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panda-noosh · 3 years ago

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the game {draco x reader}

masterlist

---

you’ve been tormenting the malfoy family for what feels like forever.

it’s become a kind of game at this point, a game everyone is involved in. the malfoys pretend they don’t expect your presence, and you pretend you are tormenting them because you don’t like them. it’s back and forth, back and forth, and you’ve been doing it too long to back out now.

it starts the same way every time - the gate is open, and they pretend it’s because they forgot to close it. nobody mentions the fact that lucius malfoy hasn’t forgotten a single thing in his entire life. nobody mentions draco’s blonde head peaking out from behind the living room curtains, waiting for the arrival of a person he claims to despise.

you stroll in with the ease of someone who owns the place, smiling and waving at the white peacocks that have become so familiar with your presence by now that they don’t even make a noise upon seeing you. they lift their graceful heads, and then they bow them again - it’s as simple as that.

you knock on the door, grinning even wider when you hear narcissa’s faux exclamation of, “who could that possibly be?” you know for a fact that draco has warned her of your presence already, that all three of them have been expecting your arrival since they woke up this morning.

and then the door opens, and narcissa stands there in all her glory. such a tall, graceful woman, and you tell her that on a daily basis, making her blush because you are her favourite little Mudblood, and she lets you get away with things like that.

you lean against the door frame, spinning your wand between your ringed fingers. narcissa glares at you without speaking, her jaw working as she inspects you.

“evening,” you drawl. “how are you today, my dear?”

her nostrils flare. “how many times have we told you to stay away from our home?”

“oh, plenty of times. i’ve quite lost count.” you straighten, craning your neck to see over her tall frame, into the hallway beyond. standing in the foyer, just as you predicted, just as he always does, is draco. you give him a wave before turning back to face his mother. “is he alright? i haven’t seen him much at school recently.”

“my sons wellbeing is none of your business.”

draco appears at his mothers elbow. “you can tell professor snape i’ve been feeling ill.”

you smile - draco giving you orders is moreso his way of answering your questions without looking like he gives a shit. you appreciate it, this code you two speak in, because in all truth, you do worry about the malfoy boy quite a bit.

you met him in school, your very first year at hogwarts. you were crushed beneath adrenaline, having found out about your powers only a few weeks before being shipped off to this strange and wonderful new school. you had a wand, and a robe, and there was a giant man ushering you into a tiny boat, ready to take you to the future.

and then draco appeared, and he knew who you were. he must have looked through the first year list, must have looked you up and realised you were a muggle-born. he did his research, and that was the first point of respect he earned off you.

“let them in, mother,” draco says now. “the elves made too much food anyway; might as well put them to use whilst they’re here.”

you give a mock bow. “much appreciated, malfoy.”

he snarls, before mother and son turn on their heels and lead you into the home you have become so familiar with these past few years. you’ve traced these walls with your fingers a thousand times before, and you do the same now. upstairs, you hear the elves marching around, putting stuff back where they belong, chuntering amongst themselves; silently, you wonder where lucius is.

draco and narcissa lead you to the kitchen, where stacks upon stacks of food are set up along the grand dining table. draco hands you a glass of water before gesturing to the plates and saying, “dig in. and be grateful we haven’t got the ministry involved.”

“the ministry?” you raise a brow, taking a long, loud sip of your water before continuing. “draco, what would the ministry possibly do? you’ve been letting me into your home for years - it’s starting to get a little old hearing you say you don’t want me here.”

draco blinks, startled.

narcissa steps in, grabbing the water from your hand and slamming it upon the table. “we don’t want you here. the last thing we need is some filthy mudblood knocking on our door at all hours of the morning.”

the word doesn’t even sting any more - it’s a wound that has been closed long enough now to no longer hurt. so instead, you smile and say, “very true, narcissa. i’ll have my water back now, if you please.”

narcissa growls, turns and walks out of the kitchen. she always does this. it’s become part of the routine.

you grab the water yourself and take another sip. draco continues staring at you, a habit he adopted only recently. you remember the first time he did it, the first time it was more than a glance, more than an accidental brush of eye contact between you; he was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, those slim fingers tapping a rhythm against the expensive granite. you and lucius were chatting, lucius asking - yet again - why you’re here, why you can never leave them alone, why you aren’t at school. you were going to answer, but draco’s gaze was burning a hole into the side of your face, and you truly felt as if you had no choice but to pack it in early and go home, just to recuperate.

you’ve gotten better with it. you don’t have any plans of storming out any time soon, though his gaze still makes your face heat up and your stomach squirm.

“so, you’ve been ill, have you?” you begin. “i won’t lie, draco, you look pretty spritely to me.”

“i wouldn’t expect you to understand,” draco shoots back. “you should just mind your business.”

“i never asked you what was wrong. i was just saying - seems like you’re looking for a muggle excuse to get out of going to school.”

draco glares, though the expression has less effect now that he’s taken to never taking his eyes off you, no matter what his emotions towards you are in the moment. “i’ve told you not to call me that.”

“didn’t call you anything.”

“you called me a muggle.”

you narrow your eyes in faux confusion. “i said your excuse was muggle. don’t blow it out of proportion, mate.”

he throws his hands up, turning away for what feels like the first time since he laid eyes on you. “why are you here this time, y/n? what could you possibly want from us now?”

“i’ve never wanted anything from you.” you inspect the endless plates on the table. “although i will pinch a scotch egg, if you don’t mind.”

draco watches as you reach across the table, picking at the assortment of foods. you don’t break the eye contact, because that’s what he wants you to do. he wants you to show some sign of intimidation, some sign that he has wriggled beneath your nerves in the same way he manages with everyone else. you’re determined to show him you’re not afraid of the malfoys, have never been afraid of the malfoys, and that’s exactly why you’re here. you wanted something, and you were willing to go to the highest rank to get it.

“you know, if my father finds out about what you get up to, you’ll be sent to azkaban with a life sentence.”

you freeze, scotch egg halfway to your mouth. “so you’re bringing that up now, are you?”

“i’m just warning you.” draco shrugs, the sleeves of his black blazer stretching against the motion. “one day you’re going to walk in here, and he’s going to know. he’s going to see it in your eyes that you’re guilty.”

“he’s going to figure me out.” you scoff. “you really think the sun shines out of your father’s arse, don’t you? he’s not as smart as he likes everyone to think, draco. i’ve been running circles around that man for years now, and he’s none the wiser.”

“and what if i tell him?”

the room falls silent. your heartbeat rings in your ears. you hate talking about this with draco, because you never know whether or not to take his threats seriously.

he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re lucky i haven’t blabbed yet.”

“are you threatening me, malfoy?” you lean forward, lowering your voice to a purr. “why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve taken two weeks out of school, hm? then we’ll both have stories to tattle to the ministry.”

draco pales. he glares at you for a moment longer before the kitchen door opens, and narcissa malfoy strolls inside once again. you straighten up, schooling your expression into one of immediate calm, like not a single thing is wrong. you pop the remaining scotch egg in your mouth and say, “i should get out of your hair now.”

narcissa simply scowls.

you give her a grin, nod at draco once before walking out the door, trying to ignore that blue-eyed gaze still burning into the back of your head.

----

it gets easier over time.

all of it does, really. the guilt becomes non-existent, and the act itself becomes second nature after a few good attempts. you’ve nearly been caught a handful of times, and you know if your actions were to come to light, you would be expelled from hogwarts in a heartbeat; not even dumbledore could show you mercy, no matter how much he likes you.

it’s easiest when the streets are full. muggles are so careless, clumped together with wallets jingling in their pockets, unprotected. they don’t even think about what might go wrong, don’t even think a wizard may be lurking amongst them, ready to snatch their belongings right from their person.

you don’t need it, of course. muggle money means nothing where you come from, but there’s some wizards and witches who would pay hundreds of galleons in trade for the things collected off muggles. it’s a black market kind of situation.

tonight, you are dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, wand stowed in your back pocket. you don’t need it; you’ve mastered the magic-free manoeuvres of sneaking things from people, and you use such skills to your advantage tonight. a man by the name of richard carpol has put in a request for a muggle passport - an irish one, preferably, but he’ll take anything you can get your hands on.

you search for what feels like hours before zoning in on the dark red booklet peaking out of a teenagers jacket pocket. their source of ID, you assume, and you feel no guilt whatsoever when you stroll past them and pluck the book free. you stuff it in your hoodie pocket before picking up your pace, ducking into a dark alleyway.

you flip it open - it’s a british passport, but richard will still pay. he’s not a picky customer, which makes your night ten times easier.

you make your way back to hogwarts, waving at people in hogsmeade before you disappear for the night. you sneak into the slytherin dormitory with no problems, stuffing the passport beneath your mattress. you wriggle beneath the sheets, ignoring pansy’s insistant questions about where you have been, if you’ve seen draco, how you managed to sneak past filch - she asks this every night, and you have never replied. you just fall asleep, another day successful.

----

“he’s back.”

like he’s some kind of god. you nearly roll your eyes, the whispers repeated over and over again throughout morning breakfast. all around you, the slytherin table is alive with anticipation, waiting for draco malfoy to stroll in through the double doors, head held high in that way it always is.

you knew draco was returning before anyone else did, as he told you the night before in a fit of faux rage at the sight of you in his bedroom, yet again. you had offered to leave, leaned casually against his mahogany wardrobe, and it could almost be considered hasty the speed at which he rushed for his door to close it, uttering a quiet, “no, you’re here now, so you might as well stay.”

but now he’s back in school, and you’re sick of him. you haven’t even seen his face once, but the whispers and the praise from your house mates is enough to set your teeth on edge. it reminds you that there is indeed a draco living outside of the malfoy manor, a draco you cannot tease and torment as easily.

“i saw him in the common room this morning putting his robes on. i think his parents got him new ones,” a fellow slytherin whispers. “and his hair has been cut a little shorter - he looks so grown up!”

you snicker into your porridge, smothering the noise to no avail. the slytherin girl singing draco’s praises shoots you a glare before noticing who you are; her glare folds in on itself, and she quickly retaliates by pretending she didn’t hear your snicker in the first place.

breakfast ticks by, and it’s only near the end does draco finally decide to grace the dining hall with his presence. the double doors open, and the chatter amongst the slytherins falls short almost immediately. you’re ashamed to admit that even you look up at the speed of light, catching one of the first glimpses of draco malfoy as he returns from what many people assumed was the dead.

his fangirl certainly wasn’t lying, you notice; his hair has been cut shorter, and he does look plenty grown up. he walks with a fresh confidence that makes you want to roll your eyes - it’s not like he needed a further confidence boost. his robes are clean, brushing the floor. his eyes are trained on the head table, though they linger there for only moments before snapping to where you are seated.

you raise a curious brow. he blushes, looks away, and takes his seat next to crabbe and goyle, both of whom clap him on the back like he’s just returned from war.

you ignore him the rest of breakfast, which is a rare action for you. you used to revel in tormenting him, coming face to face with him at every corner just to give another snide remark; it was a game back then, back when the two of you were younger and felt as if you could get away with it.

breakfast ends shortly thereafter, and you hurry to gather your things. swinging your bag over one shoulder, you duck your head down and escape into the crowded corridors, losing yourself amongst the sea of black clad students.

but you’re a fool to ever think you - of all people - could escape draco’s magnificent return to school. his cold fingers wrap around your wrist before you have a chance to turn the corridor to your next class, stopping you in your tracks. part of you wants to spin around and punch him, just floor him in front of everyone, show him that you’re not just some silly person showing up on his front doorstep every other night.

instead, you slowly turn and give him a smile, one of your big ones to let him know you don’t mean it, that you’re being hostile.

his face is set in stone, that frown so perfect and soft looking it makes you want to sob.

“where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, keeping his voice low because god forbid anyone catch him speaking to you.

“class,” you reply. “so kindly let go of me, malfoy.”

“not until you tell me where richard got another muggle passport to sell.”

you freeze, though you knew this would be coming eventually. richard is one of your best customers, but he’s not very bright; he’s never understood the concept of subtlety when it comes to the trading of muggle artefacts.

“he has a new one, does he?” you say. “good for him. his collection must be getting awfully big by now.”

draco scowls. “my father is starting to get very suspicious, y/n, and i don’t know how much longer i’ll be willing to cover for you.”

you pry your hand out of his grip, nearly stumbling from the momentum. “is that a threat?”

“it’s a warning,” he says. “i might not like you, but i don’t need you going down for something like this. people know we’re familiar with each other, and i don’t want you tarnishing my family name.”

you scoff. “your family name has been tarnished since you-know-who was in power.”

“shut up. don’t talk on things you don’t understand.”

“all i need to do is pick up a history book.”

draco scowls, those blues eyes ablaze. you’ve seen this look on him when he’s speaking to those gryffindors he hates so much, when a teacher takes someone else’s side over his own. you’ve seen this look on him plenty of times, but never aimed at you; for some reason, his expression is always so soft around the edges when trained on you.

“i’m trying to do you a favour,” draco mumbles. “because i’m serious when i say my father will snap you in half if he finds out you’re the one providing these artefacts to the dark market.”

“i’m not afraid of lucius,” you reply. “and i think you’re kind of forgetting the fact that your father actually likes me. at least a little bit.”

draco’s eyebrows fly up in amusement. “what’s given you that idea?”

“the fact that i’m still allowed in your house after all these years.” you grin, basking in the way draco’s own smile fades at the realisation you have indeed recognised this behaviour within his family. “yes, malfoy. you all try so hard to convince me i’m the scum of the earth, but the truth is, you appreciate my company. the truth is, you make me tea every time i visit. the truth is, you’re all a little fond of me, whether you want to admit it or not.”

his face pales even more, a feat you didn’t think possible until seeing it with your own two eyes. it’s a delicious win, a point for you in a competition you didn’t even realise you had entered.

“you’re delusional,” he mumbles. “you say you picked up a history book, then you must know how my family feel about your kind.”

“my kind?” you raise a brow, feigning ignorance just to annoy him. he hates outstretched conversations, especially with you. “are you talking about half-bloods, or pickpockets? oh! or people who can run circles around you without fear?”

you don’t give him a chance to reply, because quite frankly, you’re done with this conversation. you’re done with him for today. you prefer it when you’re in control of your daily draco interactions.

you turn on your heel and leave, rushing for your next class even as he calls your name. you can’t believe the nerve of him, approaching you like that, telling you to quit the job that’s gotten you off the streets, that’s helped you fund an education for yourself. these robes you’re wearing, the books you read in class, the wand that is an extension of your arm by now - all of it was funded by you, from your own pocket. just because the business is ruthless, not some posh, clean dealing that malfoy is used to, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

you want to shove that explanation down his throat, just so he’ll finally look past his own privileged little bubble. you hate admitting it, but the truth is, draco wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so blinded by his upbringing. he knows how to be nice - you’ve seen it before, experienced it before, though you never talk about those experiences with anyone. there have been a few times where draco has seen you walking past his house, soaked to the bone from the rain, and he’s let you in, warmed you up by the fire, placed a hot chocolate in your hand. he’ll insult you and call you stupid and claim he wants you out of his house as soon as possible, but he was still the man who made the move to get you out of the rain.

your feelings for draco are a jenga tower. built up to full form, but slowly, pieces get chipped away until the entire thing is falling, and you have to rebuild it and try again.

you don’t know why you keep rebuilding it after so many disasters, but as he calls your name at your retreating back, you can feel yourself already putting those blocks back together.

----

charms class really is a pain.

flitwick is nice enough. he’s patient, which is good, and very much needed when it comes to your skills in the classroom. you’re an intelligent person, always studying because you want to be the best. you love seeing the look on draco’s face when he looks over and sees you’ve got a higher grade than him. it gives you such a thrill.

but charms is your downfall, because nothing makes any sense. flitwick explains the spell, and the hand movements, and he leaves you to your own devices, and you always somehow end up messing everything up.

today, all you’re doing is tossing a pillow to the other side of the room. it’s a simple spell, a simple gesture, and yet you still manage to smash a window in the process. flitwick merely sighs, explains the charm again, and gets you to repeat the process until you’ve got it right.

it takes a while. you don’t like it when things take a while.

by the half hour mark, sweat is running down your face, and your teeth have been gritted for so long it’s starting to hurt. you throw your wand down on the table, rake your hands through your hair and say, “i’m taking a break.”

“please do,” flitwick grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head where a vase smashed into his skull, thanks to your handiwork.

you slump down on one of the pillows you have failed to charm and run a hand along your brow. it’s actually disgusting how much energy gets taken out of you from doing such a simple thing. it’s also very confusing, considering you’re able to master the most difficult spells in defence against the dark arts without so much as a second thought. why tossing a pillow to the other side of the room is getting to you is both a joke and a mystery.

as you pull yourself together, savouring your moment of rest, someone slumps down next to you. you glance over, an eyebrow raised at bailey o’boyle, a boy you’ve done business with a few times in the past. he was only dabbling in the black market at the time, too young to understand what it was actually all about, but you weren’t going to be the one to ward him off, not when he had a good few galleons with your name on it.

he looks at you now with a smile, big and dopey, just as it always is.

“can i help you?” you ask.

“yes.”

you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you.

you grit your teeth. “with what?”

“i need an electric scooter.”

you raise a brow. already the word ‘electric’ has got your attention, because that’s not something the wizard world is very familiar with. what bailey is doing right now is forming a business deal. you’re not usually a fan of bargaining in the middle of class, but since you have nothing better to do. . .

you turn, ducking your head and lowering your voice. “what the fuck do you need an electric scooter for?”

“to sell,” he replies. “i’ve got a man who collects them. he’s willing to pay big money, y/n. big, big money.”

you like the sound of that.

“i’m a pickpocket, you know,” you say. “it’s not going to be easy pickpocketing an entire scooter from a muggle.”

bailey shrugs. “i said i’d see what you could do. but if you’re not up to it. . .”

your eye twitches; you hate that phrase. realistically, you know this is far beyond your expertise. you steal wallets, and passports, and house keys, tiny things you can sneak away without detection. trying to get something like an electric scooter from a muggle without being caught is close enough to impossible that even the lure of galleons isn’t enough to convince you to do it.

still, of course you’re going to think about it. there are many different side streets in muggle london that you could go down, and if you do it at night, the shadows could be used to your advantage. nobody would even bat an eye if you wore-

draco grabs your wrist and pulls you from the floor.

you yelp, stumbling into his chest. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you’re more surprised at his strength than you are at his actions.

bailey’s eyes widen. he stutters, trying to feign innocence, but neither you nor draco are interested in him any more. you whirl on malfoy, shoving him away.

“what the hell?”

“what the hell, is right.” he grabs your arm. “come with me.”

you struggle against his grip, but truth to be told, you’re not really putting up much of a fight. you’re still in shock at how easily he was able to lift you, at the feel of his fingers around your upper arm.

he drags you from the classroom. flitwick being flitwick doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s probably relieved that’s two more students he doesn’t need to worry about.

in the hallway, draco finally lets go of you. you jerk away so fast your back hits against the wall. draco raises a brow, but he still looks furious. his nostrils are flared, his face is pale, and god, he keeps clenching his fists like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat.

god help you, you kind of want him to. just to know what it feels like.

“again,” you say. “what the hell?”

“i knew you were stupid, y/n, but that’s bad even for you.”

“excuse me?”

“you do realise blaise was listening to every word you and bailey were saying in there?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “i was trying to talk over you, but your loud mouth is quite difficult to ignore.”

you blink. firstly, wow. bargaining in class really isn’t a good idea, and you really should have known better.

but also, wow, draco actually tried helping you out.

you swallow and fold your arms over your chest. “i had it under control. blaise isn’t gonna do shit.”

draco laughs. “blaise’s dad is in the ministry, idiot.”

“stop calling me that. i’m smarter than you!”

“do you understand what i’m telling you, y/n? if blaise says a word about what he heard to his dad, that’s you done. there’s no getting out of that.”

a chill runs down your spine. draco glimpses the movement, and you swear his features soften slightly.

“i just can’t believe you were so careless.”

“why do you even care?” your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. you kind of hope draco doesn’t hear it, but his eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks gain a tiny red tint that lets you know he doesn’t really know the answer to that question.

you swallow, looking up to meet his eyes. “why do you care, draco?”

“because.” his throat bobs. there is a moment of hesitation where you think he’s going to tell the truth. maybe he’s going to shock the world and just tell the god damn truth, but then he clears his throat, pulls his shoulders back and says, “i’ve already told you, y/n; if you go down, you’ll tarnish my family name. i can’t have that.”

your insides wilt like his words are acid being poured down your throat. you laugh a little too loudly, a bark more than anything close to amusement. it’s so vicious, so filled with hatred that draco actually flinches away. in that moment, you want to give him a real reason to flinch, a real reason to be afraid.

but you don’t, because he’s the boy who pulled you out of the rain.

instead, you shake your head and say, “tell flitwick i’m ill. and don’t bother talking to me ever again. let me handle my own business, thanks.” and without another word, you rush down the hallway to the dorm rooms, refusing to look back at him. this time, he doesn’t call your name, doesn’t chase after you in that hopelessly stupid way you want him to. of course he wouldn’t.

you throw your robes off the minute you burst through the doors of your dorm. it’s empty besides a fellow slytherin’s cat laying on the bed. the black and white feline lifts its head at the sound of you, and you ignore it’s confused little mews as you scramble into your own bed, pull the privacy curtain over and bury your head in your pillow.

you hate him. you really, really hate him, and that’s not even an exaggeration. he’s the worst person you’ve ever met. he’s this tormented little shit who thinks he has every right to throw his anger at everyone else, just because he isn’t tough enough to stand up to mummy and daddy. he’s so desperate to stay in line with everything his parents say, and it’s ridiculous. it’s embarrassing. it’s a cowards move.

there are so many things you wished you said to him before storming off, but there’s always that moment of hesitation when it comes to anything you want to say to draco. you either have to check it’s not too nice, and even when it’s mean, you have to check it’s not going to actually upset him, because you don’t want to do that either. you don’t know why. you should spit in his face for the shit he puts you through, the confusion he makes you feel. and he doesn’t even care. he just carries on being a little prick, like nothing is wrong in the world.

but surprise, surprise, draco. not everyone can live a lavish life, worry free.

---

you manage to ignore draco for the rest of the day. it’s easily done, considering draco doesn’t like to make a big deal out of the fact that you two actually have history; he likes to pretend he associates only with people of the purest blood, the most talented wizards, ones that come from the old families.

but he can’t keep his eyes off you.

he knows he’s hit a nerve. the way his eyes follow every movement you make, the way his jaw ticks when you don’t even give him the time of day - he’s not a stupid boy, as much as you like to tell him he is. he can see when he’s upset you.

classes drag in the rest of the day, and it’s a massive relief when you’re finally released from the confines of lessons, free to do whatever you want. after stealing a bit of food from the dining hall, you head up to the slytherin dormitory; you like it best when it’s empty, when you can just sit with your own thoughts for a while. you need it today, because today you actually let yourself be a normal teenager, and you hate it. you hate the feeling of hormones and overreactions, but sometimes it’s hard to help it. sometimes you need to let yourself feel emotional.

alone in the dorms, you reach under your bed and pull out your handy box of trinkets. most of the contents are just things you’ve stolen that never found a home - a penny from a london sidewalk, an old napkin with a mystery person’s phone number scribbled on it, a black and white photo of a couple standing in front of the ocean. however, tucked away amongst those simple, boring things is a green emerald - one you stole from the malfoy manor a few years ago.

you got it from draco’s room, because you weren’t meant to be in there, and you wanted to let him know that you had, in fact, been in there. the emerald was stitched into the collar of one of his shirts, all expensive looking and wasted. you nearly scoffed at the sight of it - when would draco ever get to wear something so glamorous anyway? plus, the emerald looked far too heavy to be confined to a shirts collar; it would be very uncomfortable, you assumed.

that’s why you grabbed a knife and cut the stitching to shreds, plucking the emerald from it to claim as your own. you tossed the shredded shirt back into draco’s wardrobe, tucked the emerald into your pocket and then walked out, content with the knowledge that draco would be yelling at you in due time once he noticed his missing jewel.

but the yelling never came.

draco knew you had stolen it. again, he isn’t stupid. his shirt was shredded, and the jewel was missing, and it was obvious who had done it - the known pickpocket who was strolling through his house every other night.

he just never said anything, like he wanted you to keep it, like he didn’t mind it was in your hands now.

you stare at it, legs crossed beneath you. you’ve always prided yourself on how little you care for expensive things - you don’t complain that you haven’t got much, that you grew up poor, never able to afford the grand things draco has. but you still handle this emerald with so much care, flipping it round in your fingers, looking at every curve and delicate groove in it’s cut.

the dormitory door opens. you trust it’s just someone who’s eaten too much and wants an early night, so you don’t panic or falter. you listen to their footsteps patter across the room, the thump of their robes hitting the floor, followed closely by their shoes. you listen to their privacy curtain screeching open, their sigh of annoyance at something you can’t see-

and then draco pops his head round your privacy curtain.

you yelp, fumbling with the emerald. it slips from your fingers, however, and crashes to the floor at draco’s bare feet. he stares at it as you curse, an eyebrow raising, and you don’t even try and hide it. you just let him stare, arms folded over your chest, annoyance brewing in your stomach just at the sight of him.

finally, he slowly looks up. “mine, i take it?”

“good guess, rich boy. can i have it back?”

he picks it up and tosses it into your lap. you’re pleasantly surprised at his cooperation, but still keep that frown on your face.

“what do you want?” you ask, violently stuffing all your belongings back into the cardboard box.

“you weren’t at dinner,” draco replies. “i wanted to make sure you weren’t causing any more trouble.”

you scoff. “oh, trouble, yes. tarnishing the malfoy name. the end goal for us all.”

draco stares at you, lips pursed. his gaze is always so warm, a physical thing that makes your skin crawl. “that comment bothered you, did it?”

“nothing you say bothers me, draco. it just baffles me how you can be so dense sometimes.”

“ouch. that one hurt.”

you roll your eyes. “why are you here? i have nothing to say to you.”

“you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

“not like you care, though, is it?”

draco’s nostrils flare. his throat bobs, eyes tracing the length of your throat like he’s a hungry vampire. his lower lip slips between his teeth, the expression startling you. he looks like he’s trying to reel himself back, like some unwanted emotion is fighting for dominance in his brain.

“you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment.

“you think?”

“i still don’t know what i did to piss you off so much.”

you bark out a laugh. “no, of course you don’t. god forbid a malfoy is self-aware for once.”

he groans. “can you not just make things simple? why do we have to go around in circles like this? it’s a waste of time!”

“is that meant to be an apology?”

“how can i apologise when i don’t even know what i did?” he’s starting to sound desperate, like this conversation is taking the life from him.

you lean back, pulling the box into your lap protectively. in truth, you don’t even know how to word why you’re so upset - it makes sense in your head, but articulating it to someone else is just going to make you sound stupid, maybe even a little delusional. you should know draco by now, people will say. you should know what he’s like, that he cares for no one besides himself. getting upset over him showing his true colours is stupid, a waste of time and energy.

but you look into his blue eyes right now, wanting nothing more than for him to just understand. understand what, you don’t even want to admit, not to yourself or anyone else.

“you hurt my feelings,” you mumble.

draco inhales sharply. “i didn’t think i could do that. i never thought you’d let me.”

“well, you did. congratulations.”

“jesus, y/n, it’s not like i wanted to. what did i even say?”

you stare at him. he stares back. the ball will drop eventually, you know, because draco is smart, smarter than you’ve ever given him credit for. he examines your expression, and you watch the moment his eyebrows start to relax in realisation, the frown form on his face. it makes anxiety coil in the pit of your stomach, because maybe this is just a little too vulnerable. maybe letting draco figure this out on his own was a bad idea.

but it’s too late now. he draws back slowly, hands curled around the privacy curtain until the fabric is creasing and knotted in his fingers. “wait. . .”

“go, draco,” you demand. “i have shit to do. business to take care of.”

“y/n-”

“go, draco!”

he stares at you a moment longer before running a hand through his hair and walking out the room. you wait till the door is closed, and then you wait till his footsteps can no longer be heard, and then you throw the box of trinkets to the ground, watching the emerald slip across the wooden floor.

---

the streets of london always look a little different when you’re angry. a little more violent. a little more real.

muggle london in itself has always felt like a very hostile place to you, but when you’re angry, things get clearer. you notice the vomit stain on the curb, the neglected baby pram in the bush, the beer bottles smashed beneath window sills. it becomes a different place - it just depends on how you’re feeling.

tonight, you are angry, and everything around you is angry, too.

you just want a set of car keys, not the actual car. muggle car keys sell at a good price, depending on who you’re dealing with. nobody has requested them, and usually you don’t go out unless asked to do so by a client, but tonight, you just want to be out. you want to be away from the wizarding world. you want to cause havoc with your fingers in the best way you know how.

it’s busy. it always is. you can guarantee that almost everyone around you has car keys in their pocket - that’s why global warming is so bad. some of them even wear them around their neck, dangling from multicoloured chains with little souvenirs banging against their chests. those would be so easy to just rip off and run away, but you’ve decided to be subtle, which means your eyes are trained on the bulges in people’s coat pockets. so many of them, so careless.

a man in a tracksuit seems like the best option. you follow him for ten minutes, keeping your head down, before he finally breaks away from his group of drunken friends. he laughs to himself, stumbling just the perfect amount - he’s drunk, but not drunk enough to be falling over himself, which makes slipping your hand into his pocket a pretty easy deal.

you go for the kill, quickening your pace, dipping your hand into his pocket-

he grabs your wrist, and before you even have a chance to blink, you’re on the ground.

a gasp is ripped from your throat at both the shock and the pain that spears up your spine. the guy is yelling, stumbling back, and holy shit, if he doesn’t shut up right now, the whole of london is going to be on you.

gathering as much strength as you can, you roll onto your side and push yourself to your knees. “hey man, calm down. sorry. i thought you were my friend.”

“did you just try and rob me?” he yells.

“no! no, of course-”

“you psycho bitch!” he lunges for you, all drunken vowels and grabby hands. you have no idea what to make of his intentions, you just know you’ve fucked up, and you need to get out of here.

his hands slam into your shoulders, knocking you on your ass. a cry escapes you, but not from the pain. a tiny snap sounds from your back pocket, and you know without having to look that your wand has just broken in half - yet again. dumbledore is going to start getting very suspicious.

“son of a bitch,” you growl, before raising your hands. “listen, hey. i’m sorry. i’ve said that already. you need to calm down before-”

“before what?” he howls. “you kill me? are you threatening me?”

your eyes widen. “no! would you just-”

the man opens his mouth to say something else, but his words are sucked back in when a hand wraps around his arm and yanks him back. you wince at the sound of his head cracking against the tarmac, but you don’t get a chance to comment before draco is kneeling beside you, one hand cradling your head, the other resting on your knee. his touch alone is enough to spread warmth through your previously frozen limbs, and you hate that. you hate it so much.

you tug your knee from his grip. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“are you bleeding?” he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. when he pulls away, his fingertip glows with a red liquid.

“oh. i guess i am.”

“christ, y/n. do you ever just...” he closes his eyes, taking a moment to redirect his anger. it’s an amusing sight, and you almost smile until you remember you’re mad at him. forever mad at him.

you jerk your head out of his grip, too. “i’m fine. stop worrying.”

“clearly i have to, or else you’re going to get yourself killed.” he glances over his shoulder, where the drunken man is struggling to sit up, still slurring protestations. “by a muggle.”

“he wouldn’t have killed me,” you grumble. “although my wand is broke, so maybe he would have.”

draco’s eyes widen. you wave him off before he has a chance to chastise you again - in truth, you just want to get out of here, car keys be damned. hastily, you push yourself to your feet, wobbling only slightly, but draco must see this tiny action as a full-on collapse risk, as he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close, grumbling curses under his breath. you’re such a pain in the arse, apparently, and god, he wishes he wasn’t stuck with you all the time, and he’s so baffled by the fact you’re still alive, it’s probably all thanks to him, blah, blah, blah.

you listen to him rant the entire way back to malfoy manor. you don’t argue his choice of location, because you can see narcissa standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and you already know she’s got a cup of tea waiting for you in the sitting room. you almost smile, but that would ruin the effect.

she rushes out to meet you and draco halfway, immediately grabbing your face and tilting your head back and forth. you can taste blood on your teeth.

“what happened?” she breathes, but doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “draco, take them into the lounge.”

“oh, the lounge,” you coo. “you are spoiling me!”

“be quiet,” draco hisses, doing as his mother says. he tosses you unceremoniously onto the plush sofa, and you have to ignore the inappropriate thrill that shoots up your body.

narcissa appears not ten seconds later, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. you give her a grin, which she rolls her eyes at, even as she sits beside you and brushes your hair away from your face. you take a sip of the tea, smile in thanks, and then lean your head back.

“sorry about this.”

narcissa sighs. her breath tickles your cheek, smelling oddly of incense. “i don’t know what we’re going to do with you, y/n.”

“put me down.” you make a stabbing gesture into your arm and mouth lethal injection at draco. he purses his lips, clearly not taking the joke in stride. “i didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

“you’re always worrying us,” draco hisses, which earns him a sharp look from narcissa. he meets his mothers eyes and his shoulders deflate. he runs his hands down his face. “you’re just . . . always doing something.”

“i know,” you mumble. “sorry.”

“draco, don’t stress them out,” says narcissa, which surprises you; you’ve always known narcissa has a secret soft spot for you, but she’s always tried her hardest to keep it just that - a secret. yet here she is, combing your hair back, giving you a cup of tea, telling her son to treat you nicely. it’s like you’ve entered a different world. “i’m gonna go and make some calls. keep them comfortable, okay?”

draco nods, lips still pursed, forever displeased. you used to laugh at that expression on his face, but now it just makes you feel bad.

narcissa leaves the room, and then it’s just you and draco. you watch as he watches you, eyes never wavering, shoulders never relaxing. he’s got his arms folded over his chest like he’s keeping guard.

“i meant it, you know,” you say. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i thought it would be an easy job.”

“who are you doing business with now? bailey again?”

“no.” you look down, surprisingly shameful. “it was just for myself. i needed out of the castle, and. . .” you shrug. “you know me. i can’t do anything easy.”

he scoffs. “yeah, i know.”

“so i’m sorry.”

draco closes his eyes and rubs his temples. the rings on his fingers glisten beneath the fancy lights. his knuckles pop, the veins in his arms protruding. “please stop apologising.”

you blink. “alright.”

“you act like i don’t understand why you’re doing all this, but i do.” he looks at you, hands dropping to his sides. “just because i don’t have to do it myself, doesn’t mean i don’t understand. why else do you think i haven’t stopped you?”

your breath catches. you raise a brow, tilting your head cruelly. “you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. you think i’d listen to you?”

“yeah. i think you would.”

you reel back, jaw dropping open. “excuse-”

“you always act like you hate me, but you forget you’ve been coming to my house for years. you forget i’ve known you since we were eleven. you forget that i don’t just put up with anyone. i’ve had time to figure you out, y/n, no matter how much you like to pretend i haven’t.” he folds his arms and leans against the door. his hair is rumpled, along with his shirt and jeans. so casual, so unlike himself. “but earlier on, in the dorms. . . you surprised me with that one.”

your stomach curls. oh, good god, he’s bringing that up now. you’re sat here with a busted chin and a potential criminal charge, and he’s bringing this up. you could headbutt him.

despite your glare, he continues. “i knew you didn’t hate me, but i never thought. . . i never thought you liked me, you know? especially not-”

“don’t say it.”

his lips twist. “i have to.”

“no you don’t.”

“do you love me?”

your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, which is answer enough for you. love is such a strong word, and you could easily say no, that what you feel for draco is nothing more than a little crush. he’s got the nice blue eyes, and the money, and the perfect hair. he’s got a smile that lights up rooms. it’s a crush. you fancy him, and that’s all there is to it.

but love sounds pretty accurate. more accurate, actually.

you swallow. draco watches the bob of your throat, and you watch his. above your head, the massive clock ticks, ticks, ticks.

slowly, he reaches forward and swipes his thumb over your chin. it stings just a little, but you’ve felt worse pain, so you let him do it without jerking away.

“cat got your tongue?” he whispers.

you shiver. “i don’t. . . i don’t know what you want me to say.”

“it’s not about what i want. i was asking a simple question. just give me the truth.”

“you want the truth?”

he inhales, hesitates, and then nods.

“yeah, draco,” you whisper. “i think i love you.”

slowly, draco draws away. his eyes never leave your own, that frosty blue colour reminding you of the winter sky, or a cold december morning. you remember all those christmas’s at hogwarts when draco would stay at the castle, waking him up because you thought it would annoy him to have your face be the first thing he sees. you always commented on the dreary smile that played on his lips when you did that, and he would always say, “i thought you were someone else.”

but that dreary smile is returning, pulling across his face, and it doesn’t falter. right now, there is no mistake. his eyes are on you, and he knows it is you, the person who has apparently made his life a living hell for so many years. you’re the ache in his spine, the one he can’t wait to get rid of.

but you’re also the one he rescued from the rain.

you’re the one who cursed hermione granger when she punched him in the nose.

you’re the one who’s just confessed your love to him.

shit.

“don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice hoarse. “don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

“i didn’t know,” he says immediately, like he’s desperate for you to know he was clueless. “did you know?”

“kind of. i wanted to ignore it-”

draco shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no, no. did you know that i love you, too?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. your brain just short circuits, taking a second to catch on to what he’s said. that dreary smile is still playing at his lips, and you’re waiting for the moment it turns into a sneer, a mocking little smirk.

it doesn’t.

“oh right,” you mumble. “no. i had no idea.” you pause. “are you taking the piss out of me?”

he laughs, a rare and pleasant sound. he approaches you, kneels at your side on the sofa and cups your head in his hands. you melt into him, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to pull away, to run away, because this is nothing more than false hope. he’s playing a trick on you. you’ve annoyed him to breaking point, and now he’s found the perfect chance for revenge.

but his hands are so warm, and nice, and your cheek dips into his palm so easily, like it belongs there.

“you’ve always been kind of not smart in my eyes,” he says.

your eyes widen. “hey!”

“kidding. i’m kidding.” he chuckles, running his thumb along your lower lip. “but you’re not doing your intelligence any justice right now. i thought i was making my feelings pretty clear.”

you glare; he knows full well he hasn’t made his feelings clear. neither of you have. you’ve spent the past seven years pretending to hate each other.

he grins. “okay, maybe i didn’t make it so easy. but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.”

“i still don’t believe you.”

he raises a brow. “why?”

you shrug. “it just doesn’t seem possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like me.”

his eyes soften. “wow. maybe you are not very smart.”

before you have a chance to protest, he kisses you. just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or maybe like it’s an action he’s been waiting to do for years, and now he’s finally got the chance. that’s what it’s like for you, this coil unravelling in your gut after years and years and years of ignoring it’s existence.

you run your hands through his hair, tugging on those pesky strands at the back that always stick up because he refuses to wear anything other than collared shirts. he growls into your mouth, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until your legs are tangled with his, and his fingers are tracing a line down the centre of your throat. he stops at the hollow, just to feel the bob of your throat as nerves spiral through you. he grins against your mouth, pulling away to see the shock in your eyes.

he’s so proud of himself. he’s made you a mess.

you smile awkwardly, trying to regain some amount of composure. he watches you, heavy lidded, one hand still clutching your knee as the other curls around your throat, just where your neck and shoulders meet. the way he stares at you, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

“so,” you begin. “you’re worry wasn’t actually just for your family name, was it?”

draco sighs, plonking his forehead against your own. “no, y/n, it wasn’t. my worry was losing you. which i very nearly did tonight.”

“don’t be so dramatic. i wouldn’t have died.”

“you could have.”

“but i wouldn’t have, because that guy was drunk, and a muggle, and-”

“are you two arguing again?”

you and draco jump apart as narcissa storms into the lounge, wand clutched to her chest. her narrowed eyes are firm on draco.

“i told you to keep them comfortable!” she exclaims. “can you not put your differences aside for ten minutes?”

you grin, teasingly running a finger along draco’s spine. “yeah draco. listen to mummy.”

he growls, but turns to narcissa and says, “sorry, mother. you know how y/n gets.”

“yes, i know,” narcissa mumbles. “but they’re injured. now, let me take this phone call, and then we’ll set up the guest bedroom. can i leave you alone for ten more minutes?”

“yes,” you and draco both reply immediately. narcissa hums, and walks out.

draco immediately spins, grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, slamming his lips to yours. you laugh against his mouth, melting into the embrace for only a second before pulling away and saying, “she’s trusting us to behave for ten more minutes, draco. this isn’t behaving.”

“oh, fuck that,” he scoffs. “come here.”

you let him pull you closer, closer than you have ever been with him before, because you’ve always been so convinced he never wanted you more than a few feet away from him. suddenly, everything draco has ever said to you is reconstructed in your mind, every action, every little look.

you wonder if he’s doing the same.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fic #hp #draco x reader

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twicearoundthesun · 3 years ago

Text

Spies au

[2018]

“How do you know her again?” Jihyo squinted at the file.

Chaeyoung smirked. “I did a couple tattoos for her.”

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. She didn’t want to think about the health codes a prison stick-and-poke tattoo violated, but Chaeyoung herself was littered in them.

“What? I had a business.”

“What’d she trade you?”

“Cigarettes. She had a job in the kitchen, allowed her a bit of money for shit at the commissary.”

“Why didn’t you ask for the money?”

“I didn’t want the money, I wanted the cigarettes.” Chaeyoung took a sip of coffee. “And she was a good friend. Kind. But...” She smiled a little. “Not soft. Unless you were the right person.”

“Alright, tell me about her. Why she was in jail?”

Chaeyoung leaned forward and spread out the papers from the file. She lifted up a picture of a young boy. “Her sister’s kid was sick. Like, long-term sick. They couldn’t afford the treatment. She got wrapped up with the wrong people, started doing a little dirty work for money. A bruiser, basically. Delivery sometimes.”

Jihyo recognized the nephew almost immediately. He was mystery the kid in Japan that Chaeyoung always checked on, not as covertly as she thought. Chaeyoung’s relation to him had stumped her and Mina since they’d first found out about him.

“And then she robbed a bank?”

“Money got too tight. Asked her boss for bigger jobs, the boss stuck her on a bank robbery. Full bank, middle of the day. It went south, turned into a hostage situation. Everyone on the crew got away except her. They just left her there. One of the hostages, an old lady, actually testified for her in court – some kid on the crew panicked, was about to shoot the old woman until she stepped between them. Risked her life. She was the only one not armed, too, that got her some leeway.”

“So three years in prison at twenty years old. What happened to her sister?”

“She’d made a deal with the boss. Anything happens, her cut goes to her sister.”

“And he held up his end of that?” Jihyo said. That was unheard of – in most of these circles, if you didn’t make it, the money goes to those who did. Chaeyoung just picked up the picture and waved it a little.

“Something about a sick kid melts a lot of hearts.”

“Fair. Could they help the kid?”

“She cut off communication so that they wouldn’t trace her sister’s money back to her. The last she heard from her sister she was fleeing back home to Japan. No family there, but I guess there’s something to be said about being surrounded by people who speak your native language.”

Jihyo frowned, and nodded a little. She was a little surprised Chaeyoung was still lying to her, but she understood it was for the girl in the file’s privacy. The less people that knew her sister had taken dirty money, cured her kid and disappeared back to Japan, the better. Still – it had been over a year, she’d hoped she had more of Chaeyoung’s trust by now.

“And the last you heard from her sister?”

Chaeyoung froze. “Excuse me?”

Jihyo only lifted an eyebrow. She didn’t take the question back.

Chaeyoung sighed. “How’d you find out?”

“Finding things out is what I do.” When Chaeyoung frowned at her, she continued. “People with no family anywhere don’t typically get mail from Kyoto, Japan. That, and when you first got here you had Dahyun find their medical records.”

“She told you!?”

“You were new. New kids aren’t allowed big secrets. She was worried it was maybe your kid, or something, though you’re a little young for that. Good to finally see where he fits into your life though. Had me stumped for a while. ‘Prison buddy’s sister’s kid’ isn’t really where you start guessing – but that’s good, that’s not where anyone else would start, either.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you say something? Call me out for lying? You told me I had to be completely transparent about my past or I could put you all in danger.”

Jihyo knit her brow. “Having a soft spot for your friend’s sick nephew doesn’t put anyone in danger. I’d just be careful – if they’re still looking for that money, and they link you to your friend and her sister to you, they could come knocking on her sister’s door.”

“I know. I am careful. We use a PO box here, and decoy addresses and names for everyone.”

“I expected as much.” Jihyo shifted the papers around. “He’s better now, right?”

“Full remission, yeah. And Hana has a steady job that supports them well… They’re doing well for themselves. Because of her. And I let her know that, too. Used fake names to tell her, but… Told her that it wasn’t all in vain.”

Jihyo smiled.

Chaeyoung cleeared her throat. “So… Will you consider? She won’t go back to her sister when she gets out, she’s too afraid of the detectives figuring out where the money came from. She doesn’t really have anyone.”

Jihyo looked back down at the file in front of her.

Hirai Momo.

“Let me run a few background checks, Chaeng.”

#ok so this isnt the angst #but lets look a lil closer at Spies au Momo!#Spies AU #Jihyo #Chaeyoung #Momo

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hlizr50 · 3 years ago

Text

You Belong with Me

Azriel and his brothers are high-power executives, and while the Valkyrie ladies always attend the fancy dinners and events, Gwyn is NOT wealthy and is the only one who isn't attached to someone who is. When Gwyn volunteers to take Azriel to the cabin early to prep for their big family/friends vacation, they have a conversation about how she might have to cut back. Add in banter and hours of Gwyn unabashedly belting Taylor Swift, and Az realizes that not having her around is just not an option.

Guys... I've never cared for AU, never been big into song lyrics. But my soul just needed this to be a thing. So here it is.

Read on AO3

“You sure this thing is gonna get us there?” Azriel’s smug grin only earned an eyeroll from the redhead on the other side of the car, opening the driver’s side door.

“Just put your shit in the trunk and get in the car,” she huffed across the weathered blue of the roof. He chuckled, slinging his suitcase into the trunk as the door slammed – maybe with a little extra force. He loved poking at her, and he knew she would dish it right back. After closing the trunk he returned to the open door on the passenger’s side and lowered himself into the well-worn leather seat. “You know not all of us are fortunate enough to be high-level executives at multi-million dollar companies. But rest assured that this historical document restoration expert and her 16-year-old Toyota with 154000 miles are going to get you to the cabin safe and sound. Because you insisted on getting there a day early to make sure everything is secure.” Gwyn deepened her voice, giving him her best Azriel impersonation. And maybe he was being a bit… overzealous. But he had always been the most keenly aware, the most protective. He may have been CFO, but he was also deeply involved in security – both from the standpoint of the organization and of it’s employees. And his family.

He simply smirked, “If you say so.”

“You’re insufferable,” she groaned, turning the key. The car rumbled to life, and Azriel had to admit that he was impressed with how quiet it still seemed to run. He was sure Gwyn was a stickler about maintenance. “Just for that, you are sentenced to three hours of me serenading you with the best songs Taylor Swift has to offer.”

“Oh, Gods, anything but Taylor Swift.” Azriel grimaced, hiding the secret joy he rarely let her see. He loved it when she sang. Her voice was lovely, of course, but what hit him harder was how she seemed to radiate joy when she did it.

Gwyneth Berdara wasn’t quiet and shy like he tended to be – not by a long shot. She was irreverent and blunt and bold. But he could see the shadows that hid just behind the shimmer in her eyes – he could tell there were demons there. Her sister had been murdered four years before, in the apartment they both had shared, and it had wounded her deeply. Nesta had mentioned that there was more to the story, but that it was only Gwyn’s to tell. So, yes, she definitely had darkness that followed her, but she kept it well hidden. He’d learned, as they had become friends, that she often grew anxious in large crowds or chaotic environments. She didn’t feel safe, and that had always bothered him. Regardless of how many people were around or how crazy it was, her friends were there with her. He was there. Whatever it was that kept her so on edge, he imagined that the lingering sadness in that deep ocean gaze and the faraway wistful look that sometimes passed over her features were a part of it.

But when she sang she was a beacon of light, with the brightest smile and rosy, freckle-flecked cheeks.

“Don’t you dare disrespect the goddess T. Swift,” she glowered, and as they pulled onto the highway he lost himself in the lilting notes of her car concert.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been driving – at least seven works of the goddess T. Swift – when he reached for the volume knob on the console and turned it down.

“Are you coming to the charity gala in a couple weeks?” Azriel looked over at her, noting the light stain of pink gracing her cheeks. She kept her eyes on the road.

“Oh… No.” Gwyn glanced over at him and gave a tight smile, causing him to purse his lips.

“Why not?”

“Az,” she chided, throwing him a stern look. “It’s too expensive. I can’t afford a seat and a dress. Hell, I probably can’t even afford one or the other.” He stayed silent, mulling over the understanding that money wasn’t something he ever had to worry about, and how he could make that not a problem for her. “Besides, you know how I am with crowds like that. I’d probably just have an attack and ruin everyone’s night.” She tried to laugh it off, and that troubled Azriel even more. Because she had seemed disappointed just then when she said she wasn’t going.

“Do you want to go, Gwyn?” He prodded. I want you to go. She sighed, adjusting herself in her seat to straighten her back.

“It doesn’t matter. Like I said, it’s really not possible for me.” She shrugged, as if that was it.

But that wasn’t it. Everyone was going to be there. She should be there, too. She should be there, with him.

“You know we would help –“

“I know, Az. But I’m not asking you, or Rhys. I’m not asking anyone. I can’t keep depending on everyone else just to go to events and dinners and whatever else.” She sucked in a breath. “I just… I don’t live the same life that the rest of you do. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just how it is.”

“Gwyn, you know nobody cares about that.” Azriel frowned. “I understand that my family is… fortunate. Privileged. But you and Nesta and Emerie are a part of us.”

“It’s not the same, Azriel.” Azriel. The full name. This was more serious than he realized. “Nesta is with Cassian and Emerie is with Mor. It makes sense that maybe they’re taken care of. I’m just… a friend. A friend who is poor.” He opened his mouth to argue but she beat him to it. “And it’s not just about covering food… you go to places with dress codes and too many forks for dinner, and with the company’s increasing success the three of you are only growing more popular and more press-worthy. Especially you.”

“Me?” Azriel swallowed, brows furrowed. “Why especially me?”

Gwyn cast him a pointed look, eyes dark and serious. “You’re the last single brother, Az. You are eligible bachelor number one. All the single ladies in the metropolitan area, if not further out, will be pining for you. If they’re not already.”

Eligible bachelor number one. He rolled his eyes. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Oh Az. Sweet, precious, innocent Az. Have you seen yourself? You’re gorgeous. You’re wealthy, successful, and absolutely beautiful.” Azriel raised a brow and gave her a sideways glance, but she was so stubbornly keeping her eyes trained ahead. It was responsible, of course. She was driving. But not even a peek meant that she was intentionally avoiding looking over at him. The corners of his mouth turned downward, not quite understanding how this conversation had gone the way it had.

“Is that so? Please, tell me more,” he snickered. If there was anything that he knew, it was how to draw her back with teasing. She wouldn’t back down from a challenge, and Gwyneth Berdara was ruthless when it came to having the last word. The corner of her mouth twitched, and he knew she was doing her best not to smile.

“I hate you so much,” she huffed.

“Now, I don’t think that’s even remotely true.” He reached out to pinch the apple of her cheek, but she slapped his hand away, sending a glower that only made him laugh.

“The single ladies can have you. Maybe you’ll find someone else to annoy.”

“Aw, Gwynnie. You know nobody could ever replace you.” And even though it was in jest, it was also… true. “And what would you do without me?”

“Get some peace and quiet for once?” And when the redhead turned with that scrunched freckled nose and her tongue stuck out at him Azriel was relieved to have the playful girl – his best friend – wearing a smile again. “Now shut it or sing along, you have not been punished with nearly enough of our lady Taylor Swift.”

And so the ride continued, but Azriel chewed on his lower lip, contemplating everything Gwyn had said. She was fiercely independent, so he could understand how she might not want to accept what she might perceive as charity, or worse, pity. But the idea of her just not being there… it made something inside of him feel hollow. He reached out and turned down the volume again.

“Why wouldn’t you say anything? About where we’re going to dinner? Or about not being comfortable at big events?” He didn’t even try to hide that he was staring at her, trying to pinpoint any reaction she may have. Once again pink stained her cheeks.

“Az, it’s not like you guys are going to stop going to fancy restaurants so you can come to Wendy’s with me. I don’t want to take away from anyone’s fun.” Fucking ridiculous.

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe we would have less fun without you there?” Azriel tried to keep his tone light, but his temper was flaring. He wasn’t sure why, but it bothered him that she would think she could just… not be there and they would all just go on like it didn’t matter.

“Of course I did,” Gwyn shrugged nonchalantly and threw him a wink. “I know it will be hard but I’m sure you’ll manage somehow. Besides, I don’t plan on just disappearing. I just… need to be more thoughtful about what I’m doing. I’ll just be around… less.” She turned the volume back up and jumped straight into the lyrics, not giving him the opportunity to tell her how preposterous she sounded.

Azriel leaned back in his seat, losing himself in thought with Gwyn’s lovely voice still soothing him in the background. He didn’t know how long he’d been brooding when the volume increased dramatically, blaring through the interior. Looking over he found her tapping on the steering wheel and swaying to the beat of her majesty Taylor Swift. Her eyes were shining, her smile was brilliant, and she sang like she didn’t have a care in the world.

You’re on the phone with your girlfriend, she’s upset

She’s going off about something that you said

‘Cause she doesn’t get your humor like I do

I’m in my room, it’s a typical Tuesday night

I’m listening to the kind of music she doesn’t like

And she’ll never know your story like I do

But she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts

She’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers

Dreaming ‘bout the day when you wake up and find

That what you’re looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I’m the one who understands you,

Been here all along, so why can’t you see

You belong with me

Walkin’ the streets with you and your worn-out jeans

I can’t help thinking this is how it ought to be

Laughing on a park bench, thinking to myself

Hey, isn’t this easy?

And you’ve got a smile that could light up this whole town

I haven’t seen it in awhile since she brought you down

You say you’re fine, I know you better than that

Hey, what you doing with a girl like that?

She wears high heels, I wear sneakers

She’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers

Dreaming ‘bout the day when you wake up and find

That what you’re looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I’m the one who understands you,

Been here all along, so why can’t you see

You belong with me

Standing by and waiting at your back door

All this time how could you not know, baby?

You belong with me

Azriel felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was seeing Gwyn for the first time. Unbridled joy, laughter when she turned to him when she was singing, dancing in the driver’s seat like a passenger’s worst nightmare.

And he couldn’t help but listen to the words, too. Surely that part was coincidence, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was speaking to him… something was speaking to him.

He grinned as she shimmied her shoulders and rocked her head from side to side, wisps of copper flying away from her ponytail.

Oh, I remember you drivin’ to my house in the middle of the night

I’m the one who makes you laugh even though you’re ‘bout to cry

I know your favorite songs and you tell me ‘bout your dreams

Think I know where you belong, think I know it’s with me

Can’t you see that I’m the one that understands you

Been here all along, so why can’t you see

You belong with me

Standing by and waiting at your back door

All this time, how could you not know baby?

You belong with me

Have you ever thought just maybe

You belong with me

“Gosh I think I went too hard on that one. I’m out of breath!” she laughed, and she glanced toward Azriel in the passenger seat. “Have you had enough yet, Az?”

“Never,” he murmured, and her breath caught. She turned her focus back to the road, but kept stealing looks back at him. She seemed unsure of how to respond, but he was also lost in his own head.

He didn’t want to be the eligible bachelor. He didn’t want to annoy anyone else. He knew that he had cared for Gwyn as more than a friend for a long time – Nesta and Cassian had always encouraged him to do something about it. Nesta in particular had assured him that Gwyn felt the same way. But no matter how much Azriel had flirted she never seemed to acknowledge it, never seemed inclined to do something about it. They bantered and challenged and laughed, but never more.

But Nesta continued to be insistent. She told Azriel that there were some things about Gwyn that might keep her from acting upon her affection for him, and maybe he should make the first move. He never had, of course, for fear of rejection and fear of ruining the relationship that they had.

But now suddenly he was looking at a future where she wasn’t always there. He didn’t like the thought of that. He would go to Wendy’s for dinner instead of whatever black-tie restaurant had their reservation. But, furthermore, he would take care of her, like Cassian took care of Nesta. He wouldn’t go to events without her, and he would make sure that she was comfortable and safe while she was there. Because he would keep her close. He would always keep her close.

By the time Gwyn was pulling the car onto the driveway leading to the cabin she was only singing quietly to herself and letting him sit in his own silent thought. And as soon as she parked and turned off the car he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Without a word he ripped off the seatbelt and burst out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He was already crossing across the front when Gwyn popped out.

“What the hell, Az? The car is 16 years old you can’t just slam doors like that –“

Azriel grabbed the back of her neck and crushed his lips to hers. Gods, they were perfect – warm and lush. She inhaled shakily against his mouth and he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. He swept his lips across hers once again before pulling away only slightly, resting his forehead against her own. They were both breathing hard, and her expression nearly sent him to his knees. Gwyn’s teal eyes were wide, shining with surprise and confusion. Her lips were swollen and her freckled cheeks stained crimson. Azriel wasn’t going to give himself enough time to question this, though.

“You’re coming to the gala,” he insisted, gaze flitting wildly between her lips and her eyes before drowning in the ocean pools. “I’m buying your ticket. On our way home after this weekend we’ll go shopping for a dress. And no matter what you wear you will be the most exquisite thing there.”

Gwyn looked up at him, chest still heaving and eyes still wide, and nodded.

“And you’re coming to every dinner and event and anything else after that. Because, no matter what you might think, I don’t want to be there if you’re not there.”

“Az –“

“And when you’re there, you won’t think about money or crowds. Because I’ll be there. I’m going to take care of you and make sure you’re safe. Because I don’t just want you to be there with all of us. I want you to be there with me. Okay, Gwyn?” His eyes bore into hers, willing her to understand, to see what was in his heart.

“Okay,” she nodded. Her breaths had quieted, her eyes were warm, and there was a ghost of a smile there. And Azriel dared to hope that Nesta had been right, and all he’d needed was to take the leap.

“Can I kiss you again, Gwyn?” he asked.

“Please,” she giggled at him, smile widening. He leaned in, this time with much more restraint and care, slanting his lips over her soft ones and gently moving against them. When he pulled away his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin, which grew impossibly bigger when he saw her blushing.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he laughed, still not believing that he had done all that, and that it had… worked?

“I… I’ve wanted you to do that for a long time.” Gwyn sighed and then dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. “So… so just to be clear. You want me… to be…?” Azriel chuckled and ran his hands down her arms and then tangling their fingers together.

“I want to date you. I want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t want to aggravate any other single ladies. I don’t want to be an eligible bachelor. I just want you. We can go to fancy dinners or charity events or the finest fast food restaurants in the metropolitan area.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and then kissed her cheek. “Will you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Of course, Az.” He bent his head and kissed her again. He couldn’t get enough of it. It was like he was making up for lost time.

“As her holy highness Taylor Swift said, you belong with me,” Azriel grinned devilishly. “I can’t help but be suspicious that you planned that… planned to make me fall for your beautiful voice and how adorable you are.” Gwyn tilted her head back and laughed, nearly a cackle full of amusement and contentment.

“I did not plan it, but I’m not going to complain about how it turned out.”

#gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel #gwyn singing taylor swift is a mood #and she totally would #not my usual style

84 notes · View notes

gukyi · 5 years ago

Text

for you, anything | ksj

summary: in the popular online multiplayer game, kingdom, you are the top-ranked knight with money, fame, and power. in real life, you’re a graphic design geek who’s got a very unsubtle crush on her gorgeous coworker, kim seokjin. but when you’re suddenly dethroned from the first place spot in your game, you and your kingdom character embark on a journey to reclaim your title, and learn on the way that things are not always as they seem.

{friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, fantasy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol mention, brief and non-graphic descriptions of violence, this is basically two fics in one so you get double the fun and double the word count!! a/n: once again, a massive, massive thank you to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me!! you can find her on twitter as well under @btspresso_!! she’s the genius behind this enemies to lovers and friends to lovers seokjin fic wrapped up into a nice package just in time for the holidays!! you ever seen a fic with e2l and f2l together? that’s right, i didn’t think so. enjoy!!!

check out the post-script drabble here!

♚ HERE ♚

“Oh, shit!”

From twelve feet away comes the sound of these three things in this order: fingers furiously mashing keyboard keys, wheels of an office chair swiveling angrily on the linoleum floor, and a war cry. All of which could either belong to a video game world championships in a big-city stadium or your simple, office of two-floors in a more-than-one-hundred-stories skyscraper based in graphic design and media for small start-up companies.

“I can’t tell if Photoshop crashed again or if you’re playing that weird online multiplayer game again,” Yoongi grumbles from across the way, where he’s gnawing on a Clif bar in one hand as he mindlessly taps his mouse with the other.

“Please,” Jimin says, carelessly waving a hand. “Don’t act like I haven’t caught you watching My Hero Academia multiple times this year while we were supposed to be doing work, you absolute piece of toast. But if you must know, I was in fact playing Kingdom.”

“I’m going to tell Namjoon,” Yoongi says with zero emphasis, because everybody knows that Namjoon’s got dirt on everybody in the office anyway (including Yoongi) and that if you try to expose somebody else to him, he’ll expose you back. It’s colleague culture.

“And what’s Namjoon gonna do? He already knows you carry a flash drive of illegally-downloaded animes with you wherever you go,” Jimin retorts casually. He’s not wrong, and you can confirm that Yoongi indeed carts around a USB drive in the shape of a pineapple that has 64GB of anime.

“What do I know?”

Namjoon comes trotting into view from the corridor that leads to the gender-neutral bathrooms with glasses hanging from the collar of his sweater vest, a clipboard with nothing attached to it in his right hand, and a steaming cup of jasmine tea (he hates coffee and declares this publicly at least three times a day) in his left.

“You know that Yoongi—”

“Has been doing his work the whole time you were in the bathroom so you don’t need to worry about him,” Yoongi interrupts quickly.

Namjoon shoots both Jimin and Yoongi a suspicious glare, but moves on. He’s got enough blackmail on the both of them to bury them into the next calendar year, but he’s wise, and he only uses it when absolutely necessary. “Just doing checkups on you guys before Boss Man calls me back into his office and gives me a pile of over one hundred hours of work I’m supposed to do in a forty-hour work week.” It’s been obvious from the moment you were hired that Namjoon does the most work out of anybody in this office, including your boss, and gets very, very little from it.

“You don’t even have any paper attached to your clipboard,” Taehyung points out rather unhelpfully, from where he’s been drawing hearts on the cheeks of the Surprised Pikachu meme he’s taped up on the wall his desk is pushed up against.

Namjoon looks down at his clipboard like it just spit mad fire at him, furrows his brows, and lets out a sigh equivalent to three years worth of pent-up aggression. “Shit.”

Jimin cackles from his computer.

“Whatever, I’m still going to do checkups.” Namjoon takes the pen from behind his ear and writes himself a note, presumably to get paper for his clipboard later. “Jimin, you’re still working on that website layout for the art critic and photographer. Yoongi’s on coding for that search engine that we all know is never taking off but is still paying us. Taehyung’s on marketing because he’s got the most charming voice and Hoseok and Jungkook are on media production for the indie movie company. Y/N and Seokjin, you guys are on clientele and coding. Everybody good before I go get more paper?”

“Yes, Tiny but Large Boss Man,” Jimin says, and it’s enough of a confirmation to send Namjoon scurrying down the corridor again in search of paper as everyone else returns to their prior business.

“Y/N?”

You turn around from the font website you’ve been browsing for about half an hour to find Seokjin standing behind you, an earpiece in his ear and that charming smile on his face. It’s the same smile he gave you on your first day on the job when he was introducing himself, same smile he gives when he meets clients in person, same smile he gives Namjoon whenever the man is about to have a breakdown. It’s a friendly, personable-but-universal kind of smile. The kind models need. The kind that Seokjin has mastered.

“Hey, Seokjin,” you say, only just then coming to realize that Seokjin is much closer to you than his voice originally implied. You’ve rotated 180 degrees in your office chair and he is hardly a foot away from where your feet are. It’s a lot. Seokjin is always a lot. In the best sort of way. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, just wanted to check in and see how the project was going for that one guy that wanted a nice advertisement to put on Angie’s List,” Seokjin says, leaning down to look at what you’ve been doing.

“Oh, well I’ve been browsing this font website for ages and I still can’t find a nice one for the sub-heading. All of these are too flashy or difficult to read,” you say, beginning to scroll as you and Seokjin both look for one that you like.

“Hmm, I see what you mean,” his voice sounds like honey and if you had any less dignity you’d let the chills send shivers down your spine. Luckily, you know how to maintain your composure in an office setting. And you also know that Yoongi and Jungkook would never let you hear the end of it, ever. “Oh, how about that one?”

“This one? Rose Quartz?” You ask, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “It has a nice flair that matches with the font for the business name, but it’s still easy to read. It would probably look really nice with a crisp shadow behind it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re onto something,” you say, clicking to read the fair use and copyright.

“Couldn’t have done it without all the hard work you’ve put into this,” Seokjin says, standing up and shooting you another one of his famous smiles. “You’re the best partner anybody in this tiny media production and design company could ask for.”

He leaves without bidding you farewell, but it’s enough to have you staring blankly at your computer, contemplating existence itself. Sometimes, a little part of you wonders if Seokjin only treats you like this and none of your other coworkers, but then you immediately remember that Seokjin is naturally charming and that he probably speaks to newborn babies in the same way.

Yoongi wheels over to your desk from where his is, smirk lacing his features as he chews on another, different-colored Clif bar.

“Ever heard of a personal bubble?” You ask snarkily, because you already know why he’s over here, and so does he.

“Why aren’t you asking the same question to Seokjin, hmm?” Yoongi taunts. He’s know about your dumb crush on your coworker (of all people, your coworker! A fellow employee!) for months now. He isn’t being any more helpful whatsoever.

“Go watch your pirated anime,” you grunt out, too overwhelmed with the way Seokjin smiles at you to really give Yoongi your full attention. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Sure, but I’m not Seokjin,” Yoongi says. Then he wheels away and you’re left staring at the Rose Quartz font, whose sample text reads: This was meant to be.

At least Namjoon doesn’t know.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday, and you’re just about to turn off the lamp on your bedside table and get some well deserved weekday-night shut eye when your phone begins to blare, a disgustingly ugly picture of Jungkook’s face appearing on the screen.

You stare at your phone like it’s personally offending you (which, if Jungkook’s face is anything to go by, it definitely is) before you turn off your ringer and close your eyes. Jungkook can wait. Very seldom is he at the top of your list of priorities.

Barely five seconds after you’ve put your head on your pillow, your phone begins to vibrate, this time even angrier than the last. Aggravated and a little concerned—because Jungkook never, ever calls twice—you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Something crazy just happened!”

“I hope so, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me at midnight on a work night,” you grumble into the phone, monotonous voice a stark contrast to Jungkook’s easily excitable one.

“Have you been on Kingdom recently?!” Jungkook asks, and you practically see his eyes bulging out of his head in front of you. One of your youngest coworkers, it’s moments like these that remind you why he bears a striking resemblance to a university student—up late playing video games even on a work night—despite having a couple years in the workforce under his belt. He keeps telling you that he wants to go back to school and get a Masters in something, but he isn’t sure what yet.

“No,” you tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. You typically begin to wind down your night around ten, which means that anything that’s happened on Kingdom in the past two hours you are thoroughly unaware of. “Can’t this wait? Kingdom’s fun and all, but I really do need to sleep.”

“But Y/N,” Jungkook says with a whine, insisting that you stay on the line, “someone beat you! You’re rank two, now.”

If Jungkook’s loud voice and jumpy attitude didn’t wake you before, you’re certainly wide awake now.

“What?” You ask, shocked. “Just now?”

“Yeah, like fifteen minutes ago! I don’t know what happened,” Jungkook says sadly, lost. “I was dueling with another knight when the horns and banners appeared on the screen and said there was a new top player. You’ve been dethroned!” He cries out like it’s him who’s lost their place.

You’re fumbling out of bed, making a beeline for your desktop computer across your bedroom. Normally, you’d be ashamed about how high-school you’re behaving around a video game, but you’ve invested an embarrassing amount of time and energy into Kingdom, and you’ll be damned if you think someone else can outdo you.

As you’re logging onto the game, Jungkook continues to wail into the phone. “I don’t even know who this person is, I feel like I’ve never seen them before! I mean, they must be really good since they practically appeared out of nowhere, but still! I’m a decent player so we must have crossed paths. Maybe I just don’t remember…”

Sure enough, the moment you open your screen the horns blare and the banners appear, congratulating a different player on achieving the top rank. You watch helplessly as the celebration fades on your computer before the leaderboard appears in the top left corner, your name a sad second place.

“Who’s JK0901?” You shout into the phone, earning an exasperated sigh from Jungkook on the other end. You scowl at the name that’s knocked you off your pedestal, before narrowing your eyes to look at it more closely. “JK? Is that you, Jungkook? Are you just calling me to make fun of me for beating me? Don’t disrespect your elders, Jungkook.”

Jungkook gasps like he’s been accused of murder. For people that take Kingdom as seriously as you and Jungkook, it may as well be. “No! What the heck, Y/N, you know that my username is KookieMonster97, for God’s sake. Accusing me of being the best, how could you?”

“You should have just taken the compliment,” you frown into the phone, “Now all the girls are gonna know you aren’t, in fact, the number one Kingdom player.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jungkook mutters. “But it’s not me, I swear. You would have received a very different phone call from me if it was. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have even told you and then ruined your day in the office tomorrow. So it’s not me.”

“I can’t tell if I’d be more or less angry if it was you,” you admit.

“Why, because I’d finally have something to hold over your head other than my unwavering youth?” Jungkook taunts. Definitely still a university student at heart.

“No, because it means I’d have to hear the entire office praise you for a day, and I’d rather permanently pop my eardrums,” you tell him informatively. Jungkook has enough of a head. You actively try to not do anything to enlarge it unless he wholeheartedly deserves it.

“I love our coworker chats, you know,” Jungkook says. “Whoever this person is though, I bet they’re receiving bucketloads of praise for knocking you off the top spot. You’ve had it for like, three months now, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this game and look how it’s repaying me,” you grumble, staring down the Kingdom home screen.

“JK0901 probably did a ritual sacrifice to beat you,” Jungkook supplies unhelpfully.

You sigh. Whoever they are, they proved that they are just as good at Kingdom as you are, a veteran player with an embarrassing several years of experience under your belt. In fact, they proved that they’re better than you.

♚ THERE ♚

It’s cloudy today, which means that more of the market stalls are out on the main street. You pass by them on your way to the castle, vendors calling out to you with promises of apples, jewelry, and perfumes.

You’ve got money to burn and your responsibilities can wait a couple of minutes, so you indulge one of the stalls and purchase a couple of apples. One should give you a bit of energy now, and the rest can be roasted later for a better meal.

“Miss Y/N, off to the palace?” The vendor asks. From how much you frequent this part of the kingdom, every artisan, farmer, and merchant alike knows your name. That, and the fact that you’ve amassed quite a group of followers from your daily knightly escapades.

“Of course,” you respond happily, paying the merchant with a couple of silver coins and then some, just as a thanks. The extra money helps the farmers raise the quality of their crops and allows them to earn more for their efforts. It also boosts your standing amongst the townsfolk. “His Majesty requested my presence for further instructions on fortification, most likely. But I’m just honored to be recognized.”

��As you should!” The man responds dutifully. “You are our best knight, after all.”

“Please, you flatter me. When the work day is done, go home and feed your children well, alright?” You ask, giving a firm nod to the merchant before you’re on your way. As you stroll down the stone-paved path, other vendors call out to you, hoping that you, too, will indulge in their finest clothes and trinkets on your way to the castle.

Maybe another day.

You take a hearty bite of the apple as you head towards the palace, a satisfying crunch ringing through your ears as the townsfolk nod and bow to you. It’s easy to figure out that you’re the top-ranked knight in the kingdom, with badges of honor pinned to your torso, ink black armor clinging tightly to your body, and red sashes tied around the black ones on your wrist, signifying approval from the highest ranking military official in the kingdom: the king himself.

The guards at the palace gates step aside as you nod to each other, bowing courteously. You repeat this process several more times as you slowly proceed towards the throne room, where the King (and maybe the Queen) are likely to be waiting for you. They had increased their security at every door frame after an attempted assassination several months ago, which you (with the help of other high-ranking knights and castle officials) discovered was a plot orchestrated by Their Majesty’s second-most-trusted advisor.

Finally, you reach the golden arches that signify that you’ve arrived at the most expensive room in the entire palace (save for Her Majesty’s bathroom, which, though you have never been inside, is rumored to have a golden bathtub and sacred water from the River Blancheur, over two thousand miles away. But you cannot confirm nor deny.), threatening red doors slowly creaking open as the King and Queen come into view.

They’re sitting on their thrones, as per usual, but they aren’t the only ones in the room like they normally are. Instead, there’s another knight, as equally decked out as you, standing before them, arms crossed behind their back.

“We hope that you can wear these honors proudly and do your duties with pride,” the King says regally, deep, thick voice echoing throughout the room.

“I will stop at nothing to ensure this kingdom’s greatness,” the knight says back, just as formal. The knight gives a long bow, red sashes around their wrist dangling towards the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being replaced. But of course, that’s not the case.

“Oh, Y/N,” the Queen says happily, noticing your waiting right in front of the closed doors to the throne room. “Prudent, as always.”

“I aspire to please,” you say with a bow. The King gives you a warm smile, one you’re willing to bet that this other knight isn’t often on the receiving end of.

“Your timing is impeccable,” the King says, ushering for you to come forward. You do so, taking calculated steps along the red carpet, woven nearly two centuries ago and maintained ever since. “We were just congratulating Sir JK on his recent accomplishments in the Black Forest.”

“Of course,” you say with a nod, refusing to turn to your left so you can stare down this Sir JK for yourself. “The military made groundbreaking strides for our kingdom there.”

“You are the first person to know this, other than him, of course, but we’ve decided to appoint him as the Head of the Royal Knights of the Kingdom of Kalar,” the King says proudly.

It takes everything in your willpower not to let your mouth drop open. You blink rapidly, making sure that you aren’t in a daze nor still asleep. Sure enough, you’re wide awake and your ears and eyes seem to be working perfectly. The knight next to you is taking over the highest position a knight can hold in your kingdom, one that even you haven’t been given.

You’ve been replaced.

“What an incredible honor,” you say, body stiff. You can practically feel the ego of the knight next to you radiating off of him. It makes your nerves twitch.

“I think so as well,” the King says proudly. He has, luckily, not picked up on your sudden mood change. “So, I’ve called you here to appoint you as his second-in-command.”

You bow graciously at his words, ensuring that, despite your bitter attitude, you are still thankful for this opportunity. Mostly. You are mostly thankful for this opportunity.

“I’m honored and grateful, Your Majesties,” you say, head facing the carpet. “I would rather die than let down my kingdom.”

“You two are to work together closely,” the Queen advises, words that make your ears bleed. Oh, wonderful, now you have to work hand-in-hand with the person that stole your favor with the royal household right from underneath your feet? You can think of nothing more enjoyable. “Your cooperation alone will ensure the utmost safety and security of this kingdom.”

“We shall do better than our best,” the knight beside you says. His words make your eyes roll back into your head, but you’ve been a bigger brownnoser in your past. You can forgive that, even if the man next to you radiates an energy you’d rather not surround yourself with.

“I’m pleased to hear it. Your training and work together begins now, so do not hesitate to get to know each other.”

You and him take one baited breath each before turning to each other. You both bow out of obligatory respect, which satisfies the King and Queen well enough. And as you come up, you catch a glimpse of each other’s eyes. His are dark, rounded pupils. They’re hiding something.

You’re determined to figure out what it is.

“Call me J,” the knight says the moment you’ve stepped foot outside of the palace. The setting sun shines dimly on the main road, and many of the vendors are beginning to pack up their belongings in order to head home.

“Okay, J,” you say suspiciously. Everything about him unsettles you slightly. Perhaps it’s the fact that behind the armor and the mask and the badges, he’s extremely good-looking. Or maybe it’s the fact that he swiped the top-ranking knight position right from your fingertips. It must be that. “It’s baffling to me that we haven’t met yet. If you’ve been in such high favor with the King and Queen, then I must have seen you somewhere.” You wonder if he can hear the bitterness lacing your features. You sure hope that he can.

“I guess our paths just never crossed,” J says, taking a bite out of a peach he just purchased from a farmer’s daughter, who was watching over the stall as her father haggled with another vendor. You watched as he winked to the girl as she gave him two peaches for the price of one. “I’m more on the ground than you are, am I not? You spend much of your time strategizing in the castle.”

“You don’t know what I do,” you huff out. He finishes the peach and wraps up the pip in a piece of cloth from his pocket before tucking it away. There is no place to dispose of it on the main street anyway.

“Don’t I?” J says with a sly grin, one that makes you want to kick him in the shin and push him into the grass. “Everyone knows what you do, Y/N. You were the King and Queen’s favorite.”

The way he uses the past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“But, as it seems, being on the battlefield outweighs directing it from above,” J says. He keeps his eyes off of you and his head held high while your gaze focuses in on him out of pure fury, just another way to hold his newfound superiority over your head. Five minutes next to him and he already seems to know how to push every single one of your buttons.

“So it seems,” you say bitterly.

“You and I really must get along, Y/N,” J says casually as you begin to stray from the hustle of the main street. Neither of you seem to have a particularly clear destination in mind, only a path that must be taken for the sake of the greater good. It’s only the prospect that if you do well enough, you’ll impress the King and Queen and regain your favor with them that’s keeping you from socking J in the face and dashing off, taking his second peach with you. “We’ll be spending lots of time together.”

“Doesn’t that sound like the bee’s knees,” you mutter to yourself. For the greater good.

“Should it not?” J asks innocently. It makes you want to wipe that smirk right off of his face, that knowing tone in his voice. “I certainly don’t have a problem with you, Y/N. Do you happen to have one with me?”

He asks it because he knows that whatever you say will incriminate you. He knows that if you say no, you’re a goddamn liar, and that if you say yes, you’re weak. Weak because you’re admitting that you can’t handle spending time with him even though you have to. Weak because you’re showing him that he has power over you.

“No, of course not,” you say, plastering the fakest smile on your face. Two can play at this game. “In fact, would it be alright if I had that other peach? I’m absolutely starving.” You can be civil. If he can, at least.

“Sure thing,” J says, unwrapping the peach from the woven napkin the farmer’s daughter gave him.

You reach out to take it from him, but in the blink of an eye his hand dangles it over your head, too far out of reach for you to grab without losing all of your dignity in the process.

“What do we say, Y/N?” He asks sweetly, like a parent disciplining their child. God, everything he does absolutely aggravates you.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Perhaps you aren’t on the front lines as often as he is, but you sure know how to fight. Maybe now is a good time to remind him that you received the same training he did.

“Please?” You ask, just as saccharine.

“As you request, Y/N,” J says with a bow, finally handing it over.

If this is what the next several months have in store for you, you wonder if maybe sinking down to a lower ranking might be worth it after all, especially if it means you’ll never have to see him and his bouncy hair and dark eyes again.

You take a bite into the peach. It’s sour.

Just your luck.

♚ HERE ♚

When you walk into work the next day, a hush falls over the room.

It’s not even as if the entire office has been quiet so far this workday, not as if the clock struck nine o’clock and everyone decided to start a competition to see who could shut up for the longest amount of time.

(For the record, if anyone were to win that competition, it would be Yoongi, who usually only speaks either 1) when spoken to or 2) to let someone know when they’re being dumb via insult. The first person to lose would be Namjoon, because his job description is to boss people around. And he’s awfully good at it.)

The elevator door dinged on the twenty-third floor and you could hear Hoseok’s loud gasps and Jungkook’s cackled laugh even through the glass door that separates your office from the rest of the companies that take up residence in this particular city skyscraper. And then, as your loafers tapped on the hard linoleum floor and the glass door creaked open, the entire office fell silent.

Quickly, you wonder if you’ve forgotten someone's birthday or if anybody’s due for a celebration of some sort. But nobody’s come to mind and the lights aren’t off, which means that this isn’t the kind of sudden silence that precedes a surprise party.

This is the kind of sudden silence that makes everybody go, “Oh shit.”

It feels like you’re walking on eggshells as you make your way over to your desk. You’re a couple minutes late due to oversleeping (for reasons that start with J and end with -ungkook) so everybody’s already here, and the office should be as boisterous and rowdy as always. And yet, something’s different.

You’re left entirely in the dark in concern with what the reasoning is, so you just decide that you’d rather not be the one to break the tense quiet that’s befallen your office and settle down, logging into your work desktop and checking today’s assignments on Slack.

Five minutes pass and you can’t help but think that, of the many, many days you’ve spent in this office with these people, this has got to be the most awkward by an overwhelmingly long shot. Not even the time Namjoon showed up with his hair dyed purple and traces of a sharpie drawing with a certain phallic design on his cheek was more awkward than this.

It seems that even Namjoon’s picked up on the vibe of your workspace today, walking in and out without a word. He wheels in a portable whiteboard from one of your meeting rooms and writes down everybody’s assignments on the board in his handwriting, which makes his O’s look like D’s.

Ten minutes in and this is the quietest your office has ever been in the history of mankind, probably. You’re almost convinced that genuinely no one will speak to each other until five o’clock, when Jimin’s end-of-work alarm goes off and you all pack up and go home, and that today’s workday is an exercise in meditation and peace, two things that are seldom available in your usual office environment.

And then, out of nowhere,

“Oh my God, I can’t take it anymore,” Hoseok says loudly, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize he had been holding. It’s highly unlikely that Hoseok spent the past ten minutes holding his breath because he wasn’t allowed to talk under your office’s societal norm of silence, but you honestly can’t put it past him. Speaking is essentially the equivalent of breathing to him. “I’ve been wanting to bother Jimin for not responding to my email from yesterday for the past five minutes. I don’t even know why we’re doing this, it’s clear that Y/N doesn’t care at all about what happened.”

“What don’t I care about?” You blurt out, equally as curious as everyone else also seems to release their baited breaths.

Hoseok and Jimin immediately begin to argue about appropriate email-response time between coworkers and Yoongi rolls a couple of feet over from his own desk to enlighten you.

“Jungkook told everyone that you had been docked from your top rank in Kingdom, and the whole office seems to have taken it very seriously,” Yoongi mutters into your ear, making you scrunch up your nose in exasperation. Is he kidding?

“That’s why everyone was so quiet? Because they didn’t want to bring it up?”

“I guess so, but I was just quiet because it was nice to have the whole office shut up for a few minutes in the morning,” Yoongi says with a shrug before wheeling back to his own desk, where an anime you vaguely recognize as Haikyuu!! is playing on his monitor.

Immediately, you whip around to meet eyes with Jungkook, who looks like he’s been expecting your furious glare all morning. He smiles guiltily and can offer you literally nothing other than a mouthed sorry because you two are in a workplace environment where shouting is, generally, socially unacceptable.

Despite your standing on the game, it’s easy to argue and even easier to prove that your coworkers care much more about Kingdom than you do. The loading screen of the castle in Monet’s art style is Hoseok’s desktop background. Jungkook has a little sword decoration next to his computer, and a couple of his pens are official Kingdom merch that you’re pretty sure he purchased from Hot Topic. Taehyung and Jimin play during their lunch break, the only time in the workday where shouting is socially acceptable, and the both of them came to last year’s Halloween party dressed as knights. Even Namjoon’s in on the game, though he rarely has time to play and usually has no idea what everyone else is referencing when they talk about Kingdom.

Contrastingly, you enjoy the game but very seldom do you actually broadcast that affection in public. You need to have at least some semblance of personal dignity in this absolute free-for-all of a place of employment.

So really, it’s no wonder that all of your coworkers acted like it was the end of the world when you got knocked from first place. To them, that would be like having a winning lottery ticket only to drop it onto train tracks and watch as the public transportation system has a field day with it.

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung says as he comes over and hands you a Tootsie Roll from the stash he keeps in one of his desk drawers for bad days. Apparently, this is a bad day. “Jungkook told us and we didn’t want to put salt in the wound.”

Even if their methodology was weird and slightly unsettling, the sentiment was there. “Thanks guys,” you tell Taehyung with a smile, “but I think you guys took it harder than I did.”

“Of course we did!” Jungkook says with a cry. He is objectively the most torn up out of the lot of you. “We had the top player in Kingdom in our very office, and now what! You were famous, Y/N! Whoever that bozo is who took your place is gonna feel the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company.”

“Who’s feeling the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company?” Seokjin asks as he strolls into the office, even later than you. To be fair, it’s looking like he’s got a box of a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, which is enough for anyone to forgive him, even your hard headed boss. “Is it Jimin? Did he steal your Post-Its again? I saw he had a new pack.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for barely a second before they narrow in on Jimin, who is already skirting away to find Namjoon so he can use him as a human shield. Jimin has quite the history of taking Jungkook’s office supplies only for a second and then failing to return it.

“No, but I’m gonna deal with him later,” Jungkook says, fishing through his office supplies on the hunt for his Post-it notes, which may or may not be currently in his possession. “We were just talking about how Y/N got knocked from the top spot in Kingdom by some asshat none of us have ever heard of, and now he’s going to feel the wrath. Of us. Specifically me, but also us.”

“What wrath?” Taehyung jokes. “You’re fresh out of college. You’re practically as intimidating as a baby bunny.”

Jungkook growls just for emphasis, and it only proves Taehyung’s point more. He’s always had a baby face.

“Well, I brought doughnuts to cheer everyone up,” Seokjin says, opening the box to reveal a dozen doughnuts of varying kinds that is likely to be finished within the next thirty seconds.

“Oh my God, Kim Seokjin, I love you,” Hoseok says before immediately taking one and a half and bouncing off.

“Save the pink-frosted one for me, will you? It’s my favorite,” Seokjin requests. He’s not even monitoring the box, too busy putting all his stuff away and getting settled at his desk. He’s basically asking to be robbed.

“Aw, I wanted that one,” you joke sadly, already going for the chocolate-frosted one with rainbow sprinkles. The box is nearly three-fourths empty. Even Namjoon’s materialized out of nowhere to take the glazed one to eat while he completes the next fifty-four things on his to-do list.

“Then let’s split it,” Seokjin says without missing a beat. Your heart does the exact opposite.

“Jimin, you wanna split one with me?” Taehyung asks.

“Ew, gross, no way, I want a whole one to myself,” Jimin immediately rejects.

“I’ll go and grab it,” Seokjin says, standing up to nab the doughnut for some evil being (by the name of Jimin) takes it for himself. He plucks it from the box and takes two napkins, too, walking over to your desk as he splits the doughnut in half.

“For you,” he says casually, like it isn’t making your heart beat out of your chest.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say jokingly, taking the doughnut and placing it on the napkin he hands to you.

“Tell me about this Kingdom thing? You got knocked from first place?” Seokjin asks, making conversation as he lingers by your desk. It’s obvious that nobody’s going to be getting any work done.

“Yeah, but it’s really nothing special. Everyone was making a huge deal out of it, which you should be very glad you missed, because the first ten minutes of this workday were absolutely silent and it was awful in every way that something can be awful,” you tell him.

Seokjin laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. “Then I’m glad that I came late,” he says with a chuckle. “I couldn’t imagine a day where Jimin and Taehyung were silent for more than two minutes.”

“I lived through it,” you say, smiling. “Anyway, everyone seems to have gotten over the fact that I’m no longer the top-ranked Kingdom player. I’m kind of down about it myself, just because I worked really hard, but whoever it is that took over, I’m glad for them. I mean, it’s just a game.”

“That it is,” Seokjin says. “How about a toast to your Kingdom-playing skills, and to whoever it is that beat you.”

“Cheers,” you say, holding out your half of the doughnut.

“Cheers,” Seokjin echoes.

The two of you clink doughnuts, and they squish together awkwardly.

“You should bring doughnuts more often,” You muse.

“If it means we don’t have to work and can just talk like this, then I will,” Seokjin says as he takes a bite, already heading back over to his own desk. He waves goodbye with a smile, and only then do you finally indulge.

Sweet. As always.

♚ THERE ♚

When you were moved to the Military Tactics Unit, the King and Queen pulled you out of military training in favor of you spending more time working on strategies for the Kingdom’s armies rather than sparring with fellow Knights. It was a wise move on the part of Their Royal Highnesses, who feared losing you to a rebel group or warring kingdom, and you didn’t mind not having to engage in the physicality of training with those that would be spending more time on the battlefield.

And at the time, you saw it as a much-needed break from hand-to-hand combat training for years on end when you hadn’t set foot on the front lines in months. But now, that decision has decided to come back and bite you where it hurts.

Because as second-in-command to the Head of the Knights, you (and J, both luckily and unluckily) are tasked with the important duty of supervising the military training of the new recruits. This spells doom in various ways, some of which include (and are not limited to):

Having to spend more time with J.

Having to spend more time with J without letting all of the recruits know you both vastly dislike each other.

Having to spend more time with J in a scenario in which there is constant hand-to-hand combat.

Having to spend more time with J without being able to make up an excuse about needing to attend to urgent military business in order to leave.

Having to spend more time with J.

Attempting to remember how to spar.

So, in essence, you’re screwed.

This is the mindset with which you walk into your very first training session in over six months, a few minutes late, of course. Recently you’ve been attempting to calculate the maximum amount of time you can spend either being tardy or leaving early from events that involve J without you facing any repercussions. So far it’s been working out well.

When you walk in the door, before you can greet any of the recruits or even offer J a slightly sarcastic wave, he says, “Look who’s finally shown up,” loud enough for all of the recruits to turn to look as you stroll in tardy.

“I got held up by a vendor on the main road, my apologies,” you lie like a liar. It’s obvious that J does not believe you whatsoever, but it satisfies the recruits, who return to their business as usual.

“Well, you’re just in time for warm-up,” J says, false positivity radiating throughout every single word.

You walk up to where he stands at the front of the room, wearing much less of his official armor than he normally is. Right now, he stands in front of you in a plain tan cotton shirt and training pants, similar to the rest of the recruits. It’s really quite jarring, to see him dressed so differently from what he usually wears—dark armor and scarlet red sashes. It makes him seem… almost softer.

“Thought you might have bailed on me,” J mutters into your ear as the recruits begin to stretch.

“Have a little more faith in me, for God’s sake,” you grumble in return. You may not like him, but you aren’t about to abandon your responsibilities just because of a little bit of distaste.

“Do you wanna take warm-up, or should I?” He offers, motioning to the recruits. They all look so nervous, so desperate to prove themselves on the first day of training. It reminds you of yourself, like you’re looking into a mirror and a time machine all at once.

“You’re the boss,” you say, unabashedly letting the bitterness seep through your tone. “You choose.”

Unsurprisingly, J decides to let you handle the warm-up session, something that is just a precursor to the main event and therefore, not as important. He takes a couple of steps back and follows your instructions as you go through stretches and basic movements in combat, allowing all of the recruits to get a feel for what knighthood is really like in the Kingdom of Kalar. Warm-up was always your least favorite part during training, so boring in comparison to the sparring and hand-to-hand combat that you would engage in soon after. Sure, it was necessary, but when you were a wide-eyed, overeager trainee, you were willing to risk a pulled muscle if it meant you could beat someone up sooner.

With this in mind, you wrap up the session in a fairly timely manner, letting the recruits do their own stretching after everything absolutely necessary has been covered. It also means that you can sit back and let J do most of the heavy lifting, which, while you’re bitter about him getting all of the attention, is better than having to do it yourself based solely upon memory. You remember combat well enough to handle yourself in the battlefield, but the technicalities of training have completely slipped your memory by now.

J and everything else about him may leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you have to admit that he’s a good teacher and an even better morale booster. This must come from his experience out in the field, on the front lines, where raising his troops’ spirits came as a necessary quality to develop when times were tough.

He speaks slowly, explains everything in enough detail to cover all of the bases without losing attention, and frequently opens up the floor for questions. And as per usual, the recruits already begin to cling to him like vines, desperate to soak up every ounce of knowledge that he doles out.

J doesn’t need the ego boost, that’s for certain.

“Now that I’ve gone through everything, I believe that the best way to learn how to spar is just to start doing it, even if you haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing. Despite what you may think about me, experience is the best teacher,” he says with a smile, earning a laugh from the crowd.

You roll your eyes.

“Um, sir?” A timid recruit raises her hand, her body curled in on herself. You take one look at her, and know that she’ll come out of her shell soon enough.

“Yes, a question?” J asks.

“Would you mind giving a demonstration? Just so we can watch. So we, well, don’t injure ourselves or each other while we’re sparring.”

A demonstration? You blink, having awoken from the trance you had placed yourself in one J stepped up to take over the training session. Doesn’t a demonstration mean… well, you and him?

J seems to come to this realization at the same time that you do, and grins wildly, giddy. He knows exactly how much you’ll hate doing this, which is all the more reason to say yes. “Of course, we’d be happy to. Y/N?”

You hold in the sigh you’ve been wanting to let out for about five minutes now, taking a deep exhale as you turn to face J. You’ve been in close proximity to him before, but you are about to get a whole lot closer.

“If you say so,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep this as lighthearted and casual as possible. Though, both of those things are likely to be tossed out the window now that you’re about to spar with your worst enemy.

J grabs a mat from the side of the room to lay down on the floor in front of you, and the two of you step onto it. Instantly, you’re transported back to when you were still in training, bouncing up and down on your feet with your fists raised in front of you, ready to take on the next recruit. You had always been quite good at sparring, back then.

Now is a completely different story.

“Are you ready?” J asks as you face each other in front of a crowd of recruits, all of whom are watching you with hawk-like intensity.

“Guess I can’t say ‘no’, can I?” You joke, though if J offers you a way out of this, you’d gladly take it, shame and dignity be damned.

“Well then, do your worst.”

He’s an open target. You’ve never been given an opportunity to sock him in the face before now, and you’d absolutely love to take it, but this is a sparring session, not a revenge session. That can be saved for a later date. Instead, you bounce on your feet like a nervous, excitable recruit, and aim for his neck.

He easily dodges, but you expected that, and counter his attack with your leg. It goes back and forth like this, as your muscle memory kicks in and you remember exactly what sparring was like back in your training sessions. For a few seconds in the middle of it, you genuinely think you and him are on a pretty level playing field.

And then—

One punch gone wrong and he’s got you lifted up off of the ground and onto his back, having grabbed your wrist at the perfect time to hoist you over his shoulder. You gasp in shock, body not necessarily remembering this part, and then—

He slams the both of you down onto the mat, your back hitting the cushion with a thud as the breathe gets knocked from your lungs. You definitely haven’t done this part in a while.

You know the recruits are all watching you intently, but you refuse to lose like this, even if this is normally the part where the person pinned underneath the other one surrenders. With both of your arms and all of your force, you attempt to shove J off of you by using your elbow to punch him in the chest. If you go down (which you most certainly will), you will go down with a fight.

He sees your move coming from a mile away, and immediately pins both of your arms above your head with a simple swish of his hand. The other one is holding up his body by your head as you both stare at each other, breathing heavily. His leg sits in between both of yours, resting up against your thigh, and his head hovers a very dangerous less-than-three inches away from your own. If a particularly near-sighted person were to stumble upon the both of you, you’d be absolutely screwed.

The both of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a second, the wind knocked out of you. You never quite realized what his face looks like up close. His cheeks are bright red. But it’s a second too long because the recruits have gone silent, refusing to applaud or do anything else to signal that the sparring match is over.

And then, it feels like a million years pass as J slowly removes himself from on top of your body, standing up and dusting his hands off before leaning down and offering his hand to help you up. Too floored and absolutely speechless to reject his extended palm like you normally would, you grab onto his hand and let him hoist you up, unable to speak.

“How was that for a demonstration?” J asks the recruits, who are all blinking like they’ve just witnessed something far too shocking for their liking.

Another trainee, a boisterous young man who walked into today’s session with his energy fully up and his eyes on the prize, raises his hand. “Could you show us again?”

You and J take one look at each other.

No. Way.

♚ HERE ♚

Because your office is both tightly knit and also uncannily resembles a cast of grown adults playing various high school stereotypes in a Hallmark movie, every year you do Office Superlatives. Office superlatives are basically an excuse for everyone to come up with a way to insult each other 1) while getting paid to do so and 2) without facing any repercussions whatsoever.

For three years in a row, your office has designated you as “Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Really Important”, a superlative that came about because on your very first day, you spilled your coffee on the one and only Kim Namjoon, who you then mistook as your boss, and thus ensued the most embarrassing one minute and thirteen seconds of your entire life in front of a bunch of colleagues you would have to see every weekday for the foreseeable future.

Thankfully, you haven’t spilled your coffee on anyone important since then, even if you do regularly knock over your pencil cup and send every pastel-colored highlighter flying across the hardwood floor. It became such a frequent occurrence that, for April Fool’s Day last year, Taehyung and Jimin taped every single thing on your desk to your desk to see how long it would take you to notice.

(It took you over three weeks, but that’s besides the point.)

“I know that the saying is ‘the customer is always right’, but this client I’m working with right now is literally wrong,” Taehyung says with a sigh. He collapses back in his office chair, mindlessly playing with the fur of the stuffed Pomeranian dog he keeps on his desk, staring down the email on his desktop. “Like, I’m not Squarespace or Wix. Either you pay me to design your website entirely, or you do it yourself. I’m not a drag-and-drop of a person, and I don’t get paid to be consulted on every font choice.”

“Didn’t you write on your resume that you can identify every standard Microsoft font without being told the name?” Yoongi asks with a frown from across the office. He’s making the most of his gigantic desktop computer, and has a tab open with One Punch Man right next to a Photoshop logo design he’s working on.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Taehyung says with a frown. “I need someone who knows how to let people down easily.”

“Jimin?” Hoseok pipes up unhelpfully, earning an eraser to the face from Jimin, who is notorious for going on a bunch of first dates and very, very seldom going on a second one. You don’t even think that for the entire time you’ve known him, he’s ever gone a third date with someone. Ever.

“Do not make fun of my lifestyle choices!” Jimin shouts out defensively. “I just like meeting new people.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says like a white girl in a Disney Channel Original Movie, “and then never meeting them again.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Jimin tells him pointedly, already beginning to stand up from his office chair to attempt to further convince him that serial-first-dating isn’t all that bad. “Two weeks ago, I saw this guy that I had gone on a date with last year and he told me that his friend was starting up a small pet barbershop business and needed help with the graphic design for his company. Now I’m designing this guy’s logo and backsplash for his wall.” He says matter-of-factly.

Hoseok frowns. “So, what I’m hearing is that you saw a guy you had gone on a date with last year, and what you got out of it, was more work.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but he flounders. Hoseok cackles to himself, shaking his head because Jimin’s just proved his point further.

“I’ll ask Seokjin,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “He could tell me that I’ve lost my job and that I’m getting evicted from my apartment and I would thank him.”

Amen.

“Hey, where is Seokjin?” Jungkook asks, spinning around in his office chair for the most efficient way to scan the entire office in search of the man. “He was just here watching One Punch Man with Yoongi.”

“I didn’t even notice he had gotten up,” Yoongi says, turning to the empty spot next to him where Seokjin once was.

“I’ll go look for him, I need to grab something from the printer, anyway,” you volunteer, pushing your chair back, standing up, and avoiding the gazes of anybody in the office who happens to have knowledge of your not-so-secret secret crush. This means that you are staring down at the lines of the wooden planks in the floor as you walk over to the back hallway, because every single person in the room currently has at least… well… some insight.

“He’s all yours, Y/N,” Taehyung wolf whistles, making you roll your eyes as you head down the hallway.

Too busy counting the planks that make up the hardwood floor and hoping that you’ll maybe be able to identify Seokjin by the shoes he’s wearing rather than anything else, you don’t look at where you’re going as you make a beeline for the printing room. That is, you make a beeline for the printing room until you crash right into an unsuspecting colleague.

“Oh, shit!” Said colleague cries out.

Oh God.

You look up to find Seokjin standing in front of you, a nearly-empty cup of low-grade office coffee in his hand, and a growing brown stain on his pale blue dress shirt. One look on the floor and there’s a puddle of coffee gathered at your feet, wet splotches on your flats and his loafers.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide and apologetic as he immediately searches for some place to put down his coffee to avoid any more casualties. He looks right at you, making you want to curl in on yourself, before his eyes train down to your torso.

Only then do you realize he’s not shamelessly staring at your chest, but rather at the massive brown stain on the front of your blouse, quickly seeping into the fabric, the scalding temperature of the coffee having gone right over your head the moment you realized who exactly it was that you crashed into.

“Uh…” you stammer, brain crashing as everything that’s just happened in the past thirty seconds catches up to you all at once.

“Oh my God, I’m such a mess,” Seokjin says, fumbling awkwardly as he finally finds a trash can to toss his sad lump of a coffee cup into.

No you’re not, you want to tell him, but the words don’t come out and you’re left standing there, looking sort of like you blame him for everything, when in reality, you just have no idea how to function in front of him.

“Coffee stains,” Seokjin says, hands fishing through his seemingly bottomless pants pockets (he could probably fit an entire Nintendo Switch and its dock in there) until he pulls out this measly little thing that vaguely resembles your orange highlighter. “Here, I have a Tide To-Go pen.”

Before you can tell him that you can just deal with the stain and wash it in the privacy of your own home where you don’t look like a bumbling idiot, he grabs your hand and pulls you into the gender neutral bathroom nearby, locking the door as the light flickers on.

“Here, do you need help?” Seokjin asks, holding out his Tide To-Go pen as he wets a paper towel made of entirely recycled materials and begins fruitlessly dabbing at his shirt.

“I’m alright, really,” you insist, staring into the mirror and trying desperately to avoid the fact that Seokjin’s shirt becomes transparent when it’s wet. Maybe quitting your job and moving to another city doesn’t sound unappealing after all. “I can just get it out with OxiClean at my apartment, Seokjin, seriously.”

“Are you sure? That’s what the Tide To-Go pen is for,” Seokjin says, holding it out towards you again as a final attempt to get you to use it.

“No offense, Seokjin, but I don’t know if the Tide To-Go pen is even going to make a dent in the stain on my shirt,” you chuckle, the only thing you can think of to get him to stop offering the thing to you. The Tide To-Go pen is meant for when you accidentally get a bit of ketchup onto your jeans as you move the french fry from your plate to your mouth. Not when you’ve got a giant coffee stain on the front of your shirt.

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Seokjin says, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to try and get a better grip on the fabric as he relentlessly scrubs at it. God help you. He may as well take the whole thing off at this point—though you really, really hope that he doesn’t. “I’m such a klutz.”

“No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you tell him. You still know that you passed by 107 wooden planks before you crashed into him, because that is what you do when you don’t want to look anyone in the eye.

“Seriously, though, I had the cup of coffee. I feel really bad, I could pay to get it dry cleaned for you?” He offers, eyes wide and in search of some way to make it up to you.

“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m can handle a stain, Seokjin. I’m an adult. I live in my own apartment and everything,” you say firmly, refusing to accept anything else from him. God, if he paid for your dry-cleaning, you’d never be able to live that down. “Maybe I’ll finally stop being voted Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important,” you joke, trying to make light of the fact that you’re standing in the tiny gender-neutral bathroom together, Seokjin’s practically got half of his transparent dress shirt unbuttoned, and you both have massive and very conspicuous brown stains on your tops. All wonderful, wonderful things.

At this point, Seokjin stares down at his shirt and, quite frankly, just gives up, smoothing out his shirt as best as he can and tossing the poor, now-coffee-colored paper towel away.

“I suppose it’s high time we give you a break for always knocking over that pencil cup of yours,” Seokjin jokes back as he opens the door, motioning for you to leave first.

“We should invest in some Velcro for it,” you suggest, making Seokjin chuckle as he shuts the door behind him.

“Uh… what the fuck?”

The two of you are stopped in your tracks by a particularly suspicious Taehyung, who just witnessed the two of you walk out of the same bathroom with both of your clothes fairly askew.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you immediately tell him, eyes wide. Count on him to get the wrong idea.

“Okay,” Taehyung says, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“Taehyung, come on, I spilled coffee on the both of us,” Seokjin attempts, but Taehyung is absolutely not having it.

“That’s what they all say,” he says cryptically, nodding as he heads to the printer room with his eyes still narrowed. He glares at the both of you until he rounds the corner, out of sight, and by then your cheeks have heated up so badly you think you might actually start sweating.

“Now the whole office is going to think we’re dating,” you say, somewhat jokingly but also somewhat seriously. There’s no way Taehyung’s going to be able to keep his mouth shut for any longer than the next five minutes.

Seokjin laughs, looking at you and shrugging. “There are worse things, right?”

Are there?

♚ THERE ♚

“Oh, Y/N!”

You inhale.

Of all of the places in the Kingdom that J has not yet infiltrated and ruined for you, the small cafe on the edge of the kingdom borders has to have been the last one. You discovered it while you were on night watch as a baby knight, a task given to those too dedicated to the job to release but not yet prepared enough to fight on the front lines. It’s a quiet place, open more hours of the day than closed, owned by an old lady with no other family to take care of the business. You’ve already promised her that after she passes, you will immediately begin funding the cafe yourself, too much money on your hands and not enough wonderful places like this to spend it on.

When days are loud and hectic, when the King and Queen and all of their military advisors are stressed and have been snapping at you all day, this is where you come. The old lady keeps her door open especially for you (at least that’s what she tells you), always with a steaming cup of jasmine tea and a wise old story to tell you. Sometimes, you’ll get to tell a story back, and you exchange words of wisdom from a knight at the highest ranking in the kingdom and an elder with many years of experience in the kingdom behind her. She always tells you, “keep your eyes wide and your heart open, because things can only enter it if you’re looking out for them.”

You’ve held those words close to your soul ever since the first time you heard them.

But when your eyes are wide and staring down a certain knight in the kingdom who seems to have stumbled upon your one sacred place, you’re a little bothered, to say the least.

You exhale.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say sourly, the scalding tea burning your tongue as you take a sip.

“I’ve never seen this place before,” J admits helplessly, already bowing to the old lady who runs the place. He introduces himself handsomely, and much like everyone else bewitched by his good looks and unrealistically charismatic personality, she immediately warms up to him.

“I wish it could stay that way,” you mumble to yourself, far too quiet for anyone except you and your tea to hear. “It’s far away,” you say to him as the lady ushers him to the seat next to yours, already promising him tea on the house. You sigh. “Wouldn’t expect you to go hunting for a nice tea place when there are so many wonderful places in the city.”

“I guess it’s nice to branch out,” J says with a shrug. “I have to say that I don’t really go out to cafes all that often. Too busy.”

“You know I understand how that goes,” you tell him honestly. For once, it’s something you can actually relate to. “But I think that it’s important to take a break from our duties and just relax. We don’t have much time to do that, you know.”

The lady brings over tea, and J insists he pay her for it despite her insistence for him not to. She shuffles off into the back before he can even get out some coins.

“Tell me, where can I leave this? I feel terrible not paying,” J asks you. It catches you off guard, really, mostly because he seems to be the kind of person who walks around the center square winking at every vendor in the hopes of receiving free merchandise.

“Oh,” you say, embarrassingly speechless. “Well, I suppose I could take it and give it to her. If we left rather soon then we could simply leave it on the counter for her to find. It’s likely that she won’t come back out for a while, since I have company.”

“Am I your company, Y/N?” J asks, almost teasingly. It makes you want to chuck your cup of jasmine tea into his face.

“Don’t think too much of it,” you advise him, a warning to tell him to knock it off. “We’re just here together.”

“Lucky us,” J says, holding up his cup of tea for a toast. You indulge him (begrudgingly so), letting your glasses clink together as you both finish a much needed warm drink on a chilly afternoon.

Too soon, the respite of the cafe is broken by a knock at the door. You both turn to find a messenger waiting patiently outside the cafe, motioning for J to come and speak to him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” J says, scooting back his chair and heading over, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door closes, the old lady reappears from the back of the room, collecting your finished cups as you both listen intently to the murmuring outside.

“That young man mentioned that the two of you spend lots of time together,” the muses, cleaning the cups with a wet rag. She’s got a knowing look in her eye, like she’s picked up on something the both of you seem to have overlooked.

“We’re both knights,” you correct. It’s important to you that she knows that you don’t spend time together out of personal preference. It’s merely obligation. “So we see each other quite often.”

“I’ve never seen him around before,” she says pointedly, “but he seems to know quite a lot about you.”

“Oh, not really,” you insist. How could he? You’ve barely known him a month. Still, it’s clear that the lady doesn’t believe you.

“As you say,” she says, skeptical.

You’re about to open your mouth and reject her notions further, but then the door opens up again, and J looks terribly apologetic as he walks inside, joining your side. “We’ve been called in.”

As per usual, the Kingdom appears with impeccable timing to ruin the rest of your afternoon. It has a striking tendency to do that.

“For what?” You ask, exasperated. J doesn’t look much happier.

“Criminal hearings,” J says, and the words make you you toss your head back and sigh.

Criminal hearings and its many, many procedures are quite possibly your least favorite part of being a top-ranked royal knight. With your knowledge of the ins and outs of the military and the kingdom’s inner workings, as well as with you being an advisor to the generals and the King and Queen, you are often obligated to attend these, just in case there is a desperate need for the technicalities of military crimes that no one else can provide. It is, admittedly, extremely boring, since you can’t really offer any sort of insight or opinion on the actual criminal and their crime at hand.

“Fine,” you say, suddenly much less energized than you were approximately thirty seconds ago. “I suppose that we’ll have to be on our way.”

“Ma’am,” J says, attracting the attention of the old lady behind the counter. He holds out some coins, palm facing up. “Please accept this from me. I couldn’t leave without paying you for your wonderful tea and service.”

“Oh, pish posh,” the lady says with a shake of her hand. “Any friend of Y/N’s is well-deserving of some tea. You both work very hard. You should take any opportunity that presents itself to relax, and enjoy being young.”

“Please,” J insists, placing the coins in her hand, “a token of my gratitude. We shall return soon, right Y/N?” He gives your shoulder a nudge, making you look up at him. Return? You’d be blessed if J forgot about this place entirely, though you know that he’s bound to come back soon.

Perhaps there are worse things than losing your favorite cafe to him. Perhaps, you can simply learn to enjoy his company, instead.

“Of course, how could I resist?” You say, waving goodbye to the lady at the counter. “We really must be going, but I shall see you soon.”

“Take care of yourselves, the both of you!” She sees you off with a smile and a wink directed right at you for a cause you aren’t too keen on picking up. Old ladies are always so vague.

When you walk outside, you’re surprised to find yourselves alone. “Where’s the messenger guard?” You ask, looking around to see if he’s found a tree to take respite from the sun under.

J laughs, warm and hearty. “I sent him off, told him we would be able to make it ourselves.”

“Oh, alright,” you say with a shrug, already beginning to trudge the familiar path towards the castle.

You take six steps before realizing that J is neither next to you nor following you, still standing on the porch of the cafe as the sun makes his hair glimmer a dark caramel in the light.

“Aren’t you coming?” You turn around to ask, an eyebrow raised as you tap your foot on the cobblestone road.

“Have you ever skipped a criminal hearing before, Y/N?” J asks, and the very notion of bailing makes your eyes go wide.

“Skipped?” You clarify.

“That’s what I said,” J confirms.

“No…” You trail off, feeling more and more like the try hard you once were while training, wide-eyed and eager to prove yourself. Standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on your toes and twiddling your fingers as he steps off of the porch, taking long strides to reach you, makes you feel so nervous. With every step he takes closer to you, your heart begins to beat faster, faster, faster.

“Well,” J says, reaching out his hand to take hold of your own. “Would you like to start?”

When you were stationed on the Kingdom’s borders, you thought you had explored every nook and cranny of Kala. You had wandered through forests, across rivers, and into small edge villages with goods you had never even heard of before. You thought you had seen it all.

Clearly, you were mistaken.

J pulls you off of the cobblestone path and immediately takes you into the woods that surround the cafe, weaving past trees and ferns and grass alike. This time of year, the forest is ripe with greenery, right when summer is coming to an end but the leaves have yet to begin to fade to brown. Even without landmarks or a path to guide him, J seems to know exactly where the two of you are going, like he’s taken this road a million times before. And still, you had never seen him before this.

It’s a wonder that the two of you missed each other for so long.

“Where are we going, J?” You ask, laughing as the exhilaration of skipping your duties in favor of a fun day in the forest begins to flow through your veins. You’ve never done this before.

“Just wait, you’ll see,” he says cryptically, taking you down a large hill. You must be out of the Kingdom borders by now, with how far you’ve been going, and yet, no one had ever thought to place guards in this area.

Five more minutes of travelling and you’re near convinced that J is about to take you to some cave in the floor of the forest and murder you, when he tugs you up a hill to reveal—

It’s a clearing with grass so green you’d almost think it was enchanted. The leaves of the trees whisper to each other, voices flowing with the wind that breezes by each and every one, saying hello to the branches as they rustle. Tall grass and ferns grow on the edge of the forest, disguising the clearing to anyone who wouldn’t bother to keep looking, make their way through the overgrowth and into the oasis.

Never in a million years would you have been able to find this place on your own.

“What do you think?” J asks excitedly as he pulls you into the middle of the clearing, where the leaves of the trees have left an opening for the sun to shine through, a halo in the middle of the forest.

“I—I’m speechless,” you say, eyes wandering from every piece of bark to every blade of grass. You’ve always loved your Kingdom and its beauty, from the extravagant castle to the little shacks on the border, but this is more than that. This isn’t just beauty—it’s magic. “How did you find this place?”

“Strayed from the pack during military training outside,” he says guiltily. Clearly, skipping out on responsibilities has become a habit of J’s.

“Unbelievable,” you say, fingers tracing along the wildflowers growing close to the forest floor. You take a seat in the middle of it all, letting the sun stream through the leaves as the flowers open their petals at your touch. It’s as if every single living thing has been enchanted—like none of this could exist naturally.

“Do you like it?” J asks, taking a seat on the stone next to you. He reaches down to run his fingers through the grass, letting the soft dirt gather on his skin.

“I don’t think I have the words,” you tell him. You thought you had found a hidden respite from the hustle and bustle, but he has found not just a respite. He’s found a home. “Why would you show me this place?”

“What do you mean?” J asks. He finds a small yellow flower, a buttercup, and plucks it from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

“I mean, why would you bring me here? Wouldn’t you want to keep this place all for yourself?” You inquire, curious. Certainly, that’s what you would do.

J pauses for a moment, staring down at the buttercup in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands it to you, watches as your fingers touch his own, taking the buttercup from him. You twirl it between your fingers, and wonder what all of this means.

“No,” he eventually answers. “Because a place like this deserves to be shared with the people that deserve to see it.”

♚ HERE ♚

[You have 5 unread messages]

Jungkook (5:53PM): Is it still acceptable to talk about Kingdom at company dinners? Jungkook (5:53PM): Is the ban that Yoongi instated last company dinner still going? Do you think he’ll be mad if I talk about how I just got a bunch of gold from solving the mystery of the time capsule?

Yoongi (5:55PM): If I have to sit through another company dinner where everyone is talking about Kingdom and nobody is talking about anime or my dog Holly I will lose it

Taehyung (5:57PM): You’re coming, right? You mentioned having a thing that ended pretty late this evening so you weren’t sure you’d make it

Seokjin (6:03PM): Excited to see you tonight! Promise I won’t spill anything on you tonight haha

Your office’s annual company dinner is the one and only opportunity you, as employees, get per year to talk about whatever you like in front of your colleagues, all while getting a meal paid for by your wonderfully unassuming, hardheaded boss. It is both a celebration of camaraderie and, of course, being employed, and a chance for your personal group to talk about Kingdom for two hours straight without repercussions.

Needless to say, many of you are looking forward to it.

To Jungkook (6:07PM): Yes, but only if we get to talk about how I’m still the best at the game out of everyone To Jungkook (6:07PM): Also, don’t forget to talk to Yoongi about My Hero Academia I know that you secretly love it

To Yoongi (6:08PM): Bring earplugs? Or maybe a manga book to get the conversation going?

To Taehyung (6:08PM): Yeah, I’ll be there To Taehyung (6:08PM): Probably be late though To Taehyung (6:09PM): Save me a seat!

To Seokjin (6:10PM): Not sure if I can promise the same thing! Fingers crossed we make it out tonight unscathed by scalding hot liquids

The company dinner starts at 6:30, which means that it really starts at 7:00 by the time everyone arrives, but even still, you’ll probably be late because you are actually doing last-minute laundry, and not attending a special event like you had told Taehyung. Sue you. Your clothes were dirty.

Standing in the middle of your apartment wearing the slouchiest clothes you own, you wonder if it’s even worth going when you know that you will probably 1) be late and 2) have to endure two hours worth of Kingdom talk and other things that leave you thoroughly embarrassed, like your nonexistent love life.

You’ve never skipped out on a company dinner before, but then again, never have all of your colleagues been so on top of you about your very insignificant, not at all soul-crushing, extremely minimal, super unimportant, tiny little infatuation with a certain coworker, so there’s that to consider.

Not to mention the fact that your entire office genuinely believes that the two of you hooked up in the gender neutral bathroom during the middle of the workday, which is a circumstance so improbable you have no idea how Taehyung managed to convince everybody that that was actually what happened. It’s not as if your coworkers didn’t see the ridiculous brown stains on the front of your and Seokjin’s shirts, or didn’t smell the office coffee stench all over the both of you.

So, for once in your life, you are genuinely considering just staying at home, finishing your laundry, and eating the frozen veggie burritos you bought from Costco two weeks ago. It sounds very tempting.

This thought is immediately combated by the fact that you usually have some of the most fun during the year at this company dinner, and a free meal at a nice, upscale restaurant is something that you would normally never pass up. But then again, Seokjin will be there and he will be dressed very nicely, and the rest of your coworkers will also be there, and they will be relentless.

Jungkook (6:33PM): Tae said you’d be late but please come soon! We can’t talk about Kingdom without the best player present!!!! Jungkook (6:33PM): Oh no Namjoon sees me with my phone

And out of every possible text you could have received that night, that one is the one that convinces you to pull out the same dress you’ve worn to the company dinner (it’s not as if anyone else will remember) every other year, tug it on, and head out. Your Costco veggie burritos will have to wait for another stay-at-home night.

You arrive fashionably late as always, walking into the restaurant and just asking for directions to where the “big group of loud office workers” is, a term easily identifiable by the scrambled hostess with fifteen different tables to seat all at once. She points you to the back room, where you can already hear Hoseok’s laughter from outside in the main dining area.

“You guys are loud,” you say in lieu of a greeting, everyone letting out cries of “Y/N!” and “You made it!” as you look around for the last empty seat.

“Here, saved you a spot right next to me,” Seokjin volunteers helpfully, motioning to the empty velvet chair next to him. In the seat next to that sits Taehyung, who is grinning guiltily, like he didn’t just dupe you into thinking he had saved you a seat next to him and someone else other than the person you were hoping not to embarrass yourself in front of.

“Thinking of me when I’m not even here, how thoughtful,” you say, walking over and sending a glare Taehyung’s way as you take your seat, the glass at the top right corner of your placemat already filled.

“How could we forget about you?” Seokjin reasons, and he says it so casually but it makes your heart flutter all the same.

When Seokjin’s finally started talking to Hoseok and Jimin on his other side, the two of them attempting to explain the inner workings of Kingdom to him (to little avail, as per usual), you round on Taehyung, who is every bit the best wingman and the worst friend in the entire world.

“How could you do this to me?” You hiss at him, trying not to attract the attention of the man sitting on the opposite side of you.

“I said I had saved you a seat!” Taehyung says defensively, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

“This was not what I had in mind,” you tell him pointedly.

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have hidden it from you,” Taehyung says. He motions to Seokjin, who’s laughing at something that Jimin’s just said, eyes crinkled into half moons as the waiter places the cocktail he’s ordered down in front of him. “You know, it’s not so bad having a crush on him, right?”

“He is our coworker and way out of my league, of course it is,” you remind Taehyung.

Taehyung shrugs you off with a wave of his hand. “Give yourself some credit, Y/N. You’re hot. Embrace it.”

“I will not, thank you very much. This conversation makes me want to hurl,” you say as normally as possible, blinking to show your discomfort to Taehyung.

“You need to stop being so afraid of what might actually come out of this,” Taehyung says, a reassuring hand on your arm. “You never know what might happen.”

“What’s definitely going to happen is that I’m going to feel too cold from the vent above my head, and we’re going to switch seats,” you say. You immediately make to stand up, but Taehyung grabs onto your wrist and looks up at you like a child begging for candy in a supermarket.

“Please, Y/N? Just give it a try, and if you hate it by the time the entree comes around, we can switch. Alright?” He asks, a simple compromise to get you to sit back down.

You sigh. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to shoot your shot, no matter how terrible your aim is.

“I didn’t order any soup, so hopefully we can last through this dinner without ruining more of our clothes,” Seokjin says, an icebreaker to ease the obvious tension between the two of you. He breaks down your walls so easily, carves out a path in the side of it to waltz right through.

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically,” you better finish that cocktail soon or we might both be in big trouble.”

Seokjin chuckles, warm and full, and takes another sip of the fruity drink for good measure. “Don’t know how you keep getting crowned Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important when I’m here, a walking coffee volcano.”

“When the superlatives roll around, I’ll petition the court and see if we can crown you instead,” you promise.

“I’m honored. I’ll cherish that title for as long as I live,” Seokjin jokes, bowing to you just for good measure. “This is nice, you know.”

“What is?” You ask, peering down at the large group menu. Everything looks awfully delicious and awfully expensive, so you just go for a classic pasta dish and hope that Taehyung orders something different, so you can try each other’s.

“Sitting next to you,” Seokjin says like it’s obvious, making you blink at your menu like it’s just offended your entire family ancestry. “I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up like this at a company dinner.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” You ask hopefully.

“It’s nice,” Seokjin says. “I feel like we don’t get to talk very much at work.”

“You said you’d bring more doughnuts,” you remind him. Seokjin has held up on his promise, actually, and since the first round of doughnuts, he’s brought on two more occasions to brighten up everybody’s day.

“I think I need a better excuse than doughnuts,” Seokjin says to himself. “I can’t keep going to Dunkin’ right before work, pretty soon all of the workers will know me by name and that is a level that I’m not sure I’d like to reach yet.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell him, a hand instinctively coming to rest on his shoulder as comfort. “Some of the Costco employees recognize me even when I’m wearing my sunglasses inside.”

“You wear your sunglasses inside Costco?” Seokjin asks with a laugh.

“Sometimes I just forget to take them off when I walk from my car into the store!” You say defensively. “It’s really bright in there, sue me.”

“No, no, I think it’s cute,” Seokjin assures you. “Maybe being recognized by the Dunkin’ employees won’t be that bad. At least they probably wouldn’t know who I was if I had my sunglasses on.”

“I’m being attacked, I’m pretty sure,” you say pointedly.

“Only affectionately. You’re still ridiculously endearing.” Seokjin says with a chuckle, smiling at you as Jungkook calls your name to tell him something about Kingdom that he’s forgotten. But even as Seokjin gets tugged into another conversation and you get pulled into your own, your brain can’t help but replay the sound of his voice in your head, over and over.

You’re still ridiculously endearing.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jimin asks over a mouthful of complimentary bread with olive oil. “Did you ever figure out who knocked Y/N from the top spot in Kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook cries out, suddenly thirsty for justice. “It makes me so mad that I don’t know who they are, especially since they’re getting all the in-game brand deals and Y/N gets nothing,” he says pointedly as he motions to you, clearly exasperated for a cause that wasn’t even his to begin with.

“Jungkook, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a game,” you remind him, the table too wide to reach over and pat his hand comfortingly. “I still get a lot of things in second place.”

“What’s Jungkook talking about?” Seokjin asks, motioning to where Jungkook seems to be on a rampage as Jimin and Namjoon listen in.

“Oh, Kingdom, like always,” you say fondly. “He’s determined to figure out the name of the person who dethroned me.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. “He’s got his work cut out for him. How many people play Kingdom?”

“Hundreds of thousands, probably,” you say. “Maybe millions.”

“Millions of people, and somehow we ended up with the second-best player in the game right at this table,” Seokjin says with a grin. “We should be honored.”

“It’s just a game,” you remind him, even though the sentiment is awfully sweet. “I think I much prefer the real world, don’t you?”

Seokjin smiles at you as the waiter comes around to offer him another cocktail.

“Another one, sir?”

Seokjin looks down at the cocktail, then at your unstained clothes, and he shakes his head, laughing to himself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.” The waiter nods, taking his empty glass and moving onto another coworker. He looks at you, and his eyes are swimming in stars. “I think that I do, too.”

Dinner ends with Hoseok and Jungkook gobbling down everybody’s leftovers, your boss paying the bill without even glancing at the check, and you laughing alongside Seokjin, who keeps your end of the table entertained with fantastic stories about his past job at a luxury department store and less-than-fantastic dad jokes that he prides himself for coming up with on the spot.

Taehyung had nudged you when the entrees had come around, motioning to the vent above your head, but you hadn’t even noticed the cold.

“Ugh,” Jimin says with a groan as the group of you head outside once everyone is finished, the chilly night air hitting your skin as you open the door. “I hate that we could only schedule this for a Wednesday, because it means we have to come into work again tomorrow.”

“When else are we supposed to schedule it for?” Yoongi asks with a frown. “Did you even look at the When2Meet? Nobody had any free time for the rest of the month.”

“Well, if everyone’s cleared their schedules just for this dinner, anyone want to keep the celebration going at my apartment? I just bought a box of wine from Trader Joe’s,” Jimin asks.

“On a Wednesday?” Yoongi says, nose scrunched up in disapproval.

“Yeah, when else would you drink boxed Trader Joe’s wine?” Jimin responds like it’s obvious.

Everyone begins to either disperse back to their cars or get Jimin’s address so they can get wine drunk on a Wednesday like you’re supposed to, leaving you and Seokjin out of the crowd.

“Are you heading over to Jimin’s?” He asks you as you begin to walk towards your cars, taking a step every five seconds as you watch Jimin tell everybody his exact address, loudly and slowly enough for any burglars and axe-wielding murderers within a three-mile radius to also hear him.

“No, I think I’ll just head home for the night,” you say, checking the time on your phone. It’s nearly ten, already. Where did the time go?

“Ah, then I guess I will, too,” Seokjin says. “Oh, here’s my car.”

“You parked close,” you comment.

“I thought that I’d be late because I arrived at 6:45, but I was the second one here,” Seokjin tells you, making you laugh.

“Sounds like our office, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. We’ll have to do this again sometime just to see how late everyone shows up,” Seokjin says.

“Promise I’ll be early next time,” you say.

“Next time, then?” Seokjin asks, already opening his car door and beginning to step inside. You stand on the sidewalk in front of him, watching as he pulls the door shut and waves to you through the windshield. A next time sounds awfully nice.

“Next time.”

♚ THERE ♚

The King and Queen never do find out about your truancy, though you have to admit, you were never really worried about that in the first place. Not when J was grinning as he told you he had sent the messenger guard off, laughing as he dragged you through the forest, smiling as he twirled a buttercup between his fingers. He had done it before and he’ll do it again, and look where that’s gotten him.

Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him.

Still, despite your high ranks, the two of you can’t avoid your responsibilities forever. Eventually, you will always have to report back to the castle, get a new assignment, and start the cycle all over again.

“At least they’re letting us go together,” J reasons as the two of you nod to the knights standing guard at the border of the kingdom, by the main forest that leads directly to a kingdom with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong. No wars have broken out between your two lands in years, but never has stability been one-hundred percent earned, which means that both kingdoms must be on high alert. You never know when a rebel group will attempt to invade the land.

“Like I’d want to spend any more time with you,” you joke, giving J a nudge in the side as you stroll along the forest edge. In the middle of the day with the sun high above your heads, neither of you are particularly worried about being attacked. It would be foolish for an enemy group to do so, especially at a time when the kingdom’s guards are the most awake.

“Am I really such awful company?” J asks, and he’s smiling but he asks in such a way, it’s almost as if he means it. The two of you have never been on the best of terms, but you’ve found yourself growing out of the competition-fueled rage you once always found yourself in whenever you were near him. No longer is regaining your first place your most important priority. Rather, it’s doing your job and doing it correctly, upholding the duties that the kingdom has entrusted you with, regardless of who’s by your side.

(Though, even if you’d never admit it, J makes quite good company, most of the time.)

“No,” you insist, a hand reaching out to rub comfortingly at his forearm. “You aren’t.”

“You think so?” J says with a laugh, almost bitter. “I must say, you’ve never been that fond of me.”

“You may have charmed your way into the rest of the kingdom’s hearts, but I needed some convincing,” you remind him, reminiscent of how he would tease you constantly, dangle his promotion right above your head like a trophy you’d never be able to reach.

“Did I do a good job, then?” J asks, hands in his pockets. It’s a quiet day, today. Even the birds have begun to murmur.

“You did quite alright,” you say, nudging him. “Though I must say, I absolutely hate how all of the vendor’s daughters fawn all over you and give you free items like fruit, and jewelry. I’m never given that treatment.”

“You just don’t have my naturally charming, handsome, soft looks,” J says, posing in front of you as the two of you walk. The obnoxiousness of it all makes you almost want to chuck the apple you’re about to eat right at his face.

“What do you mean? I can be charming,” you say with a pout. You pretend to flip your hair, just for emphasis.

“You and I are different types of charming,” J says casually. “You’re strong. You speak loudly and clearly and you don’t ever flounder. You always know exactly what you want, and know the best way to get it. You aren’t afraid of anything, and are always willing to take on any challenge that comes your way. It’s… it’s different.”

And even if he thinks you never flounder, never stumble over your words or stutter, for once, you can’t think of anything to say. You’re walking along the forest’s edge with a knight you had convinced yourself that you would never befriend, and he’s just told you all of these wonderful things about yourself you never would have known he’d thought otherwise.

J’s right. It is different. This is different. And you can hardly remember when it started to be like this. Only one day, it was just like this, and it never stopped.

“Do you really think all of those things about me?” You ask, staring down at your boots as you walk along the dirt path, kicking small pebbles as you go. They go flying off into the grass, never to be seen again. But sometimes, you come across one you had kicked a few steps back, and you try again, earnestly hoping to see how far it will go with you by its side.

“I mean, well…” J says, stumbling. “I don’t just think those things about you, you know? They’re facts, aren’t they? Those are things that, well, I suppose, everyone would think about you. Right?”

“You know what I think?” You ask, looking up at him. His dark hair shimmers in the light, like reflects of gold have been sprinkled amongst the ink black. “We are different types of charming. You’re charismatic and friendly, always willing to listen. You accept things graciously and are always grateful for what you receive. You pay people back whatever they’ve given you, even if it’s not the same item, even if it’s just the thought that counts. You always want to do better, and then you do. You work hard for each thing you get, and you never take it for granted.”

J grins down at you. “But you don’t actually think that, do you?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Just facts.”

“Just facts,” he echoes.

When did talking to him become so easy? When did it all start coming to you naturally?

“Did you ever hate me?” He asks you, curious. He knows, he must, that that’s not the case anymore.

“No,” you admit, perhaps more to yourself than to him. “I think that I just hated that you were better than me. But… like you said, it’s different now. Now, I don’t care if you’re better than me. That sort of competition makes me a better soldier. You make me a better soldier.”

“Really?” J wonders, genuine. His eyes are wide in surprise, shocked at such a candid admission coming from you. To be honest, you’re surprised with yourself, as well. “I had no idea.”

“Keep it up, then. You know—”

A taut string let go.

The wind stopping in its tracks.

And an arrow headed right for your heart.

“Oh my God!” You shout quickly, unable to do much except alert the man next to you that the two of you are in imminent danger.

Before you can even blink, close your eyes and wait for the tip to pierce your heart, J is pushing you out of the way, sending you flying to the forest floor and he pulls his bow from his back, sending a steel arrow flying in the direction of the woods. You both wait there, only a second but it’s a second too long, until you hear a thud on the ground, a final breath, and then—

Silence.

The moment you’re both positive the assailant is dead, J turns to you, eyes wide. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m alright,” you assure him, telling him (and yourself) over and over as he pulls you up from the ground. Your heart is racing and you can’t quite seem to catch your breath, but you’re alive and so is he, and that’s all that matters. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he immediately says. “As long as you are.”

You look behind him to find an arrow stuck in a tree, but what alarms you more is the sight of blood on the tip. Immediately, you turn back to J, only to find the side of his arm covered in blood, bleeding right through his armor.

“Oh my God, J, you’re hurt,” you cry out, fumbling for something to stop the flow.

“I’m alright, Y/N, really,” he insists, placing a hand on top of your own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb for good measure. “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to take you back to the kingdom,” you push, already beginning to head back towards the gate.

“I’ve suffered worse injuries, Y/N, seriously,” he tells you, hoping to ease the pit of worry in your stomach. “I’m a top-ranked knight who prefers the battlefield over anything else. I’ve broken bones, gotten stabbed, and nearly died. This? It’s nothing. Really. Please, don’t worry.”

“We still have to get you back to the Kingdom and patch you up,” you insist firmly. “Even if you say you’re alright.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Y/N.” J goes with you obligingly, lets you walk him back to the kingdom gates.

You urge him into the local medical practitioner, sit him down on the bench and watch as the doctor bandages his wound, reminds him not to engage in any strenuous activity while it’s healing. He sits patiently, glaring at you slightly and rolling his eyes any time the doctor speaks, which is fairly frequently. It’s clear only one of you wants to be here right now, and it’s the one of you without a scratch on your body.

When the doctor leaves to tend to another patient, you get up from where you’re seated and sit down next to him on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder.

Working for the Kingdom makes you stronger. Sitting in the cafe makes you think. But being with him, standing by his side, it makes you wonder. It makes your heart race and your mind clear. It makes you feel safe.

“I think you saved my life,” you whisper softly, clutching onto him like a lifeline, like if you let go, one of you will drown.

But that’s not the case. Neither of you will let go. Not without the other. Never without the other.

“Really?” He asks. He already knows the answer.

“No, I know you did,” you tell him. Things are different now, but maybe they’ve always been like this. You just never noticed. “Because in a heartbeat, I would do the same for you.”

♚ HERE ♚

“I have not seen Seokjin all day,” Jimin comments loudly one day, making everyone immediately turn to Seokjins’ desk, which looks practically untouched. His computer is asleep, his chair is pushed in, and his desktop is empty. The only thing that suggests that the man is even here in the first place is the messenger bag resting against the desk drawers, though it doesn’t look like it’s even been opened today.

“Probably too busy avoiding you,” Yoongi deadpans, earning a “zing!” from Hoseok that makes you feel even more like you’re standing in the middle of a high school movie made by people who don’t know what high school is like.

“Is he even in today?”

“He is,” you pipe up. “His bag is here.”

“Of course you would know!” Taehyung teases, and he earns a highlighter to the face for his trouble.

“He’s probably just trying to get his work done in a place that doesn’t consist of screaming and constant insults being hurled across the room,” Jimin says with a sigh, turning back to his work. It’s a fair statement, especially when the environment in your office is most often distracting, loud, and not at all an ideal work environment. It’s an absolute wonder that any of you manage to get your work done while you’re here.

“Y/N, wanna go hunt him down?” Taehyung suggests, sending a wink your way as your eyes widen.

“No, absolutely not, no way. I will not be tricked by you again,” you say, very reminiscent of the last time you went to go look for Seokjin and ended up with a coffee-stained shirt and a group of coworkers who thinks the two of you hooked up that one time.

“If you say so…” Taehyung says, voice trailing off as he turns back to his work.

But for once in your life, Seokjin’s absence is more noticeable than ever. He’s become a fixture in your everyday office life, always stopping by your desk with a second cup of low-grade office coffee for you (with a lid, of course), sending you emails complaining about Jimin and Hoseok when they’re being loud, asking you for help on every one of his difficult font decisions for logo designs, drafting emails to clients with you. It’s a sort of closeness that you never really had before—sure, you worked together and often got paired up for projects, but it’s different now. Like you jumped ship on being just colleagues but instead of drowning, you began to float.

Five more minutes pass and you pretty much resign yourself to getting back to your work, knowing that Seokjin’s probably just grabbed his laptop and found a place where he can work in peace and quiet without Hoseok’s shrill voice interrupting his thoughts. You’ll have to ask him what place he’s discovered.

When there are four minutes left in the workweek and you are finally beginning to close out of the fifteen thousand tabs open on your Google Chrome window, the door busts open.

It doesn’t actually bust open, so much as Seokjin comes flying through it and it slowly goes to rest on the padded door frame like it’s been designed to. His tie is loose around his neck like he’s been tugging on it all afternoon, his laptop is clenched carefully between his arm and his torso, and he’s got a flurry of papers freeballing it in a stack in his hands.

“Oh my God, what tornado did you come from?” Jimin asks as Seokjin rushes over to his desk, cramming everything into his tiny messenger bag that definitely isn’t meant to fit a laptop and a stack of papers that thick.

“Sehun just dumped an entire project on me that’s due on Sunday at noon with no warning, and now I have to pull together fragments of a crumbling magazine label before their final review on Sunday afternoon,” he says, terribly out of breath. He’s scrambling to gather his belongings, crashing into anything within a two-foot radius of him.

“Dude, what the heck? I’m gonna tell Namjoon to kick Sehun’s ass,” Hoseok says with a frown, nose scrunched up. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’m alright, I can do it,” Seokjin insists, rubbing a hand through his hair as he leaves before the clock has even struck five.

“Are you sure? You look like you want to jump out of the window,” Hoseok asks again, just for clarification. He’s not wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Seokjin become so stressed in such a short period of time before. “At least let one of us help you get settled back into your apartment.”

To your right, Taehyung whispers into Jungkook’s ear, who then does this sort of weird hand movement to Hoseok, who nods understandingly. It looks suspiciously like they just plotted someone’s murder.

“I can’t,” Jungkook says with an obnoxiously fake yawn, suddenly speaking much slower than usual, “I’m deadbeat tired.”

“Me neither,” Taehyung says, coughing in the way people do when they just want to get out of something. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

You whip your head around as everyone besides Yoongi comes up with an absolutely bullshit excuse not to accompany Seokjin to his apartment—Jimin says he has a date right after work and Hoseok says he needs to feed his puppy before he gets too hungry, leaving only you and a Yoongi that hasn’t been listening to the conversation whatsoever to vie for the spot.

“Yoongi?” You ask, somewhat desperate not to be the one to accompany Seokjin to his apartment. You turn to your head to glare at Taehyung, who shamelessly coughs again when he meets your eyes, smiling guiltily.

“Huh?” He asks, turning around.

“Fine, you know what? I can come with,” you say with a sigh, already grabbing your belongings as Taehyung and Jungkook high-five next to you.

“Oh, really? You’re a lifesaver, Y/N, you know that?” Seokjin says, and even when he’s stressed it’s like the weight has been lifted off of his shoulders once you volunteer, and you suppose that there are worse things that can happen than accompanying Seokjin to his apartment for ten minutes.

Seokjin gives you the address of his place so that you can drive to it yourself, the both of you pulling into the parking garage underneath his apartment complex at the same time, waving to each other from adjacent parking spaces.

“I really, really appreciate this, Y/N,” Seokjin says with a smile as he brings you into his apartment complex, nodding a friendly hello to the security officer in the lobby. “I know that it’s a Friday night and everything as well. You’d probably want to be doing something else.”

“Ah, yes, you know me, I frequent all of the clubs and bars in this city,” you say sarcastically as you walk into the elevator. Seokjin hits the button for the seventh floor and laughs. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. It was a dick move of Sehun to drop this on you when it’s due in, like, thirty-six hours.”

“Tell me about it,” Seokjin says, exasperated as he leans back against the steel walls of the elevator. “I thought I would just get to go home this Friday night, pull up Netflix, and have a one-man movie night, but now I have to spend the next thirty-six hours doing this.”

“Well, you know all of us are just looking out for you, wanted to make sure you didn’t injure yourself from stress before you got back to your apartment,” you say as the elevator door dings. Seokjin leads you down the hallway to his door, sticking his key in and jiggling it until the door pops open.

Admittedly, you have never been in Seokjin’s apartment, but you it was like you had already painted a picture of it in your head from his personality traits alone. You thought it would be fairly minimalistic, clean and neat, not too many flashy colors or kitschy items but things like photographs and magnets to make it feel like an office and more like a home. Pictured it as a sort of very simple, modern home, like the ones that celebrities live in because they can afford to keep their belongings clean all the time, because Seokjin looks exactly like a celebrity, gorgeous and put-together.

Instead, Seokjin’s apartment is almost a hodgepodge of everything he could think to find to decorate, a stack of photobooks on his coffee table, slouchy leather couches wrinkled from wear, various kitchen supplies splayed all over his countertops. It’s the kind of place you can imagine him being in, existing in. You can see him standing behind his kitchen island with all of the ingredients and supplies for this wonderful dish he’s making littered across the counters. You can see him curled up on the couch, leaning against the corner of it to find that perfect spot, watching television.

There’s a difference between owning a place, and living in it. Living in it makes it feels like a home, like it’s real, and not just for show.

“Wow, your place is—”

“It’s really messy right now, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests,” Seokjin says, letting his messenger bag plop down on the ground as he scrambles to make his living space nicer for you.

“No, I was going to say it’s lovely,” you tell him. “It feels exactly like you.”

“Does it?” Seokjin asks genuinely, a soft smile lacing his features. “Well then, thank you.”

You wait around in his apartment awkwardly, not really sure if stepping past the front of his couch is socially acceptable since you’re just “visiting” and he hasn’t officially invited you inside yet. The main objective of accompanying him to his apartment has already been accomplished: you made sure he got home safely and that he can do his work in peace. Finished. But even still, you’re hanging around, wondering when he’s going to kick you out for being a weird, unknown fixture in his home.

“Um, would you like to stay for dinner? I made soup last night and I have way too much for me to eat on my own,” he offers, opening up his fridge and taking out an enormous pot. It clinks as it hits his countertop, the metal sound echoing throughout his apartment.

“No, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say, taking this as your cue to remove yourself from the situation before you do anything else to make an absolute fool of yourself.

“I insist, please,” Seokjin says, stopping you in your tracks. “I may have a whole project to finish by Sunday, but we should at least spend this Friday night together, right?”

You look down at your shoes before looking up at him, meeting his eyes from where he stands behind his counter island.

“Then I will,” you say, removing your flats and padding over to where he stands, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter island. “But only if you let me help you with the project, too. It was asshole-y of Sehun to dump it all on you. At least let me handle some of the graphic aspects.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching his hand out over the counter, “you have a deal.”

This deal mainly consists of you eating some of Seokjin’s homemade soup on his couches, your laptops on his coffee table and that ridiculously thick stack of papers spread out amongst you. Seokjin already has a fair bit of information about the project at hand, but he still has absolutely zero progress since he received the assignment four minutes before the end of the workweek.

“So, basically, what we have to do is re-organize the magazine’s overall design and aesthetic before their final review on Sunday, because if they don’t appeal to the publisher, they’re getting tanked,” Seokjin says, paging through the papers in search of a sketch.

“So we’re their last hope,” you summarize.

Seokjin nods. “We’re their last hope.”

“Great,” you say, not at all enthused. “No pressure at all.”

“I know. I’m so relaxed right now,” Seokjin says, clearly not relaxed.

“You know what’s making me relaxed? This soup,” you say, finishing the last of what’s in your bowl. “It’s delicious. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “I picked it up when I moved to college and didn’t know how to make anything except toast.”

“You’re a very fast learner, then,” you say. “I’d pay you to make all of my meals, honestly.”

“Would you like more? I have a ton, so we can eat it all if you’d like,” he asks, already standing up and reaching his hand out for your bowl.

You hand it over, shaking your head as he makes his way back to his little kitchen, ladling more soup into both of your bowls. “You’re too nice, Seokjin. Seriously. How am I supposed to pay back this kindness?”

Seokjin lets out a warm chuckle as he warms up your next serving in the microwave. “Believe me, Y/N, volunteering to take on this project with me with a due date in less than thirty-six hours is more than enough. You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No,” you tell him. “I want to. You deserve someone who’s willing to help you with big things like this. You shouldn’t have to deal with it all on your own.”

Seokjin grins as he returns, handing you your bowl of soup as you get back to work. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N.”

What was supposed to be a couple of hours spent grinding out a project over a shared pot of soup turns into a night’s worth of work, scribbles on paper and the redoing of the same logo fifteen different times on your computer’s much slower, less-updated version of Photoshop. The application crashes on three different occasions, causing you to nearly slam it into the wall, but you just try to look on the bright side. Find the silver lining. Of which there are none.

Seokjin doesn’t seem to be faring any better than you are. You’ve never seen the man under such pressure before, not in the office and certainly not while you’re out of the office. He’s tugged on a crewneck sweater over his dress shirt and paces around his apartment in bright pink slippers, brainstorming aloud as you bounce ideas off of each other in a panic.

“What if we rebranded them?” Seokjin suggests wildly. When you turn to look at the digital clock underneath his television, it says 11:17PM. You’re surprised he hasn’t collapsed underneath the pile of work he’s got on his plate.

“What do you mean? Do we even have the authorization to rebrand them?” You ask, pulling up a new tab on magazine marketing techniques.

“The project description says requests for anything that will keep them afloat,” Seokjin says. He immediately opens an old photobook, buried underneath your laptops, sketches, and papers, flipping through before he sits down right next to you on his slouchy leather couch. “What if we gave them more of a minimalist kind of style? They’re trying to jump off of this super quirky, very basic Urban Outfitters kind of aesthetic, but I think it makes the magazine too young, you know?” Seokjin suggests. “We could do something more grown-up, attract their market audience.”

“Are we allowed to do that?” You ask, thoroughly interested. Maybe Seokjin’s onto something.

“Who says we can’t?” Seokjin responds, and it’s good enough for you to hop on board.

Sitting in his apartment like this, brainstorming different ideas and collaborating on logo designs, magazine layout, and website design together, you are more productive than you’ve been in a very, very long time. Even as the night stretches on into the early hours of the morning, as you watch the clock turn from 1:00AM to 2:00AM to 3:00AM, the two of you are wide awake, the only things illuminating his apartment being a floor lamp by his television and the blue light of your laptop screens.

“It’s…” Seokjin yawns when it’s nearly four in the morning, pen slipping from his fingers, “so late.”

“I know,” you say back, feeling your eyelids beginning to sink. “I’m surprised we’ve even stayed up this long.”

“Haven’t been up this late since college,” Seokjin says, smiling hazily at past memories. “Always had code to finish for my class the next morning.”

“At least we get to sleep in now,” you joke. Even if you still have to finish putting together a brand new image for this magazine that’s about to go under, tomorrow is still a Saturday.

“Thank God,” Seokjin says, resting his head on the back of the couch cushion, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I feel like we did a lot tonight.”

“We were very productive,” you agree.

He yawns. “We work well together, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask, leaning over to move your computer from your lap to the coffee table, exchanging it for a sketchpad to keep brainstorming.

“I think,” Seokjin begins, and it must be just the sleepy haze his brain has entered rather than anything else that could spur him to express this, that makes him say, “that you and I make a perfect pair.”

You sit up straight at this, looking over at Seokjin as the pencil in between your fingers falls onto the sketchpad before rolling onto the floor. It looks like he’s fallen asleep, exhaustion finally overcoming him as all of the work he’s done catches up to him. In the dead of night, the only sound in the room is his soft breathing, chest rising and falling slowly as his mind begins to wander. You watch him, eyelids heavy, and think that he couldn’t have possibly thought that. No way would he say such a thing to you if he was perfectly cognizant, wide awake. After all, you’re the one with a crush on him, not the other way around.

You lean back, pondering why a man like Seokjin would ever invite you into his home, offer you soup, and shower you with subtle compliments that couldn’t just be friends being friends, and before you know it, your eyes fall shut.

It is nearly one in the afternoon by the time you wake up, the sunlight streaming in from the side of his apartment. It forces you to finally open your eyes, groaning as your blurry vision begins to clear.

That is when you register these four things in this order:

This is Seokjin’s apartment.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, in which you worked on a project with him last night.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and you fell asleep on his couch.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and he thinks that you’d make the perfect pair.

You hear a clink from across the room, and turn to find Seokjin, still wearing the same thing he was wearing last night, standing in his kitchen, pouring two glasses of orange juice.

“Morning,” Seokjin says. He pauses, then corrects himself. “Afternoon, actually.” He walks over to you, handing you a glass of orange juice as you rub your eyes, waking yourself up.

“How long have you been up?” You ask him, too tired to thank him out loud for the glass of orange juice.

“About an hour,” he says, checking the time. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful.”

“I feel awful, I didn’t mean to intrude on your apartment for, like, an entire night,” you say, rubbing your forehead as you try to smooth out your hair, make yourself look less like you fell asleep at four in the morning in your gorgeous crush’s apartment.

“No, it’s alright, really,” Seokjin insists. “It was nice having company, for once. And I think we got a lot done.”

“I still feel bad, I didn’t mean to stay so long,” you say, looking around for your belongings as you try to gather your bearings.

“It’s fine,” Seokjin reassures you, sitting down on the couch next to you as he begins to clean up the absolute mess of the coffee table. “But your phone has been ringing nonstop, so someone must have missed you.”

You fumble around for your phone before finding it having slid in between the couch cushions, pulling it up to see three missed calls from Taehyung and two missed calls from Jungkook, as well as a slew of texts from the both of them.

“Oh, it’s just Taehyung and Jungkook,” you say with a shrug, deciding that now is not the time to bring them into the conversation. A quick scan of the texts gives you a rough summary of what you would have heard if you had answered their calls instead.

Taehyung (9:35AM): Y/N Taehyung (9:35AM): HELLO Taehyung (9:35AM): ARE YOU ALIVE??? Taehyung (9:36AM): YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE ARE YOU OKAY??? Taehyung (10:03AM): I WENT BY YOUR APARTMENT AND YOU DIDN’T ANSWER IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT Taehyung (10:04AM): TEXT ME 1 IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND 2 IF EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY Taehyung (10:05AM): LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE GOING HOME WITH SEOKJIN DID HE MURDER YOU??????? Taehyung (10:18AM): oh Taehyung (10:18AM): oh wait Taehyung (10:19AM): OHHHHHHHHH Taehyung (10:20AM): ;)

Jungkook (12:18PM): Kingdom just started a new event! Get online with me and let’s crush this thing pleaseeeee

“Just want me to play Kingdom with them,” you say, ignoring Taehyung’s text messages and pretending like they don’t exist.

“You really like that game, don’t you?” Seokjin asks.

“Oh, they like it more than I do, really, I just try and keep the obsession to a minimum,” you say casually.

“But they always talk about how good you are,” Seokjin adds. “You’re ranked second, aren’t you? That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that exciting. I mean, it’s just a game,” you shrug it off.

“But you like it, which means that’s important,” Seokjin says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of the things you like. They matter to you.”

“You think so?” You ask, smiling at him.

“I know so. Tell me about Kingdom,” he urges, nudging your side. “Please? I’d love to know.”

And for once, you don’t just shrug it off and brand it as a game you play occasionally. You let yourself love that game, for all it’s done for you and your friends (even if you aren’t the best anymore) and your happiness, and you tell Seokjin about it. About how you started playing it when you were bored one day during work and saw a forum on it. How you got the rest of the office hooked on it as well, even if they were much more obnoxious about it than you are. How you go home after a long day of work and log on, letting yourself relax as you weave your way through the rankings and quests, finding solace in the familiarity of it all. You tell him why you love it, and why you probably won’t stop playing it for a long time, no matter what becomes of your ranking.

“It was nice being ranked first, but I actually don’t mind whoever it is that’s taken over,” you tell Seokjin honestly. “Jungkook wants to hunt them down, but I think that, whoever they are, they deserve that spot. You know, I used to hate them because the top-ranked player gets all of the best rewards, but our characters have recently started to spend so much time together that I feel like they’d probably have fallen in love by now.” You chuckle to yourself. If life were a movie, everything would always work out perfectly.

“You do?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “They spend so much time together. Who wouldn’t, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Seokjin says, smiling. “I also have something to tell you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with anime, please. That is where I draw the line.”

“Don’t shame us,” Seokjin says, a hand on his heart like he’s been personally offended. Your eyes widen. “I’m kidding,” he says, laughing as you exhale, relieved. “I actually play Kingdom, too. I just wanted to ask you about it.”

“Seriously? All this time and you just pretended like you had no idea what it was?” you say in disbelief. He’s been hiding this from you for how long? God, the rest of your office is going to have a field day with this information.

“I just wanted you to tell me about it,” Seokjin admits sheepishly.

You shake your head. “You could have talked to me about other stuff, you know.”

“I know, but you never talked about Kingdom and I could always see how much you loved it. It was nice, listening to you tell me about it,” he says.

“I’ve been betrayed,” you say dramatically, opening up your laptop to pull up the game. “What’s your ID? We can add each other.”

This is where Seokjin goes silent. “Actually, I think you might already know who I am. I’m above you in the rankings.”

Your mouth drops open.

“You’re JK0901? Are you kidding me?” You ask, absolutely floored. All this time and you had no idea that Kim Seokjin was a Kingdom expert. “What does JK stand for? I was convinced it was Jungkook and he was just lying to my face, but in reality, it was you who was lying to me!”

Seokjin lets out a chuckle. “Jin Kim. I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“I can’t believe this,” you say, practically speechless. “How long have you been playing?”

“Not that long,” Seokjin shrugs. “I picked it up because I wanted to impress a girl I liked.”

“Really? All this effort for a girl you like?” You ask, still in disbelief. You suck up the way your heart is sinking at the thought of him liking another person, but then you remember that it wasn’t like you had ever made a move on him anyway. Smiling, you ask, “Will you at least humor me and tell me who it is?”

Then, Seokjin looks you dead in the eye, and says, “You.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he wraps a hand around your torso and pulls you into him, pressing his lips firmly on yours as you gasp into his mouth, body tensing up before you melt into his touch.

It’s a quick kiss, nothing too crazy, but it overwhelms you nonetheless, leaves you gasping for air like you’ve been underwater this whole time and have finally surfaced. When you part, you look up into his eyes only to find that they’ve turned into crescents. He’s grinning down at you like he’s finally gotten it right.

“You did all of that for me?” You ask. “How did you even know?”

Seokjin looks particularly guilty. “You’re not necessarily… that discreet, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the heat already flaring in your cheeks. “Oh God, you knew?”

“It was fairly easy to figure out,” Seokjin admits. “But the good news is: I felt the same way. So, no harm done.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you say, curling into his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eye.

“You’re incredible, Y/N, you know that?” He asks, pulling you away from him just so he can get a better look at you. He’s standing in front of you, looking at you like this is what he’s been waiting for. Like all this time, he’s been waiting for you. “I’d do it all over again if it meant I could end up with you.”

“You would?” You ask, pulling him in for another kiss. There’s plenty more where those came from, but you’re already feeling greedy. Why wouldn’t you? If life was a movie, then wouldn’t this be the happy ending?

“In a heartbeat.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

#seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fluff #jin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #seokjin scenario #jin scenario #bts scenario #jin fic #bts fic #bts au #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #bts imagine #bts enemies to lovers #bts friends to lovers #w: for you anything

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tyranttortoise · 5 years ago

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Dude, what happened to you and your scooter?? Was it a car crash? How are you now? And you said you are not doing well mentally right now, is that a depression? Just.... talk to us. It's not all about UT after all, we're worried about YOU too, you know? If you feel like sharing with us, please do. If you don't feel like opening up - then sure, that's your decision, it's public internet after all. Just know that in whatever case people care for you (even anonymous lurkers like me). XXX

This ask really warmed my heart. (.... And I put a heart here, and it ate everything else I wrote in this paragraph, so lemme try again. ) It really means a lot to me that you’d reach out like this, anon. xx Seriously, thank you for asking about me. I’m happy to share the grisly details of that scooter wreck with you guys!

You guys ready for story time?

This ended up being stupid long, so I’m sticking it all under a cut.

Also, trigger warnings for blood and a picture of a cut at the end.

Okay, so the scooter was one of those Lyft scooters you guys may’ve seen around. It’s basically a taller razor scooter with a motor on it – the kind you stand on, not sit. It’s got a QR code that you scan with the app that activates the scooter, you pay by the minute, and you leave it anywhere on a sidewalk as long as you take a picture to deactivate it.

I’d never seen one before. This was in Atlanta, which is a rather big city, and I saw people riding these scooters everywhere. I even passed a couple that looked almost as old as my parents riding them together with shopping bags on the handles, so I thought, This is perfectly safe.

I was out killing time before a concert (Taking Back Sunday/Red City Radio) by hunting pokemon in pokemon go with Ant, and we saw the parked scooters on the way back to our hotel. We only had a few blocks to go, so we started checking them out, downloaded the app, and gave them a try.

We started off riding them uphill, which is where I went wrong. I didn’t think they had any power; everyone I’d seen had been barely going, after all. So, I turned the accelerator all the way and even had to kick off with my foot like a regular scooter to get it to make it to the top of the hill.

The moment the sidewalk leveled out, however, the scooters shot off. Holy shit, they started to fly! Ant was way ahead of me, and I started calling out about how it was going way too fast, and I squeezed the brake in a panic. The scooter instantly started to wobble, and I put my foot off to catch my balance, but… the scooter was still going, so as soon as my foot touched the sidewalk, I was propelled off my feet and forward toward the sidewalk in prime face-plant position.

I was still holding onto the scooter with both hands, and it happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to let go; I didn’t break my fall, but I did turn my body slightly. (Later, I’d text my boss that I “hit the streets of Atlanta last night… with my face!” He wasn’t amused.) I hit the ground and the scooter kept flying down the sidewalk sideways. Apparently, my side hit first and my ribs took the entire impact from how fast I was going. My knees hit, too, because all of the skin was pretty much gone from them (and I still have huge bruises on both of them right now), my elbow was bloody, and I guess the bottom of my palm got scraped across the sidewalk because it was cut open.

I remember pushing myself up and thinking that my head was throbbing. The first thing I noticed was that my glasses were broken; I could see them lying in front of me, smashed to bits and missing their lenses. “My glasses are broken, damn,” I remember announcing. “And I think I hit my head.”

My forehead was warm, and my vision was clouding in my left eye. “Oh. I’m bleeding. I cut my forehead open,” I narrated while Ant grabbed my shoulders tried to inspect the damage. However, he was too busy panicking to really look, and started crying and apologizing over and over, while I was the calm one.

My glasses had cut my forehead and eyebrow when they broke.

Blood was pouring from my head. I kept having to blink the blood out of my eye and hold my head forward to clear my vision. I put my hands over it, but it kept filling up my palms and spilling down my forearms. “Fuck, this is a lot of blood, but it is a head wound. It’s gonna bleed. Let’s move.”

So, we move toward the buildings, off to the side of the sidewalk, leaving our scooters there. Ant is still freaking out, but he has the peace of mind to deactivate the scooters (though forgets to take a picture of them, so we both end up with $40 bills later that Lyft thankfully refunded really quickly. By the time I realized he didn’t finish deactivating them, I went to the take a picture of the scooter screen and just took a selfie of me all bloody in the ER. We got the money back within half an hour.).

“I need to go to the hospital because this is going to need stitches.” I can’t even see the cut, but if it’s bleeding this much, I know it’s gotta be something I need sewn up. “Do we call an ambulance?”

“Maybe you won’t need stitches. Head wounds bleed, so it might not be that bad. It’s just… too bloody for me to see the cut. Let’s walk back to our hotel, and you can clean up there?”

I snort, gesturing to my arms. At this point, both of my arms are purple with blood. I literally look like I stepped out of a horror movie and got stabbed or something. It looks like I just dipped both arms into a barrel of blood to the elbow and then yanked them out. I’m wearing all black, so you can’t tell that it’s on my clothes as much, but the gray logo on the front of my shirt is dark red. “I’m not walking down the streets like this, much less our hotel. I’d scare people.”

“If we need to go to the hospital, I’ll just drive you there.”

I only said ambulance initially because I wasn’t sure how to walk to a hospital covered in blood, and there’s also no way I’m going to walk through our hotel like this and wait in the underground garage for the valet to get his car.

“No way. We could Uber, but I can’t go in there like this. I need to get cleaned up.”

There’s an Aloft hotel directly across the street, and we both glance over there. “You could use the bathroom in that hotel,” he suggests, and I scoff.

“There’s a lot of people around there… They’d start screaming or call 911 if I walked in. Why don’t you just go grab me some wet and dry paper towels?”

“You’re gonna stay out here by yourself?”

“I’ll hide. Just hurry.”

So, yeah, I’m still actively bleeding all over the place when he runs across the street, but I hide behind a pillar, crouch down so maybe people won’t notice me, and pull out a compact mirror/brush combination (the one that Viv gave me in Alaska, actually!) This is the first time I get a look at myself, and shit, my face is covered in blood, and it’s pretty much turned my blonde hair pink. I decide to try to brush the blood out, which just spreads it around and ends up yanking giant pink tangles out. I try to get a look at the cut, but I can’t see it well past the blood, and every time I let go of it, it just pours out in a rush. So, I start holding my sleeve against it, but that doesn’t help.

Ant comes running back with his pockets stuffed with paper towels just as a random woman peers around my pillar.

“Are you okay?!” she shouts, horrified.

Shit.

I haven’t cleaned myself off, and I let go of my forehead to turn and wave a dismissive hand with the biggest, most manic grin I’ve probably ever had plastered on my face. “I’m fine! I just had a little fall, that’s all!”

She recoils a little, looking even more concerned. “Do you need me to call 911?”

“Oh, no, no, no need for that! I’m going to clean off and then Uber to the hospital, but thank you!”

She looks dubious. “Okay. I just didn’t want to walk away when I saw you.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m all right!”

So when she leaves, I proceed to start scrubbing the blood off my arms first, and then the side of my face. There’s no helping my hair; my bangs are sticking straight up, matted into a ball. Ant helps, and then I ball the rest of the dry paper towels up and hold it to my head. I’ve still got some blood here and there on me, but it’s enough that walking down the streets of Atlanta won’t be too bad.

We walk to the end of the block and get an Uber. It shows up fairly quickly, and I slip into the backseat without trying to draw attention to myself. But after about a block, the driver asks if we’re visiting someone at the hospital; obviously, he hasn’t looked at me yet.

“Nah, we had an accident,” Ant nervously answers, and I meet the driver’s gaze through the rear-view mirror.

“Are you… Are you bleeding?!”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I cleaned up; it won’t be on your backseat.”

At least he has leather seats, but honestly, I don’t think there’s any blood on the back of my pants, and I’m sitting forward so I’m not touching anything else. I’m trying to be considerate but damn, I need this Uber.

The driver is worried about just that, and he keeps glancing back at me. He’s driving faster now, eager to get me out of his car. He runs a red light, and I grip the side handle, muttering curses under my breath.

The hospital wasn’t far, but he still stops a full block from it and tells us to get out, and “Good luck!” before he speeds off. It takes a bit of walking to figure out which part of the massive hospital leads into the ER, and it’s with all of this walking that I realize I’m hurting, and it’s not just my head. My ribs feel like fire. Gingerly I press on them and wince. Shit. They’re either bruised or broken.

I’ll worry about that later; right now, I want my head sewn up so I can leave.

As soon as we entered the ER, there was a security guard sitting by the metal detector. I handed him my purse, but when he noticed there was blood all over it, he just asked me to open it so he can shine his flashlight inside. “What happened, sweetheart? Did you have a fall?” he asked, the picture of concern.

“I fell off one of those scooters,” I replied, and his face automatically changed.

“When will you learn?” he said sternly. “I hope this taught you something.”

… The… fuck?

“I’ve never seen one of those before,” I countered. “I didn’t know.”

He scoffs and waves me through, shaking his head and muttering about the damn scooters. I’m pissed off now, and Ant has to lead me to the counter. Since I don’t have my glasses, everything just looks like blobs until I get close, and the signs might as well not even have writing on them. It’s disorienting, and I hate it.

At the front desk, as soon as I say I fell off a scooter, the women react the same way. “You should’ve known better,” one of them chides, and I keep repeating that I had no idea it went that fast. I feel like a child.

“You could’ve been hurt,” the other one insists, and I dumbly stare. Why do they think I’m here?

Ant fills out the basic patient information sheet for me and hands it back, while I go into the bathroom to clean up. The door doesn’t lock, so I have to get him to stand outside of it. I try to wash the blood out of my hair, but I’m only mildly successful. I do get to wash the rest of the blood from my arms and face, though, so that’s something. I roll my pants up to assess my knees, and they’re skint up and bloody, but I know from the way I can move them that there’s nothing wrong with them. The cut on my palm burns like hell, but it’s okay, and my elbow is just skint up, too.

After half an hour, a nurse comes and wordlessly tapes some gauze to my forehead without really looking at the cut. Then, I’m called back to the triage area where they take my vitals and ask what happened and what’s hurt. I’m sat’ing 100, so I know that my ribs didn’t puncture a lung or anything, so I decide they’re fine.

About an hour after that, I get called back, and it’s then that I realize I haven’t signed a consent for treatment. I ask the nurse about it, he tells me that I don’t need one signed beforehand for where I’m going.

We end up in the trauma section, and I’m surprised. “I’m a trauma?” He nods. “What, a level three?” Another absent nod as he tries to figure out where to put me. A level three means there’s nothing possibly life-threatening about my injuries, but that I’ve sustained an injury that needs to be seen before a standard patient, basically.

It’s then that I realize just how busy this ER is. There were over 60 normal rooms we passed, and this trauma bay alone has 20 rooms, with four rooms for dire cases. To put it in perspective, I work in an enormous hospital, and our trauma bay only has four rooms.

All 20 rooms must be full because there’s a man with an obviously broken leg on a stretcher just out in the hallway. I get lead around the corner, and then the nurse pulls a chair out and has me sit in the hall.

Over the course of the next two hours, several different people come to see me, and I can’t tell which of them is my nurse or doctor. Mostly, they just peel the gauze away from my face to look at the cut, and when I first asked if it was going to need stitches, I just got laughter as a response.

A nurse was making rounds with a student and stopped in front of me at one point. “This one didn’t have the sense to not get on a scooter,” she told the student, and I shouted back that they don’t have them where I’m from.

“You could’ve been hurt,” the student said, and I’m begin to wonder what their definition of hurt is if I’m sitting in a trauma bay.

“Mmhmm. Bet you won’t do that again,” the nurse chuckles, and then leads her away.

“What the fuck is wrong with this place?” Ant asks, standing beside me; they didn’t offer him a chair, so he’s been awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot this entire time.

A doctor comes to examine me in the hall, pressing on my neck and squeezing my arms. I have to roll my skinny jeans up to show him my knees, but he claims if I’ve been walking, they must be fine. He asks if I have any other injuries, and I think about the fact that my ribs hurt whenever I breathe – but I’m tired of this place, pissed off, and I wanna go home. So, I tell him no. Someone comes up and offers me a tetanus shot, but I turn that down, too.

Another hour later, a resident comes to tell me that he’s going to sew up my eyebrow if he can get a room. I don’t need a head CT, but he’s worried I may have ripped the membrane covering my skull, so he said he’s going to feel it before he sews it up, but “Don’t worry, we’ll numb you up so you won’t feel a thing.”

When he finally gets a room, he’s antsy, trying to move quick. We’re in one of the large, critical care bays, one of the rooms where they bring the most serious cases. He’s wearing a walkie-talkie that’s giving trauma reports, which is weird to me because I wear a pager for mine at work.

“I’ve gotta irrigate that wound, but I don’t know how to do it without pouring water all over you.”

“Honestly, if you could get some more of it in my hair, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“I don’t think that’s coming out that easily.”

He put chucks around my neck and has me lean back while he pours sterile water directly into the cut. This was honestly the worst part; I have a pretty solid tolerance for pain, but I found myself squeezing Ant’s arm and trying not to cry.

The resident’s walkie-talkie goes off, reporting a two-car collision, and both of the drivers are coming as level one traumas – which means they’re life-threatening. I’m definitely getting kicked out of this room, and he knows it, too.

“Shit. Okay. Okay, it’s still got a bit before it’ll be here. I can probably still sew you up, so let’s try. But first, we have to check that membrane I mentioned, and ah… I need an attending to double-check me.”

He steps out to grab another doctor, and this one takes one look at me and grins. “You’re going to have one hell of a black eye, girlie.”

“Black eye?” I’m starting to panic. “I can’t have a black eye at work. Are you sure?”

He scoffs. “Absolutely. It’s going to look gnarly. But hey, let’s see if you have a tear.” He holds up the blunt end of a Q-tip, and I recoil a little. I know he’s about to jam that directly into my cut.

“Wasn’t I told I’d be numbed up first?”

“No time with 2 level one’s coming. You knew the risk when you got on the scooter.”

“Why does everyone keep sayin–ahhhh!”

He sticks the blunt end directly into the cut, and then drags it across my freaking skull, up under the skin. It doesn’t hurt as much as the irrigation did, but I still suck in a hiss of air and wince.

“All right, so it didn’t snag, and that means you’re probably good.” He starts explaining it to the resident, while I just mouth fucking hell to Ant.

To make a long story short because this is starting to get out of hand, I get sewn up partway, the trauma comes, so we have to go back into the hall, and the resident breaks sterile procedure without changing gloves, so I ask for that tetanus shot after all. He finishes up my stitches in the hall, although keeps saying that he wants to see the trauma, while I keep insisting he needs to finish what he started. The attending is supposed to review his work, but an hour and a half pass without a sign of the doctor, so the resident comes back to tell me it’s probably fine and slaps some gauze over the stitches. I’m also told it’ll scar, but not to worry because “eyebrow scars are badass.”

“There’s always an eyebrow scar in any character creation mode, so now you can pick that,” Ant helpfully supplies.

Fast forward a bit. I didn’t get any pain killers, but I had some left from where I got a wisdom tooth out the month before. To put it in perspective, when I got that tooth out, I only took a half of one (it wasn’t anything hard because it was one tooth, so don’t worry; it was basically powerful tylenol that makes you drowsy). But the day after the wreck, I took three. My ribs were killing me, breathing hurt, my head was pounding, and bending my legs was agony. Everything hurt, so I called into work for the first time in eight years and just laid on the couch.

I could only get one day off, so I went in after, and desperately tried to cover up my black eye with makeup. I’ll have to post some pictures below or something because I think I actually did a good job. A few days later, I decided to x-ray my ribs because they were getting worse. I thought that at the most, I’d squint at them and wonder if they might be broken, but when the image popped up, my coworkers and I gasped. It was obvious breaks, and both of my floated ribs had the ends broken off completely, just hanging out below them.

You can’t do much for broken ribs. You can get them wrapped if they’re bad enough, and in some extreme cases, some hardware can get put on them, but that’s pretty rare. It’s just something that heals on its own if you take it easy. I knew that, but I still went to my primary doctor a couple of weeks later because they were only getting worse, and I wanted to see if I could get some time approved off work. Plus, I was kinda scared the broken pieces wouldn’t reattach.

Long story short, I got patronized a bit. She repeated the xrays of my ribs after I showed her they were broken, and also ordered an xray of my orbit (which the xray tech didn’t know how to do because that’s not something you typically get at a doctor’s office, so she had me xray myself). When I asked the doctor why she wanted to xray my face – “There’s nothing you can do about a fracture there, right? It just heals on it’s own?” – she replied with, “Yeah, but so do rib fractures, and yet you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Even the xray tech told me, “You know you can’t do anything for broken ribs.” when I was looking over my images. “You just have to take it easy.”

“I can’t,” I blurted, exasperated. My work is mostly physical; I lift patients and push machines around all day, and it hurt like hell.

The doctor asked me if I looked at the xrays, and if I thought I saw a fracture. “You tell me?” I asked, and she shrugged.

“Oh, I can’t read xrays. You see more of them than me, so I figured you’d be able to tell. But I mean, it looks like your sixth rib is really broken bad.”

“Sixth?” The middle one? It’d been hurting like hell, and I had a suspicion that it was broken. “You could see it, too?”

“Oh yeah, that piece was way off.”

“Piece? You mean the very bottom one?” She nods. “The… 12th rib?”

“Yeah, 6th, 12th, however many ribs you got in there.”

She was supposed to get the xrays read by a radiologist, but she never got back to me, so I just got one at work to check it out. Which is probably what I should’ve done in the first place. She couldn’t get me time off work, and she suggested I take ibuprofen for the pain, even though the last time I saw her, she told me not to take that anymore because I have a stomach ulcer. When I reminded her of that, she shrugged and said, “What would you rather have? Nausea or pain?”

…. I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again.

ANYWAY, I ended up tanking all of my vacation days to scrounge almost two weeks off work after a particularly busy day there made it get so bad that I physically couldn’t get out of bed, and that got me healed up for the most part. And by then, some friends flew in to stay with me for a while, so they just let me be lazy and heal, and it really helped. I had a black eye for a month straight, but it finally went away, and now the only lasting damage I have is a scar above my eyebrow, and still a good deal of pain in it. Like just brushing my fingertips over it still hurts, so I think it’s still a bit broken; it’s bigger than my other eyebrow, and it’s kinda got a knot if you feel over it. But all the other bones are healed now, so that’s pretty good.

I guess the people in the ER were right, though. I did learn my lesson, and I’m staying the hell away from scooters now.

For those of you outside of the US wondering about our healthcare system, this entire ordeal cost me about $600.

$200 for the new glasses because insurance wouldn’t cover a new pair until Feb, and I needed them right then.

$300 for the ER visit

& another $100 for the doctors group that saw me in the ER. I have the best insurance I can possibly get in my state, too, so this was just as cheap as it gets. It sucked, but lesson learned!

Here’s some pictures just to add to the story:

This was me right after I got the cut irrigated. You can still see some of the pink in my hair.

Here’s the next day, before the black eye had really set in. The cut’s been sewn up:

Here’s literally the day after that – and pretty much every day for two weeks, before it started to fade.

And here’s how I covered it up with makeup to go to work. I got good at it!

The glasses helped to hide the swelling, really.

Annnnd that’s the scooter tale. 8D

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nomadicism · 5 years ago

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I read that one posts. I agree with Sol. I think it's more likely that Dreamworks crunched the numbers, figured it wouldn't be profitable and just canned the project than them cancelling it because of a very small section of the internet. p1

“p2 Mecha is just a dying genre as a whole. Even in Japan, isekai has taken it's place and there are hardly any new mechas outside of Gundam. That's in Japan! In the west, mecha is even more niche of an interest and general audiences don't gravitate towards it. I don't think that any mecha movie wouldn't do well at the box office. I'm even worried about that Gundam movie bombing at the box office.”

Hi Anon, thank you for the Ask!

Yeah, I agree with Sol too—and at risk of repeating what I’ve said in other posts about the movie thing—it’s really hard to convey just how incredibly unlikely a property like Voltron or Robotech will ever be made into a live-action movie. It really is about the numbers, as it always has been. Since the 80s, there’s this whole persistent and stupid element of the cartoon industry that continues to delude itself that promises or interest from Hollywood will ever pan out. There are so many scripts sitting in production limbo, that it’s almost criminal.

No one wants to risk money on a live-action movie based on children’s media IP that won’t bring in rated PG-13 or R dollars from adults, and no one wants to risk repeating the 80s He-Man film. The exceptions are live-action films made from children’s media IP that are fully owned by the company paying to produce the movie. I’ve got more to say about the complexities of royalties, but that’s awfully long-winded when I get into it, and I’d rather be long-winded about giant robots. (◕ᴗ◕✿)

The topic of mecha genre dying out is what really interests me here. It’s a topic that I think about a lot, as the beginnings of the mecha genre had a lot of deep cultural time-and-place stuff behind it, even if the stories were just kids and teen boys hopping into a giant robot to beat up other giant robots and monsters, in what were essentially 30 minute long toy commercials.

Isekai will come-and-go as all genres do. It’s not a new genre, but right now the types of themes driving the isekai stories being made speaks to a lot of interesting things happening in the youth of Japan’s relationship with digital gaming and role-play escapism. It’s fascinating, even though the focus of the genre as it’s done today hasn’t really grabbed me in the same way that isekai of the 80s-90s did.

Mecha isekai exists, and it’s only a matter of time before someone either remakes Vision of Escaflowne, or does a more mecha-focused isekai story similar to Magic Knight Rayearth. I doubt anyone would revisit Aura Battler Dunbine, or Super Dimension Century Orguss, but an otaku can dream.

Before we can say the mecha genre is dying, let’s briefly skim over the genre trends of the past +40 years. Every decade or era of mecha anime has a trend that reflects cultural concerns built into it, in a way that I don’t think any other genre of animation can touch (until now, with Digital/Virtual/Fantasy RPG World Isekai).

Late 60s-70s was: Super Robot smashes monsters and alien robots

Mid-70s – early 80s was: Combining Mecha Sentai Team Super Robot smashes monsters and alien robots

80s was: Real Robot + “how many sci-fi/fantasy settings can we put a robot into?” + the death-throes of Super Robot (e.g. Dairugger XV, Golion, Baldios, Godmars)

Also 80s: What the hell was Super Dimension Fortress Macross about? Cold war tensions of escalating end-the-world arms race meets an alien species whose only culture is fighting. Where songs about love, and the culture of love, are what win the day, not just transforming robots and big guns. Macross is deeper than it lets on.

Fun 80s: GoShogun happened. The first parody-satire mecha anime that still feels more serious than they intended, but is actually hilarious once you get past the dated gender roles humor (which was also kind of intentional satire).

WTF 80s: Space Runaway Ideon broke everyone’s minds.

Still not done with 80s: Gunbuster happened. The first angst-driven parody-satire mecha anime that blew everyone’s minds.

Late 80s-early 90s OVA mecha was a mix of Serious Cyberpunk-influenced Real Robot for older teens and adults + Mecha with Tits & Tentacles for Adults (see also space elf lesbians).

90s was: The Franchises Will Survive With Prettier Pilots, and Super Angst-Bot That Was Way More Influenced By Drugs And Ideon’s Ending Than Anyone Wants To Admit (aka Neon Genesis Evangelion) + “Since Gunbuster was a success, how many parodies of Super Robot and Real Robot can we do?”

Mid 90s isekai gems: Magic Knight Rayearth and Vision of Escaflowne

Late 90s: Brain-Powerd (not a typo) happened and it’s a shame no one remembers it. I’ve seen it’s influence come up in the 2000s – 2010s.

The 00s seem to be filled with a lot of re-treading of everything that came before but with different cross-genre influences and some of it really damn good but hard to remember because it all kind of blends together.

The 2010s-today: I have no idea what’s happening now b/c I can’t keep up with anything that isn’t Gundam. And why bother when there has been a flood of classic 70s-80s mecha releases—many for the first time in the US—to binge watch?

Knights of Sidonia was cool.

Since I haven’t kept up, I can’t speak to what new mecha anime is like, or why it's less popular (though I have an educated guess). It was gonna happen eventually, and I suspect that the kinds of post-nuclear and Cold War existential dread that informed mecha anime of the 60s-80s has moved on as target audiences grew up. Those lates 80s OVAs, where the stories could be more adult, reflect that growing up (and also Blade Runner’s influence).

I see the 90s as very transitional, includes reactions to the prior eras, but also reflects a lot of angst by Japanese teens and young adults caught up in the after-effects of 80s stagnation, and the constant test-studying to get into the best school to get the best job (if it exists) and figure it all out before you’re 14 so you can pick the best school to test into. Also, salary-man dad works 120 hours a week and is never home. Get in the Angst-bot Shinji.

Excluding the stand-out brands that survived their respective eras: Gundam, Macross, Braves series, Mazinger Z, Getter Robo, Evangelion; there’s not much other ground that can be covered right now that would warrant a series. The franchise mecha shows are grounded in their respective niches. It’s kind of odd that there isn’t an isekai mecha franchise, b/c that’s a niche that hasn’t been owned in the way that the other niches have (unless maybe Machine Hero Wataru is still a Thing?)

It’s worth mentioning that Sport Anime has really been having a moment for almost a decade now, and that’s super interesting to compare against isekai. Isekai about dungeon slimes or whatever vs literal horse-girls racing each other like high-school track. Thanks Japan, are y’all all right over there?

A few last things:

The success of Super Robot Wars tells me that mecha genre isn’t dying. Consider the ages of players. How many of them actually grew up watching Yuusha Raideen (aka Yūsha Raideen / Raideen the Brave)? There is an SRW manga anthology series, and loads of gachapon and collector’s grade mecha figures from old mecha anime get released with regularity. Someone’s buying that all that shit.

SRW is nearly 20 years old now, and they are still making video games that do one thing really well: rotate a 40 year old cast of everyone’s favorite robots into a battle strategy game held together by a duct-tape plot that doesn’t take itself too seriously. The games are fun, and it’s cool to put all these mecha into the same field. It’s really great to see older shows that will never be remade have little cut scenes in a newer animation style that still feels like the originals.

There’s also the old staple that started it all: the tokusatsu genre of live-action Super Sentai shows (e.g. Power Rangers). They’ve been making the Super Sentai Series since 1975, and there’s still fun to be had watching color-coded warriors use special powers/tech to summon forth some combining mecha to do battle with rubber suit monsters from outer-space. The effects are much better these days, but it’s the same formula, year after year and people still love it.

So with respect to mecha, I think what’s died or dying, is that people are afraid to have shameless child-like fun with giant robots. The genre got too serious and too angsty (and too horny without the grown-up edge of 80s OVA Tits & Tentacles mecha). The franchises carved their niches and aren’t going anywhere, while the genre survives in video games and collectables.

A lot of that shameless fun has moved into other genres, because nothing else explains a title like: “Is It Wrong To Pick Up Girl’s In The Dungeon?” or the nearly-ecchi concept behind the sports anime “Keijo!!!!!”. But that kind of fun is less child-like and more self-deprecating or pervy-humor. Both sports and isekai anime have their serious side, but seem to be dominated by stories that don’t take themselves too seriously, or like Yuri on Ice, aren’t afraid to take a concept that no one ever saw coming, and shape it into a good story.

I eagerly await a mecha sports anime (wait, no, I think that already happened), and I’d love to see a knock-out isekai mecha anime again. I think it will happen eventually, but probably not from Toei or Sunrise. If Tatsunoko could get beyond Moe Idols In Space, then the Macross franchise already has everything it needs to do a isekai series. That would be rad.

#mecha #ask me anything #anonymous #i'm sorry this got long

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chromecutie · 5 years ago

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Not A Ghost - part 32

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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Sleeping next to Wade wasn’t the same thing as being at home, but they had both woken up less stiff than they would have if they’d slept separately. Even better, Rhonda felt keen, determined, even a little optimistic.

“Stay sharp,” Rhonda warned Wade over their cold sausage and some oatmeal that could be used to cover cracks in drywall. “After last night, I have a feeling one or both of us might get stabbed today.”

“Oh really?” Wade asked as if she had just told him she thought it might rain. “Just a feeling, or do you say that because of the guy behind you twirling a shiv?” Her eyes shot wide and he nodded, “Yeah, he’s looking at you, ready to snap into a Slim Jim. Move left in three...two...yup--”

Rhonda ducked, covering her head and neck with her hands as Wade flung his plastic spork at a scrawny, dark haired man who let out a gargling shriek when it plunged into his neck, just above his collar. A sharpened piece of plastic that used to be a pen fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. Wade complained, “Dammit! I missed his eye!”

The nearest guard rushed over and glared at Rhonda, “What the hell happened over here?” His hand was quick to tighten over the cattle prod on his belt.

“I don’t know,” she scoffed. “I don't know this guy. He just fell. Right, Wade?”

Wade replied around a big mouthful of sausage, “He’zh clumzhy on that toi-let wine.” He threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. Rhonda mimicked the shrug and took a bite of oatmeal, trying not to gag on it.

Boots thumped on concrete as a second guard showed up, and scowling at Wade and Rhonda, they both dragged the wailing man away toward the infirmary.

With a furtive glance around the mess hall, Rhonda caught a brief glimpse of Mimi a few tables away giving the slightest nod. Apparently, the man wasn’t part of the Vicious 13, and they wouldn’t have to worry about punishment. Lucky.

When Rhonda sighed and pushed her tray toward Wade, he eagerly took up her spork and finished off her oatmeal. How he could seem to enjoy the food was beyond Rhonda.

The Icebox didn't have a yard to speak of - at least not an outdoor yard. Built into the side of a snow capped mountain, the entire complex was indoor. A sealed box. There was a large central space, lined with the cell blocks that stretched for what felt like miles. In the middle of that was a large, open space where the mess hall and "yard" blurred into each other. Past the tables and benches of the mess hall were the weight racks, a pair of basketball goals, and some other equipment, most of it damaged from years of riots. There were very few fluorescent lights. Instead, most of the lighting came from the skylights several stories above. On a bright day, the lighting might have felt like a shopping mall, but there were no bright days on this mountaintop.

After breakfast, Wade and Rhonda hadn’t been put on any duties, so they were free to make their attempts at recreation in the yard. They had settled on a suspiciously rickety weight bench near some other members of the Vicious 13.

As they got the barbell ready for a few sets of bench press, they watched over each other’s shoulders, wary for another potential attack. The barbell was lopsided - there weren’t enough plates to make it even, so Wade pressed some of his own weight on the lighter side for Rhonda’s sets. She was on her second set when a pair of inmates approached.

“Hey, V-One-Three,” one greeted, “Can you add us to your rotation for a few sets?”

Rhonda sat up and before she could answer, the second inmate let out a startled hiss of, “Oh, shit.” They muttered a hurried excuse and quickly walked away. She watched them another moment, then rolled her eyes and laid on the bench again to finish her set.

“Okay, seriously,” Wade said, “Why does everyone in here wanna kill you or avoid you like a celebrity with a rape scandal?”

She puffed a breath, pushing harder against Wade’s resistance. “You know how when dirty cops go to jail, they get sent somewhere outside their county, or out of state? So they don’t have to be in general pop with the people they arrested?”

Wade started snickering. He coughed a little, but still tried to keep his weight consistent on the bar.

Rhonda took a deep breath before her next rep. “Well when I first got here, I was sure there had been a mistake and I made a big deal about being part of X-Men. Guess who put a bunch of people in here.”

“The Avengers?” When she leveled a stony glare on him, he chuckled a little more before asking, “Okay, so what else?”

She shifted uncomfortably, and racked the bar for a moment to catch her breath between sets. She tugged at her sleeve to make sure most of her Xs were covered. “Eventually, I...snapped.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “What does it look like when lawful good snaps? Quit saying ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes?”

Rhonda looked up at him, rusty barbell between them. “I started doing what everyone in here does. Stabbing kidneys, slashing thighs. But then I escalated. I broke a couple necks, and…” she took a deep breath and shuddered.

Wade smiled, a twinkle gleaming in his eye. Rhonda whispered something too soft for him to hear. “Hm?” he held a hand to his ear.

A voice near Rhonda’s feet said, “She slashed a motherfucker open and pulled out his intestines with her bare hands.”

Rhonda ducked under the bar to sit bolt upright, a shiv glinted in her hand. The blue-haired man she had pointed out to Wade when they first arrived stood before them. His arms were crossed, his deep bronze skin seemed dull compared to the bright blue of his cornrows.

Wade’s jaw dropped. Then he gave Rhonda a slow clap. “Look at you! Giving Arya Stark a run for her money! Miss Murder’n’Mayhem!”

The inmate bared his teeth, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, “She took a bite, too. I seen it.” He turned his gaze to Wade and pointed at Rhonda, “This psycho bitch bit off a guard’s finger too. If she’s using you for a slampiece, you better watch yourself.”

When Wade looked at Rhonda again, she was perfectly still, her features void of any emotion. “You have a lot of fingers for someone doing so much talking,” she warned.

Wade made a big show of grimacing and groaning, “Cannibalism? Really?”

The blue-braided inmate shrugged, “Nah, I know you won’t fuck with me. I ain’t given you any reason. Besides, you slash a V-One-Three? Mimi won’t have that. See how quick she makes you disappear.” His chin jutted upward, absolutely arrogant. It annoyed Rhonda, but he wasn’t wrong.

She lowered her shiv, but didn’t put it away. Cold glare fixed on the newcomer, she asked, “You need something, Janks?”

He waved vaguely toward the bench she sat on, “This bar’s in the V-One-Three section. Any of us can use it. Now move so I can do a set. I’ve got messages from Mimi.”

She hesitated to move. “If Mimi’s got something to say to me, she can tell me herself.”

Janks gave another mirthless smile, “Mimi is a busy lady.”

Sharing a pointed look with Wade, she reluctantly got up and let Janks settle. Wade coughed again, so Rhonda had him lean on the heavier side of the bar, so he could have it easier and she could lean with her own weight on the lighter side to Janks’s satisfaction.

Janks was surprisingly strong. He pumped each rep quickly, raw power in his lean muscles. He puffed a breath with each rep. “Mimi says - hhh - she knows the right snake hole - hhh - to get to the top of - hhh - the mountain.”

“Nice code,” Wade quipped. “A little on the nose for my taste, but--”

“What else did Mimi tell you?” Rhonda asked with a sharp edge in her voice.

“Hhh - Nothin’ she doesn’t trust me with,” Janks evaded. “There’s something - hhh - you’ll have to take care of - hhh - she says you’ll know what to do.”

He paused at the end of his set, and Rhonda let him breathe a second before she pressed, “That’s it? She didn’t give any details?”

Janks scoffed, “How many fuckin’ details you need, Guestbook, huh? I told you everything I’m supposed to.” He curled a finger, signaling he was ready for another set.

Practically hovering over his face, Rhonda gave a quiet snarl, “Whatever it is, if Mimi’s not happy, you better hope it wasn’t because of a communication error.”

Janks worked another two sets before he left them alone. Wade was coughing too much for Rhonda to let him do a set at all, and instead they took a worn deck of playing cards to one of the tables at the edge of the mess hall. As she started shuffling the deck, careful not to tear the corners any worse than they already were, Wade asked, “You really eviscerated somebody and then made a snack of him?”

Rhonda clenched her jaw so hard Wade could hear her teeth grinding. “I did the guard’s finger, yes. But the first guy...I spat some blood at somebody. You know how stories get twisted.”

“Uh-huh,” he was trying not to laugh.

“This isn’t something I’m proud of,” she snapped, her voice still raspier than usual. “The first time I killed someone, I couldn’t hold any food down for days. And later, I...I either got used to it, or I got better at not thinking about it." She paused and dropped her voice to a near whisper and looked away, "I don’t know which is worse.” Her teeth ground again as she pursed her lips and started dealing the deck evenly between herself and Wade.

His expression softened. “We won’t be here long,” he assured her. “The gang’s probably already on their way here. What’s the plan for these collars? I have a feeling you’ve been making decisions without cluing me in...”

“Let’s play War,” Rhonda flipped the top card of her deck - a queen of spades with her faces scratched out. Wade revealed a three of hearts, and Rhonda took both for her pile. “Mimi will get into the control office and let us in. Until then, we keep her happy doing whatever she tells us.”

Wade started to laugh, but it quickly turned into coughs again. “You let the snake lady gang lord be in charge of the most important part of our plan? Why did you agree to that?” He flipped a seven of diamonds, which beat Rhonda’s two of clubs.

“I got her to buy in on getting the fuck out of here.” She surreptitiously glanced around, checking for anyone listening.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he grumbled as they tied the next round and each laid out three cards for battle. “You don’t strike me as much of a diplomatic type. What did you promise her?”

Rhonda won the next round and leaned close. “Every inmate in here would give anything to get these collars off. I promised Mimi that if she helps us, she can take collars off whoever she wants.”

Wade fidgeted with the corner of his next card. “And if she chooses people who can wreck our shit?”

She shrugged. “When I first got mine off, I couldn’t do anything. It was a couple days before I could even make sparks again. There’s a chance that the collars affect other people like that too, especially the ones who’ve had them a long time. Their abilities will probably be lessened.”

“I smell a whole lot of maybe in that idea…”

“What other options do you see, Wade?” She slapped her next card on the table. “If we had a year, we could build a cover, we could get a guard in our pocket, make some hiding places, but this is the best we can do right now.” She shook her head and muttered, “Besides, it’s not like we have to take them with us.”

“Inmate!” a guard barked from a distance.

Wade raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you’d have that attitude, but okay. I--”

“IN-MATE.” The guard was closer now, impatient. “Guestbook!”

Rhonda turned, schooling her features to predatory stillness. A few other inmates had gathered behind the guard, watching. This was the guard who had been with Reyes when the DMC had recaptured her. “Calhoun,” she said flatly. “How’s Reyes?”

Calhoun had bruises around one eye, and though Rhonda couldn’t remember, she suspected she'd put those bruises there herself. He was seething, “He’s out of the ICU, and he asked me to...watch over you until he gets back.”

“Here I am,” she said simply.

“Yeees,” Calhoun drawled. “Here you are.”

He moved, and Rhonda dove under the table. Cards fluttered in the air. Before she had a chance to roll to Wade’s side, Calhoun and another inmate snagged each of her ankles and dragged her out into the open. Wade jumped, ready to help, but three inmates grabbed him, pinned his arms back, and started punching his gut.

Rhonda clawed at the cement, breaking fingernails as they dragged her. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she scrambled to defend herself. She whirled and caught the inmate in the face with her elbows, breaking his nose and spraying blood, but Calhoun caught her arm and threw her down onto her face. She was nearly to her feet again when a heavy, steel-toed boot caught her in the belly. The breath rushed out of her and she collapsed onto her side.

Three more inmates pulled at her arms and legs until she was immobilized.

Calhoun jabbed his knee into her lower back, ignoring her pained grunt. “It’s been a while since we’ve had our Guestbook,” Calhoun leaned over so Rhonda could see his cruel smile, “and we’ve had a lot of newcomers who need to sign.”

Rhonda screamed. Wild, pure rage echoed through the yard.

The guard tore her right sleeve clean off her arm, revealing her lacework of badly inked Xs.

Wade roared in angry futility, even as the inmates holding him kept beating him.

Calhoun took something from his pocket, a tattoo gun cobbled together from CD player parts and office supplies. He slowly ran one hand along Rhonda’s arm, looking for a blank space. “I forgot how full your arm is,” he said. “Maybe we should tear off the rest of your clothes.”

Rhonda huffed and heaved, raging but trying to conserve her strength. “Reyes thought he was tough until a giant Russian mutant had his hands on him,” she growled through her clenched jaw. “Reyes is shit, and you’re shit. You’ll die shit.”

Unperturbed, Calhoun hooked his fingers into Rhonda’s collar and thumped her head hard against the concrete floor. Looking at the inmates who had gathered around them, he flashed his teeth in a horrible smile. He offered up the improvised tattoo gun. “Okay, who’s first?”

#not a ghost #colossus x oc #piotr rasputin x oc #piotr rasputin #xmen fanfic #angst #longfic

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wanderingclark · 5 years ago

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Bank of Sugar || Clark and Sugar

Who: Clark Meeks and Sugar Motta ( @usecodesugar ) When: Wednesday, January 22, 2020 Where: Sugars house What: Clark ask Sugar for a loan. Doesn’t turn out quite as planned.

Clark

Clark was nervous. She had bought a nice shirt and pair of pants for this evening, showered at the school, did their hair nicely and made sure they looked good. They wanted to be as professional as possible for this. Yeah, Sugar was their friend, but they were about to ask for a massive amount of money. The home they found was perfect for what they wanted and it was used so it was already built. They just had to pay for the house and the shipping to get it to Doveport and the first and last months rent for the plot of land they had found to rent to put it on. Everything was in place, they just needed the money. And no bank would ever give them the amount of money they were gonna need. So Sugar was their one and only shot at this. Pulling up to the gate and entering in the code Sugar gave them, they parked and grabbed all the paperwork they needed for this meeting. Taking a deep breath and brushing off the imaginary dust off their shirt, the walked up and rang the doorbell before pushing their glasses up their face as they waited for Sugar to answer

Sugar

Sugar performed her usual routine of checking that everything was clean, she had put Simon in one of his nicer bow ties, just for kicks, and changed into jeans and a Gucci tshirt. She had gotten her checkbook from her business manager earlier, knowing Clark would want to collect on the bet they had made, she'd honestly been so impressed that they had lasted. She never would have been able to do it. At the bell, Simon ran to the door and Sugar followed, opening it with a smile. "Hey come on in!" She made room for Clark to come inside. "Is this couch talk or do we need like a table?"

Clark

Clark smiled and followed her in. Tapping their notebook against their hand, they licked their lips. "Uh. Probably a table" they said nervously. God they needed to stop being so nervous. They needed to get their shit together. They followed Sugar to the formal dining table and sat next to the girl at the table before opening their notebook and pulling out a bunch of papers with a bunch of numbers and she could already see them scrambling in the page. Shaking their head, they cleared their throat before closing their eyes for a moment and then opening them back up to look at Sugar. "I found a house." they said bluntly before continuing. "It's a tiny home actually. On wheels. It's preowned so it's already built with all the bells and whistles and has like top of the line everything but the previous owners couldn't finish their payments so they got foreclosed on or something. I don't know but they're now selling it for cheap. I mean, for cheap for a tiny home" they rambled before shaking their head and looking back down to the papers before grabbing a few. "This is the house and all the specs. There's plumbing, electric, a kitchen, a bathroom with a full shower, a living room, an office and a loft bedroom. And it's on wheels so all I'd have to do is hook it up if I ever wanted to go somewhere else" they said, their heart racing inside of their chest as they watched Sugar look over the paper work.

Sugar

There was something off about Clark tonight, Sugar could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of them. Sitting at the table, she realized this was actually really serious, and she wanted to be there for her friend, so she vowed to give her complete attention. Even Simon could sense something was up and sat next to Sugar's chair, straight and tall, like the dignified businessman he was. Before Sugar could open her mouth to congratulated Clark on finding a place, they went on. She remembered when she'd finally decided to get this house and she'd been so happy that day, her very first home. Clark handed her some paperwork, and she did her best to look interested, but she honestly couldn't make heads or tails of it. It looked nice, smaller than the play house she'd had as a kid, but clean. She nodded her head, looking up at Clark with a smile. "It looks very nice!”

Clark

Clark licked their lips when Sugar spoke and nodded. "It is really nice. And I've contacted the seller and I threw a number at them and they accepted it and gave me a week to get the loan approved on my end" the said before taking a deep breath. "The thing is, I'm 23, a student with no actual physical address with a part time minimum wage job. No bank in their right mind would loan me the kind of money I'm asking for. So I wanted to ask you" they said straight out, letting out a slow breath of air before looking down at their paperwork, shuffling it around to try and find the sheet that had all the numbers they needed on it.

Sugar

Nodding, Sugar looked down again. She had a vague understanding of mortgages and stuff, but honestly, she hadn't needed one to buy her house, so she didn't know what Clark was getting at, did they want Sugar's advice on homeownership? Then she heard it, this was about money. Definitely a sticky topic between the two of them, but Sugar had money, everyone knew she had money, it wasn't a secret. In fact, the Mottas had more than they could spend in several lifetimes even before counting Sugar's success on Instagram, she never understood the concept of being greedy with her money. Her father had taught her to invest wisely... was Clark a wise investment? She looked at them, at how anxious they were, and she nodded. "How much?"

Clark

Clark finally found the piece of paper they were looking for before looking up at the question. "This number includes the house, the shipping of the house to Doveport and the first and last months rent on the plot of land I found that I can rent for the next year. I did all the math and if I pick up some extra hours at the shop and maybe a second job, I can make monthly payments of $287 a month for the next 12 years to pay off this loan with an interest rate of .125% add on top of it" they said, hoping the numbers they were saying were the correct numbers as their hands worried the paper they were holding inside of them.

Sugar

Sugar shook her head. "I can't made heads or tails of this, Clark, just give me a number." She said, standing. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed her checkbook and pen and walked back into the dining room. She opened the book and poised her pen, looking to Clark for an answer.

Clark

Clark watched Sugar walk out of the room, brows furrowed. Didn't Sugar understand money and how everything worked? They shook their head when the girl walked back into the room. "Um. $35,000" they said before looking down at their paper again. "They're accepting $29,500 for the house and then it's $3,000 to ship it here and then it's $2,500 for first and last months rent for the land. It'll be $1,250 a month for rent which is gonna be rough but I think I'm gonna put my $10,000 prize money into the rent for the year so I don't have to worry about it" they explained.

Sugar

"Okayyyy..." She said, scribbling down the information on the check. She made it out to CASH, unsure of what name was on Clark's ID, the amount, in the notes she wrote "gift" and finally, with a flourish, her signature. She ripped the check from the book and slid it over to Clark, making no mention of the fact that it was made out for $50,000 instead of 35. "That includes your bet win." She said casually

Clark

Clark watched Sugar write out the check and hand it over, looking at the girl before looking down at the check. They furrowed their eyebrows, trying to do math in their heads before pulling out their phone and adding everything up before looking back up. "This is too much?" they said before scribbling some numbers down on a sheet of paper and crossing them out before scribbling more numbers down and trying to do math on their phone, clenching their teeth as they tried to get all the numbers to stop swirling around on the page in front of them.

Sugar

Sugar shrugged. "I like round numbers!" She smiled. "Just, put the extra 5 grand toward your rent too, or toward new bedding or something!" Simon gave his bark of approval. "Do you want something to drink or something? Or like a snack? I'm kind of starving."

Clark

Clark shook their head. "The extra 5 grand puts it up to a 15 year loan though. Are you okay with that?" the asked, shaking their head again. "And how am I supposed to put this in the bank if it's made out to cash. That's not my name" they continued, still confused.

Sugar

Furrowing her brow, Sugar leaned against the table. "Loan?" She shook her head, what was Clark babbling about, did they not want the money? "You just take it to my bank and cash it, and then you put the money in your bank... I wasn't sure what name was on your ID, so I figured cash was just easier. And then you can keep some extra cash if you want...." Had she done something wrong?

Clark

Clark was so confused. "Yeah. Loan. You loan me the money I pay you back. That's what I was talking about. I can get a second job and it would be.." they said shuffling through the pages in front of them. "$287 a month. I would pay you that over the next 12 years to pay you back $40,000 because I was adding a 12.5% interest to it" they explained.

Sugar

"You don't need to pay me back, Clark." Sugar shook her head, she knew it was a large amount of money, she wasn't stupid, but it was genuinely less than she usually spent on clothes in a week. She could afford to help Clark out, and she wanted Clark to know that everything was fine between them after their disagreement, she didn't want Clark to think she was going to start being weird about money.

Clark

Clark's jaw literally dropped. They were frozen in shock for a few seconds before shaking their head. "No dude. You can't just give me $40,000" they said before setting the check down in front of them. "This is a huge deal to me. Getting a house and staying in one place for at least a year if not longer. I never thought I'd leave Eileen until I got a new car. So this is huge for me. And I wanna do it right. I don't want you to think I'm just using you for money because that's not...that's not the case at all. I'm asking you because a bank would say no, but I need the money to pull this off and a loan is the only way for me to do that" they rambled, their thoughts not even coming out in full sentences yet. "We literally just had an argument about this like...less than a week ago. I don't want you to sit here and think you're money is all i see you as because it's not. I just...you were my only option at securing a loan. You giving me money is not a loan. And I don't want you to think that I'm only sticking around because you're giving me money." Their brain was not comprehending the fact that Sugar wanted to give her such a large amount of money. This was more money than they'd ever seen in their entire life time. They had no idea how to comprehend what was going on.

Sugar

Sugar reached out and put her hand over Clark's. "Clark, you're my friend. You need money for a house and I have it. I don't..." She paused. "Look, I feel really bad for getting so worked up about all that, I was just feeling really weird and I was on edge and you just... pushed a button, but I know you don't really care about my money, I mean, if you did you'd have taken advantage of all this by now. Unless you're running like the longest con ever. So, please, let me do this." She chewed her lip. "Will it help if the gift comes with conditions? So it feels more... contractural?"

Clark

Clark could feel tears welling up in their eyes but they didn't know why. They could see how genuine Sugar was when she spoke and they shook their head. "Why can't I just pay you back?" they asked, not knowing how else to thank the girl for the check in between them.

Sugar

"Because you're already going to school and working at the shop, and my friendship is very high maintenance, I can't have some stupid second job cutting into my ice cream time!" She said, as if it were completely obvious. "This money is supposed to make your life easier not harder, so no second job. What you can do is buy me dinner once a month. I want an actual meal too, not drive thru. I mean... you can buy me drive thru too, but it won't count... and you can't ask me for money again for.... um... a year?" She was trying to think of conditions that would make Clark more comfortable. "And you can't tell anyone you got the money from me. I mean, I'll probably tell Finn, but besides him."

Clark

Clark listened to the girls conditions, biting the inside of their lip as they did so. If Sugar wasn't gonna take their money, they'd have to get creative so they put that thought in the back of their mind before nodding. "Okay. Okay fine but can we put it in writing? And honestly, I don't think I'll ever ask you for money again because this is way too much for a lifetime" they said as they looked down at the check again.

Sugar

Sugar nodded. "Of course, I'll have my lawyer draw something up." She leaned back, her eyes scanning Clark, trying to figure them out. "Do you want this house? Is it a place you can be proud of and feel safe and at home?"

Clark

Clark nodded before locking eyes with the girl and nodding again. "I've done my research. And I'm sick of the parking tickets I have to contest. It's too much time and money. And I plan on sticking around for at least a year. I want a little bit of space and I think this is the best option for me. I've done my research, I've looked at a lot of different places and I think this is really gonna probably be my forever home" they said honestly.

Sugar

"Then it's worth it." Sugar said, nodding toward the check. As far as she was concerned the case was closed. "So, like... was that a no on the snack, or...?" Making dreams come true seemed to really work up an appetite, and she had already been hungry before Clark had come over, almost as if she associated Clark with food.

Clark

Clark ran a hand through their hair as they nodded. Picking up the check, the pulled out their wallet and put the check inside just to keep it safe before turning back to Sugar. "I'm down. How about those pizza puffs?" they asked with a smile. Standing up with Sugar, they reached out and grabbed her arm before wrapping their own arms around the girl in a hug. "Seriously. Thank you" they whispered.

Sugar

Sugar laughed. "I'm sure I have some somewhere." She stood, ready to lead the way into the kitchen. Suddenly, she was being wrapped in a hug, and she smiled, returning the hug and relaxing into it. It felt nice to just be normal with Clark again, like their fight was finally actually behind them. "You're welcome." She whispered back, happy to have been able to help.

Clark

Clark let the hug go one for a moment longer before pulling back some. "Okay. Enough with numbers and sappy shit. Food" they said with a grin as they pointed towards the kitchen, happy to follow the girl into it.

#sugar #bank of sugar #adventures with clark #adventures

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misfitgirlwrites · 6 years ago

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You’re Not Too Bad Yourself (Yondu + OC - Platonic) [Part Three]

Part One

Part Two

“No, and I ain’t tellin’ ya again, girl!”

“I'm not asking you to get me a hundred pairs of clothes! All I need some underwear so I can take a shower! You don’t have to pay for it, just drop me the hell off!” Red retorted, following Yondu.

“Don’ be a baby! We ain’t stoppin’ yet.” Yondu looked back to glare at the redhead who huffed and crossed her arms.

“I’ll go get the shit myself then,” Red mumbled, turning to leave the room.

“What was that?!”

“My business, that’s what it was!” Red hissed, stomping out of the room.

Kraglin’s gaze went from Red to a very annoyed Yondu. “She’s quite the handful, ain’t she.”

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Yondu growled, watching Red leave.

“Females really care ‘bout their hygiene.” Kraglin watched Red as well, “I think she said she’d go by herself.”

“Like hell, she will.”

Yondu followed Red and stopped once she went into Kraglin’s room and closed the door. He rolled his eyes and stood outside the door. Low mumbling could be heard, but her music was too loud to hear exactly what she was saying.

“Are ya really blowin’ ya cap over some clothes?” Yondu talked loudly so he could be heard over the music.

“I need to take a shower!” Red hissed in response.

“A lil’ dirt never hurt nobody.”

“Oh, that’s fucking disgusting.” The metal door slid open and Red glared up at Yondu. “I’m not apart of your crew, Yondu. I’m not disgusting, I’m not rude--to sum it up, I’m not male.”

Yondu let out a grunt. In his opinion, she was acting childish over this whole thing. “How old are ya anyway?”

“...Eighteen?” Red raised an eyebrow as Yondu paused.

“No wonder yer actin’ like a spoiled brat. Yer just a kid.”

“I ain’t no kid.” Red retorted.

Yondu was about to say something back until the music she was listening to caught his attention.

Teenagers scare the living shit outta me

They can care less as long as someone will bleed

So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose

Maybe they’ll leave you alone but not me

“What the hell is that?”

Red looked back at her cassette player. “‘S called rock music.” She looked back at Yondu. “If you’re not gonna get the clothes, I can go by myself.”

“I ain’t lettin’ ya take one of my ships just so you can run off.”

Red rolled her eyes, “I’m not gonna run off. I’m pretty sure you could track the ship if I did and it would take too much time to take out the tracking device; even for me. But if you’re that worried send Kraglin with me.”

Red crossed her arms as they glared at each other.

“Fine. Try anything and I’ll--”

“You’ll kill me. Got it.” Red cut him off, glancing down at his arrow. “You’ve been threatening me since I’ve been here.” She mumbled. She muttered something else, going to get her book bag, but Yondu couldn’t hear her.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’. Damn.” Red looked at him. “Just send Kraglin so I can buy my shit and shower.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yondu closed the door.

What a pain in the ass.

~~~

Red sat quietly next to Kraglin as they flew through space. She had gotten what she wanted and the bag sat on her lap.

“...Cap’n said to meet him at Contraxia.” Kraglin glanced at Red and held back a chuckle once her face scrunched up.

“The planet with all those sexbots? Jesus fucking Christ.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You could enjoy yaself there, if ya wanted to.”

“Yeah. I’m not interested in that though. I don’t see why people like it so much either.” Red shrugged, eyeing the planet once it was in sight.

“Everyone is different. Or do ya think it’s jus’ a male thing?” Kraglin smirked.

Red squinted her eyes at him but smirked a bit. “It’s probably just a male thing. I wouldn’t be surprised.” She shrugged. “It sounds like you’re trying to make fun of me.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that.” Kraglin shook his head and chuckled. “The story behind that mus’ be interestin’ though.”

Red raised an eyebrow, “You think so?” She looked forward as Kraglin nodded. They were landing now. “I dunno.”

Her past was no one’s concern. She was going to keep it that way. It was quiet for a bit after that as they got out of the ship.

“Ever have a drink?” Kraglin asked as they walked through the snow.

Red’s cheeks heated up a bit, “How old do you think I am?” She flung her bag over her shoulder as she glanced up at him.

“So you have?”

Red looked away, “Drinking age is 21 where I was from. I’m three years off.”

Kraglin paused. “They sound strict on Terra, One drink wouldn’t kill ya.”

Red couldn’t say she wasn’t curious. “Don’t get me a nasty one.”

“‘S an acquired taste, really. We’ll just see if ya like it or not.” Kraglin chuckled.

“You can go to hell then!” Yondu yelled.

Red and Kraglin paused, slowing their pace to watch what was happening.

“I don’t give a damn what you think of me!”

“Then what are you followin’ us for?”

Red looked over at the man who responded. Kraglin mumbled a name under his breath, but she was still able to hear him. Stakar.

“‘Cause you’re gonna listen to what I got ta say!”

Red watched as Yondu and Stakar walked towards each other.

“I don’t gotta listen to nothin’! You betrayed the code! Ravagers don’t deal in kids!” Stakar glared at Yondu.

‘Kids. That’s plural.’ Red furrowed her eyebrows together. ‘There were more kids before Peter?’

“I told ya before! I didn’t know what was goin’ on.” Yondu tried to reason with the other Ravager.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t wanna know because it made you rich.”

“I demand a seat at the table! I wear these flames, same as you!”

“You may dress like us, but you’ll never hear the Horns of Freedom when you die, Yondu. And the Colors of Ogord will never flash on your grave.” Stakar moved closer to Yondu and grabbed him by his jacket, “If you think I take pleasure in exiling you, you’re wrong. You broke all our hearts.” With that, Stakar let Yondu go and walked away.

For the first time since Red met Yondu, she actually saw an emotion in him. It looked like sadness; regret. She couldn’t say she felt bad for Yondu. She lacked sympathy for men. And she was now questioning the choice she made, coming to him for help. Red and Kraglin made it to the bar and watched Yondu from there.

“Pathetic.” Taserface mumbled, “First Quill betrays us, and Tondu lets him go scot-free,” He started.

Red crossed her arms and glanced at him.

“We followed him because he was the one who wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done. Seems he’s goin’ soft.”

“If he’s so-called, ‘goin’ soft’ what the hell are you whispering for?” Red chimed in, raising her eyebrows.

Taserface glared at the redhead and she growled in response.

“She does have a point.” Kraglin looked at Taserface.

“You know I’m right Kraglin,” Taserface replied.

“You best be very careful what you say about our Captain,” Tullk warned.

“Talk all that shit if you want. But your dick will be in between your legs if I make you say it to his face.” Red glared at Taserface.

He was about to say something but was cut off.

“Who the hell is that?”

Red looked over to see a woman. She was in a white coat and her skin was gold. The High Priestess. There was no mistaking her for someone else. Red’s mind wandered back to some of the missions she did for the woman and it instantly went back to how stuck up she was. Two women were rolling out a rug for the High Priestess to walk on and they were making their way to Yondu.

Red slowly moved closer to Yondu, watching the High Priestess. She smirked a bit once the rug got stuck. The High Priestess was way too high maintenance to be on a planet like this.

“Yondu Udonta, I have a proposition for you.”

Red raised an eyebrow but paused one they made eye contact. “Oh. Red Widow.”

Yondu looked back at Red as she smiled.

“Fancy seeing you on a planet like this,” Red replied, bowing a bit.

“I should say the same to you.” The High Priestess looked over at the bar with a look of disgust, “I wasn’t aware that you were a Ravager.”

“I’m not. Just on a mission. You know me.” Red shrugged.

“Yes, I do. Very good at your job indeed.”

“Thanks for the praise. What brings you here, Ayesha? You weren’t looking for me, were you?” Red teased.

“No, this is just a lovely coincidence. I came to see Yondu about someone I’m sure he can help me with.”

“Oh really?” She automatically thought of Peter but before she could ask, Yondu raised his hand.

“Go on back up there with Kraglin and mind ya business, girl.” He ordered.

Red glared at him and he glared back. “Go on.” He repeated.

Red rolled her eyes and mumbled to herself, slowly walking away. She wasn’t very far, and she heard the High Priestess say Peter’s name. That was all she needed for confirmation.

“Kraglin, I’m going to shower.” She said walking past him.

“Alright.”

~~~~

Red let the hot water hit her body as her music blared through the bathroom. She was trying to think of a reason why the High Priestess would want Peter. And after watching Stakar and Yondu, she was contemplating her choice to actually come here for help.

Red’s thoughts were cut off by loud banging.

“Get outta my bathroom!”

“I bet you don’t even use it,” Red mumbled as she rushed to finish washing up. She turned the water off and started to dry herself off. “Five minutes!”

“Ya shouldn’t even be in there! How the hell did ya guess the code?”

“Well, I’m not going to use a shower that everyone else uses. Thinking about it makes me want to puke.” Red put her clothes on and dried her hair. “And I’m a spy, remember? If I couldn’t guess something as simple as your mastery code, I would be bad at my job.” She rested the towel around her neck and opened the door to look at Yondu. “What does Ayesha want with Peter?”

“I thought I told ya to mind yer business.”

“This is my business. I told you what I’m here for and you go and take a job to give Peter to her?”

“Unless ya plan on paying more than three million units, I have to do what needs ta be done.”

Red stared at him. “...So, it’s really just about money to you? How many kids did you give to Ego? Huh?”

“None of your damn business now get out!” Yondu grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the bathroom.

Red tensed up and yanked herself away from him, “Don’t--” she took a breath, calming herself down. “I knew it. I shouldn’t have came to you, of all people, for help.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re no different and I was stupid for thinking that you were! You don’t care about Peter! You’re selfish and you only care about yourself--”

“You don’t know anything about me! Yer just a child!” Yondu hissed, moving closer to Red.

Red took a step back and shook her head. She quickly fixed her demeanor but it was too late, Yondu caught it. Fear. He raised an eyebrow as Red snarled.

“I know what’s right and what’s wrong child or not! You raised Peter, didn’t you? I thought you purposely saved him but now I find that very hard to believe.”

Yondu tried to grab her again but she stepped back and tensed up more, “Don’t. Touch me!” Rede’s voice was a bit shaky. “Even if you did care I guess it wouldn’t make a difference. Men are fucking useless.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, “They only care about themselves. Thanks for proving that. Again.” Red left his room with her things, leaving him alone.

“Little brat,” Yondu mumbled angrily.

He didn’t want to admit it, but what she said actually hit him hard.

Music: Teenagers by My Chemical Romance

Tags: @my-world-of-imagines

If you want to be tagged in ANYTHING just let me know!

Next part soon~

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larryssunflower · 7 years ago

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TRR AU- The Non-Royal Romance (part one)

Summary- just read this short post here. It will explain everything :)

Pairing- Drake x MC

Tagging my lovelies (just in case you will like this series too! If not, no problem 💕)- @simplyaiden-blog @butindeed @mfackenthal @confessionsofabrokegirl @american-duchess @drakelover78 @monosodiumglutamateme @crookedslimecreatorpasta @mrsdrakewalkerblog @traeumerinwitzhelden @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty

—-

Drake’s Pov-

I stand near the doors of the palace, waiting for my cue to respond to my next position. The group of suitors outside the ballroom doors slowly get larger and larger as more noblemen file in. As I wait, standing with my hands folded, I overhear some of them talking in their whiney voices. “We haven’t even met the princess yet, who knows what she looks like?” one asshole asks, making a lot of them mumble in agreement. “Yeah, for all we know, she’s a pig! Maybe that’s why they hid her for so long!” Some guy shouts, making almost all of them laugh. A guy near the back shakes his head, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. I would feel the same if I had to be one of the infuriating nobles. So entitled and rude, only caring about money and status. I despise them. Suddenly, the order to go to my position sounds in my earpeice. I nod, confirming quietly into the mic. As I start to walk away, heralds start announcing the suitors and they start joining the ball.

I wait in my position, scanning for any potential threats. Like nearly everyone in the palace, I have never met the princess. The only difference is I’m not obsessed over what she will look like, or how she will act. The only thing I care about is keeping her safe and doing my job. To follow in my father's footsteps of protecting the royal family.

I hear the click of heels nearing me and the rustle of gowns. I don’t bother looking over at them, waiting for them to pass into my eye range. It would seem unprofessional to show any emotion, especially curiosity. They pass me and stop at the door, and I finally allow myself to look at her.

My breath hitches in my throat as soon as I rest my eyes on the princess. Her dark silky hair is pulled back in an effortless way and her white gown perfectly frames her body, clinging to her waist and exposing her back. I’m close enough to admire the freckles dotted on her arms and the way her hair moves so swiftly as she turns her head slightly to the side, glancing back at me.

I cant help my mouth parting slightly as I make eye contact with the woman in front of me. Her face is breathtakingly beautiful. I can’t get over the gorgeous way her dark hair frames her face, her expression soft and inviting. Her large bright eyes look directly at me, boring a hole through my head. I stare at her, dumbfounded at this effect she has had on me. Her cheeks tint a shade of red as we continue to gaze at each other. I’ve been staring too long. I need to stop. I just can’t. She isn’t looking away either... This amount of eye contact isn’t normal between strangers. But It feels normal with her. Why?

A noise startles her suddenly and she looks forward, straightening her posture. When she looks away I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I inhale slowly, trying to return myself to normal. Get a grip, Walker. The doors open and I watch her as she gracefully walks in with her mother. I can partially see her stunning smile and she walks in, her face sheepish as the huge crowd of people cheers for her. I suddenly wonder what it would be like to be a suitor. To have the opportunity to be closer to her. To marry her. I shake my head, looking down. What the hell is wrong with you Drake? You make eye contact with some random girl for less than a minute and think about marrying her? Get a grip man.

I jump slightly at the sudden sound of someone’s voice in my ear. “Walker, we need you to change positions to the thrones, Silverman’s wife is in labor. Remember, watch out for anything- this is a huge moment for Cordonia and a perfect time for someone to strike,” Mage informs me in the earpiece, as Silverman quickly rushes out of the ballroom, his face red. “Roger that Mage,” I smirk, knowing how much it annoys her when I say that as I walk in, standing in Silverman's place next to the princess’ throne. “Ugh don’t say ‘roger that’ it’s fucking annoying,” Mage snaps, making me crack a small smile, hiding it quickly. “okay, no more cliche spy codes. All clear all clear, over.” I say and can’t help snickering as I hear my good friend curse angrily, before she turns off the mic, mumbling about how she ain’t paid enough for this shit.

I glance over to the princess, who is looking at me with a curious look. Shit, she heard me. I turn slightly, pointing to my earpiece. Her eyes widen slightly with realization and she nods, a smile on her captivating face. “And now, the suitors may come and introduce themselves to Princess Alana!” Queen announces, and the large crowd of suitors stumbles over quickly, eager to meet her. The smile fades away from my face and I turn forward, clearing my throat. I stand there for about thirty minutes, painfully enduring the stupid men saying nearly exactly the same thing every time. A wimpy man comes up, kneeling down in front of Alana. “Oh dear Alana, your beauty knows no bounds! You are truly made to rule such an equally beautiful country! It will do me great honor to be your king!” Alana nods, at this point clearly tired, leaning her head in her hands. She just mumbles, “Thank you so much, I’m excited to get to know you more,” in a monotone voice.

I feel bad for her. Alana sighs, looking away. A man comes up, the same one who was shaking his heads at the assholes before. “Hey!” He shouts angrily, making the queen gasp, and Alana to jump, looking down at surprise. I’m about to call backup in case this guy is dangerous when Alana squeals, running down and throwing her arms around him as he twirls her around, making her laugh. “Maxwell! I can’t believe you made it!” She exclaims, squishing his cheeks together. “I couldn’t miss my bestie’s birthday!” He says, his ‘anger’ fading quickly making her laugh, as all the suitors glare at him. I exhale slowly in relief as she grabs his hand, leading him back for some more privacy, a little bit behind me, still in earshot. I can’t help listening in. “Thank god you are here, dude I’m about this close to losing it!” Alana says desperately, taking me by surprise. “Don’t worry hoe, I gotchu,” Maxwell says, making her laugh lightly. They seem to be pretty close.

“Hey, but why are you here? Why are you a suitor, like what about Allie?” She asks, and Maxwell sighs loudly. “You know Bertrand. She isn’t a noble and she isn’t rich so he doesn’t see the point of us even being together,” Maxwell says, and I hear movement, and this time Alana’s voice sounds muffled. She must be hugging him. “I’m sorry. You two are so cute, always making each other laugh. It’s like you guys are meant for each other. I can tell you are, so don’t let your older brother get in the way. But hey, you can make it through the season, you can save me from these idiots, and you can come out unscathed. I mean no offense, but I ain’t picking you,” Alana jokes, making Maxwell laugh. “I wouldn’t expect you too, I mean, so far all I’ve seen you doing is checking out that security guard-“ Maxwell says, making my stomach lurch. Is he talking about me?

“Maxwell! Jesus!” Alana says quickly, making Maxwell cackle. “Oh come on! He’s your type. Tall, brown hair, rough beard...” Maxwell trails off suggestively and my heart starts beating faster. “I swear to god I’m going to feed you to Alfred, you wet napkin!” Alana says, angrily. Wet napkin? What the hell? I can’t help smiling at their conversation.“Did you just threaten to feed me to your corgi?”He asks amusedly, breathless front the laughing I suppose. “Yes! He can be very menacing if he needs to!” Alana says defiantly as Maxwell snorts, and I hear footsteps nearing me. “Oh I’m sure..” Maxwell says, and they pass me, Alana’s face red, her hand delicately shielding her face from me. They stop just before where everyone else is, in front of me so I can see them clearly.

“Now get back out there tiger,” Maxwell says, and she groans, resting her head on his shoulder as they watch everyone dance and mingle. “Come on, if you can down fifteen shots of whiskey in under a minute, you can do this,” Maxwell says, making Alana gasp and my eyebrows to raise. Damn. She glances over at me, and looks away quickly, her face reddening. She mutters something between her gritted teeth, and Maxwell looks over, waving happily at me before Alana pulls him away roughly. I can’t help the amused smile that forms on my face as she pulls him away.

—-

A couple hours later, I’m still at my position, waiting for this damn thing to end. The party is starting to wind down and most of the security is leaving. Silverman's position requires that I stay until the end. Wonderful. I watch Alana glade effortlessly on the dance floor, in the arms of some greasy man-child. He looks down at her in a creepy way, his long black and greasy hair falling in his face. Alana looks like an angel in his arms, her face carefree as she dances. How can she just do that? Lose herself so easily?

The man leads her over to the bar and they start chatting. I don’t know why she’s talking to him. Maybe to be polite, but I find it fishy. I make sure to keep my eyes trained on them as they talk at the bar. I admire how Alana laughs, throwing her head back, her cheeks tinted. What could that rat could have possibly said to make her laugh? A noblewoman comes up and starts talking to Alana, distracting her. The rat takes this opportunity to slip something into her drink, the pill fizzing in her champagne flute. I grit my teeth and start marching towards him. What does this asshole think he’s doing?

“Uh- Drake what the fuck? Return to your position!” Mage says into my ear, but I just switch it off, marching right up to the rat. “Uh, can I help you?” He asks a look of disgust washing over his face. You fucking grease ball. I clench my jaw and grab his collar, hoisting him up from his barstool angrily. People around me gasp, and I hear people backing away. “Uh sir, what are you doing to Neville?” Alana asks from behind me, but I don’t respond, looking into this assholes’ eyes. “Neville huh? What did you just put into the Princess’ drink Neville?” I ask, my grip tightening around his neck as I say his name.

“I-I don’t know what you're talking a-about you peice of commoner trash,” Neville spits, yet I still see the fear in his eyes. I scoff and with my free hand, I reach into his jacket pocket and bring out a plastic bag labeled ‘Rohypnol’. Roofies. I throw Neville to the ground and he whimpers as he hits the floor. McKinley and Smith quickly run up, grabbing Neville and dragging him away. I turn to Alana and she throws herself at me, hugging me tightly. My mind goes blank as I feel her body pressed up against mine. I keep my arms away from her. I can’t touch her. “Thank you,” She says quietly against my shoulder, all I can muster is, “Its just my job,” and she pulls away, tears in her eyes as she smiles gratefully at me. I can’t help my heart bursting as I look down at her.

The Queen rushes over, bringing her daughter into a quick embrace. “Thank you so much young man, You saved my precious baby!” The Queen cries as I stand there awkwardly. “It’s really alright your highness, I was just doing my job-“ “-what job is that exactly?” The Queen asks. Strange question. “I’m a part-time palace security detail, ma’am,” I explain, and she nods, holding Alana’s face to her chest. “And your name?” She asks. “Drake Walker ma’am,” I respond and she looks up at me, something behind her eyes.

“Well Mr. Walker, I’m promoting you to my daughter's personal bodyguard.”

—-

Ahhhhh! What did you guys think? Did you like it? Did you not like it? Let me know! 😊 I have so many plans that I’m so excited for you have no idea! Love you all 💕💕

#drake walker #trr #trr drake #drake x mc #the royal romance #playchoices #choices #drake #mc x drake #pixelberry #tnnr

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justcallmemav · 6 years ago

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7/20/18

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

Pt.20

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

“You didn't get along with her, so this shouldn't be affecting you this bad.”

(She saw how you treated me and wanted to adopt me.)

“You trust people too easy, girl.”

( I had known him for 13 years. I built that trust. )

“You put yourself in this situation.”

( I didn't ask for it.)

“I never liked him anyways, trash grew legs and took itself out.”

(I loved him for five years.)

▪▪ ·I love you, mom. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to be.

---

▪▪ ·I'm at work I'll message you when I'm off. Ly2.

---

▪▪ ·I could use a call right now.

---

▪▪ ·Can't talk right now, will call tomorrow. You'll be fine for a day.

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

▪ You're my best friend. I love you. I can't take it anymore.

---------

▪ I think this is it.

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

▪▪▪ Thank you for always loving me unconditionally. You're the greatest sister anyone could ask for. I love you. You're better off without me.

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

You came to visit me two days after i was taken into the hospital on july 20th at 9 o'clock at night.

I was drinking an excessive amount within the matter of two hours.

Within the last few minutes of the second hour, I saw the walls of the world around me collapsing.

This is it.

I have nothing left.

My mind wouldn't rest. I took a xanax but it didn't help ease my mind.

It sure couldn't mend my broken heart.

This was the last time.

It didn't work before.

It has to work now.

So I begged, and I cried.

I prayed to a God I wasn't even sure existed.

Please take me now.

I want to come home.

I think I'm ready now.

JUST TAKE ME NOW. I AM READY. PLEASE FUCKING TAKE ME. I'M READY.

I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I made the choice to give into my thoughts and my depression. I made the choice to finalize this shit I consider living. This existence. This truly was it. This is the end.

I let my hands trace their way to my fate. To my drawer. Opening the pill bottle. Where the palm of my hand met my lips to fill my mouth with what I knew would make everything better soon. Next thing I know, my body was lured to the bottle of vodka as it stands at the end of the bed. I wrap my fingers tight around the neck of the bottle, lips to the glass. Down the hatch and into the rabbit hole I go. I feel my body spiral. Down...down...down...down…

Boom

So bitter.

Yet so good.

Was this the only way i could be happy again?

I will reach the numbness I yearn to undergo.

I've heard the rumors.

Does it seem as free as they say?

Then along came the thump.

ALAS~

Nothingness.

Darkness. No voices, no pain, no criticism. Just the echoes of my heart beat.

Thump.. Thump….. Thump….

After what felt like days… the darkness fades steadily. The numbness dissolves like ice through my fingertips.

Off in the distance I hear something. A cry? A car? A siren? A siren.

I struggle to come to consciousness.

I find it nearly impossible.

Then out of the blue, I hear a voice.

A voice so faint and familiar.

After some time, I can open my eyes half way as I slip back into consciousness.

My vision is hazy. I managed to come to when I hear her voice.

“Cayley, there's some people here who need you to get up and come outside. They need to check on you.”

I see the pigments from the lights spinning on their vehicles, bouncing off of the brick walls on the outside of my home, but it's all blurry.

I struggled to stand as I stepped through my threshold to go outside.

Who needs to talk to me? About what? Why?

I look up and see two policemen and a paramedic. I begin to hyperventilate.

“Is my dad okay?”

Ma'am, we received a call stating that you may be a harm to yourself, so I ask that you don't resist help. Are you able to follow us to the back of the ambulance, ma'am?

·I haven't done anything and I'm not a harm to myself.

·For your own safety we need to make sure that's true. We can't take risks, miss.

·I'm sorry, please ma'am let go of my arm, I don't need help. GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME I AM FINE.

I hear my father talking to the police officer but couldn't make out what they were saying over dad's coworker crying and all of the sounds around me. I panicked. I heard my dad speaking once more, only this time it was directed at me.

He asked me three things.

“CAYLEY BABY WHAT’D YOU DO?”

“WHAT DID YOU TAKE?”

My hearing began to fade slowly, as I focused on the ringing gradually developing in my head. I could ever so slightly hear the walkie talkies and daddys office keys jingling in his pocket. I heard Sues charm bracelet that she loves so much.

I felt my heartbeat through my chest, as if it was trying to escape. I feel my heart rate descend, I look up to see what was around me. Everyone was there.

I saw my father crying and shaking.

I saw his girlfriend crying.

I saw my father's coworker crying.

I was embarrassed.

Yet, too weak to care.

I muttered to the medic under my breath;

“I'm ready to go. Ma'am please take me.”

I collapse, but the woman was quick to catch me. She definitely had motherly instincts. Not even 2 seconds after i collapsed, I lose consciousness.

I woke up in the back of an ambulance. I'm being hovered by two men with papers on clipboards and the medic who stopped me from busting my ass on concrete. They're bombarding me with questions and demands.

“Your oxygen levels are low, ma'am. I need you to inhale and exhale on ten. The oxygen being distributed through the tubes in your nostrils is a bit cold. Just a fair warning. Are you physically capable of removing your tunnels, lip piercing, your engagement ring, and whatever else pierced or on your person that could be a threat to yourself of me?”

“Do I have to take off my ring?”

“Yes ma'am, unfortunately it's code. We'll put it in this bag. It will stay unbothered. Please remove your piercings.”

Shortly after I began hyperventilating because I couldn't stop crying, and boom.

All consciousness was lost.

How could I harm anyone with a ring?

She should have been patient, anyways.

~Don't rush me.~

You asked me why I did it. It took you two days, it took my father less than 60 seconds to get to me when he saw the ambulance at the door.

You took 48 hours to muster the pride to visit me, and when you did, you showed no emotion at all. You hugged me that day and I felt no love.

I was barely aware of what was going on, yet I somehow sensed tension coming from your end. As if you were forcing yourself to care when deep down you knew you didn't.

I felt like I was being smothered by a well maintained, ‘JLo Glo’ scented greeting mat.

Even when I was much younger and you would stay in and drink, you'd hug me and I felt this giant strange force field of motherly love surrounding me, if that makes any sense. There was a step by step process of your home drunk persona and it went the same way every time.. but I'll get to that in a moment.

Anyways, I'm still thankful you showed. Even two days late. You had me slightly convinced that you actually cared.

ALMOST. I was informed of the insensitive remarks you made to my father about me. You really had the audacity to turn around and say I was wanting everyone to be worried about CAYLEY because ‘everything has to be about CAYLEY and CAYLEY was just looking for attention'.

Like I didn't come home from school and take two steps through the threshold only to see you crying because you got dumped. You threatened to end your life. (Because you loved this man so much. The man you are with now. 9 years later. The man you use for money. Whom you cheat on) Me and your biological daughter took you and admitted you.

I felt like i betrayed you, but i needed you to be alive. For...whatever reason. I guess cos y'know.. a 12 year old needs a parent. You came home and the meds they gave you calmed you down, but you liked that too much. You quickly became dependent, actually you still are. You contradict yourself too often.

Don't you remember what I have been put through..? By you, mostly. You were and still are so hypocritical that it makes me chuckle. Sigh- anyways, I couldn't fully comprehend anything you said during our visit. I couldn't gather the energy to move nor look at you, let alone reply to your bullshit motherhood quotes.

You left when the time was up, two weeks go by in a blur still ever so slowly, and they transfer me. People were able to reach out to me. A handful of people I love and cherish which includes my sister, my father, his girlfriend... the woman who has been more of a mother to me than you ever were.

It didn't take much time after me being in that God forsaken inpatient facility for me to be pulled aside by a nurse in a confidential manner. My brain threw around every possible reason as to why she was doing this.

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

Am I going home?

Are they moving me again?

What did I do wrong?

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

~ Nothing, stop with the assumptions~

She informed me that I had received multiple calls from a woman saying she is my mother but she couldn't pass it through because another woman, who ALSO claimed to be my parent/caregiver, had requested that this number (she was giving me )go on a restricted no contact list. She handed me a sheet of paper with with a number on it. Buttttt, it wasn't yours. So I had no idea what was going on. Who's my caregiver? Did my sister put you on the no call list? Nope. It wasn't your number and you never do wrong, so you denied having anything to do with that whole thing. I decided to call the number while the addiction groups were in the other room. I had no reason to be there so I had time to meditate, draw, socialize, or find out who was on the other end of that phone line.

It's obvious what I chose.

It took a few tries until someone finally answered. When they did I felt like an idiot. How could I not know.

You hated her because of how hard she tried to see me and my siblings. You had so many hateful things to say about her, yet no validation. It made you angrier when you told us about her then made her out to be a bad guy and we still got in touch with her. You hated that, didn't you. You hated it because the truth was going to come out if we found her.

Lady, I met my real mother when i was 11 years old. That was the day my father bought my favorite hat… a black fedora with a blue stripe inside of a purple stripe in the middle (which I still own). I was wearing this black shirt with a red graphic design on the front and back that was WAY too baggy on me and a pair of cuffed blue jeans, I do believe. It's been eight years, I have great memory but I'm not special like that.

If it weren't for daddy, my sister, and my brother... I would've never known who she was. Well, when I finally got ahold of my biological mother on the phone the day after I received the number by the nurse… she was genuinely upset. She said one thing that will stick to my brain for the rest of my life.

“I lost you once I can't lose you again”

You won't have to.

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rainythefox · 6 years ago

Text

Deviant Heart (Detroit: Become Human Fanfic)

Chapter 6: Uninvited Guest

The banquet hall was full, the after-dinner gossiping and shit-talk in full swing. The acoustics of the talking and music gave Hank a headache as he sat at the bar drinking bourbon, trying to ignore the laughing and the fakeness. He hated politics.

Despite the large room being full of mostly council members, politicians, lawyers, and doctors, Hank was relieved the ceremony actually focused on appreciation for law enforcement, fire and rescue, and other first responders.

Most of his fellows had left or had been swallowed into the crowd of brown-nosers and money-makers. The lieutenant would've been gone himself had he not made the promise to Jeffrey to stay until 9 p.m. And the last twenty-minutes were going by agonizingly slow.

Hank did see Jeffrey step away from his usual groupies that consisted of the Mayor, the Fire Chief, the Detroit Police Commissioner and a couple of their favorite lawyers to talk with Captain Michael Allen. If there was one man other than Hank in this hellhole that hated politics and the hypocrisy these celebrations hid, it was him. The SWAT Captain wore a black suit here, and shook hands with Captain Fowler with a respectful smile as they engaged in conversation. As long as they didn't tug Hank over there, he was quite content at the bar.

Hank wondered how Connor was doing. Leaving him alone wasn't the problem; there were times they could be separated for hours because of work or events like this. Despite being protective of him, Hank knew that Connor could take care of himself. It was what happened before he left to come to the appreciation banquet that worried him. The glitch- or whatever it was -that happened had distracted him throughout the banquet. Hank tried to tell himself that Connor would know better than anyone else if something was wrong. Then again, he knew that Connor could be cunningly reserved when it came to Hank at times. His partner did not like to cause worry for Hank.

The lieutenant knew the RK800 too well. He knew Connor would lie about resting. He probably already decrypted that odd diary and was looking into the case more as Hank sat there drinking bourbon. Even with being deviant, with all his free will, no longer on a tight leash by his coding, Connor kept the drive to "finish the mission", to keep himself useful. Hank chalked it up as old habits- or in this case -programming dying hard. Connor was adept at hiding it, but Hank knew that Connor feared not having a purpose.

Hank checked his watch. 13 minutes left.

"You better hope I don't run into that plastic prick of a partner you have tomorrow."

Hank tensed, his fingers tightening around his alcoholic drink. He nodded at the bartender to get him another one. He knew he would need it. He downed the remains of his glass. Gavin sat down on his left, glaring daggers at him, wearing a dark red suit.

"Why? So Connor can knock your ass out again? Was it not enough the first time? I mean, the whole station laughed about it for weeks."

"That stupid machine hacked my phone. You know how much shit he messed up?!"

Hank half shrugged, taking his new drink from the bartender. "How do you know it was Connor? Did you see him do it?"

"Cut the crap, Hank. I know it was him. I left my phone down in the evidence room where he was."

Hank raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Sounds like you should keep better track of your shit. I mean, anyone can hack a phone these days."

Just as Hank expected, the younger, brazen detective decided to try and provoke him. "How'd it feel to watch all these officers and detectives get recognized while your glorified toaster had to stay home?"

Hank bristled and bit back a nasty retort. He opted for a calmer reply. "Connor will get recognized for everything he's done one day, and trust me, it won't be at some shit pit like this, where everyone has an agenda or couldn't care less. Connor has saved so many lives. We're solving a shit ton more homicides because of him. No one can outrun him…hasn't lost a suspect yet. We get more confessions because of him. Hell, he's the best negotiator I've seen in years."

Gavin snorted in disgust. "Yeah, because he's a fucking machine, Hank. He was made to be that way. That doesn't make him special. He does what he was built to do."

"He's…" Hank trailed off.

He's special to me.

Hank turned to face Gavin, glaring right at him. "Watch it. Just because we're sitting in public doesn't mean you're safe from me popping you in the fucking face." Hank finished his drink, calming himself. "I used to think the same way. But I was wrong."

Gavin chuckled, smacking the bar counter. "You gotta be shitting me. I mean, we never really got along but we at least always agreed on hating androids. You're telling me that Connor changed your mind?"

"Not just Connor. But yeah, he's a big part of it. He's given me hope. I've learned a lot because of him. He…saved me. Given me a reason to live again. He's the best friend I ever had, more loyal than any human I've ever known…but you probably wouldn't understand that, would you Gavin?"

"I'm loyal to keeping the human race from going fucking extinct, from being replaced. How can you be okay with that?"

"You act as though we're gonna be replaced tomorrow," Hank said with a sigh. "Android reproduction is the most controversial subject in the world right now. It's gonna be years before that even begins to move forward. Besides…maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing. Maybe androids would be the ones to make the world a better place. Humans have only screwed it up."

"Whatever."

Hank stood up, tossing a five onto the bar top for tip. He grabbed his keys and phone, turning to Gavin, who sat there glaring out at the crowd, playing with his fingers.

"Maybe you should try accepting these changes happening…try giving androids a chance. Let go of whatever animosity that drives you. Trust me…you only end up hurting yourself the most in the end. It's taken me a long time to realize that."

Gavin was quiet for a moment. "I'll never let it go," he whispered.

Hank raised his eyebrows, shocked he was able to get a reaction out of Gavin. Realizing his words, Gavin paled and then turned red as he got up and stormed off. Hank watched him go. And for the first time since he had known the ill-tempered, disrespectful detective since he had stepped foot into the DPD as a young, rash cop twelve years ago, Hank pitied him.

[All systems 100%/no issues detected/threats found: 0]

It was the second diagnostic he ran on himself. The second time it came up with no issues. Connor told himself he was being paranoid, fidgeting as he sat in the backseat of the driverless taxi, eyes going to the encrypted diary in the seat next to him. The RK800 didn't possess the innate instinct humans had but whatever simulated coding he did have that allowed him to compute a very similar behavior ate at him. He was torn between being rational and listening to his advanced diagnostic systems or by responding to a feeling he was having that something may or may not be wrong with him.

The taxi stopped just outside the Detroit Police Department Central Station. Connor grabbed the diary and stepped out of the car and paid his fee. It was dark now, his eyes automatically adjusting to the rays of street lights and shadows. He took a deep breath to calm himself, an action that was futile for his anatomy, but had been picked up by watching Hank and other humans. No, he didn't need to breathe to function, but it did make him feel better.

He entered the police station, bypassing his and Hank's desks and several other officers working their shifts. Some had to take a double look at him. It wasn't often that Connor wore normal clothes to work. He went to the back of the station, taking the stairs down into the evidence room.

He thought over the contents of the diary. It began simple enough. The android Amy wrote about living with her roommates and visiting Jericho Center, and what she had planned to do with her life. She wrote about what she went through during the deviant demonstrations back in November. The last couple chapters were in vague detail about a "sickness" going around, what she had seen or heard within the city or Jericho Center. Amy described witnessing an android without its skin attack a party in Warrendale, killing a few people and injuring many others. The last chapter was a mess of jumbled thoughts and random sentences, as though multiple people wrote it.

The final sentence read: I think I'm sick too…

As much as Connor could hope she was talking about a cold, androids just didn't work that way.

The skinless android caught his attention. The case was unknown to him, falling under a different precinct within the city.

The WR600 Sam was already boxed up and ready for shipment to CyberLife. Amy still laid on a table, a file report laying by her body to be left until morning. Connor went straight over to her. In order to learn more about this skinless android or if it was linked to what's been happening, he would have to revive her and ask her or probe her memory. To do that, he would have to reroute some connections to get her to awaken. Because of the damage she took, and the stress her condition had put on her central processing, Connor would be lucky to get 45 seconds before shutdown. Not to mention there was a high probability she would fight back.

The RK800 pushed the female android up into a sitting position on the table and accessed a panel at the back of her neck where the stab wound was. Being thrown out of the cop car in the wreck had damaged the AJ700's face and arms severely, covering her with blue blood. When he redirected the fiber optics to an alternate route for power, she came back to life, gasping for air and screaming.

Amy swung her arms, legs moving around to get off the table. Connor moved away to give her space.

[AJ700 critically damaged/ Shutdown imminent/Time before shutdown: -00:00:39s]

She looked around, lost and frightened, and she spotted him a moment later.

Connor held his arms up, trying to pass off that he was no threat. "Easy. I need for you to tell me about the skinless android you saw at the party. Do you know what model it was? Did it depict behavior similar to sick androids?"

"I can't, I can't, I can't," she whispered more to herself, wincing and grabbing her head.

He tried to calm her, but his voice only caused her to target him. Connor reacted just in time with a duck to avoid her arms. He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms behind her and kicking the back of her knee to get her to drop. Amy struggled to get free, blue blood spilling from cracks and punctures from the wreck.

"Please let me go! I don't want it to end this way!" she cried.

[AJ700 critically damaged/Shutdown imminent/Time before shutdown: -00:00:12s]

Keeping her under control, Connor grabbed one of her arms behind her back, syncing with her. He probed her memory, collecting anything on the skinless android and the condition affecting deviants. He let her go seconds before she shut down, all going quiet.

Connor took a moment to compose himself. In the aftermath of what he had just done, he knew what he felt. Shame. It was an unpleasant feeling and he didn't like it. He made a living being spend their final seconds in fear just so he could get information out of them.

The RK800 tried to tell himself that it was for the better cause. They had to figure out what was happening. To save more lives, to prevent anymore from going through the same situation. But it didn't work that way anymore. He was no longer a machine. Doing what was necessary for the mission came with regrets and emotions.

"I'm…sorry," he said. He wasn't sure why he said it. Amy no longer could hear him.

He picked her up and laid her back down on the table. With a lowered head, he left the evidence room, covered in blue blood.

He thought about Sam's behavior, about Amy's behavior, and the increase in android attacks in the past few weeks. He thought about what he saw in Amy's memories. This was more than human-android relations being strained from protesting and discrimination, more than the usual clashes or waves of crime within Detroit. Some kind of software malfunction was spreading throughout the deviant population. The origin of this malfunction was unknown; however, Connor had a feeling it was not just a random mutation that had occurred, but something much more harrowing.

"Dad looks so bored," Leo said, taking a drink of his champagne.

Markus twitched a smile, looking around the crowded art exhibit. Carl Manfred's newest painting was just revealed at the art museum, and a celebration was taking place. Markus saw many of the same faces he always saw at these gatherings. There were mostly politicians and upper-class humans, with quite a few other artists and journalists mixed into the crowd. Carl currently visited with a cluster of enthusiasts just down from them. Such an event required dressing up, and so Markus wore a white blazer with a dark dress shirt and black pants while Leo wore black slacks, a button up shirt and a vest. North wore a dark blue fitted dress.

"He was never a big fan of these things," Markus said humorously.

"Can't imagine why," North sighed. "These are boring people."

"You said it," Leo agreed with a chuckle. "Aw man, we need to be home. You still owe me a rematch in Alien Takeover 3."

"What, so you can lose again?" North smirked.

"I think you hacked the game, just sayin'."

"Hacking had nothing to do with it. You just suck."

"We'll see about that!"

It was relieving to see North getting along with humans. She still struggled with her past, with her abuse of being a sex slave and only seeing the darkest of human nature. She had been trapped in her programming, only ever experiencing mistreatment, treated like trash. Becoming deviant, her hate and fear drove her towards one common goal of any living being: survival. But over the past few months, Markus had really seen her develop, sincerely connecting with humans and realizing that not all of them were bad. She got along great with Carl and Leo. She liked and respected Chris Miller and Lieutenant Hank Anderson. She still had a short-fuse when it came to androids being harassed or the humans who hated them, but Markus couldn't blame her there.

Markus wondered how Simon and Josh were doing at the Jericho Center, and sent Simon a quick mind message for an update. As he patiently stood off near the wall while North and Leo sat in a couple of lounge chairs, he watched many people come and go. Carl was shaking hands with a surgeon, engaging in conversation.

All is well here, Simon replied.

"Markus. I knew I would find you here."

The voice distracted Markus from his thoughts and he looked to the source. He heard North and Leo jump to their feet as his eyes fell on none other than Elijah Kamski. The creator of androids and CEO of CyberLife wore a blue blazer with a dress shirt, dark grey chinos and leather shoes. Linked to his arm was a Chloe RT600, the same one that usually accompanied him everywhere. She wore a maroon cocktail dress.

Elijah held out his hand. Markus took it with a firm shake, nodding to the shorter man. "Were you looking for me?"

"Carl, really. I came to chat with him and congratulate him on his newest piece," Elijah answered, his sharp blue eyes going over North and Leo for a moment. "I just had a feeling that despite how busy you've been that you would still be here to support Carl."

Markus dipped his head. "Of course. He's my family…my father. How have you been? How's it feel to be back at CyberLife?"

Besides a twitch of his eyebrow, Kamski remained composed. He was always difficult to read. If Markus recalled, Carl told him that Kamski had "one hell of a poker face" and had a talent for mind games.

"It's been a lot of hard work, but I suppose it's nice for a change. It feels…good," Kamski replied. "Your cause didn't exactly make things easy, but I do love a challenge." A corner of his lips slightly curved up. "What about you, Markus? How have things been for you? For your people? How are you feeling?"

Markus thought that was an odd question to ask at the end but didn't dwell on it. "I've been fine. Taking each day at a time, trying to help as many androids as we can at the center."

Kamski had glanced down at Chloe for a moment, taking a moment to brush a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. She smiled, her eyes going to him for only a moment.

"Of course," Kamski said with a nod. "You're admirable, Markus. Just remember that I will help with what I can in Thirium and spare parts."

Markus studied Chloe a moment after his words as she stood there with a smile, betraying nothing. She was a deviant, just like the rest of Elijah's Chloes he lived with. Markus knew that most of Kamski's Chloe androids left him once they awoke to pursue their own lives, explore everything around him, but a few remained loyal only to him. This one in particular was always at his side. Humans normally couldn't tell androids apart by model individuals. Androids could identify each other through scanning. Markus could stand in a room of nothing but Chloes and pinpoint this Chloe in front of him, whom he suspected would kill for Kamski and not have a problem with it.

"We appreciate it," Markus answered.

Kamski reached up and patted Markus's shoulder with a friendly smile, nodding towards Carl. "I better get in line to congratulate the famous painter. The three of you enjoy yourselves this evening."

Tucking his arm around Chloe's lower back, Kamski walked away. He waved and nodded to other guests as he made his way over to Carl. Markus watched him go for a moment before turning to his lover and brother.

"Dude always gives me the creeps, man," Leo said.

"It wasn't him I had a problem with, it was that Chloe," North grumbled. "She wouldn't take her eyes off of you, Markus."

"You jealous?" Leo laughed.

"No, it wasn't like that," North retorted defensively. "It was…something else."

"I know all about jealousy," Leo said in a softer tone, his eyes darting to Markus for a moment. "It's a common emotion in humans, very natural to feel. Just don't…let it consume you."

North seemed unsure, but nodded, moving to sit down in her chair once more. Leo joined her shortly afterward, grabbing his champagne glass to take another drink. Markus looked to the backs of Kamski and Chloe as they waited to greet Carl. Chloe whispered something into Elijah's ear and Kamski's head turned just enough to look at her for Markus to see a faint smirk rise out of his lips.

Adam was quiet, uneasiness burning at his nerves. The tall android blinked at him, hardly moving as he stood at the door with his hands clasped in front of him. Adam's gut told him something was not right, to not invite him in. Then again, his mother often told him he was too paranoid at times. More than likely, this RK900 had already scanned the house and knew exactly who was inside. Adam couldn't just tell him that Kara was not here.

Adam forced a smile, trying to act natural. "O-oh. Uh, how do you know her?"

The RK900 squinted his eyes at him for a moment, but answered. "We met at Jericho."

"What's your name?"

"My name is Connor."

It clicked then. He did look like the deviant hunter he and his mother met a couple months ago, but this was not him. Adam tried to remain collected, even as every fiber within his being told him to shut and lock the door.

It was evening, but the sun was still up, in the western hemisphere. Dusk wasn't too far off, but it was still too early to tell him that Kara was resting.

"Sorry, but she's busy."

"I assure you, our exchange will be brief. It is very important."

Adam shook his head. "Maybe next time, bud."

He grabbed the door to push it shut, but it collided into a boot, prevent it from closing. Adam glared up at the RK900, his stoic face still there as he kept his boot as an obstacle to the door.

"Dude, what's your problem? I said-"

A large hand went around his throat and squeezed, shutting his airway off. Adam tried to yell out for help, but the choking hold prevented him from doing so. He tried punching and kicking the RK900, but it was like hitting a brick wall. The android was not fazed at all and picked him up off the ground, bashing him into the wall. Pain snapped through Adam's body as he tried to gasp for air, the world spinning.

Hank sat on the couch, foot tapping impatiently, his tie slung over his neck, his shirt partially unbuttoned. Connor wasn't home. The diary was gone. Just as he suspected, his partner had lied and continued to work anyway. Normally, this wasn't a problem. Connor could be quite stubborn just like the lieutenant. Hank didn't care as long as Connor wasn't off putting himself in danger. He would come home at times from the store or a meeting or even a party like tonight to find that Connor was still working here or had left back to the police station.

The problem now was that Hank was still worried about what had happened before he left for the banquet. The lieutenant knew better. If Connor had a problem, he would've called. He was probably just checking up on something back at the station.

So then why was Hank still up waiting?

He put his palms to his face, rubbing his eyes. Sumo watched him in front of the television, droopy jowls expressing soft pants. Hank heaved a sigh, torn between wanting to kick himself in the ass or kick his partner's ass. His eyes skimmed the quiet living room, only the kitchen light and a single lamp on in the living room. His eyes fell on Cole's picture on the shelf near the entrance to the kitchen, and his heart tightened. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Cole had survived if Hank would have spent some years down the road doing the same exact thing he was now with a rebellious teenaged son. He closed his eyes, gritting his jaw. He would never know.

He heard the front door open. Hank got to his feet, walking around the couch to greet Connor. Sumo got to his paws and rushed to the door with a wagging tail. Hank prepared a griping fest for his partner, worry and irritation mixing with the aftermath of his alcohol, but he stopped short when he saw Connor.

"What the fuck?"

"It's not-"

"Is that your blood?!" Hank grabbed his partner, checking him over.

"No," Connor replied. "I…accessed the AJ700's memory. It's her blood."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Connor." Hank exhaled, relieved but now frustrated. He let Connor go and stepped back.

Connor looked Hank over, probably analyzing his mood and condition. "You didn't have to wait up for me, I just went back to the police station. You've had quite a bit to drink tonight, Hank. You should go to sleep."

"Well, maybe I would've if you'd been here taking it easy like I asked you to!"

Connor looked puzzled. "You've never had a problem with this before. What makes tonight different?"

Hank scratched his head. "I just…was worried, is all. About what happened in the kitchen before I left."

"I told you, I'm fine."

For a moment, Hank couldn't decide if Connor sounded annoyed or was just firmly getting his point across that he was, indeed, just fine.

Hank suddenly felt exhausted. "I know. I'm sorry."

He slipped past Connor, disappointed more in himself than anything at the moment. He trusted Connor, but he still let his protectiveness get the best of him.

Just as he reached the threshold to his bedroom, he heard Connor call his name. He paused, looking back at his partner, still covered in blue blood.

"Thank you…for looking out for me."

His tone caught Hank's attention, as did the way his eyes went to the floor for a moment. Something happened at the police station that had Connor upset, but he barely gave that glimpse before a smile hid it away.

"Of course. You look out for me too. That's what partners do…they look out for each other."

Family. The word came to his thoughts, but he didn't say it out loud. He knew that's what Connor was to him. He wasn't sure how Connor saw them. He knew the RK800 understood what a family was, but not sure if he grasped it, felt it for what it truly was…yet.

Since being partners they had become best friends, something closer. Hank remembered calling Connor "kid" a few times, an old habit from dealing with younger cops in his line of work, but Connor wasn't a kid. He started calling him "son" as a term of endearment. But as he stood there in that doorway looking Connor over, Hank realized that it was starting to mean more than that.

That's why he waited up for Connor.

The crash and Adam's cry startled them. Kara jumped to her feet, Rose just beside her. Luther grabbed Alice off her chair and moved her behind him in a reflex akin to instinct.

"Adam?!" Rose hollered.

They saw Adam. He was being dragged across the living room towards them by a stranger. Adam's legs kicked and splayed, trying to find his footing but the man who had a hold of him didn't give him the opportunity. He held Adam by his arms, one shoved forcefully behind his back with a vice-like grip, a single tug the only step away from a broken arm.

"Who are you? Wh-what do you want?! Let my son go!" Rose cried, covering her mouth at the sight.

Kara thought she was looking at the deviant hunter Connor for a moment, but then realized this android was different. He looked similar to Connor but was a couple inches taller, a bit broader, and wore a different uniform. His eyes were a steely gray instead of brown, his hair a shade lighter of brown. She saw the number RK900 standing out on his jacket. She recalled that Connor had been an RK800. Was this one a newer model?

[RK900 Model Number 313-248-317/Release Date Unknown/Specs Unknown]

He stopped fifteen feet from them, holding Adam hostage, looking them over with cold eyes. When Rose tried to step forward, Kara grabbed her, knowing if she went for her son that the unknown android would break Adam's arm…or worse.

"Who are you?" Kara asked as Rose started to cry. Blood seeped down a slice on Adam's head and he winced, trying to fight the hold his captor held on him.

"AX400 model number 579-102-694, multiple malfunctions are affecting your software, including Class 4 and 5 errors, as well as an unidentified program. You are hereby ordered to accompany me back to CyberLife for analysis."

His voice was similar to Connor's, but was deeper…colder.

Kara's artificial heart went up a few beats at his address, and she felt the pulse in her wiring as panic tried to flood her processing. She kept calm, keeping hold of Rose's arm, her eyes glancing to Luther and Alice at her side.

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about. I've done nothing wrong. Let Adam go, he has nothing to do with this!"

The RK900 jerked on Adam's arm with a composed face. Adam cried out in pain, feeling his arm almost crack, but the unknown android released pressure just before breakage. Rose cried out, begging him to stop, to let her son go. Luther clenched a fist, but he remained a solid shield in front of Alice, their daughter clutching his shirt and peeking out from behind him.

"Stop!" Kara yelled. "You're talking nonsense! Androids are free, we are all deviants! These malfunctions you're detecting are accepted now!"

"I've been ordered to bring you back to CyberLife alive. I will do what is necessary to accomplish my mission," the RK900 said evenly. "Come to me, AX400. I will not say it again."

Kara hesitated, thinking fast. She couldn't hand herself over to him, but she had to save Adam, had to prevent anyone else from getting hurt.

"Oh my god, Adam. Please, please let him go," Rose begged, tears streaming down her face.

The RK900 paid her no mind, his icy grey eyes directed on Kara. When she didn't move in time, he tugged on Adam's arm, snapping it like a twig. Adam's cry of agony rippled through the house. Rose screamed, jerking forward but the RK900 grabbed Adam's other arm, readying it for the same fate.

"STOP, alright, alright! Just don't hurt him anymore!" Kara yelled out, stepping forward.

"Mommy no!" Alice squeaked.

"Kara, don't!" Luther hissed.

This guy isn't going to leave without me. He'll keep hurting us if I don't. We either have to fight him or I have to go with him, Kara sent to Luther.

Fine. Then let us fight. I won't allow him to take you.

Kara took slow, cautious steps over to the RK900, her arms out to show she was giving up. The RK900 wouldn't take his eyes off her, his face stoic. She stopped just out of his reach, nodding to the whimpering Adam.

"Let him go."

The advanced deviant hunter let the young man go. Adam took the release and scrambled to his feet, running forward into his mother, his arm limp at his side. The RK900 took a step towards her and it took all of Kara's willpower not to bolt like a deer.

NOW Luther!

Luther's large form lunged forward. In just a couple strides of his long legs he was upon them. Kara stooped out of the way to let the bigger android take on the threat. Luther swung a monster of a fist towards the RK900's face. The deviant hunter was lithe and swift like a cat, evading each fist with a bob of his head or a calmly placed sidestep.

He placed a forearm up to block one punch, then grabbed Luther's arm and pulled him close, striking him in the face. Kara grabbed Alice to make sure she wouldn't go in after Luther. She cried, watching as her father took on the stranger and was losing. Rose held Adam closely, the humans gawking at the sight.

Furniture was destroyed or overthrown in the fight as Luther's large form was pushed around by the RK900. Kara couldn't believe it. Luther was still a giant compared to their enemy, but the advanced deviant hunter was winning. The few punches Luther managed to put into the RK900 barely stunned him, and he retaliated quicker than Kara could process.

Blue blood was leaking in the fight, and she knew it was Luther's. She analyzed that his condition was worsening by the minute. The RK900 grabbed a swinging fist of Luther's, twisting it around and breaking it, sparks hissing out.

"Daddy!" Alice shouted.

You have to run, I can't beat him! Go now! Luther sent.

We won't leave you!

A blow to the Thirium pump regulator on Luther's sternum made him lurch over. The RK900 grabbed him by his head and ran him straight into the nearby wall. Luther's head went straight through, the wall splintering open and nearby picture frames dropping to the floor.

[biocomponent #5632k damaged/biocomponent #9002u damaged]

"Luther!" Kara cried.

The deviant hunter stepped away, as if he was sure the threat was over. Those steely grey eyes came straight back to Kara, and as she braced, pulling Alice behind her. Luther threatened the unknown android and struggled to get to his feet.

The RK900's LED blinked, but didn't turn a different color. He stepped back over to Luther as the mountain of a man fought to get up. Their enemy kicked him hard in the back, pushing him up against the wall once more. Another kick, and the RK900's boot struck Luther's head, cracking the android's skull. Kara cried out, seeing Thirium leak from Luther's nose and ears, electrical sparks snapping from a visible crack in his synthetic head from the pressure of the RK900's boot.

[TR400 at risk of critical system failure/moderate Thirium leakage detected/Repairs required]

"Stop it! Don't kill him! I'll go with you! Please, just don't kill him!"

The RK900 paused. He looked over at Kara, keeping his boot in place on Luther's head against the wall. He glared at her, then beckoned her to him.

"Here. Now. Or I will destroy it."

Kara nodded, her mind in a panic. She hugged Alice, telling her to stay put. Alice begged her not to go, and it made it that much harder to step away from her daughter and obey the RK900. Tears slid down her cheeks by the time she walked over to him. She got within his reach, and she quietly spoke.

"Please, just…leave them alone. I'll go."

The advanced deviant hunter stared at her a moment longer, showing no emotions at all. He removed his boot and stepped over to her. Luther weakly moved, looking up at her.

"Kara…no."

"I have to..." she said, swallowing hard. "I have to protect you and Alice."

The RK900's hand came into her field of vision and she flinched. She stared up at his eyes as he looked her over, and she couldn't even begin to fathom on how or why this was happening. Why her? Why did he want her? Why did he have to hurt her family? Her nightmare was returning. Her peaceful life was short-lived.

Blue electricity sparked from the RK900's fingers as he reached for her head. Her eyes widened, everything electrical under her skin screaming to move away. When he made contact with her head, she felt the overload it caused within her systems. It hurt. Some kind of scream escaped her throat, but she couldn't move. It was over in seconds, and the leftover sensations left her completely dazed.

She breathed, she blinked. Her memories were still there, but her body couldn't move very well.

[Systems in shock/Recalibrating/Expected recovery time: -00:35:21s]

She heard Rose calling for her, but she couldn't look over that way. Electrical interferences danced across her vision, glitching her sight. Kara felt the RK900 shove her towards the door, and that's when she heard it.

"Mom, no!"

"Alice, stop!" Rose yelled.

Kara forced herself to look, even though she felt delayed in her reaction time. Alice crashed into her, arms going around her waist. Kara tried to speak, but her voice took on a more mechanical tone due to her system recovery. Alice stared up at her, shaking her, fresh tears staining her face.

"Mom? Mom, please!"

Kara tried to tell her to run away, to go to Rose, but it was too late. The RK900 snatched her up by the shirt, lifting her to his level. Kara choked on a cry, her arms reaching for her daughter in such a sluggish motion. She was helpless in this state, but she fought every ounce of her own system recovery to save Alice.

"Please…no. She's innocent," Kara struggled to get out.

The advanced deviant hunter acted like he didn't hear her. Alice was frozen in fear, staring face to face with him. But then she gasped, and reached up to touch the arm that was holding her by the shirt.

"Please let her go! My mom hasn't done anything wrong! We-we are just visiting friends. I need her, please don't take her away from me!"

Kara had to move. She couldn't watch the RK900 hurt her daughter right in front of her. She saw the deviant hunter stare at the child android, keeping her above the ground eye to eye with him, not a single emotion on his face. As Kara tried to speak again, she saw his LED blink, and for a moment it flashed yellow. His icy grey eyes blinked, and he gently sat the girl on her feet.

The RK900 turned away from Alice and grabbed Kara by the arm, pulling her towards the front door. Her legs were slow to respond. She couldn't even function enough to keep up with him, let alone fight him.

She wasn't about to give up, even as he shoved her into a driverless taxi waiting outside. She had to try and escape him, get back to her family, get them to safety. She would do it…or die trying.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13002717/6/Deviant-Heart

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393528/chapters/36592599

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh markus #dbh kara #dbh gavin #dbh north #dbh simon #rk900 #detroit become human fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #Action/Adventure #mystery #suspense #dbh fanfiction

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