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#but so so many others go bonkers over these wrinkles.

willowbird · 3 years

Note

HEY for the prompt game: au 7, trope 3 (i love chaos), and very specific location 2? i'll leave the pairing up to your whimsy i just saw the combination of au and trope and HAD to request it lmao

Foxes as kids, foxes WITH kids, INSIDE ANDREW'S CLOSET.

Guys guys guys there were SO MANY WAYS I wanted to do this that my brain kinda exploded for a moment before I decided to go this route. Hope you enjoy!

---

"Oh no oh no oh no oh no!!!!!”

Andrew looked up at the ceiling, where the small, modern chandelier above the kitchen island swung in time with the distressed shouts and several ominous thumps. He looked over to where his husband was flipping pancakes and rose a single brow in question.

Neil shrugged, as if to say 'How should I know?'

A brief staring contest ensued, continued chaos still racketing upstairs. Finally, Andrew lifted one hand and curled it into a fist. Neil lifted his own, and after a brief round of rock-paper-scissors Andrew sighed to his loss and pushed away from the counter.

Neil caught the edge of his shirt as he passed him, tugging him in for a quick kiss. "I'll put extra chocolate chips in the pancakes."

"Bribery is unnecessary when you won fair and square," Andrew grumbled back.

Neil raised his eyebrows. "You turning down more chocolate? I mean okay, if you're-"

Andrew cut him off with a kiss. "Too late to take it back." Then he turned and headed out of the kitchen, only to be nearly mowed down by a wide-eyed eight-year-old.

"Watch yourself there, Kev," Andrew cautioned as he prevented the gangly child from sending them both to the ground.

The kid's big bottle-green eyes were wide with alarm. "Dad! He's going bonkers! I dunno what's wrong with him." He wrinkled his nose. "Well, there is a lot wrong with him. But I mean I don't know what's wrong with him today."

Andrew sighed, more because he was pretty sure he did know what was going rather than because he didn't. It was honestly better if Kevin just thought his brother was being weirder than usual for as long as possible. He had a feeling that if Kevin could get any leverage on his spazzy older brother he'd turn into even more of a terror than he already was.

Andrew ruffled his younger son's hair and gave him a nudge. "I'll check on him. Go help your dad with breakfast."

Kevin perked up. "Pancakes?"

"Pancakes," Andrew confirmed with a solemn nod.

"Do you think dad'll make one in the silhouette of a dead French guy?!”

"If you ask him, maybe."

That's all it took, and the kid was taking off like a shot again. Andrew watched him go, grimacing at the thought that they would probably have to enroll him in sports this year if only to help him burn off all that damned energy. He was just as bad as Neil.

A scampering upstairs followed by the slam of a door drew Andrew's attention back to matter at hand. The slammed door did not come from either of the boys' rooms, but rather the opposite end of the hall, where Neil and Andrew's room was. In all, this wasn't all that surprising - at least not when it came to his fourteen-year-old. He'd been hiding in Andrew and Neil's closet whenever he got particularly upset since he was four and Neil had performed a "magic ritual" to make the closet a "bunker against all evil".

Andrew climbed the steps and made his way down the hall, stopping once he came to the closed closet door. From inside he could hear the muffled mutterings of an anxious teenager. He lifted a hand and knocked with just two knuckles.

When there was no answer, he knocked again and asked, voice mild, "Can I come in?"

Then he waited, giving his son time to process that he was here for him, whatever the issue was. Almost a full minute passed before a tight, watery voice said, "Y-you can come in."

Permission granted, Andrew swung open the door to find Nicky curled up in the corner, cheeks flushed and brown eyes full of tears. Nicky was technically Andrew's much younger cousin on his biological mother's side, but he and Neil had adopted him when, at two, DCFS took him away from his parents due to a severe case of neglect. The first few years had been tense - because Luther and Maria had tried to fight it - but Andrew's adoptive mother was a child psychologist and Neil's foster sister a renowned family lawyer.

Even without the connections they would have fought to the death to keep Nicky, though. From the second they brought him home, he was theirs, and they were the only real parents the boy had ever known.

"H-hey pops," Nicky stammered through a poorly-attempted smile.

Andrew waved away the bravado and took a seat next to his son. "Should I talk to Grandpa Wymack about getting us a bigger closet? We aren't both going to fit in here much longer," he said lightly, a soft opening for Nicky to tell him what had him so upset.

Nicky laughed, a more genuine sound, then sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "N-no. I'm sorry. I just..."

Andrew shook his head to stop him. "I would rather pay to have the closet expanded than take away a place you feel safe when you are upset."

As he watched, tears filled Nicky's eyes again, then he launched forward and it was honestly probably a good thing that the closet was a tight fit, otherwise Andrew might have gotten knocked over by the force of the hug. As it were, he was able to catch his son, patting his back only slightly awkwardly as Nicky let out a choked sob and began to ramble:

"..and then I told him that I liked his EARS oh my god Pops I am such a MORON why couldn't I tell him that I liked his eyes like a normal human or even that I liked his mouth or something!? That's sexy right? Oh my god this is terrible. And then! AND THEN I went and I liked about ten of his posts IN A ROW LIKE A CREEP and he NOTICED and then he MESSAGED ME and oh my god I can never show my face again.."

There was very little that Andrew could do other than listen, so that was what he did. As he did, though, he felt a warmth pool in his chest. A warmth that his son felt so safe and comfortable in his and Neil's space that he came here to hide when he felt upset. A warmth that he felt so comfortable, so safe with Andrew that he invited him into that space with him. That his son would cling to him and ramble about his boy problems without fear of judgement. That the biggest problems Nicky had right now were typical teenaged woes, not all the horrors that both Andrew and his husband were far too aware of existing in the world.

"I just don't know what to DO. Oh my god my life is OVER," Nicky finished with a flourish, pulling back and looking up at him with wide dark eyes.

After a thoughtful pause, Andrew finally gave a hum and said, "Well, that depends."

"Depends?"

Andrew shrugged. "Does he really have cute ears?"

Nicky made and high, defeated sound, burying his face in his hands. "They are ADORABLE, Pops. A-dor-a-ble."

"Ah." Andrew nodded his understanding and patted his son on the shoulder. "Then I think that definitely calls for extra chocolate chips in the pancakes."

And, because Nicky was a teenaged boy with boy problems - but he was also still a teenaged boy (and moreover, he was Andrew's son), his head went up and his eyes brightened. "Chocolate chips."

"And whipped cream."

"Oh!" Nicky scrambled to his feet and bounded out of the closet with a flourish, only to come up short when Andrew snagged the back of his shirt.

"And Nicky, those crashes from before..?"

Nicky blushed brightly and glanced out the bedroom door toward his own room and quickly back again. "Um.. I'll clean up after breakfast?"

Andrew put on his most impactful Dad Stare, then gave a firm nod before letting go. "You better. Now hurry on before Kevin eats them all."

Nicky yelped in an entirely new kind of distress, all but sprinting out of the room. "KEVIN DON'T YOU DARE YOU LITTLE MONSTER!"

Andrew watched him go and didn't bother to stop the smile that crawled onto his face from a hidden chamber somewhere in the center of his heart. There was once a time he might have resisted it, when he was younger and wounded and angry, his teeth bared against a world that had only ever hurt him. Now, though? Now there was so much fierce, protective warmth inside of him - so much pride, so much adoration, so much love, that he no longer saw the expression of joy as a sign of weakness.

Shouts and scuffling downstairs pulled him out of his thoughts and he sighed to himself, but he was still wearing the smile as he headed down to breakfast.

#aftg prompts #asks #aftg #aftg fanfic #andrew and neil as dads #because i can #don't @ me #idc if it seems OOC #these are fun fluffy ficlets of randomness

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ve1vetyoongi · 4 years

Text

better with you | ksj - 01

Chapters: index

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Genre: fake dating/arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 19k

Summary: A part time job as a chef at Paradise Resort seems like the perfect way to spend your summer and save up some spare cash to open your own restaurant back home. That is until you cross paths with the CEO’s son who threatens to fire you if you don’t help him inherit his trust-fund-baby-fortune. How? By making you his fiancé. Well, his pretend fiancé at least.

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, spanking, semi-public sex.

A/N: uwu hello and welcome to the first chapter of better with you, part of the paradise series! i hope you enjoy reading these characters as much as i enjoyed writing them because they’re some of my favourites 🥺💘 p.s. im honestly not happy with the pacing of this chapter, but i really wanted to share, so bare with me if it sucks!

Paradise Resort and the people in it are nothing like how you imagined them to be.

Sure, Paradise is a picturesque gated community with sparkling lake views surrounded by pear trees and sprawling green lawns and white stone fountains like the website described. And sure, everyone here drives foreign cars and loiters by the pool on weekdays and drinks bubbly for breakfast from fine China beneath chandeliers which glisten in the morning sun.

But you quickly realise there is something off; something that doesn't quite fit the expectations you had when you arrived here at the start of the summer, wide eyed and excited.

And that something is you.

You aren't one of the balding golfers leisurely steering carts across the perfectly pruned Paradise grass, flirting unashamedly with pretty young women in tennis skirts as they pass. And you aren't one of their wives, leaving lipstick stains on crystal wine glasses in wicker chairs on balconies as they giggle over finger food and afternoon tea and ignorance of their husband's infidelities.

And you certainly aren't the type of girl to spend her summer's horseback riding or wielding badminton bats or sipping copious amounts of white wine, paid for a la daddy's credit card.

No, because you are a culinary major. Nothing more nothing less. And lucky for you, Paradise was hiring - at least for the summer, anyway, and who better to work overtime in the kitchens at the expense of rich dudes other than broke students, right?

While most people came to Paradise to unwind and celebrate another year of prosperity, it was simply your job to watch from the kitchen window, grit your teeth and save enough cash to put towards opening your own restaurant back home.

Which is exactly how you find yourself slaving away over a plate of scallop sashimi on the stickiest day of August as the kitchen gets ready for the biggest event in Resort history — at least according to your fellow summer employee and designated dish washer duty-man Park Jimin, who seemed to be a constant fountain of gossip -- a trait which you secretly liked him for, despite feigning disinterest in his tittle-tattle.

"Do these people even know what good food is?" You frown at an underwhelmingly small plate of goat cheese salad as you wipe the edge of the plate with a cloth. "They can't seriously want to eat this. Don't they ever just, like, want a burger or something?"

"You're just noticing this place is bonkers?" Jimin snickers behind you, hoisting his weight onto the counter and pulling a grimace of his own when he lay eyes on the limp pile of lettuce leaves they dare to refer to as a meal here. "I saw someone order dessert for breakfast yesterday. Rich people have no rules, Y/N. Besides, it's not like we can serve burgers once Mr Kim arrives."

"Mr Kim?" You ask curiously. "Who's that?"

Jimin's eyebrows furrow, like he can't actually believe you're asking him such a question. Ever since you got here at the beginning of the summer he's been diligently keeping you up to date with the latest Paradise gossip, so you aren't sure why he's surprised you're as out of the loop as ever.

"Mr Kim. The founder of Paradise’s son?" You shrug, blinking at him cluelessly and Jimin shakes his head with a pained expression, lowering his voice like he's utterly appalled at your ignorance. "You haven't heard anything about the guy who is gonna take over this place once his father retires? Kim Seokjin?"

Ah, so that's who the infamous Seokjin is. His name has been buzzing through the kitchen for the last week, much to your confusion, and apparently he would be dining in the restaurant tonight.

You heard the senior chef's were working over time to perfect the cherry clafoutis he personally requested (despite not being an on-the-menu dish) and his impending inheritance of his father's dynasty seemed a topic of hot gossip, spreading in hushed whispers from the bar girls out front to the janitor, everyone seemingly desperate to get a glimpse at the Kim Seokjin. Meaning there are only two possible reasons as to why: he is rich or he is filthy rich.

"So what's the big deal with this guy. Is he some sort of celebrity or something?" You nudge Jimin in the ribs as you return to your station and start to sauté a fresh batch of onions.

"Nah, just filthy rich." Jimin indulges and you nod. Just as I thought. "And goddamn hot if I should say so myself." He adds, returning to his dish washing station with a sigh, wrinkling his nose when his hands plunge into the soapy suds.

"Still, I don't see why I need to work over time for him." You grumble. The clock had chimed five o clock ten minutes ago and usually you'd be on your way to have a shower and shampoo the smell of grease and garlic out of your hair but instead you were still on the clock, orders lining up for you to prepare and stat. "What’s so special about him dropping by for dinner. Everyone here is rich."

"Well I was talking to one of the big guys," Jimin nods towards the senior chefs. "And apparently his parents have been trying to get him to marry his girlfriend for, like, ever." Jimin's voice dips to a whisper. "But get this. He broke up with his girlfriend last week when his parents suggested they get married!"

You narrow your eyes. "Right. So I'm working over time because some rich dude decided to throw his toys out of the stroller?"

Jimin rips off his pink rubber gloves and shakes you by the shoulders, like he’s trying to knock some sense into you. "Just shut up for a second would you? We're working overtime because his parent's have set him up on a date!"

You slap a hand over mouth, letting out an exaggerated gasp. "Not a date!"

"I know right!" Jimin shakes his head as if this is the scandal of the century, not quite sharing your sarcasm. "Can you believe it?"

"Is he talking about Kim Seokjin, again?" Jungkook, one of the summer buss boys, emerges from the restaurant through the double doors in his familiar black uniform. Jimin quickly smoothes down his hair, mentally chastising himself when soap suds coat his blonde locks, face burning as red as the tomatoes you chop beside him. It's common knowledge that Jimin has the biggest, all consuming crush on the oblivious chestnut haired waiter who flashes you an ever cheeky bunny smile now as he scoops up the dish you prepared onto the tray balanced on his forearm.

He shoots Jimin an eye roll. "All he talks about is Kim Seokjin this, Kim Seokjin that." Jungkook shrugs. "I really don't see what the big deal is about this guy."

Jimin crosses his arms sulkily and you have to stifle a laugh at the pair. "The big deal is that this date has to go well - no, perfect - because Seokjin needs to marry someone "parent approved" or else his father will reject him as the heir of his dynasty."

You want to ask him about his impressive eavesdropping abilities but you have to admit, this is pretty big news - especially around here where the latest hot gossip was Han Seojin's husband's gambling problem when he hit up the casino after a few too many brandy's.

"So basically, the fate of the resort lies in his hands tonight." Jimin adds excitedly as he slams the dishwasher closed with a triumphant grin.

You roll your eyes. That is surely a bit dramatic. The guy was probably too blinded by the riches he would be inheriting to care about the poor girl he was getting hitched too. "You're invested in this, huh?"

Jimin nods eagerly. "Like I said. He's hot. Like sex on legs hot."

If you weren't watching carefully you may have missed Jungkook's eyes narrowing slightly or the way he tenses and puffs out his chest. "Pfft. He is not."

"So is!" Jimin pouts. "You're just jealous you're not as inhumanely gorgeous as he is." Jungkook raises a brow and Jimin rushes to smooth over his words. "Not that you're not gorgeous! No, that's not what I mean—"

The awkward moment is interrupted by the sound of a ladle banging against a frying pan, and you let out a groan when you hear the unmistakable yell of the head chef. "Attention everyone!"

"Speaking of crazy people." Jimin mutters with a roll of his eyes, rolling up his uniform sleeves and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as all the employees gather in the centre of the kitchen. "Looks like Hoseok got out of the wrong side of bed again."

You stifle a giggle when you find that Jimin is in fact correct, head chef Hoseok rounding the corner with an ever serious expression on his face. He has always been the stern type, mouth constantly fixed in a permanent frown as he criticises your dicing skills or catches you burning another steak, but you can see by the bluish bags under his eyes and the furrowed lines etched into his forehead that he means business today and a hush quickly falls over the kitchen apart from the gentle hiss of frying onions.

"As you all know, today is a big day for Paradise." He begins. "Each and every one of our future's here as employees depends on it. Mr. Kim has chosen us to cater for his dinner date and I need each and every one of you to do everything you can to make sure it goes smoothly. Capeesh?"

Dang. Is head chef Hoseok himself nervous? He's usually irritatingly confident in his cooking abilities. Maybe this was more serious than you thought...

"I'm counting on you guys to prove our worth, you hear me? It's already an honour that he picked us to host such an important event, and if we fumble who d'ya think he's gonna fire first once he takes over as CEO?" Hoseok interrupts your train of thought, waving a wooden spoon now like he's conducting an orchestra. "Which is why I expect zero funny business. I'm looking at you Jeon Jungkook! Now scram, we have customers to feed."

A unanimous groan fills the room as everyone gets back to work, and the kitchen falls into a state of turmoil as the clock ticks away, Seokjin due to arrive in a few hours and you haven’t even started on his appetizer yet.

"This better be worth it." You grumble to yourself, suppressing a smile when Jungkook bounds like a Labrador puppy into the restaurant fit with an armful of salads yelling "Rabbit food coming up, y'all!", despite the stern look Hoseok sends his way.

You turn to Jimin, rolling your eyes at the hearts in his eyes for Jungkook as he strains his neck to get a glimpse of the chestnut haired boy's ass through the kitchen's window. He blushes when he notices you looking, but not before he’s flashing you a grin.

"Just wait until you see him," Jimin calls cheekily as you rush to the stove you had abandoned earlier. "Then you'll be glad you worked over time."

As it turns out, you are not glad you worked overtime. Kim Seokjin is late. Unfashionably late. So late that you are considering eating the dish you slaved over for nearly an hour to perfect to his preferences only for him to let it go limp and cold.

At least you could add another trait to the list of what you now know about Kim Seokjin: filthy rich, (allegedy) goddamn hot, heir to the resort and most importantly douche bag who can't make it on time to the first date with his future wife.

To make matters worse, the level of unrest in the kitchens is unlike anything you have ever seen before as everyone nervously awaits his arrival. Jungkook has been out front to polish the wine glasses at the private table he set up and lovingly adorned with candles and a bottle of iced champagne of the expensive kind because it would "create sexy vibes" more times than you can count. Hoseok took extra care with the placement of the parsley on top of the steaks he grilled and you even saw Jimin fixing his hair in the reflection of a shiny pan.

When the clock ticked over to eight, everyone had gathered around the small kitchen window, eyes beadily trained to the door.

"He'll be here any minute now, I can feel it." Jimin whispers as he sidles up beside you, practically vibrating. His excitement for the date has started to rub off on you, a funny fuzzy feeling settling in your chest — all this Kim Seokjin talk has you itching to see the guy in the flesh, even if it is just from behind the kitchen window.

Sure enough, Jimin's Kim Seokjin senses must be somewhat accurate because a hurried hush falls across the kitchen as a black car pulls up outside, a unanimous gasp filling the room as you watch him emerge from behind the tinted glass windows in awe.

You were waiting for a tight lipped guy in a suit and tie to step inside; a younger clone of all the middle aged men who frequented the resort when their "model" children got busted bunking off from golf games or whatever rich kids did to rebel. Except the guy that strolls through the sliding doors like he has time to waste is so far from the average Paradise resident that you are almost sure you're hallucinating. Or have onion in your eyes. Surely you aren't seeing this clearly?

The guy who crosses the threshold and takes a seat at the table Jungkook graciously guides him to is clad in a vibrant Hawaiian shirt, the floral a stark contrast to the luxe interior of the resort. The garment is unbuttoned lazily and draped across his broad shoulders, a pair of round,humorously large sunglasses perched on the end of his nose, and if you weren't so shocked by his...impressionable entrance you might find the whole situation comical.

"This is Kim Seokjin?" You splutter, unable to stop the giggles that leave your lips at the sight of him bobbing his head unnecessarily hard to the monotonous classical tune that carries through the restaurant, blatantly ignoring whatever words Jungkook (who looked completely starstruck) was stuttering.

The situation becomes even more ridiculous when you see the disgruntled look on the pretty girl who traipses behind him awkwardly, dressed in a floor length gown and pearls, face turning sour when Seokjin neglects his manners and forces her to pull her own chair out to sit while he zones in on the bottle of alcohol in the centre of the table.

They look like characters out of two separate worlds. Jewels glitter on her fingers as she taps them agitatedly against the table, clearly as dumbfounded by the situation as you are, especially when she offers her glass to Seokjin to pour her a drink, only for him to thrust the entire bottle of wine in her face.

Your attention is drawn away from the unfolding scene momentarily when Jungkook flies back into the kitchen in typical Jungkook fashion, except this time with an extra bout of zealousness if the stars in his eyes weren't already obvious.

"I take it back!" He puffs, slipping his empty tray beneath his elbow, hands now free to swing Jimin around in circles. "He's the most beautiful human I've ever seen!"

You cross your arms with a sneer. "Looks like a goof to me. That shirt? Not a good look on anyone."

"But his face!"

"Yeah, his face, covered by those obnoxious glasses."

"You didn't see it." Jungkook whispers, pulling your hands into his own. "He could end mankind with that kind of face! And I bet he has a monster dong too-"

"Okay, jeez." You push him away, scrunching your nose in disgust. "No discussing customer's monster dongs in the kitchen."

"So you admit he probably has one?"

"Shush!" You hiss. The kitchen huddle lets out a synchronised gasp and you elbow your way back to the window, peering past a tall chef's hat to fix your attention on the scene which had somehow escalated ten fold since you'd left it.

Seokjin's body is wracked with laughter, hand slamming down ferociously against the table, making his date wince every time the fine china jumps on the table cloth. Her hands are placed carefully atop the napkin in her lap, food untouched as Seokjin takes the liberty to pour himself another glass of wine. He looks utterly uninterested in anything she has to say, and she seems embarrassed by his mannerless behaviour, glancing around anxiously. The tension between them is suffocating, even from your safe distance, and you swear you could cut it with one of the knives hanging from the utensil rack.

Then, Seokjin leans in towards her. He removes his glasses, carefully tucking them neatly into his shirt pocket before resting his chin in his palm to stare at her intently.

Maybe he was finally taking an interest in her? She seems to think the same thing, a small smile creeping onto her face despite her awkward demeanour.

Until it slips from her face nearly as fast as it appeared, replaced by an expression of pure appalled horror when Seokjin whispers something into her ear. You can only see the back of his head so lip reading is out of the question; but if the way her chin drops into her lap was anything to go by, you have a feeling whatever he said was not something you wanted to hear on a first date and probably not from your future husband, either.

Without further ado, the girl throws her cutlery down with a clash, gathering the fabric of her dress and storming out of the restaurant in a manner that suggests the date went badly to say the least.

A ruckus has broken out in the kitchen by this point; Jimin and Jungkook stopping mid monster dong debate to gawk, a rumble of chatter erupting as everyone processes the events you had just witnessed.

What did he say? Do you think it was the steak? What does this mean for Paradise? Is he still gonna marry her?

The last one came from Jungkook and you couldn't help but bite your lip in an attempt to smother the laughter that threatened to spill at his question. "Somehow I don't think he proposed to her just then, Kook."

Your eyes zone in on Seokjin again. He is slumped back in his seat now, knuckles pressed to his eyes. He looks exhausted, a sudden change in demeanour considering this is the same guy who was shooting finger guns at his date a few moments ago. Now he just seems defeated

For a moment you think he is going to get up and leave. That is until he twists in his seat, motioning towards the kitchen window with a crook of the finger. Dessert? He mouths.

The kitchen staff disperse hurriedly, a tinge of red creeping up Hoseok's neck at being caught spying, although it is clear by the smirk on Seokjin's face that he knew you were watching him all along. There is something in his eyes that even has you wiping the amused expression of your face, though. An authority.

"Could this night have gone any worse?" You ask Jimin, referring to Seokjin's debacle. Except Jungkook is quick to interject, thrusting two black bags in your face with a grin.

"For you, yes. Your turn to take out the trash."

You blink at him a few times before reluctantly taking the bags from his grip. They were heavy, nearly making you stumble. How had Jungkook held them so easily?

"Fine." You manage to get out between gritted teeth, struggling to balance with the extra weight in your arms. "But you owe me."

"Oh believe me," There is a glint in Jungkook's eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. What was he up to? "I'll make it up to you sooner than you think."

It's dimly lit when you stumble out back armed with a pile of trash bags, the only light source some fairy lights strung around the palm trees lining the restaurant. It takes all your strength and three tries to haul the heavy trash bags into the dark mouth of the dumpster and you're out of breath by the time you're finished.

Finally satisfied with your work, you wipe your hands on your apron and turn to stalk back inside and flick Jungkook's forehead - except a loud ringing from somewhere in the shadows stops you dead in your tracks.

You stiffen, hand reaching for the door handle as a precaution, head snapping towards the direction of the sound. You can't help the small gasp that leaves your lips when you take in the figure of a tall man leaning against the kitchen wall just a few meters away, the ringing ceasing when he lifts a phone to his ear with a frustrated groan.

Shit! As soon as you realise you're not alone and before you can think better of it you're scrambling behind the dumpster, crouching so that you're just out of view but still in earshot as the figure starts to murmur into the microphone.

"Yeah, dad, I know she flew all the way from Morocco to be here tonight. It's not my fault we weren't compatible!"

Huh? A voice squeaks on the other end of the line, and though you can't work out what they say exactly the frustrated sigh that leaves the man a few meters away tells you it wasn't exactly friendly.

"What makes you think you know what's best for me? I never wanted this stupid engagement in the first place!"

Intrigued and against your better judgement, you brace your hands on the edge of the dumpster and pull yourself on top of a cardboard box discarded beside it to get a better view of the scene. If you strain your neck you can just about see the shadow of a tall figure pacing back and forth just around the corner and you can't help but lean in a little closer to hear his harsh words more clearly, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Because it's my life! I'm sick of you and mom always telling me what to do with it." You raise an eyebrow, ever intrigued when the voice lifts from a hush to a yell. "Fine! I'll go on another date, but you'll see. I won't end up like you. You owe me big time for this, dad."

With that the phone call is cut off with a monotone beep and you see the shadow of the man pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing sharply, before the soles of his polished loafers crunch against the gravel in the direction of where you crouch, eavesdropping. You had enough experience with the residents here to know they wouldn't take this lightly — you had to sign a handful of NDA's before you even got the job, so naturally your eyes widen with panic when you realise you're about to get busted listening in on a confidential call. But before you can dive behind a trash bag and take cover, you lose your footing and find yourself hurtling head first into the dumpster, landing with a crash.

A few seconds pass, the footsteps ceasing as you squeeze your eyes shut and pray your beating heart doesn't give you away, before a voice calls out.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

"No!" You squeak hurriedly, slapping a hand over your mouth when it's already too late and flushing a deep shade of red when you hear a sharp intake of breath and you realise you've blown your own cover

You silently hope the guy will give up and leave, but then you hear someone climbing the outside of the dumpster and you open your eyes to see a puzzled pair of eyes peering down at you from beneath a cocked eyebrow, followed my a loud snort. "You need some help down there, sweetheart?"

This guy might be a total stranger, but any questioning words die on your tongue when you look around and remember you're literally trapped inside a dumpster and your upper arm strength is definitely not enough to get you out of this thing alone and — hold up, there's probably rats in here, right?

You scramble to your feet, brushing your messy hair from your eyes with a nervous laugh. "Uh...yeah. I guess I do."

A steady hand emerges over the edge of the dumpster and with a weak and embarrassed smile you grasp it, suppressing a squeak when the guy unexpectedly launches you over his shoulder so that he can pull you out in one fell swoop and set you safely on the ground.

"Uh, thanks." You manage to get out when you find your balance, awkwardly brushing some dirt from your apron. "Good thing you walked by when you did..."

"Yeah, guess you could call me your knight in shining armor, huh?" The guy chuckles, long and smooth like velvet. A laugh you've heard before, just moments ago in fact. That's when you battle through your embarrassment to look up and face him for the first time, flushing at the involuntary gasp that passes your lips.

The man before you has the deepest eyes you've ever seen, sharp yet soft around the edges beneath the sparkle of the low light and you shiver when they finish looking you up and down to stare into yours directly. Your eyes slip down to the familiar Hawaiian shirt draped over his broad shoulders, eyes widening when you look between your bodies to find his fingers still clasping your own as he eyes you with a curious interest.

"S-Seokjin?" You splutter. He nods, letting out a deeper chuckle this time as though he could hold it back no longer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same question," He counters, letting you go so he can reach into his pocket to retrieve a half pack of cigarettes and a lighter, ironically just beneath the unmissable NO SMOKING sign. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here hauling trash at this hour?"

"I...work here."

He nods and you just stare at him like an open mouthed idiot. He must think it's because of the way he fiddles to spark a light at the end of his cigarette, drawing his eyes from the stick back to your surprised expression. "What? Oh these? I don't smoke. Stole these from my father's coat pocket." He shakes the box back and forth with a smug grin. "Nothing pisses him off more than loosing his Lucky Strikes. Besides, I own this place, I can do what I like."

You shrug. "Well, your father does." You are speaking too quickly, mentally pinching yourself for not being able to bite your own tongue. "He owns this place I mean. Right?"

A blush creeps up your neck under his gaze which narrows as he draws closer to you. His eyes are a deeper brown up close, like a pot of warm hot chocolate - soft at the edges where they crinkle into a smile at your rushed words. Nothing like the steely glares you usually got from residents here.

"Correct," The toe of his shoe kicks at the gravel beneath your soles while he strings together his next words carefully. "For now. I'll be proud owner of Paradise before the year is out, though."

"Ha." You can't help but snort under your breath, Seokjin's head simply tilting in response with an almost amused curiosity. "I don’t know about that. Didn't look like your fiance wanted to marry you very much."

"Word spreads quick around here, huh?" He lets out a dark laugh, grimacing at the cloud of nicotine that floats away into the nigh from the cigarette between his fingers that flutters to the gravel before it’s even reached his lips. You wince when he uses the toe of his Balenciaga’s to stub it out into a pile of smoldering ash before reaching for another one that he lights in the same way as before. "She wasn't my fiance, actually.To be honest, I hadn't even met her before tonight."

You let out an awkward laugh. "I take it the wedding's off then?"

"Ha ha," You practically hear the roll of his eyes. "At least one of us finds this funny, because my father sure as shit won't." His tone is suddenly chilly and for a moment you think you offended him, though a quick scan of his face reveals a turn up of the mouth that says otherwise. He kicks off from the wall, slinging his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and you swallow thickly as the safe distance between you grows ever smaller, so close you can smell his woody cologne. "It was never on, per se. And it never will be if I have anything to do with it."

You can't help but scoff at the way he tightens his jaw and throws his arms across his chest like a toddler in time out. Sure, you hardly knew the guy but something about his attitude rubs you the wrong way. This is the guy who has everything, yet he's trash talking his lavish lifestyle to a summer employee?

"You're kind of an asshole, huh?"

"Can't say I haven't heard that one before." Seokjin agrees with a smirk. "But you don't seem like much of an angel yourself. First I find you eavesdropping on me, save your ass from a dumpster and then you choose to insult me?"

You shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, worried you might have overstepped, mouth dry as you spit out a response. "I...I didn't mean it like that—"

"God, chill out would you? I’m kidding. You're so stiff it's stressing me out." His tongue snakes out to lick his lips thoughtfully. "You're different, y'know."

"Huh?"

"I can tell you're not like everyone else around here. You're honest." Seokjin explains, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to allow him some more breathing room as he continues. "Everyone around here is either a liar or a cheat. Or both."

"You don't even know me." You huff.

"You don’t know me either, princess.” Seokjin smirks. “So what makes you so sure I'm an asshole?."

He blinks at you eagerly, and you realise he's serious when he arrogantly waves his hand for you to go ahead and indulge him, like he's somewhat amused.

Well damn. If this guy wanted honesty you'd sure as shit give it to him

"You want the truth?" You suck in a deep breath. "I don't know what I expected when I heard the buzz about you but it certainly wasn't a rich guy who wears hawaiian shirts and makes girls cry on first dates. I don’t need to know a single thing about you to know that you’re an ungrateful asshole, just like everyone else at this resort."

A few seconds pass, Seokjin's eyes widening in momentary surprise like he wasn't used to people telling him the truth, before his face breaks out into a beaming grin. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends." He glances at your name tag. "Y/N, is it?"

You half nod before you register his words. "Friends, what do you mean—?"

Just then the phone in his grip starts to vibrate violently, and he holds it up so you can see the bold DAD that lights up the screen.

"Sorry to cut this short pretty, but I need to take this. Better get back to work before I cut your pay check, sweetheart." You must look visibly nervous because he bursts into laughter. "What? I'm kidding, remember?"

You roll your eyes, hiding the way your face heats up by spinning on your heels and storming back towards the kitchen, pausing briefly before you can turn the handle when you hear Seokjin call your name.

"Hey. Wait up! One piece of advice. Don't let this place, get to you, okay?" Seokjin calls with a smile. "I like your honesty, it's...refreshing."

And with that he lifts the phone to his ear, disappearing around the shadowy corner with an irritating smile and a finger salute.

For some funny reason, Seokjin's words ring out in your head for the rest of the night. I have a feeling we're going to be good friends. Something tells you that isn't the last time you're going to see Kim Seokjin, and you can't tell if the way your heart skips a beat is a good thing or not.

Much to your surprise, that isn't the last time you see Kim Seokjin.

The next night he returned equally as late and equally as eccentrically dressed and left his date, blonde this time, (though equally as pretty as the last one) flustered and red in the face as she stormed out of the restaurant with glassy eyes and crushed dreams

The night after that you spot him arguing a little too loudly with a feisty lady outside the restaurant, the way he doesn't even stay long enough to finish his champagne a clear indication that the date went less than perfect.

Night after night, the same scenario played out with different unimpressed women, until finally, they just stopped coming. No more girls. No more dates. No more of Seokjin's signature laughter permeating the entire restaurant. Sure, the guy was a complete asshole, that much was clear; but you his absence left the restaurant feeling even more lifeless than before.

Obviously Seokjin's fucked up dating life wasn’t anything to laugh about. But you had to admit his antics put a smile on your face, something which had been few and far between as of late. Even when Hoseok was working you overtime, you found yourself biting your lip to suppress a grin every time Seokjin waltzed through the door. And now he was gone, and with it your small escape from reality.

"Do you think his parents finally gave up?" Jimin sighs one late evening, shaking his wet hands in the face of Jungkook who bats him away playfully.

"Nah, he probably just found a girl he likes." Jungkook reasons. "Made his parents see things from his point of view."

You snort. "They don't sound like the type of parents who would give up that easy." After more dates than you could count on one hand with various suitors deemed good enough for their son, it was clear they were prepared for him to rebel. You doubted they would give in without a fight.

"You might be right..." Jungkook trails off, rushing to smush his face against the window. "Unless...wait! I think he's back!"

"He's back?" You breathe, elbowing Jungkook out of the way and ignoring his ow! of protest, your own breath fogging up the glass now as your eyes dart from table to table in search of a familiar face.

You let out a breathy laugh. Sure enough, there he is. Hair gelled back tonight you noted, bouncing his skinny jean clad knee beneath the table with an impatience you can't quite put your finger on.

Wait...

"Ha!" You almost do a double take. Seokjin is sat alone tonight. No nearly-crying-twenty-something across from him. Just Seokjin with a single flute of champagne in his hand opposite an utterly empty chair.

Well. This is new.

"I think he's been stood up!" You lower your voice to a whisper when your burst of laughter gains a few strange looks. "There's no girl with him this time."

"What?" Jimin splutters, standing on his tip toes in an attempt to see over your shoulder. "No girl?! Let me see!"

You budge over and Jimin lets out a gasp of surprise when he takes in the scene for himself. "The Kim Seokjin got stood up. I can't believe it!"

"Maybe he's getting a taste of his own medicine." You muse.

A mischievous look crosses Jungkook's features and then he is pulling on his black apron and scurrying towards the door. "Let's find out!"

"What? — Jungkook!"

You watch open mouthed as Jungkook approaches the lonely table, fingers quivering around the order notebook he clutches like a safety blanket, with nerves or excitement you can't quite tell; before he exchanges a few words with Seokjin who barely even glances up, lazily folding a napkin in his lap. Jungkook nods vigorously before he speed walks back to the kitchen like his life depends on it, a smug grin appearing on his lips as he thrusts the order slip towards you.

"Two orders of sirloin steak, medium! Pronto!"

"Two?" You and Jimin splutter in unison.

Jungkook looks amused. Too amused for your liking.

"Yup! And guess what?" Jimin is hanging off his every word, desperate pleas of what? making Jungkook chuckle harder. "He wants the chef to serve it."

You narrow your eyes. "Hoseok? Why?"

Jungkook scoffs as if you're being clueless on purpose. "Not Hoseok, idiot!"

"Then who?"

"You." Jungkook points a finger right at you.

"Me? Wait! Jeon Jungkook, you get back here!" Before you can ask questions he is already bounding into the restaurant like a labrador on crack.

"Have fun!" He yells over his shoulder with a wink. "You'll thank me later, Y/N."

Half an hour later and you're stood with two steaming plates balanced on your arm. Why are you so nervous? All you have to do is go out there and serve the food. It's not like he was asking you to kill someone.

But every time you muster up the courage to go out there you remember your encounter with Seokjin outside the kitchens, and you instantly feel weak at the knees.

You smooth down your apron one last time, filling your lungs with the stuffy kitchen air before Jimin's hands clamp onto your shoulders and steer you towards the door.

"What are you—?" One forceful push later and you're stumbling out into the restaurant. "Jimin!"

"You can do this!" You hear Jimin call, the exasperated look you send over your shoulder in response prompting a not so reassuring thumbs up. The way your eyes downturn into a dark glare makes him collapse into a fit of gasps and giggles as he nods for you to keep going.

I'm going to get him back for this...

The table Seokjin liked to frequent is closest to the window, view casting out over the lake which the resort surrounds like a half moon, terribly modern in all it's white pillared glory in contrast to the natural beauty of the clear blue water. The lake is darkened now with the reflection of the midnight blue sky, the soft glow of lanterns lighting up the path around it and illuminating the picture of weeping willows which ripples across the water's surface, disturbed only by canoeists tying up their boats for the evening.

Seokjin doesn't seem interested in the quiet goings on of the resort. He has probably seen them a hundred times before. His back is facing you but you can see how his eyes are transfixed on the sliding entrance doors in the windows reflection. It was late evening and most people would be returning to their suites for the night by now, but Seokjin's steely gaze remains unwavering, like he's expecting it to zip open any minute. Is he waiting for someone?

Some part of you feels sympathetic. It doesn't look like anyone is coming to join him any time soon. Poor guy is about to get a taste of his own medicine and look like a fool sat opposite an empty chair harbouring a plate of uneaten food.

Ha. It's exactly what he deserves, you think. Karma.

Every step towards him feels heavier than the last until eventually you find yourself stood with knees knocking right behind him, food probably going cold with every second you spend coaxing yourself to man up and face him. You silently pray he won't hear the pound of your heart over the low hum of chatter and scrapes of cutlery against china plates that seem to fall away to silence in this corner of the restaurant where it's just Seokjin and you.

You're debating spinning on your heels and making Jungkook do it instead when Seokjin's unrelenting stare at the door snaps up to meet yours in the window's reflection, the authority in his eyes enough to have you hiding behind your hair in shame at being caught dwindling like an idiot.

"I wasn't expecting you to actually come." His voice is a deep hum that makes you jolt and nearly drop the plates. A heat burns your cheeks when Seokjin swirls the champagne in his glass amusedly, facing you with his forearm on the back of his seat and beckoning for you to set the plates down with a nod of his head. An order.

You narrow your eyes, unable to curb the irritation that laces your sigh as you obey him. You set down the dishes, one in front of him and the other in front of the seat still empty of whomever he is expecting. "I wasn't exactly expecting to be serving you tonight either. I usually just prepare the food."

Seokjin doesn't miss the roll of your eyes, snorting at the shake of your hand that gives away the anxiety beneath your front when crystal beads of champagne splash onto the immaculate table cloth as you try to top up his glass.

"Yeah and here's a reason for that. You're a shit waitress."

The way you slam the bottle down onto the table top is a little too aggressive, the legs shaking violently and drawing the eyes of a few of the surrounding diners who wipe their mouths with a delicate astonishment and flash you dark looks at the disturbance.

"Are we done? If I'm so bad then why did you call me out here?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you." His fingers fold the napkin in his lap carefully. He settles back into his chair with a grin laced with mischief while you practically hop from foot to foot with nerves. "Would you sit for a second?"

"I'm an employee." You raise a brow. "I don't think that's appropriate..."

"Please?" He rests his chin in his palms.

You hug your torso and self consciously glance side to side. With a roll of your eyes you sink down into the chair, if a little reluctantly, when you're sure the couple at the table directly opposite are too deep in conversation about the crème brûlée to notice the strange encounter happening beside them.

"Fine! But make it quick or Hoseok might actually shave my head."

Seokjin gets straight to the point. "I need you to do something for me."

There is a glint in his eye as he snatches up the glass intended for the rightful occupant of the leather cushion you perch on, pouring a small amount of champagne into the flute and pushing it towards you with an encouraging nod. You observe the fizzing liquid with caution, turning your nose up at the floral aroma. Was he trying to poison you with Veuve Clicquot?

"Okay, elaborate?"

"I'm going to need you to pretend to be my date." You wait for him to laugh but his lips are pressed together in a line that tell you he is being serious. "You up for it?"

"Excuse me?" An astonished laugh punctuates your widened eyes, voice raising incredulously at his request. "Your what?"

"Hear me out!" Seokjin hisses, holding a finger to his lip to quiet you down when you splutter on the air that feels like it's thickening in your throat. "I just need to get my father off my back. It'll be five minutes tops!"

By this point you are rendered speechless, pinching the inside of your thigh to check if you are trapped in some weirdly vivid nightmare.

You? His date? Oh god...why aren't you waking up?

Your lips curl around a single breathless word. "Why?"

"Hello, I'm Kim Seokjin? Dad owns the resort? Need to get married to inherit it? I thought we went over this the other day—"

Throwing your arms over your chest impatiently, you click your tongue. "I remember idiot! I mean why me?"

"For fucks sake — you want the truth?" He chuckles but it's devoid of any humour. "You're new around here so my father is less likely to recognise you, okay?" He downs the rest of his glass, picks up his fork and pokes the cold steak on his plate restlessly, hardly bothering to look you in the face even when you scoff in disbelief.

You bite your lip, voice quiet. "Is this some sort of game?"

You are no stranger to Seokjin's tricks — you watched them play out with your own eyes, more girls than you could count on one hand leaving the restaurant in tears or worse — and something feels funny in your stomach, an instinct that says he has an ulterior motive you just can't put your finger on.

From the corner of your eye you spot Hoseok poking his head into the dining area, eyes merciless as they scan the room in search of you, the tell tale tap of his foot against the ground a giveaway of his growing impatience which makes you duck out of view in fear.

"If this is just one of your sick jokes then congrats," You deadpan. "I could literally lose my job over this."

"What? No!" He seems genuinely surprised at your accusation, exasperated sigh sounding desperate while his eyes bore into yours with a look that says please. "I'll explain everything. Please?"

He winces when your chair scrapes loudly against the tile as you get to your feet with a disbelieving shake of your head. "Sorry but I have a job to do—"

Suddenly Seokjin lets out a gasp and you hear the automatic glass doors zip open. "Ah shit!"

Seokjin's eyes widen with panic but before you can twist to see who has arrived for yourself, you're being pulled back down into the seat opposite him roughly by the elbow.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Seokjin isn't listening, shrugging his jacket down his arms and wrapping the fabric around your shoulders hastily. "Cover your uniform, okay?"

The smell of his expensive cologne fills your senses and a warm hand squeezes your shoulder pleadingly, the glint in his eye replaced with desperation.

For a moment you falter and his face brightens, believing you to be finally convinced. Until you come back to your senses and slap his hand away. "Get off me!"

"Too late." Seokjin murmurs, but before you can shoot him a questioning glance a pair of polished black shoes stop beside you. Your entire body stiffens, aware of a pair of eyes probing the back of your head.

Oh no.

"Seokjin."

An unfamiliar deep voice rumbles beside you and when you dare to look up you're met with the peering face of an older man who you recognise from the Paradise website. There are traces of Seokjin visible in the curve of his mouth and the sharp edge of his jaw and he was probably considered good looking in his youth.

Ah. So this is Mr Kim?

"You lasted longer than fifteen minutes. This must be a new record, son."

Despite their likeness it's hard to believe they are father and son -- the stern frown keeping a pair of thin framed glasses balancing on Seokjin’s father’s nose along with his crisp tailored suit a far cry from the boy sat cross legged opposite you, wine colored shirt unbuttoned too far to be a mistake.

Seokjin plasters a false grin to his mouth and raises his glass towards Mr Kim, as if to toast. "I told you I would try didn't I?"

Mr Kim says nothing, averting his intimidating gaze to you instead. Your mouth dries when he addresses you directly. "What was your name again?"

Shit! Alarm bells sound in your head, instantly regretting coming out here in the first place and getting mixed up in Seokjin's mess.

You swallow thickly, hardly daring to look him in the eye. "It's — uh," Seokjin is signalling at you with an alarmed look, face falling into his palms with a muffled groan when you fail to catch on. "Y-Y/N. I'm Y/N."

"Is it now?" Mr Kim scratches his chin thoughtfully, humming to himself as he studies your face. Shit, does he recognise you from the kitchen? Are you about to get fired? Your pulse goes into overdrive when his eyes narrow. "I'm sure I remember it being something like—"

"Her middle name!" Seokjin quickly butts in, cutlery clattering onto his plate in his haste to gain his fathers attention. "She goes by her middle name. We were just talking about it actually. Right, Y/N?"

All eyes fall on you again, Seokjin sending you a pleading look, but you don't trust your voice not to waver so you just nod and hide your rosy cheeks by wrapping your lips around rim of the untouched champagne glass.

"Funny middle name." He shrugs, landing an audible slap to Seokjin's back who winces at the hard contact. Mr Kim's eyes seem kinder as they look between you. "I'm proud of you, son. I'm glad you could finally see things from our perspective."

"Sure, dad." Seokjin shrinks away from his fathers touch with a look of distaste. "Now would you do us a favor and leave us to discuss...marriage things?" You choke on your mouthful of bubbly, eyes watering as you try to hold back a spluttering cough.

Thankfully, Mr Kim is already losing interest, flashing Seokjin a thumbs up before striding over to one of the waiters holding a platter of coconut shrimp appetizers and taking a handful for himself.

Watching him gain a safe distance and disappear among a circle of business men at the bar, you finally feel safe to let out the shaky breath you were holding. Seokjin presses his knuckles to his eyes, the vein in his neck protruding with tension.

"What the fuck was that?" He seems to have forgotten your presence, lost in his own thoughts until you rip his jacket from where it sits around your shoulders and throw it into his lap with contempt. Your laugh of disbelief sounds foreign to your own ears, unable to comprehend what actually just happened.

"You're crazy!" You let out breathlessly. "I'm out of here."

Before you can storm off like you want to, Seokjin's hand closes around your wrist and pins you in place.

"Listen, I know you think this is ridiculous but I'm literally about to get on my knees and beg you here. Just do me one more favour." You shoot him a glare and for a second you think he might actually drop to the ground and grovel if you asked him to. "Just one!"

No matter how hard you try to pull away Seokjin is persistent. "Why should I?"

"Because you have a conscience?" He pleads. "The human desire to help others in need?"

"This is crazy—"

"I'll repay you!"

You pause. "How?"

"Undecided." His head tilts in thought. "You need money?"

Disgust courses through your veins. This guy thinks he can buy you? You have encountered some entitled rich guys at Paradise but this has to be the icing on the cake, an unbelievable disconnect from acceptable social discourse — though are you surprised? He doesn't exactly have a reputation for being a good conversation holder for fucks sake, just ask his other dates.

You scoff. "I don't accept bribes. I think we're done here. Good luck with your plan or...whatever."

"Y/N wait—" Something in his voice makes you stop dead this time. An authority. No longer pleading but commanding. "I'll fire you myself right here if you don't help me out just once."

Your heart twists. Part of you knows that whatever Seokjin has in mind will be batshit crazy, if his antics tonight were anything to judge by. It would pain you to do something so demeaning but...you need this job. The decision was practically made for you.

You swivel to face him. He is standing over you now, hands on hips as if he means business. "One favor! That's it!"

He punches the air triumphantly. "You want it in writing or something?" He teases, the glint in his eye back now and taunting as you practically vibrate with a combination of embarrassment and rage.

"Don't push it." You warn.

"Okay, jeez." He throws his hands up in defense. You are acutely aware of the hysterical giggles coming from the kitchen belonging to none other than Jungkook and Jimin and the way your face burns scarlet as you storm away from Seokjin with fists clenched. "I'll let you know when I need you, sweetheart."

09:04, from unknown: — 10 o clock. meet me outside the archery court. — go to locker 16, key will be in the lock. you'll find everything you need inside

The light of your phone stings your half-open eyes, slumber still clinging to your body as you rub away any remnants of sleep with your knuckles and re-read the strange text over and over again.

Archery? An accidental text to the wrong number, surely?

You glance at the clock next to your bed - the text was sent over twenty minutes ago by now. Whoever the recipient was supposed to be wouldn't have long to get ready.

09:26, you: — huh? who is this?

Before you can even set your phone down and swing your legs out of bed your phone pings, the sound enough to make you wince in your sleepy state.

09:26, unknown: — it's seokjin??? — you know, the guy you're supposed to be marrying?

Excuse you?

All remnants of sleep and/or inner peace are ripped away as soon as you see his name pop up on your homescreen.

"Seokjin?" You splutter out loud. A name you never thought you would have to see again, let alone at this time in the morning.

You scramble into a sitting position, back pressed to the headboard as you grip your bed hair in pure disbelief. The three little dots bounce menacingly at the bottom of the screen as you type and re-type a response. Eventually you settle on something simple and to the point:

09:28, you: — how the fuck did you get this number???

Ping ping. You resist a face palm as you gather the confidence to input your password and read whatever bullshit Seokjin responded with.

09:29, unknown: — i think you're forgetting i own this place — not to brag but ive got connections — anyway, you have half an hour to get your ass over here before my sister arrives.

As you thought - utter bullshit. His sister? It's almost as if Seokjin thinks you are actually dating - or even worse, actually getting hitched.

Wait...he doesn't...does he? You suppress a groan. Why else would he be dragging you out of your apartment to go and shoot arrows at targets with his sister instead of polishing his golf club collection or lounging with self made millionaires or whatever rich things rich guys do.

You are just here to get some culinary experience. To blend into the background like the rest of the employees at Paradise, to focus on making the lives of CEO's and retired business men as easy and as luxurious as possible. Why on earth is he even taking notice of you?

09:30, you: — your sister??

09:30, unknown: — yeah? who'd you think you were arching with? — i don't do sports. — count yourself lucky my mom had to take a rain check

Fuck. His mom?

"Get a grip!" You chastise yourself. You had barely spoken two words to each other before the other night, his existence unbeknownst to yours let alone yours to his; the exchange itself a glitch in the simulation and definitely not something which you wanted to make a habit - so why are you instilled with nerves at the thought of meeting this guy's family?

You don't have time to respond with a harsh reminder of your respective positions at Paradise and why this is absolutely a Bad Idea before Seokjin sends a series of reassuring follow up texts, almost as though he read your mind and all it's reluctant thoughts.

09:32, unknown: — don't worry so much this is just to make people think we're really seeing each ohter — other* — hurry, can't have people thinking my future wife isn't punctual — doesn't look good for the reputation 😎

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck!

This is actually happening. How did you manage to get roped into some rich dudes family drama and his consequent plan of deception? And why on earth you fly out of bed, desperately trying to pat down your fly away bed hair while simultaneously shrugging on a pair of jeans is utterly beyond you.

But deep down you know why. It's because you have a sympathy for Seokjin. A goddamn sympathy for the man who seemingly had everything and who every other resident at Paradise wished they could be.

You are increasingly aware of the way your heart hammers against your rib cage, pulse quickening with every tick of the clock that brings you closer to 10 o clock. Not because you're about to see Seokjin again, surely?

Pfft. Of course not! This is just a favour - a formality as an acquaintance if you could even call yourself that.

The clock ticks over to 09:40. No, you promise yourself as you scoop up your bag and your keys. It's doesn’t mean anything, it’s just because you hate being late.

You end up being late anyway, despite rushing to Paradise from your nearby apartment without so much as considering breakfast and somehow managing to gather the courage to open the door to the women's locker room.

Embarrassment pools in your stomach when you feel the quizzical eyes of Paradise regulars burning into your back over the edges of their martini glasses. It takes all your strength to pass by them with your eyes trained to your shoes, hoping to seem unbothered by their towel turbans and gossiping lips.

You’re unsure why you feel so out of place. It's not as if you are trespassing; they gave you a benefits card when you accepted the job, giving you access to some of the resort's facilities. Some would say it was generous, but it's not as if you ever had a chance to use them in between long kitchen shifts.

Luckily, you doubt there's a risk of them recognising you from the kitchen. The resort is mostly populated by younger club members and besides it's not as if they ever cared to study your face for long enough to commit it to memory.

Still, your casual sweater and jeans combo makes you stand out like a sore thumb in a room full of designer polo shirts and athletic wear and you can't suppress the sigh of relief that escapes you when you make it past a hoard of already merry day drinkers on their way to a hot yoga class in search of locker 16 as instructed by Seokjin.

Sure enough, a key sits snugly in the lock. When you open the metal door you find a tennis skirt with a matching polo shirt, both folded neatly beneath a pair of strikingly white sneakers.

You scoop the pile into your arms, surprised when a card flutters to the ground. You recognise the Paradise logo in the corner, an unfamiliar handwritten scrawl smudged across the front in black pen.

Put these on and meet me round the back of the range. I'll be waiting. - SJ

You roll your eyes. Would it kill him to say please? Not that he is used to asking nicely. Manners are few and far between when things are handed to you on a silver platter (or by an underpaid kid with a summer job). At least that's what you gathered from your observations since you got here.

You slip into the white ensemble, silently thanking the you from yesterday for shaving your legs when you notice just how uncomfortably short the skirt is. The fabric smells like one of those expensive perfumes you sprayed at the store once and you briefly wonder who these clothes belong to.

Fastening your hair into a high pony tail like you see the other girls here do, you take a deep breath and finally sidle up to the full body mirror.

Almost everyone has filtered out of the locker room by now, some to spa appointments, others to sports matches and you find yourself alone, nearly choking on the humid air when you take in your appearance for the first time.

You look like you belong here.

Collar popped around your neck, skirt falling in perfect pleats around your waist, hair falling against your cheekbones. Not a speck of dirt on the branded shoes cushioning your soles.

For a moment you feel a sense of pride fill your chest, head resting high on your shoulders as you bask in the confidence that washes over you until you feel giddy with belonging.

Until you remember what you really are. An imposter.

Despite your Paradise inspired appearance you are nothing but a fake. A smudge on one of the picture perfect Paradise postcard's in the gift shop.

Your shoulders deflate, the sudden urge to tug your sweater back on and run as fast as you can becoming overwhelming.

Your let yourself slump onto one of the plush couches, head falling into your hands. What are you doing here? Letting some guy dress you up like a doll and show you off to save his own ass?

Besides, his family would see through you as soon as you walked out there. After all a polished stone, although pretty, can never be a diamond. And these people know diamonds like the back of their hands.

Is it because he has the authority to fire you from the kitchen job you worked so hard to get? Or is it because somewhere deep inside you are curious to see what could be in this for you?

A vibration on the couch beside you draws you from your thoughts.

10:09, unknown: — where r u????? — you know where the range is right???

God, why didn't you just say no in the first place?

"Just get on with it," you tell yourself sternly. Meet his sister, smile politely and leave without owing Kim Seokjin a single thing.

You will save his ass, buy him the time he needs to convince his parents to get off his back. And then you can go back to your culinary uniform and back to serving up lobster to rich people and you can forget this ever happened and that he so much as exists.

With a shaky breath you get to your feet, throwing your familiar clothes into the locker along with your comfort zone and what feels like your entire identity.

If this is going to work you couldn't think like Y/N, you realise. You have to think like a Paradise country club member. And luckily for you, your careful observation of other residents from the kitchen gives you quite a lot of material to work with.

Before you can second guess yourself you're taking a deep breath and striding out of the locker room door and into the sunny resort grounds.

Oh god. I'm really doing this. You suddenly feel exposed as you pass the golf court, just managing to dodge a rattling cart before it flattened you.

A pair of girls stroll past with arms interlinked, tennis rackets swinging at their sides leisurely as they make their way to the course.

Oh god. They're gonna see through you. Oh god. Just smile!

You let the corners of your mouth curve up into the closest thing to a smile you can muster, pleased when you earn a friendly nod in greeting before they dive back into their conversation again.

Nobody is noticing. You hold your head high, telling your shoulders to relax and look natural. You can do this.

You reach the range but instead of following the group of middle aged men ahead of you up to the front entrance, you slip round the back. Your eyes land on him instantly; none other than Kim Seokjin, leaning impatiently against the wall, just like he said he would be.

His appearance is enough to have you faltering in your tracks. Unlike the last time you saw him when he donned a much less flattering eye sore of a Hawaiian shirt, he's put together from head to toe - white button up tucked into a pair of tailored trousers, brown loafers showing off his ankles, the whole outfit finished off by a knit sweater tied around his shoulders.

"Wow." You can't help it. You're starting to see why he had a reputation for being particularly easy on the eye.

You swallow thickly, shaking the stunned feeling from your head and ignoring the way your heart beats a little faster the closer you draw to him.

"Finally!" Seokjin hums as he lets out a frustrated huff, eyes glued to the Rolex on his wrist. "Where have you been-"

His breath hitches when he finally looks up and takes you in for the first time. You were surely imagining the way his eyes widen and look you up and down. Right?

"Well well," Seokjin regains his self control quickly, licking his lips. "Someone scrubs up well."

Smartass. "To my credit you've only ever seen me in my work clothes."

"Touché." He purses his lips. "Nobody could make those hats look good. Except me, obviously."

There is that glint in his eye again. As if he is messing with you to get you riled up again. If he wasn't the Kim Seokjin you'd mistake him as flirtatious.

You hug your torso, confidence dwindling with every second you stand beneath Seokjin's probing gaze, anxious to get out onto the range before it dissipates completely. "So? Are we just gonna stand here?"

"You turn up late and then have the audacity to order me around?" His eyebrows furrow and for a second you think he's going to warn you. Remind you who has the power here.

But then his face breaks out into an amused smirk and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Remember when I said I think you and I are going to get along just fine?"

Seokjin slings his hands into his pockets, striding towards the back door of the facility. He shakes the handle before using his key card to let you both into the archery equipment lodge.

You trail behind him. "Don't get too comfortable," You warn. "This is a one time thing."

Seokjin muses over a selection of crossbows in display cases before fishing in his pocket for a key, unlocking the glass and taking down two flashy ones. He grabs a quiver loaded with arrows from a stand and thrusts both into your arms without warning.

"Sure." He is slinging a quiver over his own shoulder now. He holds open the door to the archery range, gesturing for you to go first. So now he has manners? "If you say so."

The archery range is an expanse of perfectly pruned green grass, surrounded by the breathtaking scenery of fragrant rose bushes and trailing ivy that the resort boasts. And, as you're learning, an excuse for refreshments, as you find yourself now in a fancy veranda bar with high arching windows that overlook the distant targets, serving chilled lemonade and Prosecco and appetisers on fancy napkins.

"Pretty cool, right?" Seokjin asks, resting his elbows on the windowsill and smirking at your speechlessness and open mouthed expression. "But quit looking so surprised, yeah? You gotta make my sister think this is normal for you."

You don't have time to ask what he means before you are being spun around and engulfed in a hug. You freeze, sucking in a breath of surprise, the sickly smell of fancy shampoo engulfing your senses as your face is pushed into a head of perfect ringlets.

"You must be Y/N." The person, a woman, purrs into your ear. "It's good to finally meet you." The way she draws out the word makes you nervous.

This is Seokjin's sister?

Something about it doesn't feel how a hug is supposed to. Instead it feels like a silent interrogation. Are you good enough to be one of us? Nothing about it is warm. Instead it's sticky, your hands patting her back awkwardly, counting the seconds in your head until it is acceptable to pull away from her stiff hold.

When she lets go you are met with the tight lipped smile of a pretty twenty something, eyes scanning your face from beneath a sun visor. A customised hot pink quiver drapes across her shoulder and you notice the way she eyes your borrowed equipment distastefully.

"That would be me." You force a smile that ends up being a little too wide, glancing nervously at Seokjin who simply nods in encouragement. "It's good to...finally meet you too?"

She holds you at arms length, giving you a once over before speaking tightly. "Well aren't you a doll?"

You must look as terrified as you feel because her eyebrows raise triumphantly. Seokjin senses the tension. He looks between the two of you almost worriedly, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. For a second you think his concern is kind of sweet...No! Not allowed.

"No hug for me?" Seokjin swoops in and his sister's features harden at his sarcastic tone, a punch landing on his shoulder which he pretends to rub better, emitting a small ow!

"You're late."

"Sorry Hyejin, couldn't find my best shoes." Seokjin throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you from her grasp a little protectively and flashing an award winning smile that makes your heart flip...No! Definitely not allowed.

"Those are your best shoes?" She grimaces, shaking her head with an air of disappointment. "You left me waiting here for half an hour for those?" Her eyes narrow at you accusingly, as if she knows the truth and wants you to offer an apology.

Seokjin is quick to save you again. "Yup. All my fault. Shall we shoot?"

"Gladly." She smooths down a stray curl, studying her reflection in the glass windows. "I've been itching to see Y/N's aim since I got here. I hear you are a pro, no?"

You choke. A pro?

Luckily she's already stalking across the deck in her click-clacking wedges and out onto the damp green grass, missing the panicked glance shared between yourself and Seokjin.

"Uh-"

"Um-"

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. Think of something, he mouths.

She stops dead, shooting a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Well are you?"

"Not exactly-" You start.

"I think you're thinking of one of the other...candidates, Hyejin." Seokjin says carefully. He places his palm at the small of your back. The gesture was probably just for show but it comforts you none the less.

"I'm sure she's just being modest." She says to Seokjin, but she's looking right at you. Her forefinger taps against her palm and you can almost see the puzzle pieces falling together in her head before her expression smooths out and you let out a sigh of relief. "So. Shall we?"

Seokjin nods sheepishly. Hyejin slings an arrow into her bow with the ease of an expert, Seokjin quickly following suit. And it is in that moment, as you watch them shoot equally as precise shots to the centre of their respective targets, that it dawns on you. You have never shot a bow and arrow in your life.

"Let's see just how good you are." Hyejin steps back, offering you the main stage. You squint at the targets in the far distance, the rings blurring into one. How on earth did they make hitting those things look so easy?

"Sure thing." You wince at the strain in your voice as you fumble to pull an arrow from your quiver, fingers shaking as you try to sling it into the bow.

You can do this..

You lift the bow, close your eyes and hope for the best when you let go of the arrow, watching as it flies a short distance before sticking upright in the dirt just short of the target.

Cheeks scarlet, you glance at Hyejin who looks positively horrified. "When you said not exactly good I wasn't expecting you to be so...inexperienced. No personal trainer?" She muses, eyeing you quizzically, to which you shoot her an embarrassed smile in confirmation. "Anybody would think it was your first time!" You sheepishly giggle along to the hearty chuckle she enjoys at the mere thought, spluttering when her face suddenly darkens "It's not right?"

You freeze. "Uhhh..."

"It's just nerves," Seokjin insists, palms clamping your shoulders and thrusting you forward again. "She's probably just shitting it because you're watching."

"Language!" Hyejin scolds, letting the roll of Seokjin's eyes slip when she sees you fiddling with another arrow.

This time you prepare the bow with ease, a bout of confidence washing over you as you make eye contact with Seokjin over the top of the bow you raise to your shoulder. His eyes soften slightly and he offers an encouraging nod as you squint at the target and shoot the arrow straight into the centre ring.

You're momentarily shocked at your own abilities before Seokjin is letting out a genuinely impressed hoot, his hand coming between you to offer a sly high five unbeknownst to Hyejin. A silent congratulations for not completely fucking up.

"Pretty good." Hyejin nods, looking genuinely impressed, and you give yourself a silent pat on the back.

Holy shit. This is really working! She believes you belong here!

"Although I'm not sure where father got the idea of professional from with that technique," She lowered her voice, clearly only intending for Seokjin to hear the last part despite you standing beside her. "I must admit her figure seems better suited to tennis anyway..."

Or not. Maybe you still have some work to do...

Hyejin seems in a hurry to get to the next target, and Seokjin hangs back to whisper in your ear before you follow.

"Congrats," He hums with a smirk. "You fit right in. Welcome to Paradise, Y/N."

The next forty five minutes pass quicker than you expect.

"— and I said, 'How could you seat the Jeon's next to the Jung's when you know they're feuding about the business contract'?" Hyejin exclaims. "Scandalous."

"Scandalous." You reply with a bored attempt at enthusiasm, raising your eyebrows at Seokjin over the rim of your glass as you sip cloudy lemonade through a straw. To his credit he looks equally as exhausted with Hyejin's spiel, shaking his knee impatiently as he itches for an opportunity to pounce.

As Hyejin continues to make mildly interrogative small talk and you find it increasingly easier to think on the spot when she asks about your family's (imaginary) dynasty and the university degree in economics you (supposedly) possess, you start to feel more comfortable. But Seokjin still refuses to loosen the arm resting around your shoulders keeping you planted by his side all afternoon, as if he is nervous his sister might swoop down like a bird and take you away at any moment, like a toddler with a toy.

That's why when she suggests a trip to the little girls room to powder your noses, Seokjin throws you a reluctant look. He protests at first when you readily agree (hoping to splash some cold water on your face to cool the constant burn that seems to have settled into your every pore) and he still looks concerned, knee bouncing nervously, when you peel yourself away from his body and disappear into the bar a few steps behind Hyejin who doesn't seem interested in side by side small talk.

In fact, you use the bathroom in silence and she doesn't speak another word until you catch her gaze in the mirror as she emerges from a cubicle behind you.

"You might have my little brother fooled but I see right through you, you know." She sets down her cosmetics bag on the sink, retrieving an expensive tube of lipstick and swiping the pinkish colour over her lips nonchalantly.

The tap stops running over your soaped up hands as you try to curb the nausea her words induce. Does she know who you are? Who you really are?

Despite the shake to your voice you try to play it cool. "W-what do you mean?"

Hyejin's laugh is small and tight, nothing about it humorous at all. Her eyes never leave her reflection, fluffing up her curls with an air of superiority. "I see through parasites like you straight away."

Your mouth falls agape with astonishment. "Parasites?"

"You should know that I have people all over this place who will find out exactly why you came here." For the first time she turns to look you dead in the eye, a bitter smile lacing her lips smugly. She is eye level but it feels like she is towering above you. "What is it you want? Money?"

"No I—"

"Just wait." Hyejin slings her bag over her shoulder triumphantly, voice getting smaller as her heels click across the tiles to the door. She pauses, poking her head back into the room as if burdened with an after thought. "You could do with some more mascara, by the way, darling. Would make you look much prettier."

And then she's gone, leaving you to watch her hips swaying into the distance with hands dripping dry onto the ground.

By the time you calm your nerves enough to emerge from the bathroom looking semi-confident, Hyejin is already ordering another drink and Seokjin is straining his neck to search for you anxiously.

Even from a few meters away you can see the way he sighs with relief when he spots you approaching. It didn't last for long though as he must notice the slightly reddened rings around yours eyes that weren't there before and before you can give him a watery smile in greeting, he is on his feet.

"What happened?"

You bite your lip. "Seokjin, I think I need to go."

"I knew this would happen. Did she try and get in your head?" You nod and his face darkens. "I was an idiot bringing you here."

"It's fine, I shouldn't have agreed, you stay and I'll just go—"

"Right!" Seokjin makes a show of slapping his palms to his knees, practically jumping to his feet and dragging you up with him by your elbow, only a hare away from spilling the drink in your hands. "Sorry to cut this short but I think it's time for Y/N and I to be going."

Hyejin looks positively furious at the suggestion of saying goodbye, gesturing towards the bucket of ice in the centre of the table you had inhabited after your arms began to hurt from holding the archery bow. "But we haven't even opened the Champagne yet, Jin-"

"Oh I don't day drink." You wave her off, biting your lip with instant regret when you see how her face hardens.

"Sorry Hyejin but there really just isn't enough time," Seokjin insists, reaching for your bag to save you the trouble, slinging it across your shoulder and pushing you by the shoulders towards the exit. It's not like you have a choice in the matter but you have to admit you are relieved the whole fiasco is finished. "Send my best wishes to Wonho and Minhye!"

"Minhyuk." Hyejin splutters as she staggers to her feet, chair scraping obscenely. "Your nephew's name is Minhyuk!"

"Good to know!" Seokjin calls over his shoulder, already speed walking into the lobby before you can make out her response.

When Seokjin decides there is enough distance between you and the range he drops his arm from where it drapes around your shoulders. You didn't realise it was there until it was already gone, a cold emptiness settling over you. Why had it felt so natural?

He lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Thank god that's over with. I thought she would never stop talking."

You snort in agreement. "I've never told so many lies in my life."

"I find that hard to believe." Seokjin smirks when you slap his arm playfully. "It came too easily to you."

"It's your fault! Your deceptive ways are rubbing off on me!"

"Deceptive ways?" Seokjin splutters, a genuine laugh spilling from his lips. Heartier and much different to the strained chuckles he's been giving Hyejin all day. You decide by the way your heart lurches that you like it much better. "I'll have you know I never lie."

"You're joking right?" Surely he is aware that it was him that roped you into this identity fraud master plan in the first place? The smirk on his face says yes. It's your turn to laugh, mimicking his earlier tone. "I find that hard to believe."

"Then ask me a question and I'll tell you the honest truth and nothing but the truth."

"Uhh okay?" You pause, mulling over all the questions you really want to ask. Why did you choose me? Does this make us friends? Are you gonna look through me again at the restaurant when this whole thing is over? Before you sheepishly settle on something more appropriate.

"How much is the resort worth? It must be a lot if you would go to all this...trouble."

"Five hundred."

"Five hundred thousand?"

"You're coy. Of course not." He chuckles. "Million."

Oh. Well now everything makes sense.

"Come on, ask me another." Seokjin bumps his shoulder against yours playfully, hair falling in his eyes that you’re desperate to push away. Your cheeks burn. "What's on your mind, kitchen girl?"

Don't say it...don't say it...

"D-did your sister hate me?"

Too late. The question slips out before you can stop it and you slap a hand over your mouth in shock.

He narrows his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Why do you want to know? It's not like any of this really mattered - it wasn't real after all. So why does your stomach twist when you remember the spiteful way Hyejin spoke to you?

You flash a sheepish smile. "J-just interested."

Your ego was just bruised that's all. It was natural to feel bad when someone didn't like you, right?

"Then yes."

Oh.

Your chest clenches for no reason. Maybe he really never lies after all, huh?

Seokjin must notice the way you pout. "It's not personal! That's just how she is. Honestly, out of all the candidates so far you're the one she hated the least..."

You snort. "Good to know?"

You come to a stop outside the locker room doors. You don't know what to say - what is left? Goodbye? Thank you?

You're probably never going to speak to him again, true; but goodbye feels too formal. Too real. Instead you stay quiet, the sound of cicadas and balls hitting racquets filling the silence as Seokjin’s chocolate brown eyes make you weak at the knees when they darken, his body drawing ever closer to yours.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I plan on repaying you?"

Seokjin's fingers wrap around your elbow before you can slip away and you gasp at how his skin burns yours. You swallow thickly. The light bounces off his face dazzlingly and you have to admit he looks good right now, with his shirt unbuttoned lazily and his bitten lips inches from yours.

"I-I forgot about that." You admit. Sure you had been uptight about this whole idea initially but you couldn't deny the fact that today had been kinda fun. Did you really need a reward? Maybe you'd got a little lost in pretending to be someone else. So what?

"Well," Seokjin draws closer until your back presses against the wall, his breath hot next to your ear. "I have something in mind."

Your pulse quickens when you feel his hand rest upon your hip, the rise and fall of his chest so close that you get tingles down your spine.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "W-what is it?"

His chuckle is warm against your sensitive neck and you shudder when his lips ghost over your skin, so so close. "Can I show you?"

"Sure." You breathe.

And then he takes you by the chin, lining up your mouths and crashing them together in a hot tangle of tongue and teeth, his chapped lips moving against yours with an urgency. Your arms snake around his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape and pulling him into you with a thump.

Before your eyes can flutter shut and your heart can get lost in the feeling of his teeth pulling at your bottom lip and the taste of sour lemonade that still lingers on his tongue, Seokjin pulls back with a smirk, eyes dropping to your parted lips and then back to your blown out eyes with a satisfaction.

He runs a knuckle down your cheek. You feel your legs weaken. "I want you."

The huskiness in his voice makes your head spin, chest burning with the desire to connect your lips again. But you resist.

"Why?" You squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling back against the wall to avoid his gaze, embarrassed at how shaky your voice sounds after one kiss. God, you're weak. "Why me?"

"Like I said," Seokjin's fingers trace down your sides, eyes darkening when he notices the way the light touch makes you shiver under him. "I want you. Have since I first saw you."

He wants you? What about all those other girls, the ones he sent running? The ones who were much more suited to him than you would ever be?

"So what?" You scoff, biting your lip to stop a needy gasp when he presses a bold kiss to your jaw. "Want to add me to the list of girls who — mmf — w-who you seduced?"

He pauses, lips pressed against your burning skin for a little longer while he registers your words. "Maybe." He resumes his earlier actions, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Is that so bad?"

"I can't do this." You bite your lip. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't intending on letting Seokjin get to you, didn't mean to become a mark in his black book or a notch in his bed post.

"Why not?" He presses his forehead to yours. Your breath hitches and you will the warm tingle in your stomach to go away. "I saw you checking me out on the range."

The way he grins tells you that you hadn't been so subtle after all.

"And besides," Seokjin grips your ass through your skirt, making you gasp to his satisfaction. "This way, I get to pay you back and have some fun of my own."

"H-how?" You can feel yourself slipping. Into his touch, into his words.

"By making you cum." That had your panties damp and he knew it, the heat between your legs distracting you from the way he groans against your lips when your hips buck into him involuntarily.

It's like he knows what you need, slotting his leg between your own and putting pressure on the growing ache in your core. "I know you want this too."

He's right, the way the cotton of your panties has begun to cling to your folds a tell tale sign of your arousal. Seokjin knew exactly how to make you putty in his hands. Every teasing touch of his lips to your neck, every feather light trace of his fingers has him chuckling darkly when you melt into his body, unable to resist the way he makes your core ache needily for his touch.

"Come on, I can make you feel good." Your breath hitches when fingers toy with the hem of your skirt. "If I just lift this up..."

Oh god. If you don't stop now it'll be too late...

His hand slips beneath your skirt, pads of his fingers hooking your sodden panties to the side, the flash of cold air against your needy folds making you whine into the crook of his neck. "P-please."

You feel him smirk against your hair, speaking with a tone so sickly sweet you would've rolled your eyes if your clit wasn't already pulsating for his touch. "Please what?"

"Make me cum."

"I knew you would come round." He pulls back to face you, drinking in the expression on your face which you presume is utterly fucked out. You have to admit the way his own irises have darkened with what you recognise as lust makes your stomach leap in anticipation. "So desperate for me already hm?"

You whine, somewhat in confirmation, somewhat in frustration at his refusal to touch you even when you buck against his hand. "Please."

"I wouldn't have put you down as the begging type." His hand suddenly cups your heat, pads of his fingers circling your entrance teasingly. He lets out a choked groan when he feels your arousal. "This wet for me? Already?"

"What do you expect?" You stammer, squeezing his shoulders and holding back on the urge to buck against his palm again. "You've got your hand up my skirt."

"Mmm, I could just make you come undone right here." His eyes darken, tongue snaking out to wet his chapped lips hungrily. "Could easily fuck you out nice and slow with my fingers if I wanted to, hmm?" Seokjin has begun to circle your entrance teasingly, making you squirm every time he nearly slips inside.

"Fuck." Your eyes are squeezed shut, breathing already laboured despite him barely even touching you, just the thought of him filling you up getting you dangerously worked up. "I want you to."

"What was that?" Seokjin's lips curve up mischievously, one of his fingers nearly filling you up before he removes his hand and you groan with frustration. "Gotta use your words sweetheart."

Your heart thumps at the use of the pet name but you choose to ignore it, instead reaching between your bodies to clasp his wrist before it disappears completely. "Fuck me," you pant, eyes roaming his with desperation. His staunch gaze never falters. "Please, fuck me now."

Seokjin connects your swollen lips again, but not before mumbling against them gruffly. "Remember you asked for it."

Then, his free hand to spreads your legs, knee stopping them from closing as his other hand closes in on your aching core. The feeling of his digits running down your soaked slit has you panting and you feel your legs buckle when he pressed two of his lithe fingers into your heat without warning. You are dripping by now, hole accommodating the stretch and allowing his fingers to slip inside easily.

Your clit pulsates with need and you want to feel Seokjin everywhere, have him take you in any way he wants, momentarily lost to the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of your heat; until you remember that you have Seokjin's hand down your pants in broad daylight and anyone could walk by and see just how weak he makes you.

"Wait!" He halts his ministrations, raising a brow. "W-we can't, not here."

You mewl when his thumb ghosts across your swollen clit, touch light but enough to have you gasping into the crook of his neck.

"Let's take this inside, then." Before you can ask what he means his fingers disappear, leaving your hole clenching agonisingly around nothing again. He presses the arousal coated digits to your lips and you enjoy the way his jaw tightens as you eagerly take them into your hot mouth, humming when you taste yourself on your own tongue. "Fuck you'll drive me crazy if you keep this up."

You can tell you are getting to him, even if he is trying to hide it. The way his eyes roll back when you suck his fingers clean, how he bites his cheek to stop a lustful groan when his eyes dip between your bodies to your almost naked heat tells you all you needed to know.

He can't take it any longer.

Seokjin pulls his hand away with a wet pop, your throbbing heat protesting when he let your legs fall shut, linking his clammy hand with your own. "Come with me."

It takes a second to remember how to walk, letting him pull you behind him in your dizzy haze. His hand is warm in yours and your entire body aches to feel them on you again. It's already too late to hide your swollen lips and slightly mussed up hair before Seokjin drags you right into the men's locker room .

"Wait, we can't do it in here—"

"Everyone out!" Seokjin's voice bellows through the locker room, all its inhabitants pausing their ministrations to peer at you curiously.

You try to let go of Seokjin's hand to button up your shirt but he won't let you, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you hide behind him self consciously, knees knocking. "We need to use the locker room."

A groan erupts through the room, a chorus of again? permeating the sound of lockers slamming shut with frustration before one by one all the dudes in the locker room began to shuffle past you to the exit.

"Seokjin!" You hiss, standing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear angrily. "Now everyone knows!"

Seokjin's thumb rubs across your knuckles soothingly. "Who cares?"

You feel your cheeks flush hotly when a man you recognise from the restaurant, now wearing nothing but a towel, narrows his eyes in a knowing look. You willed the ground to swallow you up.

The sound of footsteps ceases, the door swings closed and finally you're alone.

"Better?" Seokjin turns to you expectantly.

"I can't believe you just did that!" You cover your face with your palms. "God how am I going to look any of them in the eyes again."

"They don't care." He soothes, your unamused expression not faltering still.

"Are you even allowed to do that? W-What if they tell someone—"

"They won't," Seokjin smirks. "They value their memberships here too much."

You bite your lip. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

Seokjin rushes forward to cup your face in his palms reassuringly. The act feels a little too sincere and you nearly melt at the intimacy, resisting copying his motion by pinching your palm instead. "It's okay, seriously! They're just jealous that I get lucky more around here than any of the old bastards have in their entire lives."

"I don't believe you." Your words are muffled by his chest, his chuckle vibrating against your cheek.

"They're jealous because they'll never get this lucky."

"Huh?" Seokjin's hands slide down the small of your back to cup your ass, lifting your entire weight so that your legs wrap around his waist. You let out a giggle of surprise when his face comes into view, smirking up at you.

"Lucky enough to get someone as pretty as you underneath them."

There they are again, the butterflies in your stomach, the skip of a beat in your heart, a warmth spreading through your chest that feels too good to question right now. "Technically I'm above you." You mumble. "Besides they were all, like, fifty years old or something."

"Just shut up would you?" Seokjin stumbles forward, throwing you roughly onto one of the couches. The fabric feels like velvet when your nails clutch at it desperately, trying to hold on to whatever control you have left when Seokjin drops to his knees between your legs to hover over you. "And kiss me for fucks sake."

You oblige, pulling him by the collar to connect your lips in a kiss even more heated than before if that was even possible. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you sigh contentedly into the kiss when he pulls your face even closer with his palms.

"F-fuck." He pulls back with a pop, hands roaming along the tops of your thighs too teasingly for you to handle. By now you're so worked up that you just needed him to take you roughly, the thought of his cock pounding in and out of you making you moan when you feel his bulge brush your leg. God you want him more than you knew it was possible, the way your clit pulses at the thought of how good it would feel to come around him or better yet feel him come inside you overwhelming.

"Seokjin, p-please fuck me." You practically whine, letting your head fall against the couch cushion when his thumbs fiddle with the lace of your panties. "Wanna feel you inside me."

The sound that comes from his throat seems strangled. "Fuck, what did I say about driving me crazy?"

"Need you so bad," You rotate your hips to emphasise your desperation, the action providing you with no relief when his steel like grip prevents you from putting any pressure on your dripping folds. "Wanna cum for you."

You blink up at him through your lashes and you swear you see his adam's apple bob as he swallows a moan. He liked it when you provoked him, you could tell. His resolve is crumbling with every word out of your mouth.

"Please, I'm so wet." Fuck, you are. You can feel it dripping down your ass, probably making a mess of the couch below you. You hope it can be dry cleaned. "Just fuck me now—mmf!"

Seokjin shuts you up with a hard press of his lips to yours, the action conveying he's just as desperate as you, the way his hands trembled telling you he isn't as unaffected as he wants to appear.

His breathing is nearly as ragged as yours now. "You like riling me up don't you?"

He runs a shaky hand through his hair exasperatedly and you look up at him hopeful, willing him to touch you, kiss you, anything.

"I'm not going to fuck you."

Oh.

You stiffen beneath him, his words shocking you still.

He doesn't want you. Simple as that.

This was just another one of his games and you fell straight into it. You close your eyes and braced for him to start laughing. To point his finger and tell you how lame you are for ever thinking that someone like him could want someone like you.

Except nothing comes. Just the sound of your shaky breaths and a shower running nearby.

"Why?" Your voice is small now and you draw your knees to your chest, trying to hide as much from him as possible. "You don't want to?"

He looks dismayed at your suggestion, palms shooting out to push you back down and pull you back into his hold again.

"It's not that, Y/N." You let out a relieved breath, not fighting Seokjin when his forehead falls against your chest in defeat, heavy breaths ghosting across the tops of your breasts. You're sure he can feel the way your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest.

"Then why?" You bite your lip. You sound too needy, to whiny. Why do you even care if he wants you or not? This is a one off anyway.

"God, I want nothing more than to strip you and see you bounce on my cock right here"

Oh.

Seokjin's lips attach to your neck, sucking harshly like a man deprived, as though he can't hold back any longer. His hands roam everywhere they can reach, rubbing your breasts over your shirt before his fingers work on the buttons eagerly.

"S-Seokjin..."

"Would give anything to see you come undone on my cock. Bet you'd moan so pretty when I pound you, yeah?"

Truth be told you'd let him right now if he said the word, the thought of him stretching you out making you see stars before he has even properly touched you. Your core is hot and sticky against your panties while you clench around nothing while his every word makes you writhe to be filled. "Then w-why don't you?"

"Because there's plenty of time for that, princess." He flashes you a smile. Plenty of time? Why did he make it sound as if this wasn't a one time thing? As if you'd be back for more? "This is for you remember? Gotta pay you back."

You yelp when Seokjin lifts your ass, thumbs finally dragging your panties down your legs and throwing them behind him before he spreads your legs with a hunger. "Let me taste you, hm?"

Seokjin pushes your skirt around your waist, exposing your core to his hungry eyes, drinking in how you look all spread out for him. Just the sight of him so close to your dripping heat makes the coil in your stomach tighten and you're sure you could cum just from the way his lips part in anticipation.

He looks up at you for confirmation, smirking when you nod your head before falling back against the couch weakly when he drags a finger down your slit teasingly, licking his lips when you mewl at the brief contact with your clit. "So pretty."

He sinks back against his heels, cheek warm against your inner thigh, hot breath caressing your clit. A moan escapes you at the feeling much to his amusement, his bruising grip on your thighs stopping you from bucking up. "Hurry up — mmf — please."

For the first time he listens to your request, skipping the teasing to run a long stripe up your soaking slit. Seokjin groans against your clit and you quiver, his staggered breaths hot against your dripping folds. "Taste so good, sweetheart."

"S-Seokjin," Hands spread your legs as far as they cN go and then plump lips engulf your clit, sucking with a perfect harshness that makes your legs shake and your head fall back with a gasp, hands tangling in his blonde locks tightly enough to have him groaning blissfully. "Fingers!"

The breathiness of your voice makes him chuckle against your heat, vibrations enough to have your knees straining to close around his head, the pressure between them almost too much. "What was that?"

"Fingers," You reiterate, aware of how fucked out you soundjust from feeling his tongue on your clit, every teasing flick making your entrance pulse. "Inside me, now."

"No please?" The drag of Seokjin's flat tongue down your slit to prod at your hole is sinful, the way he took to fucking you with his tongue teasingly drawing small whimpers from your lips. It's mesmerising how he knows just how to make you fall apart.

"P-please!"

The gentle brush of his nose against your clit nearly has you coming on the spot. "Turn over." He growls against your mound. An arm wraps around your waist and before you can protest his mouth leaving your heat, you are being flipped onto your hands and knees, Seokjin's palm pushing your head down against your forearms so that your ass comes up for his viewing pleasure. "That's more like it."

"F-fuck." It feels dirty being on display for him like this, dripping wet and wiggling your hips, desperate for friction against your spread folds. Pressing your cheek to the couch, you catch a glimpse of Seokjin's expression as he takes you in, eyes black with desire, lips still coated in your sticky arousal.

"Shit." His breath hitches. "Such a pretty pussy, hm?"

It's your turn to take a shaky inhale when a single finger circles your entrance, Seokjin humming approvingly when you clench hopelessly around nothing. Knowing you are so close to being filled even with a single finger gets you panting, circling your hips and trying to sink down onto the digit that smears your wetness through your folds lewdly. Seokjin pulls his hand away with a click of his tongue.

"That desperate to be filled, baby?" His tone is taunting, followed by a chuckle when you whine at the way his words make your clit throb. "Fuck, such a slut, dripping wet for just my fingers."

He reaches around to press the pad of his finger against your lips and you suck it instinctively, humming when you taste yourself, some of your sticky arousal smearing on your chin. Seokjin's head rolls back, the visual practically sending him into sensory overload.

"Such a slut," A loud slap fills the room, a palm landing flat against your upturned ass, the sensation making you cry out in surprise. His breath is hot and ragged against your ear. "You like that?"

Despite the embarrassed shake of your head another smack lands to the flesh of your other cheek with enough force to leave a mark this time. It stings when he rubs his calloused hands over the reddening skin that is now burning hot where it collided with his palm but the pain quickly dissipates to pleasure and you bite your hand to stop from moaning out too lewdly. "Use your words, princess."

"Seokjin!" You can't hold back from whining his name when his palm lands straight on your heat, the sharp pain a somehow welcome relief when he instantly rubbed a few soothing circles into your folds with the pads of his fingers, each graze of your clit making your legs shake uncontrollably. "I-I need more."

"This?" Without warning he presses two fingers into your pussy, entrance squeezing around him wildly at the pleasant stretch. Every flick of his wrist permeates through the locker room with a loud squelch, testament of just how worked up you were.

"Ugh!" Every drag of his fingers against your velvety walls has your eyes rolling back, the way he curls the digits with every thrust hitting your sweet spot perfectly, like he knew exactly how to drive you crazy. "S-so good."

You are starting to get out of breath, meeting his thrusts by rocking back against his hand and this time he doesn't protest, encouraging you by kneading the flesh of your ass and groaning in time with the sharp gasps leaving your lips each time the heel of his hand brushes your swollen clit.

"Think you can cum again with just my fingers, baby?" The way you clench around around his digits is a tell tale sign that your second high is close. Just his words alone nearly make you fall over the edge, words slurred as you try to focus on anything other than the unrelenting pulse between your legs.

"N-need more." You sound utterly fucked out, eyes squeezed shut and lost to the feeling of being filled but the stretch isn't quite enough and you need more to tip you over the edge. "Another one."

Seokjin lines up a third finger with your entrance, the ring on his finger cold against your hot walls as he slides it in beside the others at an agonisingly slow pace; to allow you to adjust to the stretch or to taunt you can't tell. By the time he gets to his knuckles your body is wracked with laboured breaths, quivering knees barely able to hold your weight as you bite the inside of your cheeks to curb a string of whines at being finally filled.

Of course, his fingers weren't as good as the real thing and you wonder how he is able to control himself when your mouth waters at the thought of feeling him inside of you instead of his hand.

The room is still a little humid from the showers, a layer of sweat glistening across your skin as you chase your high with determination, the stickiness between your legs dripping down Seokjin's wrist and making him tut, the click of his tongue heightening the sensation.

"That's it, cum for me." The authority lacing his tone tips you over the edge, another smack stinging your ass as you bury your face in the couch with a cry, the feeling of his fingers pumping you through your high almost too much to bare but as soon as they are ripped away and you're left clenching around nothing you miss the feeling of being full.

"So pretty when you cum." Seokjin murmurs. Under normal circumstances you would have been embarrassed, self conscious even with your ass up for anyone to see, release leaking on to the couch, but you're too fucked out to care about anything m, barely able to register Seokjin's new found gentleness as he flips you onto your back and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear while you focus on returning your breathing back to a normal pace.

"Holy shit." The beat of your heart seemsdeafening in your ears, the only other sound you can comprehend being Seokjin's own ragged breathing.

"Fuck, I nearly just came in my pants." When you manage to turn your head he is staring straight at you with disbelief, eyes travelling to your swollen lips. "I'm going to jerk off to this image forever."

"Me too." You murmur honestly.

Your lids fall shut in post orgasm bliss, not expecting the incoming peck Seokjin presses to your parted lips. It is barely a kiss, plump flesh of his lips brushing yours for less than a second but a funny warmth spreads through your chest at the gesture. Seokjin seems as surprised as you, as if he can't quite believe he just did that, shuffling to the other side of the couch to put some distance between you.

"You should uh, get dressed." He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly and turning away to give you some privacy, as if he hadn't just had his head between your legs just a moment ago.

His behaviour, albeit kind of strange, makes you smirk and you decide it won't hurt to tease. "Well, at least now we're even."

Seokjin bites his lip when he turns around to find your skirt back around your thighs, overcome with a new confidence, sauntering over and palming your ass like he owns it. "Nope, not getting away that easily. I think you'll find I made you cum twice. So now you owe me. Again."

"And what do I owe you this time, Kim Seokjin?" You place your hands on his chest, no instinct to push him away for some reason. "Golfing with your brother up next?"

"No," He scoffs. "My brother wouldn't be caught dead with a club."

"Then what?"

You notice the glint in his eye again, the one you are starting to crave. "Let me get to know you."

"Isn't that what you did today?"

He shakes his head. "The real you."

#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #smutcentralnet #bangtanarmynet #ksmutclub #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin imagine #seokjin scenario #jin imagine #jin scenario #bts fanfiction #bts fic #fic: better with you

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horrorslashergirl · 3 years

Text

A takeback on a raven. A Shadow Story

Authors Note: History is always interesting and everyone has one. Shall we take a glimpse at the infamous Boston Serial Killer?

Warning: 18+ because of sexual assault, abusive behaviour perhaps and some uestionable themes. Just putting the warning in case.

Words: 1.9k

It was autumn in Boston and the rain just stopped as the preteenagers exited the school, all glad for the ending of the program, looking forward to getting home for the weekend. Everything was peaceful until a little boy was pushed into a puddle from the rain, all his clothes getting wet and leaves sticking to his face.

He looked up at the group of boys laughing and smirking at his form, the books from his satchel fell out into the dirty ground, destroying the pristine white pages.

"Looks like the ugly raven fell off the tree." one of the boys, probably the leader mocked, kicking at the books and throwing them all around the ground covered by the amber leaves of autumn.

The little boy didn't say anything, but he avoided looking up at the aggressors, only for one of them to take his book from the ground and hit him upside the head with it.

"We are talking with you, crow. Hey! What's this?" he asked, opening the destroyed book and looking at the content inside, the group accompanying him and checking what the pages held.

They all began to laugh and the boy felt a heavy force on his head from the obnoxious and obscene sounds the group was making.

"Check this out, guys! Naked women!" the leader said, snorting at the images.

It was actually an anatomy book, very much detailed and nothing improper at all; it was educative, but the low-brains were too blind to actually see, probably couldn't even read the title of the book anyway.

Before they could throw any more insults, the teacher came by them, scolding the group and promising them that she will have a very nice discussion with their parents. The pre-teenagers scowled and looked down at the boy on the ground, rolling their eyes and starting to walk away.

"See you on Monday, pervert!" The leader yelled before stalking away after his group.

"I told you that you should away conflicts, especially with Henry." The female teacher told the boy, getting his books from the ground and handing them to the black-haired boy.

"I-I tried." he whispered, putting his belongings back in his leather satchel.

"Lucas, if you indeed tried you wouldn't have been here. Now, go home. You wouldn't want to be late for dinner." she quickly told him, then walked away, leaving Lucas alone, who slowly got up, whipping the dirt and leaves from his pale cheeks, which had a slight rosy tint.

He walked to the bus station, waiting for the next one since he missed the principal one. At last, this one wasn't crowded with his classmates and bullies, so he could sit in silence until he arrived home. On the long drive, he pulled out his books so that he could inspect them; indeed destroyed, but not completely, although he will have to get all the unwanted mess off and dry them.

He really hated this school, but not because he didn't want to learn or because of homework. The classmates and pretty much every kid was a Buffon, ignorant over the edge and it made him always wonder why he was learning among a wave of monkeys who couldn't distinguish tendons from bones.

"Last stop! We are here." the driver announced, getting off from the seat and exiting the vehicle to be met with the imposing view of his house that looked like something from a Tim Burton art book.

He opened the large gate to enter, stepping on the brick sidewalk and on the stairs to the large mahogany double doors, his tiny hand wrapping around the door handle and pushing the door open, only to be met with the face of his aunt, younger sister of his mother.

"You're late and oh my! You look horrible!" Aunt Mia said, her brown eyes widening and she grimaced at the dirty and disheveled look Lucas was sporting, not like he wanted to.

"Your mother is in the living room, having tea with the ladies of her literature club. If she sees you like this, she will go bonkers." Mia whispered to Lucas, narrowing her eyes at the boy.

"Get your clothes off right now. I just whipped the floorboards and cleaned the carpets. I don't want to see one spot of mud on them." Mia said with finality, moving with the tray of tea tools to the kitchen to refill them.

Lucas sighed, putting his satchel down and tugging on the black vest off, the white button-down came next, a shiver running down his spine at the coldness. He put his shoes neatly on the doormat and unbuckling the belt, tugging his khaki slacks down when he heard a scream.

His amber eyes looked up to see his older sister at the top of the main staircase, looking at him like she saw something repulsive.

"Mother!" Amelia yelled, making Lucas's eyes widen, knowing that this won't turn out to be good.

In a few seconds, not enough time for him to get his clothes and run upstairs to his room, his mother exited the livingroom stopping once her amber eyes laid on him, the other ladies peeking their heads from the living-room, curious and also hungry for something to gossip about later.

Everything happened in a flash of his mother's long black dress and a slap echoed in the gigantic victorian style house.

"You pervert! This is how you present yourself in front of so many ladies?!" Evelyn's booming voice meets Luca's ears, his cheek stinging from the slap, his tiny hand holding the red spot of skin.

He wasn't one to cry, he never cried, just looking down in shame as he heard his older sister snicker and his mother's friends whispering all kinds of things that he blocked from understanding; probably very judgemental comments.

Evelyn looked down at her son with a viper like glare, her amber eyes matching Lucas. He looked up and felt his legs tremble, so as quickly as possible he got his wet and dirty clothes off the floor and dashed upstairs to his room, avoiding his sister's smirking face at the embarrassing moment.

After cleaning himself up and getting dry clothes from his closet, Lucas looked into the mirror of his bedroom, making sure he was presentable, his raven black hair slicked back.

He grimaced at the color; the reason for why he was labeled as the raven or crow.

A knock at his door made him glance to see his aunt, Mia with her lips pulled into a thin line.

"You missed dinner, young man. Also tomorrow you have waltz classes, piano lessons and let's not forget about your homework and also Evelyn told me that tomorrow you will clean the attic. A reminder to never pull a stunt like that again. I saved you some dinner, but don't expect this to be a normal occurrence. You know how important punctuality is." Mia rambled and all Lucas did was listen, because what else was he supposed to do when you're surrounded by women.

He was the only male inside the house; Evelyn, his mother who reminded him of a witch from the fairytales, then his older sister Amelia who looked a lot like Evelyn and Mia, his aunt and younger sister of Evelyn who was responsible for cooking and cleaning, since she hasn't married a rich man like his father.

All Lucas know about his father was that he was rich as his mother stated and he was very fond of literature, one of the reasons the library of the house was mostly used by Lucas. Amelia was too busy following after Evelyn to actually open a book and read, at last, a paragraph.

Lucas followed Mia to the kitchen, sitting down at the table and eating the leftover boiled vegetables and cold steak of beef. He heard Evelyn and Mia talk outside the kitchen into the front entrance of the house.

After he was finished, he washed the dishes and was ready to head back to his bedroom or perhaps the library to find a book to take his mind of the events today.

He was meet with his mother and aunt, all put together, dresses perfectly without a wrinkle, make-up was neatly done to hide the aging and the hair? Not even a rebel lock out of place.

"Mother?" Lucas asked, making the women look at him.

"We're going out tonight, Lucas. There is an important event in town about new investors for the new hotel. We've got invitations." Evelyn said, fixing her fur coat and lipstick in the mirror by the front door.

Of course, they were out hunting new fresh meat or better said a new wallet to get their manicured hands onto.

"I'm no longer with Mr. Gladstone to tie me down so we don't have to worry about anything." Evelyn muttered and Lucas fought the urge to grimace and say something.

Mr. Gladstone as in his father; Evelyn's former husband, now deceased and a loving father as much as Lucas could remember.

The two ladies exited the house and closed the door behind them, not even saying goodbye to the little boy, leaving him in the darkness, save for the faint light coming from the chandelier above.

He sighed and decided to went straight to bed, not even in the mood to read anything. He was tired and not in the mood to do anything at all. He marched upstairs and sadly he had to pass his sisters' door that was wide open, more feminine voices coming from inside.

Amelia was with her friends, probably having a sleepover or just a gathering for doing make-up and their hair.

He tried to be discreet and quickly pass the door, so he won't be observed.

"Hey!"

No such luck.

He looked over his shoulder and saw one of Amelia's friends, long curly hair in a golden color following down her shoulder and mischievous sky blue eyes looked at him.

"You're Amelia's little brother, right?" she asked, making him slowly nod.

Amelia turned from her friends and grimaced once she saw Lucas.

"You again? Stop creeping out of the corners like that, pervert!" she yelled, bopping his nose pretty roughly and making it sting; a normal habit of hers.

"I'm going downstairs to get some snacks. It might take a while." Amelia said and walked out of her bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen.

Lucas was ready to bolt to his bedroom, but he was pushed inside his sister's room by the blonde; his amber eyes looking at the older girls who smirked or whispered to each other.

Lucas was only 10, while his sister was 17 as were the females in front of him.

"Umm...I need to go...My curfew is...." he shuttered, trying to excuse himself, but then he felt the blonde move behind him.

"Awww why in such a hurry? You're too big for a curfew." the girl whispered in his ear, making him blush and gulp down.

Before he could say anything else, he was pushed forward, two girls holding his arms and his eyes widened as he looked at the blonde, who snorted.

"Yell and we will tell that you tried to come upon us." the way she spoke, made the boy shake in fear, not used to what was happening. Sure, he was slapped and beaten up over his hands with a wooden spoon by his mother, but not this.

The blonde started to work on the belt that held his slacks; the gesture finally hitting on what they were planning. Lucas wasn't obvious to this kind of activity; he was very educated, but never indulged in them.

Another girl, a redhead closed and locked the door, giggling at Lucas's scared expression.

"This will stay between us all." the blonde whispered against Lucas's lips.

#Shadow #Serial Killer #Salem #Original characters #Slasher OC #Boston #Horror OC #Story Time

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sjw-publishings · 4 years

Text

Man-aging your time

Foreign Relations

(Asian twist on @dumb-and-jocked story, Corporate Progression)

Edgar Han was never fond of conferences, specially ones he was forced to attend due to pressure from his company. As a college intern, he gave it his all to ensure a good grade and possibly a head-start in his business.

He was wrong.

Working at Wong.Inc, the 21 year old was constantly asked and tasked with menial errands all day, filing papers and serving coffee. Now he was asked to be an usher for a conference meeting with TenHaken Corporation.

Dressed in a black polo and khaki pants, he tapped his dress shoes impatiently, being forced to come far too early and way before any of the other interns showed up. He was pretty lean, sort of lanky as he did not do sports. Long hair was tied to a ponytail, as he kept it maintained and groomed so as to not leave a bad impression.

He wondered if it was because they were aware that he and his boyfriend, two of their interns, were gay. But he seemed to be getting the shorter end of the stick...maybe cause he actually cared about his grades and future career, they ended up treating him harsher?

Nevertheless, he did have a slimmer of hope, maybe if he left a good impression today, he could maybe...

“Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?”

Standing before him was a tall, handsome daddy who was bulked up with muscle, thick biceps straining against his suit, and the most devious looking grin that screamed corporate evil...but....it was so hot.

“S...Sorry Mr TenHaken Sir!”

He extended out his hand, as the Boss of the other company grabbed it and gave it a good shook. Snapping his mind away from his worries...and distracting it with...his strong scent infused with cologne.

And those hands, those warm..., and manly hands.

“So you are one of the few interns that...?”

“Yes...alongside my boyfriend...”

He responded in a daze, entranced by the scent. Yes he may go through several hoops just to impress the higher ups, even at the expense of his relationship with his boyfriend, but he would never reveal their relationship in a workplace setting...especially considering some of the higher ups may be homophobic.

A brief wave of disgust shown in the Boss’s countenance, before he returned to grinning madly as he let go of the shake. Giving a firm pat on the young asian man’s back, he spoke in his richly, deep voice.

“Splendid, you’d be perfect...”

The man sauntered into the conference room, bringing along most of his musky aroma and thick cologne with him...but of course, leaving some behind. The young intern blinked, realising what a poor attempt of a greeting that was, and to the BOSS of the other company too!

What is he going to do?

“Did ya watch the game last night?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, a suburban looking man in a suit asked him the question, sticking out his hand with a dopey looking grin. Almost sporting a similar thickness of the cologne the Boss wore...but more mild...and friendly.

“Uh...maybe I did?”

He grabbed ahold of the other mans hand, giving a firm shake as rehearsed. He may just be an intern, and maybe he fumbled with the greeting with the Boss, but he was going to give it his all with the next few introductions.

The shake, while it was a matter of seconds, seemed to last longer in his mind, as he felt the warm spreading from the thickness of those fatherly palms, and rough wrinkles that had definitely were from the years of prime in his youth.

“What maybe I did? Of course I did!”

Of course I did? He thought, scratching his head with his other hand, which felt oddly warm as well. Mirroring the other, as those palms expanded with a former grip, sun-kissed tan bathing their digits as it spread all over their palms. Crunching the older man’s hands, as the university intern smirked.

“Of course I did!”

“Atta Boy!”

The older father figure looped his arms around him, as he...slightly reluctantly, did the same. The tan had spread down his wrists, past the forearms and to those biceps. Giving a firm masculine boost as testosterone swelled his arms, thickening like he definitely lifted a lot.

He wasn’t into sports much, but he did lift a little...especially after some pestering with Mr Craig, the really nice man from the other company. Tasked to do some stock checking and other stuff before the event, they chatted quite a bit and surprisingly had clique very well.

“So what are ya doing out here shaking hands?”

“Oh I...uh was asked to shake hands?”

“What are ya talking about? That stuff was for the interns!”

Bedgaric blinked, interns? But wasn’t he...no. He moved past that stage a couple of years ago, and thinking back, the company never asked him to go stand at the door and shake hands when he was interning in Wong.Inc.

But he felt like...he needed to do this. Setting a good example for the future interns, and hoping they don’t slack off like his lazy young boyfriend. Straightening his back, not noticing he was now about the same height as Craig.

“Its merely in my good nature...gotta reflect well on the company!”

“And that’s right why we bonded right away!”

The man beamed, feeling at ease with his colleague as they were often paired together to strengthen relationships between both companies. Despite the obvious age and ranking differences, it was clear to the company that he was fit for the job.

As his mentor-figure rubbed against his sore shoulders, his shoulder blades clacked, as it was evident that the dark tan worked its magic there. Working out and making up for those wasted years, the 28 year old definitely made gains as his back rippled against the Polo tee he wore. Strapping muscles that he could recall several men, and girls ogling after him on a daily basis. Though he was into boyfriend Conan, many others were also into him too.

“Anyways...remember that bit? TOUCHDOWN!”

“Ah yeah! Man was that CLOSE!”

Resting his strong muscular arm easily on the other man, he was really into football, though he never made the team when he was younger. Too much of a pansy back then, but Craig really manned him up like the big brother figure he is.

Often watching football during the breaks, and a couple of roughhousing with Craig and a couple of his older friends. They had a blast!

Bendgardict, being the tall and bulky asian man he is, was assigned to be on defence. Recalling the impact the football nearly hitting his core, but his strong goalkeeper-esque hands catching it...definitely something he picked up during his soccer days.

Indeed, he had played soccer a ton, he was a jock after all. Legs thickening to hard trunks, as the hot tan spread with light dusting of hair at every spot. Feet surely sprung forth, as the heavy clunking of those dark polished dress shoes now spotted his attire.

Giving a huge SWING to Craig, broad shoulders rippling beneath his attire, he crossed his arms and smirked. Clutching every football toss to his core, abdominals crunching numbers as pectorals bounced back with even more force, a defender to the core, that’s the man he was.

Standing firm and tall, his polo shirt could barely contain the rippling maturity as the sound of satisfying rips echoed his larger bod. Material shifting to a more presentable cotton, bleached white as sleeves rolled themselves neatly down his arms. Spotting on a white dress shirt with the first few buttons unbuttoned, accenting his frame like the Chad he is.

He had some hesitations displaying himself, but he shook it off, knowing if God gave him a body like this, he should use it to the fullest. God? Must be Craig’s Church influencing him quite a lot, he believed, still new to it though.

“From production manager to executive director...Eugene definitely went bonkers last night...”

“Hah! Serves him right to go against our team!”

The two of them continued chatting about work experiences, the game, and altogether men stuff. Time flew by effortlessly, alongside maturity. The Associate ranking up as they laughed heartily.

It wasn’t long until the asian man surpassed his peer in height, stopping at 6ft 2. He laughed heartily like a big brother, even though he was clearly younger...not by much, 5 years or so.

But he certainly ranked up a lot, after all, he did share similar beliefs to his higher ups and colleagues...those ‘hip’ millennials call them boomers, but their values really resonated within him. Something his...intern would not understand, with all his constant flirting in the office.

Presentability. An upper coating of expensive fabric layered over his dress shirt, as well as replacing that of his pants. Beige with faint magenta straight lines, ironing the wrinkles over his suit pants and jacket combo with a matching pocket square.

He had earned quite a handful sum after all, spending it wisely in investing in stocks and proper attire. Not like those games that millennials waste their money on.

Masculinity. This was done without question, which represented his sunbaked complexion from working out and bonding with other men in the field.

It was also without question that the ridiculous ponytail began slowly retracting upwards, with sides shaved like a real man always would, especially in sports. Combing sideways with neat dabbing of gel, as the hard crusty dusting of aftershave went all over his upper lip and strong jaw.

He was nice, but pretty jock-centred in his beliefs. Both in his faith and how a man oughta behave. Big strong and masculine, the provider of the household, man and woman.

Man and woman...?

“Will see ya and the family on church this Sunday!”

“See ya!”

His mouth instinctively responded on autopilot, as his goofy grin waved goodbye to his long time friend, colleague, and church mate. His eyes blinked momentarily in light shock, making way to the bathrooms, and quickly closing behind one of the stalls.

LOCK!

“What...what in tarnation is happening to me? Haha?”

The stresses melted away into a grin, he always had a good natured stress-free persona, even when that gay intern confessed to him when he wasn’t into such things...wait no....

He felt compelled to...what? He barely knew the intern, plus he was more into ladies...in fact, he was sure his buddy Craig mentioned something about a family right? The air conditioning neutralising his heat emitting, he quickly fished for his-

“So warm...so fatherly...”

The middle aged man tugged his breeding tool beneath his pants, letting out soft groans like he was young. Ah the younger days, so simple, when men just liked women...when men just liked women!

Blushing to himself, as he tugged ferociously, letting out loud gasps as he felt his behind tightening with a SPANK. Disciplining away any penetration like his father would if he did not excel in his studies, swelling up to a sweet bubble butt reserved for...his love one.

He was raised in a traditional household after all, strong honour and an expertise in Mandarin Chinese. Which was why he landed his position in the first place.

But of course, he thanked God for everything after coming to know him in his college days. Strictness mixed with Kindness, Honour mixed with a loving father, Mr Benedgadict Kan understood who he was, as the firm but gentle brushes against his package were too much to bear.

“Forgive me...C...C....Cindy!”

He was a faithful man wasn’t he? It feels strange to even think about such ‘millennial’ thoughts! Haha, never understood them. Thankfully his wife Cindy and him raised their children well in the lord! Speaking of her...oh man!

“Cindy...you’re so beautiful!”

Gone were the dates of a gay man, replacing by a marriage lasting over two decades. Time well spent with her, His heart pumped in love with HER! Manhood rose in length and girth at the thought of her luscious hair, and soft lips that just made the man outta him.

Man and woman

THRUST!

She is your wife, and you are her husband.

THRUST!

You are a father.

“Ooooaaaah!”

The forty eight year old asian man gave a huge holler as he let out the remains of his homosexuality in an innocent bliss, slumping back as his eyelids closed without hesitation.

Stains looped around his left ring finger as a good man stays devoted to his wife. His member remained sturdy, hard and manly, but at rest. A golden necklace materialised, symbolising the gift she got him on their anniversary.

His married hand gave a good firm pat on his pouch, instinctively putting back his tool into hiding and zipping his pants up.

Almost as if Benedict Kang never tugged his manhood by himself, only engaging in it when multiplying with his wife. He was a good faithful man after all, his new genetics beamed to reflect that as he slowly opened his beady eyes.

“Oh lordee...Where am I?”

Managing Director Kang was your all around nice boss...dad guy. Ruffling his gelled hair, he laughed as he remembered praying and thanking the lord for his successes in his company and in his life.

Prayer time was always priority. He got results done, and had more than enough time to spend time with his family as well as watch the game. It had cut close sometimes, nearly missing a business proposal due to his son’s football game in school, but he always made it in the Bened-Nick of time.

Speaking of which...

“Oh shucks! What time is it?”

He quickly fished himself up from his mediation pronto, unlocking the door and strolling down towards the door entrance of the conference meeting, he quickly glanced at his ‘IanAs’ watch.

“Just in time! The Conference meeting was about to start!”

Mr Benedict Kang flashed his most genuine grin, stress melting away from the atmosphere as his wholesome presence was made known as he jovially walked in.

“Amen to that!”

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geeky-writes · 4 years

Text

Continuum - Chapter 1 Preview

Stony/ Superfamily Infinity War/ Endgame AU

Part of the Pieces of Echoes Series

********

“And for more information about this strange space phenomenon, we go to our on-site reporter, Jackson Murphy. Jackson, what more can you tell us?”

“Honey, why’re you still watching that stuff?” Tony asked as he emerged from the bathroom, ready for bed in Steve’s favourite bright blue sleep pants and a black tank top that was probably older than Peter. It wasn’t at all unusual for Steve to be watching the news before bed. When they weren’t on a mission there was always at least one television on in the house while Steve was awake, tuned in to his favourite news station. He liked to call it minding his surroundings, and while it made sense to Tony, it didn't mean that he particularly enjoyed it.

And he enjoyed it even less when said news was reporting on whatever goofy space phenomena had occurred over Africa. Ever since he’d stumbled upon an entire space-faring army just waiting to invade Earth during his emergency missile flight through Loki’s portal, Tony had adamantly decided that he had seen all he’d needed of space, thank you very much.

It was an image that, even almost four years later, he still couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried.

“Steve?” Tony repeated, pausing a few steps in to toss his hand towel in the general direction of the laundry hamper. “I thought Fury already told you that we didn't need to worry about it?”

“Yeah, he did,” Steve muttered. The worry wrinkle between his perfect dark blond eyebrows was on full display as he glowered at the screen, an abandoned dog-eared novel sitting on his lap. Apparently the Jackson Murphy dude didn't have much of anything to add to the already low-on-details event.

“And?” Tony asked as he set his glasses down on the bedside table, right next to his tablet and Steve’s dog tags. He climbed up onto the bed, sliding over to lean his head against Steve’s arm. It'd been a long day, and he was tired.

Steve huffed out a frustrated sigh as he wound his arm around Tony’s shoulders. “There’s no new information, and judging by where in Africa the event occurred, there probably won't be any anytime soon. Director Fury told me that this country, Wakanda, doesn’t talk to the outside world all that much.”

“Mmm. Yeah, I’ve heard that about Wakanda,” Tony said. “They’re about as isolationist as they come. Howard used to even grumble about them sometimes back in the day.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Steve. “Did you see that he tried to convince the government to try and open scientific diplomatic channels a few times when he was with SHIELD?”

Tony draped his arm across Steve’s waist, burrowing closer as he closed his eyes and breathed in his husband’s intoxicating scent, ivory soap and the slight hint of vanilla that always seemed to seep from his skin. Whoever thought that the plain, ten-cents-a-bar ivory soap could smell so damn good?

“Pretty sure it was Pete who discovered that little tidbit in the HYDRA files, honey, along with all the other stuff he wasn’t supposed to be reading,” Tony murmured, stifling a yawn. “Makes sense though. I bet all the rumours floating around about the super cool Wakandan tech just about drove Howard bonkers. You know he always wanted to have his fingers in every single pie he could find, and I know it always bugged the hell out of him that he could never get his hands on more of their magical metal.”

Steve’s eyes flicked over to the red, white, and blue shield propped up against the wall right next to their bedroom door. Tony had offered many times to build him a stand or something to hook it on when Steve wasn’t using it, but Steve always refused. He’d told Tony that during the war he had always stored the shield right by the door—when he was actually able to sleep in a building, that is—and, like everything else about Steve, old habits apparently died hard.

“Yeah, I bet it did,” Steve said softly. He narrowed his eyes at the screen as the reporter launched into yet another meandering statement regarding the unexplained phenomenon that had taken place high in the skies over Wakanda. Tony sighed, trying to ignore the high-pitched, nasally drone of the reporter’s voice as he repeated himself for the third time.

“Honey, if Fury said whatever the hell this was isn’t an Avengers-level threat, then why are you watching it?” he asked. “You know it’s just gonna make it harder for you to get to sleep. And don't you try and give me that big song and dance about how you don't need as much sleep as me, ‘cause you know it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve said, rather petulantly. “In fact, according to Dr Cho, it’s actually—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, enough already,” said Tony. “The fact still remains that Fury told you that whatever this was doesn’t need to concern us, and yet you’re still making it our concern.”

“Fury said he didn't think it was, Tony,” Steve said. “And he also said that so far none of the SHIELD scientists have a clue what it was either, so—”

“So tell him to send all the data they’ve managed to compile over to Bruce’s lab, and he and I can take a look at it in the morning after we get Pete to school, yeah?” said Tony. He tipped his head up, planting a kiss on Steve’s jaw. “Problem solved.”

Steve gave a sheepish nod. “I already did. Bruce is expecting you at nine.”

********

The full chapter will post on Monday, August 31st 😊

#continuum #stony #stevetony #iron dad and spider son #superfamily #superhusbands #stony fanfiction #iron dad fanfiction #superfamily fanfiction #tony stark #peter parker #steve rogers #infinity war/ endgame au #pieces of echoes series #chapter 1 preview #geeky writes

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 5

Summary: After being grilled about his ex-girlfriend on what is meant to be a fun birthday outing, Sebastian gets some new information dropped on him by a worn-out Jack.

AN: Sorry I haven't posted in a while! Been a bit busy with job and family stuff. Hope you enjoy this chapter. This chapter is mostly unedited sorry!

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Chapter 4 // Masterlist // AO3 Link

“They asked you to coach?”

Sebastian watched Jack run off to warm up with his team, then he turned back to Hotch who clicked the car keys to lock, “Do they know what you do for a living? And they’ve asked you to coach before? Mental.”

Hotch let out a chuckle at how utterly ridiculous Sebastian made it sound. And, truth be told, it was “mental” that Hotch was still coaching his son and their team when he still had to wrangle together his own team back at the BAU.

Sebastian adjusted his bag strap, “You need to learn to say ‘no’ to some people, Aaron.”

Hotch shook his head, playing into that teasing tone that had worked its way ito the conversation, “Well I don’t suppose you would be up for it?”

“I know nothing about football.”

“Soccer.”

“Soccer,” and Hotch laughed at the way Sebastian’s nose wrinkled as he mimicked the accent – albeit with heavy exaggeration on the vowels.

“Dave!”

Hotch’s hand raised into the air, catching the attention of his co-worker. Sebastian felt the pressure crank up to eleven as David Rossi sauntered over. He did not look like he was about to coach little league. He looked like he was about to go to one of his many villas in Europe and lounge around there for two weeks drinking wine.

“David Rossi, this is Sebastian Porter.”

“Jack’s nanny, of course,” Rossi shook his hand heartily. Sebastian immediately wanted Rossi to be the cool uncle he never had.

He couldn’t think of anything wittier to say than this: “And you work with Aaron. On and off the pitch.”

“Couldn’t let him do it alone,”

“My ride’s here, so I’ll see you this evening. Nice meeting you, David.”

Though Sebastian was already behind schedule, he spared himself the embarrassment of his boss watching him lightly jogging over to his companions - and said companions clowning him for said light jogging.

“Aww, a lil peewee match?” Bellamy teased loudly, though not loud enough for the team to hear her.

Sebastian wanted to give her a playful shove, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t slide off her rollerblades deliberately, so instead he retorted, “Bullying kids, Bellamy? I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.”

Klaus stopped rolling back and forth on his BMX, “Which one’s the boss then?”

“Wearing the white polo and shorts, not holding the clipboard.”

Klaus squinted behind his par of wholly unnecessary sunglasses, “Hmm, both are fit.”

“Come on, you’re staring,” and Sebastian twisted Klaus’ baseball cap around backwards before climbing onto the back of the bike.

As Klaus gave an indignant retort, he pushed off and began to cycle away. Sebastian’s hands gripped his shoulders tight and he opted to send a smile in his boss’ direction as opposed to a wave. Bellamy, the embarrassing mom type that she was, waved with both hands and skated backwards as she went.

Their afternoon sesh was off to a rocking start when Sebastian refused even one drink – sticking instead to a diet soda – while Bellamy and Klaus went for bottomless Bellini’s.

Bellamy discussed what children the new term had brought her. A short summary was that they were all little shits whom she adored and would protect with her life. That had been her track record for the part three years she had taught at this high school. The trio clinked glasses in celebration to her track record.

“Honestly, they’re so ready to get to using the Bunsen burners. It’s gonna be bonkers,” She beamed as a server brought her a refilled glass, “Can’t wait to bust out the copper.”

“As much as I love you talking science to me,” Klaus paused to put on a solemn mask that was cracked from the triumph he was wearing beneath, “We have to talk about Pippa while I’m still partially sober.”

When both his friends zeroed in on him whilst sipping their Bellini’s through straws, Sebastian all but exploded with excuses, “Oh my god, I get it! You told me so! It’s been a month! Can we drop it?”

“You went back to her!” Klaus ignored Sebastian’s “I know’s” with his head craning to reach over his friend’s voice, “After everything she did to you! You that desperate for attention?”

“Yeah!”

Both Bellamy and Klaus ceased their teasing, Klaus dropping back into his chair as he said, “Woah, ok, sorry dude.”

“It’s ok.”

Bellamy took Sebastian’s glass away, “Babe, that’s really depressing, you sure you haven’t been drinking?” She took a long sniff, her nose twirling around the rim before sliding it back to Sebastian, “No, he really is that deep.”

“Ha ha.”

Both Bellamy and Klaus sobered up considerably, the tone of their voices shifting into quiet support as Bellamy draped her arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, “I’m glad you got out of it, Bash.”

“Me too. And Rachael.”

“Ooo, how is Rachael?” Klaus pushed his sunglasses up his nose. How he looked like such a douchebag, shades on indoors, yet so happy with that status, Sebastian didn’t care to think about right now.

“She’s got a job in a firm now, big proper one.”

“Oooh! Can she get me out of my parking tickets?”

Suddenly the lights dimmed and Bellamy whipped out her phone, grinning behind it as Klaus looked up and around with a baby’s curiosity.

A troop of servers marched over with the birthday cake Bellamy had dropped off earlier that day. Its bright red buttercream icing Klaus went very quiet, a bashful smile glowing in the candlelight as the restaurant turned its attention to sing “Happy Birthday” to him.

“Happy Birthday, Klaus.” Bellamy and Sebastian kissed both his cheeks at the same time, a perfect photo op that one of the servers took for them.

The birthday boy was gracious enough to share his cake and give Sebastian a ride home after a few more drinks. Of water, Sebastian insisted that Klaus sober up a little so they weren’t going to crash the bike before his night out.

At the crossroads, Bellamy turned left when they went right, her arm stretching out to them like she was watching her loved one get shipped off to war. Sebastian was dropped off shortly after, just outside the block of flats, and Klaus was already off before Sebastian could tackle him with a hug. So he shouted after him. Nothing expletive, but it was enough for Klaus to look over his shoulder and smirk, swerving not a second later to avoid an incoming pedestrian.

When Sebastian entered the flat, Hotch and Rossi were in the sitting room, lounging in the settee over a bottle of whiskey artistically placed on the coffee table.

“Hey, how was the training?”

“Tough, but those kids are tougher.” Rossi raised his drink to his statement, and Sebastian thought about how he could subtly slide some adoption papers across the coffee table.

“Do you want a drink?” Hotch asked.

Already going to the kitchen, Sebastian checked in the stew he’d prepped that morning in the slow cooker, “I’m good, thanks.” He was a little peeved that he’d spent the afternoon sober, especially during the bashing of the ex-girlfriend, but he could always grab a nightcap later on. “Where’s Jack?”

“I SCORED A GOAL!”

Sebastian smile strained as he saw the state of Jack’s shorts once he rounded the corner to the kitchen. His shirt was off; clearly he was in the middle of getting changed.

“That’s brilliant, but if you come at me with them muddy keks, I’ll score a goal with you! Come back in your jammies and we’ll celebrate properly.” And he shooed Jack away to the bathroom. The star striker to be disappeared, his muddy rear skidding into his bedroom with the door closing quick behind him.

“‘Keks’?” Rossi repeated with an eyebrow raised.

So Sebastian clarified, “Trousers.”

“You mean pants.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Hotch’s so-called correction before saying again, “No, keks.”

Thankfully they saw the funny side of it, allowing a hint of strain to drop from Sebastian’s shoulders just in time for Jack to come running back in. This time, he was wearing pyjamas.

Sebastian caught him neatly and plonked him on the countertop, “Tell me all about practice!”

As Sebastian prepared the rest of dinner, Jack babbled away about the training and his teammates. His energy by comparison to the other conversation between Hotch and Rossi caused theirs to stagnate in favour of joining in. Sebastian carried Jack across to the other counters without impeding his speech, keeping an eye on him and the food, while Hotch and Rossi joined in the storytelling.

At Jack’s description of Hotch and Rossi’s demonstration of a paired-up passing game, Sebastian’s abandoned phone began to buzz.

“Sorry Jack, I gotta get this. But why don’t you set the table?” Sebastian took him back down to Earth and shuffled him in the direction of the cutlery drawer before he picked up his mobile, “Hey, what are you doing up? Go to bed, young lady.”

Rachael replied with a heftier helping of snarkasm, “I’m in bed at the moment actually. Have you rung Mum and Dad yet?”

“I have, don’t worry,”

“Ok. Just checking.”

“Texting exists, you know? Not that I don’t delight at the sound of your grumpiness.”

“Yeah, well, you’re starting to sound more American.”

Casting an eye over to see Jack was nattering away to Hotch and Rossi, Sebastian whispered, “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“I’ll call you after work. Love you, bye.”

“Bye.”

Sebastian hung up then slapped his free palm against his face.

Hotch caught his attention, leaning ever so slightly into his range of vision with concern, “Are you alright?”

“Forgot to say I love you, she’s gonna hold that against me for five years at least.”

As the person dishing up and the last to get to the table, Sebastian sat beside Rossi with Jack opposite him and Hotch diagonally across. There was a tautness in Sebastian’s back as he tried desperately not to gauge Rossi’s reaction to his food.

Instead Rossi reminded him of their meeting earlier, “Interesting choice in mode of transport today.”

Like a deer in the headlights, Sebastian tripped his way through his explanation, “Thanks, we’re desperately trying to reclaim our youth.” Then he popped a forkful of meat into his mouth to excuse him from further conversation.

Except Jack didn’t get the memo. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“My sister, Rachael, she’s got a big case on tomorrow.”

“She’s a lawyer,” Rossi pointed across the table with his fork, “Hotch was a defence attorney.”

The information was so shiny and new to Sebastian, that he forgot to implement his “you’re my boss” filter and he said, “You look for ‘intimidating’ in your job descriptions?”

No time for regret, Jack once against filled the space. “Intimidating?”

“Yeah, intimidating, big into justice, likes his suit,” and instead of back down, Sebastian leant over his plate as if to tell a secret, and Jack opposite him leant close too as Sebastian said, “Your dad’s basically Batman.”

Jack’s face lit up at the comparison, one he had made in the past, and he continued to grin as he ate his stew.

“Anyway, our kid’s following up on some advice about getting my deposit back from my bedsit. Landlord’s being an absolute bad word.”

“If you want, I can take a look at it,” Hotch offered.

Sebastian looked back at Jack with fond bemusement, “Told you, your dad’s Batman, just no billions minus the brutality.”

Hotch’s cutlery slipped and collided loudly with his plate as Sebastian said, “It’s all good, thank you. I just sent him some photos of what the mattress looked like when I first moved in, should get him to give up.”

The conversation stagnated from Sebastian, still worn out word-wise from his afternoon drinking non-drinking outing, so he was grateful for the fact he finished first and Jack finished second.

“We can leave the grown-ups now,” he said in a loud whisper, already walking off with Jack to his bedroom.

Over his shoulder, he heard Rossi say not so quietly an I-told-you-so about how “men can be nannies” and that Sebastian was a good choice. While Sebastian was relieved at he had made a good impression on Rossi, he was not so much feeling the inferred sexism his boss held. Still, he was hired now. Microaggressions could be tackled when he got to them.

Cross-legged on the carpet, Jack set about demolishing the rocket. Bricks flew across his little zone of construction. One stray red brick hit Sebastian right between his sock and his cuffed jeans.

“What are we on today, bud? Pirate ship?”

But Jack was quiet. His energy levels were definitely crashing after such a big day. Sebastian gave him space to answer if he wanted, taking charge of organising the bricks into sizes for Jack to pick from.

When there was no reply for a solid minute, Sebastian asked, “You ok?”

For a while, Jack continued his silence. He was busy looking for a very specific shape of brick. His fingers searched over the top of the pile then dove into it, fishing out the perfect piece. Then he spoke.

“Batman beats up the bad guys,” Jack said, his voice hushed, “But so does Daddy.”

Sebastian blinked then recovered just as quick, “Oh I’m not sure about that.”

But Jack shook his head with his eyes still on assembling his boat, “He beat up the man who killed Mommy. Don’t tell him, it’s a secret.”

“A secret from him?” Sebastian didn’t know he was whispering too until he had already spoken.

“He doesn’t know we know. Can you make the mast please?”

And Jack held out a square block. Sebastian blinked again and accepted the piece. Clearly Jack thought this was a very casual conversation, something that Sebastian should keep from Hotch very easily. And he was making a ship.

“Jack, have you told that to anyone else?”

“No.”

“How tall do you want the mast?”

Jack measured with the space between his hands. Taking note, Sebastian continued to stack bricks until the desired height was reached, and Jack took it off his hands, placing it in the middle of the boat.

“I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want anything?”

The little guy shook his head, now completely absorbed in his construction projects. With a pat on his head, Sebastian twisted his legs around to stand and went to stand in the hallway. The door closed behind him and he pressed his forehead against the wall. He took a deep breath, rolling his head to the left, and pushed back his shoulders. A crack from his neck introduced him to the kitchen, where he tossed a half smile at Hotch and Rossi. Then he busied himself with getting that drink. A few drops of water splashed against his wrist.

“Hey Sebastian?”

Said person looked around to see Rossi rocking on the back legs of his chair, “I don’t suppose Hotch ever told you that, when you were taking your trial day, he nearly called you every hour to see how you were doing?”

“Dave,” Hotch said with something that was clearly intended to be a warning tone. The smile he was fighting to keep off his face betrayed him.

“No, he didn’t.” He hid his smirk in his glass. It dropped fast though. The Batman comments were still heavy in his mind, and now with Jack’s context on the brutality aspect, he wasn’t really jazzed to crack another joke lest he stumble across some more unfortunate information.

Rossi didn’t seem to care about that so much, “I had to micromanage his micromanaging.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t’ve minded that.” Sebastian’s foot idly dragged across the tile in front of him, “I’m sure Jack wouldn’t’ve either. And speaking of-” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the website he and Jack had browsed during breakfast, “I have a very important question for you: can we get this bouncy castle for Jack’s birthday?”

He showed the photo of the dream castle to the two men.

“You mean a ‘bounce house’?”

“No, I mean bouncy castle. He was telling me all about wanting a slide one, he’d be over the moon if he got to bring his classmates around to go on one!”

“I suppose if we removed all my furniture and knocked down the walls, we could fit it in here,” Hotch said smartly. His eyebrows were raised as he looked away from the screen at Sebastian, who snorted. God, it wasn’t even that funny.

Once again, Rossi chimed in with his brilliant contributions, saving Sebastian from utter shame, “You know, we could have the party at my home.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x oc #my writing #r: male #wc: 2k+#series #goodnight aaron

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getting-rid-of-anniex · 4 years

Text

An (Un)Healthy Check up

This is me, probably about 6 / 7 years old...?...(looks like I’m busy burying a vampire I’ve just staked?)...what I would give to let that little girl know that she really is enough, and to never let the world get her down so much so that she questions herself.

Fast forward 31 years and I’m now on a quest to try and get back to being as much like that carefree child. The most stressful thing I had to think about then, was whether I would get some sweets at the weekend and if Barbie and Ken would like the salon I’d made for them out of toilet rolls and a load of old boxes.

The unfortunate thing about ‘LIFE’ is that - ‘LIFE HAPPENS’(!) and the person you become is built up of many moments and experiences. In my case, my moments and experiences ended up helping to construct someone lacking confidence and overflowing with anxiety. I started dieting from about the age of 15 (and since then the weight only went up!) Friendships became toxic and I ended up having to build myself a new peer group. I developed a pattern of using food and drink to both celebrate and commiserate. I overindulged on happy days, sad days, sunny days, rainy days; to plaster over a stressful situation, and gee myself up when I needed some dutch courage. My health took a battering, developing asthma, bad knees (at one point the doctor did say I had arthritis...later on rescinding this?!?), IBS and depression. I’ve gone through stages of going totally bonkers with exercise, from running every day, to not at all and just lying on the sofa eating crisps. I tried so many times to follow weight loss programs - if only I’d saved that money instead. After repeatedly falling off the wagon I’d restart another program with so much excitement, only for the hard work to start and the realisation that this wouldn’t be a walk in the park, to hit. I’d throw in the towel and unhappily stuff my face (self sabotage anyone?) My stomach was in a constant mess resulting in time off work (and increased time in the loo!). I tried gluten free, but again after a month or two of symptoms easing and feeling good I’d then decide it wasn’t as bad as originally thought and devour everything in sight, only to go shooting right back to the beginning. As well as feeling like crap because my stomach was in agony, I’d also be mentally berating myself for not being able to stick to anything AGAIN. Why didn’t I have the ability to stick to anything? Especially when all the things I was doing, I was doing in the hope of helping myself?

Appointment no.1

After realising finally just how much I was hurting myself, and how much I was struggling, and after crying on the shoulders of some very amazing friends and family (I really hope you guys know who you are) I decided to see the doctor. To help with my IBS, anxiety and stress (which was a bowlful of Catch-22 IBS related loveliness!!!) I was prescribed anti depressants. Whilst these helped initially, they didn’t touch my inner demons. Self destructive patterns were repeated and the only thing I learnt, was how better to hide things from others.

This must stop!

Back in 2018 my body finally had had enough. After feeling like utter shite for months on end, monitoring over the course of a few weeks how my heart would start racing (just sitting at my desk) and having increasing episodes of hot flushes, I knew I needed to get in contact with the doctor. This time I really wanted to do something...and I was scared. The ball got moving though earlier than I’d planned.

Sitting at work my heart suddenly started to race. (There were no harsh words/emails, up-coming meetings/reviews, and I hadn’t eaten a heavy or spicy meal, there wasn’t anything in fact that could explain why this was happening). It felt as though I was having a panic attack (although never having had one, I couldn’t say for sure?). Luckily I was able to get an appointment with the doctor (another one) later that same day. I feel forever grateful to have been given an appointment with this particular doctor. For the first time ever I felt listened to, rather than just hurried along with the explanation for everything being the bog (pun intended) standard ‘gluten intolerance’. This went so much deeper. I was booked in for blood tests (and stool samples - yuck!) to check for any intolerances (also checking for Crohn’s and Celiac disease)/vitamin deficiencies, given leaflets on the FODMAP diet (although I do feel like this isn’t the full answer for my stomach issues, it definitely helped to fully monitor what foods were triggering my IBS symptoms). We also had a bloody good talk. I didn’t feel like I was just another foot through the door and that the clock was being watched; I really could have hugged my Doc. I left feeling so positive (for most probably the first time in years). Even if we couldn’t rule everything out straight away (there would be a lot of trial and error in the up-coming months), it felt as though someone was on my side and wanted to help. Someone had finally just sat and listened (I’m not including friends and family in that comment - believe me, they definitely have done more than their share of hand holding and listening. This just meant so much, having someone from the health profession listen rather than assume.)

Blood test results

Well the results came in: B12 deficient and lacking folic acid. (I did have to have a further round of blood tests to rule out Pernicious Anemia, but this came back negative.) I also had to provide a ‘sample’, but the only embarrassing part about this was the idiot monkey behind the reception desk deciding that she needed to shout out across the waiting room that my little tube contained pooh (ground please swallow me up!!!)

Diet

B12 and folic acid were tackled with supplement vitamins and a controlled diet (at the time I was going through the FODMAP diet - which was so hard to navigate. So in the mean time I’ve knocked that on the head, but have tried to limit certain foods and just be more mindful about what I am putting into my body - for example I don’t eat apples as they really don’t like my stomach, I have to be careful how much beetroot/coffee/chickpeas, nuts and chocolate I have and I do try to limit bread/pasta. I was put on a list to speak to a dietician....I’m still waiting to see them!)

I have also rejoined WW online (but if being truthful, I’m still struggling with this. It’s still that bit too easy for me to not track all foods). It’s definitely a work in progress. The recipes are fantastic - I just need to be more honest with it if it’s going to work. One positive with this app though is that it has helped learning to track my weight only once a week (I used to have a day ritual of weighing myself).

I’ve cut right back on alcohol (to be another post soon, as this is a whole other story in itself). I’m already feeling the benefits, and some of them in unexpected ways - my skin has never felt/looked clearer (and from someone who is obsessed with studying the wrinkles on her forehead, this has been a fantastic bonus).

Fitness

I’ve downloaded some fitness apps to try and increase the amount of exercise I do (sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day does not help with general fitness!)

ZR5K: I’m currently doing a 5K training app (learning to run whilst escaping from Zombies - I’ve not used this app when it’s dark, I think it would unnerve me too much).

Race at your pace*: I’ve signed up for ‘Race at your pace’ (it was only £10 (medal only option)...and I get a medal at the end - as long as I complete my target of 25 miles run through out January). This has been a real motivator - I love the idea of getting a medal at the end of the month. This has also been mega easy to implement - I just track at the same time as escaping Zombies! *£10 for a medal - more if you want a Race at your pace top. **mile target is set by yourself and you can complete it by either running/walking or swimming for that particular month. MapMyRun: I currently use this as well, to track where I’m going and how long it’s taking me. It’s been a brilliant tool for monitoring average pace, and I’m hoping as the months role by to see this improving. Yoga: I’m also starting to implement some yoga into my daily routine too. I find that as well as it helping to stretch and loosen my muscles after a run (very slow shuffle), it also helps me to unwind and switch off.

Mindfulness

Breathe: I have downloaded a relaxation and meditation app. As with all the apps I’m currently using, I’ve gone for the free option so with this particular one, I don’t get the longer/more specific meditations, but there are still a great range to select from. They have been really helpful unwinding before bed. I just need to get into a better routine of using this daily.

Supportive networks

The hubby, friends and family have all been invaluable to me getting to where I am now. My husband is an amazing man (also a pain in the arse, but hey - I’ll forgive him that) and I absolutely cherish all he does in order to help me on my journey to being a better, happier human being! I cannot stress enough, how you need people around you who (may not have the answers but) will listen - without judgement. I feel so incredibly lucky to have the people around me who I know I can talk to, cry on and ask opinions of. I’ve been incredibly honest with my boss. Luckily he is someone who I know I can talk to and he’s been very understanding. After worrying about time off work due to sickness (stress/IBS/depression issues etc) I opened up completely about everything - food, health (mental and physical)....and I’ve even asked if I can set my health goals as part of my personal development target at work. (Being proactive about helping myself can surely only have a positive impact on my work/life balance. A happier/healthier worker will have a better attitude at work and (I’m hoping) a more productive output???)

Other ‘things’

I’ve also tried to absorb anything and everything that is supportive, positive that will help shore up my personal goals on my journey to self improvement.

I’ve downloaded healthy living podcasts, listened to audio books on being alcohol free and been reading ‘self help’ books - such as ‘The Happiness Equation’.

So this is me - minus the fringe and wondering if I should have curled my hair (see, I’m still a stress head). I’m not 100% healthy or happy but I’m trying my hardest to get there. I’ve got a lot of things to figure out but this time I’m willing to try. I may not be a little six year old happily sitting on the beach, but I’m determined to approach life with that same open and curious mindset...and vampires beware, I’ll still stake and bury you, no questions asked if you try to bite!

______________________________________

That’s all for now folks.

Along the way Annie X came on the scene. I’ll explain my relationship with her in the next ‘session’.

Thanks, be kind to each other and I’ll see you next time R (and Annie X) x

#health #mental health #health & fitness #self improvement #getting rid of Annie X #getting healthy

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bookenders · 5 years

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14 for the prompts?

[Send me numbers and make me write fluff!]

14. Imagine your OC’s high school reunion. They could be going with their partner who went to a different school, going with friends they always kept, seeing friends they love but lost touch with, or (meet cute?) noticing someone for the first time even though they went to school together for four years.

This one’s completely in AU land. Super people still exist, but the Coalition heroes in Fish Food are all civilians.

Thank for for allowing me to write this bonkers scenario @phahbiyah. I had so much fun.

“I need to ask you something, and you can’t get mad at me about it.”

Will looked skeptical. He was reclined on Ryan’s couch, finally comfortable after a long day of dealing with the company’s marketing department. Upon walking through Ryan’s door, he only managed to slip off his shoes before falling onto the couch face-first, then rolling over and wrinkling his suit beyond all hope of steaming.

“Um,” he said.

Ryan was leaning on the kitchen counter, looking at his friend on the other side of the room like he was something dangerous. “Do you consent to this asking?”

Will shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

“Will you-” he coughed “-will you be my plus one for the reunion?”

Eyes closed, Ryan couldn’t see Will sit up and stare at him in disbelief.

“Um. Me?”

“Yes, you. Who else is here?”

“But… me?”

What was so confusing about this? Ryan needed a date - no, a plus one, and Will was here and available.

So he’d looked at a few too many happy Facebook profiles featuring 2.5 white picket fence kids and adopted dogs or whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that he needs someone to… Well, someone to shove in their rude smug faces.

And that person was Will. Handsome Will, big-shot executive Will, reluctant philanthropist Will, person who is an incredible friend with the bonus of not having attended Ryan’s high school Will. He was like a bottle-blonde suburban Captain America.

Who better to crush their self-esteem with? It’s what they deserved for crushing his way back when.

“You seriously don’t get it, do you?”

“Why not Steph?”

“I’m gay, William.”

“Why not Andy?”

“Andy doesn’t wanna be dudely. And they’re busy.”

“Doing what?”

Ryan sighed. “Wow, you really don’t want to do this, huh? Sorry, forget I asked.”

Will stood and walked over to the other side of the counter Ryan was leaning on.

“No, no. I’m just making sure you have the right date.”

“Plus one,” Ryan said.

“Sure.”

“Oh my God.”

Will grinned. “Hey, you asked me, remember?”

“It was literally two minutes ago, yes, I remember.”

Will opened his arms and took a step back.

“I’m all yours.”

Ryan tossed a hand towel at his face.

“You’re such a loser.”

_____

Will wore a different suit to the reunion, thank God. The other one had to be sent to the dry cleaner’s to steamroll all the wrinkles out.

That man really needed to take better care of his clothes.

His suit tonight was a dark burgundy, which, in Ryan’s opinion, was extreme overkill, but Will had said he wanted to be “as devastating as possible.” Ryan was only too happy to oblige.

He’d also paid for Ryan to have his best suit tailored to really make it his best suit.

When they walked into the venue arm in arm, the effect was instantaneous.

Eyes widened, jaws dropped, one person even tripped on their way to the bar.

“Beautiful,” Will mumbled.

“Spectacular,” Ryan agreed. “Susan Gilmore is over by the stage. She had her boyfriend give me a swirly every week for a month. Let’s go make her regret settling for her gross husband and trapping herself in a mediocre career that she hates.”

“Wow. Dial it back a bit, Nightmare.”

Ryan laughed under his breath, a touch maniacal, and steered Will over to the stage.

“Oh, Susan, hi! Long time no see!” he said, syrup sweet and overly saccharine.

Susan’s eyes darted from Will to Ryan, then back to Will, who slung an arm over Ryan’s shoulders and gave her his best PR face. She took a large swallow of her vodka cranberry.

Amazing.

The night might not suck after all.

WIP Intro Post | FF WIP Tag | WIP Page | PowerPoint Intro

OC Intro Post: Phase 1 | Phase 2

Individual Intros:

Phase 1 (Main Cast): Iron Will | Overseer | Lithium | Babylon | Nightmare

Phase 2 (Supporting Cast): Sparkplug | Battalion | Ferro

#ender answers #fluff prompts #phahbiyah #FF Overseer #FF Iron Will #Overseer's got those villain vibes in this one #and Will is kinda cool with it #Ryan's plan is to bring the hottest guy he knows and shove everyone's face in it #living well is the best revenge #Will is an excellent ally #high school reunion #Ryan is so petty sometimes #Andy is Babylon!#Steph is Lithium!#ex #bookenders original #my writing

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rebelsofshield · 5 years

Text

Panels Far, Far Away: A Week in Star Wars Comics 8/7/19

The best laid plans begin to go awry on a dependably stuffed issue of Star Wars.

Star Wars #70 written by Greg Pak and art by Phil Noto

Each mission begins to collapse upon itself as our heroes find themselves facing unexpected wrinkles in their plot to distract the Empire. Leia and Han can’t seem to shake Leia’s sleuthy ex-boyfriend Dar Champion. Luke’s new friend Warba Calip may know more about the Force than he anticipated, but she’s also a no-good thief. Poor Threepio and Chewie now have to protect a whole planet of sentient rocks from the fist of the Darth Vader himself.

I’ve said quite a bit in my previous two reviews for this latest arc of Star Wars about how the crowded three narrative structure is fun but more than a little clumsy to read. Pak’s decision to separate these issues into three separate chunks instead of weaving the stories into each other to create a narrative flow is still a questionable one. Many comics have balanced fractured narratives in the past by cleverly connecting the plots or transitioning in creative ways. “Rebels and Rogues’s” stop gap approach is inescapably awkward as a full package even if this particular issue does a better job than those that preceded it.

It does help to some degree that, intentionally or not, “Star Wars #70” does feel like it follows an escalating arc of tension. Luke’s meeting with Warba is the most low stakes of the three story spread and it does a good job of welcoming the reader while also furthering the narrative for this arc. Warba herself comes across as a fun character and how exactly she came to know so much about the Force is an interesting mystery even if Luke’s eagerness to learn from her feels a little too naïve even by his standards.

Placing the murky space noir narrative of Han and Leia at the center also helps as it is still the most densely plotted of the three and it allows Phil Noto the most opportunity to show off his skill at designing costumes and settings. Pak charts our bickering scoundrel and princess pairing through a skulking trip through the Carpo’s fortress and it makes for enjoyable if not entirely gripping material.

Finally, we explode into the high octane, whizbang fun of Threepio and Chewie’s geode adventure. It’s hard to explain just how bonkers these sections prove to be. It’s just such a bizarre and energetic little story that thrills off some great action art by Phil Noto. The idea of Threepio being an advocate for a species of silicon based life forms is a great oddball concept and the fact that he for the most part is still the only character speaking understandable dialogue makes it all the more goofy. Noto does a great job at portraying Chewbacca’s emotions and personality through still imagery and taps into some of the strong visual work he did back on the character’s limited series. Having this unlikely pairing face off directly against the Dark Lord himself in the coming issues is sure to be a highlight.

If it weren’t for the awkward structuring of this issue, this series would be at its most creatively sound in over a year. All the disparate stories are inventive and fun and cater well to the characters at their center. Now if we could only have a smoother reading experience.

Score: B

#Star Wars #Star Wars comics #marvel #review #reviews #Greg Pak #Phil Noto

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darthstitch · 5 years

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Headcanons a.k.a. The Magic Frying Pan of Grace

YES, YES, YES to your headcanons @tygermama and also:

1. Basically, the confrontation between the Idiot Twins pretty much recreated nearly every painting of St. Michael vs. the Devil ever made, the difference being that the grief and pain on Michael's face was pretty clear and the words: "I'M NOT GOING TO DRAG YOUR STUBBORN ARSE BACK TO HELL YOU BLOODY IDIOT! I JUST WANT TO KNOW IF YOU'RE HAPPY HERE ON EARTH!"

And then, more calmly, in his typical deadpan tones: "Also, I have a spy mission to complete for my human family, very hush hush, very important, not everything revolves around you, all right?"

So of course, Lucifer being Lucifer, his first reaction was: "Spy mission? You're bloody James Bond?!"

"On occasion. Sometimes, I'm just a tailor with rather unusual skills."

Wings were also involved in this scene, wherein four people witnessed the only real difference between the twins. Michael's wings were the color of a night sky speckled with stars; his twin's, of course, were the luminescent silver-white that were part of the reason he'd been named Lightbringer.

2. There were exactly four witnesses to this scene: Chloe, who already knew what her partner was, after the whole debacle with Marcus Pierce/Cain; Eggsy, Harry Hart and Merlin - the latter two having seen everything from the video feed transmitted by the Kingsman-issue glasses.

Eggsy's reaction was: "Somehow, I'm not surprised m'favorite knight's an actual Archangel. Also explains your thing with cats and why you never seem to get your suits wrinkled, no matter what, bruv."

Harry's comment: "That explains the armor and the sword when I first met you. Carry on, then."

Of course, Merlin promptly had kittens and had to fortify himself with copious amounts of tea. Eventually Code Archangel was going to be just as dreaded as Code Excalibur.

3. It comes as no surprise that Michael is generally more low key and less flamboyant than His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs. He's had twenty years spent among humans, trained as a spy and he'd spent most of those years with amnesia, believing he was just another ordinary man with the bad luck not to remember his past prior to joining Kingsman. He's used to wearing glasses, having figured out early on that there's something about his direct gaze that can unnerve most people with the only exceptions being Roxy, Eggsy and Harry Hart. He also has the amazing ability to keep his Kingsman suits impeccable, something that drove everyone, especially Eggsy, quite bonkers, until they all figured out the "angel" thing.

4. Also, the following exchange happened:

"Bloody hell, Michael, you don't have to wear a tie all the time. Take it off, live a little, show a little bit of skin, yeah?"

It is a credit to how quickly the twins made up their differences with each other that everyone at LUX was promptly surprised to see two Lucifers mingling and charming everyone in sight, at least until Lucifer finally formally introduced his twin as: "This is my brother, Michael."

Dan's facepalm was epic: "Oh God, why are there two of you? WHY?"

Before Lucifer could answer, Michael beat him with: "The answer is 42."

"What?"

"42, Detective Espinosa. The answer to life, the universe and everything. Including why Sam -- er.... Lucifer and I are twins."

5. "Yes, Michael. I won't mind it if you call me... Sam. Again. Just keep it as 'Sam' all right?"

Actual hugs were involved in this exchange. And maybe a little bit of grace was involved in this reconciliation. As well as tears and whispered apologies and later on, feather preening, when they were both a little more composed.

"Sam, for the love of Dad, how did you let your primaries get in this condition?!"

6. Lucifer had hoped that Michael would absolutely not notice the "thing" between him and Detective Chloe Decker. Of course, he was dead wrong about that.

"Sam, we'd have an ACTUAL CONTINENTAL SHIFT before you'd finally get off that feathered arse of yours about your darling detective. Please, for the love of Dad, DO SOMETHING."

"IT'S BLOODY COMPLICATED! AND I REFUSE TO DO ANYTHING FOR THE LOVE OF DAD, I'M DONE WITH THAT NONSENSE -- "

"NO, it bloody well isn't. How many times do I have to hit you with the Magic Frying Pan of Grace before you finally get it?"

"The magic frying pan of what now?"

7. Michael, of course, does tend to dress himself like: "Lucifer cosplaying as Clark Kent" unless he can thankfully be out of "uniform," so to speak and relax in a comfortable black Henley, jeans and boots. It's also easier on everyone's nerves because that's how everyone else can tell the twins apart.

But they're not twins for nothing and occasionally, they will appear together in identical clothing. Michael has absolutely no problem adopting "Sam's" mannerisms when needs must. At this point, the only two people on earth who can tell them apart without fail are Chloe Decker and her daughter Trixie.

(Mazikeen is not of Earth and she can tell the twins apart, so she's an exception to this rule. Also Maze will laugh in your face if you ask her for help wrangling the Twins in Full On Mischief Mode.)

Yes, Michael has absolutely tried flirting with Chloe, knowing just how his twin does it and Chloe knows it's him every time. To be absolutely fair, he's only really tried this twice but he does find it heartwarming that Chloe immediately shuts him down with: "MICHAEL PERCIVALE I KNOW IT'S YOU." But she's laughing, as opposed to her normal reaction when Lucifer tries his flirt on.

8. Michael doesn't really try this again because he's seen his brother's heartbroken, puppy-dog expression each time, as if he's expecting that Chloe really can't tell them apart. It's also the reason why Michael figures out that Lucifer is now nursing the harebrained idea that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be far better off falling in love with his "good twin."

Right. Michael also immediately determines that he will use the Magic Frying Pan of Grace to knock that cockamamie idea out of his idiot brother's head ASAP. It took a few good hard knocks and he eventually ropes Dr. Linda Martin to help him out with this, because one must aim carefully and swing hard, but they do succeed.

(Michael is a spy, so of course he eventually does find out about the good Dr. Linda. He carefully doesn't tell her that she is, in fact, an actual saint.)

9. Trixie Decker Espinosa will look at you with a ten year old's patented "Adults are so stupid, swear down" expression when you ask her how she can immediately tell Michael and Lucifer apart. They're twins, yes, but it's obvious which one is which. Michael is just as huggable and funny as his brother, and also an easy mark for chocolate cake.

Also:

"Michael, why do you call Lucifer 'His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs?'"

"He's my brother, child - it's a term of endearment. It suits him, doesn't it?"

There were giggles of agreement.

10. There's a night that everyone at Lux knows that they will never, ever forget. The Tribe was present, in full attendance, including little Trixie, who, of course, got child-appropriate drinks and snacks. Kingsman was represented, with Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin and Roxy Morton, who was, in fact, flirting outrageously with Maze.

A certain mission had been successfully accomplished, a case closed to the satisfaction of the LAPD and Harry Hart was currently in possession of a Certain Sword that everyone had thought was simply something out of legend. So the whole gathering at Lux, with the rest of the L.A. party going scene, was actually a celebration.

The twins were going to sing. Amenadiel totally wasn't getting all teared up about this, because there was absolutely no reason not to cry over the fact that Michael and Samael were going to sing together for the first time in aeons. Really. He absolutely wasn't demolishing the Kleenex supply behind the bar.

The song that the twins chose was just perfect.

"There goes my heart beating

'Cause you are the reason

I'm losing my sleep

Please come back now

There goes my mind racing

And you are the reason

That I'm still breathing

I'm hopeless now

I'd climb every mountain

And swim every ocean

Just to be with you

And fix what I've broken..."

Chloe met the eyes of her partner and best friend and saw, clear as sunlight, all the love and the hope and the apologies that he really didn't need to make anymore. It was that moment that she knew they weren't going to be doing this whole ridiculous dance of two-steps-forward-twenty-steps-back anymore.

For everyone else, there was something achingly beautiful about that performance, something that prompted hands reaching out for each other, hugs, kisses for the lovers in the audience, smiles, a gentle swaying to the melody. It was, in fact, a careful, gentle feeling of grace that settled on everyone there.

Michael helpfully continued playing the piano when everyone later ended up on the floor dancing. Of course, he was perfectly happy to encourage any excuse for his brother to have his Chloe in his arms. Also, to encourage every opportunity for his twin to steal kisses from his favorite detective. Said detective actually didn't mind the kisses and did, in fact, manage to steal some of her own, leaving His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs with this priceless dazed and delighted expression on his face.

- end -

NOTES:

Ladies and gentlebeings, Michael Archangel - The Mighty Wielder of the Magic Frying Pan of Grace.

*gigglefits*

Also, I now have a Spotify playlist titled: "His Formerly Infernal Featherbrained Nibs." That is how bad this ridiculousness has gotten. It also looks good next to my Kingsman-inspired playlist. AHAHAHA.

#michael #lucifer morningstar #deckerstar #kingsman #the magic frying pan of grace #percival #i crack what i want #chloe decker #headcanon

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the-evisceration-station · 5 years

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forget the dots now

Pairing: (One-sided?)Chani/Yeleen

Warnings: attempted rape, minor violence, minor blood, swearing

AO3 Link

Chani goes to the party even though it’s not her scene. She goes because Candy wants her to. Candy’s friend Dakota is in town and going to be there, and he’s got his friends too, and she tells Chani it’s going to be fun. Chani hardly thinks of parties as fun; too loud, too much, too fake. Parties smell like beer and corn chips, and music she doesn’t like pounds so hard she can’t hear herself think.

So maybe Candy isn’t the only reason she goes, maybe she also goes so she can quit thinking for awhile. So that garbage music can boom through the walls and explode between her ears, and push out all the thoughts of Yeleen that keep pissing her off. They usually go a lot like this: She pushes a tendril of textured curls out of Yeleen’s face and softly cups her palm to her cheek, watches hard eyes soften as she presses a kiss to the corner of Yeleen’s lips, feels a tingle as Yeleen’s hand drifts to her hip and—

And it’s awful, stupid, stupid-awful thoughts like these that push her to going to a party that’s probably going to be stupid-awful too. It’s not that Chani judges anyone for going to parties, but they just aren’t her thing. That’s one of the key issues here, Chani doesn’t believe in judging people without due cause and Yeleen judges anybody who walks different, or walks different, or looks different. Different like Chani is.

“Morticia,” she can hear Yeleen taunt in her head, three syllables hissed harshly with contempt.

It’s so stupid. Chani isn’t going to apologize for dressing how she does, for daring to go to Anteros in her preferred attire. This isn’t high school anymore and she isn’t having Yeleen’s petty attitude. Or at least, she didn’t think she was.

Chani’s eyes keep slipping in Yeleen’s direction. Maybe sometimes she watches the sun glint off the gold hoops of Yeleen’s earrings in the quad. Maybe she started drawing her, maybe hates herself a little bit for letting the profile of a bully grace the pages of her sketchbook.

Maybe she started drawing her and doesn’t hate herself at all, because art should be about expressing yourself. Not just about the perfect presentation Yeleen is so overly concerned with and uppity about. Art should be a place where you’re allowed to unleash the things that feel ugly and messy, just as much so as the things that look pretty and neat.

And her attraction to Yeleen is without a doubt, the ugliest, messiest feeling she has. Chani’s libido and her brain simply aren’t on the same page with this one. It’s frustrating. She keeps going back and forth with herself, trying to make sense of these feelings she does not want to have. It’s driving her bonkers.

The party is supposed to be a reprieve from the torture. A torture in itself, maybe, but certainly a lesser one.

Chani wears a top that’s sheer from the collar down to the bodice, then solid black from there, and a high-waisted waterfall skirt with realistically sculpted silver skull buttons. She applies an extra coat of midnight lipstick Yeleen would revile at the very idea of kissing off her.

Dakota whisks Candy away at the party, flanked by another girl by the name of Laeti with neon barrettes like lollipops in her hair. Chani hardly every drinks alcohol but tonight she does. Tonight she finds a boy who is everything Yeleen isn’t. Tall as a tower, ginger boy with his carrot orange hair cropped ultra short and freckles smattered all over his powdered doughnut skin. A face full of glittering piercings that would make Yeleen scream.

Chani drinks a plastic cup full of warm, sour beer without wrinkling her own pierced nose. He looks her up and down, swipes a studded tongue over his lips like he’s staring at a juicy steak. Hardly classy. Chani almost rethinks her decision, but then he’s asking what kind of music she likes and they have enough taste in common to keep her standing there.

He even knows the singer Jay, and Chani can tell he really knows him— it’s not some kind of front just to impress her. And that’s cool, cause Jay is a little obscure. So she’s into her second cup of beer when he suggests they go outside, get away from the garbage music that’s playing and talk some more about the good stuff.

Even though the blaring garbage music is also what she came for, more or less, she still follows him out. Follows him down the path, until the clinging party scents of beer, corn chip, and bonus marijuana dissipate into the better smells of dew and clover. Talking about music becomes talking about mystics, somehow. Chani isn’t sure quite when the conversation takes a turn.

She’s kind of a mystic too, maybe, she says as much and his lips quirk up. She sees the moon in his eyes and then he’s fanning his fingers so she can read his palm under the starlight. Yeleen would never let Chani read her palm. Yeleen would roll her eyes and scoff at the simple idea of palm reading, for sure.

His heart line is wavy. Many lovers then, but none serious. He’s promiscuous. She notes this with a hint of teasing and this is when he kisses her. Kisses her hard, pushes her up against the wall and fervently smashes his mouth over hers. Crams his tongue in so abruptly, the piercing clacks against her teeth.

She tries to get into it. She wants to be into it. But his shoulders are so wide they block her view of the sidewalk and as her fingers dance down to the clavicle, she finds them antsy for a more narrow set. He plunges into her space and she touches his chest, but her hands are irresistibly disappointed to be pressed to the flat of firm pectorals over the supple softness that would be Yeleen’s mounds.

This isn’t working the way she hoped it would and he’s moving so fast it’s dizzying. One hand already squeezes her breast as the other fumbles for the silver skulls that close her skirt.

“Wait,” Chani gasps against his mouth. “Slow down…”

She’s not sure she wants this anymore. She isn’t sure if she wanted to go all the way to begin with, really.

He pauses. His hands don’t retreat. His fingertips skim the edge of the first skull button, waiting.

“I want to go back to the party,” she decides.

“What?” he huffs, brows raised.

“I want to go back,” Chani repeats, grasping his wrist and tugging his hand off her breast. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t happening tonight.”

In a snap, he goes from incredulous to irate.

“Don’t be a tease,” he seethes.

He moves toward her again and Chani shoves him back.

Her first “no!” is an angry shout.

Her second “no,” is a plea he snuffs out with a hand over her mouth.

Chani struggles as a deluge of icy panic floods beneath her skin. She flails and attempts to bring her knee to his groin, but he drives his weight against her. The thin fabric of her shirt tears against the brick. His broad chest crushes the breath out of her lungs.

He grips the waist of her skirt, muscles in his arms rippling as he forcefully jerks. Silver skulls rain down, clacking with finality against the concrete. Her skirt slips down, the cool night air nipping her thighs. The brick scrapes her back as he gruffly hefts her up.

He’s released her mouth but Chani cannot speak against the painful pressure of his weight pinning her to the wall. Her dangling legs are boxed by his firmly planted ones. She struggles madly to kick him anyway, boots helplessly grazing his shins. The brick bites deeper into her back, her skin stinging as it sunders against the rough texture.

He whips his cock out and Chani’s brain goes blank, possessed by a blind, primal panic. She cannot pull her eyes away, finds her gaze glued to veins pulsating in the hardened member. He seizes her boy shorts in a fist and yanks them down to her knees. Chani throws her head back, squirming to free her arms and gouge her thumbs into his eyes.

But he is thrice her size and she cannot budge against the prison that is his mass.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it,” he scoffs irritably, inconvenienced by Chani’s desperate struggles.

He talks like someone who’s just gotten stuck in a too-long line at the cinema concession stand, while Chani cannot talk at all. She can’t even draw a full breath. Choking as his cock rubs along her thigh, fear devours her insides. Everything Chani is made of recoils from what is about to happen.

He is a heartbeat away from penetration. He is going to split her open under the moon, against this brick, and Chani’s world is never going to be the same. She knows this in the pit of her stomach, sick beyond sick and unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Let her go!” roars a lioness disguised as a girl. “Right now! I already called the cops and I am not afraid to use this!”

Ginger Boy (Chani distantly realizes she doesn’t remember his name, doesn’t recall if he’d even introduced himself) goes rigid. The tip of his cock is so terrifyingly close, she can feel its heat against her entrance. He drops her without a second thought, hastily cramming it back into his jeans as he rapidly retreats.

Chani skins her knees as she lands in a heap, rubbery legs unable to take her weight. Her chest heaves as she gasps for air. Ginger takes off down the path like hot coals burn under his feet. She numbly raises her eyes to Yeleen, standing there with her pepper spray extended in one hand and her phone lit up in the other.

“Are you okay, Chani?”

It’s the first time she’s heard Yeleen call her by her name. Not Morticia, or Elvira, or Bride of Dracula. If everything that just happened didn’t, maybe Chani would be able to enjoy this. Maybe she’d be able to memorize the way her name sounds in Yeleen’s mouth or get flustered with herself for even wanting to.

But as is, it’s nothing more than an absent observation.

“Did you really call the cops?” she hears herself asking.

“No, but I can if you want.” Yeleen comes closer in slow steps, like approaching a skittish animal.

For a moment Chani is just frozen, braced on her skinned knees and palms and aware of being more naked than clothed. The back of her shirt is shredded, her ripped skirt pools around her boots, underwear still yanked down somewhere in between. She rises on her knees and shakily pulls them back up.

“Do you want me to call the cops?” Yeleen asks gently.

“No,” she answers, sounding level, somehow. “I need to get my buttons.”

“What?”

“My buttons,” she repeats, crawling around as her mind locks onto the sudden, urgent goal of retrieving them. “He ripped off my buttons, help me find my buttons!”

“O-Okay,” Yeleen agrees hastily, getting down with her.

Chani searches for silver glints in the dark. Her focus on accomplishing this simple task is like an anchor. It delays the breakdown she doesn’t want to have at all, but especially does not want to have here. Not out in the open or in front of Yeleen, the garbage music from the party barely a block away.

“How many buttons are there?” Yeleen asks.

“Six.”

“I’ve got two so far.”

“I’ve got three, there’s one more. Keep looking.”

“Chani, we should get you—“

“Either keep looking or leave me alone!” Chani demands shrilly.

She rarely raises her voice to anyone. But she seriously needs to find her buttons and maybe it is better if Yeleen leaves. Yeleen, who is mean and calls her childish names. Yeleen who would turn her nose up at skull shaped buttons anyway. Yeleen who she can’t stop thinking about, fantasizing about, Yeleen who kisses like a goddess in her impossibly stupid dreams. Dreams that prompted Chani to pick her would-be rapist out of the crowd in the first place.

Yeleen doesn’t leave like Chani expects her to. She keeps crawling with her, silently searching for the last button.

Chani finds it facedown in a crack in the cement, nestled in weeds growing between. Relieved, she plucks it up. Yeleen gives her the two she’d found. The reunited siblings smile up at Chani with their pewter-carved teeth, a bit scuffed up, but otherwise unharmed. She clutches them tightly to her chest, as though it could herald the apocalypse if they hit the ground again.

Somehow, she still can’t find the strength to stand up and Yeleen crouches across from her. For a moment, it’s like she’s going to put her hand on Chani’s shoulder, but she pulls back and messes with her curls instead.

“Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“I have my phone,” Chani says. “It’s in my skirt pocket.”

The skirt still wrinkled around her ankles, undoubtedly too torn to pull back up. Her phone never fell out though. Chani can tell, she still feels its weight when she crawls and in the brighter patches of moonlight, she can make out its rectangular bulge.

Yeleen nods, plump lips pursing as she gives Chani an uncertain look.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” she asks next.

“No. He didn’t actually, um— I mean, he almost, but—“ Chani shallows, words sticking in her throat like needles. “He would have. If you didn’t show up when you did.”

Yeleen shifts uncomfortably. “Who was he?”

“I don’t know. I met him tonight at that party.” She nods her head toward the beat of the music she can still hear playing in the distance.

“Since when do you go to parties?” Yeleen arches a brow, taking on a hint of the judgmental tone Chani is more used to.

Since you started fucking with my head, she thinks bitterly.

“It was a favor for Candy,” she snaps, too shaken up to keep her cool. “Why are you interrogating me when I’m the one who got attacked!?”

“I—I’m not,” Yeleen stammers. “I just want to know what happened.”

“What happened?” Chani echoes. “That guy just tried to rape me, that’s what happened!”

Drawing strength from her ire, Chani hefts herself to her feet. Her shirt immediately slips down her arms and as she scrambles to push it back up, she trips over the skirt. Yeleen springs up like a jack-in-the box and catches her before she can face plant.

Chani just sags into her, limp against the steady band that is Yeleen’s arm around her waist. She inhales her scent, this buttery, slightly honeyed smell. Maybe a hair cream or a lotion of some kind. She forces herself to step back before she can get too attached to the moment, before she can get too comfortable in the offhanded embrace of this person who looks down on her like a insect in the dirt.

Yeleen lets her go as she moves away. Chani vainly tugs up her torn skirt. It slips right back down her hips as Yeleen gapes down at her own palm. She looks freaked out. Maybe she’s scared some of Chani’s weirdness rubbed off on her.

“Your back,” she gasps softly, eyes darting up. “Chani, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s not bad,” she mutters absently, more focused on fiddling with her clothes just to give herself some cover. She doesn’t even have a bra. The top came with its own padded cups, so at the time a bra felt unnecessary.

The skirt won’t stay up but she tucks her skull buttons into its pocket. So few dresses and skirts have decent pockets that can actually hold things. When she ordered this skirt, the decent pockets were one of the things that convinced her to do so, to bite the bullet and pay that ridiculous shipping price.

“Here,” Yeleen says, shrugging off her jacket.

Chani exhales in relief and all but snatches it. She slips her arms into the sleeves and hurries to snap all the buttons closed. It’s a big jacket on Yeleen and Chani is a tad shorter than she is with a slighter build to boot, so it fits almost like a short dress. The hem falls far enough to cover her underwear. Yeleen’s body heat lingers in the fuzzy material of the lining, and Chani tries to insulate herself in it.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Yeleen asks.

Chani steps out of her ripped skirt, bundling it up in her arms and holding it close. Like a timid kid might clutch a stuffed animal in a crowded daycare. Her phone vibrates inside the pocket and she has no desire to see who it is.

“I don’t think so,” she murmurs uncertainly.

She doesn’t want to go back to the party. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital. She doesn’t want to go back to her dorm. There are many things Chani does not want, but in this moment, she hasn’t the faintest clue of what she does.

Yeleen idly fingers at her earring, head tilting sideways like she’s considering something.

“Okay, so sometimes when I need some space or I don’t feel like cleaning up after Candy, I stay at my friend’s apartment. She’s out for the weekend, it’s just me and her hermit crabs. You wanna head back there?”

Chani tries to absorb the information, but her mind is still reeling from what nearly happened. Nearly. That’s the thing, it didn’t, even. But it could have— it was going to. Her chin throbs where he clamped his hand over her mouth and she can still taste the sweat from his palm, the one with the wavy heart line. She didn’t have time to read any more. Maybe if she had, she would’ve seen a danger sign.

“Chani?” Yeleen prompts, sounding more weary than frustrated.

“Your friend won’t be mad?”

Yeleen shakes her head.

“Okay,” Chani agrees.

She doesn’t want to see her roommate tonight. Usually they miss each other anyway, but on the off chance she was there, Chani wouldn’t want to be seen. Or spoken to. In all honesty, she thinks she’d like to curl up in a cozy little coffin and die.

She’s as mortified as she is traumatized. She curses herself for going to the party in first place. Wants to smack herself for talking to this guy just to take her mind off Yeleen.

And the kicker is, he’s probably the only reason she’s face to face with Yeleen right now. He was her attempt to escape Yeleen and all he did was draw them together. Well, no, that’s not right…that’s definitely not all he did…but in any case, Chani’s night out ends with Yeleen. Yeleen’s jacket swathed around her torso and Yeleen’s aroma wafting over her nostrils, and Yeleen looking at her like a person for the first time ever as she taps away on a ride share app.

And on any other night, these would be positive developments in her and Yeleen’s nonexistent relationship. But tonight, when her clothes are ripped and her mouth is sore, and she’s still shaking like a furless baby bat, Chani doesn’t know if it was worth the price.

_______________________________________________________________________

The apartment is close by. The price of the driver doesn’t even break into the double digits and Yeleen covers it without complaint. Chani follows after her on autopilot, trying not to be as rattled as she feels. Nothing actually happened, right?

But it’s like something happened. Because Chani can still feel the weight of his chest as it stole the air from hers. He was so much bigger, so much stronger.

She wanted to go for the eyes. It doesn’t take much physical prowess to gouge out an eye. Those squishy, gelatinous bulbs burst easily enough even under a child’s thumb. But you have to have access to your thumbs to do that, access to your arms, and Chani couldn’t get them out from under his immoveable mass no matter how hard she tried. She might as well have been straining against a hippopotamus.

“Hey, Chani?”

Chani glances to Yeleen, deceptively nervous Yeleen with teeth scraping the corner of her lip and index finger skimming the inside of her earring.

“That’s like the tenth time tonight,” Chani murmurs.

“Hm?” Yeleen raises a brow.

“You’re calling me by my name tonight. A lot.”

“Oh…” Yeleen blinks rapidly, as though this is new information.

“I like it better than the things you usually call me,” Chani hums quietly.

Yeleen glances to the flamingo shaped rug on the floor. She exhales and looks up again, fingertip slipping from her earring.

“I’m sorry about before. It was uncalled for me to go off on you like that.” Yeleen folds her arms. “I could blame it on the stress of the new semester or whatever, but that wouldn’t be fair. And it wouldn’t be a real apology.”

“No,” Chani says. “It wouldn’t.”

“So I won’t do that.” Yeleen looks her in the eyes, calm and sincere. “I am sorry I was rude.”

“It’s okay,” Chani accepts earnestly, holding her stare. “So what were you gonna say before we got off track?”

“You wanna go to the bathroom, so we can take a better look at your back?”

That’s the last thing Chani expected her to say. She reflexively hugs Yeleen’s jacket tighter around her, unsure what to say or what to do with her face.

“I know you didn’t think it was bad,” Yeleen continues stiffly, looking rather unsure herself. “It probably isn’t. But I’m thinking we should look at it in the light. Just in case.”

“Okay,” Chani agrees. “You’re probably right…”

“This way.” Yeleen jerks her head down the hall and leads Chani to a bathroom that’s neat, but loud.

Flamingos must be her friend’s favorite bird because the motif persists in here. A ceramic flamingo toothbrush holder grins up at Chani with a beak full of pearly whites. The soap dish features a flamingo in large, cartoonish sunglasses. Pink silhouettes of flamingos on one leg pattern the shower curtain. The plain hand towels on the rack sport a shade of pink close enough to match.

Chani stands with her back to the sink as she unzips Yeleen’s jacket. Yeleen hovers near the toilet, eyes roaming, like she isn’t sure if it’s okay to look yet. Chani shrugs the jacket down to her elbows, wearing it almost like the thin, onyx wrap she’d donned at senior prom. Her shirt slides forward without the jacket to catch it and her back is totally exposed.

She glances over her shoulder to peer at the damage. Red furrows raked into her flesh reflect back at her. Dried blood and dead skin cling to ragged edges of them, a few still sluggishly seep even now. They’re ugly wounds but they aren’t serious, as far as Chani can tell.

Yeleen’s eyes flash in the mirror, growing wide. Chani can’t meet her gaze, but watches the movement of her hands from her peripheral. She gestures toward the rim of the shallow tub, and Chani welcomes the pleasant, if irrelevant thought of how nice her hands are.

She follows their prompting and dutifully sits on the rim of the tub. Yeleen pulls out a first aid kit drums her fingers against it, hesitating.

“Is this okay?” she asks, somehow sounds far less confident now than the lionheart who faced off against GingerBoyAlmostRapistHeWouldn’tFuckingStop—

“Chani?” Yeleen repeats softly, and Chani takes a breath as the way her name sounds in Yeleen’s mouth pulls her back to the present.

“Sure,” she says. “Thank you.”

Yeleen shuts the toilet lid and sets the kit down on the fuzzy fabric of its flamingo printed cover, taking a seat behind Chani. Chani puts in effort to stay here in the present, in this very tight, very pink bathroom with the sound of Yeleen’s neat hands rustling through the first aid kit. She tries to focus on this and not the darker thoughts that threaten to claw their way to the surface like lagoon monsters leering in the depths.

“Sorry if it stings,” Yeleen says so soft, it’s nearly a whisper.

It does sting, when Yeleen presses peroxide sodden gauze to her back. She can feel it fizzing in her wounds and she uses this pain too, to ground herself in the here and now. The sharp, clean scent of the antiseptic fills the air and Chani drinks it in, using it to cleanse the tastes that unwanted tongue spat into her mouth.

“How are you doing?” Yeleen asks. And Chani knows what she means, but it almost sounds like a greeting. Part of the introduction they never had.

“Okay, I guess,” Chani mumbles.

Yeleen’s fingertips are warm. Chani can feel them trembling the slightest bit as she clumsily work the soaked gauze against her skin. Excess moisture squeezes out and rolls cooly down her skin.

“What were you doing there?” Chani asks. “When you saw us?”

“On my way to the same party, I think,” Yeleen replies uncertainly. “Castiel was going to be there…”

“Same one then,” Chani confirms. “I saw him there. Arguing with Nathaniel.”

“Ah.”

Chani wonders if Yeleen wishes she was there instead of here. Chatting it up with Castiel. Letting loose.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” Chani asks. It’s not as if she’d called out. He silenced her no’s and it was dark outside.

“What do you mean?” Yeleen asks warily.

“How did you know it wasn’t consensual?”

There’s a moment of silence. Yeleen tosses the wads of gauze into the wire rubbish bin, pale red with watercolor clouds of Chani’s blood.

“I didn’t,” Yeleen says. “Not for sure. Part of me was hoping you’d tell me to put the mace down, that it was a misunderstanding.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know.”

Yeleen wipes the stray trickles off her intact skin.

“I guess I should get your knees before I put it away…”

Chani looks over her shoulder and offers Yeleen a weak smile. Something swells in her when Yeleen smiles back.

_______________________________________________________________________

Yeleen lets Chani borrow some pajamas.

“Sorry there’s nothing in black,” she teases, an effort that is off and stiff, but an effort nonetheless.

Chani grabs this lavender nightgown simply because it’s the first garment of clothing in reaching distance and she needs to throw something on. She collapses on the mismatched day bed Yeleen assured her she was allowed to sleep on and hugs the big, plush flamingo with the goggly eyes.

“My friend’s cool,” Yeleen reiterates, plopping down beside her. “She doesn’t mind if I have people over, as long as they don’t screw with her stuff or leave a mess.”

“I won’t do any of that.”

“I know,” Yeleen peeks at Chani from the corner of her eye as she picks up the DMP remote. “Wanna Netflix and chill?”

“I don’t mind having something on, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to chill,” Chani admits, suppressing a shudder.

Yeleen opens her mouth to speak, closes it as her gaze darkens.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, hushed.

“Not really, but, uh, could you…stay close to me tonight?”

Yeleen’s hand crawls across the short stretch of floral sheets that separate them. It hovers over Chani’s for a tentative heartbeat and Chani takes the initiative to turn her palm up and welcome its presence. Permission granted, Yeleen takes Chani’s hand and gives it a hearty squeeze. Chani squeezes back and exhaustedly lays her head on Yeleen’s shoulder. Yeleen doesn’t let go of her hand or push her away.

When Chani opens her fingers, Yeleen’s slip through. Their hands intertwine like it’s the most natural thing in the world but Chani knows better than to look too much into it. But the rest of the night plays out as peacefully as possible, all things considered.

And in the morning, when Chani wakes up with a mouthful of pink fuzz in her mouth and the plush flamingo squished under her head, she sees her clothes folded on the nightstand. They've been mended, every silver skull sewn back into place.

#mcl rarepair week #mcl yeleen #mcl chani #my candy love #mclu

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khaelisfics · 6 years

Text

Insecurities

Paring: Tentoo/Rose Tyler Rating: G Word count: 1700 Tags: Fluff

Read on AO3

From a nonny prompt found on @doctorroseprompts: Tentoo and Rose arrived in Pete’s World just a few days ago and are still adapting. While he’s working on their new TARDIS, he starts talking about some insecurities and distracted, didn’t realize that Rose arrived home. So of course she assures him that everything will be alright. I started writing this more than a week ago but I’ve just finished it - and I’m not happy with it, seriously, just go read the fill by @skyler10fic, so much better than this, hehe! :-)

Still, here goes, who knows, maybe you’ll like it!

He sighed into the palm that was cradling the bottom of his face, staring at the little piece of coral pulsing softly with a dull orange glow. He knew nothing was wrong with the installation he had carefully put into place, from the dozens of cables attached to the coral sending light sparks of electricity to help with its growth, to the nest of minerals he had gathered together so it could feed on low-energy nutrients. He still tugged on a cable to make sure it was properly hooked, pushed a chunk of cobalt with his fingertips, moved a nugget of zircon closer. It would take time before that tiny bit of Tardis flesh would grow big enough to develop a potent enough conscience to take them on trips around the universe, years, probably a whole decade, even. But impatience was already brewing in the pit of his stomach.

He stole a glance at the clock he had hung onto a wall of the basement where his makeshift lab had been set up - Rose had refused to let him perform his experiments anywhere near remotely inflammable things, which basically crossed off every room in their small house, thus the basement. His sense of time was still perfectly intact, and he didn’t need a clock. He liked it, because of the sound it made as the seconds slowly ticked away. A harmless reminder that time had never mattered more now that he was growing older, day after day. Only three days since he’d arrived in this universe, three days since he had grown out of that hand, three days since he’d understood what the human part of this body implied. He could feel himself age, the cells dying to be replaced by brand new ones, every time with a little less life inside them. He noticed things thanks to the Time Lord abilities he hadn’t lost. A weakness in a joint, a hair single hair slowly losing its colours, a small wrinkle more in the corner of an eye. Rose couldn’t see those changes happen, and that was good. He didn’t to add that to the pile of growing worries his thoughts were building on.

The fact that she wasn’t home yet, among many others. It was well into the sixth hour of the afternoon, and she should have been back approximately thirty minutes back if the traffic was alright, twelve minutes back if the traffic was bad - he had checked and double-checked the route she took and came up with exactly seventeen calculations that gave him the precise range of time it took her to go from work to their house depending on a variety of circumstances. And she was late.

“Why is she avoiding me?” he murmured into the silence of the basement, brushing a thumb on the coral. “Do you think we went too fast?”

He almost expected the little Tardis embryo to answer, but it only glowed brighter for a fraction of a second. Still, the sulky temperament that had sprouted in his new-found human side had no trouble interpreting it as a confirmation.

“It was a bad idea to move in together,” he sighed, letting his elbow slide over the desk so he ended up half sprawled over it. “We should have… I don’t know, dated? Like humans do, you know. So she can get to know me. Well, I’m basically the same, of course, but maybe she doesn't realize that. I mean… She doesn’t love me, you see. She doesn't say it, she doesn't show it. This morning she didn’t even kiss me goodbye.”

One of the wires sparked, a tiny electric arc reaching his finger so fast he jerked his hand away with a curse of pain.

“I know, alright?” he seethed at the coral, sucking the burnt flesh into his mouth. “I’ve been a pain, I get it. But seriously, this life isn’t for me. I can do it with Rose, but I can’t do it without her. I can’t, I’ll go completely bonkers by the time you hit puberty. She doesn’t want to be with me. She’s spent a grand total of eleven hours and thirty-eight minutes, what does that tell you? Yes, I counted, you little judgmental piece of… Of Tardis. She spent just under sixteen percent of her time with me over the past three days! Torchwood this, and paperwork that, and where do I stand in all this? What am I, some kind of pet it’s alright to leave alone at home while she goes on her stupid errands? Seriously, I just…”

He was cut halfway through his angry tirade when a pair of naked arms snaked around his waist, drew him into a hug from behind, and a warm, full mouth planted a kiss on the nape of his neck.

“Hello, Doctor,” her beautiful voice smiled into his ear.

“Rose,” he gasped as he twirled around in her arms, terrified that she’d heard too much of his vehement protest.

The apology he wanted to offer died in his throat at the sight of her deep blue dress, the kind of dress he had never seen her wear yet. The skirt stopped mid-thigh, the strapless corset hugged her waist and pushed her breast up to form an impressive cleavage that was made all the prettier by the pendant she was wearing around her neck - he had to swallow a weird squeak when he noticed it was the Tardis key she had brought with her in this universe.

“Rose, you look…” the Doctor started, thinking he would never find the right words to describe her beauty. “You look…”

“You don’t like it?” she teased, peering at him though her thick eyelashes.

“I do, Gods, I do, but… Why? What’s the occasion?”

She bit into her lower lip, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips, and she grasped his tie to pull him on his feet.

“You’re right, you know,” Rose admitted, running a thumb up his tie, to the small curve between his clavicles then up his throat to finally settle on the dip of his chin. “We haven’t spent enough time together.”

“You… You heard, then,” he grimaced, his shoulder slumping slightly. “Rose, you weren’t supposed to.”

“But I did. You got a few things wrong, though.”

“Did I, really?”

“Oh, yes, Doctor. Let me count them up for you.”

The Doctor’s breath hitched in his throat when she pushed her against the edge of the desk and moulded her body against his.

“One, I am not avoiding you. Two,” she paused to press a hard, languid kiss on his kips half-parted in awe, “I did kiss you goodbye this morning, but your head was so far up your bum you probably forgot.”

He moaned into her mouth when she kissed him again, his hands flying to her waist to find an anchor, his stupid human heartbeat going rampant in his ribcage. Okay, maybe she really liked to kiss him, after all - and he couldn’t exactly deny he absolutely adored kissing her, too. And then, her leg slipped between his, her bare foot caressed his calf and her knee slid up his thigh, and his quiet moan turned into a loud groan.

“Three,” she murmured against is cheek, trailing her mouth to his ear, her teeth biting lightly his lobe. “It was a very good idea to move in together. Because believe me, Doctor, we have to make up for so many lost opportunities, we’re gonna need to spend quite some time alone, if you get my meaning. Four...”

Rose brought her hand to his chest, splaying her fingers over his heart.

“I know it’s you, my Doctor,” she kept going, drawing the symbolic shape of a heart across the pectoral defined under his tight shirt. “There’s no him. There’s you. Just you. And five…”

Her cheekiness had only paved the way to a much deeper, sweeter feeling, and she tenderly cupped his face in both her hands to stare into his shiny chocolate eyes.

“I love you,” she smiled, putting the same emphasize on the word you as he had on the word me. “I always have, I always will. I’m sorry the last few days have been hectic, Doctor, but there was so much to do. I’m sorry I was away from you, but I did it for us. Here, look at this.”

The Doctor watched as she produced a small plastic card from behind her back and waved it under his nose.

“Your brand new ID, Doctor, so you can work, go out and basically live a normal life until your baby Tardis is all grown up. That’s why I’m wearing this dress. That’s the occasion. I want to take you on a date tonight. Celebrate the start of us, if you like. How does that sound?”

“Oh, Rose,” he could only whisper, unable to believe she had managed to crush down all of his worries within a short span of two minutes when they’d been brewing in the pit of his stomach for days. “That sounds… Wonderful.”

“Yeah?” she asked with a tongue-touched grin, loving the way his eyes gleamed with a sudden happiness.

“Oh yes,” he confirmed, drawing her into a quick hug before he grabbed her hand and made her spin around on her feet - she pretended to lose her balance, letting herself fall into his arms with a merry giggle. “I love you, Rose. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“S’alright, Doctor, I know. Come on, go change into a proper tux, Mister Smith, we’re gonna be late.”

“Hm, Smith… “ he mulled the name on the tip of his tongue. “Rose, this might sound a bit silly, but… Would you mind just calling me Doctor when it’s just us? No that I don’t appreciate you getting me this but…”

“Of course I can, Doctor,” she smiled, perfectly aware of the reasons why he wanted her to use this name. “Now go.”

“Right, yes, date,” he nodded with an excited grin, planting a quick peck on her cheek. “Be right back, love you.”

“Love you too, Doctor.”

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #tentoo x rose #fluff #prompt fill #prompt fic #metacrisis doctor #rose tyler #tentoo #one shot

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ladytauria · 6 years

Text

First Meetings [1/?]

FFN | AO3

Summary: "Sounds to me like Chiro doesn't have a lotta friends. If I recall, they said that he keeps to himself. Doesn't sound like much of a life to me. I mean, if he's naturally introverted, then whatever." Otto swipes a hand through the air. "But I wanna make sure that he's not completely lonely. So… uh, can ya…?"

Jinmay laughs. "Of course, Otto. You don't even have to ask." She smiles at him. "You an' me… we'll be the best friends he's ever had.”

Otto beams.

Hi! I bring a new series, known as Carrington Industries. It's a Human AU that I'm having a lot of fun dabbling in, though not a lot has been written for it yet. It'll be kind of a post-as-I-write-it deal, so don't expect regular updates. (Sadly.) This first one deals with how everyone meets, and will probably be relatively short-but we'll see.

First Meetings

1. Otto Jinmay

"Just a few more adjustments…" Otto murmurs to the unresponsive android on his table. "And you'll be done."

The android is a round-face cherub of a girl; with soft pink hair pulled into white-tipped pigtails and long eyelashes brushing slightly flushed cheeks. A panel is open on her sternum, and Otto is wrist deep in circuitry, making a few fine-tunings before he could, at long last, awaken the creation he spent the last year on.

He wants to talk to her.

What would she be like? He left so many gaps in her personality programming, hoping to let her grow and develop on her own. He'd had to include a few things, of course—couldn't make her a completely blank slate, after all. But it had been just simple things. The basic rules of kindness, and compassion. A desire for friendship. And curiosity. Those things together would keep her, hopefully, from going rogue—and were good starting points for her to become.

Otto hums to himself.

The android had been built using parts recovered from Carrington Industries scrap heap. (The best find had been an android they'd thrown out. Poor thing had been an experimental prototype they'd made. It hadn't been able to differentiate friend from foe, or so the box it was in had said. Otto had salvaged quite a few parts from that, though he'd left the memory chip alone.) Jinmay, he calls her. A mash-up of Jenny and May, since he couldn't decide between the two.

He makes the final adjustment and carefully seals the panel. He pushes an arm under her shoulders and hefts her up. She's light, for a machine. He opens the panel in her back. He pushes the megawatt battery he'd salvaged from the faulty android into her back, and then flicks the switch. He seals the panel again, and carefully lays her down.

It will take some time for Jinmay's processors to finish booting up—initial start-up is always one of the hardest.

—

Booting.

Start up program: initialized.

Code rolls across her vision.

Uploading files.

Awareness. Her thoughts begin to come in words, instead of shaped in numbers and symbols. The numbers lurk at the edge of her awareness. She can feel them; making up the innermost parts of her consciousness. Her mind extends beyond its confines. She feels her fingers. Moves them experimentally. Wiggles her toes. Scrunches her nose.

Smells assault her senses. She searches her memory drives, and finds nothing to compare them to. She opens her eyes.

For a moment, all she can see was white. Her optics—her eyes—adjust to the brightness. Things take shape. The light fixture, capped in a circular dome. The square panels of the ceiling. She pushes herself into a sitting position.

"Hello, there."

She looks toward the voice.

A male. How many years has he seen? She has no comparison.

His skin is brown. His hair darker brown, and curled. His eyes are bright, vibrant green. He smiles at her; exposing shiny teeth. "My name is Otto," he says. "And your name is Jinmay."

Jinmay. She twirls the name through her thoughts, and decides she liked it.

"I built you. You're an android. You an' me? We're gonna be friends."

Jinmay—yes, yes, that's a good name—smiles. "I think I'd like that."

That was six years ago.

—

As Otto had promised, the two had become very good friends. Otto had been fourteen at the time—not part of any registered engineering group. His parents had taken his creation in stride; treating Jinmay just as they would any of Otto's other, human, friends. (Despite his personable attitude, Otto had few that he was close to.) It had been awkward, at first. Jinmay was… well. A robot. In every sense of the word.

But as time passed, she began to learn.

It began with clumsy emulation. Copying Otto's mannerisms, his speech patterns. He exposed her to television. Jinmay consumed all sorts of media. Horror. Comedy. Romance. Action. Adventure. Documentaries. Kids' films. News. Cooking. She watched them all raptly; sitting cross-legged with wide eyes. She developed preferences.

His mother liked plying her with new foods. Jinmay was the only person in the house she could rely on for accurate feedback. Her husband and son just smiled and told her it was good, even if it tasted terribly. Jinmay had no such qualms.

And then Otto began to take her out in public.

That was when everything changed.

Carrington Industries got word that a fifteen-year-old boy had managed to create a walking, talking android. Nothing like the droids they had built; this one had a tried and true personality. Their scientists and engineers went bonkers. They showed up at his home one afternoon with thousands of questions.

And then, they offered him a job.

They didn't ask him to recreate Jinmay. Which was good, because Otto wouldn't have done it. Jinmay was unique; one-of-a-kind.

Otto expected commissions. He got them, on occasion. But mostly? They paid him a stipend, which would contain bonuses when he brought them new inventions to sell. And Otto delivered.

Access to state of the art equipment; great minds; and almost limitless funding…

He flourished. By the age of 20, Otto was one of the richest inhabitants of Shuggazoom City…

Not that you would know that by looking at his apartment.

—

Jinmay cringes as she gingerly lifts a sock from the floor. "Otto."

"What?" Otto stumbles out of his room; hastily tugging a pair of pants over striped boxers.

"I told you to quit leaving your stinky socks all over the apartment!" she fumes.

"Oh, c'mon, Jin. They're not that bad," Otto says with a winning smile, taking the sock from her and lifting it to his nose. His eyes went cross-eyed. "Eugh. On second thought…"

Jinmay rolls her eyes. "At least you stopped leaving your underwear everywhere." She wrinkles her nose.

Otto laughs sheepishly, tossing the sock in the laundry room. "Heh, yeah..." He walks into the kitchen and grabs a cereal box. "Oh, hey. Somethin' I wanna talk to you about."

"What's up?" Jinmay seats herself on the counter and folds her hands primly in her lap. She watches him pour cereal in a bowl.

"You're familiar with Clayton Carrington, right?"

"Founder of Carrington Industries. One of the brightest and most brilliant men of our age. Had a silent partner no one's been able to uncover the identity of. Disappeared in mysterious circumstances, and was declared legally dead ten years ago—after he had been missing for nearly a year."

Otto sent her a smile, and retrieves the milk. He checks the expiration date, gives the milk an experimental sniff, and starts dumping it into the bowl. Jinmay makes a mental note to go grocery shopping tonight.

"Yep. In his will, though, he left the company to his nephew—Chiro Nieli. Split his fortune in half. Half went to the kid's parents—well, mother—and the other half into a trust that only Chiro can access, and even then, only once he was eighteen. The money in the trust has increments that are paid out. Enough to fund schooling at a very prestigious school."

"What's any of that got to do with anything?" Jinmay asks.

"Right. Well, Chiro's fifteen now, and the heads think it's time to start grooming him to take over the company. But, uh. The kid has pretty much lived in obscurity for most of his life, so he's unfamiliar with all of this. I volunteered to let 'im stay with us—because honestly can you imagine 'im staying with the others?" Otto scoffs. "And, uh, then the others were all like 'that's great, we were hoping you'd volunteer' and… well. See, part of the reason they hired me five years ago was because they had plans for you. Specifically… making you Chiro's super kick-butt bodyguard."

Jinmay raises her eyebrows. "That's why they insisted on all that combat training, and for you not to upgrade my appearance?"

"Yup." Otto popped the 'p'. "I told 'em I'd make sure you were cool with it before I went and did anything hasty. So, whaddya think?"

Jinmay considers. It doesn't take long. "I'm game."

Otto grins. "Thought ya would be. I gotta personal request to make though."

"Shoot."

"Sounds to me like Chiro doesn't have a lotta friends. If I recall, they said that he keeps to himself. Doesn't sound like much of a life to me. I mean, if he's naturally introverted, then whatever." Otto swipes a hand through the air. "But I wanna make sure that he's not completely lonely. So… uh, can ya…?"

Jinmay laughs. "Of course, Otto. You don't even have to ask." She smiles at him. "You an' me… we'll be the best friends he's ever had."

Otto beams.

#srmthfg #super robot monkey team hyperforce go #otto #jinmay #carrington industries #this whole thing is an excuse to write jinmay as chiros bodyguard ngl #also tumblr fucked with my formatting but thats what i get for posting on mobile #best formatting is on ao3

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riverdames-blog · 6 years

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Disappointed But Not Disheartened: Reflections on A Wrinkle In Time

In early 2016, when it was announced that Ava DuVernay was attached to A Wrinkle In Time, I tweeted about how excited I was for it and she favorited my tweet so I screenshotted the notification and showed it to everyone on the planet and have been anxiously awaiting this movie ever since. Jennifer Lee, one of the two screenwriters for the project, is who I aspire to be, and Ava DuVernay is, as far as I’m concerned, one of the best filmmakers of all time, and, although I honestly don’t remember much about the plot, I read at least 3 books in Madeleine L’Engle’s Time Quintet as a child and definitely really enjoyed them. (I may have read Many Waters and completely forgotten it, but I think I was just not that interested in transitioning to the next generation and so peaced out after A Swiftly Tilting Planet.) In the months before its release, I declared multiple times that A Wrinkle In Time would probably be the movie of the year for me.

Now that I’ve seen it, I can say more confidently: it’s not my movie of the year. Just to be sure, I saw it twice this weekend (and I also watched the 2003 TV Movie in between to compare – it’s not great but it’s also not, like… resoundingly worse). The second time around, I enjoyed it way more than the first, and I think it’ll only continue to grow on me with time. Visually, it’s just spectacular: Ava DuVernay and Naomi Shohan have built a gorgeous and imaginative world. Production design is maybe the only element of cinema that L’Engle’s original novel lends itself to easily, and they tapped that to its fullest potential. But something about the storytelling just didn’t quite click for me.

And before I go on, I want to be clear: no one working on this movie had anything to prove. People will frame it that way – can a black woman direct a $100 million movie? or can a little brown girl carry an action-adventure blockbuster? – but none of that is really up in the air. Black creatives have proven time and time again that they can and will carry franchises, so we can stop pretending that was ever even a question. And we all saw The Dark Knight Rises and were like, “hm, very middle of the road”, and yet no one raised an eyebrow when Christopher Nolan got a Best Director nod this year. Ava is still one of the best working visual storytellers in Hollywood (and has increasingly excellent brand recognition – any studio would be lucky to have her helm another blockbuster). Storm Reid is charming and will continue to get work. Jennifer Lee is still my hero. It is dumb that I’m nervous to admit that I was disappointed by A Wrinkle In Time, like if it wasn’t the perfect movie no one will ever try to make movies like it again. Creatives do not have to break new ground with every movie they make for their work to be considered valuable. And in a lot of ways, A Wrinkle In Time was groundbreaking.

So, bearing in mind that this movie doesn’t in anyway reflect on anyone’s capacity for great filmmaking, what made A Wrinkle In Time feel disjointed to me?

My first thought was maybe it was just a failure of casting. They apparently searched for 7 months for someone to play Charles Wallace, and as cute as he is, Deric McCabe felt awkward and stilted to me the entire movie on first watching. Levi Miller was the cutest stalk of celery I’ve ever seen but that’s kinda the most I can say for him. Everyone was charming, but no one – Storm Reid included – really had the chops to carry the weight of all the bonkers exposition this movie demanded of them.

That said, the performances felt less stilted to me when I watched it a second time – Storm Reid and Deric McCabe did have some really keen and nuanced moments, and Levi Miler, despite speaking like he’s never met another human being before, gives truly excellent face. And the adult casting was superb; Chris Pine as the affirming father of a biracial daughter seems like an obvious and sincere choice, and also ZACH GALIFIANAKIS. Clearly Aisha Coley knew what she was doing because it takes some serious insight to look at Zach Galifinakis and think, “this schlubby comedian will play the kindest, gentlest father figure in cinematic history.” No actor is actively wrong for their part, and no one is phoning it in – the younger folks are maybe just still figuring some things out.

So if the performances felt awkward but it wasn’t a failure of casting, I hate to even suggest it, but maybe then it’s a failure of direction. If these actors had the potential to perform this script well, maybe Ava just didn’t direct them appropriately. There are some moments where I think this is actually true: if you’re working with young talent struggling to create a genuine sense of chemistry, maybe don’t block things so they’re standing several yards apart as they exchange intimate dialogue. There were multiple weirdly slow, far apart exchanges between Meg and Calvin that probably would’ve felt loaded with meaning with more competent actors but just felt bizarre and confusing with these kids.

That said, I am reluctant to criticize Ava’s work here, largely because these children have spoken quite sincerely multiple times about how kind Ava was and how safe they felt working with her. When working with young actors, I think that’s the most important thing. And so if these kids felt most comfortable shouting at each other from across a football field, then fine. I’m okay with that. And also, let’s not forget: Zach. Gala-friggin-akis. Ava knows how to get what she needs.

So then perhaps there was something weird about the camera. The cinematography of this movie felt deliberate, like it was meant to create a real mood around this story. It felt like the idea was to shoot this thing in a way that was disorienting to reflect the magic and uncertainty of the world these characters occupy. But that didn’t really click for me: I mostly just felt like the camera placement was in the way. Maybe because the performances weren’t strong enough to come through, but maybe because cutting from a traditional over-the-shoulder shot to a strikingly tight 90 degree profile is always going to take you a little bit out of the moment. (There were two particularly striking moments that made me chuckle they were so disorienting: one when Ms. Whatsit and Meg’s mother talk in such a tight, shallow-focus profile shot, I could’ve sworn they were about to kiss; the other when, in the middle of a conversation between Meg and Principal Jenkins, there was a cut to a close, shallow-focus shot of his name placard, and then a very artistic but completely unnecessary tilt up as the focus racks a very tight shot of Mr. Jenkin’s face.)

Weird cinematography can interrupt the flow of even the best scenes. But maybe – and I hate to say this even more than I hate to suggest Ava’s work wasn’t as good as it could be – but maybe, I am just making excuses here for Jennifer Lee. Maybe this was a failure of script. And I do think that Jennifer Lee and her writing partner, Jeff Stockwell, made some really positive changes. I think they captured and amplified the essential relationships and motivations in this story. I think getting rid of the twins and playing around with the Murry family structure, as well as adding a lot of scenes with the dad and giving him a central character flaw, gave this story a clearer and cleaner direction than the Weinstein-produced adaptation in 2003. And I think that the whimsy of the book was captured in a way that felt visual and cinematic in this screenplay.

But it’s hard to deny that this screenplay felt a little clunky. There was a lot of exposition and no clear moment when a goal or central question was obviously stated, which probably would’ve helped me enjoy the film a bit more on my first watching. It was somewhat unclear when the acts were changing, which made it hard to be totally swept up in the beautiful and immersive imagery. The sequencing at the end is awkward – why does Calvin just watch a deeply intimate conversation between Meg and her dad? (He’s just smiling in the corner of one shot when they hug at the end and I truly burst out laughing in the theater.) What did Calvin and Mr. Murry do in the backyard for all that time when they tessered away without Meg and Charles Wallace? Why did Charles Wallace get so easily distracted by the family dog (for a seemingly very long stretch of time) when he ran into the house to get his mom? Why did Meg not laugh out loud at Calvin when he said, “Funny how it took a trip around the universe for me to have the strength to confront my crazy dad!”? And speaking of Calvin, while I think the decision to trim a lot of the fat around the Meg-Charles Wallace sibling dynamic was a good one, it sort of begged the question: why is Calvin even here? (It’s actually sort of nice bit of commentary – to help save the universe, men simply need to trust women and affirm that their ideas and instincts are correct – but it felt undeniably odd that Calvin came along when all he did was fall off Reese Witherspoon’s lettuce leaf body and then eat a bunch of sand.)

Having said that, it does seem like there were some fairly substantial reshoots or at least major cuts made after principle production, because based on the trailer, what seems like a big expositional scene got left on the chopping block. I’ve also heard in interviews that they shot and were starting to animate an Aunt Beast scene between Mr. Murry’s tesser and Meg’s final confrontation with The It. Perhaps the original script did a better job of integrating Calvin and establishing clearer act breaks and character voices. Maybe, for reasons beyond their control, this script needed to be torn up a bit and it was too late for the writers to polish the rough edges that were left behind. Or hey, maybe Jeff Stockwell took hostage of the whole thing and made a bunch of bad changes at the last minute that Jennifer Lee couldn’t talk him down from and her hands are clean! (I don’t know enough about WGA rules to totally tease out what that cowriting process looked like based on the billing – that is maybe very possible – but it’s not very kind to Jeff to just assume that about the script so I won’t.)

At the end of the day, A Wrinkle In Time did not come together for me like I hoped it would. It’s not easy to tell why major sequences got cut pretty late in the game or why the cinematography decisions and acting decisions came together as awkwardly as they did. Whatever the reason, this movie just didn’t do it for me. But even as I left the theater feeling a little disappointed, I was not disheartened. This movie wasn’t anything like, say, Suicide Squad, which feels like a project that was fought over, a project where everyone involved seemingly knew the movie was a train-wreck but also “knew” it wasn’t their fault. It’s hard to point the finger at anyone here; everyone has something to be proud of (and something to be less proud of). No sequence feels pulled because the studio didn’t trust its creatives or because the director didn’t trust her actors. It feels like a product that was made by a whole, a whole who struggled with this beast together. A Wrinkle In Time feels delightfully collaborative, a movie made by committee in the best possible way.

Perhaps the biggest takeaway, then, is that adapting L’Engle’s bonkers novel is a hard thing to do. To no one’s fault, the stakes of her story are simultaneously impossibly large and surprisingly small. Her characters speak with a rhythm that is odd even when done well, and the world she built evokes more the concept of beauty than actual images of it. (And let’s not even begin to unpack cinema’s troubled troubled relationship with Christian-influenced fantasy storytelling.)

But here is a group of people who all earnestly rose to the challenge. They made the thing. And it is flawed in a lot of ways. But as Meg Murry knows better than most, its faults are not undeserving of love.

#a wrinkle in time #storm reid #ava duvernay #madeleine l'engle #jennifer lee #zach galifianakis #review #reflections #film #cinematography #a wrinkle in time review #jeff stockwell

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geeky-writes · 4 years

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Continuum - Story Preview

Part of the Pieces of Echoes series. Superfamily/ Stony Infinity War/ Endgame AU

“And for more information about this strange space phenomenon, we go to our on-site reporter, Jackson Murphy. Jackson, what more can you tell us?”

And he enjoyed it even less when said news was reporting on whatever goofy space phenomena had just occurred over Africa. Ever since he’d stumbled upon an entire space-faring army just waiting to invade Earth during his emergency missile flight through Loki’s portal, Tony had adamantly decided that he had seen all he’d needed of space, thank you very much.