"

You shook your head quickly and smiled, "No, I'm fine with my laugh. That one was just- I dunno, it wasn't my normal one."

"I think you're lying." Poe unlinks your arms and shifts his weight against the side of the Hanger bay. "I think you're trying to spare me of how weird your laugh is." He beamed.

Did he just-

You stare at him, amazed by how brazen he is. "Wow." You scoff, deciding to join his banter. "You accuse me of lying, and you call my laugh weird? You're making an enemy with the wrong person here, Commander." You warn.

He huffs a laugh, "You gonna trip over my droid again? Threatening."

You gasp, "That's too soon."

"Did I offend you?" He asks.

"Oh, greatly, Commander. Y'know you're the first person I've met so far, and I already don't like you." You smile sadly.

Feigning offense, he places a hand over his heart, "You don't like me? Oh, you're breakin' my heart, Princess. Maybe if you just got--"

"Am I interrupting something?" Her voice rips Poe's attention from you as she enters the room. You only then realize that you had stopped walking. Corridor walls surrounded you with panels of directory projections, the Control room.

The Commander stiffens like a board, greeting his superior, "General Organa."

Leia dressed in blue tactical robes you gape at. The material was exported from Alderaan, a planet destroyed not forty cycles ago. You've scoured fabric shops in the markets of your city every chance you got. Seldom did you ever come across material procured in Alderaan.

You bit your tongue to keep from expressing your excitement. Another time, not now.

"Commander." She addresses Poe, waiting for an explanation.

"I have someone here to see you." He steps aside, uncovering you for her to behold. You scrounge up your courage and approach her, "General Organa, my name is-"

"Stop." She cuts you off, a wary look in her eyes. "I know who you are."

"Oh." Your gaze nervously flickers between Poe and her. "You do?"

She gives no reply and turns to Poe, "Dameron, leave us."

"General." Poe gives a curt nod to his superior and flashes you a quiet smile before slipping out of the corridor. His reassuring glance eases your nerves only slightly.

"Come, Naberrie." The General pivots on her heel and strides down the hall. You follow closely; anticipation sits heavily on your chest. She doesn't take your arm as she leads you, it must be a Poe thing. You pass through narrow vestibules with stark white luster. She doesn't say a word the entire way.

Stopping at the room's opening hatch so abruptly you almost ram into her, She grabs the cuff of your sleeve and pulls you inside. It was a small space, only equipped with an empty bunk, a table, and two chairs-no lights, no windows, only the iridescent glow that spills in from the hall.

You begin to make your statement, "General-"

"Call me Leia. We're much past that now." She asserts and closes the hatch.

"Right," You start over, "Leia. I have something to-"

"Please, do hold on. I must make you aware of the gravity of this situation. Sit." Leia gestures to a chair, you comply. This woman loved to interrupt people, you could barely get a word in. You could tell that she was less than thrilled to be meeting with you, and you were more than prepared to deliver the code and take the first Port Shuttle to Naboo.

Leia sat across from you and garnered your attention. "Now, what you carry with you is a code, one of three. It was made by the original crafters of the SSI-U vehicles. That includes X-wings, TIE fighters, boarding craft, land assault units, hyperspace probes, and Star-destroyers. Are you familiar?"

"Not really, no." You answer, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Why did she bother explaining? You were oblivious to the origins of the code, and you preferred it that way. It wasn't your assignment nor something you wanted to get further tangled up in. The faster you could rid yourself of it, the faster you could come home. Being hesitant to listen, but much too terrified to interrupt, you remain quiet.

She waves her hand in dismissal, "It's not that critical, but the maker's code is. When entered into a central command board, which all fleets have, it overrides the system to self-destruct. All of it obliterated."

"That's- That's why you need it? To destroy the First Order's fleet?" You inquire.

She shakes her index, "So they don't destroy ours. See, the code applies to the Resistance, as well as the republic. If the Order had gotten their hands on it, it would've cost us greatly. They would have terminated our fleet, and we would have no resources to fight against them. The war would end."

"So why, um... Why not use the code to like- destroy their fleet instead?" You cautiously suggest, your nerves audibly slip into your tone. "You can do that, right?"

"Their central command board is in the middle of the Starkiller base. As skilled as we are, we could never infiltrate their ranks. That's not to say we aren't working on it. Someday we'll be able to, but until then we cant use the--" Leia trails off, her eyebrows scrunch with concern.

"Stay with me, Naberrie." She orders.

Her voice is distant. You pull yourself from your fixation to the spinning room, which was much darker than it was before. She must've noticed your gaunt expression. Your eyes snap up to meet hers, and after a breath, you nod for her to continue.

"Again," Leia restates, "We can't use the code, but we can protect it. And it's best protected with very few people knowing. Which is where you come in." She gestures to you.

"So, keep it under wraps." You pat your hands flat over your lap. "I can do that."

She lowers her chin to her chest and looks at you sternly, "It's a little more complicated. But before we come to that, I need you to agree to some terms."

"Anything." You nod.

"It's easier if you remain calm for this part. Yes and No answers are acceptable. Hold your questions until the end." She began, sealing the confidentiality of the conversation. "What you say to me now cannot leave this room. The content of the information you carry has the capabilities of genocide to the trillions. Should this information fall into the wrong hands, that is exactly what will happen. Do you understand?"

You nod again.

"I need a verbal response."

"Yes, I understand."

"At any point, did you reveal the code shared with you by General Pyrus to a third party?"

"No."

"At any point were you bribed to reveal the code?"

"No."

"Are you aware of anyone besides yourself, General Pyrus, or his informant sharing the code?"

"No."

"Are you aware that there could be any number of bounties on your head as a means to get to this information?" Leia deadpans the question like it was similar to the ones she had asked previously.

Your heart stops beating, and you blink at her, "What? What bounties? Like bounty hunter bounties or-"

"Yes or no, Naberrie." She stresses frustratedly.

You exhale in defeat, "I am now, yes."

Maker, she must be disappointed. You could almost hear her blood pressure rise as she tightened her jaw and began the next question. "Are you willing to accept the Resistance's protection for yourself as an informant?"

"What does that-" You stop yourself, hands raised apologetically, "Yes, I am."

"Good." Leia shuffles to the edge of her seat, "Now tell me the code."

There it is. She asked for it. The code. You knew this. A long-anticipated shiver crawls up your spine, and you clear your throat. "I was sent with the coordinates to eighteen point two thousand two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective, passkey Saint Alchemy. Digits MC-32809." You breathe, an immense weight expels itself from your chest, you breathe deeper.

Leia casts her stare through your person, to the end of the room. "Say it one more time."

You didn't register her command, "What?"

"Just say it one more time."

You nod and repeat yourself. "Coordinates eighteen point two thousand two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective." You took another painful breath of air. "Passkey Saint Alchemy. Digits MC-32809."

The General's eyes were empty, she sat deathly still. You witness her silently burn the information in her memory.

"Shouldn't you write this down?" You break her stare, immediate regret started to prick your fingertips.

Her gaze fell to the floor, "It isn't worth the risk." Meeting your eyes again, she asks, "You're sure it's correct? There hasn't been an opportunity for it to have become tainted on your behalf?"

You shake your head, "I've memorized it for months and told no one, It's valid."

"I realize you're not an official informant for the Resistance, I wish to apologize for the burden that has been placed on you. I understand more than most." Leia pauses, train of thought halted. You wait.

She breaks it and sighs, continuing. "I want to thank you for your sacrifice. You've served the Resistance and your people more than you could know. You've sacrificed a normal life to live in hiding until the course of war ends in our favor."

Her flattery warmed your center. No one ever thanked you for this, putting your life on hold someone else's war. Going into hiding-- Wait. "In hiding? General, I don't understand, I'm not in hiding." You smile faintly and tilt your head, "Unless I am?" The thoughtful expression disintegrates from your face.

"You weren't told much, I know. It was agreed on by both parties that explaining this aspect of the assignment could affect your willingness to comply." Leia explains.

Both parties... Comply...

Slowly it came to you. "I can't go home, can I?" You search her face for an explanation, praying she'd deny it, but she never did.

"No," For the first time, Leia didn't meet your eyes. "You must remain with the Resistance. Our ownership of that information is one that was paid for in blood, and we will remain to do so if necessary. Even yours."

"I don't- That's not what... I'm supposed to go home after this, I have a shuttle to- General, this... Leia, I need to go home. I can't stay here." The words caught in your throat as you rushed them, desperate.

"For your sake and mine, please remain compliant. We will keep you protected as long as you stay with us. And if not," She falters, "We will send out a bounty for your head."

Your heart sank to the floor, "You'd kill me?"

"You'd be killed anyway." She counters, appealing to your rationale. "If the First Order found you, they would torture you within an inch of your life, take the code, and then kill you."

You stammer and point an accusing finger at her, "You'd kill me."

"It doesn't have to come to that," Leia took your hand in hers earnestly, "Only you can make that choice. Be wise now, child. Let us keep you safe."

Staring at her dejectedly, any semblance of trust in The Resistance General had fled. "But I don't have a choice, I can't go home ever?"

"No one's said that. During the war, you must remain with us. That is all." Leia held your hands comfortingly, the creases of her eyes showed you mercy with each kind gaze. For all you knew, Leia could've had the exact same 'confidential conversation' to any number of informants. And if that was the case, her threats held no substance. If it was a hoax, you could walk out of here with your freedom, scotch free.

It was admirable in a sense. This woman had sugar-coated her intentions to kill you, and you just, What? Accepted it. You understood. Agreed, even. It would have been all too easy for a Rebellion General to have you killed. Your little life didn't count at all. There was a war to be won, and you were a liability. You were a threat.

These woes battle in your head so torturously that you don't recognize your airways constrict. You don't notice the sheen of sweat that coats your brow or the fingernails that cut into your fleshy palm and turn your knuckles white.

You only notice how suddenly they go away.

A wave of calm washes over your shoulders, it's warmth begins to melt away the icy dread sitting painfully across your chest. It shallows your stunted breath and spreads heat in vines down your spine and out to your fingers. The unknown force softens every muscle, every bone, and every tendon that connects you together. It's overwhelming peace. You can't help but close your eyes and release a tired exhale as the wave floods down to your toes.

"We all get to go home when this is over." Leia's gentle voice draws you back to reality only slightly. You couldn't make out her face. The human shapes had blended into a grey fog, yet you thought nothing of it. The fear you once held was nowhere inside of you, doubt had completely expelled itself from your thoughts. All was well, all was right.

"I suggest you law low as an apprentice and keep out of trouble. Best to be discreet, be careful of what you say." She spoke through the mist.

You have the most intelligent fleet and crew in the galaxy, I can't compete with them. Wouldn't it be easier to tell them the truth about why I'm here?

You were almost positive you hadn't said it aloud. Be that as it may, your inner thoughts no longer discerned themselves with spoken words as Leia replied to you, unbothered.

"They mustn't find out, it puts a target on their backs. I entrust you solely. No room for error." She speaks.

But what if they ask?

"That's enough, young one. Don't tell me you've never had to lie to a man. Now report to the main hanger in the morning. Settle in for now."

Yes ma'am.

"Make some friends, you're in good company. But, place your trust wisely. As of now, that information is your life."

You hum in response

"Rest now."

The fog fades to darkness, and your mind goes blank

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #x reader #self insert #naberrie #Naberrie!reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader

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nickysurfer28 · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: With all the cards on the table, you and Chris become intimate in ways you haven’t before...but something is looming on the horizon. Are you ready?

Word count: over 1k

Characters: Dr. Nicky Ransom x Chris Evans, Judith, Adrian (Chris’s evil twin brother)

Warning ⚠️: 18+ only, smut,nudity,dream sequence, sexual sleep dream sequence, paranormal, swearing.

Info: An incubus is a demon in male form from who, according to mythological and legendary traditions, lies upon a sleeping women in order to engage in sexual activity with them.

Chapter 14:

Nicky awoken in the physical world with Chris buried inside her, and she remain very much alive.

“What happened?” Nicky replied.

“You pulled us from the dream.” Chris replied.

You blink rapidly, shocked that you were able to do so.

“I... wanted to be with you. Here. In person, I mean.” Nicky answered.

Nicky laughs.

“But hey! Looks like I didn’t die.” Nicky replied.

Chris, however, does not share your enthusiasm.

“That was a dirty trick, Nicky.” Chris replied.

“Chris...it was an accident. I didn’t mean to pull us from the dream! I guess I just wanted to be with you so badly that it kind of... happened.” Nicky replied. “But look!”

You wiggle your hips, wrenching a groan from his chest.

“It’s fine!” Nicky replied with a smile.

“It won’t stay fine.” Chris answered sadly.

You sigh defeatedly as he rolls you off him. Something occurs to you, and you frown.

“Chris... are you a virgin?” Nicky replied.

He heaves a heavy sigh.

“No. I’m not a virgin.” Chris replied. “That’s how I know I’ll hurt you.”

“Because it’s happened before?” Nicky replied.

He nods.

“Chris... what happened, exactly?” Nicky answered.

He lets out a bitter laugh.

“Not exactly the kind of pillow talk I had in mind.” Chris answered. “But you deserve to know. I was untouched until I was 20 or so. Adrain decided to remedy that by taking me to a local brothel. Everything was fine until I... finished.”

He stares morosely up at the ceiling.

“Something about me... that level of physical intimacy is dangerous. It brought her unspeakable pain.” Chris replied.

His eyes darken with self-loathing.

“I reacted quickly enough to spare her life, but I didn’t leave her with much of one. She lost her ability to move, to even speak. She could no longer take care of herself.” Chris answered.

“Oh my God, Chris...” Nicky replied sadly.

Nicky curls yourself around him, lost for any better way to soothe his hurt. He seems surprised by your reaction, but quickly returns the embrace, wrapping you tightly in his arms.

“That wasn’t your fault, Chris.” Nicky replied. “You didn’t know what would happen. How could you have?”

“Funny you should ask.” Chris replied. “Because when I told Adrian what I’d done, he laughed.”

He takes a breath, pulling Nicky closer to him.

“He’d known exactly what would happen to that poor woman.” Chris answered.

Despite his warmth, Nicky feels a great sadness radiating off of him.

“He’d wanted me to drain her.” Chris replied angrily. “Completely. He was hoping I’d murder her.”

“What? Why?” Nicky replied. “What was he hoping to accomplish.”

Chris lets out a hollow laugh.

“He honestly thought he was helping me, if you can believe it.” Chris answered. “It was the best way for our kind to feed, he told me. It made us stronger. More powerful. He’d been doing it for years. And he thought it was high time I started “embracing our full potential,” as he puts it.”

“Wait, so he just ran around England killing people? No one cared? Nicky answered.

“I’m sure the women’s loved ones did, but what could they do?” Chris answered. “He method of killing left no wounds, no evidence. Even if the authorities were called, what could they have done?”

He turns haunted blue eyes on Nicky.

“Now you see, Nicky, why we can never be together physically. What I did to that woman... I can’t risk it happening to you, too.” Chris replied.

And yet, some indefinable instinct tells Nicky that it won’t happen. Nicky bites her lips, collecting her thoughts.

“You told me your mind can sense humans with strong life forces. Was the woman in the brothel one of them?” Nicky replied.

Chris shakes his head.

“But I am, you said.” Nicky answered. “So... it won’t hurt me.”

Nicky kisses him, consciously pouring her energy into it.

“Nicky!” Chris yelled.

As if a switch had been flipped, he gets hard again, and Nicky stifles a giggle.

“Does it feel different in the waking world?” Nicky replied.

Chris nods, color rising in his cheeks.

“Does...everything feel different?” Nicky replied.

He shudders as Nicky sucks his earlobe between her lips.

“Yes.” Chris replied.

Nicky nips lightly at his throat.

“Different in a good way?” Nicky answered.

He nods, and she works her way down, lavishing hisnflushed skin with sweet kisses and gentle bites.

“Nicky...” Chris replied.

He moans as her tongue teases his nipples... and gasps when it dips into his navel.

“Do you want more, Chris?” Nicky replied.

Nicky scrapes her teeth along his hip bone.

“If I start to lose control...” Chris replied.

“Then you’ll stop” Nicky replied.

She kisses the tip of his cock.

“I trust you.” Nicky answered.

Nicky helps in surprise as he rolls her beneath him, pinning her wrists loosely above her head.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an incredibly stubborn woman?” Chris replied with a smirk.

“But...one who makes a persuasive argument?” Nicky replied smiling.

He chuckles, nibbling your earlobe.

“A very persuasive argument.” Chris answered.

“Prove it.” Nicky replied.

“And how shall I prove it, Nicky?” Chris replied smirking.

He smiles wickedly, and you flush.

“Prove it by.. making love to me. Right here, right now.” Nicky replied.

Nicky parts her thighs for him, and he drives into her in one smooth motion.

“Ah!” Nicky squealed. “Ah...”

“God, you’re wet.” Chris answered heavily.

And Nicky was so wet that you can hear every slick movement he makes inside her body.

“Chris... harder!” Nicky yelled.

He moves, pounding into her with intense force. He shifts his position slightly, and the new angle makes her moan.

“Oh, right there!” Nicky yelled.

“Here?” Chris replied.

She moans his name, clutching tightly to him.

“Do you want more, Nicky?” Chris answered.

“Chris... yes, more. Just like that.” Nicky replied.

He obeys, moving into that sweet spot over and over again.

“Like this?” Chris replied.

“Mmmm..yes.” Nicky replied breathless.

He chuckles, nuzzling her neck.

“You’d rice me crazy, Nicky.” Chris replied.

He slides a hand down to play with her clit.

“Ah...” Nicky moaned.

“Nicky..”Chris whispers.

He circles his fingers faster in time with his thrusts, making her whimper.

“Chris!” Nicky squealed loudly.

She come hard, her toes curling as orgasm washes over her.

“Oh...” Nicky replied.

For a moment, all she could do is lie panting beneath him. Then the haze of satisfaction clears, and she frowns at the still-hard cock he with draws from her.

“You didn’t come?” Nicky answered.

“I, ah...couldn’t. I’m sorry.” Chris replied blushing.

“Chris... did I do something wrong?” Nicky answered.

He shakes his head, kissing her tenderly.

“It’s nothing to do with you. Nicky.” Chris replied. “I think I just...got into my own head a little.”

Nicky rubs his back soothingly.

“Why don’t you put us to sleep and let me fix that?” Nicky replied.

“And you’ll keep us there?” Chris answered.

Nicky licks her lips deliberately and crosses her heart, drawing his hot blue gaze to her breasts.

“Promise.” Nicky answered smiling.

He shivers.

“You’ll be the death of me, Dr. Ransom.” Chris replied.

“It’ll only be a little death, though.” Nicky answered.

*sleep dream sex sequence *

Chris makes a delighted noise, and the waking world dissolves into a dream.

“This is starting to feel pretty...natural. Like I was meant for this, somehow.”

Nicky presses him back onto the fainting couch, and he moans loudly as she sinks onto his cock.

“Nicky...” Chris answered.

She rides him, relishing the mindless pleasure writ plainly on his beautiful face.

“God, your breast are amazing.” Chris replied.

Nicky throws her head back and laughs.

“That’s really where your mind is right now?” Nicky replied laughing.

“They’re right there, and they are perfect.” Chris replied.

Nicky giggles, kissing him soundly.

“You are adorable, Chris Evans.” Nicky replied. “And you’re going to come for me now.”

She quickens her pace and he groans, his head falling back against the couch.

“That’s it. Come for me, baby.” Nicky answers.

“Ah!” Chris yelled out.

You both gasp as he pulses within you... but when the dream fades you’re lying chastely side by side. *dream sequence ends**

“So, what does your weekend look like?” Chris replied.

“Pillow talk, Chris ?”Nicky answered smiling.

“Is that an issue?” Chris answered smiling.

“Nope. It’s...sweet. Actually, I’m insanely busy this weekend. I’m going to a medical conference. I should pack as soon as I get home, actually.” Nicky replied.

“Will other psychologists be there?” Chris answered.

“Yeah! Psychologists, cardiologists. Kind of bunch of people across the board.”Nicky answered.

“You’re an incredible woman, Nicky. Did you know that?” Chris replied.

“...thank you.” Nicky answered blushing.

“You’re very welcome.” Chris replied. “What do you do outside of psychology?”

“Not much, honestly.” Nicky replied. “What about you? Do you do anything outside Dreamseekers Foundation?”

His chuckle reverberates through his chest.

“I do, but it’s... ah,it’s boring.” Chris replied.

“Why do you say that? Do you...collect stamps?” Nicky answered. “Is there a boom of all the different stamps for the past hundred years?”

“Well, nothing that boring?” Chris answered smiling. “Still.. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about.”

You frown at the resignation in his voice.

“He really believes that, doesn’t he?”

“Chris... of course I want to learn more about you.” Nicky replied.

“Is that so?” Chris replied in shock.

“Is that an issue?” Nicky answered.

Nicky repeats his words back to him, and he laughs quietly.

“So, what’s your mysterious hobby?” Nicky replied.

“It’s hardly mysterious.” Chris answered smiling. “Painting. When I have time that is.”

“Chris, that’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me?” Nicky answers.

“Oh, I hardly have the skill to warrant anything of great merit.” Chris replied.

“What kind of things do you paint?” Nicky replied.

“Portraiture, mostly. I live so long, you see, so I like to remember the faces of those who are important to me.” Chris answered. “I paint a picture of anyone who holds any significance in my heart.”

“I see.” Nicky replied.

Nicky blushes and wonders if he’ll ever paint her.

“I should get some new colors actually. I have someone new to paint.” Chris replied.

“You do?” Nicky answered shocked.

He rolls his eyes and gives her a pointed look.

“Oh...” Nicky replied blushing.

Nicky cuddles up beside him, the late hour- and encroaching sex coma- beginning to take its toll on her.

“Goodnight, Chris.” Nicky answered.

He kisses her hair.

“Goodnight, Nicky.” Chris replied.

Nicky drift into a deep, dreamless sleep...and awaken to bright sunlight streaming in from the window.

“Chris?” Nicky replied.

But the other side of the bed is empty.

So, she finds, is the rest of the house.

“Admittedly weird, but...I’ve seen Chris out in daylight before. Maybe there was a daytime meeting he couldn’t miss.”

And so she text Chris, then head home to pack for the weekend’s medical conference.

It isn’t until you’re in your hotel, hours later, that you begin to grow worried.

“Chris usually texts me back pretty quickly, but it’s been hours.”

Nicky calls him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. Anxiety prickling at the back of her neck, she calls Judith, who answers on the first ring.

Phone call**

“I thought you might be calling.” Judith answers.

She reads you a text Chris sent her shortly before dawn.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Please look after Nicky.” Judith read aloud.

“I don’t understand.” Judith answers.

“I think I might.” Nicky answered.

“He...needs some time. He’s probably a little overwhelmed right now.”

Nicky hang up with Judith, and falls into a fitful sleep in the hotel bed.

*dream sequence *

The first thing you see when you begin to dream is..

“Chris!” Nicky yelled.

“Nicky. How lovely to see you.” Chris replied. (Aka it’s Adrian)

His cruel tone makes her heart sink, Nicky feels herself freeze on the spot.

“No. Not Chris.”

“Adrian.” Nicky replied.

“Ready to play, Nicky ?” Adrian replied.

Tags: @denisemarieangelina @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @daliaevans @waywardodysseys @pine-fresh-kirk @lovinevans @tanyam93 @patzammit @star-spangled-beard-burn @iguessweallcrazyithinktho @iamwhoiamtmblr @whiskey-cokenfanfic @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @chris-butt @nbarnes @amazonx @thatsxamericasxass @americasass91 @thatgirly81 @katiew1973 @kailyndavillier @kelbabyblue @kellyn1604 @comebackandhauntme21 @captainchrisstan @captaincrazyexlover @imanuglywombat @trishevans @branflakes82 @oddsnendsfanfics @jms358 @shreyaaaaaaaaaaaa @gothamlovr91 @icanfeelastormbrewing @xlanawriter @ok-buchanan @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @worksby-d @denissjmaddox @what-is-your-plan-today @jtargaryen18 @living-in-the-darkness @softbeanevans @luna8819 @nomadevans82 @bit-of-a-timelord @littlefiercequeen @nekoannie-chan

#princeofdreams chrisevansfanfic #chris evans #fanfic paranornal

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

Text

hidden // din djarin

description: the life of nobility wasn't one for everyone. some would rather duck under the shadows around them, especially after a great betrayal to the name of a planet but despite being hidden, not everyone can avoid the blinding lights of danger. whether it be those after those who had escaped, or the poor bounty hunter who ended up picking her up. both with a large bounty on their heads. follow Cloak as she lives the days as an escaped noble, hiding from the eyes of serenno after the fall of count dooku, shacking up with one of the most sought after child and the mandalorian unfortunate enough to have a big heart.

chapter three: the one with a sister

warnings: violence, fight scenes

word count: 3323

"what do you think you're doing, leta?" she hissed, stalking forward and ripping the dress from the young girls hands, "why are you in my closet?" she snapped, hugging the aged fabric closer to her chest as she glared down at the raven haired girl.

"looking at which dresses of yours I can burn." the twelve year old smirked, reaching for another one of her most sacred possessions.

"no. not happening." she scoffed, tugging at the small girls arm, dragging her away from the dresses, "you know you're not allowed in my chambers. if I find you in here again I'll send you out to the forest beasts."

she didn't actually know if their were beasts in the forest. she assumed there was. there had been many nights where she'd snuck out from the castle and wandered through the expanse forest line. she'd encountered small creatures, but never anything murderous or grand. she mostly just said this to scare her younger half-sister into leaving her alone. leta never wanted to hang out with her or spend time, no, she only ever antagonized and ridiculed her. but the idea of the young princess getting ahold of her mothers dresses sent a strike of venom through her, and her tone came out harsh and aggressive. that of which was her mothers held a sacred place in her heart, and she'd be damned if a twerp like leta would get in the way of that.

"you'd be executed for treason of the highest order!" the younger royal exclaimed, turning and stamping her foot as she stared down the elder princess.

"then my wish would finally come true. even five minutes without you would make my life complete." she smiled tightly, shutting the large double doors of her chambers in leta's face.

that little girl was as vile as they came. one more than one occasion, she had woken up with paint in her hair and leta and her friends giggling outside. she'd draw on her favourite gowns, hide her crown. it didn't matter. and it wasn't just her who got the brute end of the stick, the little girl terrorized the entire kingdom. from stomping on guards feet to defacing the throne room. but never once did she face punishment. her mother was just as evil and vile, so she paid no mind to her daughters antics. but her father? well, she expected something out of him. but instead, he said nothing. allowing and encouraging these antagonistic acts.

for a little girl whose name meant joyful or gladly, she sure made everyone miserable.

sliding down onto the soft cushion of her closets couch, she placed her face into the fabric of the dress leta had been holding. it had been twelve years since her mother had died, but not a day goes by without something reminding her of the woman. today, it was the dresses. the ones that she had managed to keep and place carefully on hangers in a, what she had believed to be, locked display case. for no one to touch. alongside the delicate crown and memory of the kind woman. one of grace and dignity. not of malice and corruption. but she supposed that was where her parents marriage failed. her father was a coldhearted king with no regard to the wellbeing of his people. while her mother was believed to be an angel to the people. a saving grace to provide a sense of understanding. after the fall of dooku, her father had ceased his political standing to rewrite the entirety of the planets government.

creating that of a king, and that of a queen. whom shall only be succeeded by kin of their own. leaving the pressure on her shoulders. she didn't want it.

-----

"a job?" she questioned, "what on earth could be going on on a planet like this that would require a mandalorian?"

"a violent group of outlaws are planning on raiding the village here tonight." he stated quietly, "you are responsible for the kid. this is a test. if even a scratch finds itself on the kids head I swe- "

"I got it. no one will go near the kid." she interrupted, looking down at the green guy, "we'll be alright, eh buddy?" she cooed, bouncing him gently, "do you know anything else about these supposed outlaws? are they like escaped criminals."

"no idea. apparently they came in a foreign ship a few days ago." he shrugged, looking down at the beaming child she was holding, who was grabbing at the girls shirt.

"mind if I come with to take a look? I've worked with peli for five years, I can help you identify the ships origins." she shrugged.

while that wasn't a lie, it wasn't why she would have known the ships origins. she had bounced from planet to planet for a while when she first ran from her past. coming into contact with a variety of ships and different makers. her knowledge on spaceships reached much further than being able to repair them. each planet seemed to have it's own unique touch to its native ships, and not only had she been a planet hopper for a while, her past gave her the wear and tear of visiting the vast galaxy. and being able to learn about these different things through her privilege's of her blood.

"why not, more eyes the better." the man that mando had been talking to boomed as he approached, giving a warm smile to her, "now who's this mando? new special friend?"

"no." the two stated in unison, grim tones evident in their words.

"she's the kids new caretaker," cara chuckled, "they share zero romantic feelings. they barely even share friendly feelings." she explained, placing her hand on her waist.

"he doesn't exactly give much of an opportunity for someone to like him." she chided, sending a glance to the side at the tall man, "bit of a jerk."

"you talk too much." his robot like voice muttered as the two in front of them let out a soft chuckle at the interactions. earning a gentle coo from the small child in her arms.

-----

"you're telling me I could have just put him in this thing?" she stated, gesturing to the silver egg that was following mando close behind, "and you failed to mention this?"

they had all decided collectively that going by foot to the landing sight would be less obvious than flying over there, and they could sneak up on whoever these outlaws were before they managed an attack. if they could figure out who they were exactly up against, the fight itself would present itself as much less difficult. and if the threat was small, they could terminate it where they stood. but first and foremost, they had to identify the craft. karga had said the ship was fairly ornate yet still had a rustic and fighter like fade to it. he hadn't seen anyone around it when he had managed a glimpse the day that it had landed. but he explained that it was quite large, and that worried him. for there could be a large group on it.

"I wanted to see if you'd figure it out." mando's modulated voice muttered with a tinge of sarcasm to it, "and you didn't, so. clearly you're not as smart as peli said."

"I knew it was a thing, I just didn't realize you could make it follow you." she snapped back, readjusting the sack on her shoulder, "y'know, I should probably have one of those things. as his new caretaker and all."

"we'll get one made for you, Cloak." cara piped in, patting the girls back as she fell into stride with her, "you know, I've had this feeling since you arrived. do I know you?"

tilting her head to the side, she watched the ex-shock trooper with furrowed eyebrows. so it hadn't just been her. the entire time they had been there she hadn't been able to exactly place why she found cara to be so familiar. stormtroopers never removed their helmets at her castle, but perhaps it was the aura of cara that was familiar. she had seen a few shock troopers in her life, and she was sure the other woman had seen quite a few cloaked mystery people in her days. but it was almost unsettling that both seemed to recognized one another without actually knowing who the other was. she was worried that if cara figured it out, and knew her identity somehow, that the entire past five years would have been a complete waste for her.

"mm, don't think so." she stated simply, picking up her pace subtly to catch up with the flying hatch that the kid was in.

"we're coming up on it." karga called, and the small group ducked behind a large magma rock a bit of a ways away.

she pulled the goggles she wore off of her eyes and rested them on her forehead in an attempt to somehow get a better view. but she couldn't. they moved quietly a bit closer to where the figure seemed much large. voices were hushed, and they ducked once more. leaning over a large crevice in the rock, she squinted her eyes at the ship. glancing over the ridges and the different features, her heart began to pick up speed. every time she identified a distinct feature, her stomach dropped further and further closer to her ass. the entire design was something a little to familiar for her liking. and she knew exactly where it came from. for she was there, when the ship was made.

on serenno.

-----

"what do you mean that's a serennian ship?" mando scoffed as they walked into a cantina in the town, sliding into a booth, "why would a serennian ship be here?"

her leg bounced rapidly as she held the child on her lap. her breathing had yet to settle and her chest continued to grow tighter the more she was questioned. the cantina around them was still loud and thriving, meaning that it was fairly safe for them to be talking about the topic. but she was worried that this would somehow link the two pieces of her identity together. that her quick knowledge on the ship would give away all that she had worked for over the past half of a decade. she didn't want to talk about it. she didn't even want to think about it. if there were serennians here...she didn't know what she would do.

"damn it Cloak," cara muttered, "are you sure?"

nodding, she cleared her throat. finally regaining her composure, "yes I'm positive." she stated simply, slowing her leg down to feed grogu a piece of food.

"how can you be so sure?" greef karga asked, leaning forward across the table, "if they're serennian- "

"I never said they would be from serenno." she stated simply, placing down the bowl of food, looking up at the others, "it is a serennian ship. I know them well. if there are serennian soldiers on the ship I'm afraid you may need more than a single mandalorian." she explained, allowing the child to grip onto her finger.

the conversation grew quiet after her final statement. everyone stared at her, wondering just how she had this knowledge. she had stories she'd told before about her knowledge of serenno, saying it was one of the planets she had stayed at for a bit before ending up on tatooine. she could easily say she had a run in with a guard and barely got away with her wits. but she knew she had spoken too much. but she hadn't lied, if the ship was full of serennian soldiers, than she wasn't sure if simply a mandalorian could take them on. she knew how to fight those types of soldiers, she had a tendency to sneak into their training and watch. find their weakness. the kinks in their armour. but she didn't want to leave any more possible crumbs for someone to follow and find out exactly who she was.

"well then we'll need reinforcements." mando stated calmly, sneaking a glance towards the cloaked girl who continued peacefully feeding the child. and clearly avoiding eye contact. though she had put her goggles back on, she wasn't sure they could even see her eyes.

after the awkward meeting, greef karga and cara went off to find a few more backup fighters. people who would help the fight. leaving mando, her, and the child alone in the cantina. a tense aura evident among the group, and silence only broken by the small noises from the kid. he continued to tug gently at her pointer finger, becoming entertained with the shifting of her glove. she didn't dare speak, worried that mando would launch into a million questions. she prayed to the maker he didn't. she didn't need anyone finding out who she was or where she was from.

"so you really were a mechanic?" he asked, breaking the silence with a question that had caught her off guard originally.

she nodded, looking up, "yes. I wasn't just a leech who used Peli for her kindness and resources. I'm a good mechanic, I'm a good healer. and apparently I'm good with kids."

"you ever been to serenno?"

she bit her lip underneath her mask, "yes. before I ended up on tatooine, I tried to find the place that fit. serenno wasn't good for me."

"where are you originally from?" he questioned, leaning further across the table. she could feel his piercing gaze underneath the thick beskar helmet.

"jakku." she lied, keeping her eyes trailed on his in order to seem somewhat put together. in an attempt to keep the facade she was the farthest from serennian.

"...can you fight?"

"why? trying to get your beskar covered ass kicked?"

"perfect. you've got double duty tonight. ensuring the kid is safe, and fighting some serennians. got it?"

"do I have a choice?"

-----

the answer was no. she didn't have a choice. no matter if she fought it or not, there was no decision making here on her end. her main priority would be taking care of the child, but she supposed the ragtag group of fighters could use any advantage or support they could get. the only combat she knew was the top tier of serennian guards, after managing to charm the captain to teacher her the ways. so she supposed they may have a bit of an edge up on the others...but still, her main priority was hiding her own identity. not saving the stupid village.

"kid if you try and move out of this thing I'll string you up by your toes." she cooed, clicking the hatch shut and turning back towards where the others stood, making her way over.

cara had one of the remotes made for her so that the hatch would follow her as well when she needed. making her job much easier. instead of caring around a child in her arms the entirety of their stay. plus, it would just be safer for the child. being able to stay hidden as well as her being able to keep tabs on him the entire time if need be. seeing as his survival probably equated to her own. as much as she had come to despise the mandalorian quickly, she knew he was dangerous, and could overpower her easily. and she didn't enjoy the idea of being killed because she failed at the one task she had.

"here they come." mando's voice called as everyone ducked behind magma rocks, waiting to launch a surprise attack on the raiders.

glancing around the rock, she lowered her eyes to try and figure out if their guess was right. and it was. a group of about 20 serennian soldiers were marching forward towards the village. she wasn't sure what they wanted, but her main guess was her father trying to take over another planet. whenever he attempted when she was back home, it never worked. and merely wasted men and supplies. but no one dared attempt to oppose him, for the power he did hold was immense. and his government had shown to be impenetrable. however, what she didn't recognize at first, was the sole person with no helmet on walking forward. dark hair waved in the hot wind of nevarrol, creating a cloak like effect as she and the group walked forward. it was when they got closer, when she realized just who she was dealing with.

"you okay?" cara whispered from beside her as she slumped her back down against the rock.

her mouth ran dry and hands grew sweaty in her gloves. suddenly, her mask became suffocating and everything around her seemed to close in on her, despite being in an open area. her stomach twisted and eyes grew hot and wet as she listened to the footsteps grow closer. she knew who was leading the attack. someone that was as vile and cruel as they come. selfishness coursing through her veins. a greed and hatred towards what seemed like the entirety of the galaxy fueling antagonistic acts. but never, did she expect to see her leading a raid on a peaceful village on a burnt planet.

"well, been better." she admitted. but before cara could reply, mando gave the cue to begin the attack on the group.

planting her palm on the dark rock behind her, she launched herself into a backflip over the large piece of earth. landing gracefully on her feet, the shooting began. the plan seemed to work, catching the group off guard. but it didn't take long for the group of twenty soldiers to regain their composure and begin to retaliate. she pushed herself off of the ground and wrapped her legs tightly around the neck of a soldier, squeezing tightly as she leaned backwards and wrapped her arms around another's. twisting her body, she tossed the first soldier backwards and heard the sick crack of his neck echo in her ears. launching herself around onto the second soldiers back, the click of her blaster sent her and the now deceased soldier flying.

catching herself on her hand, she pushed upwards and landed on her feet once more. glancing back towards the hatch, she saw that one of the soldiers was heading it's way. no doubt believing it to be a bomb of some sort. leaping into action, she planted a foot on the top of a magma rock and launched forward once more, flattening her body so her feet came into contact with the back of the armour, sending them forward against another rock. she opened the hatch to ensure the kid was fine, before closing it and shooting the soldier directly between where his protective helmet met the bodes of their armour. except it went directly through the small gap between the two pieces.

"you're quite the acrobat." a sickly familiar voice cooed behind her, "I believe none of my soldiers are agile enough to handle someone of your stature."

turning slowly, she came face to face with that same estranged and villainous face that she did not miss. the dark curtains of hair flowing freely over her shoulders. her olive skin glistened from sweat of the battle, and head tilted as she observed. she had grown up exponentially over the past five years. and she felt a knife twist in her gut as the two made eye contact. luckily, every little piece of her was covered. from the hairs on her head to the bottoms of her feet. unless she had become more observant, she shouldn't be able to know who it was.

but she did. she knew who this woman was. the leader of the army. she knew exactly who she was, and what she was as a child.

a sister.

#din djarin #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian spoilers #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #baby yoda #grogu #enemies to lovers #star wars #star wars fanfic #angst

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jhsbrat · 6 years ago

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the dick & the dancer, pt. 1 | knj

part ½

genre: brooklyn 99/cop au, enemies to lovers au

word count: 11.9k (there’s still another part to go, i hate myself)

warnings: crass humor, general idiocy, lightest of angst

a/n: i enjoyed writing this so much even though my other wips are staring at me in disbelief from my drafts page asfklsflk

special thanks goes to @guktwt and @seokinkjin for reading my drafts and convincing me that this wasn’t a total dumpster fire, ily :’)

“All units, come in. We’ve got a 10-31, back up needed.”

“Unit 2 here, what’s the situation?”

“Looks like a robbery in progress in the kitchen.”

“Copy, I’m en route. Did you get a good look at the suspect?”

“He’s got his back to us, but it looks like-“

“Son of a bitch! I knew it!”

“Wait, don’t-“

“Unit 1? Unit 1, come in, what’s happening?”

You charge at the silver haired man standing at the kitchen counter, sandwich still in his hand. Tomato and mayo go flying as he falls to the ground on his back, breath punched out of him. He blinks once, then twice, dazed, looking up to see you sitting on his chest.

“What the hell just- are you cuffing me?”

“That’s what happen to people who steal, Jimin, they get arrested.” You snap back, clicking the silver metal over his wrists.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, it was a sandwich!”

“Theft is theft, buddy.” Pulling the man up into a standing position, you huff and blow away a loose strand of hair that escaped from your braid when you rushed him.

“Nice job, officer.” Jungkook comes up from his crouching spot behind the door. “Although in the future, you should probably let me know before you decide to assault the perp.”

Rolling your eyes, you prepare to respond when Taehyung comes skidding into the room.

“Jimin, they’re coming- oh. Uh, hey guys.”

You quirk a brow at the out of breath cop, his chest still heaving from running in response to your call. Jungkook’s eyes shift between the man you’ve got in cuffs and the one standing at the door.

“Don’t tell me-was this an inside job?”

“Tae!” You exclaim, surprise coloring your features, “I can’t believe it, you know how important my lunch is to me! I have to go all the way downtown to get the specialty ham imported from Spain!”

Taehyung sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry guys, it’s just that-well, sometimes Chef Boyardee just doesn’t cut it anymore and you’re so good at cooking and-“

Jimin lets out an exaggerated sigh and shakes his arms in annoyance, cuffs clinking together noisily. “Can I remind you all that we’re talking about a sandwich?”

You round on him, jabbing a finger into his face. “And let me remind you that I carry a taser and I’m not afraid of using it on a civilian-“

“What exactly is going on here?” A voice boomed.

All four of you whip around to see Seokjin standing at the entrance, arms crossed over his chest. Yoongi is leaning on the pillar behind him, clipboard in hand and a blank expression on his face.

“Captain!” Your voices chimed out simultaneously, all of you drawing your backs up straight to stand at attention.

“Can someone answer the Captain, please?” Yoongi drawled, “Something tells me this isn’t worth the public service salary I get paid.”

“Uh, well. You see-“ Taehyung begins, stuttering.

“We were really just-“ Jungkook tries to continue, coming up with nothing.

You sigh and pinch your brows together. “Captain, we caught Jimin and Taehyung as the ones who keep stealing my lunch. So, naturally, I cuffed him to teach him a lesson.”

There’s a long pause as Seokjin stares at each of you in turns, all of you waiting with bated breath.

“His arms should be behind his back, it prohibits balance and prevents suspects from running off. You should know better, Detective.” He finally says, wagging at Jimin’s hands linked together in front of his body.

You blink in surprise. “Of course, sir, you’re right.”

He nods and walks off, Yoongi shaking his head and following behind him. All of you exhale, letting out the breath you had been holding in. Jungkook high fives you as Taehyung moves to release Jimin from his restraints.

“You’re all idiots,” Namjoon calls from his desk, “Every single one of you.”

Bodies crowd into the briefing rooms, people fighting over the limited number of seats at the tables. Yoongi stands at the front, flipping through papers and scribbling last minute notes, before he clears his throat and begins to speak.

“Good morning. Last night-“

“Hold that thought, Sergeant.” You say, walking into the room late, boot heels clicking against the over shined linoleum floor. Stopping at the seat in the very front, you tap on the shoulder of the young beat cop currently occupying it.

“Out of my chair, pipsqueak. You get the back.”

“But-but I was here early.” The boy stammers. You glance down and read his nametag.

“Beomgyu, is it? Listen here Beomgyu, I’m gonna give you some advice, free of charge,” you squat down to look him in the eyes, “When a ranking officer gives you an order, you follow it. Now up, you’re making my seat warm and I’m not a lizard.”

The boy gathers his things and walks to his relegated spot in the back as you plop down and prop up your feet. Next to you Namjoon scoffs and shakes his head, turning back to face front.

“Nice of you to join us, Detective. I was actually just about to mention you.” Yoongi says, focusing his gaze on you.

“Was it to congratulate me on my 98% conviction rate? Because I’m flattered, Sergeant, but I don’t do this job for the thanks. I do it for the fans.” You smile cheekily up at him.

“You have absolutely no fans,” Taehyung calls from his seat.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Yoongi continues, “Because I was not going to thank you. Actually, I was getting ready to reprimand you in front of everyone. You know why?”

Your shit-eating grin slides off your face. “Why?”

“Because the train pick-pocketer you arrested on Thursday has been released.”

Everyone in the room simultaneously lets out a groan and Jungkook throws a paper ball of his crumpled notes at you. Leaning forward to place your head on the table, you cover yourself with your hands.

Over the melee of sudden noise, Yoongi goes on speaking. “Would you like to tell everyone why your suspect has been released and cleared of all charges, even though three cameras and two cops clearly saw what he was doing?”

“I forgot to Mirandize him,” you mutter from your hiding place under your arms.

Commotion breaks out again as everyone decides to let you know exactly how annoyed they were with you.

“We’ve been trying to catch him for weeks!”

“That’s the first thing they teach you in the Academy, how do you just forget-“

“Listen!” You sit up and turn in your seat to face the crowd of your angry coworkers, “I was caught up in the heat of the moment, okay!”

“He was a seventeen year old kid, dummy.” Jimin quipped, perched on the windowsill at the other side of the room. “Even I know you’re supposed to Mirandize first during an arrest and the closest to being a cop I’ve ever been was binge watching Law and Order for 48 hours.”

“SVU?” Taehyung asks.

“Duh, dude.” The pair laugh and high five each other.

“If I can all have your attention again,” Yoongi taps his pen loudly on the podium he was leaning against, “I want to finish the briefing by talking about The Dancer.”

The noise quiets down immediately and everyone leans in to listen closely. Yoongi pulls up a slide show on the board and flips through photos of a crime scene: an upscale penthouse.

“Last night, between the hours of 7 pm and 1 am, a Caravaggio art work was stolen from the residence of Royston Cornwallis Staley, a local businessman. At the time of the burglary, Staley was at a charity event with his wife.”

“And how do we know it’s The Dancer who did it?” Jungkook questions.

“The same way we always do. He left his calling card.” Yoongi clicks to a photo from the scene of a barely consumed and still smoking cigar, the side stamped with the words Cohiba Behike.

“Jesus, those Cubans are expensive. He’s a real prick for just leaving them there and not even having the audacity to finish one.” Jungkook huffs.

You sigh and lean back in your seat, tapping your foot against the table leg. “He’s taunting us. It’s his way of proving how much money he’s making off these heists.”

“I’m sorry, but who’s The Dancer? And why do we call him that?” Beomgyu asks from his place in the back.

“He’s a fine arts burglar that we’ve been trying to catch for months. We call him that because he’s light on his feet, newbie.” Namjoon explains, turning around to look at the boy. “And the next time you have a question: Don’t.”

Beomgyu blushes in embarrassment as Taehyung raises his hand to get the Sergeant’s attention. “How much was the painting worth?”

“Wait! Don’t answer!” Jimin cries, jumping suddenly to his feet. “I’m taking bets on people’s guesses. Irene, go.”

“10 million,” The petite crime scene investigator answers. Jimin jots down her response.

“No way, isn’t Caravaggio an Italian name? Gotta be at least 25 mil,” Jungkook posits.

“32!”

“You’re crazy, it’s like 13.”

“Staley is a rich guy, must be somewhere in the 50s.”

Jimin nods, writing down everyone’s names and bets, then turns to you.

“You wanna put down a number?”

Shrugging, you offer, “98.”

“Million?” Jimin’s eyes bug out of his head, “Are you sure?”

“Nah, let her bet it, I’m tryna win this money.” Jungkook says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“Alright then. Sergeant, if you can do the honors.”

Yoongi looks down at all of you, bored expression still unchanged from when you first walked into the room. “The private appraiser Staley hired valued the work at around $101 million.”

You stand up and whoop, much to the dismay of about everyone else in the room. They all reluctantly hand over their money to you when you go around to collect it. You nearly have to pull the cash from Jungkook’s hands, who gave it up with a grimace on his face. Shaking his head, Namjoon regards the scene. “This is really just sad, guys.”

“No, what’s really sad is the hole in the ozone layer from all the hair spray you used this morning to make that coif of yours stick up.” You turn to face the other detective, counting the bills you hold. “Seriously, do you use butter in there? I can see it shine from the parking lot.”

“Yeah, I did. Borrowed it from your mother last night.” Namjoon retorts without missing a beat.

“Oh, real classy, Kim-“

“And you think you’re one to talk about class-“

“I’m glad to know the two of you get along just as well as you always do,” Yoongi says, not bothering to raise his voice any louder than his usual speaking tone even though the two of you were yelling over each other at this point. He had a tendency to do that instead of shouting, forcing other people to lean in closely to listen. It gave him a sort of weird power trip to know he didn’t need to do much to catch people’s attention. You just found it annoying, but stopped your bickering long enough to hear what your superior wanted to say. He has a small smile on his face as he looks between you and the detective on your right, knowing there was only one reason Min Yoongi would smile like that-

“Because I’m putting you both on this case.”

You whip around to face the man in disbelief. “Sergeant, you can’t be serious.”

“Sir, I’ll work with anyone else, even Tae-“ Namjoon pleads.

“Hey!” Taehyung cries out from his seat.

Yoongi shook his head. “Not happening. You two have the highest conviction rates of anyone on the team and I needed this guy behind bars yesterday. I want you both on this.”

“Sarge, I’m sorry, but I can’t work with this dick breathing down my neck-“

“And I don’t want to be blamed when she eventually commits a lawsuit worthy offense!”

Yoongi holds up a hand to stop your pleas. “You,” he points in your direction, “are sloppy. The rules are a suggestion to you and I need to make sure there’s someone responsible watching what you’re doing.”

Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest in defeat.

“And you,” the blonde continues, swiveling to Namjoon, “are too uptight. You don��t know how to think outside of the box and quite frankly, that’s something you can learn from your new partner here.”

The other detective’s lips harden into a straight line at that.

“The only way either of you get off this case is if one you gets shot and honestly, I don’t want to fill out the paperwork for that. So you’re going to follow my orders or you can pack up your desk and find a new precinct. Have I made myself clear?”

You and Namjoon nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get out of my briefing room.”

“Hey, Jimin?”

The man in question picked up his silver head to regard you. “Oh, hey, I thought I smelled the scent of failure.”

Speaking through a clenched jaw, you continue with the reason why you came to the assistant’s desk. “Is the Captain available? I really need to talk to him.”

“To chat with you about changing partners? No, he’s not. Busy man, you know, being the Captain of a police precinct and all.”

You glance up to look through the window into Seokjin’s office. “I can see him, Jimin. He’s playing with a yo-yo.” The man in question stares at the toy in his hand and proceeds to try and throw it forward, resulting in the hard plastic whipping back to hit him in the face.

Jimin just gives you a simpering smile. “Like I said. Busy.”

Pursing your lips in annoyance, you turn and stalk back to your desk where Namjoon waits for you.

“No luck?”

You fall into your seat. “Nope. You can go ahead and try, but I’m pretty sure he still has a grudge against you for the St. Patrick’s Day parade last year.”

“I didn’t recognize him with all that green paint on, all I saw was a drunk guy pissing in a public park!”

You lean forward to place your chin in your hands. “Look, the sooner we start this case, the sooner we can finish and get out of each other’s hair.”

Namjoon lets out an exasperated breath and nods. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go talk to the Staley’s.”

“Wait, what?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion, “What do we need to talk to them for, we already got their statements. We should be looking into The Dancer.”

“Like I’m going to follow the advice of someone who forgot to Mirandize a perp,” Namjoon snorts, “We’re doing this whole thing by the book. And that includes getting our own statements from the victims.”

“This is seriously a waste of our time.” You stand up to look at him and he straightens up to do the same. Although your boots gave you a little lift, Namjoon still had inches on your height and he used them to stare you down.

“I’m not arguing about this. Right now we need to talk to them while their memory’s still fresh.”

“Ooh, I love it when you use your cop voice,” Taehyung snickers as he walks by, tossing an apple for Namjoon to bite into.

“Just go, dude,” Jungkook sits next to you. “You can always do the research later. Stop being stubborn just because of that one thing years ago-”

“Alright!” You squeal, swatting at him before he could finish his sentence. “I’ll go!” Taehyung’s brows raise and Namjoon watches smugly, still chewing.

And that’s how you found yourself in a ritzy, high-rise apartment an hour later, speaking to an annoyed housewife in a designer dress worth more than your yearly salary.

“I already told the other cops everything I remember from that night,” Victoria Staley shrilled. “I don’t understand why this is taking so long!”

“We’re just trying to be thorough, ma’am.” Namjoon grit his teeth into a polite smile.

You chuckle and look back down at your phone, tapping away its keys.

“Well, I have nothing else to say other than we came home and the painting was just gone. No broken glass, no door ajar, just our missing property. It was one of a kind, you know. Italian, Baroque, not another like it.”

Namjoon made a noise of understanding. “Could there have been anyone else with access to the apartment? A maid, maybe?”

The woman twirled the earring dangling from her ear, thinking. “Yes, of course. The maid, the cook, the nanny, and the gardener. But they’ve all been vetted and checked by us before. Besides, none of them were working that night.”

“In any case, it would still be helpful for us to speak to them. Are any of them here now?”

Ms. Staley sighed dramatically and uncrossed her legs to stand up. “No, none of them are here. I’ll give you their contact information so you can find them instead.”

“That will work, thanks,” Namjoon’s face dropped as soon as she left the room. “Hopefully one of them knows something.”

You give a noncommittal hum, phone still in your hands. He turns to look at you.

“Detective! Can you stop texting and focus, please?”

You look up and blink. “I am focused. What do you think they pay the gardener to do here, anyways? They live in an apartment.”

His lips straighten into a thin line as he regards you. “How did you even get this job?”

“My brilliant wit and killer fashion sense,” you deadpan back. He doesn’t have the chance for a retort before Ms. Staley saunters back in.

“Here’s all of our staff’s contact information. Now please leave, I have a very important charity event to get ready for.” She hands Namjoon a list and crosses her arms over her chest, Manolo Blahnik clad foot tapping against the marble floor in impatience.

The two of you are quickly hurried out the door and back down the stairs, sharp autumn air hitting you once you step out from the posh private residence and back into the chaos of the city streets. As you stride down the sidewalk, Namjoon begins to deliberate aloud.

“I’m thinking we can start with the maid, she probably might have been the last person in the building before-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Before all that, I need another cup of coffee if I’m going to be stuck with you for a while.” You interrupt him, cutting through cars onto the other side of the road towards 14th street, your eyes still on your phone. Namjoon trails after you, long legs easily catching up with your brisk pace.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to look both ways before you cross the street?”

You pointedly ignore him in favor of pulling open the heavy wood and glass door of the café in front of you. The scent of caramel and chocolate infiltrate your nose and you step forward in line behind an office worker with dark rings under his eyes and a college student yakking away on a call. Your eyes peruse the menu above the counter and your lips curl into a frown when you realize they weren’t yet selling their annual festive options.

“It’s November, you would think they’d have holiday drinks by now,” you murmur to yourself, resigned to the idea of a plain cup of joe.

Namjoon moves closer and looks down at you. “I thought you hated the holidays, anyways?”

“No, I just hate you.”

At that, he sighs. “Listen, we’re going to have to figure out how to be cordial if we want this to work.”

You shrug half-heartedly. “I think what we have going for us right now is working well.”

“Look, I don’t know what you have against me-“

You snort in derision, moving forward after the beleaguered office worker completes his order and steps aside. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you think you’re better than everyone else. Or like to namedrop where you attended college in every conversation. Or that you attended college at all, unlike some of us. Or maybe a million other things that I can’t list right now, because I would die before I get to them all. Just a thought.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, frustrated. “You’re not the easiest person to deal with either, you know. You reek of overconfidence and never know when to shut up. Just because you’re a brilliant cop doesn’t override that fact that you’re rude and crass and a bully.”

“Mhm, keep sweet talking me, Kim.”

“You’re so insufferable-“

“Detective!” A honeyed voice calls and you both turn your heads to see the barista at the counter smiling sweetly at you. Her upturned lips, lobbed short hair, and reddened cheeks from the heat of the espresso machine made her look like an elf.

“Yeri!” You walk up to her and grin back. “How’ve you been?”

“Better. The usual?” The girl is already writing the order on a blank cup.

“Sure. And whatever this guy is having.” You point back at Namjoon and begin digging through your wallet.

“Small coffee, black. No sugar.”

You hand the girl her money and fix him with an unamused look. “You really fulfill every cop stereotype, you know that?”

“I think it’s cute.” The barista smiles at him and the man blushes, coughing and looking away.

You chuckle and lean against the display of mugs emblazoned with the café logo for sale precariously piled one on top of another. “Anyways, Yeri, I wanted to ask you a question. You’re an art history major down at the university, right?”

“Yep!” The petite brunette beams excitedly, “Just a semester away from graduation.”

“Great, so maybe you can answer an art history question for me. What do you know about the Baroque period?”

The girl’s eyes light up. “Oh, what don’t I know? It started in Italy and it’s all about really ornate, grandiose aesthetics. Think dramatic lights and shadows, gold glided architecture, and Michaelangelo-esque sculptures.”

Namjoon leans forward to whisper in your ear. “Shouldn’t we get going? We still have other people to interview.”

You ignore the heat from his peppermint-scented breath tickling against the side of your face and wave him off instead. He huffs, walking away to wait at the other end of the counter. “Interesting, so they’d be pretty expensive pieces?”

“Oh yeah, hella expensive. There’s an art gallery down the street that is actually displaying one for an exhibition on Rembrandt. If you’re interested, you should totally check it out-“

At that moment, Namjoon’s walkie-talkie buzzed insistently. “Unit 1, there has been a 10-65 in your area.”

Yeri’s eyes widen. “What’s that?” She whispers to you as Namjoon picks up his device.

“Burglary,” you whisper back to her.

“Detective Kim here, go ahead.” Namjoon grabs his coffee, nods at the girl in thanks, and begins to head out the door.

“Someone reported a break in and theft from an art gallery on 14th street-“

His back stiffens and he slowly rotates around to face the two of you again, tongue pressed against his cheek. “Yeri. Where did you say that gallery was?”

“So you’re telling me,” Yoongi lets out a long, exasperated exhale, as if he had just caught his two year-old drawing on the walls with permanent marker again, “That the Dancer pulled off another theft. And the two of you were blocks away?”

You and Namjoon look at each other as if to confirm, then face him again. “Yeah, pretty much.”

The sergeant groans and slumps his entire body over the podium, sending papers flying to the floor. You wait a few seconds to see if he would straighten up again before going on.

“To be fair, sir, we did figure out-“

“Kid, I could give two shits about what you figured out, unless it happened to be who the hell this guy is,” Yoongi snaps, face still planted against the wood. “And I don’t think it was that because you’re still sitting here talking to me.”

His rebuttal leaves you reeling, mouth snapped shut and grimaced in a straight line. Though your cheeks don’t turn red, you feel your face heat up in anger and you have to fight to force your retort back, irritation sliding down your throat like bile. Namjoon glances at you for a moment, taking in your response, then turns back to your superior.

“Sergeant, we’ll get him next time, we swear.”

“There better not be a next time, Detective. Because next time, I want him behind bars. Now get out and do your job.”

You stand up without another word and exit the briefing room, letting the door slam shut behind you in frustration. Jaw clenched and shoulders hunched forward, you’re marching back to your desk when you feel a hand clasp onto your wrist. Bristling, you yank yourself away and pivot to see Namjoon behind you. He takes a sheepish step back and looks down into your eyes.

“I’m sorry he said that to you, it was uncalled for-“

“This is all your fault,” you hiss at him. His brows shoot up.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your need to ‘do things by the book’, even though it was a waste of time. If you had just listened to me, we could have figured out the gallery thing hours ago!” You blow out your cheeks and rub your temples.

“We found out about the gallery by accident, just because you happened to want some coffee!” He barks back. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyways!

“I didn’t want any coffee, you dolt, I was doing research!” Your hands are balled into fists at your side, trembling against the urge to smack him in the face. “I know you could only fathom doing that by typing in a database, like some nerd, but some of us do it by talking to actual people!”

Namjoon falters, blinking in surprise, and you take that moment to fall onto your chair and release the irascibility you had been holding in until now, breathing in and out deeply. When you feel your heart rate return to normal and your hands steady themselves again, you open your eyes to see the man still standing in front of you.

“Look,” you begin, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees, “I get a lot of shit for a lot of reasons on this job. I’m young, I’m a woman, and I’m not highly educated. That would make it hard for me anywhere, but it makes it especially hard here.

It doesn’t matter how bright or quick I am, I’m always going to be judged differently than you. I’m sure he didn’t even realize it, but the Sergeant called me ‘kid’ in there while you referred to you by your actual rank. And it’s like that every day. I have to work twice as hard as you to get the same amount of recognition.

So, yeah, maybe my methods are a little unorthodox. Maybe I am too brash, or loud, or ‘don’t speak like a lady’, whatever the hell that means. But a few mistakes aside, mistakes that are no where near as bad as the ones other people on our squad have committed,” You look up to stare at him directly in the eyes, “I’m a damn good cop and I demand you to treat me as such.”

Namjoon opens his mouth and then closes it again, at a loss for words. He simply nods and grabs the chair beside you to sit down. The precinct slowly returns to its previous hustle and bustle, noise level rising back up after everyone in the immediate vicinity had paused to witness the spat.

“Hey guys, I have the statement from the gallery owner,” Beomgyu walks up and smiles brightly at both of you, unaware of the tension still lingering in the air.

“Learn to read the room, rookie,” Taehyung comes up from behind him and takes the paper in his hands to hand off to you. “Understanding body language will save you from getting shot someday.”

The boy’s eyes widen comically, making him appear like one of those anime characters Jungkook loves to watch so much. “Has that ever happened to you?”

“Get lost.” Namjoon grunts, still watching you. The younger cop takes off and you chuckle, running your gaze down the notes from the interview with the gallery owner.

“So it was the Baroque piece Yeri was talking about that he stole…”

“Ba-what?” Jungkook comes to join you all, hand buried in a bag of Taki’s.

“Baroque. Renaissance era art style, heavy handed and elaborate.” Taehyung rattles off. The three of you look up at him in shock and he shrugs casually. “I took a few art classes at the local community college. Could have been a painter in another life, you know.”

Jungkook snorts. “Yeah, and I could have been a pop idol.”

Namjoon disregards both of them and still keeps his gaze locked in your direction. “What’s our next move, Detective?”

You look up at him for a split second, then back down at the page in your hands, thinking. “Tae, did the owner mention hiring any new people recently?”

The man scrunches up his nose in thought. “No, I didn’t think to ask him that.”

You hum and then cock your head back towards Beomgyu’s desk. “What about you, noob? Notice anything?”

The boy startles up and almost trips over his own feet in a hurry back to you. “Uh, well, I did see carpenter’s materials- a ladder, couple tools. Maybe he was renovating the building for a new exhibit and temporarily hired a contractor to do the work.”

The corners of your lips lift and the gears in your brain turn faster, a pattern beginning to form in front of you. Chewing your lip in silent contemplation, you give it a second more thought before you decide to posit your hypothesis to the rest of the team.

“As suave as he’s been, the Dancer has proven to be incredibly predictable. I looked up the past jobs he’s done and each city he’s been to, he’s focused on a specific historical period or origin. In London, it was all Spanish Cubism. New York City, French Impressionism. Brussels, Russian Futurism,” you explain, words falling out of your mouth as soon as you think of them. “His mind thinks like a collector, a curator. And here, he’s only done Baroque pieces so far.”

The men sit in stunned silence, taking in what you had presented. “When did you have time to research this?” Namjoon asks, confused.

“When I was texting earlier,” You shoot him a pointed glance and then press on. “Unlike those other big cities, though, we don’t have a bunch of art pieces from the same period strewn all over the place. Baroque art is expensive, costly to procure and there’s only three places in the entire city that currently house any works of its kind. Two he’s already hit and I’m thinking he can’t stand leaving here without attempting the last one. That’s where he’ll be next.”

“Okay, so tell me what was so important that you insisted on interrupting my practice time,” Seokjin demanded, rolling up his yo-yo to put away in his desk drawer.

You, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taehyung were all currently huddled in Seokjin’s office, the crowded space making the air a little warmer. The younger two detectives were standing by the door, while Yoongi stood next to the Captain, eyes watching the clock on the wall tick closer to five pm.

“Well, sir, we’re fairly confident we know The Dancer’s next move.” Namjoon starts. Seokjin cocks a brow and leans forward in interest.

“I looked into the past jobs he’s done in past cities,” you explain, “And I noticed a repeating theme.”

“You gotta talk faster than that, folks. I’ve got a bottle of wine and a bubble bath waiting for me at home.” Yoongi interjects, eyes still on the clock.

“We have reason to believe that he has one more heist to pull off in our very own city.” Namjoon continues in a rush, “Because guess where one of the world’s most expensive pieces of antique Baroque jewelry is currently located?”

Seokjin sits back in his chair, grinning. “I’m thinking it’s right in our very own city.”

You nod. “It’s housed at the Museum of Art downtown and they’re having an after hours benefit gala tonight. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to steal it and all we need to do is be there.”

“So we attend the event as security and just wait. That sounds easier than I thought.” Jungkook bounces on his toes in excitement.

“I’m thinking not quite, buddy,” Namjoon shakes his head. “My partner also realized that both the victims had recently hired on new employees; the Staley’s a gardener and the gallery owner a contracted carpenter. Both of whom were left alone with the art and both of whom have not shown up for another day of work since the pieces were stolen from each place.”

“So he found a way to get inside access, making the theft easier to pull off.” Seokjin murmurs, rubbing his chin.

“Exactly. This guy is a professional and I don’t doubt he’s done the same for the gala. He’ll be tipped off immediately if we show up in uniforms and squad cars and then he’ll slip away because he’ll look like he belongs.”

Surprised with Namjoon’s mention of your discovery and sudden change in thought, you turn to look at the man. “What do you propose then?”

He beams and you can’t help but stare at his dimples. “We go undercover.”

“Ah, fuck yeah, a sting!” Taehyung punches a hand in the air, then quickly covers his mouth. “Sorry, Captain.”

Seokjin gives him an unimpressed look and then turns to Yoongi. “Looks like you’re not going to be making that bubble bath, Sergeant.”

Yoongi drops his eyes from the clock, seconds away from 5 pm, and releases a long sigh. “Why are you all trying to ruin my life?”

Things moved quickly from there on. Papers were signed, calls were made, and soon enough the entire precinct was scrambling in order to provide extra support to your team. Catching this thief would be a big deal for your squad and could be the kind of high-profile case you needed to propel you forward in your career. So you did everything you could think of in order to make it work. And that included squeezing into the only formal dress in your possession.

Huffing, you stare at yourself in the mirror, eyeing the red sequined fabric stretched a little tight since you had bought the piece years before you joined the force. You had packed on more weight in muscle since then, a necessary requirement in your daily life of chasing down and wrestling with criminals. But it gave the cloth material little room to move and made you a slightly hesitant about wearing the piece while on the job.

A loud knock sounded on the bathroom door, a signal to hurry up and leave. You take one last look at yourself and then walk out to come face to face with this rest of the team.

Taehyung whistles at the sight of you. “Someone call Tyra Banks, cuz we got America’s Next Top Model right here.”

You brush past him to grab your gun and holster from your desk. “Shut up, idiot.”

Jungkook comes up behind you to squeeze your shoulder. “Honestly, though, why are you always wearing leather jackets and jeans, you’re smokin’. I don’t know what Namjoon was thinking back when-“

You throw his arm off and whip around to look him in the eyes. “Keep talking, Jeon, I’ll tase your nuts here and now.”

“Absolutely no unnecessary tasing, I promised the Sergeant that-“ Namjoon walks into the room and then stops dead in front of you, mouth agape. “Um.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You bend down to lift up your skirt and attach the gun holster to your upper thigh, Namjoon’s eyes following your movements. Snapping the band once to check that it’s secured, you raise back up to catch him staring.

“You’re gonna catch a fly, dude.” Taehyung walks up to shut Namjoon’s mouth close. The man blushes and pushes past you to the whiteboard in the back of the room. He takes a few moments to write figures and draw diagrams, then turn back to the rest of you.

“Alright, well, here’s how we’re going to do this. Jungkook and I are going to be in the control van out back, manning the communications and camera systems.” Namjoon gestures his crudely drawn map of the Museum’s premises, then points to you. “Taehyung is going to pose as a waiter and you’re going to be a wealthy patron attending the gala.”

“So how are we supposed to figure out which person is The Dancer? He’s not exactly going to show up with a name tag.” Jungkook asks.

“We’re going to keep an eye on people hovering around the exhibit the necklace is in. That’s why we need two sets of eyes in the actual room to check everyone out.”

“I feel like we need a seducing aspect in here somewhere. Detective, how about it?” Taehyung leers at you and leans his elbow on your shoulder.

“Oh, what, because I’m the only female on the squad- which points to some larger issues with our hiring practices, may I add- I have to be the honey pot?” You shrug him off and re-adjust your fallen dress straps, not noticing Namjoon’s gaze on your exposed collarbone.

“Honestly, my first choice would have been Jimin. He’s prettier than you.”

“Thanks babe!” The administrator calls from the lobby.

You roll your eyes and start to head out the door. “Let’s get this done.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jungkook maneuvers out of the parking lot and onto the busy city street.

“Shoot.” You’re readjusting your earpiece, making sure your hair hid it well.

“I know you want to avoid this subject, but I have to know: Why are you still holding this grudge against Namjoon?”

You look over at the man driving, eyes trailing from the strained veins in arms from gripping the wheel up to the gentle turn of his nose and the small scar on his cheek, a parting gift from a criminal he apprehended years ago. He was smart and sweet and supportive, everything anyone could want. And you wished with all the strings and sinew of your heart that he was the one you had feelings for.

“Because he was a dick and you know it. I won’t forget that easily.”

Jungkook frowns. “Give him a break, he had just found out that his drunk hookup from the night before was his new co-worker. It’s not that easy to-“

“It wasn’t just that!” You suddenly explode, pent up emotion finally getting the chance to escape after years of seething below the surface. “You were late that morning when we were all being introduced, you didn’t see it. His eyes glazed over me like he’d never seen me before, like he’d never want to be associated with me. He essentially refused to say a word to me until Yoongi basically forced him to by pairing us up for that first case. And you know how well that one went.”

The man stops at a traffic light, red glow illuminating his face as he looks over at you. “Yeah, you lost the guy because you were too busy arguing and you were both put on desk duty for a month. But we both know that’s not it.”

You stare at him, mouth set and gaze unwavering. “Then what else could it possibly be?”

“He’s everything you’re not. Graduated from a top school, comes from a wealthy family, probably had an uncle score him this job. You cut your teeth on working your way up from a rookie traffic cop, poured the salt of your blood into getting where you are today.” Jungkook’s eyes are unforgiving as he looks right back at you. “You like to talk big and bad, but deep down, you’re just insecure. And when he ignored you that day, your mind immediately went to the worst possible place and it was that you’re not good enough.”

You bite down on your lip hard enough to pierce the skin, taste of iron bubbling on your tongue. The light switches to green and Jungkook accelerates, leaving you to face front again in silence. The two of you stay quiet for the remainder of the ride, an uneasy strain hovering between you both.

Minutes later, you arrive at the museum. Red carpet is laid out to welcome the loaded guests and waiters with platters of champagne glasses stand at the entrance to ply them with free booze. Taking a deep breath, patting your upper thigh once to ensure your gun was still secured, you prepare to exit the vehicle when Jungkook lightly touches your arm.

You don’t turn around and he doesn’t give you the chance to before he says his final piece. “I don’t think Namjoon was right, or even a decent person for what happened. All I’m saying is that your reason for treating him the way you do stems from a deeper place than just being a jilted one night flame and it’s time you confront it.”

A pause. Then you nod once, opening the car door to stand up and paste a brilliant smile on your face.

“Holy shit, they’re pouring you all Costco brand wine.”

You pick up a flute of champagne from a nearby tray and smile politely at the waiter before whispering; “I wouldn’t classify that as pertinent information, Taehyung.”

“I would,” Jungkook scoffs, “Considering how much a ticket costs to get into this thing.”

“Let’s stay sharp, people.” Namjoon comes in on the line. “Tae, anything you’ve noticed so far with the wait staff?”

“Uh, yeah, I think I went to high school with one of these guys.”

Namjoon sighs. “Anything happening on the ballroom floor?”

Your eyes run over the room, soft chandelier lights sending all the Tiffany necklaces and diamond cufflinks twinkling. The gold glided walls draw your gaze up to the second floor balcony, lined with wealthy philanthropists decked out in their designer brands. They all had on the same polite, uninterested smile wealthy people had while shopping for their next big purchase. Expected for an event like this, crafted exclusively for them. You shake your head in response to Namjoon’s question before you remember that he couldn’t actually see you. “No, just a lot of older people. Nothing suspicious.”

“Maybe try heading to the exhibit room where the necklace is held,” Jungkook adds. “He could be hanging around there.”

Your eyes scan the room until they land on the bar, its seats raised up a little higher than the rest of the space. It would give you a good vantage point to check everyone out and a decent reason to people watch without appearing strange.

“No, too obvious.” You walk up to the counter and slide onto a stool, gesturing to the bartender to catch his attention.

“What can I get you?” His lips stretch wide to reveal white, even teeth, and his eyes crinkle into half moons. You take in his high cheekbones, the gentle slope of his long, straight nose. Caught off guard for a moment, you blink at him.

“Uh- whiskey sour.”

“Coming right up.” He smiles again and moves away to prepare the drink.

“Detective, you’re on the job.” Namjoon hisses into your earpiece. You ignore him in favor of picking up the glass the bartender sets down in front of you.

“Let me know if that tastes alright, it’s my first night doing this.” The man grins sheepishly at you and watches as you take your first sip. It’s sweeter than you would have liked, heavier on the lemon and sugar than bourbon, but you weren’t going to tell him that and risk his smile disappearing.

“Perfect.”

He lets out the breath he’d been holding in, earlier confidence returning. “I’m Jay, by the way. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

Something more than customer service civility is laced in his voice and a throbbing hum fills your head. It takes you a second to remember that you were indeed on the job, here to catch an internationally renowned art thief and not flirt with the museum wait staff.

“Thank you, Jay.” You shoot him a polite smile and swivel around on your stool, facing the rest of the grand ballroom once more. Taking small sips of your drink to appear casual and stave off the sudden throbbing in your head, your eyes dart among the crowd, looking out for anything and nothing in particular. The room was full to the brim with the wealthy, expensive perfume doing nothing to cover the entitlement oozing off them in waves. You watch them get schmoozed by museum staff, writing off donation checks like it was nothing, and feel starkly out of place.

“Fuck!”

You narrow your eyes in worry, unable to respond lest someone nearby saw you talking to yourself. Jungkook does it instead.

“Tae, do you copy? What’s going on?”

A moment passes and your blood heats up in panic. Then the line crackles to life again.

“They put me on bathroom cleaning duty, the lazy shits. Someone puked in there already!”

You groan and close your eyes in frustration, anxiety dissipating.

“You’re officially cut off from using this line unless it’s absolutely an emergency.” Namjoon barks. You hear Taehyung wince before the line goes dead again.

“Bad drink?”

You startle and turn to your side to see a man in a suit leaning against the bar next to you. He smirks at your surprised expression and leans in closer.

“C’mon, I’ll buy you a new one. What will you have?” His hair is slicked back, an obscene amount of gel used to get it to lie flat like it does. A neatly trimmed beard and clean-cut suit defined the sharp angles of his face, the hollow of his cheeks. Your nose crinkles on instinct when he moves nearer, the heavy scent of cologne surrounding him like a cloud. He wasn’t ugly by any means, just the kind of handsome that only money could buy. You find yourself longing for the softness of full cheeks instead, of deep dimples that hold a promise.

“It’s an open bar.” You reply coolly and turn back around, finishing off the glass in your hand.

He chuckles, undeterred. “Alright, so no drink. Fancy a cigar?”

You fix your eyes determinedly in front of you. “I don’t smoke.”

“Pity. It would complement all this Bernini here perfectly.” He gestures to the glinting bronze and gold of the museum ceilings and you snort, unimpressed. Then there’s the click of the lighter and you glance at him again, shocked at his boldness.

“Sorry, sir, no smoking allowed.” Jay declares, tapping the stranger on the shoulder. The man’s mouth stretches, wolfish, and he turns to blow a ring in the bartender’s face.

“Careful, kid, I’ll have your job.” He sniggers, sucking in another breath of tobacco.

You curl your lips in disgust, contemplating the consequences of slapping the asshole right there, when your eyes land on the gold seal of the cigar in his hand. Cohiba Behike.

Pulse racing, you get up out of your seat and head towards the restroom, ignoring the stranger’s calls for your return. Struggling to keep your expression neutral, you whisper desperately into your earpiece.

“Tae, meet me in the ladies bathroom now.”

“I’m still cleaning up puke here.”

You clench your jaw and rip off the earpiece to speak directly into it. “Right the fuck now.”

The urgency in your voice gets across and minutes later, he finds you in the last stall, sitting on the toilet in your dress.

“What is it?” He leans against the stall door, crisp white waiter’s shirt drenched in rings of sweat from the exertion of mopping.

You release a breath. “I think I found him.”

“Found who?” Jungkook asks.

“The Dancer? You think you found The Dancer?” Namjoon follows up, frantic.

“Which one is he?” Taehyung looks ready run out and pounce, matted honey brown hair a boyish contrast to the gun you knew he had tucked in his waist.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure!” You’re frazzled by the multiple voices speaking at once, unsure of who to answer first. “The guy talking to me at the bar, he mentioned another artist from the same era, and then he pulled out a cigar-“

“So?”

“It was the same Cuban cigar that The Dancer always leaves behind, it can’t be a coincidence!”

Taehyung chews on his inner cheek. “I don’t think that’s enough. We haven’t witnessed him actually do anything.” Jungkook hums in agreement on the other end. There’s silence for a moment while the three of you wait on Namjoon’s vote.

“What does your gut tell you?” He asks softly.

You sigh and put your head in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut in thought. The throbbing hum returns at full force and it’s what convinces you. “It tells me that he’s in this building somewhere. That I’ve talked to him tonight. It has to be that guy.”

A beat, then: “Okay, we’re coming in.”

You stand up and nod at Taehyung, straightening your dress and pulling out your badge to brandish. He does the same and rolls his shoulders to ready himself, leading the way out. On the other side of the door, you’re met with chaos.

“It’s gone! It’s gone!”

“Did anyone see? Who could have-“

“Someone call the police!”

Blood running cold, you grab ahold of one of the museum employees as they run past. “What’s going on?”

The woman is frantic, sleek bun gone astray, glasses on the tip of her nose and threatening to fall off. “One of our most valuable pieces has just been stolen!”

Taehyung steps forward and thrusts his badge in her face. “Which one?”

“An antique necklace! Baroque!” The woman wails.

Your breath stutters in your chest and you drag your gaze back towards the bar. The stranger is still leaning against it, puffing on his cigar and watching the turmoil unfold in confusion.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Good morning. I’d like to begin by congratulating our team of detectives on their job last night.”

A polite round of applause follows and Yoongi nods his head.

“Just really amazing work, you guys. The Dancer escaped from right under your nose with his loot not once, but twice.”

Sinking lower into your seat, you pull the hood of your sweatshirt over your head and tug on the ends until it tightens to hide your face. Beside you, Namjoon is staring determinedly down into his lap as if it hid the secret spell to magic him out the room.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that this case has been pushed to priority 1. The Dancer has no reason to stay in town now since all the works he’s been after are now gone, so we need to figure out where he is before he dips. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Taehyung mutters, arms crossed over his chest.

The rest of the briefing carries on in its usual fashion, but Yoongi’s words go in one ear and out another. There’s a buzzing in your ears and your lip has become bruised from biting it so hard. Your leg is jittering under the table, knee knocking against the wood, until Namjoon reaches out to rest a hand on it.

You shift to look at him, but his gaze remains locked downwards. He squeezes once and leaves his hand there, preventing you from fidgeting anymore. You let it happen, loosening your teeth’s hold on your lip and the buzzing quieting down a little.

The briefing ends and everyone shuffles out of the room. The remainder of the day passes by in a blur of paperwork and collecting statements from witnesses. It did absolutely no good, however, since no one saw what happened. Or rather, no one could remember clearly what had happened. The museum staff’s plan of boozing up the gala’s attendees in order to get them to empty their pockets had the most undesirable effect in ensuring that nearly everyone was drunk and no one was a reliable witness. To make matters worse, the surveillance van’s camera lines had been hacked, so that the screens Namjoon and Jungkook were watching had really been just a repeating minute loop. There was no way to recover the lost data or get people to remember their night. The clock was ticking closer to the end of the day and you still had not figured out your next move.

Namjoon rubs his eyes and lets out a breath. “He had to have had inside access some how. Tae, you’re sure you didn’t see anyone or anything with the wait staff look out of ordinary?”

The man shakes his head, honey brown hair mussed from running his fingers through it in frustration. “Nothing. If anything, everyone couldn’t wait to leave.”

“We’re missing something, guys. C’mon, what is it?”

You stay quiet. It was your fault they had all been distracted, your fault there had been a brief window of time where the thief could go in and do the job. You were so sure you were right, something about the moment at the bar screaming that he was there in front of you. It was the first time your instinct had failed you and the knowledge of that shook you to the core. The rest of your team followed your dejected mood, Namjoon the only one still determined to tease out the solution somehow.

“We’re not giving up, we’ve gotten this far. Snap out of it!” He comes up to shake Jungkook on the shoulder, but the other man just brushed him off.

Seokjin walks by your team on your way out, yo-yo dangling from his finger. He pauses next to your desk and looks down at your forlorn face. “Why so glum, sugar plum?”

You hit refresh on the police database page profiling The Dancer, hoping it would miraculously reveal some new information, like his current whereabouts. “Sorry, Captain, we just kind of…”

“We don’t know what to do, sir,” Jungkook finishes for you. “We’re stuck and have no idea what’s next.”

Seokjin makes a noise of understanding and moves to sit on Taehyung’s desk, scattering piles of folders and papers astray. The captain pays no mind as the detective huffs, kneeling to reorganize the mess.

“Well, I certainly can’t let you leave before coming up with something concrete.”

All four of you groan, the possibility of overtime something you were trying to avoid.

“This isn’t even our case, sir!” Taehyung says from his spot on the floor.

“We’re a team, Detective. So their case is your case and you’re not going anywhere.” Seokjin replies righteously and looks around at each of your faces, desolate expressions still unchanged. He sighed and walked back to his office, returning moments later with a handle of rum and a couple of paper cups from the water cooler. He sets them down and proceeds to fill them up, all of you watching in shock.

“You just need to relax,” he says, handing off a cup of the amber liquid to each of you.

Namjoon coughs, uncomfortable. “Sir, is this really…appropriate?”

“Jesus, you really are uptight, Kim.” Seokjin chuckles. “This is what my generation would do when we hit a rut. Sit back, have a drink, and come back to the problem later with a fresh mind.”

You blink. “Captain, you’re barely older than us.”

He swings back his cup and grimaces at the taste. “And yet, so much wiser. Drink up, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” Gathering his belongings again, Seokjin tips his head in goodbye and walks out the door.

All of you watch him strut out, then turn back, eyes flitting between each person to see who would be the first to take the plunge.

“Fuck it,” Namjoon grumbles and downs his cup, filling it up again immediately after. Taehyung just whoops and follows in his stead. Jungkook sighs, then shrugs and does the same. They look expectantly in your direction; your mouth still dropped open in shock at the turn of events.

All you can do is groan and pick up your own cup in solidarity.

Hands slid over your body, from the nape of your neck down to your back. They were rough to the touch; palms calloused from years of gripping the handle of a gun. A leg is shoved between your own and a groan resounds through the room. Your breath turns into labored panting and your arms tremble in anticipation.

“Taehyung! Stop trying to knock me over, that’s cheating!” You’re holding yourself up on the mat, body posed in a bastardized downward dog, right foot on yellow and left hand on green.

Taehyung finds a way to lean over you and successfully plant his hand on blue, a winning grin on his face, eyes nearly becoming slits. He shifts his leg; movement threatening to tip your precarious position over and you jerk your head over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Where did you even manage to find Twister in here?” Jungkook hiccups, cheeks glowing red from the booze. He had tapped out of the game five minutes in, collapsing on his second turn after trying to execute a move to somehow get both his left foot and right hand on the same red circle.

“You’d be surprised at the shit they keep in evidence lock up,” Namjoon answers from his seat, legs splayed out and cup still in his hand. He had refused to play altogether, stiff attitude still unchanged even after having a couple drinks in his system. Instead, he preferred to watch you twist and turn according to the rules of the game, intent on beating Taehyung. The other man had drunk the least out of the four of you, rambunctious personality needing no more aid from alcohol. So his limbs remained adroit and nimble, easily able to coil himself to where his hands and feet needed to go. It was a stark difference from you, sheer determination and stubborn refusal to lose being the only things still keeping your body up when the rum sloshing around in your belly insisted you fold to the ground.

“Alright, right hand blue.” Jungkook calls out. Both you and Taehyung immediately go for the same circle, the closest one to either of you. His hand lands first, but yours falls right over it, all the weight of your entire body lending its pressure to push down against it. He yowls in pain and his knees buckle out of position, pulling his arm out from under yours to cradle it.

You scramble up and cheer. “I win!”

“No way, that was cheating! You broke my hand!” Taehyung whimpers, still massaging his sore fingers.

You scoff and get up, dusting off your knees and stretching out your arms. “If that was cheating, then so was the round where you tried tickling me so I would fall.”

The man’s only response is to stick out his tongue childishly. Chuckling, you move to pour yourself another drink when you realize the entire handle of alcohol was empty. “How did we manage to finish the whole thing?”

“Why are you asking as if you didn’t guzzle your first few cups like water?” Jungkook responds, eyes opening blearily, blush now extended to the tips of his ears.

“Just go buy some more,” Taehyung suggests, still cradling his hand. “The bodega around the corner sells Fireball, get us that. And some snacks while you’re at it.”

You snort but grab your wallet anyways. “Just because you designated this task to me doesn’t me I’m going to do it well. You’re getting some shitty Captain Morgan.” As you move towards the door, the sound of footsteps follows and you turn to face Namjoon. He nods at you, as if right there was exactly where he needed to be.

“Didn’t want you to go alone. It’s dark out.” He offers as an explanation.

You cock a brow. “I’m trained in two different kinds of martial arts and carry a gun.”

“Humor me.” He brushes past you to walk out, cool city air gusting into the police station for a moment before the door closes shut again. Your lips purse before you follow the man out into the street. The two of you walk for a few minutes in silence, sounds of bustling metropolitan life around you providing the background music. At a cross walk, you stop to wait for the light to turn and decide to glance at the officer next to you, his features doused in the sallow light of the street lamps.

His jaw is sharp, regal. It’s a contrast to the softness of his cheeks, the pillowy padding of his lips. Though his expression was neutral now, you knew that if he turned his lips up in a smile, two twin dimples would appear on either side, deep and unforgiving. Your eyes drag up to the gentle curve of his nose, then to the straight line of his dark brows drawn against the tan of his skin. Though it pained you to admit, Namjoon is handsome. Always was handsome, it was the first thought that run through your vodka muddled mind when you first laid eyes on him years ago in that bar. He looked exactly as he did now, though his dress shirt had a few buttons undone then, collar splayed open to reveal the blush creeping up his chest. You hazily remember the clutch of his hands on your hips, the bite of his teeth when they sank into the skin of your neck-

“See something you like?”

You blink, startled out of your reprieve, only to see Namjoon’s back as he strolled across the street. The cross walk signed glared in front of you, little green walking man taunting. Shaking your head, you jog to catch up to him, already walking into the entrance of the bodega.

“You were just waiting for the perfect moment to say that, weren’t you?” The bell of the door rings as you enter and you find him standing in the beer aisle, inspecting a 6 pack of Bud Lights.

“I mean, you also were staring.” He decides on Natty Light instead and picks it out, turning to face you. “I know I’m devastatingly good looking, but you need to be a little more discrete with your ogling.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, embarrassed at being caught. “I was looking at your hair, dorkus. Was considering calling NASA since that shit is defying gravity.”

His smile softens, then falls from his face slowly, expression turning serious. “I wanted to apologize.”

You jerk your head back, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

He shifts from one foot to another, clearly a little unsure. “I mean for how I’ve been treating you. And not just since we started working together on this case.”

Your mind goes blank and your nose fills with the scent of peppermint as he shifts a little closer. There’s no way he’s talking about what you’re thinking of, right?

“I haven’t been fair to you.” Namjoon continues, still holding your gaze firmly. “I know I called you overconfident, but so am I. On the first day, I came in all cocky and that ruined what we could have had between us.”

I can’t believe he actually admitted it. Your heart rate picks up speed at his words. A beat passes and though you have no reply prepared, your mouth opens-

“I shouldn’t have been so stubborn on that first case. I was so sure I was right just because I know I got the highest scores on the detective’s exam. I didn’t stop to listen to you and if I just had, we could have caught the guy-“

Your mouth snaps shut in confusion. “What?”

“The credit fraud guy? The first case we had together? You talked about how people don’t take you seriously and I realized I did the same thing all those years ago and that’s how this whole stupid feud started-“

You can hardly hear the sound of your own voice when you speak over the loud ringing in your ears, anger slipping over you like a shadow. “Namjoon, you think I hate you because of the fucking credit fraud case?”

His brows furrow and his mouth hangs open dumbly. “I-what? Yeah, what do you think I was-“

“Just go pay.” You turn your face up and keep your gaze locked above, fighting back the prickling feeling behind your eyes. A long moment passes as you and Namjoon stand there in the aisle, an awkward silence enveloping the two of you. He breaks first and eventually leaves you to stand there alone, moving towards the cash register.

You release the breath you had been holding and open a freezer door to stick your face in, determined to dry out the wetness growing in your eyes. Counting down from a hundred, you stand there and wait until you were sure your voice wouldn’t shake when you spoke.

Inhale. Exhale.

After picking your head up and closing the freezer door, you grab a random bag of chips and pay for them at the counter. You smile, thank the cashier, collect your change, and walk out to see Namjoon still standing there, waiting for you. He looks like there’s more he would like to say, but you don’t give him the chance before turning and heading in the direction of the station. He catches up easily, your brisk pace no match for his long legs. But thankfully, he decides to keep quiet.

The two of you reach the station after what feels like hours, the silence between you dragging out the seconds. You reach for the door, determined not to get caught outside in another failed conversation with Namjoon, when you catch sight of someone leaning against the brick wall of the police station. Brows furrowing, you pause. Namjoon does too, eyes flitting between you and the person.

“I’m going to stay out here for a second.”

Namjoon glances at you, but concedes, most likely thinking you need a moment alone and were using questioning the poor innocent guy probably just waiting for someone as an excuse. You watch the door swing shut behind him before walking up to darkly clad figure.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

The man’s head rises and at this angle, you can now see under the cap that shaded his face, revealing a small smile.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

The lift of his cheeks and the crinkle of his eyes ring familiar.

“Do I…know you?” It comes out of you in a staccato, hesitant lest this random stranger be only just that.

His smile widens and he turns to fully face you. “Don’t have the best observation skills, do you, detective?”

You squint at him. “How do you know what I am?”

He tilts his head, eyes watching you like a bird in a cage. “In my line of work, I’ve learned to pick out cops from a mile away. Besides, you made it pretty obvious when we met. Picked out the best vantage point in the room to observe everyone, just like someone on a stakeout. I just had to come by and see if my guess about you was right. Settle a bet with myself, you can say.”

A throbbing hum fills your head and you straighten, arms folding over your chest. He mirrors your motions, smile never leaving his face. His gaze unnervingly never left your own and you racked your brain, trying to figure out where you had seen him before.

“C’mon, detective,” he teases, voice lilting, “Surely someone as smart as you can figure it out.”

His teeth appear, pearly white and straight. The motion turns his eyes into crescents and accentuates his high cheekbones, the slope of his nose.

You’re wary to speak, unsure of what the feeling in your head meant, before the realization came crashing back into your mind. “Jay?”

“Bingo!” He laughs and claps his hand onto your shoulder. You’re startled by the action, but if he noticed, he didn’t care. “Though I don’t really answer to that name, I’ll let you call me whatever you’d like.” His grip slides down your arm to the side of your torso and you’re made suddenly aware of the firearm you have sheathed under your jacket. As his hand inches closer, you jerk away like you were burned and take a step back.

“What are you doing here? How did you know where I work?”

He raises his hands up, palms towards you, as if he was calming a nervous animal. “I guess you can say it’s my job to find special things. I’d love to tell you all about it, but I have a meeting to run off to.”

Your head is absolutely pounding now, your vision practically vibrating as you watch him pick his back up off the wall. Panicked, you blurt out, “I’m a cop and I’m telling you to stay here.”

He laughs, the sound hollow in the suddenly deserted street. “We both know that doesn’t mean anything. Besides, this is a very important businessman I can’t keep waiting. Most important in this whole damn city and you know what rich people are like. Think their money can buy our time.” He winks and steps around you to leave, the faint smell of smoke following him.

You’re left frozen for a split second, trying to piece together all of what he said. Then your instinct kicks in and your limbs move, turning to follow him. Your lungs whine in discomfort as your feet pick up into a run before your mind even realizes what was happening, skidding around the corner to chase after the mysterious man. But when you make the turn, he’s nowhere to be seen. The road is empty and there isn’t a soul in sight for blocks. There is only you on the empty sidewalk, soaked in the yellow light of the lamp and an insistent hum in your ears letting you know you’ve found what you’ve been looking for. You spend a moment more standing there before turning back to push open the doors to the station and find your team. The three of them look up at you, cheeks ruddy and mouths stretched in the ghost of a laugh before they catch the determined look on your face.

“I know where he’s going to be tonight.”

e/n: i genuinely enjoyed writing this so much and can’t wait for the next part! come tell me your thoughts :)

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childofthenight2035 · 6 years ago

Text

Letters To Who You Were

A/N: This is a Chan fic that I thought of writing for a helluva time now, so enjoy! Don’t forget to check out my masterlist! Unrequested

Pairing: Bang Chan x gn!Reader

Summary/Prompt: You receive letters from someone you’re sure you don’t know.

Genre: Angst, Confusion, Time travel, Fluff(?)

Word Count: 12.6k

Warnings: Mentions of death, depression

Bloody Mondays. You hated them.

Chucking the alarm across the room and satisfying yourself with the sound of the battery falling out, you heaved yourself onto your elbows, staring at the pillow groggily.

“Why?” you whined, throwing off the covers and sitting up.

You squinted at the curtains, knowing the sky was too dark to get up, but you had to. You had class. Anthropology of all things. Eight o’clock. Ugh. You loved the subject, but not at six in the morning.

Your bus was at four past seven. You needed to get the heck up.

After a quick shower and a banana, you stumbled out of the apartment, still pulling your shoes on. You set your foot down and realized that you were not, in fact, standing on the cement floor of the landing. You were standing on something else. Paper. A couple envelopes lay under your shoe. Cursing, you bent down to retrieve them and continued your dash to the bus stop.

You managed to catch the bus, after all. Quite the day’s work.

Huffing, out of breath, you collapsed into a window seat towards the middle of the bus. The letters were still clutched in your hand. Flipping them over, you observed what was written on the front. One had the stamp of the Water Authorities on it. Clearly your water bill. You didn’t even want to know. Stuffing it into your backpack, you focused on the other one. It wasn’t official. Your address was handwritten on it. No sender’s name. No return address on the envelope. Hm.

You tore it open. In (somewhat) neat handwriting, was a letter. Addressed to you.

Y/N,

You’ve probably forgotten me. But you’ll remember—through these letters.

What the heck? You’ve probably forgotten this person? Childhood friend? Okay…

We’ve been through so much in the year that we were together. It seems like only yesterday. It’s already been a year but I don’t think that I could ever forget you. Not the way you sleep with your limbs splayed out like a starfish; not the way your eyes crinkle when you smile; not the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re nervous. I could never forget all that.

Whoa. Wait. Smiling and chewing your lip was one thing; but you did sleep like that. Who could possibly know—was this your old roommate or somebody, pranking you? What did they mean, in the year we were together?

You’ll think I’m crazy. I know. You’ll claim that you don’t know who I am. But I’m not crazy. I’m the sanest person in the room right now.

Have you gotten that raise yet? I may be a little off, but if you haven’t, then I think you’ll get it within the week. It looks like a good week, huh? I know getting an A in your anthropology class isn’t easy. I’m proud of you.

I realize you must be confused now, but I promise you that you’ll understand. Just give me some time, for once. You were always so busy. Is that why we couldn’t make it? Is that why you couldn’t afford a second chance?

Read these letters now. Someday we’ll meet.

Chris

Hold up. You didn’t know any Chris. Your previous roommate definitely didn’t go by Chris. Maybe Gail, when she was drunk, but Chris? Who’s that? Also, when had you ever gotten an A in anthropology? It wasn’t that easy, especially not for you. And you’ve never gotten a raise yet. What the fuck was going on?

You read the last paragraph again. Just give me some time, for once? Well damn. Ouch. Sorry. Is that why we couldn’t make it? Make it? Make what?

This was going to drive you crazy the whole day, you just knew it.

You slowly closed the letter, troubled. Were your friends pranking you? Was that what this was? Putting it into your bag, you zipped it shut and stared out the window. Youngjae had asked you for your address recently. Hey, maybe that was it! So he was pranking you, huh? Maybe they were all in it together? You relaxed. That’s what it is. Idiots.

…

“Yah, Youngjae.” You plunked a hand onto his desk and pointed at his face. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

His eyebrows disappeared into his bangs, grabbing your finger and twisting it so you squirmed in pain. “What do you think you’re playing at, huh, disrespecting me?”

He let go of your finger and you slid into the seat next to him.

“It’s a weak idea, bro. Come on, why prank someone if they can tell it’s a prank right away?”

He looked confused. “Prank? What prank? On who?”

You tsked. “Come on, man, April Fools’ is months away. Give up.”

He stilled, glancing around like he thought you were crazy and wanted a quick escape. “I honestly don’t have a clue what you’re saying.”

Your smile faltered. “You didn’t send that letter? Or Jisung? Or Minho? Or even Yeji?”

“What letter? Y/N, are you okay?”

You searched his eyes for any sign, his lips for an uncontrolled twitching, his hands for nervous fiddling. Nothing. You silently brought out the letter and showed it to him, crossing your arms and watching for a change of expression as he read it. Nope. Only confusion.

“What the heck is this?” he asked you curiously. “Who’s Chris?”

You slumped. “I thought one of you guys might have sent that as a prank.”

He handed it back to you. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you asked for my address last week!” you defended.

He threw his hands up. “That was for the ad you asked me to put in the campus paper for a roommate!”

“Oh.” You pouted, sitting straight, facing the front of the class. Your anthropology professor hadn’t yet come in, and the students were being loud. As usual.

“And besides,” he added, nudging you in the ribs (‘ow!’), “I wouldn’t go as far as even imply you got an A in anthropology, like, what even—hey!” You swiped his pen from where he was doodling on his notebook.

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m telling the truth. You know it. Give me my pen back.”

“Silence!” A voice boomed. The entire class rushed back to their seats or straightened up or shut their mouths. Youngjae took the chance and stole his pen. Your professor gazed around at all of you, her expression stern and disapproving. “I have your exams graded.” A collective groan sounded around the room. “The overall performance is lower than usual—“ your heart sank, “—but some of you have done better than I thought.” She proceeded to sit at her desk and call out the names. She also had the irritating habit some teachers have of announcing the grade as well. Your heartbeat was already picking up pace.

“Jacob! B, better than I expected, good….Eric! C, you can do better than this….Kevin.” You cringed at her expression, feeling desperately sorry for him. “D. You didn’t open your book at all, did you?”

Four names later, “ Youngjae! A, good work.”

“As usual,” you grumbled, but feeling proud of him nevertheless. He worked for it. You squeezed his arm when he came back to sit with his paper.

“Y/N!” You stood, hearing Youngjae whisper a ‘good luck’. You made your way to the front of the class, heart pounding. Your professor looked up at you and you winced apologetically for the abomination that was your paper. “A.”

What. Wait, what?

“What?” You accidentally blurted out. She smiled thinly.

“Well done. Keep it up.” She handed you your paper and you traipsed back to your seat, your head throbbing, unaware of the eyes on you.

“Oh my gosh you got an A,” Youngjae muttered, seizing your paper and staring at it like he couldn’t believe his ears or his eyes.

“I did. I got an A.” Your voice came out awed, in a hushed tone, drowned out by the sound of your classmates meeting their fates. A particular sentence, scrawled onto paper, read on a moving bus, flashed from your memory banks. You gasped. “ Youngjae!”

Yanking the letter from under your desk, you spread it out on the table. Youngjae understood what you meant just from glancing at it.

It looks like a good week, huh? I know getting an A in your anthropology class isn’t easy. I’m proud of you.

“Whoa.” He was shocked, too, but quickly composed his flow of reason. “Someone saw your grades. That’s the only explanation.”

“It’s still creepy,” you countered, falling silent and putting both papers away as your professor stood to teach. Still weird.

…

“I asked the others if they sent any letter; they didn’t,” Youngjae informed you, huffing as he and Jisung caught up with you on the way to Sociology after his Korean language class. You groaned.

“It’s not my old roommate Jeongyeon either, I called her.” You scratched the back of your neck. “This feels weird! Someone who’s close enough to know how I sleep? To notice me so well that they know how I smile? How I chew on my lip?” You shuddered. “Do I have a stalker? This is scary now. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Well, someone could know you sleep like that from that pic of all of us sleeping on Minho’s Instagram,” Jisung suggested. “But what if it was a one-time thing? You’re right, I think you have a stalker.”

You grabbed Youngjae’s arm. “Could you stay with me, then? Until I find another roommate?”

“Wait, but what if your new roommate turns out to be your stalker? Oh, that would be epic.” Jisung pressed his hands together and rubbed them.

“Jisung, not helping!”

“Y/N, you know we hostel people aren’t allowed to stay anywhere else without permission unless it’s break,” Youngjae explained patiently. “One night might be okay, but if it’s more than that, they’ll chuck us out and honestly, I don’t think I could afford off-campus housing right now. And my parents wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m technically broke now, so…” Jisung trailed off. “You know my parents aren’t sponsoring me this year since I told them I’m dropping English and taking Music. Until I prove that I’m good at it.”

“I know, I know,” you sighed, regretting having brought it up. “It’s okay. It’s probably just Jeongyeon and she doesn’t want to admit it. But then, how did she know I got an A?”

…

Two days later, you practically flew into your Anthropology class, to find Youngjae.

“Whoa, what happened, calm down!” he exclaimed as you dropped into your seat. “What happened, Y/N?”

You steadied your breathing, a hand on your heaving chest. “I…I got a raise.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious?” When you nodded, he broke into a smile. “That’s great news! I thought that coffee place never gave anyone raises!” You didn’t react. He faltered, looking at your tense expression. “What’s the matter—oh.” You pursed your lips. He finally remembered. “The letter.”

“How could anyone have known that?” You were chewing on your lip again and Youngjae tapped your chin, reminding you to stop before you tore the skin open.

“Does anyone there know a Chris?”

“The manager’s sister has a son named Chris, I asked. But,” you added quickly so Youngjae wouldn’t overreact, “they live abroad. And how would they know me?”

Youngjae sat back in his chair, thinking. “Hmm. Whoever’s writing it knows English well, but from the seals of the post office, I don’t think it’s international mail.” He waved it away. “Don’t think about that now. Did you put up the flyers in the coffee shop?”

“Yes, sir, I did.” You were grateful. “Thanks for getting Yugyeom to make them for me. Although I guess you should be thanking me for a chance to go to him, huh?”

“What?” he spluttered, smacking your arm. “I said I don’t like him, okay?”

“I know.” You smiled smugly, satisfied at the red blush dusting his cheeks. “You love him.”

…

On Thursday, it happened again.

Your classes were only in the afternoon, so you didn’t rush. But the floor in front of your door presented you with another letter. You brought it in, curiously. You hadn’t thrown away the first letter, even though you had the strangest urge to do so. Instead, you kept it in a box on top of your fridge.

You tore the new letter open. In the same handwriting, it read:

Y/N,

Yesterday was my sister’s wedding. I had no idea that she had invited you, but now that I think of it, I’m not very surprised. She was always fond of you. She took your side even when we fought, did you know that?

I don’t think you saw me. I got one glimpse of you and I ran. I’m a coward. But, did you, perhaps, know somehow that I was there and that I was looking for you? Were you looking for me?

Disgrace. That’s what my mother said to me. That I’m a disgrace. Just because I didn’t have the courage to greet guests and risk you seeing me, just because I can’t stick to something for long, because I’m a loser. And I don’t blame her.

Is it just me? Am I the only one hurting? Seeing you so happy hurts me. It makes me think that this fight isn’t affecting you at all. I can’t help it. I’m selfish.

My sister says that you were so polite and wanted to see me. She says that if only I had come out to talk to you, things would have been alright. Now I wish I had. Maybe I wouldn’t need to write anymore letters if I did.

I wonder if you kept that painting you said your friend gave you on your birthday. And speaking of birthdays, I hope you have a terrific one. You deserve nothing but the best.

It’s difficult. It’s like talking to a person with amnesia. Writing to a person who doesn’t know who’s writing to them is confusing. I know. There are things that I can’t say. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually.

Chris

You were beyond confused now. You were thoroughly disturbed. You had not gone to a wedding. You knew no girl whose brother was called Chris. You had not received any painting for your birthday. It was next week, so maybe you would? But how would Chris know that? If he even was called Chris?

Beyond all that, what scared you was that you felt this. You could feel the hurt in it. You could feel it as if it was…your own.

The words that called himself a loser, a coward, a disgrace…you understood. But what was the next part about? Him asking if the fight was only affecting him but not you? What fight? What on earth was going on? He wished he had talked to me; he wouldn’t have needed to write any more letters if he had? And that last paragraph? It’s difficult. It’s like talking to a person with amnesia. Writing to a person who doesn’t know who’s writing to them is confusing. I know. There are things that I can’t say. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually.

So he knew that you had no clue who he was. From the last letter, you assumed that it was a person you had forgotten about, but this one implied that you had never known him? There were things he couldn’t say? You would figure it out eventually?

What?

…

From the look on your face, Youngjae knew something was up. When he asked, you only pulled out the letter. He groaned.

“That ass wrote again? This is some elaborate prank, huh?” He took the letter, still chuckling, but as his eyes scanned the paper, his smile disappeared.

You didn’t speak, upset that you didn't understand what was going on, upset that someone was clearly having some fun at your expense, but also upset that, at the same time, it didn’t feel like a joke. This felt personal and…real.

“Oh my god.” His little whisper had your attention on him.

“What? What is it?”

Youngjae didn’t seem to hear you. “How the hell…who could have known about that…”

“ Youngjae, what’s wrong?”

He reluctantly pointed at a sentence in the letter. “That’s…that’s me. I’m that friend. I just bought you a painting for your birthday next week. How the hell….” He trailed off, astounded.

You were speechless. Okay, that was scary.

“Damn it,” he spat, banging his fist on the desk, startling some students in the class. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“ Youngjae, I still haven’t seen it, so it is still a surprise,” you reassured. “And I think that’s not as important as the fact that this person might be stalking you too.”

Youngjae had his focused face on, probably thinking who could have had the chance to see what he bought for you. “Minho wouldn’t do that, right?” he asked quietly, referring to his roommate at the dorms, the second oldest in your group. You shook your head.

“Minho’s petty, but I don’t think he would go this far for a joke. No one else knows about the painting?”

“Other than the guy at the store, I don’t think so.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated.

Both of you were too disturbed to communicate throughout the lesson, you almost blacking out when the prof asked you something.

“It’s not even details like that,” you told him after class, walking across campus to his dorms. “ Youngjae, when I read that letter, I felt it. It hurt me. It was like I knew this person, but my brain is struggling to remember who he is. It felt real.” You grasped his arm. “I haven’t been in like, some accident and lost my memory, right?”

Youngjae laughed at your comment, some of the tension dissipating. “Of course not, dumbass. As if we would let you.”

…

Another letter was waiting for you on Tuesday. The weekend had flown by with your coursework and your job, but luckily you had managed to complete everything.

You tore open the letter, glancing at the other two in the box on the fridge; two letters you had read over and over again, hoping for some meaning to this. The third letter wasn’t addressed to you by name.

Red.

That was my favourite colour.

The moments until the ice broke between us were so awkward and cliché. You even popped the favourite colour question. I’ve never understood why that question became the standard first when getting to know someone. Can you automatically analyse a person based on their favourite colour?

You told me yours and then asked for mine. I scoffed at you. I didn’t feel like telling you, right? Don’t you remember? I told you, “Guess.” And then I had to endure you following me around and naming random colours. And then you asked me why.

His favourite colour was red. Nothing very special in that. But he was talking to you with such a sense of familiarity, as if the two of you had actually been close once upon a time. There was such…nostalgia in what he said. And he was asking if you remembered? No, Chris, you didn’t.

Red showed me passion. It showed me heat and power and rage: just like the sun. Because I wanted to shine. I wanted my name on billboards and neon signs, spelling it out in fierce red letters. Red reminded me of the deep maroon stain on the carpet in the living room, the stain that you made by dropping a scented liquid candle on it in your first year. Red showed me blood and it reminded me of my heartbeat and how I’m still alive.

You let out a shaky exhale at the words, both awed by the poetry in them and frightened at the fact that there was, in fact, a stain on the carpet in the living room made by you dropping a candle on the floor. This person knows you here, knows you now. And that was scarier than ever. Up until now, you had the chance that he was someone you knew long ago who decided to fuck with you with knowing your grades, had a pull with the coffee shop owner and saw your best friend buying you a painting. But now…the paper crinkled from how tightly you were holding it. This person knows you in this time of your life. He’s been to your apartment and knows how you sleep. And yet…as much as this makes you afraid, you can sense that he’s hurting. He doesn’t mean harm.

Red reminded me of your blush.

Red is no longer my favourite colour. It stopped being so when you walked out the door with your suitcase and your tears. And without my apology.

My favourite colour is grey.

I see nothing but it nowadays. There’s no black or white anymore. It’s only grey. No clear differences, just a mess of confusion. Who was right? Were my actions justified? Were yours? What have you believed in the year you refused to speak to me?

Stagnant. Disinterested. That’s what my life is like without your presence. How did I ever think I could manage without you?

I’m weak. Too weak.

Chris

Against your will, a tear escaped the corner of your eyes.

“Why am I crying?” you mumbled, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. Your heart ached; your mind was searching again, searching for a face, an identity, but you were clawing blindly in the dark, only gaps where information should have been.

You and Chris had clearly fought. You walked out with your suitcase and your tears…and that meant you lived together. Was it here? In this apartment? You definitely haven’t had a roommate called Chris. Briefly, you wondered if this was addressed to another Y/N who had lived here with him long before you came, but the details proved otherwise. This person was watching you, here, now.

His life was stagnant without you. Was this person delusional? Crazy? Was your presence just in his head? What did he think of you, exactly? What was the nature of your relationship with him, in his head, at least?

You didn’t know. And if he was insane, you weren’t sure you even wanted to know.

…

Your heart broke at lying to Youngjae. When he asked you if you had any more letters, you shook your head.

“Maybe he’s given up,” you said cheerily, aware of the way Youngjae was observing you.

Well, maybe you should have known that lying to your best friend doesn’t get you very far.

“I’m not pressing you for information, Y/N,” he said gently. “I’m just saying, we’re all here for you. You don’t have to do anything alone.”

…

Your birthday party passed in a haze. It wasn’t really a party, just you and your circle of friends chilling at your apartment, and them emptying your kitchen of food.

Youngjae gifted you a Van Gogh painting. Or, a copy of a Van Gogh painting, you should say. It was clear that both of you remembered Chris’ letter, but you laughed it off, saying that at least Chris didn’t tell you which one it was.

Jisung presented you with a track he had composed for you in his class. He winced, knowing that he was being cheap, but you hugged him gratefully all the same. You would’ve done so even if he hadn’t given you anything. Their presence was enough.

Minho, unfortunately, couldn’t show up, since he had a dance routine due that day, but Yeji showed up, bringing you food that Minho had made the day before, and although it served your friends more than you, you thanked them for it. You blew out a weak candle you had found somewhere in the kitchen while the others sang, your only wish being that you wanted answers to the letters you had been receiving. You cut through a rice cake and stuffed a piece into each of their mouths. And in return, of course, like the great friends they are, shoved a whole rice cake into your mouth and smashed another one on your head.

You didn’t mind. Not too much, at least.

After all, what were friends for?

…

Saturday. You had work in twenty minutes. It was only a five minute walk from your apartment, but you decided to leave early.

You were hardly surprised at a letter on the floor in front of you. It was more of anticipation. Anxiety. Fear. But you picked it up nevertheless.

It was a dull cloudy day that reminded you of the winter that was to come. As much as you were excited about snow days and Christmas, the cold was really a bitch. Ripping the envelope open, you pulled out the letter and began your walk to the coffee shop.

Y/N,

There are fifty thousand things I want to tell you, but nothing more than this: I miss you.

Don’t you remember?

You would force open my door at two in the morning and wallop me with your pillow because I was snoring so loudly that you couldn’t sleep. But hey, you were worse. I remember you one night, yelling in your sleep that you needed a pencil. Were you dreaming about your finals? I don’t know. You had no memory of whatever it was the next morning.

Despite the cold, despite your nerves, you couldn’t help but smile fondly at his words. You’d been told before, that you sometimes talked in your sleep, but couldn’t recall ever yelling for a pencil. No one had told you that, at least. This definitely confirmed that you had shared living space with him, whether as a friend, or as a roommate, or even…a boyfriend? Your eyes ran over three words again: I miss you. And then he asked, don’t you remember?

“I wish I did,” you whispered bitterly. “I really wish I did.”

I still remember the night you found the courage to come to me because it was a terrible thunderstorm and you were scared. I wanted to make fun of you, but the look on your face stopped me. I’m glad I didn’t. That night you began to trust me. We stayed up all night through that storm, do you remember anything? There was the loudest clap of thunder and the power went out. Neither of us said it, but I knew we were afraid. We sat there on the sofa in silence, in the dark, until you suddenly spoke: “Please tell me we’re not going to die.” And I started laughing. And that was all. The ice was broken.

“Oh.” You were probably just roommates. That night you began to trust me. “Wait, what am I saying?” you questioned yourself. “I’ve never had a roommate called Chris. Why am I acting like I do?” You smacked the side of your head. “Snap out of it.”

But even still, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you did know him.

But I never got around to telling you it. When the thunder died away, I forgot that there might be more storms to come. I never told you we weren’t going to die. And now I think that I’m going back on that promise I never made.

I can see those thunderclouds again, Y/N. I hate this. I hate my life. I hate a life without you.

Chris

You were outside the shop now. You swallowed your emotions down, taking a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. Calm down, Y/N. It’s just some deranged psycho writing letters to someone he thinks he knows. Relax. You don’t know him.

Seungmin, another barista, waved to you as you entered. You returned the gesture, stowing your jacket away and putting on your apron.

“You okay? You look sick,” he commented as you washed your hands.

“Just the cold, I’m okay.” You glanced at the your flyer pinned to the bulletin board across the room. Seungmin noticed where your eyes were.

“Oh, by the way,” he continued, gesturing to the ad, “you know my friend Hyunjin, right?” You nodded. “He’s kinda looking for a place to stay.”

Intrigued, you perked up your ears. “Yeah? Tell him to call me.”

“Are animals allowed?”

“No. My landlord is pretty strict about that.”

“Ah.” His shoulders slumped. “Never mind, then. Hyunjin won’t leave his dog behind.”

You smiled gently, recalling the time Hyunjin had brought his little black and white puppy into the coffee shop for about fifteen minutes before the manager saw and threw them out. “It’ll work out somehow. He’ll find a place.”

“Hm. I guess so.”

The ringing of the bell indicated someone had just walked in. Taking a glance at the door, you smirked. “I think you should take this order, Seungminnie. I’ll be out back.”

Seungmin looked up from where he was trying to solve the crossword (which he simply never can) and saw Jeongin, a freshman that he had been long crushing on. He threw you a dirty look that didn’t hide his blush and reluctantly moved to the counter to take the kid’s order—hopefully without making himself look like a fool.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, making way for the deliverers bringing the day’s pastries. Half your mind was on the letter and every time you thought about it, a weight pressed down on your chest. It was a horrible feeling. You couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of this. None of the others knew you had been receiving more letters. Youngjae probably sensed that you had, but you weren’t about to involve him in it. This felt too personal to share with even him.

You sighed. This entire ordeal was eating you alive and you felt helpless in it.

…

There was no letter the next week. Chris seemed to have finally fallen silent. And you didn’t want to admit how attached you had already gotten, from just four letters. It was a sort of feeling you couldn’t control. You wanted to be scared, you wanted to burn the letters and pretend they never existed, but something warned you not to. Something told you that you might need them, sooner or later.

He took up most of your time; most of the thoughts in your brain had something to do with him. You wondered what he might look like, what kind of person he was. There was a lot about you in the letters, but precious little about him. He was observant. He was lyrical. Poetic. Emotional. Ambitious. What did he like to do? What was his passion? What relationship did he think the two of you had? You couldn’t help but wonder.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you sometimes addressed him when you talked to yourself around the apartment. For you, he was associated with only you, only these rooms. Maybe that was one reason you didn’t share this with the others. Chris seemed to belong to only you. Only known to you. And at some point, you would begin to feel like you only belonged to him. Whoever he was. You wished you only knew.

…

The next Saturday was a work day for you. There was no letter in front of your door when you left, but when you returned after a hectic day and rude customers, just wishing for peace, you were surprised to see an envelope with familiar writing scrawled across it. Snatching it up immediately, you dashed inside to read it.

Y/N,

Do you remember the first time you spoke to me about your parents? It was so sudden. I didn’t know what brought it on. One moment you were busy around the kitchen and the next you were on the floor crying. The only thing that I could understand was that they had called, your mother said something and you were upset.

You went into a pathetic rant about how your parents had locked you in the four walls of your home, not bothering to listen to you, emotionally abusing you because they wouldn’t listen to you about your stress. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I could only hold you as you cried your heart out on my shirt.

Your breath hitched.

This…this was real. This was too real. That was exactly how you felt. Even you couldn’t have organized your thoughts so well. How does Chris know me so well? Who are you? Already tears were forming at the corner of your eye at the emotion you felt from reading those sentences about your parents.

Would you believe it if I saw you as cold and distant until that day? We were always civil, but you seemed shut off, closed to me. I know that you didn’t mean it. I realized that you were scared to open up. I can understand how hurt you must have been when your parents refused to care.

I can only say the same thing that I said then: They may never understand you, they may never accept you, but it doesn’t matter. There is enough love in the world that you are not at all restricted to seeking support from your family. That’s why humans can pack bond. There are people who know what you’re going through, and if there isn’t anyone else, I will be here. I always will.

You choked back a sob. Whatever your rational brain said, you knew that Chris wasn’t out to hurt you. It was as if he knew what you were going through, and wanted to reassure you despite you not knowing him. You were grateful for that, regardless.

Is it weird? Is it awkward that you know me but at the same time you don’t? Will you not be suspicious when you see me? I don’t even know if you will. I don’t know if I’ve messed things up by writing this. But even if I have, it’s okay. If it means that you’ll be alive, then I’ll be okay not having you as a friend. Even if we’re awkward and don’t get closer, it’s okay. I’m scared of what will happen if we do. I’m scared of getting stuck in this vicious cycle. It’s better if you stay away and survive than get to know me and ruin your life.

Chris

Wait. Wait. Let’s try that again.

Is it awkward that you know me but at the same time you don’t? Yes. It is awkward, Chris. Am I living in some parallel dimension where I don’t know you but you’re living in the other side where I do know you?

Will you not be suspicious when you see me? When, you noticed. Not if. You paused, staring at the paper in your hands. When I see him? So you were right? You’ve never seen him? Or at least, you haven’t seen him recently? Yes, Chris, it will be suspicious. If I ever do see you, you better have some answers. How do you know all this when we haven’t met?

I don’t even know if you will. I don’t know if I’ve messed things up by writing this. Okay, now he doesn’t know if I will see him. What does he mean by messed things up? What has he messed up other than my sanity?

But even if I have, it’s okay. If it means that you’ll be alive, then I’ll be okay not having you as a friend. You noticed that your fingers were trembling. You tried to calm yourself, to understand what he was trying to say. Even if he has messed things up, it’s okay. He will be okay not having me as a friend if it means I will be…alive? Am I not alive? Your parallel universe explanation popped up again. Am I not alive in his dimension? What?

Even if we’re awkward and don’t get closer, it’s okay. I’m scared of what will happen if we do. So he thinks we’re friends? And he’s scared about my life if I’m his friend? Is he a gangster or mafia leader or something? He’s okay with us not getting closer?

I’m scared of getting stuck in this vicious cycle. Vicious cycle. What cycle? You ran those words through your head, over and over again, trying to make sense of it. They sounded oddly familiar, but you just couldn’t place it. You felt like they were associated with Youngjae, for some reason. But why?

It’s better if you stay away and survive than get to know me and ruin your life. So he’s scared that I’d ruin my life if I got closer to him. And yet, you could almost hear the undertones in that sentence. The bitterness. He wanted to be close to you, desperately. But he was too scared to.

“Why do you have to be so fucking cryptic, Chris?” you mumbled.

You shook your head. You still had no idea what was going on.

…

That afternoon, Minho and Jisung came over to your place without any prior warning. You raised your eyebrows at them when you saw them shivering on your doorstep, backpacks on. They pushed past you into your living room and relished the warmth with loud exclamations of relief.

“Can I help you?” you asked, knowing your idea of peace was shattered. You closed the door before the cold could get in and make things worse.

“ Youngjae hyung kicked us out,” Jisung said, pouting. “He has a math test on Monday and he said he would fail if we kept disturbing him.”

You remembered telling Youngjae so many times to think again before taking math, but then, each to his own. “And you couldn’t stay in your room because…”

“Felix has his boyfriend over,” he explained. “And I’m not particularly fond of watching.”

“So we thought you’d be the best option.” Minho pulled his jacket off and tossed it onto the sofa before trudging to the kitchen.

“What makes you think I’m okay with watching you two?” you retorted, following Minho. You could already hear Jisung turning his laptop on, probably to play a game or watch a movie.

“You’ve been okay with it for seven years now,” Minho shot back, opening the fridge and closing it again in dismay. “You don’t really have much choice.” He stood on his tiptoes to grab at the box on top of the fridge, and you snatched it away in horror.

“What are you looking for?” you snapped, cradling the box in your arms. “You know you can just ask.”

“Don’t you have, like, real food?” He opened the cupboards and, finding a box of pretzels, turned to you in disgust. “Seriously?”

“You don’t have to eat it, you know.”

“Nah, I will. Food is food.” He reached into his backpack, brought out a packet of unpopped popcorn and set it on the counter. “Pop this, will you?” He gathered up the pretzels and the cereal box he found and walked out. You carefully set the box back on the fridge and let out a groan of frustration.

You reluctantly shoved the packet into the microwave and stared at it, still enjoying the ‘pop’ sounds it made. Your mind drifted back to the box on the fridge. You had to admit, you thought about this mysterious Chris more often than you liked.

“Who are you, Chris?” you muttered, eyes still on the spinning paper, your words drowned out by the noise. “Where are you?”

You found Minho and Jisung curled up on the sofa, intently watching what you assumed to be a movie. Plopping down on it and carefully setting the popcorn on the table, you peered around Minho at the screen. You were surprised to see that the movie was over halfway done.

“How did you guys watch it this far so fast?” you questioned, settling back into the cushions.

Without even taking his eyes off the screen, Jisung replied, “We were watching this at the dorm when hyung kicked us out.”

Nice. “What are you watching?”

“The Lake House.”

Not very helpful. “What’s it about?”

As Jisung opened his mouth to answer, Minho reached over and slammed the space bar, pausing the movie. Obviously he was irritated at the interruptions. Jisung held his hand to calm him down.

“It’s like this time-travel thing,” Jisung began, but Minho cut him off, choosing to explain in his quick, no-nonsense way.

“A house by the lake. Two people accidentally corresponding by writing letters but they’re actually two years apart in time.” He shrugged. “So things that she,” he pointed at the screen, “writes about haven’t actually happened for him, because he’s two years in the past. It’s trippy. Watch it sometime.”

“Ah.” You nodded and they resumed the film. You tuned out the dialogue from the laptop, mulling over what Minho and Jisung had just said. Corresponding by writing letters. Things that she writes haven’t happened for him because he’s in the past…

Time travel.

You sat up, the significance of that concept weighing heavily down on you.

The sound shut off once again. “You…okay?” Minho asked uncertainly.

You didn’t know how to respond for a moment. You barely heard him, blood pounding in your ears. All that was in your mind were the letters and Jisung’s voice: It’s like this time travel thing. You swallowed the revelation and the sheer possibility down.

“Yeah,” you gasped, “I just….” You stopped, the rest of the sentence dissipating into thin air.

Vicious cycle.

Those were words from your textbook.

You could still remember your professor lecturing your class on the beliefs that humans have had over the years. There was even a story, a legend, a myth, about time travellers. The class had erupted at that, referencing old pictures of people that bore eerie similarities to people living now. Social media made fun of them, calling them immortals and time-travellers. The story in your book spoke of a person who kept trying to change the past and alter the future and ended up going in circles with no result. Moral: don’t mess with things beyond human comprehension.

Vicious cycle.

“Y/N?” Jisung’s concerned voice broke you out of your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

You looked over at them, your eyes blown wide. Worry was etched on their faces. You forced a smile.

“Yeah, I just…I just remembered I have a paper due Monday.”

They laughed at your shock, and when you gestured to them that you’d be in your room doing that, they waved you away, calling out their thanks for letting them stay. You nodded absently, quietly padding to the kitchen and retrieving the letters from the box. Five of them in all.

The boys were immersed in their movie and didn’t even notice you slipping away into your room. You locked the door, finally allowing yourself to breathe.

You looked at the letters with a shaking heart. Was that what was happening? You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to believe it. You sat down on your bed, taking out the first letter and scanning through it. You put the idea into your head.

Time travel.

Could it be true?

Maybe it was. It would make a lot more sense with regard to the letters.

That’s how he knew, you thought. If he was your future roommate, he would know how you slept. He would be around you enough to notice how you smiled and that you chewed your lip when you were anxious. He would know that you recently got a raise and an A once in your class. He would know that the painting that hung on the living room wall was one that your friend gave you for your birthday. He would know that the stain on the carpet was your fault—and a candle’s. You could almost see yourself telling him all that.

It would explain how he knew you sometimes talked in your sleep and got scared of thunderstorms. He would know about your feelings towards your parents. Of course he would.

I realize you must be confused now, but I promise you that you’ll understand. You did. At least, you hoped you did. If that was even possible. You couldn’t see how time travel existed, but what other explanation could you give this?

It’s difficult. It’s like talking to a person with amnesia. You saw how it would be. If this was indeed future Chris writing letters to past you that didn’t know him yet…you understood how it would be difficult. There are things that I can’t say. But you’re smart. You’ll figure it out eventually. Have you? Have you figured it out?

It would explain why he said you had attended his sister’s wedding when you knew for sure that you hadn’t—yet. It would explain his anguish at the fight you were to have. His pain was contained in all of the letters you had received so far. Was the fight that bad? You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be about. Evidently it split the two of you—or, it would split you beyond repair. Chris was clearly hurting very much without you.

I never told you we weren’t going to die. And now I think that I’m going back on that promise I never made. This line still spooked you. Was he dying? Were you dying? What was going on? If he was really from the future, what was happening there that had him contact the past? Did he think he could change it?

Today’s letter made much more sense.

I don’t know if I’ve messed things up by writing this. But even if I have, it’s okay. If it means that you’ll be alive, then I’ll be okay not having you as a friend. Even if we’re awkward and don’t get closer, it’s okay. I’m scared of what will happen if we do. I’m scared of getting stuck in this vicious cycle.

He wanted to change the past? In a way that didn’t involve the two of you anymore? Wait. So, in his past, the two of you had evidently been quite close, as friends? more than friends? you didn’t know. But because of that, your fight had been severely worse? And that led to the fight breaking you up for good? And now, he couldn’t handle it, and he wanted to change the past so you didn’t become close, you didn’t fight and nobody got hurt? Was that it?

You rested your head against the wall, stunned by the turn of events. What was going on? What was happening?

…

Your two-week winter break had you bidding Youngjae, Jisung and Yeji goodbye and sent them off home on the train. Minho’s family had gone to Japan to visit friends, and besides, he had his dance performance to think about. He confessed to you that he would much rather stay at the campus than waste his time in Japan seeing people he couldn’t care less about. Rather than be stuck in an empty dorm for the week, he decided to move in with you briefly, helping out at the coffee shop when he wasn’t practicing. You were grateful for his presence. Alone, he never got on your nerves. And he could cook better than you could.

“Why not stay at Jisung’s place for the holidays?” you asked him one evening in the kitchen.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand. “Jisung deserves some time alone with his family.” He cleanly chopped up an onion and tossed it into the pot simmering on the stove. “Don’t ask about me when you haven’t gone either.”

You threw a piece of pepper at him, which he caught and ate. “I hate travelling in the cold. That’s all. You know that.”

“I do know that. And you would have been very lonely.”

“Aww, you stayed for me?”

“Shut up and cut the vegetables. I can still leave, you know.”

“I know.”

…

Two nights later, you received a text from Jisung.

you seduced my man to move in with you huh I see how it is

You rolled your eyes. as if. he was begging me to let him stay

Jisung’s reply was quick. whatever that’s not what I wanted to tell you

okay what is it

felix has new neighbours and theor son is joining the university for the next sem and he doestn have a place to stay so

You raised your eyebrows. This was news. oh okay then ask him to call me then

okay I will I wasn’t sure I shud be giving ppl your number without telling you

You smiled. Jisung was considerate after all. thnx sungie

You had just placed the phone down when the thought occurred to you. A thought that had been haunting you a while ago. Chris was apparently your roommate at some point in the future. Was this person…Chris? You tapped out another message for Jisung. wait sungie whts the guys name

idk lemme ask felix hold on

You waited impatiently, anticipating (or dreading?) the reveal of the person’s name. You became alert when Jisung started typing.

flix doesn’t know hes asking his mom wait a sec

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Really? Does it have to have so much suspense? But what if it was Chris? What were you going to do? Were you going to tell Jisung not to give him your number? Or were you going to let Chris into your life anyway, despite all the warnings? The ‘ping’ of your phone startled you.

his names chan smthg

You relaxed. Oh. Well then. It wasn’t Chris. That decided things for you, then.

okay give him my number then

will do

You shut off your phone screen and lay back onto your pillows. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe by sending you the letters, he had changed time and now he wasn’t the person being your roommate. If the letters hadn’t been sent, would Chris be the one ready to call you?

That’s not how time works, you thought. No one is told what would have happened.

But you sure wished you were.

…

The next letter arrived in the morning, when Minho stepped outside the house to buy some breakfast. He didn’t think about picking it up, just shouting ‘you’ve got mail’ into the apartment before continuing on his way to the store.

You dashed to the front door and snatched it up, tearing it open once in your room. You had to know. Maybe he would finally crack and tell the truth instead of hiding things in code.

Y/N,

I’ve never seen darkness like this.

I saw you again today—on the train back to Seoul. Where had you gone? I pretend like I don’t care, but I do. Deep down, you know I do, right? Honestly, I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of this existence. Why are we even fighting anymore? I know that you’ve forgiven me—you told my sister at her wedding. I want to forget it, too. I’m just too anxious to face you.

You couldn’t help but feel like your suspicions were true. Back to Seoul. Where had you gone? Maybe back home? Where had Chris gone, if he was on the same train? From what he said, both of you wanted to patch up the fight but didn’t have the guts to?

Did you see me? I felt like you did. Your eyes ran over me as if I didn’t exist, but I felt even more broken than I already am. Is this just a stand or do you really hate me now? Do you really not want to see me anymore? I don’t blame you.

I could have spoken to you. I could have stopped this feud but I’m a coward.

Maybe you did see him. You could feel the ache in your heart as usual, but this stung a lot more, for some reason. Is this just a stand or do you really hate me now? I don’t blame you.

“I don’t hate you, Chris,” you whispered.

You were sitting by the window, like you always do, wearing that sweater your mother bought you years ago, the one you thought was silly because it was orange and green. I agreed with whatever you said about it because I didn’t know colour schemes very well. But what I never said was that it looked good on you.

“Sap,” you muttered, laughing under your breath. “Of course you would think that stupid sweater looks good on me.” The sweater in question was tucked deep in your wardrobe. It hadn’t seen the light since you first moved in. You wondered how Chris would know about it.

I realized again that you’re so beautiful. I used to have a crush on you, you know? Back in the year we first met. You were such an odd character. You never did what you didn’t want to and you said what you meant. You were never good at hiding your emotions. You closed off a lot—I understand it was because of your parents—but I’m glad you finally opened up. I wish I were half as good at expressing myself. Y/N, can you promise me one thing? Even if after all this, I still show up at your apartment, even if we still become friends, even if we do fight, could you knock some sense into me?

My life is despicable and worthless without you. I’ve hurt you so much. But I can die in peace knowing that I’ve spent a year in your company. Even after I’ve wasted away, keep smiling.

Chris

You couldn’t help the tears that escaped your eyes. Why was it that you felt such raw pain from these that you had to cry?

He used to have a crush on you. So that confirmed it, didn’t it? You were only friends. You could hardly imagine the depth of that friendship to end up like this from a fight. In your books, only one thing could break you apart from a relationship: betrayal of trust. Was that what happened? Or, what would happen?

You were such an odd character. You never did what you didn’t want to and you said what you meant. You were never good at hiding your emotions. True. Perfectly true.

Y/N, can you promise me one thing? Even if after all this, I still show up at your apartment, even if we still become friends, even if we do fight, could you knock some sense into me?

If you show up, you thought. But you’re not going to…right? Chan is. But you couldn’t tell anything. Maybe Chan wouldn’t last very long. Maybe the person to come after Chan was this Chris. But you were too weak.

“I promise, Chris.” You closed your eyes.

Even after I’ve wasted away, keep smiling.

You did.

…

Monday came around again. But this time, you didn’t particularly hate it. It was the day after Christmas. Still the holidays. Classes wouldn’t start up until the next week.

Minho idled on the sofa, using his laptop, headphones around his neck, a true picture of professionalism. He could be doing anything for all you cared. Seated at the dining table, you were busy typing out an essay due for your anthropology class when break was over. Little by little each day. You simply forced yourself to not procrastinate until Saturday.

Your phone vibrated. An unknown number was calling. You picked up.

“Hello?”

A voice you were not familiar with spoke. “Is this Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“I was, um, calling to ask about the opening for a roommate?” the male voice answered hesitantly. Thick accent.

“Oh! Are you Felix’s neighbour? Chan…something?”

“Yes, I am!” he sounded relieved. “Bang Chan. But you can just call me Chan.”

You scribbled his name down on your notepad. “I suppose you’d like to see the apartment?”

“Yes, I would, um…” A pause. “When could I come over?”

“Um…” You thought about it. Youngjae and Jisung would be back on Wednesday and Minho would clear the area by then. “Is Friday okay? I assume you will be starting your classes on Monday?”

You heard the rustling of paper. “Yeah. Yeah, I am starting on Monday. Friday’s cool. Um, what—what time?”

“Any time is fine. I’m free all day on Friday.” You wrote down Friday on the paper. “We can talk about splitting the rent then.”

“Rent won’t be a problem,” Chan replied. You raised your eyebrows. Rich, huh?

“Very well. I guess I’ll see you on Friday.” You noticed Minho looking over at you. You rolled your eyes. “Take care. Bye.” You hung up the call, feeling like this Chan was someone you weren’t going to get along well with.

“What’s up?” Minho asked.

“Candidate for roommate,” you told him, setting down you phone and turning back to your essay. “Mister Bang Chan.”

“Ah. You got me safely out of the way first, huh?”

You winked at him cheekily. “Of course. The number one spot goes to you. I didn’t want him to feel incompetent.”

…

The next day, Minho packed his bags and left. You were sad to see him go, but you knew he had work to do. Youngjae was coming back tomorrow, and he would most definitely have a heart attack if he saw their dorm room in the state that Minho had left it in.

And speaking of work, you had enough as well.

Your essay was halfway done and you stepped outside the flat to take a break, get some fresh air, maybe get a coffee or hot cocoa or something. But of course, fate had it in for you.

You sighed at the all too familiar handwriting lying on your doorstep and brought it inside, opting to read it before going out. It would make you upset for sure, why not get it over with and then grab some coffee?

You slit the envelope open. The first thing you noticed was that handwriting was different. Shaky, almost.

Y/N,

You’re not going crazy, I’ll tell you that. I am.

I heard the news today. I couldn’t believe it at first, I was in shock. But it’s true. It happened.

Had you really been drinking? That’s what they say, the police and the doctors. That’s what they reported in the paper.

I still can’t believe you’re gone.

Wait, what? What do you mean, I’m gone? Your heartbeat picked up tempo.

Was it just a car accident? Or was it suicide? Why had you been drinking? I don’t understand anything. My world is slowly spiralling into darkness and these letters are my only hope. My one chance, the only chance.

The words spun around your head. Car accident? Suicide? Drinking? These letters are my only hope. The only chance.

I haven’t spoken to you in almost a year, but it was comforting to know that at least you were alive and breathing the same air that I was. But now you’re gone and I can’t breathe anymore. I’m trying to grasp what happened and I’m trying to convince myself that it couldn’t possibly be true. But it is.

Reading all these letters, I know you might have understood what’s going on by now. You were always so smart. I’ve put the newspaper cutting in the envelope. I don’t know if you can see it or if I’m breaking the law.

Don’t ever drink and drive. Promise me.

Chris

You stayed motionless, just standing there in front of the sofa, clutching the letter in your hand. Did…did you die? Your fingers fumbled around for the envelope, shaking it open. A piece of paper slid into your palm. The envelope fell silently to the floor.

Your face was staring back up at you.

You didn’t dare to read it, but some phrases registered in your memory before you could turn away. Killed in a car accident. Drunk driving. Research assistant. Road safety. Enquiry. And your name.

You shuddered, sinking onto the sofa, world swaying under your feet. Your hands were shaking badly and you squeezed them together, trying to release some of the tension. You were in shock. This proved everything. He was trying to contact you from the future.

“Oh my gosh,” you finally broke, burying your face in your hands.

So this was it. This was the reason he was writing to you. I don’t know if you can see it or if I’m breaking the law. Of course, the laws of nature. Don’t meddle with time. He thought he could have prevented your death? If only you two weren’t fighting?

Don’t ever drink and drive. Promise me.

Perhaps.

Maybe things had changed.

Chan was coming over on Friday after all. Maybe he should stay.

…

Wednesday saw Youngjae and Jisung stopping by your place with food that their parents had sent along for you. Thanking them profusely, you stored the dishes carefully away in the refrigerator. Since Minho had gone, you knew you would be facing a shortage of food. You wondered how well Chan could cook, if he could at all.

“Missed us?” Jisung asked, launching himself at you in a tight hug. You laughed, patting his head.

“Of course I did, Sungie,” you murmured fondly into his hair. He could be such a pain sometimes, but only when he was gone did you realize how much you all depended on him to keep the mood light. “My sunshine baby.”

“Aishh, stop it!” he whined, pulling away from you. “I’m not a baby.”

You giggled, ruffling his hair. “You’ll always be my baby.”

Youngjae engulfed you in his arms, rocking back and forth. “Your parents are a tiny bit mad that you didn’t come home, you know.”

You squirmed out of his hold. “I guessed. I just didn’t feel like visiting at the moment.”

He squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “I know, Y/N. I know.” Briefly you considered telling him about the letters and your conclusion, but you thought it might sound rather far-fetched for rational Youngjae. Especially after what happened yesterday.

“Hey, did that guy ever call you?” Jisung interrupted, stealing a carrot from your fridge and gnawing at it. You pursed your lips.

“He did.”

“Who are we talking about?” Youngjae was confused.

“Felix’s new neighbour’s son is attending uni here and he called asking if he could check out the apartment.”

“Oh. Hm.” He seemed wary about this new person. “When is he coming? Or did he already?”

“Friday,” you told them. “So I don’t want any of you near this place, you hear? I’m keeping it spick and span. You are not ruining this for me.”

Jisung pouted, the food in his cheeks only making him look cuter. Youngjae put his hands up in surrender. “Understood.”

…

By the end of the night, the apartment was relatively tidy. At least, clean enough for a college student. You hoped Chan wouldn’t mind too much.

Thursday morning was cold. Just. That’s all that came into your mind when you woke up. Stretching around on your bed, instead of relief, you were hit with the strangest sense of foreboding. Something…you didn’t know what, but something told you there was a letter today. You jumped out of bed and raced to the front door.

You heart stuttered when you saw the envelope, addressed to you in his handwriting.

Y/N,

Today was the funeral. I couldn’t bear to see you. I waited until the coffin was lowered to come near the vicinity.

The funeral. Your funeral. You felt odd inside, reading about your own funeral, but felt even worse at Chris’ plight. He couldn’t bear to see you.

Your parents are devastated. Can you blame them? You left them around seven months ago and you haven’t spoken to them since, have you? I don’t know what to feel. I can only pity them but I feel so helpless inside, so guilty, like I could have prevented all this.

You left your parents seven months ago? And didn’t speak to them after that? You placed a palm over your heart. Why? Did you fight with them, too? You couldn’t imagine the pain that must have caused. To not even say a good word to each other before you died? Chris felt guilty. Could he have prevented this?

Today I thought a lot about the first time we met. Do you remember? You heard my name and went into a rant about some letters I had apparently written to you. I had no idea what you were going on about, but now, I realize it must have been these. I asked you to show me those letters, but you said you had thrown them away. Have we been stuck in that cycle forever?

Your eyes darted to the box safely on the fridge. No wonder you had felt the urge to throw them away. Time was wired that way! In Chris’ past, you had thrown them away and when he showed up, you had gone off on him about the letters. But since he hadn’t written them yet, he had no clue what you were talking about.

Vicious cycle.

It made sense now.

I saw your friends today. They say you were celebrating one of their promotions, and that you refused to go home with them. You had become reckless, they said. Ever since… They didn’t say anything about…us. They didn’t need to. I could see it in their eyes, the blame piercing into my heart. This is all my fault.

My friends? Did he mean Youngjae? And Jisung? Minho? Yeji? They blamed Chris? And Chris blamed himself for your recklessness? He thought that if you hadn’t fought, you wouldn’t have attempted to drink and drive? You wouldn’t have attempted….suicide?

Couldn’t I have stopped this? If only I had tried a little harder, if only we both had made a little more time...Wouldn’t things have changed?

I can’t breathe. There’s nothing but darkness in front of me now. There’s this horrible weight pressing down on my chest.

“But what did you do, Chris?” You couldn’t help but ask. “What did you do that was so unforgivable that I killed myself over it?”

Y/N, by the time you finish reading this, I will be dead.

You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth. No. No, no, no!

I know I’ve never said it to you very often, but you mean so much to me. I’m sorry that I let things come to this.

I’ve hurt you in the worst possible ways. But didn’t we deserve a chance? Just one more chance? Just one more chance and we could make it, couldn’t we?

I don’t deserve you and you don’t deserve anything I’ve given you. Even if I don’t deserve a chance, you do.

“You do deserve a chance, Chris,” you choked out, openly crying now. “You deserve everything.”

I can’t do anything but this. I don’t know how many forces of nature I’m breaking to get these letters to you. Everything is in your hands now, along with this letter.

I’m dying, Y/N.

I’m dying now because I can’t live without your presence. I’m dying now because my presence killed you.

I’m dying now to save you.

To save us.

Chris.

Your blurry eyes fixed on the full stop after his name. He never did that before. You knew why he did it now. He was done. No more letters. This was it.

You clutched the paper to your chest, legs giving way, sinking to the floor with your back against the door, sobbing uncontrollably. You didn’t know him, but you felt it deep in your heart. In your soul. You felt just as you would if one of your gang had committed suicide. Y/N, by the time you finish reading this, I will be dead. And the oddest part? That weight on your chest had gotten heavier, but now you felt empty. He really was gone. You were the past, and he had destroyed the future. Everything is in your hands now, along with this letter.

You cried until you had no tears left.

You cried until your head spun from dehydration.

But in the end, against the cold door, you calmed yourself.

He’s alive. It was his future self that had died. This was the past. Or now, the present. He was most certainly alive.

You didn’t know where he was. Where he would come from. But hopefully, your paths would cross some way or other. At least, they would pass close by. You would find him. Whatever the cost, you would find him. Just to observe him from afar. Just to know if he was safe.

You swallowed thickly, rubbing the dried tear tracks off your face.

You would find him.

Sooner or later, he would come to you.

…

By the time the sun came up on Friday morning, you had composed yourself. Or at least, until Chan came and left. The apartment was pretty presentable, from your point of view.

You half-hoped Chan didn’t like it, so there would be a chance that Chris would show up. But then again, would that be playing right into the cycle you were trapped in? What if Chris coming to you ended up in misery whichever way the tape played? Maybe you should just keep him away and let Chan be your roommate.

You tugged at your hair in frustration.

When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.

Someone knocked twice on the door.

You immediately panicked. Fuck.

You cleared your throat, letting out steady breaths.

Cautiously, you opened the door.

A pale-faced (you didn’t think it was from nerves) young man stood on your doorstep. At first glance he was quite ordinary. Dark brown hair, plaid button-up over a white tee, under a black overcoat. Jeans. He looked like any other college student. He had the type of face you could certainly get used to seeing. Seeing you, the corners of his mouth turned up in the sort of forced awkward ‘first meeting’ smile reserved for situations like this.

You returned the smile. “Chan, right?” you confirmed.

He nodded. “That’s me.”

You opened the door wider for him to enter, shivering slightly at the draft sneaking inside, and shut the door as soon as he came in. You noticed that he had been careful to shake the snow off his shoes before he stepped inside.

Considerate, you thought. Time to get to business.

“Nice to meet you, Chan,” you welcomed him, extending a hand. “Y/N.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He took your hand and both of you gasped at the shock that travelled through your forearms, jerking apart at once. He laughed nervously. “Weather does that sometimes, aye? The shocks.” He stuck his hand out to try again. This time you were able to shake it properly. “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

You nodded and as you drew apart, you didn’t bother to tell him that summer storm weather caused the shocks. Not winter. It didn’t matter anyway.

“You can hang up your jacket there,” you offered, gesturing to the hatrack in the corner. He obeyed after a moment’s hesitation. You noticed his physique as he shrugged his jacket off. “Um,” you weren’t sure how to go about a tour. “You can look around, I suppose. Take your time.” You pointed to the kitchen. “I’ll be here.”

He gave you a thumbs-up that he seemed to instantly regret. Turning away, you watched as his figure disappeared down the hall into the spare bedroom.

You sighed, planting your hands on the kitchen counter. You didn’t know what to do. Despite your curiosity about Chris, you figured that it probably wasn’t smart to risk both of your lives by insisting that Chris live here.

After all, he had said himself that he might have messed things up. That he might have changed his past. Your present. Chris might be anywhere. He could be a world away. He could be down the street. Maybe it was safer that way. You technically didn't know him, anyway. You only thought you did because of the letters. You didn’t know what he looked like, his personality, his past. You didn’t know how he would treat you. And what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

Maybe you should just let it all go. Chris is probably safe now. Sooner or later, you would forget about him. Why not sooner? You raised your eyes to the box on the fridge. One day, you wouldn’t need them anymore. One day, you would be fine with throwing them out, with burning the memories that wouldn’t exist because the past was changed. But until then…you would wait.

“It’s a nice place.”

You were so deep in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard Chan enter the kitchen. His eyes roamed the small room, a dopey smile on his face.

You allowed your expression to soften.

“You look upset,” Chan observed. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. But how do you tell this beautiful stranger your story? Where to begin? You shook your head. “You know how time breaks friends apart?”

He winced. “Only too well.”

The two of you stood there in silence, his gaze trying to reassure you. You didn’t need to say anything at all. He understood. Maybe you could get used to having him around. Maybe Chris was right. Maybe staying away was the best decision.

“So,” you broke the silence. “You like the apartment?”

He nodded. “I really do. But…um, how far is the university from here?”

You shrugged. “Fifteen minutes or so. There are buses from here direct to uni.”

“I have a car,” he informed you. “Hey, I could drive you there. We could go together.”

You felt warmth in your chest despite the cold weather. “We’ll see.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll bring my stuff over tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He teetered on the edge of speech but then turned away as if to leave the kitchen. But then he stopped. “You’re—from abroad, right?”

“I am.” You tapped your fingers on the counter. “Aren’t you, too? You have an accent.”

“Yep.” He pressed his lips together. “You can call me by my English name, you know. If it’s more comfortable with you. Chan is my Korean name.”

In hindsight, you had no clue what you walked into, no idea where things were going.

“But I don’t know your English name?” your voice carried a questioning lilt. “Felix didn’t mention…”

In hindsight, you were ashamed that you didn’t consider the possibility.

In hindsight, you should have known better.

He smiled broadly.

“Chris.”

The smile fell off of your lips at once. And so did his.

Chris.

Suddenly the name was all you could hear over the blood throbbing in your veins.

Chris.

And all you could see was the name, scrawled on the bottom corner of paper in handwriting that you had become all too accustomed too.

Chris.

You heard him too well.

I’m dying, Y/N.

I’m dying now to save you.

To save us.

His expression morphed to one of confusion. “Um. Y/N? Is…Is there something wrong?”

You turned your face away, so he wouldn’t see the droplets running down your cheek.

“No,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Even after I’ve wasted away, keep smiling.

Despite your suffocation, through your tears, your lips curved upwards.

“Not at all.”

…

fin.

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